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1d1195 · 3 days ago

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The Lottery III

Read The Lottery here | ~4k words

From me: takes place during her second year in town. It's Christmas time 🎄

Warnings: fluffy

Summary: It's truly embarrassing how smitten Harry is with her.

“Please, please, please!”

“No,” his voice was solid, flat, devoid of emotion. Impervious to her pleading it seemed.

She frowned and looked at him with a look that Harry assumed was supposed to be menacing. But it looked about as menacing as a baby bunny could be. “Harry Styles, people will think you’re The Grinch.”

“They already think that, Peach,” he rolled his eyes and moved to the next table check that the ketchup wasn’t completely depleted.

“Then I’ll think you’re The Grinch.”

That seemed to do something to his brain because he paused running around the diner. He looked at her with the same irritation that he always directed at her. The kind that made him annoyed because she wanted two different pancakes. Or that she didn’t wear the proper coat in the snow. Or that her tires needed to be replaced on her car, but she didn’t mind (refused to replace them) because she wasn’t driving very far these days and really, it wasn’t that big of a deal because it probably wasn’t going to snow in the remainder of that March.

Harry shook his head, remembering he was supposed to answer her. “Peach,” he sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll look ridiculous.” There was no one else in the diner. It was nearly five in the morning. Much too early to have this conversation and even earlier to be having an argument.

But Harry thought she looked so cute. Cold but bright-eyed. “Well, that’s why I came now to ask. No one will know it’s you. We’ll park your car at my house, and you’ll tell everyone you have an appointment in the city. You’ll look unrecognizable.”

He stared at her for another moment before he turned to the coffee pot that he was brewing to make it cold for her. She was hours too early so it wouldn’t be cold. Her last pitcher was used up yesterday. Which only made him grumpier that he didn’t have what she liked. On top of being asked to do her ridiculous task. The silence was deafening. She smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll order regular pancakes for a week,” she offered.

He rolled his eyes. Maybe because he knew that he would still make her stupid pancakes and two omelets if she asked. “If anyone finds out s’me, I’ll tell them y’drugged me, Peach.”

“That’s very reasonable. While I’m asking for things, is it possible, I could borrow your oven for cookies and your coffee burners for hot chocolate?” She batted those pretty eyelashes at him, and he wondered just how obvious it was to her that he would do anything she asked of him.

“Y’know... I don’t do the whole town celebration thing,” he reminded her turning back to the coffee pot because if he looked at her any longer, he was going to tell her everything and this was not the time nor the place. She also wasn’t someone he wanted to know all his dark secrets. She was the one person that didn’t look at him with pity and he wanted that to remain true for as long as he could manage.

She frowned. “Well, I do,” which made next to no sense because at the time of asking she had only lived through one town Christmas—kind of. She wasn’t part of the traditions at all but somehow inserted herself into helping as much as she could. “No one will know it’s you,” she reminded him. “And I know you want to help,” she shrugged casually. “Can our pancake deal start tomorrow I’m desperate for peaches and white chocolate chips,” she dropped into her seat.

He didn’t answer, but he assumed she knew he was putty in her hands. “Coffee’s not cold yet,” he grumbled pouring her a hot cup.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to make me cold coffee anyway,” she shrugged and reached over the counter for the sugar and cream only for Harry to smack it away as was their own little tradition. “Oh!” She squealed and hopped out of her seat rushing out the front door as if she saw a ghost.

Harry blinked and hurried after her in case there was some kind of issue or if she saw something troublesome that would get her killed or kidnapped. Not that anything of the sort ever happened in their little town. But leave it to her to find something dangerous. “What—”

Her head was tilted nearly at a sharp forty-five-degree angle looking at the moon, dipping lower in the sky. Some of the stars were still out, and the sky was just starting to turn the slightest light blue. “Isn’t she pretty?” She sighed dreamily. Harry felt a warmth spread through his chest. The same kind that did any time she had him look at the moon. The awe, the fascination, the unadulterated innocence on her face made his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, Peach, s’lovely,” he agreed and waited twenty seconds to let her stare. “S’cold out,” he reminded her because she of course didn’t put her coat back on for this expedition. Gently, he placed his hand on her lower back. “C’mon,” he encouraged. “I gotta make y’some pancakes.”

Harry swore she continued looking over her shoulder as he ushered her inside which just made him fall a little harder for her.

The day of the town’s Christmas festival Harry did what she said. He talked about his appointment in the city (that he didn’t have) all morning. When nearly everyone he ever knew was in town, he drove his car to her house where no one would notice it was there. He dressed in a red suit, and she drove him over in her own car dressed in an elf ensemble. Had Harry known she had a part to play he may have agreed a little faster. She was adorable, the shoes curled into a swirl at the toes, she was decked in red and green from head to toe and sure Santa was a symbol of Christmas but she was the near embodiment of it as well.

The second she stepped out of the car after all the little ones shouted excitedly for Santa, she pulled up the rear carrying a bag of candy canes over her shoulder.

“Miss Peach! You’re an elf too!?” Someone called when they realized the bookstore owner was in tow with Santa himself.

“You know Santa?!”

She giggled as Harry threw his voice and laughed at the little ones in awe over the pretty girl. They were right to be in awe. She was lovely. Making this happen. Picking someone certifiably Grinch-like. Yet he did it anyway.

“Santa’s sleigh is being fixed a couple towns over, so I picked him up and he was so grateful he agreed to come say hi to everyone! One of the elves gave me a costume to borrow for the day,” she explained. “Santa is going to see if he can get everything you all want, if you’ve been good.”

So, Harry took his seat on a chair that was much too poofy and frilly. It was set among a huge sack of mini presents, a mailbox for letters, and she dumped her bag of candy canes into a bucket. There were cookies and hot chocolate at the table beside the setup, run by her employees, curtesy of Harry’s oven and coffee maker. She stood beside Harry the whole afternoon as so many little ones came to tell Santa what they wanted.

What was worse was it was fun. Harry actually enjoyed being Santa. The little ones were so funny, and she was adorable dressed in her little get up. “Miss Peach,” one little boy whispered toward the end of their little event. He waved her over several yards away from Santa’s chair.

Naturally, she hurried over, leaving Harry with a pair of nine-year-old girls who wanted a lot of makeup and dolls. She greeted his parents who smiled knowingly at the cute bookstore owner with a little baby in a stroller beside the boy who waved her over.

“Is that the real Santa?” He asked gulping.

She smiled. “I got him off the sleigh and everything.”

He looked down nervously. She knew him from her story hours and going to the bookstore to do crafts related to the book of the week. “I’m kind of scared of Santa, Miss Peach,” he whispered.

“Oh,” she pouted. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” she whispered. “He’s very nice and just wants to know what you want for Christmas.”

“Will you go with me?” He asked.

She nodded and held his hand. “Hey Santa, Caden here is a little nervous,” she told Harry. Behind the hat, wig, glasses, a white beard and a firm pillow tucked into his shirt, it was next to impossible to know it was Harry.

How anyone couldn’t tell those pretty green eyes belonged to someone other than Harry was ridiculous to her, but whatever. She was eternally grateful he was doing this for her. Honestly, she couldn’t fathom why he would do it for her, but she wasn’t going to question it long enough for him to back out.

There was a kind smile beneath the white beard and mustache. One that she had only seen a handful of times. When it appeared on his face in the diner it was nearly always hidden from view—but every once in a while, she would see his pink lips turn up in a genuine smile. Happy over a joke someone made. Or how a little one told Miss Peach they had a crush on her.

She wondered if Caden knew how lucky they were to witness such a soft, beautiful sight. “S’that so?” He chuckled.

