#chat up lines for curates

[solbaby7]

Drifting Away

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: angst (sorry but it just hurts so good) swearing, mentions of poor mental health, romantic undertones

summary: You've been drowning for a long time and finally someone notices

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Azriel could hear you crying at night.

He wasn't sure when it started; how long it had been going on before the slinking shadows darted about the house, enjoying their free reign when he hears a noise. One so soft he nearly brushed it off as a breeze but he hears it again. A little louder, more throaty and then it clicks; the undeniable sound of despair being swiftly hidden away by the dark hours of the early morning when others were asleep and none the wiser.

There's an urge to check on you, one so overwhelming he taps his fingers against the smooth mahogany desk filled to the brim with mission reports and carefully notated maps with neat notes tucked in the corner. His ears strain for the sound again, mentally agreeing that if he heard it once more, he'd have no other choice but to check it out.

But nothing sounds.

Not for one minute, or two or twenty but he doesn't forget about it.

Especially not when he sees you the following morning, wearing a bright smile and laughing louder than anyone else in the room. He's subtle in the way he observed you, notating your mannerisms and the effortless charm that dripped from your tongue.

The picture of a well adjusted woman. One who seemed happy and fulfilled until the final line was spoken and the one-woman cast bowed for her performance, basking in the applause from a crowd well entertained.

You were attentive; borderline motherly in the way you took care of everyone around you--easily handing off the food from your plate without even batting an eye and Azriel's brow quirks in attention when he hears you decline more when offered; insisting that you're full, showing off a clean plate as you casually wipe your mouth against dark linen cloth.

However, he's certain you didn't take even a single bite.

It piques his interest; the warning signs of a silent struggle and he finds himself unable to stop from noting other things about you.

Like, the way you seemed to be a reliable sounding board. Mor or Feyre or Cassian would come to you for advice, spilling their burdens on your shoulders and you always welcomed them with open arms. You would nod quietly, never once interrupting and always providing such carefully curated advice. The kind you learned through life experience; pain and sorrow and true mind numbing emptiness that came from growing up with bright embers of hope; only to be pushed into the world and realize how far people will go to snuff those embers out.

And never once did they ask if you needed comfort in return.

“For a spymaster, I would have assumed you’d be better at being subtle when you stare.” It’s startling how silent you’d been, shifting from one end of the room to the next without being detected by his hearing or his shadows—shadows he now notices are circling around your feet, tickling at your bare toes against the wine red rug. “What were you looking at anyway?”

Hazel eyes are calculating when they take you in, brows furrowing when you smile down at him, humming to yourself as you twiddle your toes through the ebbing darkness that grows around your legs, teasing at the hem of your dress with a little tug. “You.”

Rhysand sits proudly in a chair big enough to be a throne, large decorative pillows perched under his arms and a grinning Feyre eased into his lap, head curling into his neck with content. Even Nesta and Cass were sitting closer than usual on the couch, feet bumping at the others as she pretended to be absorbed in some book but there was no way she was actually focusing with Cassian’s arm curled around the back of her shoulders. Mor chats idly with Armen, glittering jewelry shoved on two slim fingers and you can’t help but linger on all the incredibly powerful beings around you.

Such purpose all around and somehow you still couldn’t find your own.

“Well, it’s not everyday I get the privilege of your attention.” You twirl once, the material of your dress skimming the tips of his fingers. “Do tell—how do I look?”

Azriel doesn’t correct how that couldn’t be further from the truth. There’s a pause, his voice more soft when he speaks so it gets drowned out in the chatter behind you. “You look lonely.”

The reply makes you stop your toying with the shadows, gentle smile faltering when you squint down at him, throughly caught off guard. “What?” Azriel watches the second you seem to recompose yourself, smile sliding back in place but he can see the way you look at him, regarding him cautiously; wondering where he was getting at. “That’s ridiculous. I live in a home filled with my closest friends and family.”

You anticipate the nod, the smile and then the conversation will continue like nothing had ever happened; the answer appeasing the questioner and you’d continue about your day as you did all the others. But Azriel doesn’t change the subject, doesn’t accept the answer provided. Instead, a golden hand raises, tea still steaming over the rim. “Then, why do you seem so sad?”

“Where are you getting this from?”

“Because I heard something last night,” He watches the way you freeze, lids squinting a fraction and your hands actually tremble at your side.

“Hm," It’s alarming how good you are at taking control of the conversation; how your body adapts to the emotion that your brain predicts Azriel wants you to convey—happiness. His head slowly tilts to the side when you tip your head back and laugh, one that was so convincing even he nearly fell for it; but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Always the spy, when do you ever take a day off?"

Az can't seem to tear his eyes off of you, not when Cassian chimes in with an inebriated laugh, a heavy hand clapping down on his brothers shoulder and you're grateful for the distraction. The ability to slink into easier conversation, to craft a carefully woven picture of serenity but the golden gaze boring into the back of your head is distracting; makes your hands shake ever so slightly over the width of your glass, the condensation dripping cool trails down the length of your arm.

He doesn't get the chance to speak to you for the rest of the night; either being whisked away by his brothers or somehow getting lead away by Elain and Fey when asking for help bringing out a few more things from the kitchen. Shadows trudge by, being his eyes and ears when one returns with the same conclusion; gone, gone, gone.

For the rest of the night, Azriel remained on edge, unable to relax into the drink in his hand and his foot is practically bouncing a hole in the hardwood when the others finally start filtering out for the night; stumbling into one another on their way to their rooms. Ears strain to hear each door close and he's light on his feet when he bristles down the hall, sharply turning to the right and once he's at the end of the hall he comes to an abrupt stop.

Light still pours out from the crack beneath your door and nerves build in his stomach when he sees the shadow of your feet walking past; there was no reasonable explanation to be here—on this floor—and that becomes abhorrantly apparent when the door opens and your raising a brow at him. "Listening in on ladies in their bedchambers is not very gentlemanly of you."

"I wasn't. Well, I was but it wasn't like that." Azriel's walking past you, entering your room without even asking and he seems genuinely startled by the way it looks. Not that it was dirty or unkempt but it was painstakingly bare. Years of living there and still there were no pictures on the wall, no trinkets or feminine flare; just a bed with thick blankets and a shelf filled to the brim with books. A desk with a single sketchbook and a little bag of pencils and charcoals.

"What?"

He's still taking it in; it had to have been nearly eighty years and still it looked almost identical as it had when Rhys had first offered it to you as your own. "It's just not what I expected, that's all."

Your arms are crossed over your chest, hair braided tightly and it swayed as you walked, still dripping wet from a shower. It was alarmingly warm but you still wore a long sleeved shirt and fluffy socks that went up to your knees. "What did you expect?"

Az shrugs, turning to face you when he hears the way you slowly close the door. "You've been here a while. I suppose I had just expected to see more of you in here."

"Another one of your assessments?" There's no hiding the bite in your tone, the defensive stance you take when he begins wandering around; eyes eating up what little things you did have. Fingers graze over the spines of books, picking up one with tons of little dog-eared pages. "Please do tell what my lack of interest in interior decor says about me."

Book pages flutter, stopping when he catches one page more crinkled than most and his brows furrow when realizing the wrinkly circular dots were tears—your tears. "I wasn't evaluating you but since you asked," Azriel tucks the book under his arm and your lips part with a huff but he doesn't acknowledge the grumbles you give about taking things without asking. He's too busy scanning the contents of your desk; a cup of pens, little bottles of paints and a few brushes to accompany them. The thin drawer attached is half-filled with sketchbooks that were tightly bound an sealed with wax; a clear sign to stay the fuck out. "It shows that even after claiming to be perfectly content in a house filled with your so called "closest friends and family", you still refuse to get settled. That could stem from a plethora of things; variables I've accounted for but a definite conclusion is still pending at this time."

"Asshole," You all but hiss, smacking his hands away from sifting through the pages of the sketches and scribbles scrawled beside them— angsty little depictions of your thoughts when things got too overwhelming; when all you craved was a hot bath, one of Rhys' expensive bottles and an empty house so you could dance the line on how long you could hold your breath underwater.

"You asked." Ever the observer, noting the key you pull from under the neckline of your shirt, bending at the knee to unlock the side cabinet and open it just enough to shove the sketchbook inside. It's locked up tight and the intrigue only grows. "You also didn't say I was wrong."

"Fine," You concede, arms behind your back and braced against the desk, a body barrier between him and the secrets you weren't ready to confess. "You were wrong."

Azriel only smiles and your breath actually catches by how genuinely handsome he is. For once, he's not in his fighting leathers but somehow, the laid-back fashion of his dark sweatpants and t-shirt had your knees even more shaky. "Okay, then tell me something about you—something real."

The request startles you, brows screwing up and nose crinkling. "Why?"

A hand waves around him, shadows sliding over barren walls as if to aid in making Az's point. "Because, I should be able to get everything I need to know from being in what should be the most intimate place in the world for you but all I can get is that you like expensive sheets and quality curtains."

"I enjoy good sleep." It was the only two things that mattered when the sadness really set in. When minutes blurred into hours and in a blink of an eye you'd somehow skipped all three meals and everyone was shuffling away to their rooms for the night. "And I'll have you know the pens and colored pencils alone are more expensive than the duvet and curtains combined."

Azriel hums, fingers ghosting over the tin specifically made to hold them in place, perfectly color coded and all sharped to a point. "You draw? How don't I know that?"

"Because it doesn't save lives." It's meant as a joke, it even sounds like one but for some reason the shadowsinger can't seem to share the laugh. You refuse to meet his eye, creating some distance and tucking the key swiftly back under the fabric of your shirt, hands moving to fiddle with the ends of your sleeves. "I'm not all that good anyway."

"Good enough to spend so much money on supplies."

You let out an annoyed sigh and it doesn't affect him one bit; in fact, he finds himself enjoying any other emotion besides the faux smile he'd seen permanently plastered across your features. Your room smells like something Azriel can't place and he finds himself moving again, taking in more and more, trying to find the source of the sweet scent. "Is there a reason that you're here? You know, in my room instead of your own on the floor above us." You begin to trail behind him, following his line of sight and you too begin looking for whatever he was, rummaging through your closet and sniffing at your perfumes. "What are you doing?"

"I can smell something," It comes out distracted, body working without rationality when he ducks into your bathroom, sifting around shampoos and conditioners, soaps shaped like flowers and ivy but none of it is right. Not until he moves to the little cart by your clawfoot tub, fingers ruffling about vials and jars until he finds something that has your spine straightening. “What is this?”

There’s a pause while your will your voice to relax. “Infused rum.”

“Infused with?”

A scoff, bare toes on glossy floors when you snatch the bottle from him. “I don’t know, I don’t pay extra to get a history lesson. I just like how it makes me feel.”

Azriel raises a brow, eyes scanning the rest of the cart before sparing a glance at the empty tub. “In the bath?”

“Everyone has their own version of relaxation.” The bottle clinks back into place on the cart, tucked inconspicuously next to the other brightly colored vials and jars; perfectly hidden to anyone not equipped to pay attention to such things. “Do you usually question Mor or Elain of their drinking habits?”

It’s meant to push him away. To cut deep and throw him off your trail because Azriel was getting too close—too personal. “I would if they came to dinners faking smiles.” One step ahead forces you to take one step back, eyes squinting like a wounded animal bracing for one hell of a fight if it meant getting away. “I would if I saw them fading into nothing after spending their nights sobbing themselves to sleep.”

“Now you’re just speculating.”

“Am I?” Azriel pushes, evading your space and ignoring your attempts to create distance. It has to be some sort of manipulation tactic; distracting you with his intense presence in order to scramble your brain so that by time you realize he’s backed you into a corner—it’s too late. “Then tell me I’m wrong.” His left hand raises, his wrist enclosed in shadows as his fingers curl around your neck. Your pulse hums against his skin, heartrate spiking at the intimate touch and all words are robbed from your vocabulary.

“Azriel—“

The low rasp of his voice cuts you off, gentle grip never faltering from your neck. A shiver runs down your spine, the callouses on his thumb a welcomed roughness when sweeping at the curve of your chin. “It’s okay to be sad,” His scent is overwhelming, affecting your body similarly to a few glasses of fae wine and it takes effort for your knees not to tremble. “Just don’t let it consume you.”

For a second you think he’ll kiss you with how intensely he stares at your mouth, pulse still jumping against his fingertips.

The distance never fully closes and the phantom reminder of his touch remains branded on your skin as he slowly exits your room. And for the first time in years, instead of sniffling wrinkles into novels overflowing with friendship and love or drowning your sorrows in curated liquors —you sit at your desk and draw the sharp lines of Azriel’s jaw and that intense darkness shadowing golden irises and somewhere along the lines, you find a sliver of hope.

[mistydeyes]

take a walk in my shoes

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summary: With the 141 boys home and relaxing in your embrace, you decide to show them a day in your life. A sequel to opposite occupations.

pairing: 141 x civvie! fem!Reader (established relationship)

warnings: swearing, mentions of tattooing (tattoo guns and needles), but like before all fluff!

a/n: i love our lil squad of civilian significant others and thought a sequel needed to be made for our faves :)

🏷️ @fan-of-encouragement - thanks for giving me some ideas for price and the florist!

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watching love bloom - price x florist!

Ever since you first met, Price had been a tremendous help with the management of your shop. You had been going steady for a year now, "10 years in military time" Price would say. Although, it was as if you both were practically married. Besides hosting dinners and communicating with the other civilian girlfriends (in a group chat called "almost military wives🪖💍"), you lived like an old, married couple. Together, you and Price owned a small cottage placed in the English countryside. It was idyllic as Price could spend his evenings on the porch with a smoke and you could tend to a growing flower garden. Price requested some design choices but overall you furnished the home with items curated for the two of you. Your house was constantly filled with life, a new bouquet always resting on the table, and many thriving houseplants. Price would always joke that the plants were like your children especially when you went to water some and even sang to them.

Upon Price’s return to your shared home, he could tell something was on your mind. The living room was a mess with written notes and sketches as well as many sample flower bouquets.

“Darling I’m home!” he called setting his things down. He wondered where you could be. Suddenly you came from the backyard with an armful of flowers and your phone balanced between your ear and shoulder. When you saw him, you almost dropped your trimmings but Price moved to you and caught them.

“I’m glad you liked the arrangements, I’ll have them ready tomorrow,” you sighed before the other person on the line hung up.

After bombarding him with many kisses, he reminded you that the flowers were wilting with the lack of hydration.

“Who was that before?” he asked as he filled some buckets with water for you.

“It’s a bride from London, she and her partner are getting married in town. Funny enough, they started dating because of my little flower sign.” you chuckled as you began to prune the leaves and trim the stems from your haul. “Ah sounds like someone I know,” he said, gently kissing your forehead.

“As much as I enjoy the celebration of love and business, it’s been a whirlwind. You wouldn’t imagine how many phone calls and test runs I’ve had.” It was no exaggeration, these last few weeks had been a living hell as you helped the couple make their final preparations.

