#but at the end of the day she is such a ride or die for her friends

[ellevandersneed]

Kamala Harris spent a large chunk of the tail end of her campaign trying to appeal to the median republican voter and lost. "dems are a minority" in the sense that the voter difference in the 2024 election amounts to a difference of less than 3%. Trump still got less votes this time around than Biden achieved in 2020. The average voter is not ride or die for any particular candidate or, really, any particular party. The majority of voters are currently registered independent, half of which "lean" republican. This does not mean that they are ideologically, inherently aligned with Trump and crave his policy, or are staunchly anti-abortion and pro-Israel. People vote because there is a psychological expectation to choose A or B, and as Harris constantly told people she "wouldn't be much different from Biden," which, for a lot of people, meant that the economy would not change for the better. US Americans seem more interested in a lower cost of living than anything, and I imagine the allure of Trump, who again, promises "something different" gave them a potential "out" from rising costs. You talk to me about how anyone offering a "simple solution" is a fool or an extremist, but you are also vastly oversimplifying things (both the US election, US democracy as a whole, and Israel).

"But whatever the right or wrong of 1947 was it was 80 years ago." OK. Let's drop the past and look at the present. It makes sense to think that Israeli Jews have a right to live where they are born, sure. Simple, straightforward morality. Do the Palestinian people have that same right? Amnesty International posits that the state of Israel is committing the crime of apartheid against Palestinians living in Israel and in the occupied territories.

Here's another for you.

The Jerusalem-based nonprofit, B'Tselem, outlines how the Israeli government demolishes the houses of Palestinians suspected of committing crimes (or, what is much more common, suspected of being *related* to Palestinians suspected of committing crimes) as a form of "collective punishment," forcing those Palestinians to relocate. If the US government did this to its black and/or Hispanic citizens, how would you feel?

Human Rights Watch put out a report citing several people who have held high ranking positions in the Israel government, who admit to an apartheid state created by Israel and used against the Palestinian people.

The Israeli government segregates Palestinians based on race, blocks aid from going into Gaza, and bombs people indiscriminately.

The first link I share in this reply, from Amnesty International, has this to say on the de jure discrimination against Palestinians in Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories:

Israel denies Palestinian citizens their rights to equal nationality and status, while Palestinians in the OPT face severe restrictions on freedom of movement. Israel also restricts Palestinians’ rights to family unification in a profoundly discriminatory manner: for example, Palestinians from the OPT cannot gain residency or citizenship through marriage, which Jewish Israelis can.

So there is clear discrimination against one type of person, but not against another.

We can talk about the war crimes Israel committed during Operation Cast Lead during the 2006 "Gaza War," the war crimes committed by Israel during the invasion of Lebanon, or the war crimes committed by Israel during the Six Day War. Most moral army in the world, folks! Clearly nothing has happened since 1947; the Palestinians, who are all apparently to blame for anything Hamas does, though I doubt you'd think that all Israeli Jews are to blame for the extreme actions of it's government and "Defense" Force," (but hey "it's the only democracy in the middle east, and since majority rules in a democracy according to you, I guess the majority of Israeli Jews love committing genocide! Somehow I doubt this) just need to keep their heads down and believe in peace and order (not complaining while the Israeli government displaces, starves, and murders them.)

Change, or go fuck yourself.

was watching this video the other day and Ilan Pappe makes a pretty good point, where the reason why Israel doesn't have a major left wing (and if it did at one point, it definitely doesn't anymore) is because people can see through the logical fallacy of "progressive settler colonialist genocide" and I feel like the same thing is happening with the Democratic Party in the US, where you can't be the party of social equality and violent imperialism at the same time without becoming a walking contradiction, and this is probably why a lot of leftists get filtered out at the lower levels of the party while the leadership remains staunchly conservative in everything other than slogan

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

There are some heavy anti parallels between Daenerys Targaryen and Joffrey Baratheon/Cersei Lannister as monarchs in the way they treat Ser Barristan Selmy.

Joffrey dismisses Barristan Selmy from the Kingsguard because he needed someone to blame for his father's (Robert's) death. Of course, Joffrey is in reality his mother's puppet King, who considers dismissing Ser Barristan Selmy a great decision, as it would clear the way for Jaime to become the commander of the Kingsguard and give his a seat on the Small Council ( and Lannisters are all for nepotism in the way they run things). Plus, with Ser Barristan Selmy gone, Joffrey could make his personal guard Sandor, a member of the Kingsguard, something that Cersei also considered a winning situation.

Cersei sighed. "Joff wanted someone to blame for Robert's death. Varys suggested Ser Barristan. Why not? It gave Jaime command of the Kingsguard and a seat on the small council, and allowed Joff to throw a bone to his dog. He is very fond of Sandor Clegane. We were prepared to offer Selmy some land and a towerhouse, more than the useless old fool deserved."

Tyrion I, ACOK

The above passage not only reveals that Joffrey is his mother's puppet King but also that Cersei isn't the most clever person when it comes to ruling. Not only she fell for Varys' plan but she is also a very bad judge of other people. She considers Barristan Selmy an "useless old fool" when he's a great fighter and an asset due to his experience and strength for any ruler to have by their side. She also considers a great exchange to have Sandor in Barristan Selmy's place and we saw how that worked for the Lannisters at the end of ACOK.

Another passage on this specific incident that shows Cersei's myopic way of thinking:

"Ser Barristan was the Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard," Tyrion reminded her pointedly. "He and Jaime are the only survivors of Aerys Targaryen's seven. The smallfolk talk of him in the same way they talk of Serwyn of the Mirror Shield and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. What do you imagine they'll think when they see Barristan the Bold riding beside Robb Stark or Stannis Baratheon?"

Cersei glanced away. "I had not considered that.

Tyrion I, ACOK

Let's compare it with Daenerys, who finds out that Ser Barristan Selmy was lying to her about his identity. What is more, she realises that the man she trusted as her advisor was serving Robert Baratheon for years. Ser Jorah, in a move that closely reflects Varys' manipulation of Cersei/Joffrey, offers to kill Barristan Selmy for Daenerys. But Dany, needs to first listen Barristan's story before she decides what she'll do with him:

"Why are you here?" Dany demanded of him. "If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?" He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar's memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood aside . . . "I want the whole truth now, on your honor as a knight. Are you the Usurper's man, or mine?"

"Yours, if you will have me." Ser Barristan had tears in his eyes. "I took Robert's pardon, aye. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. I might be serving in King's Landing still if the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside, it shames me to admit. But when he took the cloak that the White Bull had draped about my shoulders, and sent men to kill me that selfsame day, it was as though he'd ripped a caul off my eyes. That was when I knew I must find my true king, and die in his service—"

"I can grant that wish," Ser Jorah said darkly.

"Quiet," said Dany. "I'll hear him out."

Daenerys V, ASOS

Daenerys, unlike Cersei, won't allow any advisor of hers to cloud her judgement. She knew beforehand that Ser Jorah was antagonistic towards Ser Barristan so even if she doesn't fully know the reason yet ( the revelation that Jorah was a traitor happens right after that passage) she won't allow him to interfere while she gets Barristan's confession.

Of course, after she finds out that not only one but two close advisors of hers have betrayed her she has a strong reaction. It's only natural for her to do so. And yet, despite that antis always accuse her of being merciless, she shows mercy while dealing with them. Another ruler would execute them both for treason and no one would bat an eye. In fact, everyone would say that their action was justified while treating with two traitors. But Dany admits on her inner monologue that she can't do that:

Go, go away forever, both of you, the next time I see your faces I'll have your traitors' heads off. She could not say the words, though. They betrayed me. But they saved me. But they lied. "You go . . ." My bear, my fierce strong bear, what will I do without him? And the old man, my brother's friend. "You go . . . go . . ." Where?

And then she knew.

Daenerys V, ASOS

When they both return successful from their mission to help the capturing of the city of Mereen, it's time for her to decide what she'll do with each of them.

Even while she has every right to be angry with them - and she is- she is still fair towards them and admits twice that they helped her to win Mereen.

Before she makes her decision, she opts to listen to Barristan's story once again, to understand better the reasons why he acted the way he did. It's a good move for a leader because someone who leads needs to know all the facts in order to make a fair judgement on someone. And that's what Dany does.

Barristan doesn't sugarcoat his opinion. He tells her that he considered Robert a good man and that's why he followed him instead of Viserys who he thought to be unfit to rule. He even tells Dany that he lied about his identity because he wanted to make sure she was - unlike her father and brother Viserys- fit to rule before he pledged his sword to her.

Once again, another ruler would be offended by the knight's words. He insulted her dead relatives by calling them unworthy to rule,which are true facts but how many rulers or even mere noble do you know besides Dany that would accept hard truths about their families? And then he proceed to tell her that he didn't automatically choose to follow her because she's the rightful ruler - remember both Dany and Barristan live in a world where they believe in ruling by birthright- but first he had to test her abilities to rule. And Dany was okay with that! How many rulers or again mere nobles do you know that would be okay with someone questioning their birthright and telling them that they need to prove their worth before they claim it? I really believe that as a fandom we don't give Dany the recognition she deserves for being more humble than most while dealing with these subjects.

Daenerys decides to allow Ser Barristan Selmy to remain by her side and that shows her political genius - which again is hardly recognised in the asoiaf fandom. She set aside her hurt pride by the knight's words and saw the bigger picture: someone who decided to follow her not simply because of her birthright but because he considers her a component leader is gonna be forever loyal to her. And Barristan Selmy is an asset for a ruler to have by their side, something that Tyrion had pointed out on his own chapter while he was dealing with the knight's dismissal by his nephew/sister.

And Dany made the right decision because we can see how much loyal Ser Barristan is to her on the fifth book of the series. He remains loyal to her even after Dany goes missing towards to the end of the book.

[spinchip]

Will any of the fights be different than in canon? ESPECIALLY since Zane and Nya are now competing,,,, do you have any ideas for that? Is the Jay-Cole fight still gonna be a thing, and if so, how will it manifest? (I imagine it would be similar to canon except w/o all the initial fighting. But the lack of Zane in the dungeon completely removes the core of Cole's subplot while he's down there, even if it does eventually become a general "ok lets figure out how to free everyone" thing. I could also see them BOTH being sent down there,, Chen WAS trying to do that when he saw that neither of them were willing to win ("so both of you will lose" etc. etc.)... And the Jay and Cole here are different from canon in that they're much more ride-or-die w/ eachother, so to speak, given that they have no one else.)

Pixal is sort of filling in for Nya's role this season, right? How does everyone react to.. yknow... android (THE WORD NINDROID DOESN'T EXIST IN THIS UNIVERSE EITHER.... our whimsy.... gone....) or does she stay out of sight entirely (or never get her cover blown? Does she even do the disguise thing that Nya does?),,, My main question is, does Zane see her as an android and if so, how does he react...

Karlof is out on the Jade blade section of the tournament so Nya essentially takes his spot on the bracket. i thiiink that makes it evenly balanced since Zane doesn't participate. the Jay-Cole fight still happens (they're both really upset they're fighting each other) but they give it their all and Cole eventually throws the match because of Zane lol. Lloyd wins all his fights 1) because he's genuinely a fantastic ninja and he knows spinjitzu and 2) because most of them will hold back because they're fighting a literal child lol.

Zane never officially competes in the tournament!

SO the boatride to chens island in a day and a half long and then, when the arrive, there's at least three days of downtime before the actual tournament begins. this is where we get a lot of character interactions. Cole and Zane form a fast friendship then, Chen gathers all of the contestants for dinner where Zane openly challenges him and hints he knows more than Chen expects. Chen, threatened by this, makes zane... disappear.

but not before Zane catches on to the fact he's in hot water and literally says to Cole, "Come find me." the morning after that dinner, Chen regretfully announces that Zane has a family emergency and had to take their only boat back to land late last night... so everyone is effectively stranded for at least three days on the island... and zane is no longer competing. Cole realizes something fishy is going on and when he loses to Jay, he looks for Zane down in the dungeon.

Pixal IS filling in for Nyas role and she absolutely does not hide her nature. she monitors chens palace for a while, gathering intel. She ends up being pestered by a falcon that just wont leave her alone >:[ finally, She sneaks into clouses room and steals the spell page during a time when he shouldn't be there fort a while. Clouse catches her in the act and she tries to run but she's caught. Falcon swoops down and tries to grab the spell page but she tries to hide it, suspicious of the bird being under clouses control before Falcon reveals his robotic nature and attacks the members of chens cult surrounding her. reassured he's not clouse or chens pet, she gives him the page before she's captured and he disappears out into the forest around the island.

pixal is brought to the dungeon and thrown in a cell. she breaks out because she's awesome. eventually she finds cole and the others and agrees to help him hunt down Zane which they do!!

i would say everyone is visibly weirded out and freaked out by her android nature, but she doesn't let it bother her. she sees her existence as a point of major pride. Zane doesn't outwardly react to her appearance, seemingly neutral on it.

