#i just want us to be better y'know? the world's fucked as is and we can't even treat others kindly in fandoms or anything?

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

God, I am feeling so sick towards the TWDG fandom and their treatment towards Tillie. I am not a fan of the comic either, but the way she is being treated while announcing her baby's birth is sickening! Say whatever shit you want about the comic, but why attack the author when you can complain about Skybound doing the disservice? Tillie is only doing her job!

Mmhmmm, it's ridiculous.

I don't understand what's so hard about not sending her shit like that. It's fine to hate and rage about the comic since Clementine's a character we all care about, but leave Tillie out of it. Or at the very least be respectful about it, y'know? There's actually quite a bit in the Clementine books that you can draw back to her previous works and themes that she as a creator likes to write... but no one is interested in that, they just wanna wave their hate boners and I have no patience for that.

Also it pisses me off when bigger creators/fans in the fandom contribute to the hate, it makes it so much worse- lookin' at you, domthebomb. I tried to be nice before but frankly, I watched his review. I don't have it in me anymore.

If I didn't know he read the whole thing from watching parts of his stream, I would've assumed he just read the wiki since he got some basic things about the plot and characters wrong... which is very funny since he accuses Tillie of not playing the games when she's stated in interviews that she has. Like... Amir isn't John's brother, Dom, did you even read the comic? I know you did, so why would you say that? And the book did give you time to get to know some of the new cast, you just spent that time saying, "I don't care," so, I don't know... maybe respect your audience more and put some effort into your review for them? Or, y'know... don't read it at all if it makes you that angry.

Imagine saying you don't condone hate toward Tillie Walden and then proceed to go on a rant about how you believe Ricca, a character you and everyone hates, is Tillie's self-insert and this book is just a romance now, like... he should know that's contributing to the problem. He has an audience. If he actually gave a shit about harassment, he wouldn't bring Tillie into it at all... especially when it's a baseless accusation that falls apart when you have a basic understanding of how art is created and think for more than two seconds. When you say that Ricca is annoying and a character everyone hates, and you say she's Tillie's self-insert multiple times, you're conflating the two for your audience and that's probably why she got an influx of those comments on her instagram calling her awful things after your stream and your review.

Also, liking and engaging with the comments feeding the hate in his comments section goes against his "I don't condone hate" stance, no?

I don't even know why I'm bothering with this since he's not going to see it, and even if he did, he wouldn't care. I'm no one important, so he wouldn't take any criticism I give and reflect on it. I get that he's passionate about TWDG and he loves Clementine, but I don't give a shit that he cares about a fictional character. What matters is how he treats real people like Tillie and then tries to be like, "but guys I don't condone hate, please be kind" like dude, c'mon. I know he's played the games multiple times; he should be plenty familiar with, "This choice has consequences."

I guess at the very least he's not as bad as some other reviews. So much Angry Man Yelling energy, it's... uncomfortable.

[hussyknee]

Wonder how far I can prod libs into finishing their full thought bubble behind all this "harm reduction" "genocide is a single issue" "you don't care about marginalized people in the US" "dyou want fascism WITH genocide???" screeching.

Okay, class, say it with me: "I don't want to live in a third world country like the ones we keep destroying."

Because you know. The countries your war criminal leaders keep bombing and starving and destabilising and leeching dry? We don't have trans or gay rights or women's rights or disability benefits or environmental or labour protections. No one would want to live in our countries obviously. You'd kill yourselves before you had to live like we do. Sure, we're only like this because you keep us trapped in poverty and violence and we still have full, happy lives worth living despite it but that's because we're used to it! We don't know any better! Not like you! You know what you deserve and you shouldn't have to lose anything as a consequence of your own political choices! Your government is supposed to happen to other people! Not you! So like, yeah, it's bad that the poors are being massacred wholesale or whatever, but like. That doesn't mean you gotta die with them, y'know? And by "death" you don't mean actual genocide like what's happening over here but "death" as in "having to live like we do".

The trolley problem metaphor is so goddamn attractive to you because you see yourself outside the tracks, objectively assessing the situation and making the "tough" "moral" choice for the collective good. It's imperialist horseshit. You don't have a democracy and it's not a trolley. What you have is an imperial death machine running on an apartheid system that decides who gets fed to it and who gets fed by it. That's your "two tracks"— the colonized and the colonizer, the core and the periphery, the white and the coloured. "Harm reduction"? Have you counted how many fucking millions in and around the world your death machine eats to keep how many of you "safe"? But our losses are a foregone conclusion, a matter of course, a regrettable necessity. The only variable is yours.

Every political choice in 200 years of your settler colony has been "genocide AND". "Genocide AND women's rights". "Genocide AND workers rights". "Genocide AND fascism". "Genocide AND democracy". The difference is that for the first time in your history you're now watching it livestreamed to the entire world in real time 24/7, exactly as your colony is about to capsize under the weight of its own bloodlust. A sea change from when your parents threw parties watching bombs dropping on Baghdad and then spent twenty years watching movies about sad it made the soldiers.

How do you count the victims when we are numbers and you are people? You scream about trans rights in the US while Palestinian trans children don't have the right to reach puberty. OSHA for you but Congolese children have to die in mines. Reproductive rights for the US while Sudanese women are raped in millions. Yes, but it's always been "genocide AND" no matter what, right? Do we want to sabotage the party that has never fucking cared about us and don't now even with half their own country screaming at them on the off-chance they might possibly maybe one day do?? Why are we acting so mad like it's YOUR fault that you're fighting for your quality of life over our corpses?? Do we want YOU to lose your rights over it??

Yes, actually. We do. We want you to have a taste of the reality that generations on generations of your illegal illegitimate white supremacist occupation has inflicted on us just so your worthless hide can sit there and call our genocides a single fucking issue. And let's be real: that's what you're so fucking afraid of.

[heartfullofleeches]

Maniac

Yans (Nerd, Bully, Student Council) + Dismissive Creep Reader Blurb [G.N All]

Warning: Bullying, mentions of dead animals, violence, death

(An: Never been huge of the school setting but this came up while listening to a song with the same title. If you can guess it you get a cookie)

Creep Reader who's friends with the school punching bag. Saying they're acquaintanced is a bit of a stretch as nerd hangs out with them because nobody bothers them when they sit next to this freak and they dress their wounds, and Creep only tolerates them because they take pictures of every blossoming bruise and cut.

You never offer input in their one-sided conversations, scribbling away in that notebook of yours as they go insane rambling on about what their bullies did that day and how it feels everyone appears to be out to get them. All you ever do with anyone is watch, listen, and write. It's honestly like talking to a brick wall sometimes.... which is why they had no problem accepting the only good advice ever given to them.

"Y'know.... Even if I report this to the principal it wouldn't stop. They'll get suspended for a few days and when they come back - they'll probably just kill you. If you want this to stop, you need to find a new target for them."

A new target...There's only one person more of a freak than them.

"Y/n takes pictures of dead animals."

The rumor spread like wildfire. A tale spun by a sock puppet account and sprinkled throughout the halls. Really, even they weren't sure if the rumor was true or not, but with that camera and your track record it wasn't out of possibility. All eyes were immediately on you. Your phone number was leaked and the threats and queries poured in. People would point at carcasses on the road and make sure you were in earshot when they joked about hoping nobody was taking pictures. They went so far as to sneak a dead bird in your bag when you weren't looking and poured milk on your items when they couldn't find any. They stole your gym clothes, wrote foul things on your desk and locket - but none of them had ever touched you.

As expected, you had no reaction to this. That's the thing your "friend" had always been jealous of you for. So closed off from the world, from the pain it gives. With nobody slamming their head in the lockers anymore, people began to appreciate their talents and hobbies. They made friends. Real ones. They naturally started to drift away from you, but they always stopped when they saw you in the halls.

"Hey, Y/n.... How have you been?"

"Fine."

"None of this is bothering you?..."

"As long as they don't touch me - I'm fine."

All that's where you left the conversation - and your friendship. Your dismissal to it all lead many to give up after a few weeks, but one remained. The same blight on your friend's life since the start of school. Sure, your reactions were lackluster - but they knew they could break you. It was only a matter of time - and you had just given them the key.

"Hey - Freak!"

Your head bounces off the metal door as you're thrown into your locker.

"Can't touch you, huh? The fuck are you going to do about it?"

You rise to your feet, touching the wet spot at the back of your skull. "If we're going to do this, it's better we do it where nobody can see us."

"Ha? - don't want people to see you lose a few teeth? Fine, I got a big game in a few weeks and rather not get expelled before then."

"Sure."

Your former watches as you're lead behind the school. They should do something, call a teacher - but they're too afraid. The weight of the situation falls on them as you disappear from sight. You're going to get hurt and it's all their fault. Your bully cooks up all the things they plan on doing to you, cracking their knuckles and damn near salivating at the thought of seeing your stone face crumple. They're too preoccupied with their threats to notice you pulling something out of your pocket. Their foot falls off the concrete path and into the grassy terrain as they ready their fists, doubling over in pain as pain splits up their side. They vomit spittle and their own words as they look up, metal bars wrapped around your hands.

"what....the fuck."

"Get up."

Gritting their teeth, the bully drags themselves to their feet - back on their knees before they can stand as your fist barrels into their stomach. You grab both sides of their head and ram your knee into the facture scar on their nose. You're unrelenting even as they fall back on their ass, removing your metal knuckles and mounting them as you ball your fists. You weren't ready for a murder charge just let. Over and over, your balled hand cracks against their face and jaw - drawing red with each wet smack. You stop only to switch you your unbruised hand - their arms shooting up in defense.

"please...."

"..."

"stop...."

"Isn't that what people ask you?"

You climb off their battered body, lifting one leg under your arm. "I've studied people for a while. Writing scenarios where I could ruin lives is much better for all of us than actually doing it. I know things about you too... Your family paid off your younger brother's teacher so he got get into that nice college - and you have a full ride... If you can still use both legs."

Tears prick their eyes. They fight to keep them in. This was their future you were playing with. "I'm sorry! I won't hurt anyone again I promise!"

Your grip tightens "I don't care about everyone."

"I won't mess with you anymore!"

They flinch as you drop their leg. "Good." Waking over to your discarded backpack, you retrieve your med kit and camera - dropping down beside them as you remove the lense.

"Smile."

Their eyes burn as the camera flash goes off. You set the camera aside as you open the kit and pull out an alcohol swab - pinning them to the ground as you apply it to their split cheek.

"Ow! The fuck are you doing now?"

"Quiet."

"Get the fuck off me!"

"You have a game in a few weeks, don't you? I don't think I broke anything, but you probably don't want the other team to see you with bruises."

-

The following Monday, your bully greets you all smiles and pleasant as if you were the best of friends. They could do the exact same thing as you and study you like an animal in a zoo to inact their revenge. Anyone who still picked on you quickly turned on their heels when they saw you with their click. They bragged while you were away about how they planned to tear your life to shreds so hard the damage would last long after school. It was going to be the peak of their year -

"Drink this."

"An energy drink? If you wanted to posion me, you could've done it with something better."

"The seal is still intact. No amount of chapstick will fix your dry lips, because you're dehydrated. An athlete should know better than that."

Their fingers instinctly fly to their lips. How did you?.... You did say you had been watching. They didn't know nor understand the full reach of your knowledge until they got a happy birthday message from an unknown number and a speaker ended up in a pool when they were urged to jump in. They had a fear of water since adolescence after nearly drowning at a lake. You never took charge for this acts and mostly blended into the crowd when they happened. You picked up your old hobby of patching their injuries and taking photos as payment. Why were you doing so much for someone who wanted to make you suffer?

"We're friends.... aren't we?"

Huh?

"Besides, if I stick with you, I don't have to look up gore sites anymore - or take pictures of dead animals."

You're such a fucking freak. A freak - that was starting to grow on them.

You became the person they'd look for first during school - when they needed a shoulder to cry on. You rarely offered comfort, but a pat on the shoulders was good enough for them. Their hand would find your shoulder or waist so frequently that rumors began spreading that you were dating - until people found out every touch was met with a light punch to their bruised ribs. They'd just laugh it off and apologize before doing it again an hour later.

Your former friend was having the time of their life - for a while. Something felt... artificial about their new friends. They had a good time at school and when they got together on weekends, but nobody was there for them at any other time. No one to vent to or wish them happy birthday exactly when it turned midnight - like you used you. They missed you. More than anything.

"Hey - give me Y/n's number."

Been a while since they've been in this scenario. Why was your shared bully asking them for your number?

"H-huh? Why?...."

"I had to get a new phone and can't remember the last digits. Stop asking questions and give it to me."

"Okay!"