“Let me help you out tomorrow, got nothing better to do” he offered as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist. “You really don’t have to” you replied but he could see the stress this was putting on you. “Darling, there is nothing more that I would love than spending time with you and seeing you at work.”

You and Price woke up bright and early at 5 am. The sun crept on your sleeping face as he gently woke you. After some necessary coffee, you and Price opened your shop. You went to work, grabbing buckets of flowers from the fridge. You loved the brides but this order was shipped to you from a farm, one currently not being met with the cold, autumn temperatures. As you trimmed the summery array of dahlias, hydrangeas, and cosmos, Price helped to move the never-ending buckets and took care of the growing piles of trash. You were in the middle of showing him how to assemble a bridesmaid bouquet when you heard the door open.

"Fuck, can you take care of that?" you asked as you glanced at the clock, the wedding slowly approaching. "Love, what did I tell you when we first met?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I am not a man for flowers" you both said in unison. You continued, "Please John? I have a list underneath the counter detailing the different flowers for occasions. You got this!" you placed a small kiss on his lips, knowing he would do whatever you asked.

He nodded and exited to the front. When he emerged, he could see an elderly woman. "Can you help me pick out flowers? My grandson just got a new job and is moving here tomorrow" she sweetly asked. "Oh and young man, I just need them wrapped. No arranging necessary" she continued and you could hear Price rifling around for your book. Miraculously through your notebook's guidance and some of your aesthetic impressed on him, he was able to help her pick out a colorful array of peonies, tulips, and chrysanthemums - a perfect combination for a congratulations gift. You made sure to shout out from the back that he should include some wisterias and eucalyptus as a nice welcome message. You caught a glance at the bouquet and you were happy to see that the lilac hydrangeas with the orange ballerina tulips were balanced with the magenta chrysanthemums and the bundles of wisteria and eucalyptus. You can safely say, the one thing he was a natural at was tying up the loose stems. You guess his training did come in handy.

As you finished making the final additions to your bouquet, you heard Price making conversation with the older woman. “Young man, I hope you have a sweetheart at home waiting for you,” she said as you peeked and saw him handing her a bouquet. “I do actually, she reminds me that there’s more to life than destruction,” he said and you could’ve married him on the spot. The old woman wished him well as you heard the sound of her exit.

As you exited from the back, you planted a kiss on his cheek. “What’s that for?” he asked. “For being the boyfriend and employee” you smiled back at him, admiring his face that shined in the afternoon light. “Might have to change positions soon,” he joked and while you initially thought he meant employment, you realized it was something else as a more than year later he proposed. Don’t worry, he let you handle the wedding floral arrangements.

two inked hearts - soap x tattoo artist!

Although Soap had his own home, he always managed to end up at yours when he was on leave. This time was no different but unfortunately, the short notice did not allow you to take off of work. You had two customs the next day and four flash works as well.

As you were enjoying your beer, you heard the front door unlock. Knowing who it was, you walked to the entrance and saw your boyfriend standing there. Although he appeared tired and a bit grimy, his face lit up when he saw you. He kicked off his snow covered boots and dropped his duffle. He held his arms out and you immediately embraced him.

After many kisses, you lightly punched his chest. "I didn't know you were coming home so early!" you said, slightly pouting. "Well is that any way to greet a soldier," he replied and you couldn't help but smile as you missed his loving accent. "I would have called off work tomorrow," you began to say before he interrupted. "Work doesn't have to stop because I'm home, lass. I'll just go to work," he said as you pondered this decision. It was clear, he didn’t want your busy schedule to get in his way and would follow you around like a lost puppy. "I mean if the shop and the patrons don't mind, then I guess," you said back, ecstatic he would see you in your element. "Until then, you're all mine, Bonnie" he laughed before picking you up and sat you both back on the couch.

After a rushed morning, trying to get the man to let you out of bed, you showed up to work. It was winter so to Soap's dismay, you were unable to showcase all your amazing tattoos. He did insist on matching outfits. So emerging from the winter cold, you entered both wearing matching beanies and winter coats. Upon your arrival, one of your fellow artists warmly greeted Soap and commented on how cute you both were. After some catching up, you went to set up your station. Soap followed you and watched as you got your tattoo gun and the inks you would be using for the first customer. He held your waist as you sterilized the area. "My beautiful artist," he cheekily said and you rolled your eyes.

Now you were no idiot, there was no way anyone would let him tattoo them. Although his signature mohawk made him fit in with the shop's patrons. Knowing he would eventually become bored after watching you, you left him with a sketch pad and pens in a corner of your room. Your first client of the day was one of your frequent patrons. They had decided on one of your flash pieces, a hand holding a bouquet of rosemary leaves, on their thigh. As you got them comfortable in the chair, you gave Soap a quick peck and began the process. You would occasionally glance over and see him drawing with a concentrated look. “From strong, protective boyfriend to a child in seconds,” you mumbled and earned a hearty laugh from your patron.

And so the day continued, you tattooing away and Soap drawing in the corner. He would occasionally ask you what the different needle gun sizes were for and how you were able to create custom works for clients. He even conversed with another soldier getting a bicep tattoo of a skull with snakes surrounding it. You thought the idea was badass, complimenting his choice. Almost immediately, Soap interjected to say his tattoo was the best compared to the one they were getting. Eventually, once you were done for the day, you walked to Soap to see what he was drawing. You snatched the paper and in return, he pulled you into his lap.

"Well, what do we have here, my tattoo apprentice?" you asked, holding up the paper. As you looked at each drawing, you could see some familiar faces. You couldn't help but laugh when you say "You have to pay the" with Price's face following the words. He even managed to draw what looked like a depiction of Simon underneath his mask as well as Price in a florist's apron in front of his girlfriend's shop.

Your favorite was the bar of soap he had drawn in the corner with a surprising amount of detail. "You know with this work and the fact they call you 'Soap', I would think you wouldn't be as smelly," you joked. "I thought it was cool at first, they all said it was because I'm good at cleaning house but I see what you mean," he said, slightly embarrassed. You kissed him gently before telling him it was time to return to your warm bed.

Weeks later, you texted Soap a picture of your new tattoo. It was the sketch he had drawn of the bar of soap. You had done it yourself, his drawing placed on your forearm. He loved it, proudly showing it off to the other 141 boys and anyone who listened. He even was sure to text Alejandro and Rudy a picture with the caption "mira el nuevo tatuaje de mi novia!". He did ignore the reply from Alejandro that asked, “¿por qué la chica inteligente se tatuaría una barra de jabón?”

translations: mira el nuevo tatuaje de mi novia! - look at my girlfriend's new tattoo!

¿por qué una chica inteligente se tatuaría una barra de jabón? - why would a smart girl get a bar of soap tattooed on her?

being the teacher's pet - gaz x teacher!

"You know the kids always ask about you," you told Gaz as you lay leisurely on his couch. It was a Sunday and you both were enjoying each other's presence before the school week. He came home on Friday and you welcomed him home with a cooked meal and his favorite bottle of wine. The entire weekend was filled with cuddling on the couch and catching up about the last couple of months. You laughed when he told you of Soap's girlfriends tattoo. You joked wishing he had a cooler call sign so you could get it tattooed. Since your first date, you both had established a comfortable long distance relationship but you always loved when he was home.

"I could make an appearance," he joked. As you lay on his chest, you could feel him laughing lightly. He would come to regret that statement as you begged him to visit the class the next day. After some convincing, he obliged unable to deny your sweet face.

The next day, you stopped by Kyle’s flat for some morning coffee. As you opened the door, you could see him standing by the hallway mirror making sure he looked presentable. You smiled, noting he was wearing the beige button-up and navy blue sports coat you had bought him. You suddenly felt underdressed in your green slacks and brown blouse.

“You look great, Kyle, let’s go get something to drink” you spoke and he looked at you with his charming smile that brightened the room. He took your hand gently and you walked to the local coffee shop. It was spring and you couldn't help but admire the new blooms on the trees. Once you both arrived, you enjoyed your morning brew as he sipped his tea. You wished he could stay home forever as he looked so relaxed in the early morning sun. However, you suddenly were reminded of the time and kissed him on the cheek, reiterating that he should be at school for snack time.

Once you arrived at the school, you went about your typical routine and eventually, it was time to begin your lessons. You went through your plan, teaching your students basic arrhythmic in the morning. As snack time approached, you smiled knowing you'd make your students' day.

“Alright, class! I have a surprise for you” you eagerly said. Gaz was on the other side of the classroom door, smiling as he heard your enthusiastic voice. “We have a special guest today who’s going to join us for snack time!”

With that, you whisked open the door and Gaz walked into the cheers of the children. He had two lunchboxes in his hand and your heart melted. The entire class wanted Gaz to sit with them so you decided to form them into a circle so everyone could enjoy his presence. You opened the lunchbox to reveal a variety of strawberries and watermelon, delicately cut into hearts. As everyone ate their snacks, one of your students asked if Gaz would be teaching them today.

"Well I'm sure Mr. Military Man could teach you some things while we eat," you winked looking at Gaz. The children were giddy with excitement and kept begging Gaz to teach them some military things. Not wanting to expose them to the horrors of his job, he simply taught them the military alphabet and assigned them all code names. He carefully assigned one to each kid based on their personalities as well as some stories you had told him. As you watched your boyfriend methodically assign the names, you softly chuckled to yourself. In another life, Gaz would be an amazing teacher as he was great with the kids.

Once snack time was over, you let the children know they would be doing some quiet reading before practicing some of their writing skills. Gaz sat on the edge of your desk as you answered some emails from parents.

You both then heard a child whisper, "Goose, can we swap books? I finished mine." Her friend replied, "Shhh, Maverick I'm almost done." You let out a small laugh, enjoying the subtle nod to the Top Gun movie.

"Goose, you can get another book from the cubby" you said as the other children continued reading. Looking over to Gaz you gave him a smile. “Thanks for doing this, babes,” you said and placed your hand on top of his. The moment was momentarily spoiled when he whispered, “So when are we going to have our army of kids?”

Upon Gaz’s next return from the 141, he found his apartment filled with framed drawings from the children. You had surprised him with it and all of your students were more than happy to participate. Each one of them wrote their names at the bottom along with their call sign. They all had one theme: “Miss Y/N and her husband.”

a purr-fect romance - ghost x veterinarian!

"How's my favorite patient doing?" you ask as you see Ghost with Earl Grey in his arms. Simon had come home just in time to enjoy the beginning of summer and the clear skies. He was dressed in a neutral-colored t-shirt and shorts, enjoying the nice weather you recently had been having. He even had put Earl in a small straw hat you had bought. You loved seeing him look like a little beach-goer.

“I’m doing well, love,” he said and gave you a peck on the cheek. As soon as he got close to you, Earl Grey tried to leap on you. “Well hello to you, Earl” you smiled as Ghost gently handed him to you.

In the last two years, Earl and Simon had become your home. You and Simon owned a flat down the street, a lovely commute for you to the office and a place of solace for him. When you began to furnish your home, you were astonished at how little he had in personal items and how much he had for Earl. Maybe it was due to all this spoiling that Earl had a clear love for Ghost. When he would leave for deployment, Earl would find his way to sneak in between you both in bed. One time Ghost snuck out of bed and was able to capture an image of you sleeping on your stomach with Earl resting on your back. Although you said you looked like a hot mess with your sprawled figure and crazy hair, Ghost treasured the photo and printed out a small copy to keep with him at all times. Despite this domestic life, Ghost would always insist on bringing Earl Grey to your office whenever he was home. It would be easier to just have you bring him in with you for his check-up but you secretly loved seeing your boyfriend in your office.

“Just a check-up and vaccine for us today, Doc” Ghost said as you checked them in. It was later in the afternoon and you had sent your assistants home as the only patient was Earl for the rest of the day. Plus, you knew they would love to enjoy the warm evening around town. “Actually, would you like to see what I do?” you asked. He nodded and you could tell he was curious.

You lead him to one of the rooms as you donned your coat and gloves of your own. You gently placed Earl down and went through the motions, showing Ghost how you typically performed an exam. You let him listen to Earl's heartbeat with your stethoscope and described to him what things to look for when examining his coat, ears, eyes, and mouth.

"Well I'm happy to say, Mr. Riley, that your cat is in perfect health," you smiled at him and you raised your hand in front of Earl to receive a high five. "Now just for that rabies shot," you said and you pulled out the materials from around the office.

As you drew up the vaccine, Ghost entertained Earl with one of the many ribbon teaser toys lying around. You laughed as you saw Earl going crazy for the thing. Finally ready, you let Ghost pet him as you found the best area on Earl's right hind leg to administer. Setting him on his side, your heart warmed hearing him purr gently into Simon's arms.

"Alright, Earl, this will be real quick," you said and you quickly administered the shot. Earl whined and Ghost tried his best, gently saying to him, "It's okay bud, the lovely doc is almost done." With that, you finished and allowed Earl to return to his toys as you cleaned up.

Ghost picked Earl back up and you closed up the office. As you walked home in the balmy night air, Ghost was clearly in a cheery mode. "You're so great with animals, when are we-" he began to joke before you stopped him. "We can think about adopting maybe another kitten. I swear if you make Kyle's joke about having an army of them, then you can live in a house with them while his girlfriend and I live in our clean flat." With that, he laughed and wrapped a free arm around you. You wondered how life could be so perfect. You lived with your soulmate, taking care of an animal who loved you both and got to end the night with long conversations over some tea. You smiled up at him, content with your loving boyfriend and his cat child.

[jeannereames]

Do you think that Alexander was truly liked by those around him, in a personal level? True friendship. Not really Hephaistion but also like Ptolemy, Seleucus, Roxanne, Arrhidaios, those who grew up with him or were his closest circle. Or was it all cynical politics?

Found it! That was weird. Appearing/disappearing asks?

Did the people around Alexander like him?

Did the people around Alexander like him? Hephaistion did. But the rest?

The asker refers to his personal circle, but I want to address this more broadly. I’ll return to his personal circle at the end.

First, we must beware of that pesky “shading” by later authors as part of their attempts to use Alexander’s career for commentary on their own time. They meant to show how success and power spoilt him and made him into a tyrant. That said, I believe he was well-liked overall. Yet things did change over time.

He began as king of a (relatively) small kingdom in northern Greece where all a Macedonian had to do before addressing him was to take off his hat—didn’t even use the title “King.” By his death, he’d taken over in a tradition that depicted rulers as “King of Kings” and “King of the Four Quarters” [e.g., the Whole World], even a god-king (Egypt). Going from (little) Macedonia to (enormous) Asia naturally cut down on his availability to soldiers and even his own Companions/Hetairoi—which pissed them off. Partly, it was simple logistics. He had too many responsibilities, and too many people wanted a piece of his time. Yet after Darius’s death in 330, he also added layers of court ceremonial to better align with ancient near eastern royal expectations and secure Persian respect.