Pixal, with pride: i am the worlds first android. i am the most advanced technological being on ninjago!

zane, thinking: oh she is going to be very mad

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 24

Ch. 24 | Ao3

Thanks as always to @witch-and-her-witcher and @popjunkie42 for being the best beta readers and loves of my life!

[TW for violence, blood]

All morning, Feyre had known the day of her task was upon them. 

She wasn’t sure how, something in the air or her bones, maybe. Some sort of knowing that this might be her last day alive. Of course, every day here had brought some semblance of that since she’d arrived, but today, it felt palpable– something she could nearly reach out and touch. Her mortality was oozing through her veins, pushing slowly against the magic within her as though every piece of her was restless and fighting amongst themselves.

Rhys seemed to know it, too. He’d awoken with his hands in her hair, then dipped wordlessly beneath the covers to languidly taste her again. He took his time with her, as though he was savoring every single minute. Feyre was all sighs and gentle scraping of her nails down his scalp and spine, and Rhys dragged her pleasure out as long as possible, as though it might be the last time he would. 

It could be. 

She wound her fingers through his hair, both to ride out the sensations and also to touch him, to run her hands along his neck, his ears, memorizing every detail of what he felt like. If she were to die, she would remember these things as she went. The feel of him this close, the gentle, tender touches that he placed reverently on her skin, even as he pushed their passion to the forefront. 

Without words, she returned his actions, intentionally and slowly, hanging onto every moment. She relished the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips and lips. She memorized the feel of his body beneath hers, the quiet sounds he made as he let himself go to the ways she made him feel. She would hold on to these memories and all their others until she was ash in the wind. 

After, they lay together, their bodies sated but their hearts still wanting and waiting and pulsing in time with each other. She could feel his heart beating with hers, not from where she lay her head on his chest, but within her own. Every beat echoed against his, sounding back and forth like the passing of life between them. They thrummed like a rhythm, beat like a song. Maybe even when she was gone, his heart might still beat for them both. 

It’s tonight. 

He knew. He put his fingers beneath her chin and gently pressed her face upwards to kiss him deep and slow. He kissed her like they had all the time in the world, like it wasn’t ticking down around them. 

They’d said the words time and time again. Promises had been made, hearts sworn, and there was nothing left to do now but hold each other close, hoping that with enough pressure they might permanently fuse, their bodies refusing to let go with the same adamance as their hearts. He had asked once since their first day under the mountain about the bargain, but all Feyre could do was shake her head, her eyes burning with tears. She hadn’t figured out what had gone wrong, and she had accepted she probably never would. The magic was still binding her from speaking, so instead she spoke the words I love you over and over so that, even after she was gone, he’d never forget the sound. 

They had made their vows, even without a priestess, without a ceremony, but those promises meant everything. 

Unbreakable vows, both spoken and soundless.

The words echoed in Feyre’s mind. The answer to the riddle hadn’t been love, and neither had her bargain, in the end. But the words still rang true for Feyre. Perhaps marriage or promises or friendships or family might work, but Feyre wasn’t willing to hang the freedom of everyone under the mountain on her guessing at a riddle. Like Calla, it would be her last ditch effort if all else failed. She hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.

Their time was destined to come to an end, and Rhys was summoned out by the guards to attend early with the other High Lords. They were to be the only attendees at dinner tonight, some sort of sick celebration before the final task that Amarantha wasn’t even trying to hide. Feyre was sure that was intentional, a bit of gloating, a bit of torture for Feyre as she waited, knowing what was to come. 

Rhys had kissed her again, pouring every bit of emotion into it, his hands on her face like he never wanted to let go. She’d pushed every thought and feeling down that bridge between them, solid and unfailing as ever, and she felt it when he sighed into her mouth. 

“I love you. I just want to say it out loud one more time.” Feyre wanted to look into his eyes and hear the words around them. 

“No goodbyes.” He kissed her again, the galaxies of his pretty eyes lined with silver. “No goodbyes, Feyre. You can do this, and I will see you after.” She nodded, the tears gathering, their fingers touching until the last possible moment when they had to drop hands. Once he’d gone, she whispered her goodbyes into the empty air instead. 

He’d made sure to leave her dinner, but her stomach roiled at the thought of food. She paced, she stretched, she meditated– anything to prepare her mind and body for the onslaught to come. Would it be physical? Another monster to chase her into the jaws of death? Or would it be logical? A puzzle she could struggle with, this time with no one left to help. 

She breathed deeply, remembering Rhys’s mindset on it all. What was coming was coming regardless of how she worried or paced. She bathed and picked at the food and tea, stuffing down a few bites. She wouldn’t be dressed in court attire tonight, and Rhys had left out a simple but soft tunic and pants for her, a leather tie to pull back her hair the way she liked. Her heart already ached with the absence of him, but she let it fuel her. Amarantha had done unspeakable things to him, the love of her life, and she planned to continue doing so long after Feyre was dead and buried in the ground. It gave Feyre incentive to fight, to watch Amarantha die in the cruelest ways imaginable. She wanted Amarantha’s blood warm and blooming across her skin as she pulled out her still-beating, black heart. She wanted to watch as the light left her horrid eyes. Feyre wanted to dance in a pool of her blood. Feyre would fight until her very last breath if it meant Rhys would never be touched by that horror again. The thought of it alone made her want to rip the wagging tongue from Amarantha’s throat herself.

When the knock came at last, she took a deep breath before answering, steeling herself. She would not make herself look afraid today. Today, she would be brave, and she would fight. 

The guards led her down the familiar path to court, one she could walk in her dreams now. At least, her nightmares. The magic of the room rippled over her as she entered, the coppery smell of it already in her nose. What magic was being used here so strongly she could already sense it? 

She reached out to Rhys, but felt him distant, closed off to her and barely recognizable. The panic leapt into her throat.

Of course. Amarantha had already cloaked her in the spell. The feeling of magic as she’d entered had been the barrier. Feyre’s heart sank. It wasn’t the help she worried about as much as his silence. It was the inability to say goodbye if things went wrong. She still had so much to say to him. 

She should have insisted she say the words. Should have left him a note in case it all went wrong. Should have, should have…

She lifted her chin. She would say them when she won. 

The crowds parted as she entered, flanked on each side by a guard as she made her way through the crowded room to the dais. It was silent as a tomb, none of the revelry she was so used to here in this macabre, beautiful prison. The fae did not speak, and money did not exchange hands. But as she passed, some kissed their fingers and held their hands out to her. A farewell to the dead, a good wish for the martyr. Their fates rested on her shoulders, too– their last chance at freedom. There was hope in their eyes; there was reverence. She wasn’t sure, after what she’d done, that she deserved it. But she intended to do her best to fight for them anyway, for all of them. She kept her shoulders squared and her head high as she neared the throne, Amarantha poised above them all with nothing but malice and intrigue in her eyes. 

Feyre wanted to kill her. 

Her hands twitched at her sides as she stopped in front of the dais. Tamlin sat by Amarantha’s side once again, back to looking like she was nothing at all to him. It didn’t hurt her anymore, but it did confuse her. He’d openly sat forward at the task with Calla; he’d shown interest. Everyone with eyes could have seen him. What could possibly have changed? She looked away from his expression to find Lucien or Rhys in the crowd, but the angle of those surrounding her made it impossible to see. 

“Hello, Feyre.” Feyre hated her name on Amarantha’s tongue– hated that Calla had given it to her so freely. The humans had warnings about the fae learning your name, and hearing hers tumble from Amarantha’s blood stained lips, she could understand why. Feyre fought the urge to curl her lip, keeping her face neutral but making a point to meet Amarantha’s eyes. “It’s time for your last task. I do hope you’re as excited as I am.”

Feyre didn’t speak, just kept her eyes trained on Amarantha. She rose to the challenge, the disrespect in the gaze raising her hackles, though she fought to remain calm. “I don’t suppose you’ve figured out sweet Calla’s riddle, have you?” She pretended to pout, then smiled. “Unfortunate. It was such a lovely answer.” 

She thought about Rhys, then, about all the lives that hung in the balance. She was ready, as ready as she could be.

“Any last words, my dear?” 

Feyre had plenty, but she chose them carefully. 

“I am not here out of obligation. I am here for love. You speak of our sordid, fickle human hearts, but you don’t know anything about the depths of my love. I may die here today, but if I die, I went knowing I did it all for those I care about. I don’t know that you’ve ever been able to say the same for yourself.” Feyre was taking a risk, a calculated taunt, but she needed the words to be in the ears of the people. She needed the final entreaty to ensure they were more likely to take her side if push came to shove. She felt her own anger, the residual exhaustion and hate and grief, all bubbling within her. Damn the consequences now. 

Amarantha snarled at her words, drawing back in the seat but leaving her scarlet claws digging into the armrests. “We’ll see.” The words were spit with narrowed eyes, but the smile that curved across her face was grotesque in its grandeur. Feyre worried that smile meant Amarantha had one last trick up her sleeve, and she braced herself for it. 

She still hadn’t seen Lucien or Rhys, but she could feel their presence there, she knew they were watching. Everyone’s eyes were on her as the great doors to the room opened again and the guards dragged in three figures, bound at the ankles and faces covered in burlap. From their statures, it seemed to be two females and a male, though the clothes were so baggy and ragged that it was hard to tell. They moved their heads around as though trying to place where they were without sight, their moves jerky and frantic beneath their hoods. One stumbled, and the guard ripped them back up roughly as they yelped behind what sounded like a gag. Feyre’s chest ached. Would this be another fight to the death? She wasn’t sure she had it in her to kill anyone else, despite what was on the line, unless it was Amarantha herself.

The guards dropped the figures at the foot of the dais, the prisoners' knees hitting the marble painfully hard. Feyre could tell the one in the middle was sobbing, their shoulders shaking violently as they kneeled, covered head bowed as though in defeat. 

What was this?

In another moment, a lacquered, shining wooden box was thrust into Feyre’s hands by a guard standing by. 

“Oh, do open it, dear. I love gifts,” Amarantha cooed from her throne. Nausea was rising in Feyre’s throat, the confusion over what was happening forming a dense stone in her stomach. Where was Rhys? She pushed out with her mind again, finding his presence there but still distant and unreachable. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the latch, the box light in her hands and yet feeling like the weight of the world. As she opened it, she understood why. 

In the box sat two sharp daggers, one glinting in the golden lights of the room, and the other shining dully with an expert wood polish. 

One iron, one ash. 

One for humans, one for fae. Her eyes shot back to the figures on the floor, her breathing accelerating in her chest. 

Amarantha drawled as though she were reading a to do list, and not doling out a final judgment. “Stab each of these unfortunate souls in the heart. They’ve done nothing wrong, of course. But that’s a judgment for you to mete out.” Her smile was filled with violent joy as she spoke the words. “Will your tender human heart kill three for the lives of many? You certainly didn’t seem to have a problem killing your own friend. So weigh them, Feyre– their lives, your options.” She sat forward in her throne, eyes glittering. “You can, of course, always spare them. It’ll cost you your life, unfortunately, but a bargain’s a bargain.” She whispered the last bit with such vitriol that Feyre felt it cut as acutely as if she’d used knives. Her heart was pounding from her chest, her temples beading sweat as she realized what Amarantha intended. 

Two humans and a fae, dead at her own hands for everyone’s freedom. For her freedom. The math was obvious, the answer obvious, but there would be no winning here. 

Three innocents for a future. Not just for her, but for Rhys and Lucien and Tamlin and Helion and Lucien’s mother and everyone here.

A future.  

But Calla’s face swam in her mind, the betrayal in her hollow eyes as Feyre’s knife bobbed in her throat. Could Feyre do it again? Could she do it three more times? Could she hold all four souls on her conscience forever? 

Could she hold the souls of everyone else she’d be forsaking if she didn’t?

She supposed she would be dead, at least. But everyone else would still be suffering here. 

She wanted to cry. Was it worth it? The balance?

Would she ever forgive herself?

She stepped forward, grabbing the daggers in her hands and dropping the box. 

She would do this for them. For everyone. And she would suffer the consequences later, but there could be no later if she did not make this sacrifice. Her guilt would be her price to pay, her penance, but everyone would be free. 

Three lives and her soul in exchange for the lives of thousands. She raised the dagger. 

“Wait!” The trill of Amarantha’s voice darted out over the crowd. “Wait, wait, wait.” Everyone seemed to let loose a collective breath. “We must remove the hood first, of course. Guards?” Feyre thought, then, she might actually be sick. She would have to look these people in the eyes as she killed them.

They had lives, families, too. They might have a loved one, a husband or wife, a mate, a father, a mother, sisters, brothers. She imagined the lives flashing before their eyes as the guard moved to lift the hood. Who was she to make this call? Who was she to decide their fate?

Do it, Feyre. Just do it. For Rhys. 

She nodded her resolve and blinked away the tears as best she could while the guard stepped forward, ripping the hood off in one motion and tearing a hole straight through Feyre in the process. 

There, on the floor in front of her, knelt Nesta, her steely eyes filled with horror and rage and fear. 

