#he worked as an accountant for forty years

[hexalene]

I wish my family was inclined to get on the internet and tell stories because the MOST HILARIOUS saga has been happening with my parents and neighbor for the last few months.

My parents have a great marriage. Hilariously secure. Locked in with a lifetime warranty. Literally -100000% chance of cheating thanks to the…odd but effective preventative power of their collective neuroses overlapping with their better qualities. For whatever reason, it just works.

Their neighbor….is kind of a shitshow. I feel bad for her, honestly, but she’s a wreck. Late forties, early fifties bleach blonde white lady clinging to her youth. I’ve never seen her young, but I’ve gleaned from conversations that she was one of those effortlessly beautiful women who sailed through their youth partying and doing drugs and living on the grace of whatever man she happened to be with at the time.

Unfortunately, age and the partying has caught up to her and she looks pretty rough now. She’s barely cracked her 50s, but she looks my dad’s age (he’s in his 70s….though admittedly, my parents are freaks of nature who both look really young for their age).

BUT TO THE POINT: this woman is convinced she has ruined my parent’s marriage. Evidence…? Uh…

She keeps texting my mom apologizing for “stepping into her marriage” and that she “would never ever sleep with (my dad’s name)” and that they’ve never done anything, she swears. She’s just so sorry.

You may be asking, what prompted this, what EVENT has driven my father from his marriage??

My dad went over to her house and helped pick her 98 year old mother up off the floor. And handed Neighbor Lady a tissue when she cried and apologized for asking for help. He might (MIGHT, my dad is very touch averse) have pat her on the shoulder. Maybe.

Oh, you may be asking, but maybe something else did happen?? Maybe my father is LYING as cheating men do.

My mother was there. She helped. She handed my dad the tissue. This woman was never alone with my father.

It continues

On Christmas, my dad refilled her wine glass. She stared at him like he’d hung the moon. Then spun around and looked tearfully at my mother.

Unfortunately she’d whipped around so fast her robe dropped open and she flashed me.

Note: me. Not my dad. Not something I wanted to see, but like, not the end of the world. And obviously an accident. Did she apologize to me? No. Unfortunately important for the story: all I saw was like, cleavage and half a nipple. She had pants on.

She waited until my dad and I had wandered off then tearfully apologized to my mom and swore up and down it was an accident and that she didn’t mean for my dad to see her naked.

My mom burst out laughing, like, loud. We heard it from outside. Mom handed her a bottle of wine and sent her home. Then came outside and asked my dad if he’d enjoyed the show.

Of course, he hadn’t seen or noticed the flash. That had been me.

I think my parents almost peed themselves laughing over it. While they were laughing, neighbor started texting emoji laden apologies to my parents.

They joke a lot about it. My mom waved to her once and my dad immediately said, “well it looks like our marriage is over”

Neither of them can figure out what is up with this lady.

My bet is alcohol and a long history of this kind of dramatic behavior. I know this woman has been in and out of highly dramatic and toxic relationships since her teens.

I don’t think she knows any other way to exist. And I cannot sell how funny this is hard enough, the idea that she’s trying this with my dad:

The King of the Undiagnosed ADHD.

The Man With The Touch of The ‘Tism.

The God of Mobile Civilization Builders who has and I’m not joking - over 100 different emails and accounts pretending to be other people from all over the world so that he can gaslight his online friends into thinking they’re in a decade long guild war with a clan entirely populated by his female alter egos— THIS man. She thinks THIS MAN is going to take the time to cheat and be in on her drama? Amazingly funny. Absolute cinema.

[steviewashere]

Okay, I'm going to both agree and disagree to this, you'll see why. (And hopefully I'm not being too aggressive with any of this, I don't intend to be).

I agree that a trope like this wouldn't work for a Modern AU—at least in America. Being openly out, depending state by state, is more common now than it would've been forty years ago, time and political changes and all that.

However, if we're thinking the 1980s. Sure, I can see maybe Eddie being confused as to why Straight Steve Harrington is suddenly "coming onto" him, maybe even a little angry—but I feel like it depends on the setting. If they're at school or in the woods at Eddie's picnic table, I could see Eddie taking offense because then it feels like a prank or a fuck around. But if it's intimate, at one of their homes or in one of their cars, or them being alone in a field or something—that's where I kinda lose the understanding for the trope.

Yes, we could say that bisexuality was still sort of misunderstood in a lot of ways; at least mainly—highlight on mainly—from people outside of the queer community. Though, the 1980s came after a decade named the "Me Decade" due to how individualistic and explorative people were being—people were getting divorces, having sex with the same sex, having sex with numerous partners, getting their own bank account, so on and so forth. There was definitely a rise in conservatism in the 1980s, but there was also a rise of a lot of people coming out in the 1980s because of the previous decade—the main reason why coming out became taboo was due to the HIV/AIDS crisis and unfortunately, understandably so.

But back to Eddie and the 1980s. Yeah, I think he'd be very curious and maybe a little puzzled if Steve were to come out to him. Merely for the fact that bisexuality, again, was misunderstood here and there. Though, Eddie is seemingly a very accepting person to people on the outskirts of society—surely that would include those in the LGBTQ+ community, at least if we're thinking of Eddie as a gay man (which, unfortunately, is not a confirmed identity for him in the show or even his book)—so for him to come to know Steve and then immediately pull a 180 and turn his back on Steve, to claim him as "experimenting" or "lost" or "insert whatever descriptor people use" is super out of character for him. To turn away a lost sheep, that isn't in Eddie's nature.

I agree, I could see him saying it's experimentation, in certain predicaments; if they were at school or in another well known public setting definitely. Then, yeah, it seems like Steve was dared or told to prank Eddie or whatever. Even then, if it was a public prank, not everybody around them is going to be keyed in to understanding that it's a prank that Steve is pulling—they could genuinely think that Steve is now queer, too and cause even bigger controversy for him than just liking Eddie. Which makes the part of the trope where it's a prank or a dare, or the thought of it being a prank or a dare, no longer a commodity simply because Eddie would fear Steve putting himself on the line; because, again, Eddie would probably know what that's like.

However, if they're merely sitting in Steve's living room or their on Eddie's porch smoking a cigarette or something? That's when the "experimentation" trope just simply falls. It's not like Eddie's being outed to the entire world, it's Steve outing himself to Eddie. There's typically a nervous quality to Steve, too when he's coming out or confessing a crush, right, so for Eddie to see that and think it unauthentic or untrue simply for who Steve is—then there's definitely some bigotry or hypocrisy that Eddie has not faced within himself.

It just doesn't make sense for Eddie to know Steve and then suddenly not know Steve, considering if they've been friends a while leading up to the confession or the coming out. Even if they aren't friends leading up to it and Steve just needed to find somebody who understood—before Robin—then I feel like Eddie would still find a way to be a safe space for him, to keep that information to himself.

If it's just because it's the 1980s, it still sorta doesn't make sense. If we're considering that it's rural Indiana in the 1980s, we can start to make sense of the trope, sure. Inexperienced Eddie in a small town, Steve freshly realizing he's queer and not having the language to describe himself who is just spit-balling and word-vomiting until Eddie gets it.

I just don't think Eddie would be so dismissive or so quick to explain it on the fault of an experimentation simply because Steve's never acted on this instinct before—simply towards the fact that Eddie understands not being able to act on it, because of where they live, or even just because he's also queer and he knows what it's like to be left alone in something so vast.

I don't know if I made any sense, but I think writing it off as just, oh it's because it's the 1980s and Eddie's usually gay and Steve is knowingly straight, that can get messy really fast. Was there experimentation in the 1980s? I mean, yeah, there's experimentation in every decade from anybody willing. But for it to be considered experimentation between two people who seemingly know each other? That's where the explanation of "experimenting" comes as a loss—why would Steve do that to Eddie, and why would Eddie be so unaccepting at face value, not even willing to hear more of what Steve is thinking?

There would probably be a certain pride to Eddie if Steve were to come out to him—that's the only, like, main feeling that could bubble to the surface, I feel like—just thinking, like, Eddie being a safe space for Steve to come to, or even that he's previously exhibited something that made it so Steve could come to him. He'd probably be honored. And he'd probably thank Steve. And he'd probably tell Steve to let them have a little more time, just to get used to new labels and realizations and all that.

It just comes down to, again, using people's identities as a means to further explore a plot or an angst value wherein an angst value wouldn't exist realistically; unless, again, Eddie's a secret bigot under his big gay flag.

Hopefully this doesn't come off as me being a dick or me arguing for the sake of arguing, but you have to be very careful when watering down responses or reasons why somebody may be a certain way. Sometimes, if you aren't careful, you leave the door open for more misunderstanding, more confusion, and more bigotry to come forth. And, I promise you, more bigotry is the last thing this world needs.

Hot take from your local bisexual:

I don't like the idea that a bisexual character (canon or not) can't be bisexual. What the fuck do I mean by this? Let me give you an example!

Let's take fanon bisexual Steve Harrington, right? We know canonically that he's dated Nancy Wheeler and has gone on dates with other girls before. Cool, great! Maybe his bisexuality is a new development, meaning that he's been able to connect some dots and make some realizations, you know how it goes.

Why is it, then, that if Steve goes to...I don't know...Eddie, with a love confession on his tongue, that his want to date Eddie is suddenly seen as *gasp* an experimentation?! Really?! Does it have to be that he's experimenting for recently coming to some developments? Does every gay man think this way or something? Does every lesbian think this way when it comes to a woman approaching them? I just don't get it, I guess.

Like, sure. I guess I can see that maybe Eddie's confused why Steve is approaching him of all people. Considering Steve's dating history, sure. But, like, when Steve confirms his crush, that must light up some bulb in Eddie's brain, right? It takes a lot of guts to ask somebody of the same sex out romantically—especially considering the time period Stranger Things takes place in! Steve would be risking a lot to ask Eddie out, most likely, that has to mean something!