That alienated his own people (maybe more than he expected). However exaggerated I believe the objections to his adoption of Persian custom, there’s little doubt it wasn’t well-received by traditionalists who preferred their kings approachable. Now, be aware: that approachability was more curated than our sources admit, as these sources inflated shifts to serve their own themes. Macedonian kings had bodyguards for a reason, and certain aspects of divine charisma were associated with their physical person (see below). The average citizen could NOT just wander up to one for a chat. Even so, elaborate Persian ceremonial was quite alien to Macedonia.

Nor was such ceremonial required of Macedonians in 330; our sources note that Alexander was essentially running two parallel courts with differing expectations. Nonetheless, the Macedonians took exception to the changes, offended to see “their” king “succumb” to foreign ways. He was getting uppity. They may also have feared it would trickle down to them eventually, even if it hadn’t yet.

Kleitos the Black’s exact words to Alexander in their infamous, alcohol-fueled spat is 99% invented. (Except maybe the line from Euripides; I’m least suspicious of that.) Some of it involved a play mocking officers who’d died recently at the Marakanda massacre as a means to absolve Alexander, who hadn’t been present, but whose failure to clarify the chain of command got them killed. I suspect that was a lot of it. But as with all “straw that broke the camel’s back” fights, it quickly escalated into a litany of complaints. Some of those were about the changes at the court. And Kleitos didn’t survive the encounter.

Alexander’s remorse appears to have been genuine. And the fact the army was ready to convict Kleitos of treason after-the-fact, said a lot about their empathy for the king. Nonetheless, after that, NOTHING was the same for his inner circle. In the right circumstance, he might kill you. And the army would absolve him of it.

Yet the army didn’t regard every negative act by Alexander as forgivable. They were not willing to overlook the murder of Parmenion. If they could understand/see themselves getting worked up enough to kill even a good friend when drunk, the cold, calculated removal of a potential (not even demonstrated) political threat was something else again. Especially a threat who’d served Alexander (and Philip) with such distinction.

E.g., nuance is required when assessing soldierly opinion.

A couple more things suggest Alexander was—overall—beloved:

1. At the battle of Granikos, he was elected the ancient equivalent of MVP; an award made by soldiers. He accepted, then never allowed his own name to be in the running again. Yet it was an award from the soldiers, and means he was respected not just as a leader, but as a fighter.

2. During both so-called “mutinies,” the soldiers didn’t want to kill him, they only wanted him to change his policies. If there’s some doubt the first actually occurred, the second at Opis certainly did. Yet when he showed the soldiers what it would mean to reject him (he replaced them), they came crying for his forgiveness. They didn’t say, “Good riddance” and head home.

3. On his deathbed, the Macedonian soldiers clamored so to see him that his top officers had to knock down a palace wall in order for them to parade through and say a final goodbye.

Now, that’s soldiers. What about his Companions/Hetairoi? At this high level, liking or disliking also involved personal advancement and family position—as the asker alluded to.

Those willing to “play ball” (so to speak)—go along with Alexander’s changes—had a whole new world opened. This wasn’t just his personal circle but included figures such as Krateros who understood what side his bread was buttered on. I’m not sure how much love was lost between him and Alexander, but they certainly respected each other. There were others who fell into this category, such as Koinos and Kleitos the White. Non-Macedonians/Greeks too, who may have seen him as a road to higher office than they’d held under Darius, or perhaps just to survival. Although I do think Poros and Alexander had a Moment; Poros remained loyal even after it served him to do so, despite his own son’s death at the Battle of Hydaspes. Something actually clicked with those two, I believe.

As for those who grew up with him—Hephaistion, Perdikkas, Leonnatos, Seleukos, Lysimakos … it seems they did like him, even if they didn’t always like each other. Seleukos was responsible for Perdikkas’s murder, in the Successor Wars later. There were others, but those names float to the top again and again. Similarly, although older, Harpalos, Ptolemy, Erigyios, and Laomedon all got themselves exiled for his sake. And Alexander never forgot it. The man who brought news to Alexander of Harpalos’s first flight (due to embezzling) was initially arrested for a false report. Alexander simply didn’t believe his friend had betrayed him.

 And it wasn’t just those men. The tale of Alexander drinking a medical potion given him by his doctor Philip—despite a missive from Parmenion warning him about Philip—became famous as a tale of trust. And sure enough, the drought cured the king, so ATG’s trust was well-placed. A later story about Alexander locking up Lysimachos in a cage with a lion in punishment is almost certainly bogus (with overtones of Roman-era stuff). Other evidence suggests great affection for his men. That’s perhaps why Philotas’s failure to inform him about a conspiracy endangering his life came as such a blow.

One may wonder if some of those guys, like the talented—and older—Krateros, didn’t want to replace him as king? Certainly after his death, they did vie to be kings.* Periodically, I run across some misguided person arguing that Philotas and/or Parmenion wanted to take his place, hence the conspiracy. It’s even embedded in our ancient sources, which didn’t understand Macedonian kingship (were thinking on Roman models).

But those men couldn’t be kings. They weren’t Argeads, and it mattered. (Such supposition also assumes they were part of the real conspiracy, rather than Philotas simply being an arrogant dumbfuck who failed to report it.)

The Argeads had Royal Charisma. Charis is a gift from the gods: literally. It can be beauty and grace, sure, but at its base, it simply means “favor.” The difference between a king and a tyrant was that the former had charis by descent. The men who became tyrants (or tried and failed) all believed they had it too, but by their own demonstrated aretē and timē. That’s why they were never just popular Joe Blow off the street. They were Olympic victors, winning generals, etc.  All were also aristocrats and fully intended to establish their own royal dynasties…but failed.

Until the Hellenistic Age. The Successors were just tyrants who made it work. Some (like Seleukos) even created mythological origins for themselves. Daniel Ogden has a good book on the creation of this myth: The Legend of Seleucus: Kingship, Narrative and Mythmaking in the Ancient World. If you’re curious about how all those things go into charis, I recommend it.

It’s not enough to be competent. One also needed the gods’ blessing. Charisma. That’s why Alexander’s officers might compete with and snipe at each other…but not with/at him.*

As for figures such as Roxane or Oxyathres (Darius’s brother who joined ATG’s court after Darius’s murder), it’s impossible to know what their opinion of him would have been. We have zero reliable evidence. It would seem Sisygambis (Darius’s mother) genuinely liked him. But again, this may have served later narratives, so I wouldn’t swear to it. She might have just made the best of a bad situation.

So! The final vote is that he seems to have been more popular/well-received than not … for a rather ruthless ancient world conqueror. Ha. I think that’s part of his eternal fascination. He’d be far less interesting if he’d simply been a monster.

Also, I forgot, but I did a separate post a while back on a related topic: Did Alexander's Companions Like Each Other

————————

* It took some years before the Successors started using the title “King” (Basileus). Antigonos Monophthalmos was the first, if I remember right, around the same time Alexander IV was murdered by Kassandros—and he didn’t claim the title himself. It was given him by Athens. Up to that point, they’d all simply called themselves “governors” and/or “regents.” Even if they might have been privately considering how to become kings in their own right, the charisma of Macedonian kingship belonged to the Argeads. Getting rid of Alexander IV (quietly), then Olympias’s murder of Philip III Arrhidaios and Hadea Eurydike left no Argeads. Then Alexander’s empire could become “spear won” territory.

[ingo-ingoing-ingone]

A Personal Post

Hi guys, I'm finally making the post I kept telling myself and my best friends I'd make but wanted to put it off until I felt better. That hasn't happened and with how things are going I thought it was best to just post it now.

So for a while, since probably late 2023, I've felt less like my blog is for me, and more like it's some kind of fandom archive. Which, if you use it this way as-is, great! I'm glad my blog could make you happy like that! But that's not what I set out for it to be.

I'm the sort of neurodivergent person who likes to categorize things, including my interests. All my tumblr blogs are specific to one thing, and this one was no exception.

I began tagging things soon after I made the blog because I saw a lot of people were sad about the twins, and I thought "well since I love both sad and happy stuff, and I'm really good about categorizing things, maybe I can try and help!" And according to many, it did help!

But I think that also gave off the impression that I was making this blog for other folks, and that isn't the case. I'm sorry I never clarified. It's not an archive; I do not reblog shipping posts, posts from people I've blocked, AUs I don't click with, and sometimes just not everything I see.

I've gotten popular in the fandom, and for the most part I do, from the bottom of my heart, enjoy it. I have people who care about my hyperfixation! That's amazing! I have people who love my cosplay and want to meet up with me. I've made so many friends of all shapes and sizes and it's probably the most incredible thing I've ever experienced, truth be told.

But yeah my blog being mine has gotten away from me a bit, I think.

I want to keep tagging my submas tags, that isn't going to change. I will tag triggers when asked, unless it's kind of impossible due to the blog's subject (trains, for instance) or a name or really common word (like the word 'head' or something). Other than that please reach out and I'll do my best to remember. But other tags? Those will be up to me. I don't want to tag when OCs show up. I love OCs and like seeing them, and don't want to have to remember that one person who visits my blog doesn't.

I had anon off for a while because honestly ever since making this blog, there have been anons who really made me unhappy. (Also yes, non-anons but that's been fewer and far between). I've gotten misinformation, accusations, horrible and disgusting explicit asks, and criticisms and complaints, and I'm just... Not here for that. Keep the explicit things and misinfo out of my inbox, I am no arbiter of morality or personal decisions, and I am not here for you to share your negative opinions of submas or the fandom.

Anon is on for people who are too self conscious to chat face to face, for people to send fun headcanon ideas (remember when people did that back in 2022 when this blog started? I miss that, it was sweet and wholesome), to share song recommendations... That kind of stuff. If you have an actual problem, please, PLEASE talk to me off anon, whether that be DMs or a non-anon ask that I can answer privately. Especially if we're friends; please, please just talk to me about stuff. I don't bite! I swear!

But yeah the bottom line is I'm here to participate in fun (and sometimes heartbreaking!) fandom stuff. I'm here for FUN, not as my job. I know that we're all a bunch of neurodivergent folks and sometimes interactions can be a swing and a miss, but please try to be mindful. Please treat me like a person and not just like a museum curator for this blog.

Truth is, I haven't been okay for a while now. It's gotten worse this year for sure, and due to life stuff I cannot see things feeling better for me for some time. I need to go day by day for a lot of things, and I am trying to get better about needing to set boundaries and all that sort of thing. I suffer from intense paranoia too, and having so many eyes on me is genuinely terrifying at times. I'm trying to manage that as best I can, but I do ask that folks be kind.

NO I am not going anywhere, my blog is staying and will continue on as normal, but I really, really needed to get this posted.

Please continue to interact with me and chat and everything like that! But also please remember to treat this space, my blog, as my space. Thanks for reading!

[olderthannetfic]

Response to pluralkit complaint anon- (https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/758720637486432256/honestly-my-problem-with-pluralkit-is-like?source=share)

I'm part of a plural system myself and I honestly saw this and went oh hey same. 😅 Pluralkit has its uses but I personally despise having to mod it in bigger servers specifically for these reasons. It's really great for small private servers where everyone is friends, but in larger communities it gets more difficult logisticslly. Sometimes you can just personally find someone chronically annoying/abrasive, it has nothing to do with them being plural, and I think it's unfair to be slapped with the ableism label because you want people in your server to be able to block this person from their chat window for their own sanity. If they do something outright ban worthy that can be a different conversation but like, sometimes you just wanna block someone who drives you nuts, and from an admin standpoint it's a fucking nightmare if that person happens to be part of a system and your server has pk. I think everyone deserves the right to curate their spaces the way they see fit, and I don't think being plural should be an excuse for forcing people who don't like you into being a captive audience.

I will say, on mobile devices, an app cloner is a great way to have accounts running simultaneously, and if you have them all labeled and lined up on one page, swapping between them is a breeze. It's free and you can even change the icon color. Idk that there is truly an ideal situation here in terms of accessibility and I hope one day more accessible options become available, but imo pluralkit is just not practical for every situation. It's got some glaring flaws for larger communities, and I don't think disliking the way it works makes you inherently ableist, plural or otherwise. 😪

--

[mawsnclaws]

In honor of school letting out, here's some Stanley Palatable predcanons for you. Expect more uploads for various fandoms soon <3

NARRATOR:

- He's the most stuck up pred you've ever met, but the most insistent on eating you.

- He refuses to eat you if you have shoes or a jacket on. He thinks they're "too dirty" and will refuse to even let you near his mouth.

- Adventure line tongue? Adventure line tongue! If you decide to follow the Adventure line, you may end up in a bit of a..situation.

- If you fall into something he may be eating or drinking, don't expect him to help you out. You're on your own now. Just hope you can avoid being eaten long enough to find a way out.

- Don't mention him eating you to anyone else because he'll just brush you off and get embarassed. "Oh dear where did you ever come up with a thing like that?" Before you're snatched up and shoved into his pocket.

- He uses the time he has you in his stomach to get things done. He's always making sure you're safe and not doing anything stupid- he rarely has time to work on the Parable or his writing. His best bet is just to swallow you down and take some time for himself.

- Biiig fan of fear/fearplay, even if you hate it. He's really bad at knowing just when to stop so he often does go overboard- but he tries his hardest to make up for it in any way he knows how afterwards.

- His stomach is either like the zen room or bright yellow! Depends on how he's feeling. It growls a lot- on purpose mostly. He thinks it "adds to the tone" when in reality it's just nice white noise.

STANLEY:

- Surprisingly worried pred, constantly prodding at his stomach to try and make sure that you're ok.

- Needs constant reassurance that you're fine and he tries to find different ways to talk to you since he can't speak.

- Mostly eats you to give you a break from The Narrator. He's gentle and quiet- something that The Narrator isn't. He genuinely enjoys being this close to you.

- Enjoys it when you rub the inside of his stomach!

- His stomach is a duller grey-ish pale yellow, it's not harsh on your eyes which is nice. His stomach doesn't growl as much and when it does it's pretty quiet.

- After he eats you, he tries to settle down in a place where he wouldn't move much. His chair, the break room, somewhere peaceful like that. He doesn't want to disturb the little bit of "alone time" that you get.

THE CURATOR:

(this one is mainly for me. happy pride month yall. I LOVE WOMEN.)

- She is a very no nonsense pred. She won't eat you without permission but she doesn't like it if you squirm or struggle.

- She mainly eats Mariella, but if you ask her politely enough and you catch her on a good day, she absolutely will eat you.

- Her stomach is a gentle blue-purple color and it's very quiet. Most of the time she'll gently hum while working, or make small conversation, but other than that it's silent.

- Sometimes she likes to gossip about The Narrator. Nothing harmful at all, just silly little quips about her "airhead" coworker.

- Sometimes she'll dangle you between her fingers (neatly manicured blue nails.. 😋) before she eats you. She's silly and indulgent sometimes.

MARIELLA:

(this is also mostly for me. I just. love women. a lot. 😭)

- THE YAPPER EVER. She will NOT shut up once she eats you. She sees this as an opportunity to talk and talk without any interruptions. She talks about everything. Hair, nails, the weather, her job- everything.