Feyre did vomit then, the reaction entirely out of her control and she turned and spit bile onto the floor. Her vision was swimming, the roaring in her ears almost canceling all other noise entirely. 

“No,” she whispered as she turned back, taking in Nesta’s messy blonde braid, her tear-streaked face. She had a gag in her mouth that she’d soaked through, and her teeth clamped over it like a frightened animal fighting for their life. “Nesta…” Feyre moaned quietly, the word rocking through her and tearing her to shreds. 

“Oh? Someone you know?” Amarantha’s voice was filled with pep and joy, and as Feyre turned with narrowed eyes, she did snarl. “Ooh, excellent. What a small world!” Her voice dripped in sarcasm, and Feyre ached to sink her own teeth into Amarantha’s neck. 

The panic was overwhelming her, cutting even through the rage to sit on her chest like a weight. She couldn’t kill her sister, no matter the odds. If she could only talk to Rhys, if she could–

But something about Nesta caught her eye. The likeness was remarkable, down to the stubborn hate in her expression that Nesta got when she dug her feet in about something. Feyre knew that look, had grown up with that look. She could see that look in her sleep, could replicate it on canvas if she tried. It was so entirely Nesta. 

And yet, this was not. 

The edges of her crinkled, the air around her glowing strangely in Feyre’s periphery. She searched frantically, her eyes scouring every part of Nesta as she pulled from within. 

And the glamour peeled back. 

Feyre could see the guard beneath the glamour, the ones with the red skin and sunken eyes that had watched the dungeons. The guards like the one that Rhys had misted in the very room for daring to call her a whore. They were Amarantha’s personal guard, and they had been glamoured to look like her sister. It seemed the magic block did not apply to Amarantha.

“Come now, Feyre. Make your choice,” Amarantha called over her head. 

But Feyre had no choice to make. 

Feyre shoved the knife into the guard’s chest, twisting it slightly at the last minute as she remembered their treatment of Calla. Taking innocent lives would destroy what was left of Feyre’s soul, but no part of these individuals remained innocent, and she had no qualms about sending a knife through their hearts and watching them bleed. When she turned, even Amarantha couldn’t hide the shock on her face as she took in Feyre’s arms soaked and dripping in blood. She prayed she had gotten it right.

Feyre knew that when Amarantha recovered, she would use this against her, another trick to prove humans were incapable of love. She would highlight for them how Feyre would so easily stab her own sister for her personal gain, and it would prove Amarantha’s point. But the crowd didn’t look horrified, they looked hopeful. 

Feyre was already moving on to the next figure. She knew who would be beneath the bag before it was ripped off of the golden curls. She forced herself to react, to gasp and squeeze out a few tears as she beheld the sobbing figure of Elain, and the guard beneath. Feyre turned and pretended to retch again, letting her back arch and the sobs bread through while the crowd watched on. If Amarantha could use this to her advantage, then Feyre could too. 

Look how the human would put the fae before her own family. Look what she is willing to sacrifice for the good of many. 

She could only hope they would forgive her once the truth came out. She looked back to the figment of Elain. They’d captured the big, brown doe eyes so perfectly, the freckles across her nose that her long eyelashes swept against when she blinked nearly identical. Feyre was sure that if she spoke, the voice would send shivers down her spine at the likeness. Feyre noted the same uncanny mannerisms as the Elain sobbed, the smell of honey and cinnamon even permeating the air. The quality of the glamour was unreal, and even though she knew it wasn’t really Elain, Feyre’s hands shook while she shoved the iron through her sister's chest, watching the blood burble down her sternum and stain the fabric of her dress as she fell. 

She felt no remorse about the guards, but felt ill as she took in what looked remarkably like the lifeless bodies of her sisters on the floor. 

Then the reality of it hit her. 

The likeness was remarkable because Amarantha knew what her sisters looked like. She conjured the likeness of them, because she could conjure the likeness of them. The understanding was a punch to her lungs. These were not her sisters, but Amarantha had eyes on them. She knew what they looked like. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. 

She was chanting the word like a mantra, a command. Her throat closed as she swallowed the tears and panic. She wanted Rhys— needed Rhys to tell her what this meant, what to do. 

“See how easily she kills the ones she loves? See the fickle, flippant human heart?” But Feyre was fighting the rising vomit again. Where were her sisters now? 

Think this through, Feyre. Take a breath. 

Calm. Calm. Calm. 

She tried to summon Rhys’s voice in her head, tried to imagine how he would reason with her if he was here. She sighed, focusing, as though his low baritone might swim around her consciousness at any moment. 

Rhys would tell her that if Amarantha had her sisters, they would be here. If she’d had full access, her sisters would be the ones dead on the floor, not just their image. Feyre fought for breath, the air gasping in and out of her as she placed her hands on her knees. Rhys would remind her that Amarantha was true evil, and that if she’d had the ability to get her sisters in her clutches, she would delight in nothing more than watching Feyre be forced to decide whether or not to kill them.

These were not her sisters, and they easily could be. For now, they were safe. 

Thanks, Rhys, she spoke in her head to no one. She felt him there even when he wasn’t, that presence of him living within her through all reason, through all obstacles and sense.

She stood and stepped to the last figure. Would this be her father? There had been a knife meant for a fae, but who else would they bother to glamour that she cared enough about? Lucien would die with her anyway, and Tamlin sat on the dais. 

The thought flitted across her mind like the dragging of a knife. 

Rhys.

She had felt him earlier. Far away and distant, but he hadn’t seemed distressed. The magic was blocked, but the smallest hints of it had crept through. 

It couldn’t be him. The guard ripped the hood off just in time, considering Feyre was about to do it herself. 

The blonde hair tumbled out of it as emerald eyes met hers through a gilded mask. His expression was wild as he fought against the gag in his mouth. Feyre had been expecting tendrils of inky black night, pleading yet forgiving violet eyes. She gasped when her mind caught up, the shock of it causing her to stumble back.

Feyre searched to tear the glamour away. And found nothing. 

There was no glamour. 

Before her, kneeling on the ground, was Tamlin. 

She whirled to look at Amarantha and the chair beside her. Where Tamlin had been, now sat the attor, grinning ear to ear, his rotted fangs on display while Amarantha smiled and tipped her head at Feyre.

She turned back. It was truly Tamlin in front of her. There were no glamours here, only Tamlin on his knees, his life about to end at the tip of her ash dagger. He breathed deeply in, then exhaled, his eyes begging her, pleading. Not for her to not do it, but for her to end it quickly. 

At all costs. 

His words from the night before rang through her mind, rattling and catching. It had been a goodbye. He had known yesterday. He’d known and been bound, Amarantha’s last special form of torture. Had she known they’d met and spoken? Had she set him up to make it hurt one final time?

He’d all but given her permission to kill him. Permission and forgiveness. 

The sob left her before she could strangle it back, her hand coming up to her mouth in shock. She felt something hot dripping onto her arm, and realized they were tears. She was crying. 

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “Gods, Tamlin. I’m sorry.” 

He closed his eyes, as though each word battered him. 

At all costs, he had said. But the price was too high. She nearly begged him to give her something else, anything else, but in his eyes all she found was desperation and forgiveness. 

Don’t forget what I said, Feyre, a long time ago in Spring about falling in love.

He had said that before when they spoke. He’d said it again, too, as he left. 

Feyre wracked her memory as she beheld him in front of her, ready to have the knife shoved into his chest. Expecting it. Accepting it. 

She remembered the porch nights, the setting sun and the sounds of Spring around them. Remembered their laughter and their jokes, their banter and their jibes. She remembered what it felt like as she eased into their companionship, that shock of understanding what it felt like to be a part of a family she’d helped build. To belong. 

“Tamlin, do you even want to fall in love?”

“Of course I do. Who doesn't want that? But not like this.” 

Lucien raised his bottle to him. “Love is pain, my dear friend.”

Tamlin forced a chuckle. “Yes, yes, Lucien. My heart of stone and I are well versed in your feelings on love.” 

She remembered. And it hadn’t been the only time. 

“Do you love her, Tam?” 

“No,” he said finally. “I could, one day, maybe. I care for her, even when she grates against my nerves. But no. Heart of stone, remember?” He thunked a broad hand over his chest, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before it disappeared. 

Feyre nearly gasped, pulling back at the last moment, but Tamlin had seen the change in her, his eyes glowing as he beseeched her to remember, to act. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. His heart was made of stone. It wasn’t a figure of speech, it wasn’t self deprecating. Amarantha had literally turned his heart to stone. 

Just like with the glamours of her sisters, she thought around it. Amarantha wanted Tamlin, more than anything. It was the entire reason they were all here. She wouldn’t risk him just to kill Feyre. Amarantha was ancient and clever, and she did not put all her hope on humans or their actions.

Which meant she knew that, even if Feyre did it, it would not kill him.

Do it, his expression said, the slightest nod back at her. Please. 

His eyes begged. 

And Feyre shoved the ash dagger straight into his chest.

Taglist: Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog @witch-and-her-witcher @yeonalie

[swagging-back-to]

first thing my housemate does when she gets back is literally scream at me because i didn't get any of her calls -- because i don't have an activated phone --- while i was driving back from putting my mouse to sleep.

and then continue to slam doors

[big-ole-katydid]

I may be a flirt but don’t let that distract from the fact that I’m SUCH a wife guy

[evansbby]

I can’t remember exactly what happened with Stassi and Ariana over her brother but from what I remember, they go out to dinner and there is a little argument Ariana invalidates Stassi feelings and tries to make her feel bad for being uncomfortable (gross) and then Ariana leaves the restaurant but I can’t remember what else happened after?? It definitely not worth quitting the show because it was a super big focal point this season and it only mentioned in like maybe a couple scenes briefly outside of the dinner?? But it is brought up at the reunion by Billy but again it’s not a super long segment.

-🫧

See I just can’t stand watching that stuff where someone tells a girl whether she should feel uncomfortable or not! And Stassi always ends up backing down bc she knows she’ll get the villain edit and hate if she doesn’t! I hate how Ariana has made it her JOB to hate Stassi this season. Like Stassi never talks badly about Ariana behind her back but Ariana bitches about Stassi all the time! I try to like Ariana so bad but she’s just so irritating! I like it when all the girls get along but Ariana and Scheana are THE most opposite of girl’s girls. And i just cannot watch Tom Sandoval be awful to Stassi for no reason anymore. Like she’s so nice to him whenever they talk and all he does is talk shit about her??? Literally without Tom Sandoval, Ariana would be such a much better person.

Also from the clips I’ve seen on tiktok of the latest season, who is firmly on Ariana’s side after Scandoval?? That’s right… KATIE. Aka Stassi’s bff aka the true girl’s girl. Ariana spent all her time on the show trying to be one of the guys just to end up being betrayed by them and being comforted by one of the girls who she always scorned as being a Stassi follower.

I’m gonna continue watching but I’m gonna skip all the scenes where they’re rude to Stass over this Jeremy bs. Bc if there’s no vindication here (aka them all seeing that Stassi was right in the end) then I don’t wanna watch it.

Bc what this show has taught me is that it aired way before its time. If these old seasons were airing now, guaranteed Stassi would be the fan favourite like Gen Z would LOVE Stassi she is literally so good. Idk but I’m deffo gonna stop watching after season 8 as that is her last season.

[reineyday]

imagining a billy & max role reversal au where billy is max's feral little brother who only loves one (1) person and it is his older sister who stepped in when no one else would

[nomaishuttle]

just realized ice never shown you guys angel... Isnt she the prettiest girl youve ever seen.

[wizardnuke]

YALL EVER THINK ABOUT BEAU.I SURE DO.

[theresascove]

you know how I love it when you ride on me ₊ ⊹

ellie williams x f!reader

Ellie fucks you in the locker room showers while her teammate is chatting to her in a nearby shower

tw: not proofread, FILTHY MESSY SMUT, college soccer player!ellie, strap sucking (e receiving), dom/top!ellie, sub/bottom!reader, strap in v (r receiving), degrading, exhibition, choking, fingering (r receiving), consensual secret fuck buddy relationship, locker room shower sex, Ellie can pull on r’s hair, hinted at containing fucking but e receives head

wc ✎ 1.8k • fic based off of chase atlantic’s song die for me

The utter of her name causes your heart to race. The nerves that overtake you whenever you hear, “Ellie Williams,” make you feel paranoid at times. Nobody would know, there’s no way—and yet you still feel watched at times. Like when people look at you, your mind whispers on about how they know. Somehow they know you slept with Ellie Williams.

In a way, she was considered the Caitlin Clark of your college’s soccer team. Not known around the country, but she’s known within your state—especially within your college campus.

And somehow, you ended up in her bed.

Your friend had offered to go to the soccer game that was happening on campus, suggesting that it be a nice way to spend the day rather than do nothing. These plans were made a while ago, since then things have changed. So now here you stand in line beside her, heart racing yet again from the knowledge of possibly seeing her again.

“You know,” your friend starts, eyes locked on the huge screen displaying advertisements in the entrance, “I never thought I’d go to any of the games our college offers.”

“Yeah me neither.”