Or. There's another cool thing I see, too.

Oh, Steve has an attraction towards Nancy? Oh, that can't be...he's attracted to Eddie or Billy or Tommy or whatever other man you can think of.

WHAT?! Suddenly, a bisexual person can't be attracted to the opposite sex, are you kidding???? If they want to date a person of the opposite sex, that doesn't mean that their sexuality just suddenly goes away! That's now how that works! They're still bisexual, they're just dating a person of the opposite sex! They are allowed to have a dating history that does not involve the same sex! They are allowed to be bisexual and never date somebody of the same sex! They are allowed to just be bisexual with no prerequisites and no ultimatums! And, and, another hot take! They should still be allowed into queer spaces, even with their opposite sex partner on their arm, because get this—they're queer!

It's so weird to me that people are so set in stone that there's a binary when it comes to sexual or romantic desire. It's so fucking weird to me. Like, no, guys. That's not how that works. There are people who can like all or both or none or whatever! Fuck the labels, you can love who you want, guys! It's not that complicated!

Oh, Steve's straight, but he has a crush on Eddie? But he hasn't exhibited crushes on other men? That must mean he's just straight, right?! WRONG! He doesn't have a label, whatever, but he still is crushing on Eddie—let him crush on Eddie or whatever other male character you want him to crush on!

He's not experimenting when it comes to same sex relationships. And he's not straight for wanting to be in an opposite sex relationship. He is just dating. He is just loving as he sees fit.

I don't get why this is, like, a constant debate for people. Or why the "experimenting" trope is so common! It's biphobic!!!

You want my honest take on the trope?!

It's biphobia at its finest! You erase bisexual identities when you write these tropes! You erase my identity by writing these tropes. Sure, let me be honest, I've written the trope a couple times—for nuance, for criticizing purposes. But to be so serious about the trope, so set in stone that that's how it works, it's just strange. It's bigotry.

"Oh, but [insert identity of people] didn't exist in the 1980s."

Fuckin' what?! Anybody existed in the 1980s. That's the thing about existing, guys, you just sorta exist. As you are. As you will be. If you're straight, cool. If you're bisexual, awesome. If you're asexual, cool beans.

Erasing an identity for the sake of a plot or for the sake of another trope or to assist angst is just weird to me. The only way I can see you properly "erasing" an identity is by using the trope, only to have the affected character speak out about the bigotry! Like Steve calling Eddie out on his one-tracked mind and the way he stomps out Steve's feelings as if he can't feel them. As if he isn't allowed to explore or be or whatever.

That's kind of important, too. You're allowed to explore. Just don't use people. Don't use people, that's not cool. But you should be allowed to figure out whether or not you want something, or that you are something—you want permission, here it is! Go find yourself, but don't let anybody defer what you can and cannot be. People dictating your identity is simply bigotry.

It's ass backwards, these tropes about how a character can't be a certain way. Whether it be asexual or bisexual or transgender or lesbian or so on and so forth. Stop feeding the fascism machine and just let others be themselves, even fictional characters, gosh.

[gotta-draw-em-all-daily]

Day nine hundred forty three 943 Mabosstiff

[hypokeimena]

In recent years, there has been a rush on the internet to supply image descriptions and to call out those who don’t. This may be an example of community accountability at work, but it’s striking to observe that those doing the most fierce calling out or correcting are sighted people. Such efforts are largely self-defeating. I cannot count the times I’ve stopped reading a video transcript because it started with a dense word picture. Even if a description is short and well done, I often wish there were no description at all. Get to the point, already! How ironic that striving after access can actually create a barrier. When I pointed this out during one of my seminars, a participant made us all laugh by doing a parody: “Mary is wearing a green, blue, and red striped shirt; every fourth stripe also has a purple dot the size of a pea in it, and there are forty-seven stripes—”

“You’re killing me,” I said. “I can’t take any more of that!”

Now serious, she said it was clear to her that none of that stuff about Mary’s clothes mattered, at least if her clothes weren’t the point. What mattered most about the image was that Mary was holding her diploma and smiling. “But,” she wondered, “do I say, Mary has a huge smile on her face as she shows her diploma or Mary has an exuberant smile or showing her teeth in a smile and her eyes are crinkled at the edges?”

It’s simple. Mary has a huge smile on her face is the best one. It’s the don’t-second-guess-yourself option. My thinking around this issue is enriched by the philosopher Brian Massumi’s concept of “esqueness.” He exemplifies it by discussing a kid who plays a tiger:

One look at a tiger, however fleeting and incomplete, whether it be in the zoo or in a book or in a film or video, and presto! the child is tigerized… The perception itself is a vital gesture. The child immediately sets about, not imitating the tiger’s substantial form as he saw it, but rather giving it life—giving it more life. The child plays the tiger in situations in which the child has never seen a tiger. More than that, it plays the tiger in situations no tiger has ever seen, in which no earthly tiger has ever set paw.

Just as the child and an actual tiger are not one bit alike, the words Mary has a huge smile on her face have nothing in common with the picture of Mary holding her diploma. Yet the tiger announces something to the world, its essence, and a kid can become tiger-ized and be tiger-esque, their every act shouting, I am a tiger. The picture of Mary at her graduation is shouting something, and the words Mary has a huge smile on her face are also shouting something. It is at the level beyond each actuality, in the swirl that each stirs up, that the two meet.

(from Against Access, by John Lee Clark - link in notes)

[inkyquillstories]

From Homework to Home/Work (A Body Swap Story)

(Dave) 

Dave let out a weary sigh as he collapsed onto the worn-out couch in his modest living room. The fluorescent glow of his laptop screen cast a dim light on his exhausted face, highlighting the deep lines of fatigue that had settled over the years. He was only forty, but the weight of responsibility made him feel much older. Being an accountant paid the bills, but the job was monotonous, draining, and unrelenting. Worse still, when he clocked out from work, his real shift began—the role of a single father to his three-year-old twins, Emma and Ethan.

His wife, Laura, had passed away three years ago, leaving him with both the blessing and the burden of raising their children alone. She had died giving birth, and while Dave cherished his kids more than anything in the world, he couldn’t ignore how exhausting it was to do everything on his own. His neighbor, Charlie, often saw him struggling—whether it was carrying groceries with two toddlers clinging to his legs or desperately trying to calm their tantrums in the front yard. Despite his age, Dave felt like he had lived a hundred lifetimes, and he longed for a brief escape from the endless cycle of work and parenting.

(Charlie) 

Charlie, on the other hand, was a college student, stuck in a life he found equally unsatisfying. He trudged through his university days with growing resentment, suffocated by coursework that felt meaningless. College, he was told, would lead to a stable future, but all he wanted was to fast-forward to that future already. He envied people with secure jobs, with steady incomes, with lives that weren’t dictated by midterms and last-minute essays. Charlie often saw Dave, exhausted but settled in his life, and wished he could trade places—even if just for a little while.

One afternoon, as Dave absentmindedly pushed his kids on their backyard swings, he glanced over the fence and saw Charlie lounging on a deck chair, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. An idea sparked in his tired mind. Later that evening, he knocked on Charlie’s door, offering him a proposal unlike any other.

“Would you be willing to babysit my kids during spring break?” Dave asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll pay you—a lot.”

Charlie perked up at the mention of money, but before he could agree, Dave continued. “There’s more to it. I want to swap bodies with you. I’ll be you for a while, and you’ll be me.”

Charlie blinked, sure he had misheard. But when Dave explained further—his exhaustion, his need for a break, his willingness to compensate handsomely—Charlie’s interest grew. The idea was insane, but the payoff? Too tempting to resist. He had always wanted to skip past the struggles of university, to experience a stable, structured life. This was his chance.

The next day, they walked together into the local Body Swap Clinic, a sleek, futuristic facility nestled between a bank and a coffee shop. The receptionist, unfazed by their request, handed them a set of forms. “Standard procedure,” she said. “You’ll experience full consciousness transfer, retaining your own thoughts but fully inhabiting each other’s bodies. The swap will last until your scheduled reversal unless you both agree to an extension.”

Minutes later, they were ushered into separate chambers, and as the machine whirred to life, their vision blurred. A jolt of electricity surged through them, and in an instant, everything shifted.

For Charlie, the transition was surreal. He stood up, stretching Dave’s older, slightly stiffer body. He looked in the mirror and saw Dave’s face staring back at him. He didn’t notice how fit Dave really was until he swapped with him.

Charlie also discovered a newfound appreciation for fitness. Dave’s body was more muscular and well-built compared to his own, and he found himself enjoying his time at the gym like never before. Lifting heavier weights, feeling the strength in his arms, and seeing the respect from others at the gym boosted his confidence in a way he had never experienced. He relished the power and endurance that came with the older man’s physique, making his daily workouts something he looked forward to.

There was a comfort in being Dave, in being needed, in having a purpose beyond just passing exams. As the days passed, a thought gnawed at him—he wasn’t sure he wanted this to end.

Meanwhile, Dave reveled in Charlie’s youth. He’s surprised how much smaller he feels but for some reason, he preferred this than being bigger. Not only that, he was also considerably less hairy. He looked closely at his torso

Then took a selfie in front of the mirror.

He met up with Charlie’s friends, stayed out late, and did things he hadn’t done in years. The world felt new again—full of excitement and possibilities. He could even sleep in and just be in bed for hours scrolling on his phone. 

But even as he enjoyed the carefree existence, a whisper of guilt crept in. His kids, his job, his life—everything was waiting for him to return. And yet, the thought of going back so soon felt almost unbearable.

Before spring break ended, they met again. Charlie was the first to speak. “I… I had fun. More than I thought I would.”

Dave nodded slowly, hesitation evident in his eyes. “Yeah… It was nice. Being young again.”

Charlie studied Dave carefully before making his offer. “What if we extended this? Until Christmas, maybe?”