- Her stomach is pink! It's a muted pink but it's very nice. It growls a lot but not nearly as much as The Narrator's.

- Sometimes you'll just get picked up and eaten with no explanation and she'll start chatting away. It's mostly when she's bored and has nobody else to talk too.

- She's not one for fear but she does like to dangle and tease occasionally.

- Sometimes she won't even eat you, she'll just hold you in her mouth for awhile while she paints her nails or does makeup- or on the rare occasion that she actually gets stuff done, some paperwork.

- She'll fall asleep without explanation at times. One moment she'll be talking and the next she's fast asleep.

[t0ta11y-n0t-cup1d]

Hello~ ʕっ˘ڡ˘ςʔ

I have a request for one-shot with Rise Leo x a crush fem reader were the reader is an actor for a movie as the maniac villan but she is very shy irl (maybe Leo finds a fan fiction about reader, would he read it? XD) Is ok if you don't want to do this 😅

(Not at All) Evil

꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡ ;; leo's meeting his celebrity crush, turns out she's not as villainous as portrayed

taglist ;; @apostlephobe

req ;; yes/no

fem reader - she/her prns

warnings ;; swearing

"Leo! Get a hurry on, we'll be late for the convention!" Raph groaned, Donnie tapping his foot impatiently alongside him as Mikey bounced about, chittering on about how excited he was.

Leonardo, on the other hand, was very, very nervous. He's been a long-time fan of Y/n ever since they starred in a movie as a villain. As soon as he heard the evil laughter spilling from her lips in one particular scene, he was smitten. And of course, his brothers being the good family they were, found and purchased tickets for a convention where Y/n would have a scheduled meet-and-greet.

The day before, he very carefully curated his outfit, picked out funny jokes and even made a script for anything that Y/n might say during the meet-and-greet. He had everything down to a T, to ensure he made a good impression on the idol he oh-so adored.

"Leo, if you don't get your fanboy butt out here, we're leavin' without ya!" Raph yells.

"... Fanboy ass." Mikey corrected quietly with a snicker.

The alligator snapping turtle turned on his heel towards Michelangelo with a scowl. "What. Did. You. Just. Say?"

"N-Nothin'!" Mikey squeaked, hiding behind Donnie.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Leo yelled back, giving one last glance in the mirror before grabbing a backpack to carry with him. Once everyone was all gathered up together, they made the long journey towards the convention center. The brothers promised to meet up together after, each going their separate ways. If he could remember correctly, Leonardo watched as Donnie headed towards a streamer’s (who was famous for building very questionable and dangerous things) meet-and-greet, Raph was off to see the booths and the cute things being sold, and Mikey was going to the food stalls, where there would be some prestigious chefs and food critics.

Simply vibrating in both anxiety and joy, Leo couldn’t stop the small chirrups that escaped him as he made his way upstairs, taking several rides up elevators to see his idol. The posters hung around, some boasting her presence, servined only to fuel the fire of his excitement.

Leonardo finally arrived at the designated area for Y/n’s meet-and-greet, velvet ropes set up to help designate where the fans should line up and patiently wait for their turn to have their photos taken and to chat with the actress. Only… It was strangely empty?

The red-eared slider looked around, confused. It was only 3pm, surely the meet-and-greet would be starting in some thirty minutes? He came early, but not that early. He opened up his phone to look at the tickets and then to look at the flyer for Y/n’s booth, only to crumble to the ground and hit the wall in agony.

‘Come and see the fabulous Y/n IRL! Booths and meet-and-greet open from 3:30-5pm!��

What he hadn’t read were the dates that she would be present. Alas, he had come a day too late.

Sulking and moping with his head hung low, Leonardo sought out Raph and clung to him sadly, weeping overdramatically as he perched atop his older brother’s shell. He whined and moaned about ‘injustice’ and the ‘absolute ruin’ his day had become as Raphael purchased new stuffed animals and even a small treat to cheer Leo up. Leo sobbed as he munched on a cupcake.

Eventually the whole group had gotten back together, the sun starting to set as they made their way towards a restaurant to order some food.

“I just don’t get it,” Leonardo wailed, leaning on Donnie (much to his twin’s disapproval). “I thought the meet-up was today… I was so, so excited, you guys can’t even IMAGINE the amount of, of- Donnie, what’s a big, genius word for feeling sad?”

“Bereaved? Sorrowful? Despondent? Woeful? Disconsolate? P-”

Leo made a loud shushing sound at the softshell as Raph ordered for the brothers. “Yes, yes, yes, I get it! I have such sadness in me, none of you could possibly understand!” (They all, in fact, understood, because Leonardo would simply not stop moaning and groaning over it since they all had regrouped.)

They all sat down in a booth, each having a burger, some fries and a soda. “But I’m just saying, I can’t believe I misread the flyer.” Leo sighed sadly, taking a sorrowful munch of his burger. “I was so looking forward to meeting her. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Um, excuse me?” A small, feminine voice spoke up.

Leonardo turned towards her, a gloomy look on his face. The first thing that his eyes had landed on was his phone (a distinct, blue-decorated phone case, as well as a photocard of Y/n’s role as the villain behind the clear phone case, credits to Mikey) in her hand, offering it to the brothers.

“Is this one of yours?”

Then, Leo took the phone and opened his mouth to thank the kind young woman, only to gape his mouth at her in surprise. To his absolute, inexplicable glee, the girl who had given Leo his phone was none other than his idol. There stood Y/n, in all of her glory!

“Ah- uhm, you, uh, when- You, you, uhm-” Leonardo babbled, cheeks flushed in embarrassment as his tail thumped against the plasticy-fabric of the booth and his fingers tapped in a fast, rhythmic pattern on the table.

His brothers laughed, Donnie leaning over with a shit-eating grin. “Sorry about my brother, he’s very socially inept and stupid. He means to say thank you and that he’s a very big fan of your films and the roles that you play.”

“Oh! And he was real sad earlier ‘cause he missed your meet-and-greet today ‘cause he misread the flyer for it!” Mikey added, a bright smile on his face.

Y/n nodded softly, a gentle smile on her lips as she looked towards Leonardo. “Is that so? I’m very sorry. I’ll talk to my managers later about making sure the dates and times are clearer.” She responded in a sheepish, genuine tone. “Would you like a photo, then? I apologize that you had wasted your money in such a way.”

“I-you, uhhh, um, y-”

“Yes, he would!” Raph smiled, picking up Leo so that he stood beside you. Donnie took Leo’s phone, tapping away and inserting the password.

“Next time, don’t leave your phone on with fanfiction up, Leo. This writing is abysmal!” Don teased, giving a knowing nod towards Y/n as he pulled up the camera. “Alright! Leo, smile!”

Click!

As the brothers returned to their seats, Y/n stuck by for a few minutes to laugh and chat for a bit, writing her autograph onto a napkin, placing it in front of Leo before leaving.

It wasn’t until they were at home that Leonardo finally came to. “Oh my god. Oh. Oh my GOD!” He shrieked in the turtle tank as he swiped through his phone and clutched the napkin. “OHMYGO- Owwww!” He rubbed the back of his head, tossing a glare at Donnie, who had hit the back of his head.

He huffed and ran over to his room, taking some tape from Mikey’s and taping the autograph onto his wall. Leo chirped happily, clapping his hands in glee. “This! This is the best day ever!” He shouted in joy.

A/N ;; girl im so fuckin EEPY I SWEAR IVE NEVER BEEN SO EEPY IN MY LIFE </3 anyway TY FOR THE REQUEST GRACIAS!!!! mewmewmew THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN might make crumbs for it???? bc i scrapped. a LOT of scenes. anyway first week of school over and i already want to kword myself <33333

LUV FROM ;; CUPEZ

[cherrygirlystuff]

Grunge Gatherings: Your Guide to Indie Sleaze Socials

Hey babe! 🌸 Ready to throw it back to those epic indie sleaze gatherings that defined a generation? Welcome to Grunge Gatherings, where we’re diving into the social side of the indie sleaze scene. From house parties and underground gigs to DIY events and everything in between, we’ve got all the tips and outfit guides you need to host a gathering that’s straight-up legendary. So grab your friends, crank up the tunes, and let’s get this party started! 🎉🎸

Grunge Gatherings: Bringing the Indie Sleaze Vibe to Your Social Life 🌟

The indie sleaze scene wasn’t just about the music or the fashion—it was about the community, the connections, and the unforgettable nights spent with friends. Whether you’re planning a chill house party, an underground gig, or a spontaneous get-together, nailing the indie sleaze vibe is all about creating a space where everyone feels free to be themselves. Ready to dive in? Let’s break it down!

1. House Parties: The Heart of Indie Sleaze Socials 🎉

House parties were the epitome of indie sleaze culture—intimate, unpretentious, and totally epic. Here’s how to throw a house party that captures the spirit of the era:

DIY Decor: Forget fancy decorations—think more along the lines of DIY. Use old band posters, string lights, and thrift store finds to create a laid-back, eclectic vibe. Throw up some fairy lights, hang up vintage records, and scatter some candles around for a cozy, grungy feel.

Music is Key: Curate a playlist that’s equal parts nostalgic and eclectic. Mix in some classic indie anthems with lesser-known tracks for that perfect indie vibe. If you can, set up a turntable for spinning vinyl—it adds a touch of authenticity and gives your party that extra edge.

Comfort Over Style: Create a space that’s comfortable and inviting. Think bean bags, floor cushions, and cozy blankets. Your friends will appreciate having a place to relax, chat, and soak in the music.

Chill Vibes: Keep the mood relaxed and laid-back. Encourage people to bring their own drinks and snacks to keep things casual. The goal is to create a space where everyone feels at home and can let loose.

Outfit Guide for House Parties:

Grungy Chic: Opt for distressed jeans, oversized band tees, and vintage leather jackets. Comfort is key, so keep your look effortless and cool.

Layer Up: Throw on a flannel shirt over your tee or a beanie to complete your look. Don’t be afraid to mix textures and patterns for that signature indie sleaze style.

2. Underground Gigs: Embracing the DIY Music Scene 🎸

Underground gigs were the heartbeat of the indie sleaze scene—raw, unfiltered, and totally exhilarating. Here’s how to channel that energy into your own DIY music event:

Find the Right Venue: Look for local spots that have that gritty, underground vibe—basements, warehouses, or even your own garage can work. The key is to find a space that feels authentic and intimate.

Lineup and Promotion: Get in touch with up-and-coming bands and solo artists who embody the indie spirit. Use social media, local flyers, and word of mouth to spread the word. The more grassroots your promotion, the more genuine the vibe.

DIY Decor and Setup: Keep it simple but impactful. Use string lights, old concert posters, and DIY signage to create a low-key but lively atmosphere. Set up a small stage area with a makeshift backdrop for added effect.

Food and Drinks: Offer simple refreshments—think snacks, drinks, and maybe a few homemade treats. Keep it casual and easy to manage so you can focus on enjoying the music and the company.

Outfit Guide for Underground Gigs:

Edgy Elegance: Go for something that looks effortlessly cool yet practical. Think skinny jeans, band tees, and sturdy boots. Layer with a denim jacket or a leather vest for added flair.

Statement Accessories: Add some grungy accessories like chunky rings, layered necklaces, and vintage pins. These little details can elevate your look and make you stand out in the crowd.

3. Spontaneous Get-Togethers: Embracing the Impromptu Vibes ✨

Sometimes the best gatherings are the ones that aren’t planned. Embrace those spontaneous moments with these tips:

Easygoing Planning: Keep it simple—whether you’re meeting at a local park, your favorite café, or even just hanging out at someone’s house, make sure the vibe is relaxed and easygoing.

Casual Activities: Think laid-back activities like a DIY craft session, a movie marathon, or just chilling with some good tunes. The goal is to keep things fun and informal.

Flexible Dress Code: Since these get-togethers are more about spontaneity than style, go for an outfit that’s comfy and effortlessly cool. Think relaxed jeans, vintage tees, and your favorite sneakers.

Outfit Guide for Spontaneous Get-Togethers:

Effortless Cool: Throw on a pair of high-waisted jeans, a graphic tee, and some chunky boots. Add a beanie or a bandana for a touch of grunge.

Layer Smartly: Since these gatherings can be casual, layer with a denim jacket or a lightweight sweater for easy changes in weather or mood.

Final Thoughts, Gorgeous: Bringing the Indie Sleaze Vibe to Life 🌟

There you have it, babe—your ultimate guide to hosting and dressing for indie sleaze gatherings! Whether you’re throwing a cozy house party, organizing an underground gig, or just planning a spontaneous hangout, the key is to keep it genuine, relaxed, and full of that signature indie spirit. With the right mix of decor, music, and outfits, you’ll create gatherings that are unforgettable and totally on point.

What’s your go-to for indie sleaze gatherings? Share your tips and stories in the comments—I’d love to hear how you’re bringing the grunge glamour to life! 💕

[ferindencadash]

Leather club au 👀👀👀👀

Bless you for asking about this one. 😌 It's literally all that occupies my brain most days. I don't think you can necessarily *plan* your magnum opus, but fuck am I trying. I am putting EVERYTHING into this fic.

I've ordered in a dozen library books for reference, I've researched the history of CCTV in Manchester, I've been chatting with retired security guards on reddit, I calculated the dismemberment benefits for SAS officers in 1987... (autism, who?)

Yeah. 😅

Overview: Soap loses a leg in a 1987 IRA bombing (a real life incident which the SAS was actually involved in). He's now working as an independent contractor reviewing security tapes. It's boring as shit, but disability benefits don't go that far, and it helps pay the bills.

He's got a casual fwb situation with Gaz, who is a bartender at a local leather/gay bar that is owned by Gaz's boyfriend/Daddy (sexual, not literal) Price.

Gaz mentions that Price is looking to commission someone to do some designs for merch for the bar, and encourages Soap to stop by and talk to him about it.

Soap is closeted outside of his close friends (his family is very Catholic), and he usually avoids places he might be seen and outed, but he needs money (and he's kind of curious) so he goes.

He shows up on their weekly bdsm night and sees a large masked man doing a scene demonstration and, well... 😏 He is intrigued.

I've got the whole thing loosely outlined and time-lined. At least a dozen chapters, I think. Every chapter is titled after a song. Yes, I have a playlist. My older friend who frequented leather bars in the 80s/90s has been helping me curate it. 😅

I have one more assignment fic I need to finish, and then I am diving into writing this properly (and I will be looking for betas if anyone's interested 👀).

[ladylooch]

Afterthoughts and Misunderstandings - [Liv X Luca]

A/N: Part 2 of Liv and Luca's angst! ICYMI or need a refresh, part 1 is here.

Word Count: 3.2k

Part 1 | Part 3| Part 4

Although we understand school is a priority, we hope you are taking time to focus seriously on this next project. What you submitted today was nowhere near the quality of the writer that you are. We will chat more next month.