She scans her ticket before you, free admission since you’re both students, “I know we’re on the grass but it’s not that bad.”

She walks around, guiding you through the food stand so she could grab a drink. It’s decently crowded, shoulders bumping yours occasionally. While waiting in line your friend makes a signal in hopes you’d lean closer to listen to her.

“I have to grab something from Casey after the game,” she yells.

“Who’s Casey?”

She points to the screen where the name Casey Spring was written on the board.

“Her.”

You did see her name, but the one that caught your attention was the one just below it. Ellie. Her voice contained to chat in your ear explaining why she had to pick something up from her friend, but your attention was mainly directed towards the auburn girl on the field.

Fuck.

Wasn’t long before you somehow ended up underneath her, trapped under her body while the water ran down. Your clothes got soaked, but even more so with how she was kissing you. How you landed this position was baffling, but the second you two saw each other in the empty shower room—she lost it and you melted into her touch.

“Ellie,” you whisper, humming when she kisses you again—pressing you further back against the shower wall. There was no space between the two of you, bodies sliding on one another.

“Ellie,” you whisper again, this time she’s cursing under her breath and shrugging her jersey off.

Somewhere in the room lied another one of her teammates, the shower running hinting at it. You two were almost caught before she came with the clever idea of shoving the two of you into the shower and turning it on.

You had stood before her, eyes locked for a minute in silence. She couldn’t take it much longer, eyes flicking down to yours before she continued to kiss you just as she had before her friend walked in.

Her friend calls from the other stall, yelling out Ellie’s name. Ellie finishes her kiss with you, not rushing her moment with you just to respond to her.

“Do you have any conditioner I can borrow?”

She mouths at your jaw, “yeah, in my backpack. Front pocket.”

You hear the pitter patter of her teammates feet as she steps near the one you two were hiding in. You gasp when she bites down hard, shooting a hand to cover over your mouth.

Your eyes screamed for her to wait, or at least show down but she didn’t. Her fingers trailed down to cup you, sliding her middle finger through your folds. The feeling in your chest was tight as you did everything to not make a sound. Knowing her friend lied just outside the curtain caused a sensation in you, making you drip onto Ellie’s fingers. She circles your clit before pressing onto it—keeping her finger there and grinding it down.

Your chest rose with the air you sucked in sharply, nails hand digging into her shoulder. She smiled, moving your hand to kiss you again.

“Oh finally found it,” her teammate announces, “thanks.”

Ellie doesn’t reply, too busy focused on making you squirm. Apparently Ellie not responding was the opposite of what her teammate wanted. While you’re getting fingered and kissed breathlessly, her teammate was trying to find ways to chat with Ellie—thinking she was upset that they lost the game.

She didn’t want to talk her feelings out, she wanted to fuck you—just like she was doing now. Enjoying watching how your eyebrows are furrowed and you’re hips are squirming under her pace.

“Ellie hey, just wanted to say that you played really well today.”

She wanted to roll her eyes like how you just did when you came—nails actually making her shoulder bleed. You gasped and she was quick to put her hand over your throat—not choking entirely, just keeping it there to remind you to stay quiet.

“You okay?”

“I’m good,” she responded finally, voice horse.

Ellie tugged the rest of your sopping clothes off, dragging them and leaving them to stay at your feet. She kissed down your body, licking over your nipple and smirking at how sensitive you are.

She reaches her hand back out, grabbing the strap she had lying in the back pocket of her backpack. Your eyes widened, looking suprised but also dumbfounded—confused too. She shrugs, mouthing, “what else do you expect?”

“You sure? I just feel bad. I know how you get in your head about this—“

She takes the pent up annoyance and uses it to tug on your hair—guiding you onto your knees in front of her. Her thumb taps at your jaw, opening you so she can slide her length past your lips.

“I’m fine, Jess—fuck me,” Ellie says, almost groaning at the end there when you look up at her.

She uses the close walls, laying your head back against it so you don’t have anywhere to turn—locking you there so she can fuck your mouth. Your mind shuts off so quickly, eyes glossing over and shutting from the slight water that falls from Ellie’s hair and onto your face.

You circle your hips down onto your heel, using the friction onto your throbbing clit. Though you had just come, Ellie’s known to drive you to heaven multiple times if your last night in bed with her said anything. She had you laid out beneath her as she fucked you from behind, ass stinging from where she slapped you. She had you crying, tears running freely down your cheeks from the way she used you. You couldn’t forget that feeling, you don’t beleive your body will ever be the same since her.

“Do you think you did well? I believe you played nicely. Scored the most goals out of anyone.”

She pushes you further down, bottom lip dropping open in a deep silent moan when tears show in the corner of your eyes. You looked like a slut, slick pooling on your bottom lip.

“Y-yeah, fuck yeah I did,” she says, pulling tightly at your hair.

“There you go, I hear the passion in your voice. You did well.”

She angles your face, pulling out and leaning to kiss you again. You wrap your arms around her shoulders, sliding them from up her thighs and up to her neck. Her body makes its way into the floor, leaned back against the white wet wall. Her fingers grip onto you, holding you steady on her lap.

Little sounds and gasps between you while you kiss. Your hips grind onto her length, sliding it between your legs and shuttering.

“Did you have any actual regrets with the game? Like ways we could’ve done better?”

She thrusts up into you, pulling you flesh down onto her. Her length and size splits you open. Your walls grip onto her tightly, making it a little difficult to thrust into you.

“The team could’ve been rougher,” she says, eyeing you and slapping your thigh. You take it as a hint to take over, using what energy you had to slide on her length. She slides a finger into your mouth, smirking when you lick it from the base to the tip.

“I guess so,” her teammate says, still trying to talk to Ellie and it was obviously frustrating her. Not that she didn’t appreciate it, she just was wanting to focus on you and this was interfering it.

You slide back down in a way that bumps with her clit, making her jolt. She hums from the feeling, and thankfully her friend only took it like Ellie was agreeing with her.

“Els,” you whine, voice so quiet and spoken so close to her ear, “Els, fuck me—please.”

Her tattoo shows in your face as she pushes her wet hair back—looking to you with darkened eyes.

“Ride me better then,” she mouths, her words barely spoken.

You try to, really but you’re sore still from the last time between you two. She can tell, she knows—seeing the way you shake atop of her. She takes pity though, hands sliding onto you to hold you in a way so she can fuck up into you.

There’s a bite mark on her neck from where you bit her to keep silent, but it doesn’t do too much—you still whimper, breath hot against her skin. You’re surprised her friend can’t hear the slapping of your skin, or your moans. There’s a chance she can, but she’s believing it’s just something else.

You come with a cry, teeth biting harder into her neck at a different spot. The pleasure overtakes you, wracking your body.

“Okay well, I’m heading out. Just wanted to say you did well today Ellie.”

“And so did you,” she calls out, eyes staring into yours as she brushes your cheek. Your vision is glossy again, and you’re sure you looked wrecked. Body wet and shivering atop her lap, slip on her strap.

As soon as the door to the showers closes, she’s pulling you close with an aggressive tug, “gonna eat me out now or do I have to guide your dumbass again?”

[lizard-ratt]

This idea got stuck in my head, not to be taken too seriously. If you find any typos, no you didn't <3

Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

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

Steve Harrington knew how to haggle. Raised by the most cutthroat business man in all of the state of Indiana, if not the United States as a whole, he knew the ins and outs of getting the best deal possible. He used this to his advantage a lot more than anyone knew.

The first time he brought out Steven Elias Harrington, son of Richard Jay Harrington was when he first got forced to sign NDAs to keep quiet about everything going on in Hawkins, Indiana. Despite only having shown up at the end, he still had a fat stack of papers to work through.

And he worked through the entire thing, taking his sweet precious time to read the entire thing, word for word. He signed nothing that day, letting the government employees watch as he took notes on every little detail, humming to himself, scoffing, and overall being as annoying about it as possible.

"These are terrible. Do better." He didn't say that exactly, but it was the general consensus as he gave them a verbal dressing down that would make his father proud (and his father was never proud). He made demands for money, for protections, for anything that he could think of. By the end, the government had agreed to provide him with a heaping helping of cash (enough to buy a house and help him live a comfortable life for the next twenty-or-so odd years), government provided medical insurance (complete coverage for the rest of his life), and a full ride scholarship for any college he wanted to go to.

Suffice to say he had rung that towel dry of anything he could ask of it. He knew that those government employees wished nothing but the worst for him, but he was satisfied with what he got, and he happily signed the fifth NDA they provided him with, flourishing his signature with relish.

Then, he became even more wrapped up in the whole thing when Dustin Henderson decided to raise a baby Demogorgon in his basement. A lot happened in those forty-eight hours, but the main one was that he got attached to the little shits, so he told them in no uncertain terms that they were not to sign anything before he looked the paperwork over.

They scoffed, rolled their eyes, but ultimately agreed. It was a very amusing few days, to say the least. The government agents (the same ones as last time) showed up with their giant stacks of paper, and came face to face with Steven Elias Harrington, and he could just see them die a little bit inside. He could practically hear what remained of their souls wither to dust.

And again, he forced them to sit as he read through every NDA, taking notes, scoffing, humming, and overall being a nuisance to them and their time. Then, he got the kids' attentions (as their eyes started to glaze over after minute thirty) and began his process.

The looks of pure awe, too, would be treasured for a very long time as he got their college tuitions paid for, government-provided medical insurance for the rest of their lives, and of course a big fat pile of cash ready for when they would turn seventeen years old. Each of them had enough money lined up for them that they wouldn't have to worry about anything until maybe their late fifties to early sixties if they were bad with their money.

And of course, he got himself another big pile of cash and access to the best lawyers in the United States if he would ever have need of it.

After that, he shouldn't have been surprised when everyone came to him for help post-Battle of Starcourt (dubbed by Dustin, of course). This time, he took two solid weeks pushing and pulling Uncle Sam in this direction and that to make sure everyone got what they needed. (Another fat stack of cash for everyone, legal protection for whatever they'd need it for, and a cover story that made everyone look the best that they possibly could. He also got college payment for Robin, since she wasn't there the first time, as well as the same medical insurance he got everyone else). Those government employees looked at Steve like he was the devil himself.

"You kinda are," Robin told him one day, after Steve recounted the specifics. "I mean, you are bleeding the government dry."

He gave her a grin. "Absolutely, I am."

Then, he and his merry band of misfits saved the world, stopping the Upside Down for good. The same government goons showed up, and instead of doing what they tried to do the previous time, they just came to Steve with all of the NDAs, and asked in the most sarcastically professional voice imaginable, "Are these up to your standers, Mr. Harrington?"

He gave his charming, King Steve smile and told them that he'd read it over. In the hospital room that held Max and Eddie, Steve pulled up a table and allowed everyone to watch as he flipped page after page, noting down the loophole phrases and weak protections, and every single trap meant to put them into a worse-off position and he threw it in the government's faces.

In return, he forced everything his heart could imagine out of them.

Another giant hunk of change for each of them.

Eddie Munson free of all charges, effective immediately

Government-provided medical insurance for Eddie Munson for the rest of his long, long life

A cover story so beautiful, so concrete that it got even the most closed minded to look at Steve's People and call them heroes.

A house for Eddie and his Uncle Wayne

"I hope I never see your face ever again," the man told Steve, forgoing all niceties at that point. "You're going to burn in hell."

"I'll save you both a seat," he told him with his sweetest, most charming smile.

The government agents left, and in their wake, Eddie Munson looked at him like he hung the sun, moon, and stars in the sky.

"Wow," was all the metalhead was able to get out for a while. "Just wow."

Robin glanced between Steve and Eddie, leaned into his side and quietly sang, "The lovers, the dreamers, and me."

Now on AO3

[wheneverfeasible]

Steve’s used to not being loved.

He’d known his parents didn’t love him since he was a young child. He’d known that the girls he casually took on dates and occasionally fucked didn’t love him. He’d known Tommy and Carol didn’t love him like friends were supposed to. They all loved his reputation, sure, but not him. It was easy though because he didn’t love them either.

He’d loved his parents once, a long time ago. Back before they were practically strangers, but that love had been the obligation of biology. He’d thought he loved Tommy and Carol, but it had all been too surface level and focused on popularity.

He had loved Nancy though. He finally found someone he could start to be his true self with and he loved her and he thought she loved him, only…only she didn’t.

He couldn’t blame her. After a while, when the same thing keeps happening, you kind of have to look for the common factor in all those loveless relationships and see what the real issue was. Simply put…

Steve was just unloveable.

Maybe it was his past. Not that he’d actually been a bully or anything, he’d actually shut down a lot of bullying even among his then-friends and teammates, but he had been kind of self-absorbed. Or maybe it was just the fact that he wasn’t as smart as the people he found himself surrounded by. Maybe it was just the fact that he wasn’t anything special, not at the end of the day.

Except he could take a punch.

And slowly, he found people that did love him. The other kids might tolerate him, might like him, but Dustin genuinely loved him, he knew that. Dustin was his original ride-or-die. Dustin might be a little shithead that constantly treated Steve like he was stupid, but he was like his brother. And Dustin also make him feel amazing and wanted and loved.