The bully snatches their phone and punches the number into theirs - eyes softening as the line connects. "Y/n..... What? Of course it's me. I got a new phone. Anyway, I got tickets to that one movie that's coming out this week - the one that got pushed back because the prop knife turned out to be real? You coming or not?... Good."

Your former friend catches their phone as it's tossed back to them - watching their bully walk away with the flush of a middle schooler confessing to their crush. They hadn't been hit at all during the altercation, but their chest hurt hearing your voice after so long away from you - even faintly.

They find you the next day at the top of the roof. It was your favorite hiding place, and the only one your bully hadn't found yet. They sit quietly beside you.

"How have you been?..."

"Fine..."

They purse their lips together. "What...did you do to make them stop?"

"Put them in their place."

"What do you mean by that?"

You point your camera at the passing crowd. "At our age, people only have as much power as you give them. If you stand your ground they'll typically back down, and if they don't - you beat the to a pulp and ruin their families lives."

Your friend can't stop the tears from flowing. You had always been the strong one, that they knew - but how could you handle things so easily? How could they betray you like that? Their only companion in this world - thrown to the wolves when you should've been their for each other.

"It was you wasn't it?"

You stand up.

"Stay away from me."

They reach out to grab you - mend the tattered strings of your friendship. "Don't leave me. I did it, okay? I did it, and I'm so so sorry. Y/n, please forgive me - I couldn't take it anymore. I'd go back to the way things were if it meant you were still with me. Please, Y/n, I'm in lo-"

Their vision blanks, speckles of blood littering the ground floor from their split lip. You lower your hand back down to your camera.

"Don't lie to me. Or yourself like that."

It hurts... Everything hurts.... Still, they smile - showing you the bloodied whites of their teeth.

""ahhh.... Y/n, I'm... I'm bleeding. Don't you want to take a picture of me? Aren't I still beautiful to you? Aren't I good enough?"

You don't grace them with a reply, walking off as they curl into themself. It hurts - their mouth is numb, but it hurts all over. Please, come back. Let them their their head on your shoulder until the pain goes away. Y/n... Please.

"I'm sorry...."

"But are you really though?"

They cover their ears with their hands. Shut up. Go away. If they'd done their job probably - none of these would've happened. The student council president. The worthless coward didn't even have the courage to come themself. Just another lackey doing their bidding.

"Leave me alone."

"Ugh, you're so whiny. This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"I just wanted I break - I didn't mean to hurt them."

"Yea, yeah that's what your like always says. Misery sure does love company, though. I genuinely don't see what the prez likes about that fucking creep. They're wasting their time and blood for them."

Shut up. "Don't talking about Y/n like that?"

"But you had no problem with it when it was for benefit. What did you call them? A psychopath?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go....."

"Keep telling yourself that. I can't decide who'd I'd take more - the backstabber, or the maniac."

"SHUT UP!"

-

Walking down the steps to the first floor, you crash into someone skipping their way in the same direction.

"Ah - Y/n!" The student council president grins, picking up your fallen camera. "Good morning, good morning! And how are you doing ok this lovely day?"

"Fine."

"Faaaantastic." They point at their cheek sweeping blood on the shell of your camera. "As you can see here, I had a little bitty accident in my culinary class. I'm such a clutz, aren't I? If you give me one of those cute bandages, I'll take a picture of this cut and smile real pretty for ya!"

"Whatever." The president hums as you fish around in your bag, smiling big for their future spouse - deleting as many pictures as they can of others in that short time. If only they hadn't been out sick when the rumors spread. Then maybe you wouldn't be on that awful bully's arm and in theirs instead. They refused to let this little setback running your future together. After all, they were willing to bleed for you on their own Accord unlike everyone else in your album.

Unfortunately, they were upstaged once again - but their own council member too. They frown as the screams begin. They spit on the floor as blood splatters across the windows.

Couldn't go kill yourself somewhere else?

-

At the rooftop, panic takes flight. No no no... They didn't mean to do it. Their hands flew out before their brain could tell them no. The blood pools like a broken jug. A crowd surrounds the body. Nobody can see them from their place on the roof floor, but they can see everyone. A figure wearing a jacket that was once theirs, dyed with their blood and tears. The camera that hangs around that person's neck. The shutter of the lense. They laugh - finally understanding what they had to do to get you back.

You really did like taking pictures of dead animals afterall....

[slvthrs]

I'M SO FUCKING OBSESSED WITH YOU Y'KNOW | vinnie hacker

--- MINORS PLEASE FUCK OFF FOR UR OWN GOOD ---

your boyfriend loves the way the hot weather makes you look

VINNIE HACKER X FEM!READER

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI, praise kink, pet names, fingering, unprotected sex (use birth control idiots), hair pulling, slight vouyerism

word count: 1k <3

California is so fucking hot sometimes. The way that shirts stick to skin and the way that when you would walk out of the house and immediately be hit with a wave of heat that absolutely envelopes you. You really wanna move sometimes but you never would unless your boyfriend came with you. Your 5 foot 11, sandy beach blond with freckles and brown eyes, the archetype of someone from California- Vinnie.

From where you live the crashing of the beach waves helps to lull you to sleep in the night and sounds of beachgoers is your alarm clock and as much as you love living here, the heat will always get to you- it’s uncomfortable and suffocating. You’re a person who likes the cold and your boyfriend is exactly the opposite- he’s warm and sweet and kind of like a loyal dog. 

So that’s the reason why you’re currently laying back down in the shortest skirt you could find and a tiny crop top with no bra, sucking on this popsicle like it’s your last meal in the world. 

You let your head dangle off the edge of the counter with your body fully on display for no one. You should be a lot more careful with your boyfriend's roommate walking the halls but he’s seen me in more compromising positions. The sound of the neighborhood is bouncing off the walls of the kitchen and you can hear a soft pair of footsteps coming down from the house's gym. 

And speak of the devil and he may appear- your boyfriend walks into the kitchen to grab some water and so you can shamelessly check him out. He’s just wearing his sweatpants which rest dangerously low on his waist and he is slightly wet and a towel is thrown over his shoulder- which you presume is for wiping up but what catches your attention is the way his hands flex and how big they are compared to yours- It’s like he could drown you in his hands and you would never complain.

But you compose yourself, “Hi babe how was the work out?” you say stretching yourself out more so he can see me even better

He looks startled, “Shit I didn’t realize you were here” He says as he turns to look at me and the moment your eyes meet, you both know that you both want each other,

“Uh it went well, I like the outfit” He says taking a swig of his water

“Thanks” I say with the most innocent expression you can muster and you sit up to look at him doe-eyed “I like your fit as well” You chuckled referencing to how little he's wearing

“Ha ha very funny I work out in this, what is your excuse for looking like that?” He says with fake annoyance

“One, it’s fucking boiling in Cali and two, what do you mean ‘looking like that’” You say  emphasising the ‘that’

He groans, “You just, I dunno, look hot” He admits

“Well yeah it’s like 90 degrees outside” You joke

“You fucking know I didn’t mean that” He says walking closer to me and placing the water bottle away and placing both his hands on either sides of me- caging me in

I finish your popsicle and hook your hands around his neck playing with the wooden stick of the popsicle, “Hmm, I don’t think I know what you mean?” You say faking your innocence

“Oh yeah you wanna play it like that? Fine we can do it like that” He states as he crashes your lips together, you both taste like sweat, ice, and cherry popsicle along with pent up aggression of not having even seen each other in days due to your contrasting schedule. 

He lifts his hands to the hem of your shirt to take it of revealing your braless state, and looks at you in a state of awe, “God your such a fucking whore and you love to pretend your innocent,” He says as he starts to kiss your chest and starts to trail down and before he reaches your skirt he flips me over so your stomach is pressed up against the counter, “It kinda pisses me off but mainly turns me on.”

The chill of the counter makes you almost moan from how hot you are. He flips up your skirt and pulls your panties aside to lean up his cock with your clothed cunt and slams into you, gaining a completely pornographic moan that puts Satan to shame. 

His hands take refuge on your waist as he sets an unrelenting pace tumbling you so close to your climax. One of his hands finds your clit as he circles and teases it making you almost cry of complete pleasure but he stops as the same hand finds your hair and pulls it back so our eyes connect.

Instead of finding a sort of ravaged animalistic look on Vinnie’s face he looks at me in awe as if you look like the world's finest art and dips his head down to your spine and kisses upward and leaves marks all over your neck as he leans into your ears and whispers, 

“I’m fucking obsessed with you y’know”

And the words of praise cause everything to come crashing down- as you cum he lets go of his grip on your hair and it’s replaced with slight kisses on your back that trails down and he soothes you out of your orgasm.

With a few more thrusts he’s following you and then he pulls out of me but his grip on you stays because you both know that if he lets go you might just collapse. 

You stay there just for a bit, “Let’s go before Jett finds us sweetheart.” He says as he’s picking you up and carries you bridal style to your shared bedroom and he draws you into a bath.

[mxstellatayte]

fuck me up, florida.

warnings: angst for the majority of it, sex at the end though, legal use of alcohol (reader and logan are both 23,) mentions of gunshot wounds, minor character death, based on a taylor swift song, childhood (middle/high school) friends to lovers, idiots in love, "you came" "you called," reader is half mexican (mom's side), slightly inaccurate bc i know carola wasn't at the miami gp but just go with it for the plot, reader's last name is rodriguez,

author's note: y'all i apologize if any of the spanish grammar is a little weird. my spanish is rusty, pls don't hate me for it

logan sargeant x female reader

i need to forget so

tuesday, april 30th.

you scan your ticket, the screen displaying your name and seat number. 12A. at least it'll be easy to sleep, you think.

after shoving your suitcase above your seat, you shuffle your way to the window and buckle yourself in.

are you really doing this? flying a couple thousand miles to visit your childhood best friend who, up until recently, had you convinced that his newfound fame that he'd gathered by announcing his enrollment in the williams driver's academy made him too good for you.

the only thing that made you think otherwise was the instagram dm he'd sent you five weeks prior, asking if you'd be able to make it to the miami grand prix. instead of a simple yes or no, you responded with the heaviest three words you've ever seen in order.

can we call?

logan picked up on the second ring.

"hey."

"hey."

"how's texas?"

you smile. "hot. sunny. flat. beachless."

"so... it's good?" you hate that you can still picture his facial expressions even after not seeing him for years except for on tv.

"'s okay, but it's not home, y'know?"

"definitely. it doesn't matter how much i decorate my place in england, it's never florida."

"nothing besides florida is ever florida," you sigh, looking out the window of your apartment. "how's the season been?" you don't exactly know why you're asking. you know exactly how his season's gone. you keep every single detail of every single race weekend meticulously catalogued in a journal that you take everywhere with you. no matter what, you've stayed up late or woken up early to watch every race, as if your hopeful energy would make its way across the world to him in time.

"honestly? it's been pretty shit. the car handles really badly and wasn't really even ready for the first few hours of testing in bahrain. i can't get it to perform and maybe that's just because i haven't linked with the car yet, but it still really sucks."

you sigh, hoping logan can't tell how disappointed you are with his team and engineers. "you need a better team, lo."

"i know." there's silence between you for a few moments, and every second that passes makes it grow heavier on your chest. "will you come to miami?"

there it is. the reason you called him.

"i don't know, lo. don't get me wrong, i'd love to, but it's really short notice and i don't know if i could afford the trip. i might be able to make it to austin, but i'll need the time to save the money for the trip."

"i'll fly you out," logan immediately says, his tone almost desperate. longing. "i'll pay for your flight, your hotel, everything. please?"

that last word hit you like a punch in the gut. you only had one more reason to not go and you weren't about to tell him that reason. it was a shitty excuse anyways.

you're not about to tell him that the reason you moved to texas was to give him the space he needed to be able to succeed in his career and for you to succeed in yours.

take me to florida

you're jolted awake by the force of the plane landing, if you can call the awkward limbo you were stuck in sleep. immediately, your stomach twists with anxiety. logan had offered to pick you up from the airport, but you refused.