Caden tucked himself behind her leg and she bent to scoop the six-year-old into her arms. “Santa is a good friend of mine, he just wants to make sure you get what you want,” she assured him. “Do you want me to tell him?” She asked stepping closer toward Harry. He hid his face against her shoulder. Gently, she stroked the back of his head. “I used to be scared of Santa too,” she whispered. “But we’re friends now, right Santa?” She asked glancing over. Harry nodded, waiting patiently. Letting her do her thing. “Here,” she walked to Harry, wedged herself between Harry’s legs and perched on his thigh, stretching her own legs out so she wasn’t putting her full weight on his body. She sat Caden on her lap facing her and Harry.

Poor Caden looked like he was about to have a breakdown.

Harry knew what Caden was feeling almost at the exact same time. Other than a touch on her back or smacking her hand away, Harry hardly ever touched her. Now, her whole pretty butt was on his thigh. Had he known this would have happened, he wouldn’t have argued with her at all. She was so casual about it, as if she sat herself in his lap all the time. How was this not a moment in time that caused for absolute shock for her? Was he breathing? It felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Hey,” she smiled sweetly, encouragingly. “I’m right here, tell us about what you want Santa to bring,” she ran a hand across his cheek. “Do you want... a Lego set?” She asked. He glanced up shyly at Santa and nodded. Harry smiled behind his beard reassuringly. “And a skateboard?” She continued guessing what a little boy his age would want. He nodded again. “And... a unicorn stuffie?” She smirked.

He frowned and shook his head. Which made the two of them laugh. “My sister likes unicorns, not me,” he told them. Harry nodded.

“So, a skateboard for you and a unicorn for—” Without missing a beat, Harry watched her mouth the name of the younger sibling. “Lily.”

“You know Lily?” He asked, pure wonder in his eyes. Staring up at Harry like he was the most amazing person in the world. Harry did think he was the Grinch because his heart truly melted and it was all thanks to the pretty, peachie girl.

“Santa knows everything,” she whispered. “Can you say thank you?”

“Thank you... Santa?” Caden asked, hopping down from her lap and turning bravely toward him. She stepped away from his legs which made him feel cold and grumpy again. But he remembered to stay focused on Caden.

“Yes, lad?” Caden ushered him closer waving his hand toward him. Harry leaned down further so Caden could whisper in his ear.

“Can you help me get a present for Miss Peach?”

Harry looked at her as she gathered a candy cane, a cookie, a present, and a cup of hot chocolate for Caden to take. “Absolutely.”

When Santa left, Harry magically returned with his car and headed to the diner to check on things. “You missed all the fun Harry,” she sighed stepping behind the counter and heading for the coffee pots filled with hot water for her hot chocolate stand. “I brought Santa in and everything.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and stuck his arm out to stop her. “Did he tell you he was bring y’coal?” he rolled his eyes and turned her physically by her shoulders before she reached the coffee pots. “Get out,” he said.

“Miss Peach getting coal?” Edith laughed. “Harry, don’t be ridiculous.”

She smiled, a knowing smirk on her lips. “Can I please have more hot water for hot chocolate?” She asked.

He sighed, like it was a big to do. But he did it anyway. She was getting really good at reading his eyes. She could see the slight amusement. Or what she hoped was amusement. Maybe it was just more annoyance, but the light shining a little differently in his irises. “I’ll keep it coming,” he shrugged and handed her two of the coffee pots.

“You are like Santa himself,” she grinned and carefully walked out with the hot liquid. Someone held the door for her and Harry headed to the kitchen, smirking once he was behind the cover of the wall away from the rest of the diner.

Christmas morning in a small town was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was literally a Hallmark movie. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground. Against the lights it was the stuff of dreams. She walked through the quiet town, her second one in town but the first one she had ever spent away from her family.

“Peach?” Harry called. He was taking a bag out behind the diner to the trash. The door to the back was open to what she imagined was his apartment. She heard it was attached to the diner, but she had never seen beyond it.

She gave a wave and walked toward him. “Merry Christmas, Harry!” She chirped and dove in for a hug. Harry awkwardly wrapped his arms around her and despite his awkwardness, it felt like the best Christmas present he had ever received.

“Merry Christmas,” he hummed. “I thought y’were heading t’your family’s place for the holiday?”

“I did last year, but I thought I would try and start my own traditions. They’re going to be down this weekend actually.”

“Make sure y’bring them by,” he reminded her.

She smiled. “How about you? Any traditions?”

Traditions hadn’t been part of Harry’s vocabulary in ages. But Gemma was coming and that made him immensely happy. Well, as happy as someone as grumpy as he could be. “M’sister is coming around lunch time. I do a Christmas brunch, and a lot of people stop by.”

“Oh, that’s really lovely,” she grinned. “I’m sure you’re busy then and I don’t want to keep you. Have a happy—”

“You’re invited,” he practically blurted. She blinked, surprise coloring her pretty face.

But she recovered quickly and the smile on her mouth returned and made Harry think that even if he never touched her again, he could settle for a smile directed at her. “Really?” She asked. “I don’t want to mess with tradition.”

But that was far from the truth because she had already inserted herself into so many town projects and made the town so much better just by existing. Not to mention she got him to dress as Santa. Tradition flew out the window the moment she stepped foot in the diner.

“S’a whole town thing.”

“Well then, I really have to run because I cannot show up empty handed. Muffins or cupcakes?”

“Y’don’t have to—”

“I’ll make both unless you tell me.”

Harry rolled his eyes and her stubbornness. “Muffins, Peach. Thank you.”

“Christmas looks good on you, Santa,” she nodded. “You’ve got the best smile, Harry,” she waved and headed back the way she came.

Her mom always hosted parties and if she didn’t then it was a neighbor, Grandma, or aunt. She became a makeshift hostess and always tried to make herself useful. The second she walked into the diner she was greeted with cheers and Merry Christmases. Honestly, other than it being a holiday and the garland draped around the place, it was no different than walking into the diner any other day. She scurried to the counter where all the food was lining it, the warmers keeping the food hot, just waiting to be devoured. She could hear noise from the kitchen. Without thinking much longer, she stepped behind the counter, set her muffins toward the end of the line of food, and began gathering the plates and silverware to put at the beginning of the line.

The moment he heard clinking, he stepped from the kitchen. “What the he—”

“Oh hi,” she chirped over her shoulder. “Just making myself useful.”

“You’re not supposed to be behind the counter.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s Christmas and I’m helping.”

“I like her,” a woman stepped from behind the kitchen wall as well and smiled with a wave. “I’m Gemma,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. Harry’s sister?”

“The one and only,” she had the same pretty smile that Harry did. She wondered who they inherited from. But the smile seemed much more natural on Gemma’s face than Harry’s.

“Peach,” he rubbed a hand over his face. “If y’get hurt, m’insurance doesn’t cover annoying pains in the butt.”

“What a nice thing to say on Christmas,” Gemma rolled her eyes. “How many times did you come back here when Mum told us not to?” Harry turned to the kitchen before he could answer.

She frowned. “I just wanted to help.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry is just a grump,” she shrugged. “Thank you for the help,” she grinned sweetly. “I’m going to bring Mr. Sour out again but please make yourself at home,” she assured.

People chatted with Gemma for most of the time they ate. She helped Harry carry food out from the kitchen even though he grunted at her in annoyance each time she picked something up. She ignored him making a plate for both herself, and Harry. “Harry come eat,” she held the plates of food in her hands. “Everyone is good for the moment, and you deserve it,” she told him.

He sighed as he always did. Like talking to her was getting a splinter taken out of his hand. He grabbed the plates from her and walked toward the side of the diner where there were two seats open. “Miss Peach, these muffins are delicious!”