And then there was Robin. Most amazing of all really was that Robin loved him. His Platonic soulmate. His other ride-or-die. She saw him at his lowest and saw him at his highest, was there for him when he had stuff he didn’t want to drop on a teen boy who should be worrying about pimples and bad hair days, not interdimensional monsters and evil wizards. Robin made him feel loved too, even if she also sometimes teased him a little too sharply.

There was also Max of course. He’d been surprised at receiving a letter from her too, back when Vecna had been after her. He’d read it, back when she’d been in her coma. She hadn’t said she loved him, but it was there in other ways. The big brother she should have had all along.

So yeah, okay, Steve was loved. But it was platonic. It was friends, his new kind of family even, but it wasn’t the love he’d always wanted and never had. He just accepted the fact that people didn’t love him that way.

Which was why, when he realized he was in love with Eddie, he just sighed and accepted it and never changed anything in the way he interacted with the other man. He didn’t bother telling Eddie because he knew there was no point. Besides, Robin called him out on it, said he was being so obvious about his feelings, but Eddie never said anything too.

So okay. Steve was in love with Eddie, but Eddie wasn’t in love with Steve. Eddie also didn’t treat Steve any differently despite knowing that Steve loved him. After all, if Steve was so obvious about it, then Eddie had to know too already, right?

So Steve watched Eddie come out to them, had nodded along when Eddie nervously explained what bisexuality was, having already had his own crisis before though he realized he’d never officially come out either. But then if his feelings for Eddie were so obvious, he figured he didn’t have to, so he didn’t say anything and let Eddie have his moment.

And it didn’t matter that Eddie liked guys. He still couldn’t love Steve, so Steve just accepted it and let it be. He didn’t flinch when Eddie mentioned meeting a guy in the city, was even downright friendly when Eddie eventually brought the guy around to meet everyone.

It hurt, of course, but Steve’s feelings were his own problem; he wasn’t going to let the fact that he was in love with one of his best friends make things awkward. Eddie was nice enough that he never told Steve to knock it off when Steve got a little too touchy with him, though Steve backed off in his own when Eddie seemed a little panicked about it sometimes.

Steve was even there for Eddie when Eddie came over crying because he and guy broke up. He wouldn’t tell Steve why they broke up, not entirely, but eventually Steve learned it was because Eddie had feelings for someone else this entire time.

Steve wondered who it was, but in any case he just hoped Eddie got to be happy with them eventually. He later told Eddie one day when Eddie was over that he was a great guy, obviously, and anyone Eddie liked would be a lucky person. He hoped he didn’t sound judgmental about it, didn’t want Eddie to think he was being petty or whatever, but Eddie just looked sad again and left soon after.

Steve knew he had a problem about being too much sometimes. It had pushed Nancy away, and every girl he’d tried to date afterwards never really liked him enough either. It was still just his reputation and his hair that got him dates, not who he was himself. That was fine. Temporary companionship was better than nothing he supposed.

And life continued, and Steve kept loving Eddie, and he was content that Eddie let him love him, even if there was no hope of it being reciprocated.

And then Steve went on a date with a guy.

It was…okay. The guy was a lot handsier than Steve would like, and kind of boring when compared to Eddie, but Steve just shrugged and figured that at least it’s be someone else’s hand this time. And it was okay. No great spark or anything. More of a glorified one night stand than anything, but it was fine.

He knew he needed to get out dating again. Girls and guys. His love for Eddie wasn’t abating at all, so he couldn’t bring himself to actually date anyone, but he could do hookups.

Which was how Eddie found him one day, mouth around some guy at a bar in Indy because they had forgotten to lock the bathroom door. Oops. It was a little annoying though that Eddie looked as upset as he did. He appreciated the fact that Eddie didn’t call him out for his unwanted feelings, but it wasn’t fair that he thought Steve shouldn’t be able to move on.

They got into a fight.

They never exactly said what they were fighting about with words, but Eddie yelled at him for having unsafe sex, while Steve yelled at him for being a hypocrite, and then Eddie yelled at him for leading the guy on, and Steve said that that was a bit rich coming from him.

And Eddie was yelling and yelling and yelling about who knows what, telling Steve he shouldn’t be having random hookups in bathrooms when he wasn’t even gay, and Steve yelled that bisexual men can have bathroom hookups too, and that seemed to surprise Eddie for some reason.

In any case, it caused him to shut up for long enough for Steve to angrily tell him that just because Steve loved him, it didn’t give him the right to tell Steve what he could or could not do, especially when he knew Eddie didn’t love him back.

And then…

“You…you love me?” Eddie choked out, his eyes wide as he stared across the dark alley outside the bar, where he’d dragged Steve after catching him on his knees.

Steve rolled his eyes, jutting out one hip to place a hand on while the other hand ran aggressively through his hair. It was started to rain while they were in the bar, a light drizzle that was slowly weighing down their hair, not that either of them paid it any mind.

“Jesus, Munson, are you really going to make me listen to the whole spiel again?” He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in frustration. “This is bullshit, I’m bullshit, my love is bullshit, yadda yadda yadda. Or are we going the other way? The sad puppy eyes and the fact that you like someone else and it could never be me? I already know all this, Munson.”

Eddie continued gaping at Steve like a fish. It was starting to make him vaguely uncomfortable. Eddie shook his head, long strands of hair whipping wetly around him. “H-how long have you loved me?” Eddie whispered.

Steve’s frown deepened. “I don’t know, man. You probably clocked it before I even did. I just barely realized like a year and half ago.”

Eddie’s eyes bugged further. “You’ve love me for a year and a half?” he asked incredulously, making Steve’s frown turn from annoyance to confusion.

“You already knew this, Eddie.”

“I most certainly did not!”

And…oh. Oof. Okay. Steve grimaced and held his hands up suddenly in a surrender sort of way. “Yikes. Okay, well, this doesn’t have to change anythi—”

“This changes everything!” Eddie exclaimed in what others might cause a shriek.

Steve winced, taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. “Eddie…Eddie, please, c’mon,” he tried to reason, feeling dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He was suddenly remembering all the times he’d invaded Eddie’s space, how many times he’d flirted back with Eddie’s fake flirting, thinking it was okay because the other man knew how he felt.

Fuck. Fuck, he’d fucked up again.

“Eddie, I know you don’t love me, okay,” he rushed to say. “I know you can never love me. I get it, okay? I’m not trying to force you to feel any way or anything. Just like with Robin and Nancy, the fact that I like you doesn’t have to change anything.”

“Not…Steve,” Eddie said, reaching up to grip and pull at his own hair as an incredulous laugh escaped him. “Steve, I fucking love you.”

Steve tried not to let that hurt. He knew Eddie probably didn’t get how much him saying that pained Steve since it wasn’t the kind of love he was talking about, so he wasn’t going to get upset at him over that.

“I know,” he sighed, slowly letting himself relax his body posture. “I know you love me in a friend way. And that’s enough for me, really! I love you like a friend too, so the fact that I also—”

“No Steve,” Eddie cut in again, and while he seemed exasperated, a wide smile was also starting to curl over his lips. “Robin was right and you really are a dingus. I mean, yes, I love you as a friend, but I’m also in love with you. Romantic styles.”

“I…” Steve blinked. He tried to understand Eddie’s words but they didn’t make sense. “What?”

Eddie snorted out a laugh, and the smile curled on his lips stretched out into a grin. He took a step closer. “I’m in love with you, Steve Harrington. I have been since…hell, probably since you went all Ozzy on me. But definitely since I woke up in the hospital to you holding my hand.”

Steve’s stomach swooped. “I don’t understand,” he said, and even to his own ears there was a small whine there. “You don’t…people don’t love me,” he pointed out. “They can’t. There’s something about me that just makes it impossible.”

Eddie scoffed, reaching out once he was closer enough to curl his fingers in the sleeves at Steve’s biceps. They were both now well and truly wet from the rain, but neither of them paid any attention to it at all.

“Now that’s bullshit, Harrington. You’re so fucking easy to love. As a friend and as something…more. I love you, Steve.”

Steve wanted to deny it again, wanted to say that that was impossible, because…because he’d never heard those words. Sure, Dustin and Robin told him they loved him, but romantically? Even Nancy had never told him that in those words. Not even in a lie. He couldn’t fully comprehend that he was hearing them now.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie breathed, his hands moving to cup Steve’s jaw. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life telling you that. You’re stuck with me now, big boy.”

And then Eddie kissed him.

Eddie was true to his words. He told Steve he loved him every single day, told him with his words and his actions and when it was legal, he told him again in front of all their friends and found family when he made a vow as a his husband.

And Steve? Well, it took a while for him for actually believe it, but nowadays? When Eddie kisses him good morning every day in bed, whispering his devotion, and every night doing the same, telling Steve he’ll see him in his dreams? Well…

Steve’s used to being loved. And he spends every day loving in return.

~

Hi hello I have no idea what this is but I just started typing and then I didn’t stop until this was completed lol

Hostage hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[sunrisesfromthewest]

First Encounter

|Summary: Your first encounter with Armando; based off of that one scene from bad boys ride or die. | Warnings: Getting shot at/slight suggestive language/Curse words/Slight Movie Spoilers | Trope: One sided interest or Enemies to Lovers| Notes: Hopefully you guys enjoy it's my first-time writing a x reader. | (Y/N/N=Your Nickname)

Here's all the parts I have so far: 1 2 3 4 5 6

______________________________________________________________

After seeing the news about your dad, Uncle Mike, and some guy, you decided to leave work early. Confused on why there all the sudden wanted fugitives,you quickly drive over to Dorns place knowing that he’ll have answers.

Parking your car, you grab your purse and make your way towards his lake house. Since you hang out with him and Kelly 24/7 outside of work, you just walk in without knocking.    Which was a mistake on your end because not even a second later you’re being shot at, and you could hear a few people yell in shock.  Dropping to the floor you curse and yell "It's me stop fucking shooting it’s me Y/N!”  Looking up you see Kelly pointing the gun at the place you were just standing at with a shock expression.  “Girl what the hell you got going on” you said, scared to stand up.  Lowering her gun she said “OMG, Y/N, I’m so so—” Before she could finish you hear “Oh lord, you shooting at my baby!", recognizing the voice you look around to spot your father Marcus, running towards you with a worried look.

As he’s checking over you, you hear him sigh with relief after seeing you were fine. " Dad? what the fuck is going on!", standing up you dust off your nurse uniform, with a confused expression. 

Looking around the room you noticed shocked expressions from Dorn and Kelly who had put her gun down. Spotting Uncle Mike and the man that was with him on the news your eyes squint even more, Tryna put two to two together.    “Y/N/N, aren’t you supposed to be at work, "Marcus says confused on why his daughter was there.  Still shaking up from being shot at you say, “I was at work but when I was making my rounds with my patients, I seen you guys on the news ......but shit! I should be asking the questions! why are you, Uncle Mike and this dude, wanted fugitives …. matter of fact," turning towards the man, "Who are you?”.    Seeing the man smirk he says," Someone you can get well acquainted with.”  Just as you’re about to say something smart, your dad cuts in dramatically "Aye hell nah man! No hitting on my daughter, Mike get your son!” 

Shocked you run your eyes over the Latino man which you can now see have some of Mike's features, “Uncle Mike since when you have a son, and why the hell is he dressed up like a redneck.”  Running your eyes frantically over their forms you back up while pointing your hands at them and say, “matter of fact why are you all dress up like that.”  Feeling your dad pull you aside to calm you down, he explains everything that happened these past few days.    After getting the run down on what was going on, you rub at your eyes with a stressed sigh." So that’s Armando," you said shaking your head "I would’ve pulled my gun out as well if I’ve seen him, dad didn’t he almost kill you and Uncle Mike!", you said feeling frustrated about the situation.  “Y/n,I know this is awkward, but he has evidence to prove that Captain Conrad is innocent.”  Sighing again “Okay, fine but if he tries some shit just know Imma make him taste the rainbow.”  Hearing laughter you look back to see the Latino leaning against the kitchen counter looking at you with a smirk on his face.  Seeing your father look at you with a don’t do it expression made you huff and ignore Armando’s laughter.    Before you could move to grab your purse off the floor your dad stops you again and whispered, "How long Kelly and Dorn been messing around, "letting out a short laugh you say, “For a minute now”  Seeing your father smirk, and send a look to Mike, you knew they were up to no good but chose to ignore it.

Walking to the door to grab your purse and its spilled contents you feel eyes on you, gazing up you see Armando watching you with an unreadable expression. Rolling your eyes you pick up the rest of your stuff, but as you reach for your lip gloss, a hand grabs it.    Looking up your face to face with the Latino himself, annoyed you extend your hand out, while raising an eyebrow.  Watching his amused expression, you sigh and roll your eyes. 

“Boy if you don’t give me my stuff,Imma punch you in the throat." Hearing him chuckle made you more agitated, but you kept your cool. As he holds out the gloss to you with a smirk you huff and reach out to snatch it, only for him to pull it back in a teasing manner.