Dave’s heart pounded. He should say no. He should go back. But the temptation was too strong. After a long pause, he whispered, “Alright.”

And just like that, the deal was made. For now, at least, they weren’t ready to return to their old lives.

(Charlie enjoying being Dave until Christmas) 

(Dave enjoying being Charlie until Christmas) [PS: Should they swap back or just swap permanently?]

[latenightdaydreams]

https://twitter.com/Elizabeathof/status/1786741799345656150?t=tcjcoF3QJ3RVZBD8p2GWnw&s=19

Can you write about retired Konig who now lives in the country, walk pass the wood and accidentally catch reader like the video above and...well, you know, they fuck=)))

Imagine how lucky he would feel coming across reader. Also how lucky reader would be to come across a man like König. The one man I'd be okay seeing in the woods🤭😮‍💨🐻

Retired!König x Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, voyeurism, p in v, oral, filming

1.4k word count

🌲

Once König had turned forty-seven, he decided it was time to retire. He had put thirty years into the service. It was about time he settled down and lived life. With some of his money, he paid in full for some land out in the county. It was 20 acres with a pleasant home on it. Part of the land was a heavily wooded area. It was perfect for him to start his new life away from KorTac and being Colonel König.

Today was like any day. After König ate breakfast, he puts on his boots, and leaves out the door. It is a bright summer day, so he heads into the woods to enjoy the shade. Branches snap underneath his heavy footsteps. 

He bends down to grab a big stick, hitting it against trees as he wanders. When he’s in the woods, it’s as if he is a kid again. He approaches his favorite tree to climb when something distracts him, looking around, wondering where it’s coming from. It sounds like a woman moaning. 

He walks with soft steps, being as quiet as he can be. His eyes darte all over, searching for the sound. That’s when he spots a white car parked on the side of the road near the tree line. As he approaches, he can see a fully naked young woman; bent over with a little pink thing dangling between your legs. His cock gets hard as he watches your body shake from the pleasure you’re feeling.

As you lean against your car you moan out loud, breasts jiggling as your body jumps. You make sure the camera is picking it all up, filming it for your Only Fans account. Looking up with a flirty smile, you grasp your breast. Moans continue to spill from your lips until you turn around and see an enormous man just looking at you.

“Oh, my god!” You jump, eyes wide as you look at the man.

König steps forward slightly, but still gives you space. “It’s okay.” His eyes are taking in your figure. “What are- why are you doing this here?”

“I’m filming…for Only Fans…” You slowly pull the vibrator out.

“What is that?” König doesn’t go online much and is out of the loop.

“Um…porn.” A small chuckle leaves your lips.

A heavy blush fell on König’s cheeks as he heard you film porn. “Oh, well then. I’m sorry to have interrupted.” His eyes gloss over your body once more. “Be safe out here.”

You look up at him, his eyes gazing into yours for a moment. He is a huge, older man. Good looking… it would be risky, but you’re filming porn, right? Might as well make it interesting.

“Excuse me, sir?” You call out as he walks away from you. 

“Hm?” König turns to face you again.

“What’s your name?” 

“I’m König. And you are?”

“I’m y/n. I was wondering if…” Your eyes drop from his icy blue to see the erection straining against his pants. “You’d like to film with me?”

König stood there appearing stoic when inside his heart began to beat 100mph. “Film?”

“Yeah, like sex. Of course, if you don’t want to-”

“I do.” He quickly cuts you off. 

You smile, turning to your car to go into your glove box. Pulling out a condom you turn back to face König. He nods and grabs it from you, looking slightly nervous. You walk to him and begin to reach for his belt buckle.

“Is this okay?” You ask in a low sensual voice.

“Ja…” He watches as your small hands work on his pants and pull them down. A cocky smirk appears on his lips as he sees your reaction to the size of his dick. Your eyes go wide as you kneel before him with his cock in your face. 

Grasping it, you begin to stroke him gently. König lets out a sigh and looks down at you, caressing the back of your head as he gently pushes your head closer to his cock. You open your mouth and accept him in. Sucking on the tip as you continue to stroke him. König looks up into your car to see the camera recording. Feeling instantly bashful, he looks back down at you.

Slowly you lower your head down onto the shaft of his cock, beginning to gag yourself on his length. König lets out a soft groan, lightly pushing you down so you can go farther before pulling your head back by your hair. You look up at him with a string of spit connected from your bottom lip to his cock, a smile on your beautiful lips.

You slowly open the condom and hold it up to his cock, rolling it down his shaft. Both of you share a deep gaze as you do. 

“Are you ready?” 

König nods in response, watching you stand up from the floor. You barely come up to his chest, you’re so short. Turning around, you position yourself so that you’re leaning on to the car, ass sticking out. König’s big hands slide down your thigh to hold behind your knee, lifting your right leg so the camera can get a better view. 

With his free hand, he grasps his cock and pulls the condom down a little more. He rubs it against your wet pussy before thrusting forward, pushing his cock inside. Once his head slips in, you ball your hands up into a tight fist, looking back at him as he pushes in two more inches. 

“Oh fuck, your cock is so big.” You moan. 

König’s pupils fully dilated as he looks at you. Feeling your tight cunt struggle to take him as you give him those eyes is all too much. His other hand moves to your hips, holding it firmly as he pushes his cock the rest of the way in. Your walls flutter around him, being stretched like never before. 

He begins to roll his hips forward at a quicker pace; his pants falling down from his thighs to his ankles. Small grunts leave his lips as his eyes fall to the way your ass bounces off of him with every thrust.

Lost in the moment he drops your leg. Pausing his thrust to pull his shirt off, revealing his strong body. His skin pale and covered in scars, his body solid like rock from all the years in the military. The flesh on his stomach is a little softer now that he’s retired, making him look desirable. 

König returned his hands to your hips and began to thrust into you at a rapid pace. The sound of his hips slamming into your plump ass echoing around you. He lets out an animalistic groan as his hand comes down and slaps your ass hard.

The feeling of his cock fully shoving into you, hitting your cervix, made you bend over more. Standing was becoming harder as you couldn’t keep up with his pace. Slowly you lean into the open car door. The camera capturing your face contorted in pleasure as you moan out, reaching behind you to hold his arm as he fucks you so ruthlessly. 

“I’m going to cum!” You shout as your head drops, the camera picking up the ripples of your ass as König holds it up for him to fuck.

“Cum on my fucking cock.” He growls.

Your tight walls flutter again on his cock and squeeze him. König’s head drops back and lets out a loud moan. “Perfect!” 

Once you’ve calmed down, he quickly pulls out and flips your body over in the seat. Leaning in, he licks both of your nipples before lightly biting one. He pulls away, slapping his cock on your swollen clit. Rubbing it back and forth quickly as your leg’s twitch. You reach behind you and grab the camera, holding it for a better view.

As you hold the camera to your pussy, he slips his cock back inside of you. Lifting your legs up and to the side, so he can push all the way in. When he feels something suddenly change. The heat and wetness of your tight little cunt feel 1,000x better. Looking down he can see the base of the condom with scrunched up rubber around it. This is when he realized the condom broke. 

In a split second he decided that he didn't care. He wasn’t going to pull out or stop fucking this pussy. Little did you know about König, he hasn’t had sex in a very long time, years actually. He has all this pent-up sexual energy and he plans on getting it all out on you. It's not every day a beautiful young woman readily offers themselves to you.

[cheswirls]

short asl thing based on @where-does-the-heart-lie's modern au :) i started this over a year ago but the beginning is all dialogue and felt more like a script to me i suppose??? which deflated my desire to work on it. anyway i checked it over recently and it's completely fine lmfao, self-confidence restored here we go !

-

"Yo. Aren't you usually in the middle of your shift by now?"

"I've been banned from the hospital."

"Like, for life?"

"No. For the next, uh.. Twenty-two hours."

"That's oddly specific."

"It was twenty-four, but I fell asleep after leaving the building."

"That wouldn't have to do with why they kicked you out, at all?"

"Hmmm. I'm too sleep-deprived, apparently."

"Ah. And, um, you called me because...?"

"I pressed a random number in my call log after waking up. Lucky you, I guess."

"Yeah. Right. Lucky me. And your car keys are...?"

"Confiscated."

"Ah, right, of course."

A beat of silence. Two. Three, then "Look, if you're busy, then–"

"No, no.  You called me, so I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes."

"Alright. Thank–"

"Thank someone else. Also, if you fall asleep in my car, I'm taking it as express permission to drive you around wherever I want."

"Ugh, go die. I don't even know why I bothered."

"LUCKY YOU, I guess," sounds off way too loudly in his ear. "No take backs. See you in ten."

"I thought you said–" Sabo breaks off as the call ends, leaving him staring blankly at his phone's too-dim screen. He squints, turns the brightness all the way up, and still squints as the sunlight proves too strong for the display.

Ace shows up in more than ten but decidedly less than twenty minutes. Sabo doesn't waste much brain power on it, only climbing into the passenger seat and yawning into his palm while his other hand fixes the seatbelt into the buckle. Not a second too soon, too, as Ace roars the engine to life and peels away from the curb at record speed.

Ace fiddles with the radio. He turns the music up, then dial it back down to inaudible. They hit the expressway and he leans over the steering wheel, frowning with his eyes fixed on the road far ahead. Sabo yawns again and this appears to be the limit to his patience. 

"Hey, so, I had a thought after you hung up on me."

Sabo grimaces. "You mean you–"

"Today's Wednesday."

He doesn't elaborate. Sabo is too tired to process. "Yes," he follows, after a second. He glances at the sky out the front window. "What time is it?"

"Oh, uh." Ace fumbles with hand placement so he can lift his watch to his face. "Nine forty."

Sabo takes a couple beats to try and process this, moves his eyes away from the skyline, and sighs as he pulls his phone out. 2:47 is what the display reads, which sounds much more believable.