"i'll just take an uber," you'd said. "i'm gonna want to relax a bit after the flight, y'know?"

his only trade-off? you met him for dinner. simple enough, right?

in theory.

now, standing in front of the full-length mirror in your hotel room, you debate between a floral sundress and a pair of denim shorts, a tank top, and a white button-up t-shirt with a colorful inkblot pattern.

you decide on the sundress.

fifteen minutes later, you're pushing earrings through your piercings, silver abstract shapes you'd bought on a trip to europe with your mother. you have to leave, but the situation you're in sucks. your hair won't sit right on your head, either being too frizzy from the humidity or losing any and all volume, and your makeup just doesn't seem like it'll last in the miami heat.

fuck it.

who are you dressing for, anyways?

logan's seen you at your absolute worst. he was the only one you let yourself cry in front of after your father died. he was the one that held you for what seemed like hours while you sobbed into his chest and he told you that none of it was your fault- that you never could have known that, when you hugged him before he left for the police station, told him you loved him, and slipped a note into his lunch box, the next time you would see him, he would be laying in a casket. he was the only one that could make you smile in the weeks following his funeral, dropping his entire schedule if you simply sent him a text that said "can you come over?"

the restaurant logan found isn't too far from your hotel, so you ultimately decide to walk. your walk is over before you're able to process that it even started and you're taking out your earbuds and putting them in your bag, taking out your phone instead to text logan.

i'm here.

i've got some regrets

were you always this breathtakingly beautiful?

logan's phone buzzes in his front pocket, but he knows it's you texting him. he doesn't even bother taking it out of his pocket before standing up from his seat at the bar and walking over to you, and when you see him, your smile almost makes his heart melt.

"hey," he says, and he hopes his voice doesn't waver from how nervous he is.

"hey. i missed you," you respond, dodging the hand he holds out and going in for a hug. "i've known you since middle school, logan, i'm not shaking your hand."

your arms around him and your body pressed against his almost makes logan short circuit. thankfully, he's able to regain control of his brain and hug you back, hopefully before you realize he isn't hugging you back.

when you pull back, the hug seeming way too brief for logan's preference, you're looking up and smiling with a sparkle in your eyes that makes him regret not making enough time for you. "thanks for bringing me out here."

"thanks for coming. do you want a drink?"

"sure. do you have a table yet?"

"i was waiting for you."

"in that case, lead the way." you gesture towards the restaurant, and logan shows you to a booth in the corner. soon enough, a waiter comes over to you and sets down two glasses of water and two menus.

"welcome in, y'all. do we need a bit of time to look at the menu or do we know what we want to get started?" his southern drawl is thick, and it reminds you of texas. but you're in florida now.

"i think we'll look at the menu for a minute, thanks," logan says, and the waiter nods and walks away. as you open the menu and begin looking, logan points out something you might like and you do the same for him. conversation begins to flow freely between you, and it reminds you of the times in high school when you would go out with friends.

eventually, you decide on a plate of nachos and logan gets a plate of wings. as you wait for your food, you catch up on everything: your move to texas, logan's racing career, your work volunteering with the austin philharmonic, his homesickness from living in england, and everything in between. you crack stupid jokes, share bites of food, and steal sips of each other's drinks.

it's like old times.

i'll bury them in florida

on wednesday, you and logan drive up to visit your father's headstone. it's difficult. it's only the third time you've visited him since he was buried three years ago. the first time you visited him was a year after he died. even a year later, you still carried so much anger and hatred towards the doctors and nurses that were operating on him, trying desperately to save his life after two bullets hit him- one in his leg, one in his torso.

he died on the table.

the second time was just a few months after, and you were still wearing your cap, gown, and stole from your graduation ceremony. by then, you had been able to forgive the doctors and had graduated in the top 10% of your class. four years of hell had finally rewarded you with a degree in instrumental performance and an internship at the south florida symphony orchestra.

now, the third time, you have a picnic blanket and lunch packed into the backseat of logan's car, the windows are rolled down, and your favorite playlist is shuffled on the aux. it's a beautiful day, too; it isn't too hot (even with the humidity,) there's a gentle breeze in the air, and clouds occasionally cover the sun. when logan pulls into the parking lot of the cemetery and you sling your tote bag full of food over your shoulder, your hands start shaking.

of course, logan notices.

his hand slides into your own, and you look up at him. his eyes meet yours and you smile. "thank you for coming with me," you say.

"of course. i didn't want you to have to do this alone."

you look back at the gate into the cemetery, the black bars menacingly sleek and very, very terrifying. you chew your lower lip in anxiety. "i don't know if i can do it, logan."

"i'm here with you. i know you. you're strong. you aren't the kind of person to let a gate scare you." you laugh lightly, looking down at the ground. the gravel of the parking lot, your scuffed, beat-up high top purple converse, and logan's nike dunks make up what you have to describe as a perfect picture. your phone is in your free hand before you know it, and you're lining up the shot. "still into photography, huh?"

"yep. i have some cameras in my suitcase at the hotel." when you pocket your phone and look back up at him, logan's heart melts. the shine in your eyes and the passion in your smile is enough to soften anyone's heart, but for him, as someone who's known you for years and has been there for you through thick and thin, it touches him in such a special way. "i'm hoping to get some good photos of the races. but enough delaying. let's go visit my dad."

the creak of the gates opening makes your ears bleed, and you laugh at how logan is making the exact same face as you in reaction to such a shrill sound. despite only having visited his headstone twice before, you remember exactly where in the cemetery it is and are able to find it within five minutes.

"hi, dad," you begin, your voice already wavering just the slightest and tears beginning to well in your eyes. logan's hand squeezes yours, though, and you're reminded that he's right there. he always will be. you take a deep breath and continue. "i miss you. we all do. i know i haven't visited you in a while, and i'm sorry about that. i really do have to come stop by every now and then. i moved to austin and have a volunteering gig with the austin philharmonic at almost every show and i have a job at a company that helps students with learning disabilities learn instruments. it's really fun." you pause to wipe the tears off of your cheeks, your nose beginning to drip. "sam is in his junior year of college, and he's majoring in engineering. he flew the coop, but he still comes home for the summers. he, uh, he actually got in to c.u. boulder, like he always talked about. that kid was always thinking about college, even in middle school.

"i'm actually here with logan, too, if you hadn't noticed. do you, uh, do you want to fill him in on what's going on with you, or should i keep going?"

"whatever you prefer."

"okay, i'm going to keep talking, because i think if i don't, i'm going to completely break down. logan finally signed with williams to drive on their formula 1 team last year, like i always said he would. i'm really proud of him and really regret not telling him that more, and now that i'm saying it out loud i'm promising both you and him that i'll tell him that more often. the race this weekend is actually here, in florida. miami, specifically. it's always a celebrity shit show that no one really wants to see, but it's the main opportunity for the celebrity sponsors to actually go to a race.

"what else has been going on? oh, mom is still a therapist. i can't tell you much about that because of hipaa, but she always comes home saying that she's glad that she could help someone. i'm gonna have dinner with her tomorrow night, and then i'm going back into miami to watch logan's practice sessions."

you pause your rambling, thinking about what there is to say next, but your thought is interrupted by your stomach grumbling. loud. you and logan laugh just as loudly, the sound echoing through the grass field and stone gravesites. "oh, yeah, that's another thing. we brought lunch. i also got you pink tulips, because i know they're your favorite." you delicately rest the bouquet on your father's headstone as you sit down, then pull out the different plastic containers filled with food you'd stolen from the williams hospitality. "you'd be proud of me, dad. i smuggled this entire picnic out of the wiliams motorhome without a hiccup. robin hood style."

logan laughs, and you turn to him. he's mirrored your position, sitting cross-legged on the grass. "apple?"

"nah, i'm gonna start with my sandwich. i did grab you some of the salt and vinegar chips i know you like."

the look logan gives you can only be described as pure adoration. "you," he says, pointing a finger at you in an incredibly sassy manner, "are an absolute goddess."

"i know," you respond cheekily, tossing some hair over your shoulder.

the banter between the two of you continues through your picnic, laughter and smiles erasing the dried tracks of tears on your cheeks and on logan's. you're almost able to forget where you are.

tell me i'm despicable

almost two hours later, the two of you are laying in a nearby park underneath a tree, peacefully observing the clouds that pass overhead and talking even more about any topic that comes to your mind. the question that's been gnawing at you since your plane landed in miami eventually bubbles to the surface, and it tumbles past your lips before you can stop it.

"did you ever wonder why i moved to texas?" you look to your left where logan rests, but he keeps looking up at the sky. you mirror him.

"i always assumed it was just because you needed a change of scenery. after everything that happened and your music career taking off, it would make sense that you would relocate to somewhere better suited for you."

"that's the thing, though. if i'm being entirely honest with you, lo, i hate texas. i hate the whole state. i hate how hot it is all the time without even being humid, i hate not being able to go to the beach. i hate how dry it is. i hate how flat it is. i hate the monotony of it. i hate not being here."

logan hesitates for a moment before speaking, and it's the longest moment you've ever experienced. "why did you move to austin, then?"

when he looks over at you, you're chewing your lower lip. it's a nervous tic, logan's noticed. he's not even sure if you know you do it. "honestly? i thought you moved on from our friendship. i thought everything with f1 suddenly got so big and important and famous that maybe i wasn't... enough? i thought that being a police officer's daughter from the same town as you that was studying to teach people how to understand and play music maybe just wasn't cool enough to be friends with a world-renowned formula 1 driver."

logan's heart almost shatters when he hears the weakness in your voice. you sound so broken and so alone. he knew that, when you lost your father, you isolated yourself from a lot of people, even your best friend from high school and through your first year of college. he was the only person outside of your immediate family that you spent a decent amount of time with, but when he was admitted to the driver's academy he had to move to england. he abandoned you.

"i didn't. i never forgot about you. sometimes i still look through the photos we have together because i miss you that much."

you sit up, tears pricking your eyes for the second time that day. "really?"

"yeah. maybe once a week?"

when you look down at logan, you're suddenly starstruck. you can't help but notice all of his little features that you wouldn't see if you didn't know to look for them. his freckles that are so light you'd have to squint to see them if you didn't know them like the back of your hand. the mole on his chin that he'd always been self-conscious about but you've always seen it as beautiful. the lines from where his eyes crinkle when he smiles. the annoyingly perfect flop of his hair that he's styled almost the exact same way since you started high school together. an urge you haven't felt in years suddenly bubbles, white-hot in the pit of your stomach, and it's boiling over before you can stop it. your eyes are closed and your lips are on his. finally. after years of wanting, of stares that lasted just a bit too long to be just friendly, of flushed faces and nervous excuses, you're finally kissing him.

but he's not kissing you back.

you pull back immediately, panicked that you read something wrong. you turn away, hiding your face in your hands out of shame. "shit, logan, i'm so sorry. i thought-"

"kiss me again." logan sits up, and when you turn around, the look he's giving you can only be described as completely and entirely fucked. you don't question his statement, just lean forward, placing your lips on his, and letting yourself melt. he moans softly into the kiss, his right arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. when you pull away and open your eyes, your breath catches in your throat. he looks beautiful. his eyes remain closed, but when they flutter open, you see colors in them that you've never seen before. sure, you've always seen the darker rim of blue that outlines his irises, but now that you're so close to him, you can see the flecks of green and grey in them. it's the most stunning thing you've ever seen.

eventually, you break the silence between the two of you. "i've wanted to kiss you for so long," you whisper, so quiet you're not sure logan heard it.

but he did.

"me, too," he says, and after a beat of silence between you two, you both burst out laughing. the laugh he hears from you is the pure, bright laugh that logan's missed so dearly, the laugh that you only really let him hear. the laugh that has tears in your eyes and makes you snort because you're laughing so hard you can't even breathe properly.

eventually, when you're able to calm down, your head resting on logan's shoulder, your hand holding his, you're able to process what just happened. you just hope logan is processing it, too.

"we just kissed."

"yes. we did."

"how long have you held out on me?"

"since christmas of sophomore year. when you made me the chevron bracelet with my favorite colors."

you laugh, then lift your head to look at him. "i fell for you in october of that year. when you convinced your mom to drive two and a half hours for the marching band state finals. just so you could be there with me."

"god, we're idiots," logan laughs. you can't help but lean forward and press another kiss to his lips, lingering there and just breathing him in.

existing.

say it's unforgivable

the next two days fly by. thursday, you spend the day with your mother. she asks all sorts of questions as if she doesn't know the answers, and you answer each one with a smile on your face. when she asks about logan, you smile sheepishly. she figures out what the smile means.

"took you two long enough."

normally you'd still be in bed at 9:30 am on a friday, but today, you walk into the miami paddock clutching logan's hand for dear life. your neon green pass hangs from your neck, a white williams cap atop your head. you can't help but feel out of place, but someone calls logan's name and you both turn. your stomach drops when you see who's called his name. his hair is styled similarly to logan's, and he sports a papaya polo.

you'd know him anywhere. it's oscar piastri.

you're standing there a bit awkwardly as logan greets his friend, but your heart stops when oscar turns to you. "oscar, this is my girlfriend." he introduces you by your name to the mclaren driver and you wipe your hands on your denim shorts before shaking his hand firmly, exchanging "nice to meet you"s. the three of you chat for a few minutes before oscar is summoned by his pr manager.

"girlfriend, huh?" you look up at logan with a smile on your face, lacing his fingers with yours.