Looking at him as if he’s grown two heads, you’re about to cuss him out when he says”Demasiado bonita para una boca como esa”.  Furrowing your eyebrows you say “What?”    Armando’s smirk widens as he says, “I said to pretty for a mouth like that.”  Scoffing you snatch your lip gloss out his hands, putting it in your purse as you stand up and say, “First of all, my mouth is only like this because you almost killed my dad not too long ago, and secondly I can say whatever the fuck I want cause last I checked imma grown women.”  Watching his eyes glance down at your body, you hear a low whistle, "You sure are, but if you ever wanna fix that mouth of yours, "he pauses allowing his pretty brown eyes to trail back up to yours,”aquí estaré mami” (I’ll be here mommy) 

Shocked slightly at his boldness, you say “Boy if you don’t get out of m---,” but before you could finish, he was called over by Mike. At first Armando ignores him and continues to admire you until your dad says, “Boy get your ass over here," which made you break eye contact with him and look away.  

Glancing back up you couldn't help but admire his physique as well but as he reaches the others by the computer set up. He glances back to see you staring which resulted in him sending you a wink. Rolling your eyes you turn away with a smirk," You your daddy son for sure," you say to yourself with a smile.

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Notes: Let me know if you guys want a part 2 :) and pls go see the movie it's so good

[astralnymphh]

fuck and pretend ౨ৎ

𖤐 .ellie williams with a breeding kink⊱.

౨ৎ "gon' make you a baby mama, hm?" 🌸

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

⋆' summary; bright blessings, aphrodite. hazy harbor of your lust, loose ribbons, and smooth touch. a strawberry sun kisses the earth with its sunset, a gradient so divinely captured above your picket fence visible from the kitchen window. a front row seat to dusk settling as you get fucked, the soppy wet clashing of your loins erupts. ellie, with her goddess given right, will knock you the hell up.

⋆' cw; dom!ellie, horndog!ellie, farm!ellie, breeding kink obv, depictions of cum + spit + nipple play + slight food play + spanking + fondiling + very slight lactation kink + rough mannerisms + dirty talk + rough talk + cum kink-ish + gentle dominance + cocktip teasing + strap sex + fingering (r, barely) + finger sucking + multiple positions (bent over, on the counter) , 'her cock' used more than 'strap', some plot + backstory, very detailed descriptions of fucking, smut heavy, reader has fem style/wears skirt, petnames; babe, baby, mama(kinda), slut, whore(not in dialogue), bitch(not in dialogue)

⋆' pairing; farm!ellie x housewife!reader

⋆' a/n; i'm horny. ⋆' wc: 6.7k ellie's masterlist 𖤐

a brilliant orb in the sky permeates a hot singe to your skin, making a day meant for mundane mutilation of vegetable roots drinking up the rich soil, dreadful. oh how you longed to be inside with your girlfriend, ellie, the rufescent headed mutt that pawed you to take a break, on the bed, in her lap. 'later, baby.', you just had to say that. but no, you just had to work, huh? the autumn sun bearing tidings of a good harvest just had to sing an enchanting tune, lulling you to the outdoors.

a heap of green already lines your wheelbarrow, a yelling chance to dip and jump into ellie's arms, who ensconces her bottom to the pleasures of a springy sofa in the family room, scribbling away matters that clot her noggin. oh, it would be so divine to just die of exhaustion in her grasp, straddling that tepid lap beckoning a cozy seat, melding your fingertips with the tense ache that mantles her neck, while she lewdly palpates the chub fat of your ass she deems 'a cute tush' with those strapping hands of hers.

"fuck it." the barrows handles drop to the grassy ground, giving the produce in the basin a bit of a bumpy ride.

the most salivating notion wins, food, fucking food. you burst into that kitchen with a sugar craving, a hellacious craving that puppeteers your fingers to fondle the beige flour into a meshy dough, powdering up your fingertips til it caked under your nail. eugh. 

 a strawberry and cream pastry of crispy golden beige delight is your end goal, pictured to be a celestial five star treat in your rather delusive fantasies. the butts of ruby strawberries stabbed through as you pull the stems out, gleaming juices of a translucent pink coating up your fingers so sweetly, you just had to pop them in your mouth. sucking all that flavor off, like a fuckin' lollipop.

you drift your finger out clean, a long smack squeaking from your lips, and then hum in rumination, "hmm, lemons– or no lemons? lemons.. or no lemons?" quietly spoken, tossing your eyes between a ripe lemon and the pulped strawberry.

"no lemons," ellie, bearing the element of surprise, intrudes on your introspection. speaking with a low, coarse timbre, pitch breathy, "hi babe." her body is then suddenly pressed into your backside, hand slithering down your hip and caressing your pantyhose– clad thigh gently. 

"oh shit– ellie!" you yelp, instinctively pushing your rump back on her groin devoid of purpose, "ya' spooked me.." a throaty whine thrums from you.

"nah– u're just easily spooked." her brows pinch opposingly, slowly creeping her jaw in the cornered nook of your neck, parched lips nipping the flesh with summery hot licks.

"hehe– that tickles.." you jerk away slightly from her scruffy tuft of coppery hair like a plume stroking your skin.

a smile grows pliable against your skin, "good.." muffled ellie, wet smacks eliciting from her hungry latch.

"bored of ur' journal?"

"uh–huh.."

"or just happy that I'm here?"

"mhm.." she dozily agrees, slinking her head off your scruff, "missed you' out there."

"oh, i bet." you frolick kittenly, snatching up the same strawberry you pulped through earlier to cut it, "got fucking tired of hauling that barrow 'round anyway." you complain, speaking with discernable strain in your tune.

"hmm." she hums in consideration, worried about the amount of work you lug on your shoulder from a day–to–day basis, "l'mme help." 

her fingers cottonly twine through yours, biceps hugging yours, chin perched softly upon your neck, taking both the strawberry and knife from you and cutting it deftly, chhp, chhhp, chop!– goes the sound of buttery slices.

you slump your head aside, just relishing the warmth for a moment, at genuine peace that your girlfriend was there. she was so soft with you, softer than petals, gently domineering at any split mention of fatigue. laying the midday away on the couch? joins you instantly, pressing and kneading the tender skin of your swollen feet while discussing more than humdrum topics. stomach rumbling loud enough to raise the dead? she immediately rounded the kitchen's trim to cook you a plethora of meals, taking every picky craving into heavy consideration. indecisive about your outfit? she would glide an oaken chair up to the dresser, plant you on her lap– in your undergarments, and choose what she personally fancies, sneaky hand groping your thigh.

"there you go." she mutters ardent to your shoulder with throaty rasp, knife clanking as she sets it aside.

"thanks baby.."

"n'problem.." her lips fumble the words, settling on bespattering the biome of your stretched neck with wet kisses– subtly hungry ones, and reposes her arms to slink over your hips, enticing them closer into her groin.

you scoop one pile of diced strawberries into the gullies of both palms, letting them plummet into a plastic green mixing bowl, plop.. plop, humming a tune, "hmmmm…hhmhmmm…" 

you hear her chuckle, a small vibration amassing the length of your skin with an accompanied smile growing.

"you laughin' at my song?"

"mhh, that's not a song." she criticizes, lips pursing into a bud.

"hmph, rude." you circle your eyes in offense, faintly swaying your hips while you pestle the fruit into a sweet puree.

her hips react and ungulate a sluggish grind into your rump, acting impassive to it, "s'bored.." she croaks, clammy forehead sticking to your jaw.

"hmm?"

she doesn't clarify, instead, begins to nick your neck with pinched lips, letting the skin gingerly spring out each time. her hips, however, grow rough– wanton. little bounces of her humps smush your thighs into the counter, mind clearly anchored in her imagination.

"els?"

her relentless chafing continues, piling up the fabric of your skirt into a creased mess which only gets worse when her hand wedges between your bodies, palming her crotch with a few squeezes, "mhhn.." 

your fingers nearly slip off the pestle, the stimuli of her humps withering away that poise calmness, "baby.." you whine.

"so, so– bored, baby." her grubby mitts fall and knead the shallow flesh of your hip bones, applying detectable pressure in the crevice beneath your hip bone. smutty, balmy prints sunk into your skin.

this fucking horndog, this auburn maned lovergirl could never let you rest on a busy afternoon like today. all the time, she was just pleading for pussy– pussywhipped, grinding her pelvis on your thigh amidst cuddling, to nudging your butt against her groin with both hands, whenever you bend over. you can hear the indecencies boiling on her wicked tongue right about now, pleading for a tryst.

a long suspire whorls from your nostrils as you turn in her embrace, nudging her fervid laps off.

she pouts a petulance, wet lips sheer in the frosty panes light, "why'd you move?"

"talk t'me," wisped sweet like honey, "what's on your mind?" you lace your fingers with hers, swinging your linked hands side to side playfully.

she pours a groan out, screwing her lids tight and throwing her head back, "baaabbee.." ellie was plagued, at minimum. lewdly plagued. a notion that topped her mind and wouldn't let go.

you thought it was, temptingly cute. the way she reels her head back down, jarring her weary eyes open to beadily gaze upon you, lips parting moistly.

"i have this.." a sharp gust waves off her throat, humbled to even say this, "dirty fuckin' idea.."

"enlighten me."

"i just think.." her eyes deviate from yours, staring at the cupboard, "you'd be really hot as a mama." a hint of smokiness grits in her voice, gazing at you with the most haunting bedroom eyes known to womankind.

"oh really? that's illuminating." you knit your brows, feigning marvel.

"tcch–" her textured lips creak into a cresten grin, hissing shortly, "like.." her fingers flee yours, drifting two brawny grips on your waistline, inching closer with each idea she lists, "i could take care of you, start baths for you, cook you meals and carry you to–"

you intervene gently, "you say it like you can get me pregnant." and laxly cross your arms.

her forehead creases in offense, "uh, i mean," and eyes barrel roll to the ceiling, then on you, chiseling a smirk opulent with smutty intention, "don't need a baby t'do.. whatever."

"whatever?" your tune curls.

"could just.." she pulls your groin snug to hers, pelvis protruding farther than her torso, thighs melding together, "fuck, and pretend." 

you blush, mouth gaping in muted elation observing the way she pushes her crotch into you, "so foul.." you giggle.

"so?" a hand lifts from your hip, notching your chin firmly up to face her, "can i convince you?"

"how?"

an absolutely mischievous look casts over her features at that 'how?' , prominent dimples that plot her next words to flow out.

"here," she releases your chin and swipes a grip on your wrist, jerking you forward as she tugs that hand between her legs, "feel that, baby?" whispering a fingerbreadth away, toasty breath misting like perspiration on your earlobe.

you palpate the inseam, knobbing over a phallic bulge with her hand guiding you. oh my goddess, she's been wearing that shit all day.

"can i fuck y'with it, hmm?" she begs, voice drenched with silken clemency, and leathery callousness– control awaiting your word, lips of coquetry avid to your ear.

truth of the matter, at the back of her perv–diluted noggin, she knows she can't exactly get you pregnant. however, that's the hidden perk nobody talks about. play the part, make it feel real, and it still sticks the same. she can fuck you over, and over– and over again, sow her seed and never reap the physical consequences.

that girl can pretend well.

you feel the heat clump on your cheeks, turned on by her forthright request, "here?" you question foxily, feeling the excitement slowly trickle through your loins.

"yeah– right on this fuckin' counter." unfiltered and dirty, so suddenly, so tantalizing. her hands pitch up and draw upon your skin like a woven page, lurking the entire span of both arms around your hips.

"god, els.." you cling your arms around her nape, chest pressing firmly on hers, "i'd fucking love that." 

her face lit up brighter than all the stars combined. reclining brows, smug–smothered eyes, and the most uneven smirk to ever jerk her lips. a brightness– so carnal.

"yes.." sounded so relieved in her breathy mutter, wetting her chapped lips before she slinks onto yours, dragging hers over the plush of your buds with a passion.

"mhh..mh.." you moan onto her lips, pushing with tantamount force to her hungry kisses.

a wet smack snaps the huddled space as she parts, "can taste those strawberries, ooh~" she huskily frisks with arching brows, returning to your lips with a pucker and slobber.

all during your tepid makeout eggs you both on, pink muscles entwining, mouths nearly trying to swallow each other up, bodies rocking like a ship riding the tide– her willowy digits tuck under the fat of your asscheeks, groping and pulling the two globes apart in rounded circles tight enough to cleft the chub with creases, frilly fabric of your skirt snagging on the ridge of her bouncing palms.

"love' this cute tush." she states with a satisfied scratch in her voice, a deep laugh gusting onto your lips.

"a fuckin' slut for it huh?" 

"yeah baby!" she halfway hollers into your mouth, gripping your asscheeks like crab claws and giving a good shake– featherlike slap included.

you buck your ass out for her usage, urged to wave your hips in a figure eight motion, which she really likes, too much maybe. a booming smack! resounds the kitchen as her hand draws back to indulge a harsher slap, rubbing the red streak left in its path.

you yelp throatily, spitting from her avid lips, "fuck! ellie.."