"How did the minute hand get off?" he mutters to himself, chancing a look at Ace's busted wristwatch. Ace raises a brow, taking his gaze off the road to scrutinize Sabo. "No, it doesn't matter," he mutters to himself once more, sliding his phone away back on his person and out of his hands.

"My point is," Ace continues, like he hasn't just been interrupted by a whole thing. "Your timeout will be done midday Thursday. Did they switch your days off?"

"No." Sabo sighs. "They technically gave me the next thirty-six hours. Technically closer to forty. Something like that. I go back in on Friday. Sometime.” He tries to smile and it turns out very lopsided, from that he can make out in the rearview mirror. “Can you tell I’m tired?”

“I don’t think ‘tired’ is an accurate description,” Ace quips. “When did you eat a proper meal last?”

“Uh, yesterday. Maybe.”

“Maybe??”

“A ‘proper meal’ means different things to the two of us,” Sabo huffs. “On my account it was yesterday. I’ve had food since then, of course.”

“Alright, so here’s the plan,” Ace announces before absolutely whipping it around a curve. Sabo is his passenger in the passenger seat and had fully prepared to be so when he got in the vehicle, but he’d been vastly underprepared for this sudden course of action, which is how he ends up halfway out of his seat with his cheek slammed into the cold window. Ace doesn’t quite notice his brother’s terminal velocity until the car is once again on the straight and narrow, and only then it’s because of the audible thunk Sabo’s face makes when it collides with the glass.

“Aw shit. You good bro?”

“Ow,” Sabo mutters. “If I have broken bones I’m suing your ass.”

“Well, if you’re good enough to make jokes, I think you’re better than you’re letting on.” Ace keeps the wheel steady with one knee while he takes both hands away to crack his fingers. When he glances over at Sabo again, he looks even more pathetic – like he’s becoming one with the glass. “Anyway, as I was saying.

“I’m taking your ass home. You’re going straight to sleep and while you crash, I’ll make you something decent to eat and stick it in the fridge for you to heat up later. I’ll even make you two servings to eat two different times, since you clearly can’t be trusted to take care of yourself correctly.”

“Ouch.”

“I want you to conk out for as long as your body allows. We can reset your sleep schedule tomorrow, alright? Put your phone on silent; do not answer any calls. In fact, you know what, just give it to me.

Sabo glances over to see Ace’s hand held out to him, palm up. Fingers wiggling expectantly. His lips pull up into a grimace. “I’m not doing that.”

“Fine.” Ace takes his hand back. “But you will comply with everything else.”

“Wow! It’s so funny, I didn’t realize you turned into my mother overnight! Really tapped into your mom potential, huh? Anything exciting happen in your life that would cause that? I guess I wouldn’t know, since I’ve been a zombie for the past two days.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acting like your older brother, you dipshit, especially if you keep putting yourself through the wringer like this. You go home. You sleep. You wake up and eat. You go back to sleep. Then we do laundry. Does that sound agreeable?”

“That’s negotiable, at the least,” Sabo mumbles. “I will accept good food as a form of bribery.”

“Oh, nice, because I’m flat broke at the moment.”

Sabo makes a mental note of that, and then they’re pulling into the driveway. Ace lets him exit the vehicle by himself and then promptly manhandles him all the way onto the couch where it will be easier to force his body to relax than in a real bed. Ace knows this, so he calls him weird before chucking a loose blanket at his head. Sabo is almost too tired to function at this point, so he lets Ace have the last laugh in favor of finally closing his eyes.

Coming to is a surreal experience, especially since the sun is still out. He must make a noise because Ace is suddenly within view. His limbs are tangled in the blanket and still so heavy that he doesn’t bother moving. “Thought you would be gone,” he half-groans, eyes slipping shut again for a moment.

“I did leave,” Ace confirms. “I had to go pilfer some stuff to make stew with. It’s almost done, so I’ll hang here until then.”

Pilfer. That could mean any number of things. Sabo chooses to believe in the option where Ace is an upstanding citizen, and then remembers Ace saying earlier that he had no money. He frowns and squirms on the cushions enough to where it looks like he’s checking his pockets. “Where’s my wallet, Ace?” he bluffs.

“Somewhere around here,” Ace pipes up. “Your stomach will thank you for your contributions to the Portgas Household’s pantry!”

“Ugh, I got robbed,” he complains. “This sucks. ‘m going back to sleep.” He rolls over so his back is to Ace.

“Yeah, you do you, bro. Stew will still be here later. I’ll see you when you’re back in the world of the living.”

—

Luffy comes in late that night and slams the front door shut as loud as humanly possible. When he appears in the main room, he doesn’t seem to be upset, so Ace writes it off as a Luffyism. Sabo hasn’t stirred at the noise, so it’s all good.

Realizing this, Luffy pads closer to Ace’s side and looks at Sabo’s unmoving body warily. “Why is Sabo passed out like a corpse? Is he sick?”

“No, he’s not sick, he just can’t take care of himself. Which is why we are going to let him sleep for as long as possible.”

Luffy just nods to this, but it’s the uncomprehending Luffy-nod that means he’s just going to end up doing whatever he wants to regardless. Ace sighs, then jerks his head towards the kitchen. “He ate a little earlier, but I want him to eat again when he wakes up. There’s stew in the fridge if you want it – just leave him a little. Got it, Monkey D. Luffy?”

Luffy throws him a salute and then runs off in his socks. “Yippee! Ace made stew!”

“Think of your brother, Luffy, and make good choices!” Ace calls after him. “He’s a pathetic man who needs food to feel better or he’ll end up sleeping through Laundry Day!”

—

Sabo does not sleep through laundry day, but he does sleep for sixteen whole hours, so it’s just around noon when he forces himself up off the couch and into a warm shower.

Ace is around, which is mildly unexpected. But he’s still half-asleep, so everything is at least a little unexpected. He glances up from playing video games with Luffy to see Sabo leaving the steam-filled bathroom with his hair hanging around his shoulders. “You look like a wet cat,” he calls.

“Sabo’s awake!” Luffy cheers. “Ace thought you died at one point.”

Ace elbows Luffy in the gut, making him hunch over. “I did not!”

“He totally checked to see if your heart was still beating!”

“I’m undead, actually,” Sabo says completely seriously.

“Does that mean you don’t need to eat anymore?” Luffy questions. “Because I ate all the stew last night.”

“I saw that coming and made extra.” Ace finger-guns in Sabo’s general direction. “That’s why I bought two sets of ingredients. With your money!”

“With my money,” Sabo echoes, because it’s such a wild statement to have to deal with this early in the day. Well, early for him. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, I can tell Luffy where I hid–”

“Thank you, Ace, for agreeing to share your quarters with both of your brothers so we can all do laundry today on your dime!” Sabo raises his pitch so his voice is mockingly squeaky when he says this. He starts moving down the hall before Ace can start to argue, letting his and Luffy’s voices bleed into the background.

When he comes back out, now dressed, it smells significantly better than before. “I reheated the stew,” Ace announces, gesturing for Sabo to take a seat at the kitchen counter. “Let’s all have lunch before we head out.”

“You have to drink this too,” Luffy tells Sabo, sliding a Gatorade across the counter so it sets in front of him when he finally does take a seat. “Ace’s orders.”

“Gotta get those nutrients back somehow.”

“Aren’t we so considerate, Sabo?”

“Do you even know what ‘considerate’ means?” Sabo asks, lips quirking up into a half-smile. At Luffy’s shrug, it turns into a real smile. “Well, thanks anyway. Both of you.”

“No sweat. And look!” Ace brandishes a five dollar bill for both to see. “I found this baby for us to use on coins! It’s all on me today–”

“Where’s my wallet, Ace?!”

[elodieunderglass]

✅ ⛔️ 😊?

From the fanfiction ask meme!

⛔️ whats something you try to avoid in your work?

In fanfiction I try to avoid political laziness, and the tendency to make background characters all the same kind of person that indicates the writer has a REALLY limited social bubble.

In Strange Pilgrims (Good Omens https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368694/chapters/46082842 ) I needed some disposable demons for a chase scene. The source material TV adaptation took the fairly-lazy route of making disposable demons recognisable stereotypes of British “lower classes” or had them be ugly little disposable creature things. I deliberately decided to avoid that, so I had to think about what kind of person I am instead, and what I should say instead. So that’s why I decided my disposable demons would be horrible rich people/ landlords/ irl scum. I got a sly dig in at what I perceived as perfectly avoidable laziness in the adaptation, and an easy route into their descriptions;

A stereotypical mental image of "a group of menacing people and a dog, following someone in London" might involve shifty-looking people in tracksuit bottoms, and a dog whose rap sheet includes the words "pit bull" somewhere. This group of menacing people is signalling something far crueller. They are white, well-dressed, smirking - they look like Tolly's colleagues. The woman-looking one has long straightened blonde hair, and is genuinely wearing an actual padded gilet. The men-looking ones look like they've never been held accountable for anything in their lives; one looks like he has a portfolio of rental properties, and the other one looks like he has designed a social media platform.

I also liked that this gave me stuff to hang descriptions on! A landlord can be so hateful! What kind of villainous animalistic attribute do we give him? (Demons in the adaptation are given animalistic attributes; Crowley is a snake.) Pfff, no need to malign and stereotype normal animals either! No perfectly good beastie like a toad or fish needs to be put into the position of being shorthand for “vile”, when landlords are obviously black mould.

Under his brushed and shiny property-developer facade, he seems to be a creeping, suppurating mass of black mould, staining and corrosive, the kind that lurks behind paint and smirks back to the surface when you've committed to another year on the lease. The destroyed eye socket is already healing inside, filling up with fungal growths.

There. Everyone hates him, our politics are funny and cutting, we got some great inspiration, no animals were maligned, landlords were maligned, it all goes nicely and shows off a bit. All that from avoiding a lazy choice!