She grinned. “Thank you, an old family recipe,” she said sweetly and plucked a piece of bacon from her plate. Harry headed back to the kitchen and she pouted but he returned quickly holding a cup of coffee for her, cooled and iced as always. “Thank you.” Harry sat across from her eating silently, but it was comfortable. Peaceful even. The chatter around them was comforting. “You do this every year?” She asked. He nodded. “It’s nice, Harry, thank you for inviting me,” she grinned. He didn’t look up from his food, but he nodded again, and she was certain the corners of his mouth twitched in an upwards direction.

Harry was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a dark green button down. It brought out the gold specks in his eyes and enhanced how green they were in general. It was her favorite look on him. Given he only seemed to have about six or so shirts in total. His hair was styled just so, so it wouldn’t fall in his face. “Let me get a picture of you and Gemma.”

“No,” he shook his head sipping his orange juice.

“Oh, come on, Harry. She’s your sister.”

He shook his head. “I don’t do pictures.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gemma, would you like a picture with Harry?” She called across the room.

“God, would I!” She hurried over and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. She kissed the side of his face and he rolled his eyes but the smile was a little harder to hide that time around. She pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out to get a picture of the siblings.

“Say Merry Christmas!”

Harry smiled, genuinely. Which made her utterly happy. Gemma kissed his cheek again. “I love you, little brother.”

He shook his head as she hurried back to her conversation across the room. Harry cleared his throat and reached into his pocket pulling out a small box, wrapped perfectly, and slid it across the table toward her.

Of course, her gifts for everyone in town that had made her feel so welcomed were at her house. She planned on giving them out at the diner the following morning. Let the day be about family. So she was unprepared and felt terrible that she had nothing for Harry.

But she was also so shocked she simply gaped. “Harry,” she managed. “I don’t—”

“S’not a big deal,” he shrugged. “Caden... he wanted t’make sure y’got a gift. I asked him t’help me pick it out. Told him Santa left a note here since he knows y’here a lot,” he explained. “S’really from Caden.” But it wasn’t. Not really. It was from Harry. The grumpy diner owner who made her pancakes, gave her a hard time because she was a nuisance. “Go on,” he encouraged. She pulled the paper off, revealing a small brown box.

“Your gift is at home,” she told him.

“Y’didn’t need t’get me anything,” he rolled his eyes.

“Of course I did, Harry—”

“Will y’jus’ open it, Peach? Y’making it a huge deal and honestly, s’hardly anything.”

She opened the lid and inside was a square piece of cardboard. A delicate chain draped along the middle of it, holding the small crescent moon charm at the center of a pair of matching earrings. “Harry,” she brushed her finger on the charm. “This is too much,” she frowned knowing that he probably spent way too much on someone who was a pain in his ass.

“Y’do a lot for this town,” he shrugged. “S’the least Caden could do.”

She tilted her head at him. “Thank you,” she plucked the necklace off the cardboard and quickly secured it around her neck. Her ears already had Christmas presents jingling and dangling from the lobes, but the necklace looked delicate and pretty against the top of her shirt. “I’ll bring your gift tomorrow.”

“Whatever helps y’sleep at night, Peach. Y’want more food?” He asked standing and grabbing her plate at the same time.

She played with the charm at the base of her throat and nodded. “Please," she wondered if Harry was aware of how much she truly liked him. How sweet he really was despite the front he put up in front of everyone else. But she supposed for today, since it was Christmas, she would let him play his grumpy self and enjoy the thoughtful gift he bought for her and the yummy food he made.

She hoped this tradition would stick around every year.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @boopookie @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

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@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

@emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #grumpy!harry x sunshine!reader #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #love at first sight!harry #the lottery

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cryingpariah · 3 days ago

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Something about Zoro being one of the most misunderstood and mischaracterized characters in One Piece is funny (not haha funny, funny sad) to me because?? That’s literally how his introduction starts?? With people misunderstanding him and thinking he’s some big, monstrous demon who kills with cause and cannot be trusted or tamed.

Meanwhile the actual Zoro is a driven guy who is often both literally and figuratively directionless in life and found his goals in life through good people (first Kuina and then Luffy). He's tied up in the Marine base not due to those actual crimes he commuted (well not inherently anyway) but because he ‘disrespected’ a Captain's son and stood up for a little girl. He accepts the challenge they present to him and because Zoro himself is a guy that puts his money where his mouth is he assumes the Marines will uphold their end of the deal and let him go (note the actual shock when Koby tells him the truth)

He joins Luffy's crew but also outright says he’s not gonna let his goal take second place to Luffy or anyone else's for that matter, he bears the weight of two people's dreams, his heart isn’t going to be swayed by some pirate.

Speaking of Kuina, her impact and influence on Zoro's life isn’t talked about enough for my liking. She was Zoro's first friend, his first rival, his first goal. He looked up to her so much and his reaction to her passing cracks my heart in half every time because you can seem him just..go numb. Kuina, dead? Kuina, the strongest person he knows, gone? Kuina, who swore to him just yesterday they’d race to the top of the world together, doesn’t exist anymore. His blank face only cracking within the privacy of his sensei before he begs. He begs on his knees, tears streaming down his face please please please let me take Kuina's sword with me. Let me take our dream to a high neither of us could imagine. I won’t let her name die here.

On top of gaining the Wado Ichimonji that day Zoro also gained…fear. Not of death, well at the very least not his own, he gained his fear of not being enough. Kuina kicked his ass every way a person could and still died, what could someone like him do? So he trains…and trains…and trains some more. Overly, obsessively, constantly telling himself he’s not enough, he’s weak, he can’t protect anyone like this and everyone's death would be on him.

As for Zoro being cold and stoic that’s just…not completely true? He’s not stone, he can be excited or sad or angry just as much as most characters he just sucks at showing it canonically (Kuina thinks he hates her before their final fight after all). Sure he’s not as forthcoming about it as some of the other Strawhats but Zoro's more of an action guy anyway, he'll show his love with his protection and unwavering faith.

In conclusion, Zoro is a ridiculously stubborn, incredibly loyal, mildly emotionally constipated, do what you say/say what you mean kinda guy.

(Also that whole ‘Zoro would kill the whole crew if Luffy asked him to’ thing? Top ten stupidest things I’ve ever heard from the fandom and that’s saying a lot. He’s loyal not brainless and heartless guys if Luffy asked him to do that, he would never but I digress, Zoro would square the fuck up with him so fast. DPMO.)

#mighty morphin Zoro posting time!#love that Marimo dearly even if I didn’t at first (he was too much like me)#one piece #one piece meta #<<<I think?? is this the meta??#roronoa zoro #pirate hunter zoro #one piece zoro #kuina one piece

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flaggermuser · 1 day ago

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The First Christmas

1,238 words || Fluff, Christmas, GN Reader, Doctor Reader, Parent & Child Relationship, Parent & Child Attachment, Not Beta Read, Tawny is used to mean parent as reader is GN ||

I originally planned to do three Christmas fics but didn't get the time.

Previous Tawny fics: When You Loved Me, Home Is Where His Heart Is, They Took My Sunshine Away & Take Me Out To The Ball Game

This is also unbeta'd so we are dying like kings

It has been a long time since you celebrated Christmas.

Sure, you’ve been to friendly gatherings, invited in by neighbours to celebrate, even bringing homemade pies but it never felt as good as a family Christmas. Your parents had died years ago and you didn’t have any other family, so often you spent the day alone with a prepackaged dinner, watching the various Christmas specials; you always record the Vought ones.

But this year's Christmas is different.