"hey– c'm back here." her head follows your retreating one, plastering your mouth sealed and tongue–fucking you with that pushy muscle worming past your teeth.

her horny ass just kept spanking both cheeks, which triggered a proud "mmm.. mhm…" to intone on your lips as you jolt in reaction, caressing the flush heat gathered by each whack.

"more?"

"ghhnn– elli.."

"fuckin' take more." she veers that hand back and lands another blow, creeping over your shoulder to perv at the nylon–confined skin. right, your pantyhose.

you tuck and bat your lashes in the crook of her neck, whining right into the ears eager to hear you break.

but, she couldn't do that with all this fabric, could she now?

"nice.. but.." her grubby claws then prod the cloaked crack of your ass, a shrill ripping through the air as she tears a massive hole in your pantyhose– wholly for better access, now exposing your full behind.

you quench a lapse in your throat, "oh, my god." and peek over to eyeball the torn material, noticing how discolored your butt has become and poking your hip out.

"hurt too much?"

"n–no.." you swallow again, reverting your pupils to her, "hurts just right.."

she smirks merry to one cheek, hollowing an alto, "makes' you a dirty fucking slut, amiright?" spoken on a crescendo, second–guessing with her lips gravitating back to yours, but she pauses.

it dawned on her.

something even more impure tethers her attention, down– down, on that chest of yours.

the rustiling of fabric chafes as her hands slide from torturing that delicate rump further, then splutters, "take ur' fuckin' tits out, 'gunna suck on them." just straight up, stern edge like metal to her tone.

no hesitation hurdles your hands, straying from her neck you pleat your shirt over your head and stretch back to unclasp your bra with a pinch, letting it tumble off your chest and hit the ground with a padded thud. the gale of cold air hardens your nipples, perking up two nice targets for ellie to ogle– both in sight, and in taste.

a sweet– tart taste. 

"hmm," ellie's pupils wander off your drooped chest and fixate on the separate dish of intact strawberries, glowing pink in the dying suns' radiance. her elbows straighten and forearm extends towards these gems of interest, scooping one up with her thumb, index and middle combined.

"what are you doing with my–"

"shh, just watch." her prudent fingers then toughen and squash the berry above your clavicle, letting the barmy pink liquids squeeze through her knuckles and drip onto your chest.

a gasp dries your throat, "ellie!"

a few mashed bits plunk down amongst the heavy fall of berry juices, managing to drizzle down the rise of your breast and split over your nipple. mission success? though now the victim strawberry– squelched to a gross chunk, makes a home chucked into the handy trash bin.

ellie licks her lips and stares dead straight on your hardened nipples. itching for a taste of that strawberry deluge.

"fuck.." her throat quivers, taking no time in searing the distance between her tongue and your breast promptly with a hunched back, bringing her heart–shaped pucker to the strawberry–saturated nub and locking on, sucking hard, making you jerk. ellie definitely has a thing for this.

"was wasting that strawberry– mhhf'– worth it?" you sport a quip quickly, the small vacuum sensation on your nipples only just starting to nip that pleasure kernel in your brain.

it definitely was. cause ellie had already vampire–suckled all the flavor off your bud, now snaking her tongue up the excess stream of juices and retreating back. those juice–coated lips squelch open, muttering, "so' fucking worth it." 

so fucking worth the lady boner penned behind that zinc rivet.

her lips wrinkle around your other nipple, opening and closing her mouth around the bud with a slow nutate of her head. inside her mouth was so warm, so wet, and the fleshy texture of her lips felt fucking riveting. the stimulated twang of salacity brought in the form of sucks and licks has your pussy sappy and caked in precum, and ellie could tell how wet you've gotten by the yearning chafe of your thighs, so she forcefully wedges her knee there– making you grunt at the pressure, and her giggle at your response.

you card your fingers through her hairline, fondling her autumn tuft while she sucks that swelling nipple dry, causing an 'mmhhh.' to vibrate from the depths of her lungs, guttural on your boob. one of her hands rove up and cusps the same boob against the webbing of her thumb and pointer, squeezing the blubber of mass further into her wet rosy hole– like she's genuinely sucking something out of them– thirsty, her parched tongue laps a gloss of gleaming saliva over the bumpy node, determined to have you unravel.

"oh, els.. baby~" you tug on her hair, piqued by the blossoming ache in your clit raring for ellie to just get on with it.

"mhhpghmm.." her lips suction with a pop, roads of ruby red mottled on her cheeks from your angle. so eager to toy with that forming arousal, but with persuasive control.  "s'this convincing enough?"

you toss your head back, extending the curved surface of your neck, "i'm already convinced.." you gasp for air, surfing a breathless moan behind the carry of your voice.

another pop sound has her lips wandering up from that sensitive bump and craning to your lips, taking advantage of the situation. her fantasies overrun that dirty mind of hers, aching mentally– and physically, to have that pussy engulfing her thickset cock. to fuck you raw. fortunate for her, you were already won over by the rough terrain of her tongue setting you over the edge.

"m'kay baby.." her humid syllables shudder over the span of your midface, promptly, churning into a demanding growl. "turn around, n' bend over the counter. doin' it right here, c'mon." her words usher you and fingers force you, contorting your hips with her steely grip without even giving you the chance to move yourself, other hand reaching over to knock the bowl of strawberries– now scattered across the tiles like the starry sky.

you wobble around on your ankles as she bucks you into the counters' rounded steel rim, laying her palm plumb between your shoulder blades and pinning you down, pitching a yelp from you when the cold surface practically freezes your nipples.

that's when you realized, she wasn't playing around.

ellie's spindly fingers pleat your skirt up with a swat, then drift down to catch and tuck in the lacy band of your panties and tug hard, pulling the thread to the point of frayed snapping– without giving you a wedgie– until she could remove it from your hips through the hole in your pantyhose, chucking it somewhere east of you. now she could gape at everything. the bare truth of your engorged pussy rearing for her, splayed out like a whore. nuder than an amaretto.

and it made her giggle in gratification, lugging that adams apple around with her wheezy laugh.

"look at 'chu bent over like this," she gruffily awes at your ass jacked to her hips, golfing up a 'hawwkkk' and a 'puh!' as she aims a spit down the crack of your ass. 

it streamlines through the canyon of your backside 'til it mixes with the slick of your slit. can't let it go to waste, so– she jams the soapy spit into your hole, to which you clamp her in.

a jerky chuckle croaks from her chest, rustiling her mullet with each jounce, "sensitive now, are we?"

"ellie–" 

"okay, okay– i'll stop." she slides her fingers out, popping them in her mouth while she observes you from this lewd position.

in the sorbet light, you were gorgeous. cunt dripping nectar like a waterfall to your thighs, ass hiked up and sloping into the plateau of your back. you looked so perfect. perfect for her hands to melt into. perfect for her cock to sheathe into. just divine. positively divine.

"alright.." her voice rattles deep, slightly muted in a gulp after tasting your cunt on her tongue, swishing her spit around to pick up every note of flavor.

moments later, you hear the metal clank of a buckle jingle from behind, the prongs strike the floor as her jeans clump up at the base of her ankles, blanketing her feet. then, a silicone tip slots it's bulbous nature between the top of your thighs, smacking up onto your slickened labia playfully.

"god– it's like a fuckin' waterpark back here babe."

her feet scoot closer, poking the chub of your globes with her jutting hip crests, enraptured in the pure way your folds already look like they want to swallow her up. they faintly part as the silicone cockhead smears your arousal from clit to hole, hole to clit. a half–moon smile dilates into the apples of her cheeks, prideful. a smirk you can hear loud and clear in her dirty, outrageous comment. 

"gonna knock that pussy up, hmm? gonna fuck a pair of twins in you so good baby~" she coos, delirious seeing the head of her cock slosh around the fat lips of your pussy, grooving two concentrated lines between her brows and wagging her peachy muscle wedged in her lips. she was like a devil in heaven, and you an angel in heat. two strapping grips slap and clutch onto your ass, the fat bulging through each finger gap, calloused fingertips blending with the texture. her knees bend to crouch her hips slightly, dragging the hem of her brown button–down up by the protrusion of your ass as she aligns her frame level to your cunt. one hand drops down to catch hold of the faux cock and toys the rim of your gummy hole, sinking the head in just barely.

your sensitive entrances' involuntary answer to this scant plugging of your hole clenches the tip up fast, sucking it further in. ellie loved that. loved how your pussy was taking her without a halt. a love so dazing, she begins slipping and inserting the head only, eyeing the contracting hole gorging over the rotund spade each and every small thrust.

a whiny complaint trebles off your gullet, "are y'putting it in? baby.. please." but the petulance in your plea just rouses ellie up– excessively.

ignoring you, her focus tunnels solely on the tight hole kissing her cock in intervals, pleating up her earth brown shirt to eye her constricting muscles speckled in freckles, the pale blue–glossy v–line cadreing her hunter green cock that only deepened the lines in her abdomen with each pump. with her gaze aimed downwards, she speaks directly downwards, "be a good pussy and take my cock, yeah?"

that was her game. her conflicting game. the only words you heard before she fastens the dick bulky in her wrapped grip and lugs her entire length inside, blowing your vulva thin with how straining her size was. wow. a sight she froths over.

"mhm–" she continues, tensing her chords up to flow out a breathy, gritty, whisper, "take my cock like a good pussy." 

you feel the force impact your cervix straightaway, globs of clear lubricant slip and pool through the slim opening her cock barely provides and drips onto your thigh, cold and sticky, marks like paint. "ellie– h'oh fuck!" you wail in the stinging sensation of sudden brimming, which only drives her to crack another slap blistering red on your ass, "eeah!" you squeak, tears scorching the shoreline of your blurred eyes.

she wanted a tear to slip out. she wanted a cohesive sign that her cock felt tight, warm, filling. a kind of filling that bumps your stomach, makes you feel pregnant. cause you would be, take my word for it.

ellie analyzes the new ring of creamy serum wrapping her base like a ribbon of white lace, milky delight. it fades as she drags her length out, and bubbles when she sheathes back in. nothing could stop her finger from sampling the slimy slick, but, no. not this time. 

in her mind, that's her precum. her sperm. not a drop should be dripping out of you.

"g'nna fuck my seed– so, so.. deep." 

and by her word, she knurls her torso into a convex bend as she swathes over you, cottony shirt to back, tickling your flesh. like a dog licking your ear, she mashes the lobe of your ear with her soaked lips. chanting a one–lined hymn in your ear as her cock skids along your ridged walls and returns with a pumping rhythm, keeping your pelvis steady in her slack grip.

"makin' you–" slap, slap, slap, "a mama'," plop, plop, plop, "with my c-cock.. no–one else's." her huffs fan the baby hairs near your ear, lips brushing so dearly on the conch. each sticky bop of your hips plays like a hand smacking water, bringing shame to the ears of every wall witnessing this dirtier–than–porn event. 

your features tog up into a woozy countenance. lips wedged open like an orange slice, pupils reading your upper lashes like a string of musical notes, head jiggling with each lavish pump into your pretty little pussy. it feels so fucking good. spurts of pleasure that make you wish on every damnable star for her to actually get you pregnant. the way she fucks you like this, all pathetically horny with her own ass clenching into each thrust. you'd take her babies in a yoctosecond.

her bushy brows curl and furrow in enthrallment, enthralled by every honeyed whimper she pulls out of you with her dick. it fed her ego, the greedy ego telling her she is impregnating you. each vein, bumpy on the creasing skirt of your blushing hole shaped to fit her cock, felt so real– it hurts. ellies' had enough. she skims her palms just a hairbreadth down the planet of your ass to sink her talons in the supple crevice of your hip and thigh, held hard enough to move you. this meant only one thing.

ellie was tired of playing it safe.

her torso pastily unsticks from your back, casting a gray shadow with her hover, grunting, "listen– t'me," her hips sway and punch with heftier, vehement– stickier thrusts, the fat plastic cockhead sending a flux of pressure with each smash into the tacky wall of your vagina, "answer– d'ya think, mhh– our kids will have auburn hair, like me? frhm– freckles, like me? my eyes?" 

the constant abuse to your cervix chokes up your throat, warbling and going "guh, guhp– unh! fhhummk.." with your flaccid lips damp in slob, like a filthy mess of a bitch.

wrong answer. 

you should have just offered up her name in an exaggerated moan instead.

the extent of her hand extracts from your hips– not without her gift of nail–birthed sickles indenting your skin like scales, and coils back to whack your vainly treated glute. it makes your vision go white, tenderizes your skin and makes you scream.

"n–nnono, els–"

"so– no they won't look like me?" she laughs to herself, and it almost sounds– amusingly disappointed.

"n– yes, yes! they w–"

your throat then nearly guzzles her fingers base knuckles deep, muffled and choking on their stacked width.