😊✅

relatedly I liked this continuing choice, that the people who help the heroes throughout the Strange Pilgrims are working-class folks with their own lives. Bus drivers and barefoot ghosts and marching bands and security guards and protesters and librarians, and even the sparrows. They all have voices and value, to me at least, despite being throwaway characters in a fanfic for a forty year old book.

[batbux]

It's forty minutes into the latest state of the company press conference and Bruce has had to mute his mic entirely to avoid being turned into a meme AGAIN for sighing too much at his own event. For all that he's spent almost 20 years coaching his own children on not making scenes, he's really not much better. It's hot and he doesn't want to be here. His ribs hurt. He's tired. He's hungry. He's every excuse Dick or Jason have trotted out over the years.

(Tim understands company manners and can almost always be trusted to stick it out as long as he's allowed to vent his frustrations afterwards. He's recently taken to smashing ugly thrifted dishes. Stephanie and Damian have been collecting any ceramic not entirely pulverized and turning them into pavers for Alfred's garden.)

(Bruce gave up after Tim. He really only needs one kid to tag along to social events. If the kid start to outnumber him they start getting IDEAS.)

His distraction is why it takes two very rude repetitions of his name for him to take notice at the young reporter pushing his way to the front. Lucius stands, cutting off the project manager currently presenting and speaks into the mic.

"Please keep hold all questions until the end of the presentation, thank you."

"Mr. Wayne," the reporter tries again and Bruce waves away Lucius's further protests.

"Can I help you?" He asks, smiling with the full force of Brucie Wayne's charm behind it. It's been awhile since his last scandal, but if the press is inventing drama then it's less work for him.

The man holds up a photograph almost accusingly. He reeks of gotcha journalism.

Bruce squints towards him, unable to fully make out the contents of the photo. Dick may have been right when he gently suggested Bruce add glasses to his Brucie Wayne persona but that was a hill Bruce was still willing to die on. It was bad enough he had to have a prescription COWL.

"What do you have to say about the presence of your adopted son, Timothy Drake at the illegal mob in Robinson Park last Saturday?"

"Drake-Wayne," Bruce corrected because Tim hyphenated, damn it. He was the first of his children to let Bruce tag the Wayne name on and it mattered, damn it. "Wait do you mean-"

"How about reports of him kissing a man while there?"

"A blond man?" Bruce asked, finally giving up and crossing to take the photo for himself. "Oh. No, that's his boyfriend."

There was a beat of silence before Bruce realized his mistake. Just as the reporters began to squall, he dropped the blurry photo and began to speed walk off, phone suddenly in hand.

Through the podium's microphone, the gathered reporters heard one thing as Bruce evacuated the immediate vicinity.

"Tim? Don't be mad."

---

Despite Bruce's best efforts, he becomes a meme.

---

Immediately following the bombshell that Timothy Drake-Wayne had a boyfriend, social media blows up, clamoring for more information. They're ravenous for it, desperate. Tim doesn't have a personal social media presence but they stalk his professional accounts religiously. Bruce does have personal social media, but he maintains radio silence.

In the end, a Gotham based "influencer" stumbles across Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne getting donuts at Kosher Donuts and Co. Dick is personable, as always, and stops to speak with the young woman briefly.

"Yeah, Tim wasn't mad," he laughs when asked. "Just disappointed. But man, he knows how to milk it."

"Bruce is in the doghouse, huh?" she asks, full of false sympathy.

"A little bit," Dick says as Damian mumbles, "Titus would never share."

"But," Dick continued. "Tim's spun it so Bruce is on the hook for like, half a million in donations for local LGBT charities. Tim says it would hurt less if he sponsored a new shelter too, so that's something to look forward to."

"That's a lot of money! Where's it all going?"

"Oh you know," Dick says and gestures vaguely. "A lot of different programs."

"Yeah? Anything you personally want to see done with the funding?"

"Drag story time," Damian answers before Dick can. He looks intense. "But not for children. For dogs. In the shelter."

---

A day later, Tim breaks the silence. He goes live on Bruce's Instagram.

"So the problem was that Bruce thought the reporter was saying I was being unfaithful," Tim explains. "He totally forgot I wasn't out to everyone yet. Bruce was just worried because he's already told me if I break up with my boyfriend, he's not uninviting him from any future family events."

"Luckily, I was in fact just kissing my boyfriend at PRIDE. Just because people got shifty with the permits at the last second because of protestors doesn't make it an illegal mob. If you wanna hear about Wayne's and illegal mobs, talk to Dickie about his younger years. Nothing I do can compare."

[steviewashere]

I want to write something sort of meta, hear me out on it. Sorry, if this hits too close to home. The idea came to me and I needed to get it out of my system. And...would you look at that, another half-written fic.

Steve ends up getting really into Star Wars after Dustin shows him to it. Like, so much that he gets himself involved with conventions, cosplay, collecting anything and everything he can. He's involved in a fandom space. Learns the world of fan fiction. And let's say that maybe, during his time figuring out where he wants to go with life, he picks up writing fanfic as a hobby.

It encourages him to get an English degree. Encourages him to lean more into that hobby, but then expanding upon it to write original short stories and small novels that go published. But he holds strong to Star Wars and fandom and finding his spot cemented in it. He's been a fan for...nearly forty years at this point (set in 2024, ugh I know).

And maybe he dabbles in online spaces here and there. He ignores the insufferable adults in the Star Wars fandom (the "um, actually..." guys, btw). Indulges the effort of typing out his handwritten fan fiction, ones he used to bring and pass around at conventions, ones he'd let Eddie read with a shy look in his eyes. And he posts them online, has a Tumblr account, maybe does a few short things on Twitter, definitely is on AO3 (albeit newer, having never attempted online fan work before).

But then...then he gets his first little bit of hate. Vicious, gross comments on his work. Sometimes in private messages. Even publicly, once, on Twitter. It irks him. He holds strong, he does. But then it gets worse and worse and somehow, worse. Younger people claiming he's too old, others claiming that he can't write for certain characters because they're out of his age range, that he can't ship certain people, he can't say that a character would do this or that, that Star Wars is media for a younger audience (despite being somebody who saw it "back in the day"). But that he...That he's not supposed to be there.

And that last little comment sticks with him for a long time. It makes his effort and his attention and his love for writing fanworks falter. He stops. Thinks about the characters he loves, of Leia and Han or even Luke and Han or Lando and Han (listen he loves writing Han). But then he wonders if it's even worth it, to indulge this interest anymore. Yeah, maybe he's older than the source material. Sure, maybe he was introduced to it a little later than most, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love it. Yet, his attention towards Star Wars completely falls away.

He stops watching it. His DVDs going dusty and unused. Starts putting away all his action figures, because what if he posts a photo one day and somebody sees them and claims that that's not for him and—

Then, he goes completely offline from fandom. Even if he still gets the emails from users who actually enjoy his stuff, ignoring them completely. Focuses on using the internet for work. For his novels, for the little stories he actually gets paid to write. But his work just isn't the same. The passion, despite being an original story and original source material, is completely dwindled.

His hobby has been stripped from him. His interest has been knocked straight out of his hands. And he just...moves on.

Even if it hurts to go down into the basement of he and Eddie's home, eyes catching on the see-through bins of original action figures, Lego sets, comic books. Even if it makes something strangle in his chest when he opens up the browser on his phone and it immediately opens to a new ship he'd been getting into: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker—because he finally picked up The Mandalorian, because he was finally talked into watching it when he had the free time.

And then it all bursts over when Eddie finally approaches him about it, when they're enjoying a night-in, sitting around lazily on their sofa.

"There's a convention coming into town," he comments, "supposedly, Hayden Christensen is going to be there. We should go, try and meet him."

Steve just grunts in response.

"Oh-kay...or we could just stay home and watch the movie?" Eddie suggests. "Been a while since I've seen Darth on screen, telling Luke about"—

"I don't want to," Steve cuts in quietly, "isn't really my thing anymore."

Silence then follows. For a beat. Then two. A third.

"Not your thing?" Eddie asks him incredulously. "Not too long ago you were raving all about that new show that's coming out! That you saw they were doing lightsaber whips and you were excited to see how they worked! What do you mean it's 'not your thing'?"

Steve shrugs. "Grew out of it or whatever. Got more important things to focus on now." He sniffs, trying to keep himself held together, grumpy and firm in his decision.

Eddie's stare drills into the side of his face. Scalding, just like that lava was in Revenge of The Sith. "Baby," he speaks softly, "did something happen? You haven't even...you don't read your beautiful little stories to me anymore. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't even seen your lightsabers around here. What's goin' on?"

He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. A ratty plain white t-shirt that he wears now when he's lounging around the house. It used to be one with the Millennium Falcon on it, but that's tucked down far in his dresser. Not for him anymore.

"Steve," Eddie presses, "did something happen?"

His stare stays down at his lap, still fiddling with his shirt. Fingers flexing unfamiliarly in the strings, unlike the loose ones on his Star Wars shirts. "I just"—Steve heaves a deep sigh—"it's time I grow up. It's...not for me anymore. Too old for it now, I guess."

"You guess or you know? Because nobody's too old for anything. Unless, y'know, you're like eighty-nine and in terrible health and trying to hike Everest, then..."

Despite everything, Steve finds himself chuckling. A giddy little sound here and gone in a breath. He shrugs again, albeit smaller this time. Crumbling within himself. Quietly, honestly, he admits, "People were being mean to me about it online. About my writing. That I'm doing it wrong, that I—that I'm too old for it. That I don't belong because of my age." He finally brings himself to look at Eddie, blearily because his eyes are aching and wet. "I got to thinking and I...maybe I've just been too caught up in my own bliss to realize that those people are right. They're right and I shouldn't be into kids stuff anymore."

Eddie makes a soft, sad cooing noise in the back of his throat. "Oh, baby," he breathes. "Baby, those people don't know a single damn thing about your love. But...but I do. I know that you've seen every single Star Wars movie more times than I've probably eaten in my entire life. And what about all those Halloween costumes over the years? I didn't dress up like Leia for nothing, Mr. Solo."