You've had a busy morning, waking up early to start the preparations for lunch and you've pulled out all the stops to make sure that it's perfect.

There's turkey with all the trimmings, roast beef, a rack of lamb and smoked salmon. Then there's a range of desserts accompanied by home baked gingerbread people and a gingerbread house, as well as cookies in Christmas shapes topped with icing.

Your dining room table and your kitchen counters are overflowing with food, enough to feed around ten people instead of you and the two very special guests joining you. It seems extravagant but then again, they're used to the much finer things in life. You hope you've done enough, that they'll enjoy spending Christmas with you.

There's not just an abundance of food either, you've gone all out decorating your home. A real fir tree sits in one corner of your modestly sized living room, decorated with lights, baubles and tinsel, with a pleura of gifts underneath. You've spent a great deal of money on those presents and you pray that they'll like them.

If only you knew that your existence was more than enough, that you were the greatest gift he'd ever received in his whole life.

The doorbell goes and slight panic sets in, so you do a last minute check on the way to the door, taking off your apron and hanging it on the back of the kitchen door. You make a brief stop at the hallway mirror, straightening out your clothes so you look presentable before opening the door with a smile.

Ryan isn't really sure what to make of you.

Naturally he knows about the lab, Dad had been sure to tell him all about it. And despite his repetitive reassurances, Ryan is still reluctant to meet you.

After all, you were part of that team once, the one that tortured Dad in the lab, that turned a blind eye to him when he screamed and cried, begging for some form of human interaction.

“They’re not like the others,” Dad says. “Just trust me champ.”

Ryan nervously stands a few feet from the front door, breathing hard, doing his best not to panic but it’s getting difficult. He’s not prepared to meet the human-shaped monster on the other side. He sees the door open but from where he's standing, you're obscured so he only hears your voice

"Merry Christmas John."

Your voice is soothing and he watches as Dad falls into your arms, your hold on him tight. You're showing a great deal of affection towards Dad, something that Ryan knows Dad hasn't received from anyone else. When the hug ends, Dad looks back at Ryan and motions for him to come over.

Ryan slowly approaches, getting more anxious the closer he comes to the door. By the time he reaches you, he's not sure how to react. Who he had expected is the complete opposite of who he sees.

Instead of a monster, it's just you.

"Merry Christmas Tawny," Dad says before looking at Ryan. "This is Ryan."

“Hello Ryan,” your smile is humane, your hand stretched out to greet him.

Your handshake is warm, your grip isn’t tight, it’s almost as if you’re treating him like he’s made of glass or a delicate item that needs to be handled with care.

"Come on, let's get you inside."

Ryan’s eyes are glued to the festively decorated mantelpiece.

Pictures of Dad through the years, all in those fancy frames, accompanied with newspaper clippings. Then the one in the middle, the one of Dad when he was young, sitting on your lap with a smile on his face.

He can see why Dad is so attached to you - you were… you are nice to him.

You love him.

“A glass of milk for John, a glass of lemonade for Ryan and a plate of cookies to share."

Before you can return to the kitchen to continue cooking what smells like a feast, Dad takes your hand and squeezes gently, prompting a parental smile.

Now Ryan is far less intimidated than he was when he first arrived, reassured by the way Dad reacts to you and your affection practically beaming, how happy Dad is for you to call him by his actual name instead of his title.

Half an hour later, you return to the living room to announce that lunch is ready so him and Dad follow you into the dinning room, Ryan's eyes widening at the way the table is arranged and decorated. There's so much food, that Ryan isn't sure how the three of you are going to finish it all.

But it's clear that it's all made with love.

Ryan doesn't remember the last time he was so full, or the last time he had a proper home cooked meal.

There's still some food left over that you started to plate up as leftovers, and he can hear you telling Dad to take quite a lot with him. When you both emerge from the kitchen, Ryan is drawn to the bags that Dad holds, clearly overfilled but Dad doesn't seem to want to argue.

Dad is more than willing to do what he's told by you, his parent.

His Tawny.

Ryan spends the rest of the afternoon with you and Dad, watching the Christmas specials. He feels at peace, enjoying the familiar domestic simplicity that he can never experience at the Tower. It reminds him of Christmases at home with his mom.

Right down to the iced festive cookies on the plate on the coffee table.

There has been an abundance of gifts for Ryan all day and you've added to the pile, yet there seems to be more for Dad. These gifts are thoughtful, not just things that Dad probably won't use or doesn't want. You gone to a great deal of effort to make sure that you give Dad the best Christmas possible.

And that makes Ryan happier.

Eventually, it comes time for you to have your gift.

"Sorry about the wrapping," Dad says, handing it over. "I've never been very good but I wanted to do it myself."

Ryan watches you open the present with care, not just ripping the paper off as many usually do. The atmosphere changes and Ryan sits up straighter, filled with concern at your reaction.

You stare at the photo frame in your hands, shedding tears of what he hopes is happiness. Getting up from your seat, you head over to the mantle, moving some of the other frames out of the way to place this one down pride of place next to the one of you and Dad from the lab.

"We need to take just one more, just the two of us. It's important."

It's a photo of Dad and Ryan, immortalised in an ornate frame.

A picture of your son and grandson, the only family that you have.

And one that deeply loves you.

#homelander #homelander fanfiction #homelander x reader #antony starr #the boys #the boys spoilers #homelander x gn reader #homelander x gn #season 4 spoilers #the boys season 4 spoilers #homelander & gn reader #christmas

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genderqueerdykes · 2 days ago

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I hope this is an ok thing to send but: Do you remember when transmeds used to demand that anyone who didn’t use he/him or she/her post their auxiliary pronouns?

Because I’m just now starting to realize that what they actually meant was “give me a way to misgender you without feeling guilty about it.”

Especially if the pronouns in question were it/its or singular they. Like, most English speakers use it/its and singular they on a regular basis. They only had a problem using them when it was to refer to people who specifically claim them as their pronouns.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I thought that because you’ve narrowed your pronouns even further to get people to use it/its for you that you might be able to give some kind of… solidarity? with this?

—they/it user who once felt pressured to provide aux pronouns

“give me a way to misgender you without feeling guilty about it.” is exactly how i feel about this. my memory is hazy but i do recall people doing that for a while. as if giving them your actual pronouns isn't good enough. i understand using auxiliary pronouns around people unfamiliar with using singular they, it, like in business settings or other environments where you aren't sure of whether or not they will be accepting, and so on, but when it's amongst other queers, it feels like people want to misgender you on purpose.

some people don't even HAVE auxilliary pronouns, like what was with forcing people to provide a pronoun set they don't like just to make it easier on someone else...? like if those aren't my pronouns, they aren't my pronouns. i'm not gonna make up some other pronouns to give you. why are my primary pronouns not good enough?

i can relate to this, yes! it does suck that i've been forced to narrow my pronouns down to using just it/its, but i need people to understand that it's just not an option. using my correct pronouns is not an option. you don't get to misgender me just because you don't want to use my pronouns. they are my pronouns. i don't start calling he/him cis men by other pronouns just because. i don't ignore she/her cis women's pronouns. so why is it okay to do this to trans and queer people?

i'm sorry you had to deal with that. it's so old and annoying. people want to control others so bad it's unreal. they see an identity they don't understand and think they need to "fix" it. or they think that they know better than the person who adopted that identity. like yeah no shit i know that it/its are used for animals and objects. that's why i want to use them. i'm a wolf in a human's body. cope. even if i didn't identify as nonhuman and didn't see them as dehumanizing, i'd still want to use them. there's nothing wrong with them

#asks #answers #it/its #it its #it pronouns #pronouns

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frost-eyed-autumn · 2 days ago

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Its been a long and winding year returning to tumblr in a more dedicated fashion for the first in a long while (not since 2019, yeesh! Time flies), but I can't really say I regret it at all!