"i didn't mean to overstep, but i kind of assumed that's what this is now. is it?" he looks a bit nervous asking that, and if you thought your love for him couldn't grow any more, you thought wrong.

"that's absolutely what we are, lo. you're my boyfriend. i'm your girlfriend." you can tell just how hard logan's trying to not let the smile on his face show just how happy he is to hear you say that, and you stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips briefly. "you have a prep meeting to get to, don't you?"

"i do. come with me, though. i need to introduce you to alex and lily. she can show you around."

"sounds like a plan. i need to learn how to do all of..." you gesture around you, the white tents and media carts all seeming suddenly too intimidating. "...this."

logan laughs, placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the williams hospitality. when you're next to him, though, despite the cameras around you and your proximity to some of the world's biggest stars, you feel safe and protected.

after meeting logan's teammate and the thai driver's girlfriend, who you quickly realize is one of the sweetest people you've ever had the pleasure of meeting, you're shown around the williams hospitality and, eventually, the paddock. lily introduces you to the other drivers' wives and girlfriends that have made it to the weekend, and when you hear a certain last name, your ears perk up.

"martinez? is she latina?"

"yeah," kika, pierre's girlfriend, says. "she's checo's wife. i'm pretty sure she's in the red bull hospitality right now, though."

"ah, speak of the devil," lily says. you see carola walking up to the five of you, alexandra ("please, honey, call me alex," she'd said, bringing you in for a kiss on your cheek,) having walked away to get a drink and escape into the sweet air conditioning. "carola, there's a new couple on the paddock."

"you're kidding," the latina answers, her accent apparent. "who?"

"logan found himself a girlfriend. allow me to introduce her." lily turns to you and introduces you by your full name, last name and all. it seems that carola has a similar reaction to your last name as you did to hers, and her head tilts to the side.

"ya no eres la única mexicana aquí," you say, and her eyebrows raise. (you aren't the only mexican here anymore.)

"hablas español, también?" (you speak spanish, too?) when you nod, her smile brightens. "hay, chica, creo que nosotras dos nos vamos a llevar muy bien." (oh, girl, i think we're going to get along very well.)

on saturday, you find yourself back in the williams motorhome, except this time, you wear a second badge, the neon green lanyard reading grid access in bold black lettering. like the day before, you clutch logan's hand for your own comfort until, much to your dismay, he's summoned for driver duties. you place a quick kiss on his cheek, and when you pull back, you aren't sure if the flush on his cheeks is from the affection or the miami heat. probably both.

"in case i don't see you before sprint. for luck."

"oh, you'll be in the garage. that's what this pass is for," logan says, holding your second badge in front of your face. "lily will show you where to go. i'll take a kiss anyways, though." you smile, stand on your toes, and kiss him, pulling back before he can wrap an arm around your waist. (that was a trick he very much enjoyed, as you'd learned the night before. there was something in him that needed you as close to him as possible, and it covered every nerve ending in your body in liquid fire.)

"off you go. you need to get race ready. i'll see you before you go out on the grid. don't worry." you gently shove him away with a smile, and you'd stare at him longer if your ankles weren't suddenly being attacked. you look down and squeal. "hi, leo! did your dad let you run free?" you squat down and scratch the mini daschund behind his disproportionally large ears, and he barks excitedly.

someone curses in french to your right, and you look up from the little golden ball of energy to see none other than charles leclerc frantically searching around. leo barks again, and the monégasque whips around, then locks eyes on you first, then his dog.

"merde, leo. you have too much energy for it being this early in the morning," he laughs as he walks over to you.

"i apologize, it appears i've unintentionally kidnapped your dog." you stand, and leo jumps at your calves again.

"ah, no harm, no foul," charles replies, picking up his dog and holding him close to his chest. "i will say, though, you look strangely familiar. have we met? my name is charles."

"we have not." you extend your hand and offer your name, and, when charles' eyebrows furrow and his head tilts in confusion, you realize that means nothing to him. "i'm logan's girlfriend."

"ah! yes, of course! he has a photo of the two of you at your high school graduation in his wallet. that's where i knew you from. well, it's nice to meet you!" that was news to you. logan has a picture of you in his wallet? either way, you just casually met one of the most famous people in the world like it was a standard tuesday.

if this is what i signed up for by being logan's girlfriend, then it is absolutely wild.

you're able to catch another good luck kiss with logan as he's almost fully suited up, and fuck, does he look good. his fireproof suit hangs low on his hips, the arms tied together in front of him. dark blue is a good color on him, and his facial hair is grown out in just the slightest. you can't lie, he looks hot as hell.

you cross your legs in an attempt to curb the heat that creeps down your tummy and between them. it doesn't work.

you amend it that night in logan's hotel room following his p10 in the sprint.

on sunday, you try to avoid thinking about the night before as you follow the same routine as the two days before- arriving early in the day, checking in at the williams motorhome, and then killing time until the driver's parade at 2:00 PM. you spend time with your new group of friends, spending the three remaining hours before the parade in the paddock club. rebecca, carlos' girlfriend, snickers at your shocked face when you see some of your idols and favorite celebrities casually walking around, gladly taking some photos for you as you're practically buzzing with excitement.

after the driver's parade, it's a whirlwind. you're swept back into the williams garage and find logan's driver's room relatively easily thanks to the help of some of the engineers and mechanics, but one of them stops you before you can venture too far into the depths of the hallways.

"could you tell him we have the pre-race strategy meeting in twenty minutes?"

"yeah, for sure." as you approach logan's door, you have to bite down on your lower lip to stifle the grin that wants to split your face. you knock on his door, and when he opens it, you know something's wrong. "lo, are you okay?" his eyes are red and his hand shakes on the doorknob. instead of a verbal response, he just opens the door a bit further to let you in, and, as soon as it shuts behind you, he sobs, and your heart shatters.

"i'm so scared. i'm so scared that something's going to happen and i'm going to let all of these people down and-" you gather him into your arms and he cries into the crook of your neck, your williams crewneck shirt now damp with his tears. you couldn't care less.

"you're going to do amazing, logie. i know you will." with your arms wrapped around him, it's almost like a weighted blanket of safety has encompassed him, and his sobs slow, his breaths growing deeper and more even. you continue murmuring words of confidence into his shoulder, and not a single word you say is empty.

"hey. look at me." you lean back and gently cup his cheek with your right palm, and when his eyes meet yours, you know that he needed to cry that one out. "do you feel a little bit better?" logan nods, tilting his head ever so slightly to kiss your palm, his own hand coming up to rest over yours. it's a cute, sappy, stupidly romantic moment that you from three weeks ago would've probably thought was the grossest thing known to mankind, but you can't help but bask in the moment. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better right now?" your voice is a soothing balm over logan's agitated nerves, and he slowly untangles himself from you and guides you over to the couch that's against the back wall, where he sits down and you curl up to his left side.

"can you just... talk? about anything?"

"are you seriously asking if me, the person with the most rampant adhd you've ever met, can talk about something? yes, logan, i absolutely can. what to talk about, though?"

as you talk, deciding to info dump about your favorite classical music piece, logan can't help but watch it unfold. he doesn't know jack shit about music theory, but listening to you ramble about something you're passionate about brings him so much peace. you're disturbed about fifteen minutes later by a knock at the door, promptly followed by a disembodied voice telling logan that it was time for the strategy meeting.

"aw, shit," he says, leaning his head back and rubbing at his eyes. "i have that to go to now."

"yeah, sorry. i was supposed to tell you about that but we had a bigger problem on our hands." your voice is sheepish now that your info dump has been cut short, but logan leans over to you and kisses you, soft and slow, just like the first time he kissed you properly in the park. when he pulls away, he looks so much calmer than he was twenty minutes before. "is there anything else i can do?"

"go have some fun in the paddock. and please drink some water." you roll your eyes and stand, bringing him in for another hug before you slip out of the door.

almost two hours later, you're back in the williams garage with a guest headset over your ears. your stomach twists with nerves as the national anthem concludes. lily's hand is clasped with yours.

"the first lap is the worst. after that, you lose a lot of the anxiety," she assures you, noticing how you chew your lower lip.

"thanks." you pause for a moment, contemplating another question. "does it ever get easier? seeing how they go out there and drive like absolute maniacs for fun?"

"it does. it took me a couple of months, but after alex showed me all of the safety features in the car and in his fireproofs, it definitely helped."

it's the moment you've been dreading.

one red light.

two.

three.

four.

five.

and then none.

the engines roar and the race has begun. lily didn't lie to you- the first lap is excruciatingly long, but when everyone's completed their first loop around the circuit, you let yourself breathe. your eyes are trained on the screen above you, and the laps are flying by so quickly that you barely process that the race is nearly halfway over.

but then logan's car is in the wall. fuck.

as you watch the replay of his crash, you can feel white-hot rage burning in your body. after the race stewards only declare a ten-second penalty and two super license points, though, you're fuming. "two penalty points and a ten-second penalty? magnussen caused logan's race to end, and they just let him go? they just forgive him and move on? how can he get away with that? this is bullshit!"

what a crash, what a rush

the first person logan looks for when he walks back into the williams garage, his visor still low over his eyes in shame, is you. when you see him walking towards the room where you and lily watch the race, you tear the headset off of your ears and run to him. the feeling of his arms wrapping around your shoulders and hearing his heartbeat even through your musician's earplugs soothes your agitated nerves. he's okay. he's alive. he isn't hurt. "thank fuck you're okay," you say, even though he definitely can't hear you through his helmet and over the roar of passing engines. when you pull away, you press a kiss to his knuckles and hope he understands how much love you're trying to convey through such a small gesture.

fuck me up, florida!

one of logan's best friends on the grid is oscar. oscar's teammate got his maiden win after almost five years of waiting in miami.

like any sensible person, you celebrate with him.

you have no idea what the name of the club is, much less how many drinks you've had so far, but what you do know is that lando has commandeered the dj station and logan is pressed against your back, his hands resting on your hips. the air is hot and thick, your heartbeat pounds in your head. the opening notes of bad bunny's tití me preguntó begin playing through the massive speakers, and you shoot a glare up to lando that he doesn't see, his focus instead on the equipment in front of him. when the bass hits, though, you let all apprehensiveness go and your genetics take the reins. your hips sway and swing to the beat, your hands wander up and down your torso, and logan simply follows your lead. it takes you a moment to realize that, if you want to get a rise out of him, you're going to have to spin around and face him.

with your hips swaying against his and how unbearably beautiful you look in the dim light, your skin glowing with sweat and your hair up in a high ponytail, logan can't help but lean down and kiss you when you finally turn around. you reciprocate gladly, your right leg slotting between both of his, and...

oh.

oh.

he's hard.

you pull away slightly, barely an inch between your lips. "slow your roll there, tiger."

"i don't want to." fire zips down your spine at the sound of his voice, low and breathy and so, so desperate. "need to fuck you."

"should we get outta here, then?"

"i thought you'd never ask." you smile and kiss him quickly, then take his hand and weave your way through the crowded dance floor. as the miami night air hits your face, you immediately feel cooler. you sigh, taking a moment to breathe and regulate your heart rate and body temperature, but you can't breathe for that long before logan wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him and kissing your neck. you laugh, running your hands along his forearms.

"logan, not here. the hotel is two blocks away."

"i can't help it, baby, you just look so pretty," he hums, kissing the back of your neck once more before pulling away and stepping around to face you. "you look so pretty, and you're mine."

his possessiveness of you makes more heat zip down your spine, and you almost drool at how he's looking at you. his eyes, normally a beautiful mix between the blues of the sky and sea, ar"e almost completely dark, only a small sliver of his irises remaining, and the muscles in his jaw tick. "hotel. now."

by the time you reach the door to logan's hotel room, you're both out of breath from how hard he kissed you in the elevator and the arousal and need between your legs won't be stopped unless he replaces it. you stumble through the door and try to kiss logan again, matching the vigor he showed you in the elevator, but he stops you. "wanna take my time with you tonight."

"yeah?" you raise an eyebrow and inspect his face. the blinds are open but no lights are on, so all you can see is the side of his face that's illuminated by the lights from the streets of miami. it's an unusually beautiful sight.

"yeah. nothing about what i'm about to do to you is going to be fast. i'm gonna make you feel good tonight. how's that sound?"