Steve scoffs wetly. Goes to protest, but—

"And...and that handshake! The one with Dustin? You guys have had that for nearly forty fucking years! So, why bother indulging any of these...these hardasses on the internet? Did they sit next to you on the sofa as you fucking curled yourself like a shrimp and wrote every little intricate detail of a kiss between Luke and Han? Have they read your work while you blushed all shy, while you tucked your hair behind your ear and asked for the most earnest of feedback, to make sure you spelt things correctly or put a comma in the right place? These people, did they get to see you blossom and grow like a fucking bushel of roses over your hobby?

"Because I know I did. And even though you were nervous about your words on the paper, you still came to me. You still wrote and wrote and wrote until I had to bully you into breaks, just so you wouldn't ruin your poor wrists. If they had even an ounce of the passion that you do, they could write their own stories. They can make their own endings and make the characters the way they imagine them.

"They choose, instead, to—what—make fun of you because you have a space to express yourself? Because you found passion and turned it into something so beautiful, even I—a dungeon master, someone supposed to be amazing at storytelling—can't put into words? You found a way to do that, Steve. And you do that with kindness. You do it for free, mind you. If their only passion sits within sending you vitriol over people who aren't even remotely close to real, then they're the ones who don't belong.

"If I've learned anything, fandom is a space to share and bounce off each other's words. It's community and it's belonging and it's sharing what you love because you just love it. Fandom isn't bullying. Bullying is just bullying, Steve.

"And everything you've ever done in your life, in regards to fandom and outside of it, is so much better than hate. You may be a nerd or...or a little bit overzealous or whatever, but at least you aren't hateful. I think being hateful, that's worse—don't you think?"

Steve can only stare in response, fast tears down his cheeks, hands shaking in his shirt. Mind reeling. Because, yes, Eddie's right. And he maybe should've talked about it initially, but the hurt festered and festered and tangled and grew until he was nothing but an unhealed scab. And Eddie, he's the antiseptic to his uncovered cuts—the ones deep on his heart, where all his love is—even for things considered mundane, like movies, like TV shows.

"Steve," Eddie carefully murmurs, wrapping Steve's hands with his own, "you don't have to do something right to love it. You don't have to be a certain way to be happy. If Star Wars made you happy, then why give it up?"

He sniffles and chokes back on a sob. Because, again—damnit—Eddie's right. "I miss it," he admits quietly, "all I've done is miss it."

Eddie gives him a small smile. Something achingly soft that reaches deep within Steve. "Then open your arms and welcome it back, baby," he whispers, "even if you can't be online anymore, do it for yourself."

"I...I want to try it again, I'm just...scared. What if people hate it all over again? What if they're just nasty to me and shut me down and push me to the side and"—

"But what if they love it? What if your readers have missed you just as much?"

"You think?" he meekly asks.

Eddie's eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "I know, actually. Your emails keep coming in on the computer's desktop because I keep forgetting to log you out. And, baby, you would not believe how many people have been eager for updates, for your return." His thumbs work into the backs of Steve's hands, warm and sure. "And, if it helps, maybe I can moderate your comments before you look at 'em? I'll read them to myself and if they're mean, I'll delete them."

Steve blows out a breathy little chuckle. "You'll just get mad at them," he gently teases. "But that doesn't sound too bad. Maybe I should try again. Not yet, though. I'm not ready."

"That's okay," Eddie assures, "take things slow. Maybe we start with watching the movies again? Getting your lightsabers back on display?"

"Can we go to the convention, too?"

"We can do whatever you want, Stevie."

For the first time in a long while, Steve finds himself smiling. "I love you," he whispers.

"I know."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Rock, Meet Hard Place 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss makes a deal that proves less than beneficial for you.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Lloyd Hansen

Author’s Note: This is what you asked for so don't even.

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“Alright, sweet thing, you just make sure he knows I’m on his way, won’t you?” Hansen drawls over the phone. You roll your eyes. 

“Yes, I will definitely do my job, Hansen,” you click around the computer as you drone dully towards the speaker phone. 

“Always so obedient, baby face.” 

“Mm, sure. ETA?” You ask curtly. 

He chuckles, “you sure know how to sweet talk.” 

“I’ll say... about an hour? Is that correct?” You rebuff. 

“You’re good,” he praises. 

“I’ll let Fowler know.” 

You reach over and hang up before he can get his next quip out. You can see why your boss isn’t his biggest fan, though you can’t say Fowler isn't much better. He’s grating in a much different way. 

You stand up and check your watch. You cross the office and knock on the door to the left of your desk. Your boss grumbles from the other side. 

“One hour,” you call through. 

“In,” he demands. 

You sigh. You really don’t need any more of his griping. All morning he’s been stressing you about Hansen. He really has no right to be so whiny. He chose this. He said the contract was too good to pass up. Faced with consequence of his own greed, he makes sure he’s not the only one to suffer for it. 

No matter how many times you remind him that business is business and you need to just get it over with, he doesn’t let up. You open the door and step inside. 

“Fowler,” you cross your arms. “I wouldn’t recommend any more caffeine.” 

“How do you know—maybe I don’t want another coffee.” 

“You shouldn’t have one but I could make some decaf,” you suggest. 

“Do you always have to do that? You don’t know what’s in my mind.” 

“I know you have your knife is in your boot and I would suggest you leave it at your desk,” you shrug. 

“You don’t always know,” he snarls and rolls his chair back. He bends his ankle over his knee and unstraps the sheath. “There, happy.” 

“Happy is a relevant emotion. I’m content. One hour, Fowler.” 

“One hour,” he mocks. “If you weren't so damn efficient...” 

“I know, sir, I’d be working for some CEO in New York, living every young girl’s dream.” You turn to the door. “About fifteen years too late.” 

You leave him as he issues another grumble. You pace around the office and go to the window. You peer out at the green lawns and let your vision blur. You chose to never be a wife or mother, too much hassle, yet after everything, you’re still reining in children. Forty-year old manchildren. 

“New jacket,” Fowler comments as he emerges from his office. 

“It was new about five years ago,” you turn to face him and lean on the trim of the window. 

“Which one?” He holds up two hangers; a leather jacket and a blue blazer. You squint.  

“You joining a golf club or a biker club?” You snip. 

“Don’t be a smart ass,” he tosses the leather jacket into the cushioned chair against the wall and unhooks the blazer from the hanger. “I swear, I don’t need lip from the both of you.” 

“What do you mean? Hansen was absolutely delightful.” The dryness in your voice chafes in the air. He shakes his head. 

“Idiot,” he mutters, “but a deadly idiot.” 

He pops his collar before he pulls the jacket over his shoulders. He folds it back down and goes to the oval mirror hung to the right of the door. He fixes a shank of his short hair as it juts up from his crown. You watch, disinterested, from your perch against the window sill. 

“You couldn’t put a dress on for the special occasion,” he challenges as he faces you. 

You have to keep from flicking your eyes up. You go to your desk and sit, “I’ll wear one when you do.” 

“Wouldn’t you like a peek?” He scoffs. 

You don’t answer. He might despise Hansen for the same, but he can be cocky in his own right. Most men in this line of work, or just at that level, have an overinflated ego. Likely a bit of compensation for lacking elsewhere. 

“Come on, let’s get moving,” he snaps his fingers. “What do you think? Outside? The den? Dining room?” He asks. “I could sit at the end of the table, have him stand at the other end like a peasant in a medieval court?” 

“Oh, this is going to go well,” you stand again. 

“Ah, come on, Harpy, you’ll be there to keep us civil.” 

You give him a look. He tosses the nickname out when he wants to irk you but he’s yet to get the reaction he wants. You don’t let him have that much. He gets twelve hours of your day, sometimes more, and nothing else. 

“So maybe I should bring the knife,” you remark. 

“Mm, interesting. He definitely wouldn’t see it coming but I think those daggers in your eyes are sharp enough to keep him at bay,” he snickers.  

“If you really want my opinion,” you approach him, “meet him in the den. Have a drink. Keep his hands busy.” 

“Oh, are you worried about me? You think I can’t handle him?” 

“Not worried. I know the kind of man he is. And the kind you are,” you muse. “You should both keep your hands visible. I don’t like cleaning up blood.” 

He laughs again. 

“No coffee, but I can have whiskey? Guess that’s fair,” he turns on his heel and struts into the hall. You follow.  

You won’t say it, but you don’t see why you need to be there at all. It’s hardly the sort of meeting where you need to keep minutes. 

[saphronethaleph]

New Media Jedi Order

“Okay,” Rey said. “I don’t know if you can use the Force, yet. Not really. It’s… not something where I had a lot of training myself. But…”

She shook her head. “Okay, I’m already not expressing this right. But the way the Force works, it’s… a mystical energy field, that fills the whole universe. And that might mean that everyone can use it. Or it might mean that it’s just easier for some people, and harder for others. But the most important part of it all is that… the Force is there. It’s real. It binds the universe together, and once you start to understand that… that’s when you can start to understand the rest.”

The words hung in the air, and Rey held out her hand. Her staff rippled slightly, then rose, and she pulled it over to her as she stepped back.

“The Force connects us all,” she said. “Every living being, and it flows through everything that isn’t alive, as well. And it means that every living being in the universe is unique, and important, and special… which is where the first part of the problem can come in. The Dark Side. And that’s why I want to make sure I make this completely clear – because everyone is special. Which means you’re special. But that means that everyone else is special as well.”

She exhaled. “That’s… important. Something you have to remember. Because if you forget the second part, then you’re fundamentally wrong, and that never ends well – for you, or for anyone else.”

After a pause, to impress the gravity of her point, Rey took a deep breath, and let it out.