With all its ups and a couple of downs, I've regained some of that old spark I used to have being in the RPC again and I really just wanted to do something paying it forward even if just in a small way -- so I'm doing a little something that used to be a common end-of-the-year tradition back during the golden years of the old RPC I used to romp in!

There's nothing anyone else has to do in return, this is just me giving a little bit of appreciation to all the people who have given me a reason to be here and really let me enjoy myself here again!

So one way or another, this is just a thank you to ALL of my mutuals who've made my time here a little bit brighter! Here's to a hopefully even better 2025!

@starsburned / @stormslullaby / @eiinn-ulfr

Cor, my bruhloved. Every list has to have you on it, naturally. I wouldn't even be here writing right now if you hadn't been the one to convince me to pick up Chuuya. Its hard to believe how close we're getting to the 8 year mark since we've officially become friends. I genuinely don't know where I'd be without you. You helped pick me up when I was at my lowest in the old fandom where we met, and that first time you let me vent to you, I really just thought you would be another person who was here today, gone tomorrow. But now you've woven yourself so deeply into my daily routine that I can't imagine anything less than having you part of my life. You're such an amazing person despite all of the absolute bullshit you've gone through daily that no one should have to suffer through, and I'm proud of you for still chugging along no matter how hard everything gets and how much you've grown and continue to grow. And more than just that, you're such an amazing writer to boot. You dedicate so much to every muse you pick up, whether it be a canon or an OC, and craft every one of them masterfully. From Rune to Dazai to Verlaine to Mori and all your other billions of muses (you fucking muse gremlin(affectionate)), none of them ever disappoint and I love seeing how passionate you are about all of them, whether it be in your writings or just your daily ramblings. Nothing would be the same without you here.

@memoryextrction

Things are still a bit new between us but I can say with full, genuine honesty you are one of the most pleasant people I've had the pleasure of getting to know! And I've had a lot of people come in and out of my life, most of them people that quickly showed they weren't good for me, so that's a compliment that doesn't come lightly from me, distant and critical person that I am about new faces. Even if I'm old and tired and can't always keep up with your energy, I always love seeing your messages and interacting with you, and just your overall maturity and decency as a person despite how young you still are and all of the shit you go through and struggle with on a daily basis. I only wish there were more people who could bring your kind of wholesome vibes to the world because the world seriously needs more people like you. And of course, your writing! The thing that got us interacting in the first place. I love our interactions so much and how much passion you put behind your muses, especially the characters who basically had nothing in their original series and really made them your own. I love the nuance and complexity and love you breathe into your 2-minute-screen-time muses and really give them the attention they deserve, and by god do they make for some of my favorite interactions of all time.

@nohumaen / @crimcpnish

We've only really begun to start talking in earnest, but I'm glad we have! Its rare that I'm pleasantly surprised by people, especially in dealing with tough situations, but you are one of those few people, and its a real breath of fresh air, let me tell you. I'm genuinely happy to have started writing with and getting to know you, and not just because your Kouyou (and Higuchi, and Fyodor) is fucking amazing, although that certainly helps! Your humor always gives me a good laugh, and overall I just really enjoy your company and don't regret at all bringing you into our little circle of friends. I'm wishing the best for you and those you keep closest!

@vulpesly

We don't write nearly as much as I'd like to these days, but just having you still around and part of my experience at all means more than I can rightly express. I always love our small exchanges and seeing Jono and Tachihara on the dash, and just how much care you put into your portrayals! Even just seeing your little rambles about other things like video games lightens my day a little. Thank you for allowing me to be part of your experience as well.

@inciteafflatus / @skilledsenses

Tenka! The bonafied cryptid of my circle of people. Its always a pleasure to see you around and your Ranpo is always so *chef's kiss* (even if Chuuya wants to yeet him through a ceiling every time). You're always so funny and pleasant to talk to, in the rare instances you make your cryptid appearances, and I'm glad to know you and always share in a good few laughs!

@ripheart / @beastlit

I know this year has been pretty rough on you, and I'm holding out hope that things get a lot better moving into the new year! I've really enjoyed what few exchanges we've had when we both have the energy to carry a conversation, and your amazing writings always leave me biting at the bit waiting for your next carefully crafted reply! Your Yosano is so beautifully portrayed and on-point I could swear she was written by Asagiri himself, and I really look forward to seeing more of her when life finally cuts you a break enough to return!

@eternalstarlights

Going to be honest, at one point I wasn't sure if we were ever going to meaningfully interact, but now that we have a couple things started I'm really glad we do! I'm really enjoying the little things we have going on between Kunikida and Ember and I especially really look forward to seeing how things develop with Ember because she and Chuuya honestly just seem like such a natural-born team to have working together and bonding over blowing things up!

@flamesignite / @hughesxmaes

We don't do a whole ton of direct interactions but seeing the constant shenanigans and total crack energy on my dash (at poor Roy's expense) is always a fun time even from the sidelines and is just about always guaranteed to get a laugh or two out of me. Keep doing what you're doing cuz its honestly such a joy to see!

@kitxkatrp

I'm really enjoying the little interactions we have going so far between Chuuya and Dazai and Mori! Its always fun having Double Black stirring up shit with each other and I definitely never have any complaints getting to throw Chuuya at a well written Mori!

@gyofukuki

Its a bit of a shame we don't get to interact more cuz you honestly just give me lots of good vibes whenever you're around! Though I totally get it with not being able to be around as much as you'd like to. I haven't forgotten the couple of things we managed to get started and I'm really looking forward to continuing them when you do manage to find the time to be back here properly!

@galaxy-0f-muses

It took us a while to really kick things off but I couldn't be happier that we finally have! I'm super enjoying the little thread we have going with Atsushi and Chuuya right now and I'm definitely interested to see how things will play out with Yosano once that thread finds its stride too! Here's to some hopefully fun, ongoing interactions because I'm really digging them so far!

@frozcnlight

We've only just started to really get things rolling, but I'm already enjoying the dynamic going on between Chuuya and Miran quite a bit! She's such an interesting contrast to Chuuya in a way that's bound to spark some interesting interactions between them. What those interactions will be, I'm not really sure yet, but exploring that and seeing where it goes has definitely caught my interest!

@spezialistin / @kokyuchusei

I always love seeing people giving some of the less recognized / appreciated characters of a series some love and attention, especially some of the strong female characters, and so far you really do immense justice to writing Higuchi! We may only have one little thread going at the moment but already it has me rolling around a ton of possibilities and ideas that I'm really looking forward to playing around with and hopefully I can inspire the same!

@ofdraiocht

Its good to finally get the ball rolling on something after being distant mutuals for so long and I'm definitely enjoying and looking forward to the interaction we have going between Chuuya and Odasaku! I always love playing around different timelines like Dark Era and what Chuuya's relationship might be to some of the characters we don't really get to see him interact with much in canon.

@voracitys

Its always nice to have a new face to write with and explore new possibilities and I definitely haven't been disappointed! I know Gin is still a bit of a new muse for you trying her out but what little we've written so far I'm really enjoying and love how you write her and look forward to seeing how these two develop! Especially being both Chuuya and Gin coming from somewhat similar backgrounds, even if she doesn't realize it yet, so there's a whole lot of potential there for the both of them that I'm eager to see play out!

@koriningyou

We're still kind of finding our stride in actually writing something together and kind of talked about that already, but trust me, I notice all the little Likes you leave on my posts and I really appreciate those small, daily affirmations that you're reading and wanting to interact! And I seriously appreciate it every time and look forward to once we get some momentum going on IC interactions as well!