Liv scans over the words again in her parked car. Deep in the innards of her apartment building, embarrassed tears sting her eyes. The words came in an email from her editor. Two weeks ago, she submitted the first quarter of her book and the outline for the remaining pages. It was not well received by anyone on her support team. Their recommendation? Start from scratch. As if Liv hadn’t spent over 200 hours curating the pages she sent in for review.

Deflated doesn’t even begin to describe how she feels. 

Liv received the feedback in the Whole Foods parking lot. She had been gathered groceries and was getting off the phone with Luca as the email came zipping into her inbox. Luca had to run to a flight for the start of his East Coast road trip. It is still six days before he comes to New York to round out his road trip with both teams. Those six days are going to crawl by. Liv is in desperate need of his comforting arms, to feel his heartbeat beneath her cheek so she can forget the failure clutching at her throat.

She feels numb and distraught all at the same time while she rides the elevator up to her floor. The doors open. Liv pauses in the steel doorway, seeing Ryder Hughes slumped against her front door. His back is against it, head resting back toward the ceiling. One leg is curled into a bend with his wrist hanging off his knee. The other leg stretches across the hallway, almost consuming the whole width of the space. 

Liv has not seen Ryder since their almost kiss in this very hallway three days ago. She has been avoiding him. He knows it, so does she. But now he is here and somehow, Liv is expected to have this interaction when she just got dealt the biggest blow of her short writer’s career. 

Ryder hears the ruffle of her bags and turns his face towards her. He pops up immediately, jogging down to grab her bags. 

“I can..” Liv stops because Ryder has already taken all of them from her. “Okay.” She adjusts her keys in her hand, shoving them into the lock and opening her apartment door. Ryder follows behind, then goes to the kitchen to put her bags down. He immediately begins unloading them for her. “Ry.” 

“If I’m being helpful, you can’t kick me out.” He jokes, grinning as he pulls out some Liquid IV. Liv stands in the living room, looking back at him with cautious eyes. “I’m sorry. I was really out of line on Saturday. I can’t even use the alcohol excuse either.” Ryder pauses with a big grapefruit in his hand. He studies her with intense blue eyes. “Are you okay?” 

As is standard anytime someone asks her that, Liv immediately begins to cry. Because no. Nothing about what she is feeling in her body is okay. Her slender fingers come to her eyes. She presses into her black eyelashes to gather her tears, shoulders quivering with her impending sobs. 

“Livy.” Ryder murmurs. His arms wrap around her whole body, hands resting on her back ribs. He pauses, feeling her shake harder. His hands rub up her back. Then he presses his nose into the strands of her brown hair. Liv sighs heavily, which pushes her deeper into his body. She moves her hands from her face, winding them around his back to fully accept his hug.

They stay like that for several minutes. Ryder sways them a few times, rocking to soothe her sobs. Eventually, Liv sniffs, pulling back to wipe at her face. 

“Sorry.” She mumbles with downcast eyes.

“Hey, no need to apologize.” He assures her. His hands slide down to her hips, waiting as she collects herself more. She wipes under her nose with her palm. 

“I’m not having a good day.”

“I’ve gathered.” He responds supportively. “Tell me what’s going on.” Liv sighs, sniffling again. Slowly, she moves her eyes up to his face. His concern is evident, eyebrows pulled low over blue eyes and creases are forming in the corners of his frown.

“I suck at writing.” Surprise fills his face.

“News to me?”

“I do.” Liv slumps her shoulders down, looking away. Ryder squeezes her hips to keep her in place. “I sent in what I have for my second book and they roasted it. They think I should scrap it and start over!” Her voice escalates the longer she talks. “I’ve worked so hard on this, Ry. For them to think it sucks kills me.”

“So tell them you’re not doing that.”

“What?”

“Tell them you’re not scraping it. That you believe in the direction of your work and you’re going to see that through.” 

“It isn’t that simple. They have a say in what I produce.”

“Fuck that, Livy. Your first book was all you. That is what your audience wants to read. Your voice. Not 10 people in a boardroom who have a different vision. Write it your way.” Liv tucks her bottom lip into her mouth, rolling her tongue against it.

“I don’t think I am brave enough to do that.”

“You are. You have already proven that. You are already a published author. That is the bravest thing I have ever seen. Creating and letting people consume it. You’ve got big balls.”

“Big balls?” She laughs, shaking her head. 

“Sorry, it was the quickest analogy that came to me.” He reaches up, smoothing her hair down the sides of her face while cupping her damp cheeks. “You are amazing. Your work matters. I’m really proud of you.”

Awareness of everything hits Liv at once. The smell of his cologne goes up her nose like the other night. His warm palms transfer heat into her cheeks. Their faces tilted inwards to each other. Conflict begins to writhe in Liv’s stomach. The push and pull of what she knows and has with Luca and the curiosity of Ryder. His gaze surveys her face, then with a heavy sigh, he steps back from her completely. Liv stays glued in place. Ryder returns to the counter, unpacking more of her groceries.

“Go change.” He says without looking at her. “I’ll keep doing this.” 

Liv nods, even though he doesn’t see, and walks to her bedroom. There, she pulls on loungewear- a plain t-shirt, her dad’s Swiss hockey sweatshirt along with a pair of Lio’s club team sweatpants he wanted to get rid of when they still lived in their home in Switzerland. The comfort of the familiar, worn cotton blankets her skin. She goes to scrub off her makeup, then presses a cool washcloth to her eyes and cheeks to relieve the redness from crying. 

She returns to the living room, finding Ryder watching TV on her couch. He has taken off his shoes and jacket, tossing them by her entryway bench. There are two cups of tea steeping on the coffee table. He greets her with a small smile. Liv goes to the other side of the couch, curling her feet up next to her butt. The movie on the screen is Barbie starring Margot Robbie. Liv smiles.

“Thought this would inspire you a bit.” He shrugs. He is right, it does. So much so that she decides she isn’t going to tell anyone else about the feedback. Because they’re wrong about what they said. Ryder is right- this is hers. She can create whatever she wants because she has already done this before. This is her creation, her baby, hers to flop or soar with. She will use her gift with words to tell her publishing team to shove it. 

The sunsets over the city. Barbie ends and they ordering big bowls of pasta to share for dinner along with tiramisu and garlic bread. They decide to watch another movie once they are finished eating. Ryder picks this time, some Netflix original that is supposed to be a thrilling and wicked twister.

Partially through the next movie, Ryder’s hand moves over to Liv’s foot. His thumb works deep presses into the arch of her foot then into the big pads below her toes. Finally, Liv surrenders both feet into his lap. He works them over until she is asleep next to him. Ryder finishes the movie, then clicks the TV off. Darkness absorbs Liv’s apartment. The moonlight splices across her cheek, nose, and slightly open mouth. She looks at peace for the first time since he saw her in the hallway. 

Gently, Ryder gathers her into his arms. She curls into him in her sleep, gripping his shirt and nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder. He puts Liv in the center of her unmade bed, another clue at how tumultuous she has been the last few days. She always makes her bed. Liv slides her feet under the covers. Ryder grabs the edge of the comforter, concealing Liv beneath it. Her hand reaches out for his wrist as he rubs her head goodnight.

“Stay.” She murmurs groggily. Ryder hesitates. The room gets so quiet that Liv wonders if he snuck out and she missed it in her sleepy haze. Her blue eyes open, seeing Ryder standing next to her bed, frozen with indecision. 

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.” She sighs, flipping open the other side of the comforter. Ryder cautiously walks over to her dresser. He grabs a pair of sweatpants of hers that he knows he fits into because they used to be her brother’s. He changes fast, then maneuvers under the covers. Liv stays curled on her right side, but reaches her hand back. Ryder laces their fingers together. Quickly, Liv’s hand goes limp in his signaling she is asleep. 

Ryder is up for hours, watching and listening to her breathe next to him. He is just falling asleep when Liv rolls over in her slumber. She finds the warmth of his side, curling into him and sighing. Her hand comes to his stomach, anchoring there with a light grip, right above his belly button. 

He looks over at her. Dark brown hair splays across her pillow. Her breathing is light, lips perfectly plumped, and he becomes aware of exactly how fucked he is.

Because he is in love with Luca Fiala’s girlfriend.

And there is no way in hell she loves him back.

- - - 

The following morning, Ryder and Liv awaken around the same time because of trucks honking outside her bedroom window. Liv opens one eye first, taking in the sleepy hockey player as he wiggles himself awake. 

“Mmm, hi.” He mumbles, putting his nose on her bicep and sighing. “Don’t wanna get up.”

“Yeah.” Liv sighs, putting a lazy hand in his hair. For the next half hour, they doze in and out of sleep together, staying in the same position. Their legs are resting by each other. Their warm skin collects pink from each other’s body heat. Then, the reality of needing to join the world settles over them with Ryder’s daily practice alarm. 

“I gotta get moving.” He mutters, resentful of having to leave her bed. 

“Me too. I have class.” Liv yawns loudly, then rolls to her back, separating them completely.

She reaches for her phone, seeing a handful of texts from Luca. She glances at Ryder as he stretches at the side of the bed. His sweatshirt rides up considerably, showcasing his muscular body in the soft morning sun. A happy trail of dark hair disappears beneath the waistband of his clothes. Liv’s eyes drift down, seeing the maroon and gold M on his left thigh. 

Liv freezes, realizing he is wearing her boyfriend’s pants. Betrayal chokes her throat. What is she doing? This is so inappropriate. Everything about last night was inappropriate. God, she yelled at Luca for having another girl in his bed while he slept on the couch. She invited Ryder to sleep with her last night. Panicked, she slowly sits up, pulling out the rest of her disheveled ponytail. 

“Want to meet up for lunch on campus? I still dream about that Italian deli you took me to.”

“I can’t.” She says, keeping her back to him. She works her hair back into a fresh pony tail, raking her fingers through the ends for a quick brush.

“Oh okay.” He clears his throat. “Maybe later in the week.” 

“Luca is coming into town.” Liv stands, pulling her sweatshirt down so it covers her body completely. She folds her arms over her chest. 

“Yeah, I know. He is coming to play me.” He chuckles. “But that’s not for a few days.”

“Well, I have to get things done before he gets here so I can spend time with him.” A twitch flickers close to the hinge of his jaw. Ryder sighs, running a frustrated hand over his face.

“What is happening right now?” She shrugs back at him. Ryder’s hand falls, slapping the gold outlined M on his thigh.

“Can you take those off please.” Ryder looks down, seeing the same logo. In the morning light, it is clear these were not the pants he thought he grabbed. He thrust the waistband down, then strides to where his jeans are still pooled on the ground. He wrestles them up his thighs and his belt closed. 

“Liv, nothing happened last night.”

“It doesn’t feel that way to me.” She holds her throat, looking terrified back at him. 

“You invited me into bed.” He says slowly, resenting the way she looks at him. Like he crossed a line. 

“That was a mistake.” 

“We’ve been making a lot of mistakes lately…” He rambles off, putting his phone in his pocket. 

“This has to stop.” Liv practically begs.

“I don’t want it to.”

“Ry, please.” Liv closes her eyes, inhaling heavily as her nostrils flare from distress. 

“Livy, I’m in lo-”

“Stop!” Liv yells. Her heavy, terrified panting fills the room. “Don’t say it. You will ruin this.”

“It already is ruined. Because I love you.” 

Liv goes rigid except her quivering bottom lip. Because I love you, because I love you, because I love you. It plays in a loop over and over again, drowning out the city noise below, running through her brain like the ticker in Times Square.

“I wish you didn’t.” She hisses through gnashed teeth. 

“Me too.” He confesses, then walks out of her room. 

In his wake, he leaves Liv and her entire world lopsided.

- - - 

The ticking of the light blue clock on Liv’s desk fills the living room. Liv has been trying to work on her paper for two hours now, but her thoughts keep drifting to Ryder and earlier this morning. Guilt scratches and mars at her consciousness until it becomes impossible to make progress on her school work. For the fifth time in an hour, she tosses her pen from where she was trying to handwrite her outline. She looks over at her phone, seeing it light up with another text from Ryder. She swipes across his name, muting his notifications for the day. 

She doesn’t want to talk to him.

She needs to talk to Luca, but he is at morning skate in Buffalo. 

Worst case, she will tell him before his game against the Islanders. Liv knows this is less than ideal timing, but she owes him an explanation. From her, not anyone else. 

She opens her phone, texting Luca again to call her as soon as he can. 

Liv waits for his call the entire day, altering her plans with her brother to make sure she is home and ready for the difficult conversation they are going to have. But Luca’s never arrives. Not after practice, or after his pre-game nap, and now she watches him on the screen in Buffalo, again without a care in the world. 

How does he keep doing this with her? How does she line up last to everything in his world when he rules hers?

In frustration, she flips the game off after the second period. The Wild are down by one, but her mood is not in it for the night. Instead, she takes a self-care shower, smearing on her skin care, snuggling into bed to read her book, before tossing her phone on sleep mode.

He won’t call anyway, she lies to herself. 

The next morning, she has a handful of text messages from him and about thirty from Ryder.

Hi baby, I’m so sorry I didn’t call yesterday. Things have been crazy. I’ll tell you about it when I see you. I love you! Goodnight 😘

I wish you were here, baby, I can’t sleep without you. I’m having withdrawals. 

Heads up, I am on Amazon passing the time. Can’t sleep. Pray for my credit card. But, I needed a new screen protector for my phone. I ordered one to be delivered to your place tomorrow morning. Can you bring it with you to the game? Thank you! I hope this doesn’t wake you up 🙈

This furrows her eyebrows. Why wouldn’t she bring it to him tonight? When she sees him for dinner?

Good morning 🥱 Yes, I’ll grab the screen protector for you. But I thought I was seeing you tonight? 

Luca calls her immediately. She stretches, then clicks the button, murmuring a sleepy hello.

“Baby, I have bad news. Please don’t kill me.” 

“What?”

“I am not going to make dinner tonight. Mandatory team building. We are going to dinner and a concert at MSG. But maybe we can get coffee tomorrow morning?”

“I have classes.”

“Well, could you skip them?”

“No, Luca. I can’t. I have a group presentation and a test in the next class. Also, I don’t appreciate you asking me that. I don’t tell you to skip morning skate when I’m in town because I understand hockey is your job.”

“Whoa, okay. I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t. What I am doing is just as important as what you’re doing.”

“Baby, I never said it wasn’t.” He says defensively. 

“You literally…” Liv trails off, running an annoyed hand through her hair. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry.” He tries. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just miss you.” Misses her but won’t make time for her when they’re in the same city. It’s hard to swallow that right now, even as she tries to understand that there are some obligations he cannot miss. 

“I know.” She fills in. 

“This is shit timing, but we are about to get to the rink for practice.”

“You’re skating in the morning of a back to back?”

“Yeah. Did you watch last night?”

“Um, I fell asleep.” She admits sheepishly. 

“That’s okay. We did too.” He jokes. “It was bad and this punishment is well deserved. I gotta go, babe.”

“Hey, wait, I need to.. uh… talk to you about something.” She says, picking at a snag in the comforter with her blue nail. 