"that sounds amazing, logan." you lean forward and kiss him gently, your lips slotting together as if you were made for each other. who knows, maybe you were. the next five minutes are a blur, but before you know it, you're laying back against the pillows on logan's bed and his face is buried between your thighs, his tongue working magic on your clit. the air in the hotel room is filled with your moans and the sounds of logan devouring you like a man starved, and it's the most beautiful mix of sounds you've ever heard. when he flicks his tongue oh-so-perfectly against your entrance, his nose brushing over your clit, you moan and pull his hair hard, which, in turn, makes him moan against you.

you aren't sure how much time passes or how many orgasms logan pulls from you with just his tongue and his fingers, but when you feel completely and entirely spent, your chest heaving and your hairline sparkling with tiny beads of sweat, you pull logan up to you by his shoulders, and he looks completely and entirely fucked. "need you inside of me," you mumble, wiping at the mix of spit and cum that coats the entire bottom half of his face with your thumbs. as if on instinct, you bring your hands to your mouth and lick them clean, and logan groans at the sight. "inside. now."

"as you wish, baby." logan's hands fumble at his boxers, the only item of clothing he was left wearing, and when he finally, finally pushes himself into you, you both moan. your hands scrabble at his shoulders and back, most definitely leaving red marks that will raise later, and his mouth latches onto your neck, biting down and then gently kissing over the red spot.

"nngh, lo-" your brain is short circuiting, logan's cock filling you up so perfectly and absolutely ruining you for any other man ever.

"yeah? you okay, baby?" he pulls back from your neck and scans your face for any sign of discomfort of pain, his sky blue eyes searching your own. the feeling of safety you get from just that one action is almost enough to make you sob from how good you feel because of him, both physically and emotionally.

"feels so good, lo. j'st... move, please."

"you sure? i don't wanna hurt you."

"positive. now please." you reach a hand up and pull him down towards you by the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard. "fuck me properly." without wasting a second, logan reaches a hand down and hooks it under your left thigh, bringing your leg up to rest around his waist, then pulling back and thrusting back in fast. the moan that rips itself from your throat is sinful, and your breath is being punched from your lungs at the downright brutal pace logan's setting. your right leg finds itself locking around his waist, only bringing him infinitely closer, and now, each time he thrusts back into you, your clit bumps against his pelvis. within minutes, you're embarrassingly close to cumming again, and through your garbled mumbling and clawing at his shoulders, he understands, reaching his right hand down to gently press against your clit.

"cum for me, baby, please, need to feel you cum for me just one more time, just let go, i've got you." it's logan's voice that ultimately sends you pummelling over the edge into an orgasm that makes your back arch and your vision fuzz at the edges, and you cum with a cry of his name. his hips slow and his fingers maintain a steady rhythm on your clit, but you can tell it's taking its toll on him. "where- where do you want me to cum?"

"i'm on the pill, lo. inside, baby, please," you whine, and it takes two more thrusts before logan groans, his hips coming to a shuddering halt as he cums inside of you. it's a beautiful sight, too- his eyes scrunched closed and his eyebrows drawn together, his hair a complete mess from where your hands had pulled at it. your hands run through his hair and along his back, and you patiently wait as he comes back to earth.

"hi," he murmurs, opening his eyes and smiling down at you.

"hi," you respond.

no other words need to be said. you know you love him, and he knows he loves you.

and you're both okay with that.

this took me way longer to write than i thought it would, but i absolutely love it! reminder that my asks and requests are open, and i always get excited when i get feedback! take care of urselves lovies <3

[fettuccin-e]

Angel Incarnate

Kinktober Day 7: Soft and Slow

Tags: Javier Peña x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv, slight breeding kink, really really light angst, domesticity, javi is finally happy guys okay (w/c: 1K)

A/N: Alright so this is so fluffy it hardly even feels like a kinktober prompt but y'know what javi has his dick out so it counts okay. anyway i had a really fun time writing this because i love it when sad characters are happy it brings me insurmountable joy (For the month I've been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)

Everything around him has always been so violent. His world has always been bloody and bruised and chaotic, and Javier had always supposed that it was just meant to be that way.

He didn’t deserve anything better than the angry pain of Bogatá. He’d hurt too many people, ripped apart too many lives to be redeemed, to deserve any kind of sweetness. His life boiled down to blood and tears, the endless race against the narcos too much to take anything slow. The only sex he had was rough and violent, just like his life, just like his soul.

Getting back to Laredo, to his father’s ranch, had been a kind of culture shock that he didn’t think he could experience anymore. The lack of gunfire, the lack of violence, day in and day out, had him reeling.

He’d tried burying himself in the work, fixing up his childhood home and tending to the cattle and the horses, hardly venturing into town at all. The people who knew Javi, the young man who left Laredo with a bride at the altar for a life as an agent, did not need to know Javier, the broken, hollow, shell of a man. He didn’t need their pity, their looks of confusion mixed with sympathy.

He regrets those first few months now, the ones that he spent hiding from the rest of the world. After all, the first time he went out into town, went into the only little library for miles, he found you.

And you, God, you’re so different. So kind and patient, even when he’s rough with you, even when he tries to push you away. It’s a kind of slow, soft sweetness that sings through his bones, that makes him feel human again. 

You’re slow with him, gentle in a way that he hasn’t been treated in years. He feels precious here, with you, between the soft sheets of your shared bed, as you roll your hips on top of him, taking him slow and so deep inside of you.

He wants to grip your hips so hard they bruise, roll you over and slam into you until you’re sobbing and writhing from the pleasure of it. He wants to press your face into the pillows and fuck you hard into the mattress. 

But he holds back, just like you want him to. Let yourself just feel, Javi, you had told him one day, after he’d taken control from you, just like he wants to right now. We don’t have to rush.

So he doesn’t. He brushes his hands along your waist, relishing in your soft skin as  you drop yourself down on his cock, over and over again. You gasp as he stretches you apart.

“That’s it, baby, so beautiful for me,” Javier murmurs. “That feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod, whining as he guides you down to grind deep into your g-spot. “It’s so- it’s so good, Javi. You feel so big like this.”

Javier groans as you clench around him, tight and wet and fucking perfect. The soft morning light filters through the curtains you put up last week, illuminating your skin and enshrining you like an angel. You are an angel, he thinks, as close to heaven as he’ll ever get.

He leans up, searching for a kiss that you gladly grant him. He loves kissing you, licking into your mouth and tasting you as you moan for him.

You curl your hands into his hair, grown longer with his time away from the DEA. The one time he’d asked you about cutting it, you’d protested so hard he’d laughed for thirty minutes straight. He’d started letting it grow after that.

You lean back up, undulating your hips in a way that has him groaning, pulling on your hips to help you along.

“You want to cum, Javi?” you murmur, pulling him in so fucking deep his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Por favor, nena, si,” he gasps, and God, you’re the only one that can make him beg like this. To make him desperate like this.

“Come on, honey, fill me up,” you coo, and Javi is lost to it. His hips jerk up of their own accord, pumping into you involuntarily with his orgasm. He spills into you without the fear of knocking you up, knowing that there’s no violence, no uncertainty with you. A small, not-so-secret part of him actually hopes it’ll take.

You whine above him, pushing your hips down on him over and over, frantic for your climax. He reaches a hand between you both and rubs slow, hard circles into your clit, and fuck, the way you cum will always steal the breath from his lungs. Your eyes clench shut, your mouth exhaling a beautiful, melodic little moan as you rock yourself on his cock, working yourself through it.

“That’s it, beautiful, so fucking good to me, so pretty for me,” he husks, and you curl yourself over him, meeting his lips in a sticky-wet kiss that has you both desperate for more. He palms his hands over your back, pulling you down to rest on top of him as you both breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

You both don’t move for a long time, content to bask in each other’s warmth as the morning sun rises, bringing another day to spend together. It’s a kind of peace, a kind of contentment, he’d thought was a pipe dream for so, so long.

“How did I ever find you?” He murmurs into the quiet of the room. You tilt your head up from where it rests on his chest to smile softly at him. He feels like he could drown in your gaze.

“I think we were always meant to find each other,” you whisper, and like always, he knows you’re right.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Just wanted to tell you that pitch fefnep is real as fuck and I appreciate you bringing it to my attention.

Are there any other pitch ships you seriously live for?

My big one is Eridan <3< Calliope (#callidan let's make it happen)! There's a lot of karmic stuff linking them together - I'm not going to say it ALL here, but suffice to mention that cherubs are naturally attracted pitch-wise to people who resemble the half they lost in predomination, and Eridan literally made his username "cal" (caligula, so it's even 8 letters, lmao).

Personality-wise, though, fully-character-developed Eridan and Calliope are like a match made in hell. Eridan is violent, obsessed with murder, deliberately likes to style himself as an arrogant, evil despot, says a lot of slurs, is a complete moron who doesn't listen to people but believes in stuff very very strongly anyways, and, assuming he's finished his character arc, somehow still manages to be a force for good. This makes him similar to Caliborn in a lot of ways (Hussie even calls Eridan a sort of proto-Caliborn MULTIPLE times in the book commentary), and Calliope would have a lot to get infuriated by, especially since that last point would give Eridan that "i hate everything about you, BUT..." factor that makes a pitch relationship work.

OTOH, Calliope gets super fucking smug when she starts winning, Eridan would 100% see her as a poser wizard (who needs to load their MAGIC WAND with BULLETS????) as well as a poser troll. She would also definitely adopt a stance of "every life is precious," and already displayed compassion and forgiveness to a dangerous degree wrt Caliborn, and all of this would probably piss Eridan off. Also, Eridan is easy, and the fact that Calliope is actually willing to entertain him in pitch at all is probably enough to get him to date her in blackrom all by itself. LBR, all it really takes to date Eridan is just being willing to date Eridan. This is both a low and high bar to clear.

Given that murdering and genocide-obsessing literally kept his friends alive long enough to play the game, I just can't see Eridan ever becoming a pacifist, or even coming to see murder as a bad thing (even if he'd feel bad about and apologize for murdering his friends specifically).

It'd also be pretty bad if the Hope player (ideals, convictions, faith, and also turning fake stuff real) had wrong beliefs, so Eridan's character arc wouldn't so much see his obsession with murder dropped so much as having it reoriented, his focus becoming "I care about my friends and will do anything to make sure they succeed in creating a better world. I'd kill for them. I will kill for them. I am going to kill for them."

He's still kind of a token evil teammate as a result - the guy who pipes up at every town hall to go, "y'know, murder is on the table. I'm not saying that I want to do it or even that we should, but I'm just reminding you that it's a tool in our arsenal, and something our enemies might resort to" as well as the debbie downer who reminds people that meat comes from animals that used to have families.

Plus, given that his hipster stuff ties in with being a Hope player - the staunch and firm beliefs in there being "better" stuff, the unshakeable conviction and dedication toward being anti-mainstream, and the fact that it's one of his few genuine interests besides magic - that trait actually gets exacerbated in lieu of the fake pro-empire, dualscar-emulating stuff he was doing before.

So, basically, Eridan given the full redemption arc + character development combo would spit out an Eridan that's MORE annoying than he was before? Because, like, not only is he a turbo pretentious hipster now, but he's also the "heartbreaking: the worst person you know just made an excellent point" guy. He's comfortable in his own skin, no longer trying to be something he isn't. Instead, with absolute, non-negotiable, unshakeable faith in himself, he is 100% of what he is.

"What he is," of course, being a neurotic, murder-obsessed, low-empathy lunatic with zero social skills, a pretentious hipster, a cringe-ass wizard who won't shut up about it and has no self-awareness of how cringe he's being, still 100% aggro 100% of the time, and an obsessive simp. In a very leftist/existentialist way, he would fully own up to having done horrible things, and being willing to do them again, should the circumstances call for them. "Shameless" is probably a good word to use, here.

Meanwhile, Calliope is genuinely well-meaning as fuck, even if she doesn't fully grasp things like "humans going trickster mode is bad actually" and that her fascination/obsession with the trolls and kids as "characters" still borders on dehumanizing.

Still, it's clear that she operates from a place of love and admiration, and given a lease on life free from her brother and surrounded by friends, I do genuinely believe Calliope's arc culminates in her being the embodiement of the ideas that we must be good to each other, kind to each other, loving to each other, and trust and care for each other. After all, she has it within her; her alternate self was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the good of several universes.

Still, Calliope as this cosmic, karmic force of good - what the comic ultimately exonorates and treats as something worthy of protection and rescue - sets her up against Eridan ideologically really well. Calliope represents "we must do good" in the most optimistic sense - people will be kind back if you are kind to them, and to create a loving society, a caring society, we must care about others, we must believe in others.

Meanwhile, Eridan would represent "we must do good" in the most dark and pessimistic sense - we must be prepared to sacrifice for each other, we hold duties to one another, we must be our best selves because we owe it to each other, we must not accept complacency, we must be ever-vigilant of our worst tendencies, we must take responsibility. No society exists without sacrifice, no revolution is without bloodshed, and nothing is ever worth fighting for that won't eventually need to be fought for - and who will do the fighting? The society that separates its scholars from its warriors will have its thinking done by cowards and its fighting by fools, etc.