@muses-of-kira / @alchemic-elric

We haven't really gotten to write much yet for obvious reasons but that doesn't mean I don't look forward to it! I'm wishing you a speedy recovery for your hand and I look forward to being able to write something once its better!

And just for following back this silly blog of mine at all, even if we haven't really interacted much (yet!)

@cursedlane || @seraphynm || @fullmxtal-elrich / @zodixcsorangekxtten / @cryptxd-laboratxry || @bookmcde || @doppogin || @cherrygardn || @pocketfulofgalaxies || @diverse-hearts-ocs || @rowanberryhub / @goeticedda || @ficryfingcrs || @paramythas || @avarlclouss || @mused-like-roses || @devouund / @vieaccorde / @straypaged / @yashabana || @teruoku || @hellshovnd

#ooc #The Mun #positivity #{--I'm not really all that good at the whole #positivity thing #esp on a regular basis #*jazz hands @ negativistic disorder*#BUT! I tried!#And I hope it brought a smile to ya'll's faces and that you're having good holidays--}

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k-zuzu · 2 days ago

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민기

song mingi 𖹭 reader

who are you?

synopsis: you, a determined college student, are starting fresh this semester — cutting off toxic friends and focusing on your goals, including creating your own video game when you cross paths with mingi, a vibrant and cheeky guy from your art history class, your interactions begin with an awkward and teasing exchange. as your dynamic shifts from annoyance to unexpected connection, you find yourself caught up in mingi's playful persistence and your growing curiosity about him, despite your best efforts to keep your distance.

content: typical college romance, strangers2enemies2friends2lovers, robotic!reader, lighthearted fluff, probably an inaccurate depiction of art majors (even as an art major myself), not proofread, lowercase intended.

zuzu's note: hey! this is long overdue from this post LMAO. a small something to fulfill my carnal need for romance w/mingi. it started off as a oneshot but now i am making it a series. inspired by the kbl semantic error, so credits and all that<333

main masterlist.

you stood in the quiet corner of the art gallery, the soft hum of muffled voices fading into the background as your eyes remained glued to the painting in front of you. it was a striking piece — bold strokes of color, carefully chaotic, yet it held a balance that tugged at something deep within you. your heart swelled with admiration, the kind reserved for things that felt like they could tell your secrets if you stared long enough.

the small placard below the painting displayed the artist’s name in elegant script. song mingi. next to it, a phone number was scribbled in pen on the gallery brochure pinned to the wall. it was as if the artist himself had left breadcrumbs, daring someone to reach out. you fumbled for your phone, angling it to capture the number before anyone else noticed.

“that’s my favorite too,” a voice said, uncomfortably close.

you jumped, nearly dropping your phone. you turned your head to find a tall figure leaning casually against the wall beside you, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. he nodded toward the painting as though the two of you were old friends sharing a secret.

“do you like it?” he asked.

“it’s beautiful,” you replied stiffly, edging away. “i was just admiring it...”

“want a picture?” he asked, his grin widening.

you raised an eyebrow. “of the painting?”

“no,” he said, that maddening smirk still in place. “of me. with it. you know, the whole ‘art and artist’ kind of vibe.”

you blinked, incredulous. you gave him a once-over, noting the messy hair, casual clothes, and sketchy skateboard that screamed wannabe cool. an artist? not likely. just another obnoxious student fishing for attention, you thought.

“pass,” you said curtly. without waiting for a response, you snapped a quick photo of the phone number, rolled your eyes, and walked away. as you disappeared into the crowd, the man chuckled softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. he glanced up at the painting — his painting — and muttered to himself, “tough crowd.”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

the new semester was finally here, and you were ready for a fresh start. after months of dealing with toxic friends who drained your energy and motivation, you had decided that enough was enough. this semester, you promised yourself that things would be different. you had cut ties, reorganized your priorities, and — most importantly — you crafted a brand-new schedule that fit the new you perfectly.

your first class was at 5:30 in the morning, a time that scared most students away. but not you. to you, the early hour was a badge of determination. at 3:30 AM sharp, your alarm blared, and you sprang into action.

your routine was methodical, almost meditative. a quick stretch to shake off the sleep, a hot shower to wake your senses, and a mug of coffee strong enough to jolt you into productivity. you pulled your hair into a neat ponytail, threw on a hoodie and slacks, and grabbed your carefully packed bag. by 4:30 AM, you were stepping into the quiet, still classroom, where the air felt almost sacred, untouched by the chaos of the day to come.

your eyes immediately sought out your favorite spot — third seat by the window, a perfect balance of sunlight and solitude. you claimed it as yours by sheer determination, arriving an hour early to ensure no one else dared to take it. and you planned on doing that every monday to wednesday for the rest of the semester.

as you slid into the chair, you sighed in contentment, your heart swelling with the promise of a fresh beginning.

your plans for the semester went far beyond simply surviving your classes. you were building your own video game, a project that had been a dream for years. every pixel, every line of code — you wanted it to be perfect. the artwork you had admired at the gallery just days ago lingered in your mind, its vibrant strokes and unique style calling out to you.

that work wasn’t just beautiful — it was exactly what you needed. you could already picture it in your game, bringing your world to life in a way you couldn’t achieve alone (something you had to learn to accept). your goal this semester was clear: find the artist, collaborate with them, and create something extraordinary together.

little did you know that the artist was closer than you thought.

the seat next to you remained empty for the rest of the class — probably because your aura wasn’t exactly the most welcoming. you probably should’ve adjusted to your new schedule before committing to a two-hour class right after your 5:30 AM start. the second you stepped out of the classroom, you yawned and darted to where you knew the nearest vending machine stood. after buying your usual, kq energy (black coffee in a can), you slid into a booth nearby and decided it was time to phone the number. it was now or never.

it rang.

at the same time, a phone in the park rang as well. you searched the area, only to spot a familiar tall man in vibrant colors — and a skateboard. you watched as he fished his phone from his back pocket, glanced at the screen, and promptly declined the call. you checked your phone — your call had also been declined. hell no. it couldn't be him? you glanced back at him, but he was already looking at the menu, placing an order.

you let out a sigh and set your phone down, opting to take out your laptop instead. you needed to get a head start on the essay from class. better sooner than later.

just as you started to focus, a stranger slid into the seat across from you, a casual grin on his face as he tapped the edge of his coffee cup.

you glanced up, mildly surprised, "you again?"

"i’ve been here the whole time," he replied, his voice teasing, "you just haven’t noticed."

you rolled your eyes, "what do you want?"

he leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with amusement. "i was thinking… we’ve never really had a proper conversation. you know, beyond your ‘nobody’ assessment at the gallery the other day."

you didn’t flinch. "i didn’t say that."

"you thought it, though."

"...and what makes you think we're obligated to have a proper conversation?" you asked, slamming your laptop down and locking eyes with him.

"i’m in your art history class."

"i just had art history." you narrowed your eyes. "you weren’t there. i’m sure i would've recognized your vibrance anywhere."

"aw, you recognize my vibrance?" he looked at the colors on his lapels, smirking smugly.

"i don’t like sleazes who skip their first class of the semester." you opened your laptop again, getting back to work.

"hey, i couldn’t make it. i had an interview and emailed the professor 12 days early, we’re all good." he reassured and shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.

you paused, absorbing that information. "oh."

"oh." he mimicked you in a teasing tone. "okay. fine. so tell me, what’s your least favorite color?" his question came out of nowhere, playful but sharp.

you blinked, taken aback. "my least favorite color?"