“Okay, can we talk after the game?” Liv hesitates. 

Future her would smack her in the face if she could. But present Liv doesn’t see the issue. 

So she agrees.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Okay, I love you baby.” He murmurs sweetly.

“I love you too.” She responds, having no idea what the next 48 hours will bring.

Read more Liv and Luca here.

[lord-angelfish]

So! This is the full argument that I made, copied word for word from the draft that I sent a dear friend of mine to proofread. This happened during the conversation with the other Bangs & Bangability mods leading up to my resignation sent in the discord server and the subsequent fallout here. I'll also include a direct transcription of the response I got to it. All under the cut because it's very long.

Regarding the earlier conversation, there are a few points I need to make with regards to the direction we seem to be heading in. To start, organizing in favor of a specific subset of participants to the detriment of another is unethical and unjust, which will make us seem and in truth be untrustworthy and unreliable in a management capacity. As stated previously, should that be the course of action taken, I will be obligated to step down and will no longer be able to participate in good faith. The reception and handling of the primary brought-upon issue (re: Wincest and incest inclusion) have been presented in a way that implies a strong personal bias amongst administration. If this was going to become a significant problem, or in the event that there were concerns with how it would affect the bang's run, it should have been addressed during the discussions and preparations before sign ups were opened to avoid false advertising and participant fallout. The point of a moderation team is that it's supposed to function as a team. Should a member of said team struggle with a personal bias or aversion to something stipulated in the rules upon sign up, yet still wanted to participate, then discussion ought to be opened up immediately. As I am someone capable and willing to handle the content prompting the aforementioned problem (re: Wincest and incest), the entire situation could have been smoothed over far sooner and with significantly more finesse. Personal boundaries can and should be set for both staff and participants, but without alienating an entire subset of participants or abandoning responsibility for said participants entirely, after already promising inclusion, safety, and accomodations for. On a personal level, fundamental to my moderation policy is that a moderator can not and should not be expected to be personally responsible for the triggers or squicks of every individual in their event or server. As a member of any given staff, one can only provide tools for each individual implement on their own to protect themselves at their own discretion. To wit, our goal should be to be able to say "We have enabled you to avoid the chat that makes you uncomfortable. It's now up to you to curate your space and stay out of conversations and spaces that upset you."

The response I got to this (transcribed directly from a screenshot and names left out to protect the privacy of the person in question) was this:

"Wow don't even. I would like to be inclusive and I did just open a dialogue with the mods, in the private mod chat, not in the middle of the fucking server. And if you read back, you will note that I said absolutely next round the rules are being changed. But you know what? If I need to do it sooner, I will. Bottom line, this is my baby and I can adjust so everything is copacetic for the majority of participants. And if that means alienating a handful of people who think fucking their siblings is a valid lifestyle choice, well, shit. Sorry if that's offensive to you"

I'm posting this in the interests of full transparency so please do not send hate or anything to the mods of the bang. I'm just very disappointed that an event that was supposed to be inclusive ended up going to shit for people. I'd also like to point out that the phrase "...a handful of people who think fucking their siblings is a valid lifestyle choice..." is just recycling old anti arguments and banking on a disgust reaction to back up the completely nonsensical argument made.

Please feel free to ask me any questions you have about this!

[peridot-tears]

Fic Writer Q & A!

Tagged by @dragongirlg-fics UwU

How many wips do you have currently?

2 for Lianhua Lou, 3 for Mo Dao Zu Shi.

Lianhua Lou

strings played against his throat, my whumpfic in which FeiHua's escape from Jiao Liqiao goes wrong, and Di Feisheng marries her to ensure the wellbeing of Li Lianhua, who becomes her concubine. Just updated uwu

My unpublished modern AU where Di Feisheng is an MMA fighter cowboy, Li Lianhua is his chiropractor, and Fang Xiaobao is the new sheriff in one of those Chinese towns they built purely for tourism. In this case, it's an Old West theme. Here's a preview.

Mo Dao Zu Shi

My Mo Dao/Percy Jackson crossover where WangXian and friends romp through Camp Half-Blood!

My Wen Xu/Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji AU where Wei Wuxian is adopted by the Wens instead of Jiang Fengmian. I swear I subvert so many jianghu tropes, this could be its own original novel, but here we are lol.

My two-part where Jin Zixuan flees to Lotus Pier and manages to alert the Jiangs in time for the Wang Lingjiao's attack. It's mostly written from Yu Ziyuan's perspective, and it's been a delight.

More Q&A below the cut!

Which one are you finding the hardest to finish?

Definitely #1 under Mo Dao. It's a huge labor of love, but I'm thinking maybe I thought too big with the plot. It could have just been a fun teenage romp, but then it turned into a drama that handles much larger themes, and the trouble is in being able to tie up all the plotlines I suddenly have.

What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

Usually when I have two days in a row off of work, so my brain has had at least 24 hours to clear out and think about fun. I go into a pleasant fugue state, meaning I'm focused, but I can occasionally take a five-minute break to chatter about it with my frens or listen to a song. (I'm answering this post while I'm working on fic btw.)

Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

Oh nah lol. I sometimes line some chill songs or ballads up in the background or like a Buzzfeed Unsolved marathon for background noise, but sometimes it has the opposite effect where I can't focus at all. So sometimes I just write in complete silence.

Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organized?

Balls to the waaaaaaall babeeeeeee. Aside from the ones that're born from me chattering with frens. Both my Lianhua Lou fics and #2 under MDZS are from very specific and thorough chats that I screenshotted for reference.

I tag @westiec @theleakypen @kingsandbastardz @tavina-writes @heyholmesletsgo @the-wintry-mizzenmast and whoever else wants to do this, how do I know this many people lol.

[johnwickb1tsch]

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) Part 4

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

PART 4.

When the night of your art show comes, you do not expect to see John Wick in the crowd. You had not heard from him since that night when he gave you the orgasm of your life, then disappeared from your apartment like he’d only ever been a dark dream.

Though your panties had disappeared too, and you strongly suspect he’d taken them with him.

The gallery is packed this night. It’s a group show, and you’re hardly the main act, but it’s a huge stepping stone for you as an artist. Gallery X is nothing to turn one’s nose up at, and you dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, things might get going from here. The art world is just as much politics as it is producing work, and you were never good at that part of it all.

Helen was, bless. She presented strong work, but she also knew how to read a room, and whose hand to shake, and how to tell someone to go to Hell with a polite smile. You know that her final gift to you was the cachet of her name in a collaboration, and maybe, just maybe, if you play your cards just fucking right, this could be your break.

You recognize the faces of people with big names in the art world here tonight. Critics, museum curators, journalists, and collectors. They’ve all come out to play, and your heart has not slowed its frantic pace in your chest for the past hour since opening.

You snag a glass of champagne from a passing tray, even though you hate the stuff, and that is when you see him through the crowd. He’s across the room, tall and forbidding in a dark suit, his long hair framing his angular face. You can practically feel the weight of his gaze upon you, through the crush of all these people. For a moment, time stands still, as your eyes meet his.

You have thought of him a thousand times since the night he left you sated yet ravenous in your bed. A hot flush blooms across your skin, a spear of desire shooting straight to your loins as you remember what he did to you with that perfect mouth, and those big hands, and those soulful eyes. God, but you would have given him anything, after one look from those yearning dark eyes.

He is dressed well, but he doesn’t exactly look well. There is an edge to his stare; an intensity.

A hunger.

An agonizing thrill runs down your spine; for a moment you have to look away. It’s just too much.

By the time you turn back, he is gone.

You continue to mingle, chatting with your friends and acquaintances, sipping some of the bubbly to try to calm your nerves. It doesn’t work; you feel as though you have a live wire under your skin, a thousand volts of raw emotion running rampant through your veins.

It would have been easier, had it only been lust, or even just pity. But there was something more to it, something substantial and heady and warm, and that made it a much harder beast to slay.

You slowly make your way around to look at the other pieces. It’s the polite thing to do, and interesting too. The theme of the show is Loss. Perfectly broad, and the subjects of the works vary wildly.

In front of a massive encaustic abstract a low voice in your ear stops you in your tracks. “I feel like I owe you an apology.”

You turn your head slightly to find John standing ever so near, so close you can feel the warmth of the solid line of his body behind you. The room is packed and it’s almost necessary to stand this close just to be heard, but still, you get a dark thrill out of it.

“Oh?”

“I feel like I took advantage of you, last we met. I am sorry.”

You turn to face him, standing close enough to kiss. Thanks to the heels you’re wearing, you don’t have to crane your neck too far to look him in the eye.

“Actually, I was kind of thinking I took advantage of you.”

This clearly surprises him, his eyebrows rising. Ah, this dear, sweet, man. You didn’t take him for being naïve, but he is a little older, and the claws of traditional gender roles cling hard and deep.  

“Helen wanted me to look after you, and I—”

“Gave me the most incredible pleasure of my life? Yeah, it was pretty terrible. You’re a selfish beast.”

He blinks at you, clearly stunned. Then his eyes narrow, the hunger from before sharpening to a cutting edge, and a scintillating thrill runs down your spine. You cannot shake the feeling that you’ve just pulled the tail of a tiger; a predator both magnificent and deadly. Mostly it’s excitement; but just the slightest hint might be fear. There is something brimming below the surface of this man that you know you don’t entirely understand. You aren’t sure yet if it is passion, or violence—or maybe a combination of the two. You wonder if Helen ever got to see behind the mask.

Somehow, you are certain she did, and she had not run from him. Perhaps that is what makes you brave tonight.

“You don’t mince words, do you?”

“Helen was the tactful one.” 

“I actually found her refreshingly direct.” 

“But I'm just abrasive. I've been told, believe me. It's because I don't apologize before I tell men what I really think.”

“I don't want your apologies.”

“Either way... I'm a big girl, John. You don't have to be the responsible adult between us.”

The corner of his mouth ticks at that. 

“I feel like I should at least try.”

You shrug, unable to stop yourself from fingering his tie, fighting the urge to wrap your fist in it and pull him to you again. You’ve missed him, and standing this close, what you really want to do is climb him like a tree, and the crowd be damned. “Suit yourself.” You force yourself to stop touching him, although he didn’t seem to mind, or intend to stop you. You sigh deeply, warring with yourself as ever.

This is all so very fucked.

Maybe the truth is the best way to go.

“I like you, John. Maybe I’m just lying to myself, thinking Helen wouldn’t be pissed, but…maybe she’d be happy we’ve found each other.”

You dare to look him in the eyes, and once again, he looks as though he is drowning.

Fuck. You have to go.

You force yourself to step away from him, because your skin feels like its on fire. “We’re all going to Bar Rosé later to celebrate. You’re welcome to come, if you want.”

You retreat to greet a friend who’d come all the way to Manhattan from upstate to support you, and you can feel John’s eyes boring into you as you walk away.

For the rest of the opening you follow him out the corner of your eye. As though he's a magnet, you simply cannot help it. You are achingly aware of his presence, even if it's from across the room. 

He pauses before your piece of Helen for a very long time, letting the crowd mill around him like a rock in a stream. It’s heartbreaking, really, the way he stands there before her, transfixed. A part of you wants to go take his hand, support him in what you know is yet another painful moment for him. But in the end, you decide to let him process it alone. A little later, you notice him talking to the gallery owner. Chummily, almost like they know each other. Of course, Carol Banning had known Helen, so perhaps you shouldn’t be so surprised. 

When the evening is winding down John Wick is nowhere to be found. You're a little disappointed, and a little bit relieved. You're not sure what you think you're playing at, but deep down, you know it's so fucking twisted. 

You meet with your comrades from the show, some artists you knew before, and some new acquaintances too. You hail a van cab to go a few blocks to Rosé. Tonight was a success. Someone bought your painting for a massive amount of money. More than you’d ever dreamed you could charge for a piece of your soul put down on canvas with paint. Carol had assured you it was appropriate, and you guessed she knew her clientele. A part of you was distressed to part with the piece you’d created with blood and tears and Helen’s art, and a part of you was relieved to let it go. You completed the cycle. You were sending Helen out into the world, where she would be remembered, and celebrated, for the remarkable woman she was.

It should have felt like victory, but in truth it was bittersweet.

You are 98 percent sure you don't let it show. Your friends are giddy with the success of the exhibition, and the last thing you want is to bring them down. You are too, truth be told. You were interviewed by not one, but two journalists this evening. One who even worked for the Times. Maybe it’s just curiosity about Helen Morgan-Wick’s baby sister, but…Helen would have told you to stop overthinking and enjoy it.

So perhaps, you will.

True to its name, the neon lights that accent the room at Rosé are pink. The glassware is too. You’re sure it’s a play on seeing the world through rose tinted glasses…but the drinks are strong, and the ambiance is fun. After a round your friends want to dance. You agree, and the four of you have a great time until you pick up a bogey. A man keeps trying to dance up on you, not getting the hint when you sidle away, not engaging with him whatsoever. Finally, you get tired of dodging him, and decide to get another drink. He follows you, leaning on the bar while you wait for the bartender’s attention. “I'm Sasha,” he says in thickly accented English, looking you up and down. He’s not bad looking at all, but there is something in the way he looks at you that makes you uneasy.

“Hi,” you answer, not keen to give him your name.

“You come here often?”

“Not really.”

“What are you celebrating tonight?”

“Who said we're celebrating?”

Had this pushy creep overheard you? Had he followed you from the gallery?

Another voice cuts in from behind you, a string of Russian that almost sounds like a command.

Your unwelcome suitor frowns, answering in the same language. 

You turn your head to find John standing close behind you. You hadn’t noticed him come in; it’s as though he materialized from the shadows. When he puts a hand on your waist you do not flinch, hoping the other guy will get the picture. He frowns, looking between you. He says something quick over your head, and the only word you catch is blyad.

 You’re pretty sure it means fuck.

There is a heavy moment rife with tension between the two men with you stuck in the middle, before the Russian makes a hissing sound between his teeth and goes. He doesn’t just go to the other side of the bar, however. He leaves the premises, slinking out the door, and you turn to look at your savior.

“Wow. What did you say to him?”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Did you know him?”

“Hmm. Sort of. From work.”

You tilt your head, staring up at him. He hasn’t removed his large hand from your hip, and even though its possessive and maybe it should bother you, you revel in his touch. You’re not usually one to get off on men fighting over you, but it’s hard not to feel a little glow of primal satisfaction at the exchange. It makes you feel bold, and maybe you run your mouth a little. “Yeah? So did Helen know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re an ex mafioso?”

You’re 99 percent sure you’re making a joke, but from the sharp way he looks at you, a trill of warning rolls down your spine. He leans down to speak in your ear, “You have quite the imagination, young lady.”

That warmth in your chest descends to pool between your thighs.

The bartender saves you from digging this hole even deeper.

“What can I get you, Mr. Wick?”

“Blanton’s on the rocks,” John answers, then looks to you.

“Vodka martini, please,” you answer.

“We have Smirnoff, Absolut, Grey Goose, Stoli…”

Before you can answer that Smirnoff is fine John answers, “Stoli.”