"just shut up." ellie warns in a gruff. thing is, she knows that as long as her thickset tip keeps slamming into that assaulted cunt– she'll never hear the end of it. and that's the best part. confliction.

the counter was virtually warming up on your compressed cheek from how long you were in that position. slippery sweat dampened a puddle under your face in a thin pellucid coat. from your current view, you could only see her wrist pushing on your chin– cranking your jaw ajar, and her humping motions bleary in your peripherals. not like seeing her was necessary, you already felt her through and through. 

ellie, with her hips strapping you down in prolonged rams that cause a sharp sear on the hind of your thighs, with the downright sedative pleasure brought by the bumping base to her neglected clit, finds herself earnestly thinking about how a family would look on this farm. her baby, growing in you. her kids, skipping through these rustic halls. her wife, devout enough to nurture them through childhood. but on the perverted hand, her cock fucking a future generation into you, 'her' pussy gluttonous enough to consume it up to the hilt, her whore, eager enough to be the cumbucket to breed as she pleases.

she's gonna breed you like the horndog she is.

but you want to be full of her offspring.

"baby–" a stiff moan pours from her lips, and she glides her cock and digits out. snow white cream follows in strings, strung to her shaft and springs out like paint splatter on the ground as her strap bounces down to a flaccid level. wow. she moans again, this time, breathlessly, "baabby.. get'on th' counter.." 

"hmmuh?" flubbed you, barely able to see the picket fence outside the kitchen window through your graying haze– shapes blurred and melted into each other.

"said," the lone grip on your hip is replaced with the clammy bend of her elbow, tucking under your womb and flipping you around, "on' the counter." and lugs you hurriedly onto the sudor–coated surface with her grasp under your knees. her hands flatten on either side of your shaky thighs– vividly like jello– as her torso huddles close in your space. now that she could see your face, it was sexually comical. 

doe–eyed and glossed, lids puffy and red. patterns of your own saliva glissade down your chin and gleam in the soft light behind you. so hot.

her teeth bear in a parted smirk and she drunkenly stumbles her face down. then, she notices something. a pearly strand of sleek cum trickling over your perineum. like a melted popsicle, you drip everywhere, all over that counter space.

ellie's tongue ticks on the roof of her mouth, sighing, "mmh' fuck, pussy dripping everywhere– clean this counter afterwards, won't you?" spoken like a silken demand, index pointing at the mess.

you keenly nod, squinting with those weepy eyes as you try to discern the moving colors of your girlfriend right as she heaved her fat cock right back inside. stars. stars heat you skin and strike your vision. a night of black spots burn through your eyes and caper around– obscuring ellie's blissed out face. you were already fucked out from the last position, so fucked, you nearly came at the meaty expansion of your aching hole.

ellie could tell, and that was her cue. her goddess given cue to bottom out. the friction of her girth akin to a fist stuffing you up was pushing up on your g–spot, and that knocked a tear out. the ones lashing at your ducts to release, finally did. 

you couldn't feel anything else– anything, but her cock.

moist sloshes cram up the space between you too, smacking and dragging as before. faster, harder, her hips never lapse and pick up the speed. tapping you out like a nozzle draining syrup from a tree, gushing and coating her cock beautifully. smack– smack– smack– goes her groin deluged in your sweet sex juices connecting like webs with each bash of your hips.

on comes a dirty row of her impudent and vile comments– barely stable voice from how fast she pumped, all tepidly whispered on your neck.

"knockin' that fhckin' pussy up– huh?"

you can feel the warmth radiating off her face a breath away, a cheek–length strand of hair now sticks to the sweat veiling her hairline. pores beading with glassy perspiration. just as red as you. huff, huff, gasp.

"that pretty pussys' mine– mhh, all mine."

ellie's palms leave two clammy prints on the marble slab when her fingers pop off and clasp your pelvis. with this grip on you, she pushes your hips hard on her relentless pounds. no wall of your vagina lacks a thrashed kiss from her dick, your hole was just too tight for any air pockets. that tight. just pure ush–gush.

"god' m'sucha dirty slut for ur' pussy, such a fucking whor– ughhn!– wantin' to make you–a mama." grizzled her in a lower voice, but still so rough, sweating and huffing like a dog in heat.

the cupboards creak and squeak, scarcely bearing the racket she induced with her fucking into you.

the intensity marches on.

"els– els, I'm gonna cum.." 

it was nice to hear, but she was infinitely more focused on cumming herself. she was close. very close. eyes screwed tight in the straps kickback digging her clit with firm pressure,  knuckles flushed white as they bent and tried to carve into your hips. ellie couldn't get enough of you.

"yeah– me too, nghh~"

her own slick begins to lather up her crotch, sticking up that auburn bush, dripping off the strapbase and staining the crinkled jean pile directly underneath her.

the kitchen reeked of cunt– yours and hers. delicious sex miasma. the scent of raw arousal coats your nasal cavity, lulling you both to climax– two hearts on the same beat.

but there was one thing. one thing you could give her, that'd change your lives from there on out.

"baabe–" a shallow utter gusts from her lips, shuddering, "can' i fuck you– god, fuck you like this? mate you– make babies with you, more often?" her voice warbles, fighting back the breath that wanted to give away.

the plunging and swelling of her dick parting your walls made it potently harder to answer– but, you creak, taking all the breath she would give you, mouth to mouth.

"yes, ellie– i want to have them."

her eyes squinted ever so slightly, sharpening, pupils blown. a wicked, scantily–contained smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, a glint in her eye revealing the excitement she felt by your words. in a heartbeat, her lips met with yours– wisping and wetting each other up.

but it was no feat to the sudden acceleration of her pistoning hips.

ellie's lips withdraw, moaning rigidly with buffering pants, "gon' make you a baby m–mama' now– ooh fuck!" feeling the same rise to orgasm tighten her stomach. 

"yes– yes! unh‐ uh fuck, ughh!" 

the clanging cupboards bang and thud as they do, but your moans eventually clamor up over them. her cock, sought the last final blows to your gummy ring inside, gathering up all that viscous serum in strings stuck to her bulbous head. this was it. she was finally getting her reward– viscously.

"love you–"

it tightens.

"s'much–"

it pulls.

"thank y– unngghh!"

she snaps.

your thighs convulse and lock around her hips as she buries her dick deep inside, plugging that bruised–to–hell mucousy cervix up. a high so heavenly it curls your body up to hers, cumming all over that filthy fucking cock in clear spurts, plashing all over the veiny shaft that had you weeping moans.

ellie had came too, matter of fact, all over the floor.

a dense and husky moan grates from the lowest region of her diaphragm, "hhhggn– uhhugh– fuck, baby." 

her eyes grew taut and scrunched in ecstasy, jutting her hips and clenching her ass to ride out the orgasm. a spew of her release taints the straps footing and leaks down her thigh, saturating in her skin. veins popped in her gripe, incisors bit her lip nearly hard enough to break skin, and eyes twitched back tenfold, casted heavenward.

a sunset clasps the shingle roof from above, depicted so innocently behind the pane, unknowing to what has come of you two. 

the moment softens.

and you're left with two fatigued bodies.

her arms loosen and flop on your sprawled lap, and her head finds a collapsed purchase on your shoulder. ellie's chest rose, fell, and rose again, swallowing up all the air her lungs lost in the heat. 

"think I just died," she dramatically heaves from her chest, gulping up the pooled spit in the trenches of her gums. a giggle shakes her, "hehe~ did you die?" she jests, nudging her limp hand to your shank.

the words carrying to your ears mish–mashed into an agglomeration of sounds strewn from her actual sentence, "there's n'pie in the oven.." you slur breathlessly, tongue nearly lifeless in the pit of your mouth.

ellie tries her darndest to compress the laugh grizzling from her throat, still winded, "w-what babe?" her head tilts to gawk at you.

"god i'm so dizzy.."

she blows a raspberry from her lips and knits her brows– amused. of course she's a tad worried your energy had been worn from the fucking, but, that's the funny part. she actually did that. her buzzy voice coaxes you back to animation, "want some'in to eat?" 

wait.

that's literally what you came in here for.

wait.

you peek at the green dome next to you, toppled over with dotted strawberry wedges scattered all over the stony tile– and your strawberry jam. really ellie? a pout cockles your lips into a plumper shape, notching your head on a slope, "did'ju knock over.. all of my strawberries?"

she swings her head 'round, feigning innocence, "umm– nope, wasn't me." puffing up her cheeks.

"ellie." 

she blows tersely, "i didn't!" and throws her hands up defensively– in playful spirit.

"and you ruined my panties!" you scold lightheartedly and jab your heel in the back of her thigh– a little bit of punishment. 

"ow!"

a reaction spurns from your lips, replaced by a jaded expression of hushed brows and trying lips that curl your face into one of, content. ellie forced a few puffs to spill from her open oval lips, hereafter curling into that same shit–eating grin that knows she's guilty– chuffed by herself.

then it wanes. wanes like the moon bearing its shrouded cycle. she softens up, softer than the bunny hopping across thick green grass in the season of beltane. this felt more fundamental to her than you might think, but, caring for you was her duty of worship. ever since that day she met you– the evening plait with a crimson ember engulfing air at the center of an autumntime bonfire in jackson. cold perspiration stuck to the glass held in your hands, talking the very ears off every owl present to listen. you had shared, sung, flirted, and saved the kiss for later. a later spent in her bed, all night– rising at dayspring, where she asked you to be her girlfriend at the foot of her door, just as you took your leave. 

every wound you tended to, she tended to yours, and led you here. on this farm. in your own realm of heaven.

"but seriously– do you want something to eat?"

"yeah, i'll um.." you shoo her away from her parked poise between your legs, sliding your weight off the counter with a heft of your forearms pushing you off, "clean the counter." your toes ease onto the floor with a shaky wobble, unable to even straighten your legs out at first. damn, ellie, what have you done.

"yeah, nuh–uh," she briskly bends at the torso and bars her robust arms underneath your mid–back and in the fold of your knee, sweeping you off your heels.

"els, what the f–"

she tousles her woody auburn mullet in a wag of her head, crunching you up closer with her biceps, "you, babe– are going to rest. i'll clean the counter." her brows raise at the end of her emphasized sentence, a silent 'capeesh?'.

her amenability never ceases to blossom those heartstrings of yours.

"yeah, yeah.." your eyes toss around the rim of your brow bone, and land back on her in time to spot a chuckle churn her watermelon pink lips.

those lips then settle and purse into a pucker, idly sidiling her face plumb to your forehead and peppering a moist kiss, pulling back slowly with unhindered affection tugging the corner of her lips into a satisfied smile.

"see? m'taking care of you. just as if–"

"if i was pregnant?"

"mhm.."

"you want it that badly?"

".."

"well– maybe.. jackson has some adoptable kids?"

now you're just feeding that fantasy of hers.

taglist; @whore4abby , @picklesarenice69 (im too dumb to know who wants 2 be on my permanent taglist so pls tell me directly if u ever wanna be tagged in all of my fic posts)

[lauriemarch]

and at the end of the day, people will still hate women.

because beyonce is a terrible songwriter who has a good body and nothing more and she's really nothing compared to olivia rodrigo, that stuck-up bitch who steals other people's music, but taylor swift is an old, bitter nothing who clearly hates other girls. and sabrina carpenter deserves to die because she followed her heart, not her brain, and that's exactly why zendaya will never be good enough for tom holland. don't forget about kylie jenner, who's stealing precious timothee's innocence away and dating her is like committing arthouse cinema suicide, or how we said the same thing about miley cyrus and her disgusting profanity, think of the children, poor liam hemsworth, trapped in a marriage with such a horrible woman. lana del rey was hot until she was big and she made trailerpark sexy until her ass got a little too fat. and ariana grande, talentless homewrecker, and selena gomez, jealous and unreasonable, and hailey bieber, even more boring than the blood drying on the knives you are so quick to pull. sophie turner is a bad mom and megan thee stallion deserved whatever was coming to her.

and amidst all of this, we still don't know these women. we cannot fathom the pain of having a public divorce, one where people choose sides and hurl insults at you until the battery on their phone dies. we don't watch them chase after sweet-cheeked children in tucked-away backyards or play board games with their best friends while their chests heave in laughter. we don't know their marriages and we don't know their solitudes. we don't watch them unravel themselves, time and time again, preparing for the battle that we have made of their lives. they can never make a mistake. they can never cry. they can never be who they believe themselves to be.

and we take all of this and we go to work, we ride the bus, we go grocery shopping, we walk in dappled sunlight, and we let ourselves shrivel. i compare myself to every body i see and i comfort in the fact that i can still encircle my wrists with my fingers. food turns to dust in my mouth when i think about the fact that taylor swift thinks she's fat and people still hate sabrina carpenter for sticking by joshua bassett's side when he almost died, for God's sake, and now the people on my twitter feed are saying GUTS is the worst album they've ever heard. i liked it, the tiny voice in my head cries out. she wrote songs that made me feel noticed. they're calling the song i relate to the most a total skip.

so i close the app. i try not to think about the endless profiles screaming about how much they hate a nineteen/thirty-two/thirty-eight/twenty-three/twenty-six/forty-two year old. i try not to think about how much they would hate me, if they knew anything at all.