"yeah, you know. just something you don’t like. something you’d never wear."

you stared at him, wondering if he was serious or just messing with you. finally, you sighed. "orange. definitely orange. i hate orange. my second-grade teacher loved it, and i never understood why."

he let out a low whistle. "that’s a pretty strong opinion. are you sure?"

"positive." you narrowed your eyes. "now, why would you even ask me that?"

he shrugged, his grin widening. "i was just curious. you seem like the type to have strong opinions about random stuff."

you tilted your head, lips quirking upward. "and you seem like the type to ask stupid questions."

he laughed, leaning in closer. "hey, no such thing as a stupid question. and no need to get defensive. i'm just trying to get to know you better."

you raised an eyebrow. "i think we both know you’re only doing this to annoy me."

"is it working?"

you shot him a side-eye. "unfortunately, yes." you begin typing away at your laptop again, eventually, you paused and stared at him as he fiddled with the cup holder of his hot drink. "by the way," you mused, a slight pout on your lips. "were you really the artist of the work 'hop' in the gallery the other day?"

"yeah... and I just came from an interview at nexora interactive this morning," mingi said matter-of-factly.

nexora? your dream company? for a moment, his immature, irritating image faded, replaced by a faint flicker of... something admirable.

"and," he continued, a sly grin spreading across his face, "were you the one who just rang my phone?" he dangled his phone in front of your face, the gesture obnoxiously playful as his tongue skimmed across his teeth. then, he giggled.

annoying mingi was back.

"why'd you call me? wanna work together or something?" he teased, his tone light but teasingly smug.

"no," you replied curtly, scoffing as you turned your focus back to your laptop. "not anymore..." you mumbled under your breath.

why not? you couldn’t decide. maybe it was the way he dressed like an overgrown kid. maybe it was his relentless antics. or maybe — just maybe — it was because you couldn’t bring yourself to imagine working with someone who might actually land a job at nexora freaking interactive.

or perhaps you just decided, right then and there, that you officially hated song mingi.

"no." you scoffed, your attention returning to your laptop. "not anymore..." you grumbled. why not? you asked yourself. was it because you didn't expect him to dress like a child? act like a child? or was it out of consideration if he actually gets a job at nexora fucking interactive? maybe it was because you just decided out of nowhere that you officially hate this man.

"awww! you wanted to work with me?" he pointed at himself adorably, in disbelief. "me?" he repeated innocently and pushed what little hair he had behind his ear and he smiled sweetly. "i'm flattered..."

suddenly he perked up — like a dog hearing another dog bark.

"i never caught your name."

"you'll never hear it from me." and you slid your laptop back into your pouch, you stood up and you left your drink as you dashed for the exit.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

#mingi #mingi x reader #ateez #song mingi #song mingi x reader #mingi x you #mingi x y/n #ateez x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez mingi #auth. zuzu

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hippolotamus · 17 hours ago

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For the @alliwantforchristmasislou initiative 💖 (thanks for the heads up @bucksbignaturals mwah!)

I did a speedrun of S1-5a after a friend told me I had to watch this show. Indeed I did and quickly fell in love with all the characters, but particularly Buck and Eddie. I really thought "they're perfect for each other, how could anyone else measure up?" And then Tommy Kinard kissed Evan Buckley. As they say... 'everything has changed'.

Moots and friends became mortal enemies and another notch on the Blocked list, seemingly overnight. But, from the ashes emerged new moots, new pocket pals, blessed friends that never left, and the expanded world view of multi-shipping.

Lou and Oliver treated Buck and Tommy's relationship with such care on screen. As much as they could within the roles written for them. And I always appreciated how their on-screen relationship wasn't a big deal to those around them. After a few hiccups, they were just two guys dating. It's beautiful.

April 4, 2024 is a day that feels so monumental in my personal history book. I was watching the episode with my mother of all people. My mother who has never denied how happy she was when my first adult queer relationship ended and I wound up marrying an (incredibly straight) man. My mother who wonders aloud, in my presence, why "everything" has to be gay now.

While I didn't actually come out as an adult (the first time), Tommy and Buck's stories both speak to me on a soul shifting level. Tommy for pushing down what he knew to be true of himself, and Buck discovering for the first time what's waiting for him in the world. All the answers to questions he didn't even know he had. Things he didn't know he was allowed to want. And this is a large reason why I chose The Trevor Project. They've been near and dear to my heart for years now. Because every queer person, young or old, deserves to know there's support available. So they don't have to think that they're better off dead than gay.

I truly hope to see more of Buck and Tommy's relationship, and growth, in the future. Even if we don't, they will always be a special part of this incredible show.

Huge shoutout to my witchy wife @bidisasterevankinard @diazsdimples @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @lemonzestywrites @theotherbuckley @monsterrae1 @wikiangela @actuallyitsellie @doctorkinney @midsummersmorn @diazheartsbuckley @bi-buckrights @mmso-notlikethat @djdangerlove @lavenderleahy @acesartemis @bewilderedbuckley @shipperqueen6 @holidayslinger @kinley-cafe @peppermintquartz @marthamaewhovier @your-catfish-friend @eowon @herrmannhalsteadproduction @filet-o-feelings 🫶

#alliwantforchristmasislou #bucktommy #tevan #tw queer #it's my preferred word but i know it's not for everyone #being succinct is not my strong suit 🫣

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t6kioo · 2 days ago

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entry no. 1

there’s something inherently grotesque about love. it’s not the soft, pastel-colored thing hallmark would have you believe. love is sharp teeth and bloodied hands. it’s hunger—actual, visceral hunger.

we “devour” each other with our eyes. we “consume” each other’s attention. we talk about “aching” for someone, about feeling “empty” without them. love songs croon about addiction and obsession, about needing someone like a junkie needs a fix. calvin harris and the disciples literally sang, “i want you to breathe me in, let me be your air.” love demands consumption, down to the bare bone.

the cultural shorthand is clear: desire is hunger. and hunger—real hunger—has always had a dark edge. maybe that’s why the cannibal keeps showing up in our stories about love. hannibal lecter and clarice starling’s hypnotic dance of intellect and temptation. armie hammer’s scandal that felt like the logical end point of his sexy, “aristocratic” image. netflix’s fresh, where sebastian stan plays a charming man who dates women only to harvest their flesh. and let’s not forget our beloved twilight—edward cullen, sparkling like a disco ball, warning bella, “you’re like my own personal brand of heroin.”

what is love if not the urge to consume? the desire to take someone so deeply into yourself that they become a part of you—biologically, spiritually, metaphorically. and what is heartbreak if not hunger pangs when that person is gone?

cannibalism makes an excellent metaphor because it’s all about boundaries—or the lack thereof. loving someone means letting them in, letting them get so close that the lines between you start to blur. but what happens when that intimacy turns dangerous? when the hunger isn’t mutual? when one person is the predator and the other is the prey?

jeffrey dahmer didn’t kill people because he hated them. he killed them because he couldn’t bear to be alone. he wanted to keep them close, permanently. it’s completely horrifying, yes, but also tragically relatable. anyone who’s stayed up all night rereading texts from an ex, anyone who’s memorized someone’s spotify playlists just to feel connected—congratulations, you’re already halfway to dahmer’s basement.

romeo and juliet, the classic tale of doomed romance, hinges on mutual destruction. they consume each other until there’s nothing left, literal poison sealing the deal. it’s the same story in wuthering heights. heathcliff doesn’t just love cathy; he wants to haunt her. when she dies, he famously cries out, “be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss where i cannot find you!” romantic? sure. but it’s also deeply unhinged.

maybe that’s why vampires, zombies, and other flesh-eaters keep showing up as metaphors for desire. they’re embodiments of hunger without limits, love without boundaries. they remind us that intimacy is inherently risky. to love someone is to hand them a knife and hope they don’t use it.

but the truth is, we want them to use it—just a little. we want the vulnerability, the ache, the bite. we want to be consumed. after all, what’s the alternative? to be alone? to keep your heart under glass, untouched and pristine? no one writes sonnets about that. no one makes movies about lovers who stay politely detached.

maybe cannibalism is the perfect metaphor for love. it’s a bit unsettling, sure, but so is the way we talk about relationships. soulmates. twin flames. two halves of a whole. it’s all just a pretty way of saying: i want you inside me. not just physically, but spiritually. i want to know you so deeply that the distinction between me and you dissolves.

and isn’t that a little terrifying? isn’t that what keeps us awake at night? the knowledge that love will either complete us—or consume us whole.

so eat your heart out. or let someone else do it. either way, bon appétit.