Like how pitch FefNep works for me on this axis of pragmatism vs. idealism - Feferi and Nepeta are both fundamentally duking it out over what it means to create and administer a society, with Nepeta representing unbridled freedom, while Feferi brings to the table controlling restraint. Neither is fully correct on their own - Nepeta is anarchic, and so her ideals are inherently unstable, while Feferi is fascistic, which can cause great harm. It's Hegalian dialectics. Thesis, antithesis, and their union/rivalry is the synthesis into a greater nuanced balance between the two.

Callidan works for me in the same way: Calliope and Eridan are both fundamentally aiming to create a world that's good, and Calliope says, we must be kind, while Eridan says, we must be cruel. They're both correct, and both have an ideal that can't stand on its own. Calliope's hardline stance of pure compassion lets bad apples take advantage, while Eridan's hardline stance of sacrifice and personal responsibility leads to misery and unfulfillment. Together, they strike a harmony.

And also they'd be so funny together. Like

UU: i believe that in order to create a kind and beaUtifUl world, we mUst be kind to each other. we mUst believe in each other no matter what. there is no fUtUre if it is not boUnd in love, trUst, and empathy.

CA: yeah fuckin right dont tell me you actually BELIEVVE that codswwallop those ideals sure held up wwhen wwe MURDERED THE EVVER LOVVIN SHIT OUTTA YOUR BROTHER

CA: reality aint so fuckin simple evvery societys got sacrifices need doin evvil bastards need killin and somebodys got to pull the trigger

UU: i swear, speaking with yoU is aboUt as pleasant as a sandpaper facial.

UU: and yet i continUe to do so, and do yoU know why? it's becaUse i do, in fact, believe in what i said, and i will, in fact, continUe to treat yoU with *love and compassion* despite yoUr repeated efforts to throw mine into the bin!!!!!!!!!!!

CA: i nevver asked for your so called lovve and compassion skullhag and i dont bloody need it either

UU: well, that's jUst too bad, isn't it? poor eridan, yoU were treated so poorly on alternia, and now yoU're angry and Upset all the time. my heart aches for yoUr plight!

CA: ill showw you a flippin PLIGHT scumskull meet me at the usual place

UU: <kisses> ~3U

UU's computer exploded!

uranianUmbra [UU] began cheering caligulasAquarium [CA]

UU: STOP DOING THAT.

Also... they're both British... so it's British on British violence... IDK that personally really elevates it for me

[shoverse]

what does love mean to you? — or, a record of lee minho's scattered and scrambled views on affection for oneself and others throughout the years.

🎧 lee minho, aged 7, audio transcript:

love? oh, mommy 'n daddy says that to me loads and loads! 'n mommy writes little notes and sticks them onto my lunchbox! i think i still have mine from today somewhere...here! haha, i always keep the notes mommy writes. i write some back too! err, just so she doesn't get mad if i haven't finished all the beans. well, it doesn't really work........do you know any ways?

🎧 lee minho, aged 13, audio transcript:

um, i think it means when you like someone loads, right? but you can also like them, uh, like-like and not love them...but i don't think i like-like anyone, not really. i love my mom! but it's different, like my friend changbin thinks he might like-like this other person in my class, i think his name is sehyeon? something like that. but there's this new person in my class, and maybe we could like-like each other if they don't already like-like someone else! um, not that i want to or anything. just a thought. yeah.

🎧 lee minho, aged 17, audio transcript:

it's kinda like...when your heart aches more than you'd like to admit, y'know? when you know you'd catch the stars in your bare hands and let them pierce your skin if someone you loved told you they liked how stars shine. oh, fuck, that's embarrassing, don't put that in. no, it's more like when, um, when you feel strongly about someone, and it doesn't have to be in a romantic way. i love my best friend changbin, but even if all the people in the world died and i would get infinite money and unlimited pizza i would not date him. anyway, i think i wanna. fall in love, that is.

🎧 lee minho, aged 20, audio transcript:

well, i met this girl, and i think she is love. um, but in the way that- well, i don't know how to explain it all that well. when something sits in the pit of your stomach but it's not fear and when something's caught in your throat but it's not tears. you get me? um, and i'm realising that it's fast, and i'm trying to keep up but it's just...hard sometimes to get us to work, to get her to listen to my feelings. maybe i feel too much? do you think so? yeah, love is hard work, but i'm holding out hope. what are we without hope?

🎧 lee minho, aged 21, audio transcript:

nothing. nothing at all.

🎧 lee minho, aged 22, audio transcript:

for me? love is my cats, definitely. please pretend i say something wise about eternal companions and hope and stars and puking out words like you'll run out of them if you stop. um, i'm trying to do this- self love? it's hard sometimes. that's all. but i know i have time. i know i'll have until the slow heat death of the universe to figure it out. or until one morning i wake up and i can smile at myself. yeah, life is good though. i think i'll stick to my cats for now. um, my hair was pretty this morning though, i gotta admit.

🎧 lee minho, aged 24, audio transcript:

still my cats, but i've made room for two more people. um, me, first of all. that one was hard, but time passes anyway. i'm still here, you know? and second- no, i couldn't possibly call them second. yeah it's, um, it's y/n. they weren't so hard. really, letting them in was the easiest decision of my life. um, but love is hope. not for a better relationship, but hope in a way where i hope that tomorrow will come. hope in a way that i hope the world is kind to us. anyway, love is slow. i mean, there's no rush. forever still has a long time to go. there is love everywhere, you know? i can feel it. this world is good.

🎧 lee minho, aged 25, audio transcript:

it's always this question, huh? no, i don't mind. anyway, there is so much love to give that i can't possibly tell you everything about love in a lifetime. yeah, love is still in y/n. i think it was always meant to be them, huh? can we believe that the world meant for us to be together? can we hope so? oh, of course we can. yeah, and i think everything happens for a reason. you weren't born as an accident, you know? this is your life and i'm proud that you're living it. oh, no metaphors this year. no, i realized that you can't really explain love in things. you can't really call love anything but love. tomorrow you will wake up and you will see there is so much beauty in life. yeah. see you next year.

📁 a/n; ANDDD SCENE EVERYBODY!!! THATS A WRAP!!! and yall dk how long it took me to find those goddamn aesthetic banners............GOD pinterest hates me i SWEAR. anyway if this flops i am officially Ending It All and Jumping. send tweet!

[cadyrocks]

No more "is transandrophobia real" discourse please. It's so fucking exhausting. To quote the eminent scholar James Stephanie Sterling (@jimquisition ) "The gays can do whatever they want". Even if the people denying that transmisandry and transandrophobia are useful concepts are right, I don't really care - they're still being dicks about it.

Whatever marginal value is gained from a strictly accurate use of terms to describe oppression, there's no fucking universe in which it's worth this much ink and invective. Trans men suffer from transphobia. We can all agree on that, right? As an academic discussion, sure, it could be useful to tease out the ways that the transmasc and transfemme experience of transphobia, misogyny, and [insert preferred additional terms here] differs... But it's a curiosity of language, not a fundamental split in the community. Posting "transandrophobia isn't a real thing" isn't Praxis, you're just being a dick. I guarantee you that anyone earnestly discussing their experience with transandrophobia has a better understanding of patriarchy and transphobia than, like, 95% of the general population, on account of, y'know, being trans.

Don't like the term trans guys use to describe their experience of oppression? Okay. I don't care. I think it's much more important that we understand what they're going through than that we split semantic hairs over the number of privilege points that can dance on the head of a clit.

If you are starting shit about transandrophobia, I am 100% certain that you have bigger problems. How can I be so sure? Because we still live in a world where being any kind of trans or gender non-conforming makes you a target for marginalization and violence, and if you're starting shit about this, you are, statistically, a trans woman posting on Tumblr.com, a website that keeps randomly nuking trans people's blogs. We're on the same side here, and if semantics are dividing us or causing members of our community to feel mocked or unwelcome, we've completely lost sight of the larger goal - trans liberation, community, and joy. (And, let it not go merely implied, mind-blowing T4T sex).

Inspired by @yak-leather-whips posting on the subject.

[ifangirlalot]

she's my collar | zee's request form

╭──────༺♡༻──────╮ *𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒* ╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

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༻❝ angst ❞༺ 1.) "That's not what I meant, and you know it." 2.) "You told me not to worry about him/her." 3.) "I never said I loved you." 4.) "I didn't want to believe them, because you were supposed to be different! But… They were right. They were so fucking right about you." 5.) "I hate that my bed still smells like you." 6.) "You should have been here, goddamn it!" 7.) "Until death do us part, huh?" 8.) "I loved you, I really did." 9.) "You changed a lot." 10.) "I wish we never met."

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༻❝ jealousy ❞༺ 1.) "No way.. you're actually jealous." 2.) "Oh come on. You and I both knew what he/she was doing." 3.) (While laughing) "Oh my god, I've never seen you so mad before." 4.) (Forcefully) "Kiss me." "Sorry, what?" 5.) "I thought we were supposed to stay a little longer.. Why are we leaving?" 6.) "What the fuck was that?" 7.) "I didn't know you were the jealous type." 8.) "He/she looked at you funny.." 9.) "Do you ever ask why I get this way? Maybe it's because- y'know what, nevermind.." 10.) "You don't do that with me.."

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༻❝ smut ❞༺ 1.) "You're not, uh.. You're not wearing anything under that… are you.." 2.) "Wow, I didn't realize you were so.. flexible.." 3.) "I'm gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole." 4.) "Are you trying to turn me on right now or are you just really oblivious?" 5.) "You better shut that pretty little mouth before I put it to work, doll." 6.) "FUCK, why do you taste like fucking candy?" 7.) "I know they're just stuffed animals, but it kinda feels like they're watching us." 8.) "Baby, I know for a fact you're not new to using the shower head. Now do it right." 9.) "We've been at it like rabbits! How are you still so horny?!" 10.) "Your ass is gonna be seven shades of red after that little stunt."

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༻❝ protective ❞༺ 1.) "Don't you hurt a single hair on his/her/their head." 2.) "Hands off!" 3.) "What the hell do you think you're doing?" 4.) "Don't you ever leave my sight again!" 5.) "Be more careful next time. I don't want to bandage you up again." 6.) "Hey, it's cold outside. At least wear a jacket, okay?" 7.) "No, don't do that. It's not safe." 8.) "I can't sleep not knowing where you are." 9.) "What happened? I thought I told you to stay by my side!" 10.) "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

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༻❝ fluff ❞༺ 1.) "What? You looked cold." 2.) "You talk in your sleep… you love me?" 3.) "Can we stay like this a little longer?" 4.) "Is that my shirt, babe?" 5.) "Can I play with your hair?" 6.) "You don't have to ask to kiss me, silly!" 7.) "I don't deserve you. I don't deserve any of this." 8.) "You mean the whole fucking world to me, do you know that?" 9.) "Have you ever seen something prettier than this?" "Yeah, you." 10.) "I genuinely don't know why my brain just goes blank when I look at you. I think I'm going a little crazy."

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╭──────༺♡༻──────╮ *𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒* ╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

༻❝ cans ❞༺ 1.) You CAN request with more than one line of dialogue! (Up to 4) 2.) You CAN request for more than one character. (You'll have to specify if it is meant to be a preference sort of thing or if you want a poly.) 3.) You CAN request a character x male reader! 4.) You CAN request AU headcanons! 5.) You CAN request a plot using one of these lines of dialogue!

༻❝ cannots ❞༺ 1.) You CANNOT request using abuse, sexual assault, rape (I can do non-con and dub-con, but I will never agree to full out rape), or self harm. 2.) You CANNOT spam my inbox if I don't get to your request right away.

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[maxzinn]

off topic but also on topic its so clear that the genshin/star rail (saying both cause theres a large overlap) have no capability of thinking.

there are so many fics where *reader* somehow becomes a (sex)slave or is forced to do horrible shit and just general dead dove behavior. the fact that the author used INGAME LORE, CANON BACKSTORY FOR THE CHARACTER proves how braindead so many people are.

like people try to free slaves/captors in media isnt a new thing. theres a lot of art of that angelhusk ship where one gambles for the others freedom (never watched it but its an example)

like having slaves/captors in media isnt new and never has been but the only reason people truely care is because its a hoyoverse game and cant handle anything darker or complex then a PG rating

(sorry anon, I got carried away with this one tee-hee)

YOU'RE SO REAL FOR THIS!!! y'know I was sooo confused when people started screaming for blood when the authors are using his IN-GAME LORE in their fics and then claims that the people who enjoyed writing those have "white-knight syndrome" like cmon sjsadhjg you're giving me a fucking stroke.