“So… there’s a number of ways to get a closer and stronger connection to the Force,” she said. “But one of them is that it’s about… knowing things you couldn’t otherwise know, and touching things you couldn’t otherwise touch. If you’re wearing a blindfold, but you can still see. If you’re light years apart, but you can still feel. If you’re the other side of the room, but you can still move.”

She closed her eyes.

“If it hasn’t happened yet, but you can still know. The Force is… transcendent. It connects everything, but everything is larger than one person – it’s larger than everyone – so it’s not possible for an individual person to channel the whole of the Force. But they can touch it, shape it, influence it, and with it… impossible things can be done.”

Hux stabbed the pause button, scowling at the screen, then looked up at the intelligence officer.

“What kind of nonsense is this?”

“We caught it on the HoloNet twenty minutes ago, sir,” the intelligence officer replied. “It had been up for forty minutes before that, and it’s already gone dramatically viral. At this point I’d say about one point two percent of the entire userbase of SpaceTube has clicked the link.”

Hux glared back down at the screen, then caught sight of the view count – and the subscriber count.

And the account name.

“How did the scavenger girl get access to such a popular SpaceTube account?” he asked. “And why is it called Singular Smuggler?”

“Just a guess, sir,” the intelligence officer offered, intelligently. “But I’d guess it’s because it’s Han Solo’s old account? And she does work with his wookiee.”

Hux gave him a baleful look, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

“Well, how bad is it, then?” he asked. “This is obviously a blow for the First Order’s public relations, especially after that nonsense with the broadcast last week where they called for the galaxy to rise up – and the fact we’ve lost Starkiller Base and the Supreme Leader, thanks to-”

He bit off the words.

He wasn’t going to blame the new Supreme Leader for their misfortunes out loud, no matter how much he detested the man.

“It’s bad, but how bad it is depends on what she says in the whole video,” the intelligence officer pointed out. “I haven’t had time to watch it, it’s three hours long.”

Hux muttered something about incompetents, then flicked down to look at the contents list.

He blanched.

“...section two is labelled ‘examples with Finn’,” he said. “Isn’t that the Traitor?”

“That sounds likely, sir,” the intelligence officer frowned. “Why?”

“Block the video immediately,” Hux said. “Across the whole of the First Order. We cannot permit their propaganda to spread to the Stormtroopers.”

The intelligence officer hurried to his desk, ready to issue the order, but before he actually got there the door to the command room crashed open – several inches of durasteel crumpling like tinfoil.

“Huh,” said the stormtrooper standing behind where the door used to be, and examined her gauntleted hands as she flexed them. “Looks like that bit works.”

“...well, kriff,” Hux muttered.

At least there was one bit of good news that he took vicious pleasure in.

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren was going to hate this even more than he did.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

It is Axl roses birthday today and i request a fic celebrating that

A/n: I know I'm a day late but I had shit man😔 not like anyone asked for anything on STEVENS BIRTHDAY

Kinda glad I waited though because this is a much better idea

Warnings: Angst, reader just kinda cries a lot but Axl ends up comforting her and taking her upstairs to his room, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

This pic has me giggling. Fair god mother ass pose

Axl wasn't always around to keep an eye on his house, so he hired you. You were young and needed a way to pay for university, it was a good paying job, close to the school and Axl gave you a room year round for company mostly.

When he was home he helped you, mostly with cleaning and moving furniture around but he did his best in the kitchen.

Despite what your family and friends thought he was really sweet to you, always doing what he could to help, even with your studies; he had no idea what you were doing and got stuck every time he looked at your work, but he made trips to the store and got you snacks, he'd stay up late with you.

For your birthday last year he gave you a car, he usually just leant you his, sometimes he'd drive you himself or he'd pay for a cab. It's not that he minded doing any of that, he just knew how you felt about it.

You felt like a burden, he was really just the sweet man that took care of you and felt terrible every time you asked for the smallest thing. Axl had no one, he had friends, obviously, but he had no family. All he wanted was this big, happy family, and he never got it. He would do anything to spend more time with the few people he liked, especially you.

Since he had done so much for you you wanted to do one thing for him, so you planned and you cooked, you ordered a Queen cake that was really meant for a kids birthday but it was just for the two of you, it was the thought that counts.

When planning for things you had to keep it a surprise, so you told him you were studying for finals. It worked perfect, he never asked about anything, although he did buy a concerning amount of energy drinks.

It all came crashing down on his birthday. You'd spent so much time planning out your idea for his birthday you hadn't taken into account that he would make plans for his birthday.

Worst case scenario was that he would invite more people over, which you initially thought that morning of, but then you found him nowhere in the house as you scrambled around to set things up.

Finally, you checked your phone to find a text from him. "Decided to give you some time to yourself for your studying, be back later, don't worry about food." He sent a little heart and winky face emoji. All your work, the time and effort to get food and preparations together. For nothing. You were ruined.

You shot him a quick text, as tears filled your eyes, asking when he'd be home. He said around 10:00 pm, it was late but it gave you a chance to at least try and do something.

You cried for the first few hours, really. It was hard, he got you everything you ever wanted, and you couldn't do this one thing for him. You had to try, so you decorated the dining room, setting up the small table where you two ate together.

You wrapped your present for him and set it on his seat, just before the clock hit 10:00 you got the cake out and brought it to the table, a lighter at the ready for when he came home.

Five minutes and he hadn't shown up, he was just saying his goodbyes and it had kept him.

Fifteen minutes late, he couldn't end his stories, just a little bit longer.

When half an hour had passed and he hadn't come back you decided to text him, asking if his dinner was almost done. Ten minutes passed before he texted back that he'd bring you back leftovers, no indication of how much longer he'd be.

After forty-five minutes you put the cake back in the fridge, wiping your tears from your eyes and sitting back at the table. You couldn't bring yourself to go back to bed, you brought your feet onto the chair and hugged yourself, resting your chin on your knees as tears rolled down your cheeks.

It didn't take long for your crying to get worse, your body trembling and sobs choked out of you.

It was around 12:00 when you finally heard a car pull into the garage. You did your best to wipe away your tears but you could only do so much. Your makeup was ruined, eyes red and puffy, lip quivering.

Axl came in, finding the house dark. He planned to be quiet and just head right up to bed, doing his best to not disturb you, however, the dining room was right by the stairs so he saw the light on, and the streamers and balloons, everything you set up for his birthday.

Most importantly, he saw you sitting alone at the table, having clearly been crying.

His brows furrowed and he rushed over to you, taking the seat next to you and cupping your face in his hands. "Sweetheart, what happened?" He asked, voice deep and soothing as he looked over you with great worry.

You sniffled, wiping your eyes a final time before speaking. "I-I got everything ready and you-you weren't even here..." You mumbled.

Axl's worry shifted to confusion. "You got everything ready?" He asked. "What did you get ready?" He could take a guess from the decorations but he still asked the question.

"For your birthday!" You said, looking up at him, a desperation in your eyes. "I got a-a cake and decorations, I got it all together, and you-you weren't even here." You knew it wasn't his fault, he didn't know a thing about all this, but you were tired and hurt.

Axl pressed his lips together, eyes flickering over your face. "You really did all that? For me?" You nodded, letting him pull you into his arms. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart... I had no idea." He kissed your temple and pulled away from you, just enough to look you in the eye. "How about I make it up to you?"

Your pout deepened for a second at his offer. "But it's your birthday, I-I was trying to do something special for you!" He nodded and pulled you right back into his arms.

"I know, I know... but you've been stressed, right? With finals."

"There are no finals, it's fucking February, the semester just started." This was getting him nowhere so he lifted you up and carried you upstairs. Your room was just down the hall from his so you didn't question it, and it wasn't the first time he'd carried you around the house, he often found you crashed on the couch or elsewhere and brought you back to bed.

You wrapped yourself around him and only questioned it when he brought you into his room. "What're you doing..?" You asked, voice soft, but you weren't protesting.

"You wanted to surprise me on my birthday, and I want to make you feel better." He explained, setting you down on your back on the bed before crawling over top of you. "Two birds, one stone." You stared up at him, wide eyed and... oddly, very turned on.

Axl kissed down your neck, unbuttoning your top. He brushed the fabric aside and kissed over your chest, watching you carefully and making sure you were comfortable with where he was heading. "You can tell me to stop if you want." He assured, leaving a last kiss on your chest before helping you take your shirt off.

You gave a small nod, holding yourself up and unclipping your bra. "I know." You tossed your clothes to the side and laid back down, smiling warmly up at him.

He smiled back at you and continued to trail kisses down your stomach, your breathing getting heavy, tears drying up quickly now. He stripped you down to your panties, taking his time and muttering praise all the while. "You did a good job, sweetheart, getting a little dinner for us, for me." He mused, placing a final kiss on your lower abdomen, just above the lace of your panties. "You did perfect, now just relax and let me do the work."

[topgungirlies]

What If I’m Not Enough? (How I Spend My Nights) | Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

Summary: You and Jake had been together for a few months. The only problem? He’s your captain. So, what happens when you have to pretend like you don’t care that another woman is hitting on him?

Warnings: Age gap (~20 years - reader is in her early twenties and Jake is in his early forties), jealousy, insecurity, Jake being soft for one person and one person only, power imbalance

Word Count: 936 words

A/N: Welcome back!! I deleted my old account a while ago but I’m back on my shenanigans with my best friend. We’ll be reposting old stories for now but I’m working on some new stuff for you all to see soon !! 🪻

The crowd in the Hard Deck seemed extra wild that night to Ensign Y/N Y/L/N. As you maneuver through the uniformed sailors and all the women who came to flirt and drink, you make sure to keep an eye out for your boyfriend.

You and Captain Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin had only been dating for a few months. While everything seemed great to you both, there was one problem: your relationship had to be kept a secret. If any of your higher-ups found out that you were together, well, losing your jobs would be the least of your worries. So, that meant you and Jake had to pretend like you weren’t insanely in love… or insanely jealous.