You raise an eyebrow at him as the bartender goes to pour your drinks. “Thanks.”

“Life is too short to drink bad vodka.”

You huff a laugh at that. “So, do you know every bartender in New York, or…”

“Probably just in Manhattan,” he jokes with a ghost of a smile.

You turn so that you are facing him completely. You have to stand close to hear each other, you reason. It has nothing to do with the fact that this man draws you like you are an asteroid caught in his gravity. If you collide…you have no doubt you’ll burn to pieces.

“Congratulations, on tonight,” he says, and you believe he means it. “Helen would be proud.”

“Thanks. Feels surreal, to be honest.”

“That’s fair.”

You find yourself looking at his tie again, fighting the urge to use it to tug him closer. My, but you are becoming a needy creature in this man’s presence. You have to remind yourself that you do not, in fact, know him that well. Even if it feels like…he could have always been yours. “It’s nice to see you again,” you dare venture, looking up from beneath your lashes.

“Likewise.” He touches you lightly, just below your chin. Your eyes meet, and you feel pinned by those dark orbs, somehow certain he can see right through you,

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…are you okay?” Like on Helen’s birthday, you imagine tonight must have dredged up plenty of emotions that just maybe this poor man would like to bury once and for all.

“I guess I deserve that, after how I behaved.” He is, undoubtedly, referring to the way he fled your apartment a month ago.

“I’m not mad, I just…genuinely want to know.”

He bites his lip as he’s thinking, and its all you can do just to watch him, wishing it was you with his lip between your teeth instead. Finally he answers, “I am as okay as it is possible for me to be.”

It is the most non-answer you’ve ever heard.

Sensing your dissatisfaction with this pointed evasion, he digs a little deeper, leaning in so that his words are only for you. “I didn’t exactly lead a happy life, before Helen. After she passed…I was certain I would never want anyone ever again. You kind of threw a wrench into that.”

“Sorry.”

He gives a little huff of self-deprecating laughter. “Don’t be. I…I like you, y/n. Please, forgive me, for…everything.”

You don’t believe he’s telling you all this to win sympathy, or using it as a line, like so many men would. It’s just facts, and you are moved to the bottom of your soul. Somehow you know that this is not something this man would casually admit to just anyone. “John…” With your heart in your throat you find yourself reaching for him, touching his fingertips with yours on the bar. “It’s ok. You don’t owe me an apology. You don’t owe me anything.”

He tilts his head to look at you, his dark hair swinging into his face. You feel bold enough to reach out, brushing it behind his ear. His eyes close at your touch for the barest moment. It’s so easy to forget that you are in a crowded public venue, with him near. “I owe you my gratitude, at the very least.”

You shake your head, prepared to deny it, but then your drinks arrive, and the moment is somewhat shattered. “Want to sit with us?” you ask, indicating your merry band of artist misfits with your chin. He nods, following you, though his hand has found that place at the small of your back again that warms your blood to an agonizingly slow simmer. Carol has joined you, and you wonder if John will feel awkward, fraternizing here in unspecific but obviously friendly capacity with his sister in law.

Yikes. You do not like it, when you think of it that way.

However, Carol Banning is a veteran of the New York art scene, and she has seen much worse scandals than this. She doesn’t even bat an eyelash, greeting him warmly from behind her large black-rimmed glasses. They chat more about the show, and the state of the art world. Carol mourns that no photographers currently working quite have an eye like Helen did. Then she points a crimson painted claw your way, surprising you. “But this young lady. She’s going to do some interesting things, I have a feeling.”

John salutes you with his dwindling glass of amber liquid, a smirk on his lips you don’t entirely know how to read. “I have no doubts.”

After you finish your drink you find you are ready to go. It’s been a long day, and a big night. Tonight, you fulfilled Helen’s dying wish for you, and somehow you feel simultaneously accomplished and sore to the bone.

“Can I drive you home?” asks John quietly in your ear. It sends a bolt of heat straight to your center, warmth pooling in your loins as you remember what happened last time he made such an offer. You look at him, wondering if he wants an encore, or if he just wants to see you home safe. His face in that moment is so handsome it hurts, but utterly unreadable to you.

“Sure,” you answer, sensing that somehow you’ve just signed your fate over to him with your name on the dotted line.

You hit the street, the cool night air a relief after the close press of the bar. John offers you his left arm, and you take it gladly, leaning on his shoulder a little more than you really need to. Part of it is that last martini with what had been truly excellent vodka—and part of it was just a need to be close to him. A part of you thought you’d never see him again. The fact that he is here, solid in the flesh and you can touch him, kind of blows your mind.

“I’m not parked far,” he assures you, and you nod with a sleepy smile. At the end of the block you see his car parked on the street. It’s a little menacing, you think to yourself, looking at the dark paintjob and the sleek lines. Definitely a car designed to be a predator of the road; something that will run you down and eat you, no matter how fast you try to run.

As you near the vehicle three shadows separate themselves from an alley. John freezes in his tracks, pushing you behind him. You recognize the guy from earlier, Sasha, who is flanked by two intimidating henchmen. He speaks to John again in Russian, and John replies in kind. It pisses you off that you don’t know what’s being said.

“Speak English,” you demand, half-stepping out from behind John.

A low chuckle runs through the men before you that makes your blood run cold. “I said,” enunciates Sasha slowly, “That if he hands you over now I’ll let you both live. He’ll just have to watch as I fuck you like the whore you are.”

“Nice. Very original, fuck head.”

His self-satisfaction morphs to anger. You are scared, but you’re not showing it like you should, and it’s ruining his fun. You use John’s body to shield the fact that you are dipping into your purse for your pepper spray. Why the fuck can’t you ever find anything in your purse when you need it?

What comes next happens so fast you almost can’t register it. One of the toughs made the first move forward, but John is like a hurricane upon them, deflecting strikes and breaking arms, punching one guy in the throat and kicking another in the gut. He throws one with some kind of complicated grapple and flip ninja shit before hitting the other again in the knees. In the blink of an eye two of them are down on the ground, leaving John to take on Sasha, who has drawn a knife. You see that one of the grounded henchmen is fishing behind his back for something. Without thinking you surge forward, knowing it’s a matter of life and death. As his hand raises with the gun you goalie-kick it from his hand, dousing his face with mace.

“Motherfucker!”

The gun goes off before it skitters across the street and under a parked car. He howls with agony, clutching his face, trying to wipe the concentrated capsaicin out of his eyes. In the next moment there is an arm around your waist, pulling you towards the parked cars. You are so caught up in the adrenaline rush that you react without looking, but John catches your hand with the mace, keeping it pointed away from the both of you. “It’s me,” he says, taking the tube and slipping it into his pocket like he doesn’t trust you not to let loose again. “You did good, honey. Come on.”

As he is bundling you into the passenger seat of his car you look back to see Sasha is writhing on the sidewalk with his knife in his leg, shouting what undoubtedly are expletives in Russian. You vaguely wonder if he might bleed to death as the Mustang rumbles to life and you roar away.

“Holy shit!” you exclaim, trembling with adrenaline and you guess, a bit of shock. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Are you hurt?” he asks, deeming it the more pertinent question.

“No. I’m…fine,” you say, looking down at yourself. “Jesus, are you hurt?” You look over at him to see that he is bleeding from a cut on his brow. “Oh my god, let me see.” You reach for him but he holds up a hand. “I’m fine, believe me.”

You catch one more glimpse of the wreckage behind you as he makes a right turn, downshifting. The car surges forward, pressing you back into the seat.

“You totally laid those guys out!”

“Yeah.” You study him from the passenger’s seat, his hard expression highlighted by the passing headlights. His jaw is clenched so tight you think he might crack his teeth. “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

You think about the three guys he leveled out like a human tornado.

“You've got some moves, Mr. Wick.”

He just sighs, sounding so very tired.

“Yeah.”

“Should we…call the cops?”

He looks over at you like you should know the answer to that question, but shit, this is the most violence you’ve seen up close in your entire life. Finally, he just shakes his head, seeming a decade older in that moment. “It wouldn’t do any good,” he assures you.

Except, maybe get him arrested, you reason. Because even though it had been self-defense…the carnage he’d left behind was unreal.  

“Helen said you used to work in security?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He huffs a laugh at that. “Hardly.”

“I still don’t fucking get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why…this even happened? Men don’t exactly brawl on the street over me.” For Helen? Maybe, more likely, but not you, the boho weirdo who is lucky enough to kind of resemble your model-beautiful older sister, but will never be half as lovely or charming. You suspect there is some other reason this went sideways, that has more to do with John’s professional life before he retired from security.

That job description is holding less and less water the more you think on it. Helen was always super cagey in talking about what John Wick did for a living. You’re starting to get a better idea as to why that might have been.  

John surprises you when he holds out his hand to you across the center console. “I would fight an army for you,” he tells you softly, and goddamn if you don’t believe him. You take his hand, comforted by the strength in the long fingers wrapped around yours. You only let go in between him shifting gears, and you don’t really say anything else until you pull up in front of your building.

“Come on,” you say, swinging open the heavy door of the sportscar. “I’ll take care of you.” The look he pays you is somehow both raw and predatory. A thrill of anticipation runs down your spine, because at this point you’ve lost your mind, and you don’t have the sense to be afraid.

<<PART 3 PART 5>>

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 23 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

HEHEHE love you all!

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, no hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @next-autopsy, @panzershrike-pretz, @xxluckystrike, @bucky32557038ww2 (let me know if you want to be tagged.)

Since we were moving off the line I started helping George with the stock. No one would be needing any medical care so I was a free hand. I unpacked the shelves with the new items we had gotten from the previous drop, rations, clothes, ammo, everything we needed to survive. I was helping George with the ration packs, they gave us a whole bunch of food but we needed to sort it into separate bags to give to the men to take with them. I pulled a heavy box off of the top shelf, sliding it to the front.  

“George.” I heard a call from behind me as one of the soldiers waltzed into the room. “We need you to come blow this thing up.” The man said. 

“Alright, I’ll be there. Em, I’m going to blow shit up, you gonna be alright here?” He asked, picking up the bazooka and slinging it over his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine!” I called over my shoulder, I heard his footsteps retreat out of the room. Now I was alone, milling around and sorting the items. It was so boring. A tedious task. Normally it wasn’t so bad. George helped and we chatted, then the other soldiers came in to visit as well, keeping me distracted as I worked. But now it was silent. If only I had some music to listen to that always made cleaning and chores so much more fun. Music! I had my phone and earbuds. No one was here and hopefully they still had some battery left. It wouldn’t hurt and I would get the job done faster I’m sure. I grabbed my bag from the corner of the room, rummaging through it. I pulled out my phone and earbuds that I had stashed deep down the bottom so no one could find them, along with everything else I had in my pockets the day I arrived. I powered on my phone, it worked. God I hadn’t been on it in months, which was weird to think about, it’s a normal accessory in my own time. 60% that’s pretty good, and my earbuds were still alive too. I was ecstatic. I placed one in my ear, I should only have one in incase someone comes in or there is a bomb strike. Wouldn’t want to miss that. I heard it chime on and connect. I opened spotify, since all the songs I wanted to listen to were downloaded I didn’t need to worry about having service or data. I scrolled through my curated playlists. I stopped on the GUTS album. This is perfect! I played it from the start. 

It was fine at the start, since I was alone I quietly hummed along to the song. If anyone walked in they would just assume I had a song stuck in my head. I sorted the rations while listening. Bopping my head the beat. I sang along with the words as I worked. Dancing to the faster songs as I went. I had memorised all of the songs when the album first came out, so I still remembered them all. 

“I’m a perfect all-american bitch, with perfect all-american lips and perfect all-american hips.” I swayed around the room, singing only a bit louder. No one could hear me. 

I packed the rations, working fast. Having dance breaks when a good song came on. I forgot where I was. I sang into my hand like a microphone, bouncing around the room. I didn’t realise it but I got significantly louder in my singing. Having the headphone on full volume so I could hear it over my own voice. I pretended I was performing on stage as I jumped around singing. I took a quick glance over my shoulder around the room, no one was there good. 

Then ‘Vampire’ came on. I stood in place singing into my hand. My voice echoed around the room as I belted it out. 

“Blood-sucker, fame fucker, bleeding me dry like a goddamn vampire.” I sang loudly.

By this time I completely disregarded my task at hand, making it counterproductive. I didn’t care, liking the normalcy I had forgotten. I had missed this. Jumping around my apartment with my speakers on full singing as loud as I could. I puffed as the song finished, I pretended to receive applause from the fake audience in front of me, bowing deeply. 

The song ‘Logical’ came on. I gasped, “I love this song!” I squealed, waiting for the lyrics to start. 

I belted the song at the top of my lungs forgetting where I was and what I was doing. In that moment I was putting my heart and soul into the song. The lyrics somehow all related to the anger I had pent up about Don and I’s fight. Come for me like a saviour, Don had done that, he had made me think that he cared. When he clearly didn’t. I put myself through hell for him, just for him to tell me I was an obligation. God I was so mad, at him, at myself. I had fallen for him so hard, with such high hopes he felt the same. It crushed me to know he didn’t. So maybe I do go home after all of this, if anything was going to stop me going, it was him. But if he doesn’t want me, I’d be better off leaving. I poured my emotions into the song as I sang. It was relieving, I forgot how much music helped me when I was stressed, being able to get in my car and sing my heart out with the windows down without a care in the world. For some reason the song just hit the spot and my pain was now being shouted into the air as I sang. 

“AND ALL THE THINGS YOU DID TO ME. YOU LIED, YOU LIED, YOU LIED, OHHHH.” I was pretty proud I was hitting all of the notes. I could sing, I was in the choir at school but I was never very talented. It’s not amazing just being able to hold a tune. My voice wasn’t unique or different, but it still could belt out my favourite songs in a way that wouldn’t hurt the ear. 

Another fast paced song came on after the other one had finished. I bopped my head, dancing around the room like a crazy person. Almost bumping into multiple things around the room as I had my eyes closed as I danced. I changed my playlist to the one I most often played in the car, hitting shuffle. The song ‘Push up’, by the freestylers. It was one of the songs my mum always used to play in the car when we were driving. I was little but still sang along with her. When I got older I actually listened to the lyrics, I was horrified I was singing it in front of my mum who also belted it out in the car. Now I play it when I want a good time. Mum had good music taste. I don't know what dance moves I was doing, my body just moved to the beat. I did that one move where I moved my chest up and down pretending it was being pulled by my hand. Shaking my ass like the song said. I breathlessly sang and danced, a bright smile on my face.

“PUSH UP, YOUR BODY, YOUR BODY NEXT TO MINE, I GOTTA MAKE THAT SEXY BOOTY MINE, AND SHAKE IT, BABY, SHAKE THAT ASS, I LOVE IT WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE GETTING NASTY!” I panted as I moved, forgetting how tiring dancing was. I spun in a circle, a group of men watched me, I finished my turn, facing the way I was originally. A group of men watching me? I looked over my shoulder, surely I had just imagined it. Nope they were there, a group of Easy men looking thoroughly entertained. I turned away from them cringing, how much did they see. I quickly slipped the headphone out of my ear and pocketed it. I slowly turned around to face the men. As I did so they started clapping, they all grinned from ear to ear. There in front of me stood Lieb, Babe, Grant, Web, and George. 