I'll say it again, wanting to give slave aventurine or someone a better life DOESN'T mean they have "white-knight syndrome" when they have good intentions!!! We were all were crying for him and his tragic past, we all wanted to comfort him, and we at some point also wished for his salvation and the betterment of his life. These people need to stop throwing these "white-knight syndrome" accusations cuz it's definitely not about that. And like you said, it was his IN-GAME LORE. I already expected some authors to write about reader saving him from his slavery and there's nothing wrong with that! Cuz please, don't tell me you won't help the guy out of his abusive owner, let's be fr here.

Like you also said, many have been writing yandere/heavy dark themes about reader being literally SA'd and R'd by said character (do not tell me you guys haven't read all those fics where Aven was our debt collector and in paying our debt, he noncon or manipulated us into sleeping with him 💀) and now they wanna talk about morals?

And please, don't even try bringing up Romania or irl people in here. IT'S A FICTIONAL RACE IN A FICTIONAL STORY. it may be "inspired" like they said, but it's not directly addressing Romania!!

I get their point alright, I truly do. Like I said in my other post, I do not condone the sex slave! aus about aventurine and the master/slave bdsm cuz his story truly hurt me and I'm uncomfortable sexualizing his slavery when I know about his story and what happened to him as a slave. But I won't go as far as to actually send death threats to those authors and act like a hypocrite💀 people can write what they want to write and I don't have to read those writings if I don't wanna.

Just to say, I'm a yandere/dark-content enjoyer as well, it's just that I draw the line when it comes to aventurine cuz I just wanna cuddle and dote on that man and give him all the love and affection in the world. but like I said, am no hypocrite as well. (sorry if I can't explain it very well but I hope you get the gist of it)

It's just funny and baffling how people are like "eww this person wrote a fic about reader buying slave aventurine so they can be a good owner to him".... this is leaving me speechless how they turned an act with good intentions into something malicious... that poor author doesn't even have bad intentions when writing that fic.

When you apply their logic, it's like saying "this person adopted an abused child so that they can be a good parent to that child, disgusting" do they even realize how stupid they sound??? 😭

[pumpkinroll]

history class ↪ obey me! thirteen x f! reader︱one shot (1.3k) tags: 18+ only, dubcon, public sex & some exhibitionism, fingering/oral on reader, use of “my girl” & “good girl”, some dirty talk, established relationship, pervy levi (just a cameo)

“Eh? Who are you!?”

You couldn't remember the last time Thirteen actually showed up to class willingly.

She rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh, “I'm allowed to be here y'know!” 

The reaper plopped into the seat next to you and opened her textbook, huffing, “I can come and go as I please, I just felt like coming today! Nothing wrong with that. Hmph.”

You cocked an eyebrow, wondering what she was really up to, before opening your own textbook to today's history lesson. You patiently waited for the professor to start as he fumbled around up front trying to get the projector started.

“Just saying, don't try to copy me if we have a pop quiz, you're on your own.” You shook your head and turned your attention back to the professor, who was already drawling into the lesson.

He never failed to make minutes seem like hours. 

You turned your head slightly to glance at the beautiful reaper, wondering how she was holding up.

To no one's surprise, she was already fast asleep on her textbook, snoozing away without any care in the world. You love her — but even you fail to see why she bothered to come today.

At least the two of you were furthest in the back, the professor paying no mind to anything other than what was on the board.

“Mmm…mmmff…just a little…more…” Thirteen murmured. You glanced to see some drool on the corner of her mouth and a not-so-angelic look on her face. To be fair, that's rarely a thing to begin with.

Leave it to Thirteen to have a wet dream during class.

You peeked around hoping no one heard her and luckily all seemed well. Levi who was in front of you was thankfully engrossed in his game.

Gently you shook Thirteen’s shoulder and woke her up, looking none too pleased.

“Hey, c'mon! I was having the BEST dream, what the hell!” she whisper-shouted, shuffling around in her seat, her thighs rubbing together. “You were so close — !”

“Excuse me!?”

Thirteen crossed her arms and shot you a pouty look, “It's been a while since we fucked, don't tell me you haven't had any urges lately!?”

“Thirteen!”

Mortified you looked around once more, hoping no one heard her, noticing Levi ever so briefly stopped playing his game before continuing. He was probably just changing to a different game; at least that's what you told yourself to feel better.

“Ugh, Thirteen, we can talk about this later!”

“No I want to talk about this now. I've barely seen you lately, I miss you, you're always so busy...” A perfectly manicured hand rubbed your thigh with a feather-like touch. Teasing. Just the way you love it — it then clicked and you caught on to what she was up to.

You bit your bottom lip before taking a quick shaky breath. 

“That's not f-fair…” your voice cracked, “Let's just talk after classes later and —” 

Her hand moved higher up your thigh, beneath your uniform skirt. “Can you really wait until later? Can you resist this?” 

Lime green eyes scanned the room quickly and in a flash she pulled her top down, revealing big soft bouncy breasts and perky pink nipples to match.

Fuck.

She smirked and shook her breasts, “Your favorite yeah? — Ugh, Levi I'll cut off your balls with a rusty sword! Turn around!” Thirteen covered up quickly before anyone else noticed, grumbling about the otaku in front of her before turning her attention back to you.

“Anyway…” her hand resumed rubbing light sensual circles upon your upper thigh, getting dangerously close to the aching spot between your legs. “I just want a small taste. Just stay quiet and enjoy it alright?” 

You let out a small sigh and nodded, feeling crazy for going along with it but feeling a thrill from it at the same time. Thirteen always did have that intoxicating power over you. She, ironically, always made you feel so alive.

“That's my girl~ ♡” she murmured, her finger pressing softly against your clothed clit, making you squirm in your seat.

You tried to keep your attention on the professor, hoping to not rouse suspicion to the back. You thanked Diavolo's decision for the enclosed desks at the academy also wondering how many others have used this to their advantage .

Thirteen tried to follow your lead, resting her cheek on her hand as the other one beneath the desk continued rubbing up and down along your slit, relishing the sweet damp spot that's formed.

She slowly added more pressure against your cunt, feeling the pool of stickiness seep through the thin fabric, covering her fingers. A small giggle escaped her lips before finally pulling your drenched panties aside, rubbing her thumb against your naked swollen clit.

A barely audible moan escaped, you felt your face burn as you tried to keep your focus on the lesson.

Why did you ever agree to this!?

Your legs betrayed you and opened further on their own, letting her delicate fingers toy around your sopping wet cunt, another small moan slipped between your lips.

This is way too dangerous.

Reaching down, you reluctantly pulled her soaked fingers that were pumping into you, away from your cunt.

“W-we should s-stop…s'too good—” you feebly spoke.

“What? No way…” Thirteen glanced towards you and waved her wet fingers before sucking your essence off them, “Yummy as always. Definitely not enough for me nor you.”

“But — ”

Unfortunately, the reaper swiftly and quietly slipped beneath the desk, propping herself between your slick covered thighs. Her hot breath tickled your exposed swollen clit.

Oh no. 

Oh fuck. 

There was no getting out of this. Not unless you wanted to get caught by everyone. 

Panicking, you peeked around before glancing back down at the lewd sight between your legs.

“Such a good girl, look at this pretty wet pussy,” she licked her plum stained lips, holding eye contact with you as her warm slippery tongue slipped between your folds. “Mmm...'could eat you all fucking day.”

You bit your lip as hard as you could, daring to not let a single sound out no matter how much you wanted to.

It had been ages since she went down on you and you never imagined this would be how she would do it, never imagined how fucking good it would feel. So fucking naughty and dirty but so sinfully good.

At this point, you had no idea what the lesson was about, you could only focus on the way Thirteen deliciously wrapped her lips around your sensitive clit, sucking and licking while her fingers fucked you to a new height of pleasure. 

“Your cunt is so delicious, ” she mumbled, flattening her tongue and lapping along your slit.

You closed your eyes and panted as quietly as you could, unable to stay silent anymore, your mouth slightly agape.

Opening your eyes again, you briefly saw Levi gawk in your direction — undoubtedly knowing what you two were up to. You didn't care anymore, you knew the pervy demon would keep quiet.

You stared at each other for a few seconds as you continued lewdly panting before biting your hand, closing your eyes, and putting your head down on the desk. Fuck you were so so close. 

You rocked onto Thirteens tongue, aching for release. 

“Mmm,”

Grabbing the back of her head you continued rubbing your clit against her tongue before finally reaching your peak, squirting into her mouth as a small groan escaped you. 

You continued panting as your eyes fluttered open, riding out your high. Luckily there was still no one aware of what was going on in the back of the room.

Well, except Levi, who you could see was jacking off beneath his desk and very shortly let out a satisfied grunt. Figures.

Once again, Thirteen swiftly made it back into her chair, wiping her mouth as she grinned and looked to you.

“See, that was great right? Let me know if you want to go again.” She teased, giving a flirty wink. 

You let out a satisfied sigh and fixed yourself up before cleaning your chair just as the bell rang for the next class.

“You know damn well I do. We're going back to my room.”

Thirteen squealed and grabbed your hand as the two of you rushed out the academy to get back to the house of lamentation.

divider by sister-lucifer

[mikareo]

⌗ SEASONS OF LOVE ₊ ˖ ་. a 呪術廻戦 miniseries

“ ࣭⸰ ★ SERIAL ROMANTIC ; gojo satoru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . episode one ! ꒱ . . . word count; 1.2k ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᯇ remember when we first met?

⊹ ⠀⠀ you might possibly be the least helpful person in the world when it comes to making a hinge profile...gojo can attest to that.

contains; gojo satoru x fem reader, university (year 2) au, fluff, gojo's a dick, swearing, best friends to lovers, love triangle

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀pm or send ask to join/be removed from taglist,, ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀link to miniseries masterlist

"y'know, i'd appreciate it if you could help at least a little bit."

gojo can feel your hard glare targeting him, piercing into his skull like a red laser beam, yet still chooses to ignore you. he doesn't understand why you can't just finish unpacking later. you're kind of being a buzzkill. yes, he'd be a better friend if he continued to help you unpack your boxes and organize your cluttered dormitory; but he's got more important things to do. things that require his complete and utmost attention. things that are life or death on a college campus. things that will make or break his entire young adult experience...

...things like finishing his hinge profile!

"i promise— wait no. i pinky promise i'll put all of your shit away later, just tell me which photos to pick for this prompt, i'm stuck." he's begging and pleading for you to focus on him, which isn't unusual when dealing with a narcissist such as himself. c'mon. c'mon. gojo knows exactly how to win you over. it really isn't that hard. all he has to do is beg and whine a little, give you some puppy dog eyes, and you'll do whatever he says! there's no way he's actually going to put all of your clothes away; that'll take like...forever.

with an eye roll in response to the cheer of joy gojo lets out, you set your boxes to the side and lay beside him on the carpet. he can feel your nose tickling his neck as you lean close to see his screen, and he wonders why his heart skips a beat. eh, it's probably nothing.

"this is so dumb, satoru." you point to his screen, your finger directed at his favorite prompt so far.

don't hate me if i: have blue eyes

"okay, wait!" he flicks your forehead, laughing as you pout, and clicks on the 'add image' prompt. "it's like a thing now! girls hate guys with baby blues like mine!" being handsome is so hard nowadays.

if he asked anyone at jujutsu university who the biggest player on campus is, they'd name him off without blinking twice. while only being a freshman last year, gojo managed to become a household (or a dorm-hold?) name that'll be talked about for years after he graduates. there may be a possibility he's either flirted or made out with every girl in his graduating class, not including you, all in one school year. without the use of dating apps, he went on a total of eighty-seven first dates from august to june; albiet seeing a few girls more than a few times for some special alone time, if you get what he means; and he had the absolute time of his life and needs to recreate that thrill again.

"you don't need an app to get girls, you get plenty already."

ugh why do you always have to rain on his parade?

"obviously i don't need an app, but it's way more fun this way." he argues, "imagine if i hit a hundred first dates before may. i'd break last year's record."

"and why are you getting so butt-hurt about my dating life?" he's treading into dangerous territory. the two of you never talk about your romantic experiences, considering you never want to talk about them with him. "it's not my fault you had a total of...hm what was it? zero dates last year?"

"just find a fucking photo and get this over with."

yeah, your love life is off limits...

a chuckle rumbles from his throat as gojo continues scrolling through his camera roll, searching for a photo that screams 'boyfriend material'...or to be more specific 'one night stand material'. while he's searching for a photo that'll make girls want to sleep with him, he doesn't notice that his brightest smiles only appear in the photos with you. then again, he never notices you; and if he ever did, it's unlikely he'd date you anyways. you're his best friend. he doesn't want to ruin that. he can't ruin that, because then he'd have to imagine a life without you in it.

a particular picture stands out from the rest, and you choose to point it out. it's the two of you in your high school uniforms, standing side-by-side beneath the cherry blossoms after your third year graduation ceremony. his hair is slightly shorter and his height hadn't reached its full potential yet, but you look absolutely adorable— almost like a kitten that he's protecting from the no-good boys of the world (technically he belongs in that category, but that's besides the point).