“Y/N!” You heard your childhood best friend and backseater Ensign Mickey Garcia call from the other side of the bar. “Over here!” You and Mickey had grown up in the same bad part of town together. You went to the academy together. You flew together. And, one day, you’d get your callsigns together too.

By the time you make it to where your friend stood, his wife was already pulling him in for a deep kiss. “Jesus!” You exclaim with a smile, “Seriously, guys, if you’re going to do that, do it at home.”

“You’re just jealous because I’M in a relationship and YOU’RE not,” Mickey sneered.

“Yeah,” you let out a forced laugh, “you’re right.” With that, you look around the bar once more to catch just a glimpse of your blond.

It hadn’t been easy for you two. You had to drive at least an hour away anytime you went on dates and you had to sneak off base every night since you two officially/unofficially moved in together. And the age gap didn’t help. Well, it helped in some ways, you thought, but not with the looks you got from strangers as you passed by. And it also didn’t help when women more age-appropriate flirted with your boyfriend.

So here you stand, finally locating Jake, only to see him looking at another woman. Jealously flashed hot inside of you. You knew that there was no reason to be upset. You were sure that he was just being polite. But, if your boyfriend was anything, polite was not that thing. For just a moment you thought about going over there and pulling his neck down so you could lock his lips with yours. But then that moment passed, and you were left staring at the one man you weren’t supposed to have any reason to care about.

By the time Jake saw you, it was too late; you were storming out of the loud bar and into the quiet chill of the winter air. Trying not to let your emotions get the best of you, you made your way down the sand and sat facing the ocean, your knees pulled to your chest. It only took a few moments of waiting for your boyfriend to appear beside you. As he sat down on the sand, he placed a large hand on your lower back and rubbed soft circles there.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” Jake asked with a furrowed brow and a voice rich with concern.

“Nothing,” you sniffed, rubbing your nose with the wadded-up sleeve of your favorite sweater, the one that Jake had gotten you for your birthday soon after you started dating. “Nothing, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. You should just go back inside.”

“And leave you out here all alone? Now why would I do that?” Jake drawled with that southern accent that made you melt.

“I don’t know. I figured that you’d want to keep talking to that woman in there.” You looked up at him with glossy wide eyes and a protruding lower lip.

“Oh, baby,” the man said, pulling you close to him in the safety of the darkness. “Trust me, the only thing I had to say to her was that I wasn’t interested. That I had already found the girl I wanted to spend my night with.”

“Oh yeah?” You asked, letting out a sad chuckle.

“Yeah,” Jake said softly before he lightly placed his fingers beneath your chin and lifted your face to look at him. “I’ve already found the girl that I want to spend the rest of my nights with.”

You let out a small gasp as Jake moved closer to you to gently press his lips to yours. You softened almost instantly under his touch and as he lifted his hand up to brush away the rest of your falling tears with the rough pad of his thumb, you realized that everything would be okay. Because you knew that your captain didn’t say things he didn’t believe. Because you knew when he said forever that he meant it.

“Hey, baby?” Jake asked, pulling away from your face just far enough for him to be able to talk.

“Yeah?”

“How about we go home and I can show you just how much I want to spend my night with you?” With a laugh and a playful groan, you pushed yourself off of the pilot and started walking away.

“Where are you going?” He yelled after you.

“The parking lot, dummy! Are you coming or what?” You yelled back, a smile evident in the way your voice rang out.

With a grin, Jake started jogging after you, careful not to draw any attention, but close enough that any passing man would know that the girl in front of him was off the market. That you were Jake Seresin’s girl and no one else’s.

Old Tag List (lmk if you want off)

@environmental-gbcd @teacupsandtopgun @goldenseresinretriever @attapullman @djs8891 @queenslandlover-93 @paigewinchester67 @topguncortez @seresinhangmanjake @callsigncurse @callsign-daydream @missathlete31 @themissingmango @blue-aconite @whatislovevavy @sunlightmurdock @bradshawbaby @averyhotchner

[kaelie-quill]

Writeblr Intro

This feels super awkward to do but I'm putting myself out there for better or worse, so! I go by Kaelie on here, I am 22, Queer, and go by she/her pronouns. I've been on writeblr on and off since I was maybe fifteen but haven't touched it in four years. I am now 22 and for most of those four years I have been plagued by my current WIP, currently called Project Genesis. I've only just recently forced myself to really sit and try to get it out of my head.

I'm kind of ashamed to admit that the only book I ever finished was a warrior cats fan fiction I wrote when I was twelve (It was like forty chapters, I wrote it by hand in a notebook and I let someone take it home and read it one time and it haunts me) Everything since then has either been abandoned and never even made it out of the planning stage.

For the last four years I've been super stressed and in a super bad mental state and had no time to truly sit and try to write anything and if I did I thought it was absolute trash and it kinda made me hate writing. I even stopped reading despite being obsessed with books from the moment I could read, but in the last year and a half I have rediscovered my love for reading and now I want to try writing again.

Project Genesis is meant to be a multi-book high fantasy series with horror elements (maybe, I've not read many horror books and have little experience writing it. Any tips on writing horror, or good horror books to read would be much appreciated) It's got alternating POVs, basically everybody is queer, lots of religious imagery (maybe only if you squint, but I swear sometimes I feel like I'm just ripping off the Bible)

Despite existing for almost for almost four years its hard to describe what it's actually about? The first book at least is a dual POV about one character denying and running from their destiny to avoid becoming a sacrificial lamb, and another character trying to carve out a destiny for himself when he's not meant to have one (not in a 'he's supposed to be dead' way but in a 'you're life isn't supposed to have any affect on the world' kinda way)

It is currently in early planning stages, I'm working on a zero draft and outline before really hunkering down to try a first draft. I don't know how this is gonna go as far as like updates? I'm really just kinda using this as motivation, like if I talk about and say I'm doing it I can keep myself accountable and not just drift away from this like so many others. I expect it to all be horrible but so long as it's something I can go back and make it better. Thanks for reading! 👋🏻

[and-her-saints]

Hey sorry idk if you'd know this but I quite literally don't know where to turn about this so I'm sending this ask to every queer+catholic blog I can find

Are there *any* resources out there for queer/trans Catholics that go beyond affirmation and show how to pursue a religious life that goes beyond the laity (e.g. priesthood, joining a convent/monastery, something similar) without having to brush your queerness aside. I feel like if I don't find something soon I might go insane

years ago, i attended a Zoom event with Fr. James Alison as a keynote speaker, and something he said has been glued to my brain ever since. he said it in Spanish, so i'll try to remember, paraphrase and translate: "while they try to get us to stop being queer, what we must try to do is to be better queers."

i love what you said about "beyond affirmation" and that is precisely why i got reminded of the quote and WHY this quote resonated with me to begin with.

imho, there is a fundamental issue with a lot of queer theology and it's that it doesn't go beyond apologetics. it's not pragmatic nor does it seem to engage critically with the material conditions that work with or against queerness. and it's truly such a shame, because living "religiously" to me, as a queer catholic, it's infinitely more a matter of coherence, love, devotion and solidarity, than learning how to "reconcile" gayness/transness with the Bible.

it's a journey, of course. the apologetics were and are necessary for many of us to unlearn the hatred that might've been instilled in us through religious education and upbringing. however, here are some resources that, in my opinion, show how to pursue queer-religious-life.

💌 catholic/christian resources:

[book] The Reckless Way of Love: Notes on Following Jesus by Dorothy Day. Unlike larger collections and biographies, which cover her radical views, exceptional deeds, and amazing life story, this book focuses on a more personal dimension of her life: Where did she receive strength to stay true to her God-given calling despite her own doubts and inadequacies and the demands of an activist life? What was the unquenchable wellspring of her deep faith and her love for humanity?

[book & account] Black Liturgies: Prayers, Poems, and Meditations for Staying Human by Cole Arthur Riley. Black Liturgies is a digital project that connects spiritual practice with Black emotion, Black memory, and the Black body. In this book, she brings together hundreds of new prayers, along with letters, poems, meditation questions, breath practices, scriptures, and the writings of Black literary ancestors to offer forty-three liturgies that can be practiced individually or as a community.

[book] Cry of the Earth, Cry of the Poor by Leonardo Boff. Focusing on the threated Amazon of his native Brazil, Boff traces the economic and metaphysical ties that bind the fate of the rain forests with the fate of the indigenous peoples and the poor of the land. He shows how liberation theology must join with ecology in reclaiming the dignity of the earth and our sense of a common community, part of God's creation. To illustrate the possibilities, Boff turns to resources in Christian spirituality both ancient and modern, from the vision of St. Francis of Assisi to cosmic christology.

[book] Undoing Theology: Life Stories from Non-normative Christians by Chris Greenough. The fundamental issue with ‘queer’ research is it cannot exist in any definable form, as the purpose of queer is to disrupt and disturb. Undoing Doing generates a process of ‘undoing’ as central to queer research enquiries. Aiming to engage in a process which breaks free from traditional academic norms, the text explores three life stories

[podcast] The Magnificast. "A weekly podcast about Christianity and leftist politics. The Magnificast is hosted by Dean Dettloff and Matt Bernico. Each week's episode focuses on a unique or under-realized aspect of territory between Christianity and politics that no one taught you about in sunday school."

💌 non-christian but still excellent resources:

[book] Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H. A memoir by a butch hijabi that follows the experiences of the author through stories and figures from the Qur'an.

[book] Lean on Me: A Politics of Radical Care by Lynne Segal. Questions of care, intimacy, education, meaningful work, and social engagement lie at the core of our ability to understand the world and its possibilities for human flourishing. In Lean On Me feminist thinker Lynne Segal goes in search of hope in her own life and in the world around her. She finds it entwined in our intimate commitments to each other and our shared collective endeavours.

i don't think these are precisely what you were looking for. but i hope these resources bring you as much peace and hope as they have brought me.