“How long have you been standing there?” I asked, hoping they had just arrived. 

“We had come when you were singing that song about lying.” George grinned. “It went like you lied, you lied.” He sang. That was like three songs ago. 

“But we heard someone singing so we all came to see who it was. Turned out to be you.” Babe chuckled. I didn’t think they could hear me, but I guess I was singing loudly. 

“My favourite song was that last one.” Lieb smirked, of course he liked that one the prick. The image of me shaking my ass came into my head, they had all seen it. 

“What was that move that you were doing?” Grant asked, putting his hands on his knees and shaking his butt left to right. 

“Should I teach it to you?” I joked, trying to not sink into the floor from embarrassment. They all nodded laughing, “Wait, really?” I asked. 

“Yeah I want to dance like that, it looked different. I don’t think I have seen any of the moves you just did.” George grinned at me. “What’s it called? The move?” He asked. 

“Twerking.” I laughed as the men looked at me puzzled, they tried out the name themselves, a mutter of the word “twerking” filled the room. I laughed at them. 

I gathered the men in front of me, they shook their arms and legs loose like they were going to run a race. I laughed at them, they were so eager to learn, who was I to say no. 

“Ok, stand with your feet shoulder width apart, and then lean forward putting your hands on your knees.” I was trying to keep my composure, why did they all look so serious. Their concentrating faces on, they followed my instruction. They looked like they were trying to catch their breath after running. “Ok now you just move your pelvis up and down.” They all tried, looking like cats about to throw up. I cracked up watching the five men try their hardest. 

“I can’t do it. What is it supposed to look like again?” Grant asked, standing up straight scratching his head. I got into the same pose as them, moving my pelvis up and down in a smooth motion. They all looked very impressed. 

“I can’t do that.” Babe groaned. I laughed at his pouting face. 

“Arch your back and then relax it.” I did the motion again for them. This is one of the weirdest things I think I have ever done. Not in my wildest dreams would I imagine teaching five WW2 soldiers how to twerk. 

I watched the rest of the men trying, all doing very odd interpretations of the dance move. George just bent and unbent his leg, bobbing up and down. Grant leant forward but moved his butt from left to right like a dog wagging its tail. Babe hunched his shoulders up and down like he was excessively shrugging. Lieb was impressively very good at it, “Ok Lieb!” I pretended to make it rain dollar bills over him. I looked over to Webster who just looked entirely lost, like a weird caterpillar his whole body moved. “Oh Web.” I laughed at the man, he just stared at me with his blue eyes. 

“Here, when I do it only my butt moves, everything else stays in place.” I said turning around to show him, he stepped closer and really focussed in on the move. Trying it again, he still didn’t get it. 

“Look here.” I placed his hand on my lower back, as did the move, “See my back stays still.” 

“What is going on?” I heard from the doorway, looking over to see Don watching us. His eyes set on Web and I. He looked pissed. “Web mind taking your hand off her ass.” My eyes widened, of course he was pissed. The position Web and I were in didn’t look very good. Me bent over in front of him with my butt out and him with his hand on my lower back. I stood up, stepping away from the man. The other Easy men in the room looked uncomfortable as well. Don glared at Web and I. 

“I was just teaching them a dance move.” I tried to explain. He huffed, turning on his heel and marching out of the room. The men watched me gauging my reaction. I was so mad. 

“Shut up!” I snarled, the men looked offended, they hadn’t said anything but I could feel it. The looks they were giving me said it all, they didn’t need to say anything. They looked uncomfortable, like walking in on a lovers quarrel. I followed after Don, letting my anger get the better of me. I caught up to him on the street. 

“Stop acting like you care!” I yelled at him. He turned to face me. “What? You want to push me away and then get mad at me for talking to someone else. You don’t get to do that! Stop fucking with my head!” I shouted at him. I panted from my rage that raced through my body, how dare he say he doesn’t care and then act like this, it was making my head spin. 

He stomped towards me, grabbing me by the arm. He dragged me into one of the houses. “Let go! Let go of me!” I tried to pull out of his grip but he was stronger than me. He shut the door behind him, I wrenched free of his grasp. I tried to move past him and leave, but he blocked the door. “What do you want from me? I don’t have the cash for the hours you babysat me, sorry!” I spat angrily. 

“Stop it!” He growled. “Stop acting like this!” 

I scoffed astonished, “Are you kidding! All I wanted was to check on you. You were avoiding me, I wanted to check if you were ok? I know you’re hurting too! Those boys meant so much to you! I just wanted to care for you how you did for me. It goes both ways! You’re allowed to hurt!” I told him, his face dark, I could see the pain etched into his features. 

“It’s fine, you don’t care for me the way I do you. But I still care about you, even though you hurt me so much. I can’t turn them off. If you can’t talk to me about it, that's fine, but at least talk to someone!” His features softened.

“I do care for you! Of course I do! It’s just been so much! I can’t process it, I’m so busy, I feel like I have the weight of these men on my shoulders, they have expectations of me, I feel responsible for them. If they get hurt it’s my fault!” He rambles on, it all floods out of his mouth, like opening a dam. 

“I don’t have time to think about Skip and Alex or Buck or Bill! I knew I would if I talked to you, I knew if I just spoke to you for a second that it would all come out.” He takes a breath as he spills the truth. 

“So I avoided you. I’m sorry Em.” He scrubs his hand over his face, sighing. 

“I didn’t mean what I said the other day either. I’m so sorry I hurt you. It killed me to see you so upset, and that I was the one who did that.” I listened to him, it hurt me to see the agony on his face. He walks forward standing closer to me. 

“You are not an obligation! You never have been, ever! ” He says, taking my face in his hands, lifting my head to look into his eyes. “I choose you! I will always choose you.” He pauses looking deeply into my eyes. My hands reach up holding onto his arms that still cup my face. 

“I love you.” I uttered softly, it was barely audible to my own ears, but he heard me. 

It happened so quickly, I couldn’t even process what had happened. Don kissed me. His lips found mine. He kissed me so deeply with so much desire. It was like gasping for air after coming up from the water. I didn’t know how much I needed him, wanted him. His mouth moved against mine, hungrily tasting me. I kissed him back with the same intensity. Enjoying the way his lips felt on mine, like we were made for each other. My stomach clenched, the butterflies swirling around inside. I wrapped my arms around his neck pulling him flush with me. His hands moved to my back and held me tightly. I opened my mouth as he deepened the kiss, his tongue finding mine. I tangled my fingers through the hair that peaked out from under his beanie at the base of his neck. It was like I was addicted, I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him. The taste of his lips on mine, his familiar scent that filled my senses, his hands that roamed around my body, the sound of him moaning into my mouth as we kissed. He pulled back, I whimpered, needing his mouth back on mine. 

“I love you.” Don smiled down at me, my heart swelled, I grinned at him. He placed another gentle kiss on my lips, letting it linger before pulling away.   

“Do you forgive me?” He asked. 

“Hmmm? I don’t know, I think maybe if you kissed me again, I could potentially forgive you.” He laughed, placing a kiss on my lips. 

“How about now?” He smirked. 

“Maybe another one?” I said playfully. He leant forward placing kisses all over my face in quick succession. I giggled as he assaulted me with his lips. He placed the last one on my lips, so gentle and sweet I could melt.

“What the hell were you teaching the guys when I walked in?” He asked, his eyebrow quirked. I flushed, burying my face in his jacket. 

“Nothing.” I mumbled into his clothes. His hand found my chin, tilting it up to look him in the eyes. “I was teaching them a dance they caught me doing.” I said giggling, thinking back to all of their weird moves they had done while I was teaching them. 

“What was the dance?” I smiled and laughed. He looked confused at why it was so funny. 

“I’ll show you another time.” I gave him a wink, he looked at me curiously. “Don, it’s not your fault if those men get hurt. You know that?” I asked, the conversation turning more serious. I took his face into my hands, my thumbs brushing along his skin gently. “I understand carrying all that responsibility, trust me. And I know it’s easier said than done as well. But we can’t let their deaths haunt us forever, all we did was try our best.” He nodded, still wrapped in each other's arms. I pulled him in, hugging him tightly. “We can have a break hopefully, since we are being moved off the line.” I smiled, thinking about how the men didn’t have patrol tonight and that we were leaving tomorrow. It was so exciting. 

The door to the house swung open, Don and I jumped apart in fright. George, who was peeking his head in the door, wryly grinned. “Sorry to interrupt you two, but grubs up.” We smiled at the cheeky man. Following him. Don and I kept sharing glances, our faces flushing pink. Thinking back to the moment we had shared. I kept giggling happily, feeling ecstatic. 

We made our way into the basement, the rest of 2nd platoon already there. I spotted Lieb who watched us enter. I came in first smiling, with a shy looking Malarkey in tow. His eyebrows raised as he smirked at me. I walked over to him. “Ah, I wondered where you disappeared too.” He teased me. 

“Shut up.” I laughed, bumping into him.

“Are you going to sing us a song?” Babe asked, his mouth full of food. 

“No, I am not!” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. 

“Or what about some more dance moves?” Grant teased. I picked up a cloth that laid on the table in front of me hurling it at the man, smacking him in the face as we all laughed. I walked over to where the cloth landed, bending down to pick it up. 

“Ow!” I cried holding my back, pain evident on my face. I looked up to see all of the men looking at me worried and concerned. I slid my hand from my back, my hands on my knees. 

“EHHH!” I said as I shook my ass laughing. The men’s faces changed from worried, to confused, to amused. “Got you suckers!” I said standing up, Grant shook his head. 

“I still have no idea how you do that?” I patted him on the shoulder, still laughing. 

The rest of the night passed quickly, it was like Christmas had come early. I was so excited for tomorrow I could hardly sleep, and when I did I had definitely fallen asleep smiling. 

We packed up our gear and made our way to the trucks, ready to move off the line. Lt. Jones had been promoted and was leaving us, he shook our hands as we wished him good luck on his future endeavours. We climbed into the back of the truck, Don helping to pull me up. He sat beside each other, our hands secretly held by our sides. I watched Web approach the truck, going to climb up by himself, Lieb stuck his hand out to offer assistance. I smiled knowing that Lieb finally came around to liking the man. I watched as the small town faded into the distance and wondered what might be ahead for us next. I knew whatever happened that Don and I would face it together. 

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

Chapter 24

[yarpharp]

Okay but amidst all the insane thirsting for Astarion, I am that one demisexual who just can't help but wonder: if you actually got to the choice where you and him just TALK all night instead of fuck, and you ACTUALLY got to talk your way through a dialogue tree instead of an immediate fade-to-black, what the hell would you two talk about?

I'm not saying that Astarion isn't a conversationalist. He had to make himself extremely good at inane small talk and faking interest when he lured people back to Cazador, of course he's good at making conversation. Even when you talk to him outside of the romance chatter, he's undeniably suave for all that a lot of his lines feel heavily rehearsed or carefully curated.

But if you put him in a situation where he actually had to engage personally in a discussion, what would he offer? He's spent 200 years under the control of an absolute motherfucker who repeatedly tortured him. When did he have a chance to indulge in anything but what he was told to be? Did he manage, with his roguish skills, to steal books and things? Did he hide and hoard a very beaten but precious collection of nonsense tomes under the floorboards of a room, or in an overlooked nook somewhere? Did he have a brief stint where, amidst his time hunting for the next mark to bring to Cazador, he chatted up some amiable merchant guild people? How good was he at toeing the line in such a way he could have the smallest inkling of a social life?

It's questions like these that end up leaving me to think of wild possibilities. Yeah, maybe he did have a weird collection of books. He might know how to sew very elaborate embroidery patterns from some book he stole from some merchant daughter's bookshelf. He might be shockingly knowledgeable about a stupidly specific type of regulatory city laws that've been outdated for eighty years because he once seduced a would-be prosecutor for the courts of Baldur's Gate. Perhaps he did casually chat with some fellows from the Alchemist's Guild because they were happy to tell him about their crazy experiments while never remembering his face as a result of running on barely five hours of sleep. Thus, he knows a LOT about experimental poisons or how to turn healing potions into bombs using only one obscure ingredient that anyone can grow in their city garden. Maybe he did have a few acquaintances he was fond of but never actually let himself care about too much out of fear, and when he found out they had died of old age while he kept living in a fucking nightmare he still gets choked up about it (but he does a terrifyingly good job of hiding just how bothered and upset he is about it, because surviving Cazador meant being very good at faking irreverence in the face of what he was actually feeling).

Or maybe none of that happens. Maybe he's still too disbelieving and mistrustful of your honest interest to only chat and not immediately engage in sex. He'll instead just let you talk, and make a few comments. He'd rather watch you and listen to you than be any more vulnerable than he already feels. Such is his way, in the name of keeping himself safe.

... Yeah. This shit fucks me up.

[anonsally]

Day 12 in Chile: Final day

I had requested late check-out, so I could stay in my room until 2pm and didn't have to rush to pack.

I'm not sure how it even occurred to me to ask; I normally just assume that the rules are the rules. But they were able to accommodate letting me keep the room for a couple extra hours, so I went ahead and slept in. I'd woken up with a much milder night sweat than the previous couple nights, but I used some meditation tracks to help me get back to sleep and it seemed to work.

I had a very leisurely start. I was fully packed by about 12:30, but I still felt a bit woozy, so I lay down for a bit. In another world, I would've made the most of having most of a day before flying home after the conference, but with covid and given the extremely cold and foggy weather, I didn't. [It was so foggy I couldn't see the Andes at all on my last day, or even the top of the tallest building in South America, which was also visible from my hotel room window the other days.]

Just before 2, I checked out and stored my luggage. After eating lunch in the hotel lobby, I spent a little while birding in the hotel backyard. I kept hearing but never managed to spot the hummingbird. Ah well. I went back inside to warm up again. I had a nice chat with a former colleague, then went downstairs to the little Chilean crafts shop. The man working there had curated the collection and told me all about what they had. I ended up buying gifts for Best Friend and Wife. Then it was time to get the cab to the airport.

It was a short ride, and I arrived about 20 minutes too early to check in. My experience of the Santiago airport was that I stood in a lot of lines but then usually someone would eventually point me and a few others into a shorter VIP line for no apparent reason. It was weird. I got too much food for dinner, continuing my Chilean tradition, and then boarded the plane.

I spent most of the 8-hour flight trying to sleep, though I don't know how much actual sleep I got. The Miami layover was pretty unpleasant, but I had a very solid nap on the second flight and made it home fine. I wish I hadn't gotten covid halfway through the trip, as I had hoped to see more of Santiago and its surroundings, but all things considered I guess I had a pretty good trip!

Overpacking report to come!