"do you remember when we first met?" a soft hum is murmured in his ear and gojo finds the sound quite comforting.

he thinks for a moment, completely blanking as the memory escaped his mind, and takes a random guess. "middle school? english class?"

the look of disappointment on your face immediately tells him he's wrong.

"look it was a really long time ago, i know that at least." no amount of excuses will make up for his awful recollection, but he tries nonetheless. gojo satoru is a shitty friend. that's just how it is. you both know it and he tries his best to be better for you, however, he can't help the way he is. some boys are born to be boys. "i'm trying my best—"

"it's alright, just stop."

you're so upset.

"there are more important things to remember, really it's fine."

why are you so upset?

"i'm sorry," he mumbles. this feeling of guilt isn't familiar to gojo and he can't help but hate it. "i'll try to remember."

what is it that you were trying to reminisce about? he wants to know but he shouldn't pry any more, you're clearly done with the conversation and want to move on with a concentrated thinking face gracing your features. you look pretty. woah. you look really pretty. he's never thought that before. why hasn't he noticed before? suddenly, the thought of however many hinge girls want him isn't very appealing and he just wants to make you smile again. you're so pretty when you smile. his heart is beating ten times faster than usual and he's urging it to calm down, but it won't.

...maybe that's a good thing, though.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀pm or send ask to join/be removed from taglist,, ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀link to miniseries masterlist

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[w-wolfhard]

hi would u write for rodrick heffley? i’m living off of crumbs lmaoooo

paring : rodrick heffley x f!reader.

warning(s) : none.

a/n : yall oh em gee i havent been on tumblr in so long holy shit😭 missed y'all😪 also i'm writing f!reader cus thats what im used to but if ya need me to write it differently i could try and do so 🫡🫡

in which y/n & rodrick try to bake cookies for a thanksgiving party but fail horribly.

it was thanksgiving weekend and rodrick's family next door was throwing a party. everyone had to bring a dish if they wanted to enter, so there you were; in your house next door, trying to bake a batch of last minute cookies with rodrick.

he pulled out the cookie dough from the fridge, slapping the package on the counter, "soooo.." he sighed. "do you know how to do this?" rodrick questioned, looking at the package of cookie dough as if it were a question from his previous math test.

"sure i do!" you said hesitantly. "you just have to– i dunno." you sighed as well.

"well okay.. that's fine. that's alright! neither of us know how to bake fucking cookies but that's decent!" he tried to be enthusiastic but he just sounded stupid.

"rodrick no, we're being fucking dumb. we don't even have to make the cookie dough. how are we gonna fuck this up if the cookie dough is already made?!" you rambled, slapping the cookie dough.

"i don't know man! it's you and i, and we could never cook!"

"we've never even tried cooking, dumbass!" you slapped your forehead. "y'know what, directions exist for a reason; let's read the directions." you told him, taking a deep breath.

"nuh-uh! directions are for babies, y/n. we're highschoolers, we can do this without that dumb shit." he scoffed.

"yeah, we're highschoolers that don't know how to bake cookies," you bit the inside of your cheek. "if you don't wanna read the directions then be the director! go on, i'll follow."

"fine! then i will," he folded his arms. "why dont we just roll up the cookie dough into a ball, place it on a paper plate then pop it in the oven?" he said proudly. "ya ever thought of that smartass?"

"i'm glad i haven't, 'cause what in the world kind of plan was that. you sound like a kindergartener rodrick." you narrowed your eyes at him and he looked at you offended. "seriously?! a big ball of cookie dough, on a paper plate, in the oven? we'll blow up or something!"

"will not!" he argued.

"gosh, i'm dating someone insane," you muttered.

"well do you got a better plan? 'cause if you do, i'd like to hear it." rodrick scoffed.

"how 'bout we, i dunno, read the directions?"

he groaned, giving in. "fine. just so we can get this over with so we could finally feast back at my house."

you chuckled and picked up the package, reading what it says; step #1 – get a trey. step #2 – put small pieces of dough onto the trey. step #3 – bake the cookies in the oven at 350° for 10-12 minutes. step #4 – take them out let them sit for a bit & feast on your cookies!

"that's basically what i said—"

"that's the complete opposite of what you said." you cut him off, shaking your head. you both did as the directions said; rodrick handed you the trey and you covered it with parchment paper while rodrick was preheating the oven. you and rodrick made small balls of dough together and placed them on the trey, spaced out good enough.

once they finished doing all that, rodrick popped the trey of cookies into the oven and closed it. once they finished, they pumped their fists in the air, celebrating. "woohoo! we so just did that!" you gave him a high five.

"definitely! i can't wait for them to be done!"

"yup, then we can finally go to your place and feast on the funnel cake your mom made." you licked your lips.

you both cheered and went over to the couch in your living room and watched tv. you guys were so indulged in the movie that was playing that you forgot about the cookies. except the smell reminded the both of you. "rodrick! the cookies!" it's definitely been over 10-12 minutes since you guys last popped those in the oven.

"fuckfuckfuck" rodrick hurriedly took out the cookies which looked burnt but still looked edible. you both sighed, "well we tried?"

"did we rodrick, did we?"

"yes we did." he nodded slowly. " atleast that's what we'll tell them," he chortled, grabbing two paper plates and stacking the cookies on it neatly, he made his way to the front door while you followed. he handed you one of the plates, as he unlocked the front door, "after you m'lady."

"never call me that again," you both laughed and he shut the door behind him locking it. he picked a cookie from the top of the stack, "cheers to shitty cookies on thanksgiving?"

you chuckled and grabbed the cookie on the top of your stack, "cheers to shitty cookies on thanksgiving." you clinged your cookies together and then took a bite.

god were they burnt.

you both forced yourselves to choke it down. "i'll stick to your mom's funnel cake." you sighed as rodrick unlocked his front door.

"yeah same."

susan answered with a grin, "hello y/n! come in, come in!" she stared down at your cookies and her grin morphed into a different look, "are those edible?" she motioned to the cookies in your guys' hands.

"well yeah, but i advise that you don't eat them. leave it to the little ones to chow it down." you snorted and rodrick nodded in agreement.

[lonelychicago]

fuck it friday (except that it's thursday, but y'know, fuck it)

i've been rereading this scene i wrote for tsunami fic and i'm so excited, i just wanted to share it <33

"I'm here. I'm here." He says, kneeling beside the bed and resting a hand on Chris' shoulder, trying to comfort him. "It's okay, bud. I'm here." 

"Where's Buck?" Christopher asks and the vines and thorns inside Eddie's ribs seem to grow larger and bigger upon hearing the words, until they're twisting and turning and wrapping themselves around his heart, in a vicious grip. 

"I don't know, buddy." Eddie blinks, willing the tears away and clears his throat. He looks up at Chris and runs his fingers through his son's hair, gentle and tender. "We don't have news of him yet." 

It's not fair, Eddie thinks bitterly and angry. Furious at the universe, at the world and its stupid natural disasters. At Shannon for having died and Buck for not being there and at himself for being angry at them for something they can't control. 

Grief is funny and wicked like that. 

"Dad, I'm scared." Chris whispers in a small voice and Eddie makes a hurt noise in his throat, coming to lay with him and wrapping him in a tight hug. 

"I'm scared too," he admits. 

"Buck saved me." 

"I know, mijo. I know he did." 

"What if he's dead?" This time Chris' voice is so low that Eddie barely hears it. "Like mom." 

"We can't think like that yet, Superman." Eddie sighs, feeling like he's way out of his depth here. "Buck might just be lost right now, waiting for us to find him." 

"What if he's not?" 

There's a few beats of thick, syrupy silence streatching kn between them and then Eddie thinks—

"Hey, you know what makes me feel better?" 

"What?"

"I've been calling Buck— It goes straight to voicemail, because his phone is probably dead at this point." Eddie says, wondering if this might fuck up Chris even more or actually help. "But it makes me feel like I'm talking to him, like I'm doing something instead of just waiting for bad news, you know?" 

Chris moves and pulls away just enough so he's looking him in the eye and nods, a sad frown on his face. 

"You wanna give it a try?" 

"Yeah…" Chris hesitates but then says louder and firmer— "Yeah, I wanna do that." 

Eddie nods and pulls out his phone again, dialing Buck. Of course, it goes straight to voicemail again. 

"Hey! It's Back here! I'll get back to you as soon as I can but in the meantime leave your— Hey Chim, stop it! That's my food! Hands off, man!" 

"Hey, Buck." Eddie says softly. 

"Hi, Buck." Chris follows, his lower lip trembling. "Thanks for saving me today." 

tagging (no pressure): @monsterrae1 @buddierights @prince-buck-diaz @alyxmastershipper @spaceprincessem @bigfootsmom @the-likesofus @spotsandsocks @dijkstraspath @starlingbite @messyhairdiaz @transbuck @honestlydarkprincess @transboybuckley @ebdaydreamer @bekkachaos @hippolotamus @shortsighted-owl @prettyboybuckley @cowboy-buddie @cowboy-buck @911onabc @panbuckley and anyone else who wants to do it <33

[jkrockin]

Wait what guy who hadn't read Atlas Shrugged?

I was pretty sure I'd told this story here, but a cursory search suggests that I have not. Okay let's gooooo

Many moons ago, I worked in an emergency services call centre. I worked nights- I could get regular shifts, it paid well, and I am a huge freak, just like everyone else who works nights in a call centre. It is a lifestyle that attracts freaks. Some of my coworkers weren't full-time creatures of the night, but students or whoever who picked up occasional nights for the extra money, and one of them was Libertarian Shithead, who we'll call LS for short.

LS was a twentysomething white dude who wore a lot of name brand surfwear and designer sunglasses. I assume his parents were rich. LS loved nothing better than recreational arguing. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it; he had some of the most dogshit opinions I've ever encountered in the wild, and was terrible at defending them. He'd say some crap about how Gattaca-type eugenics is Fine, Actually, because if you let people make designer babies, the ~*Free Market will decide what traits are desirable! Racism and colourism and ableism and sexism and intersexism won't affect those choices at all! And I'd get mad, because I have principles to speak of, and we'd get into it, and WITHOUT FAIL, we'd get maybe halfway into an actual discussion about whatever horseshit garbage he was on tonight, and the second he thought he was losing, he'd say "oh, well. I'm an ~*Objectivist, so you can't really understand my perspective unless you've read Ayn Rand." Then he'd sigh, and change the subject.

At the time I had not read any Ayn Rand. Being fundamentally powered by spite, I withstood maybe three weeks of this shit before I pirated an epub of Atlas Shrugged, put it on my e-reader, and proceeded to slam through it at supersonic speed so I could finally get to finish an argument with this terrible boy.

Anon, I fucking hated Atlas Shrugged. The book is bad. It's way too long, every single character is an unbelievable douche, the prose sucks. Ayn Rand wants to fuck a train so so so badly, but the prose is so turgid I couldn't even get invested in how much she wants to fuck a train. And the core of the matter, the politics I was there to understand, are, y'know. Objectivist. Eye-bleedingly selfish and capitalistic, expressed in amazingly childish and blinkered terms. Even the bits where it seems like the shithead capitalist dudes want to fuck each other are too mired in the scunge of Rand's terrible views to be enjoyable.

But I read the fucking thing! I powered through it with only quite minimal complaining! I finished the book on the train to work, and when I saw that LS was on that night, I plonked myself in a seat by him, and metaphorically cracked my knuckles, ready to fuckin' party. In a perfect world, I would have been cool enough to have waited for the perfect mid-argument moment to drop, but I didn't. I think I lasted exactly until we were both off a call at the same time, and then leaned in as close as the desk dividers would let me, and said "So I finished Atlas Shrugged. I have some thoughts."

I cannot overstate how quickly it became obvious that LS had not read the book. For a hot second I thought maybe it had just been a while and the fine details had escaped him, but no; he didn't know who half the characters were, or key points of the plot, or even know any of the stuff in the John Galt speech, i.e. the big juggernaut of Here's How Objectivism Works near the end of the book about Objectivism that this fucking guy hypothetically based his Objectivist views on. It took me maybe five minutes, in between calls, to realise this, and another five for him to admit he hadn't actually read any Ayn Rand. He'd read her Wikipedia page.

ANYWAY I didn't speak to him for like a month after that, and I don't think either of us lost out there!