#dark academia #writing #writings #female writers #essay #personal essay #essay writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #literature #lit #girlblogging #girlblog #female hysteria #dark feminine #hell is a teenage girl #love

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anamazingangie · 2 days ago

Text

i thought you ought to know | Rupert x Taggie

Rated M | 6.5k words | Complete! | by AmazingAngie

Tags: fluff, all comfort no hurt, breeding kink, daddy kink, spanking, married life, older man/younger woman, making your husband a daddy in more ways than one

Summary:

"This is my wife, Taggie Campbell-Black.” She would never tire of hearing that, especially when Rupert said it with so much pride. It wasn’t uncommon for them to get the response, “My god, I thought she was your daughter!” But Taggie never tired of that, either, even if she probably should. It was hardly an insult, to be thought related by blood to a man like Rupert. (Though, being related by marriage almost felt more special, because he had chosen her in a way you couldn’t choose a child.) . or; Rupert takes far better care of her than her actual father ever did, so it's no wonder that Taggie, on occasion, pretends Rupert is more than just her husband.

Excerpt:

"You’re an angel, darling. All the more so, when I’m such a devil.” He meant the words in jest, but they didn’t come out that way. He was still too concerned with corrupting her, even if they both enjoyed her corruption a great deal. “Rupert,” she said, tugging on his tie and forcing him to look at her, “I may be an angel in your eyes, but you are hardly a devil in mine.” Maybe he expected her to make a joke, but she was quite serious when she said, “You’re my wings,” she said with a smile. Sometimes, he really did make her feel like she could do anything, maybe even that she could fly. But he made her so happy, that she had no desire to fly away.

the snow is snowing and the wind it is blowing

They had gotten married in spring, just a handful of weeks after her birthday. It was a small ceremony, in a meadow, with a few dozen guests they could trust not to leak details to the press.

There was no debauchery on that day worth reporting, really, but they wanted it to be private since it was a luxury rarely found in Rupert's life.

Though they had agreed that their love would be public — in part because of their mutual insecurity, but also because of Rupert’s possessiveness, and his inability to keep his hands to himself.

(Which, to be fair, Taggie also struggled to do.)

but I can weather the storm

Taggie hadn’t expected a lot of support regarding their nuptials, because Taggie never expected much support for any decision she made.

A stupid girl could hardly make smart decisions, after all.

She had been told that often enough to question herself constantly, often looking to those around her for guidance, because her sister and brother were so clever, especially compared to her.

Of course, their opinion was better and more trustworthy than her own. It had to be.

Or, at the very least, they were more confident in their opinions.

(Then again, it didn’t take much confidence to be ' more confident' than Agatha O’Hara…at least until she met Rupert Campbell-Black.)

what do I care how much it may storm

There were a thousand reasons she shouldn’t trust Rupert, at least on paper.

Her sister had told her that when she found out about the engagement.

Taggie had laughed because it was probably true, but she simply responded, “Good thing that I can’t read them,” and hung up.

She had never hung up on her sister before. Or anyone, even.

She was always polite to a fault.

But for the first time in her life, she didn’t care what her sister thought, because she was confident her sister was wrong.

Because the only thing Taggie had ever been confident about in her entire life was :

She loved Rupert Campbell-Black.

And the only time she hadn’t questioned what she was doing or saying was when he asked her to marry him.

The answer had been so obvious, and she had been so certain, and so happy.

(Of course, she said yes.)

i've got my love to keep me warm

It didn’t matter that everyone else thought she was setting herself up for heartbreak.

Maybe she was. Maybe he would grow bored and leave her. Maybe he would become cruel.

Maybe.

It was a risk she was willing to take because she had already lived the reality that was life without him and it was agonizing. If their marriage was just a brief reprieve from that, a plaster on her heart that beat only for him, then it was better than nothing.

“You don’t understand,” she told her siblings, fiddling with the tea towel in her lap to hide her frustration, “He makes me feel like I can do anything. Because if a man like him loves me, then surely anything is possible.”

She swallowed, looking down at her fingers, “He makes me feel safe. Not the way a security system does, it's more than that. It feels like...nothing can hurt me when I’m with him, not the world, not myself, nothing. When he looks at me, when he holds me, I know everything will be okay.”

For someone with near-crippling anxiety, there was no sweeter feeling than a safe haven that made all those thoughts ebb away, and nothing had ever given her that sort of relief, except for Rupert.

“He can’t protect you from himself, Taggie. He could hurt you.” Patrick said softly.

Caitlin was frowning, “Patrick is right, and you talk about him like he is your father, not your fiancé. It freaks me out.”

Declan, who had been ignoring them from his seat at the table, snorted, snidely commenting that, “He is certainly old enough to be, imagine how I feel.”

Taggie grit her teeth, wanting to scream that this wasn’t about him, or anyone else. It was about her, and maybe he should think about how his sniping made her feel.

The thought was selfish enough that in the past she might have cried and apologized just for it crossing her mind.

But a single week of being with Rupert had changed her, and she could practically hear him whispering in her ear, asking ‘How does that feel, darling?’ while his fingers curled inside of her, ‘You’re such a good girl, Taggie, let me make you feel good.’

He was the only one who ever cared about how she felt, much less making her feel good about herself. Taggie didn’t associate those things with a father figure at all, she just associated them with Rupert.

Maybe Caitlin was right and she did talk about Rupert like he was a parent in addition to a partner. But she would never talk about their parents like that. Neither of them had been much of a safe haven to her, in fact, they were often quite the opposite.

So she just sighed, “Maybe I do.”

(Maybe she needed a father figure as badly as she needed a husband.)

“For fucks sake, you look more like her father than her groom,” Bas said with a laugh as he looked over the prints from their wedding.

Rupert glared, “I’ve heard enough of that from Declan, my father-in-law, thanks.”

“It isn’t your age that makes me say so,” Bas said, lifting a photo from the reception, in which Rupert’s eyes were narrowed at the cameraman, his hand on Taggie’s waist, while she was turned to speak with Ricky.

“You look at her like she is an angel, and you look at everyone else as if they want to corrupt her. Or steal her, I suppose, and you have to be constantly on guard to protect her virtue.”

Rupert snorted, he’d well and truly stripped Taggie of that, both before they married and after.

He hadn’t even waited for the honeymoon to do it, either.

He hadn’t even waited until the reception , he thought with a grin.

Her rosy cheeks, glow of happiness, and ruddy lips had nothing to do with touching up her makeup, even if that was the excuse she gave to slip away after the ceremony.

“She is an angel,” Rupert said, “And of course people want to steal her. Every man she speaks to falls in love.”

Bas laughed but didn’t disagree, “Quite like you with women, no?”

Rupert’s mouth opened, then closed, finally stumbling out the poor come back of, “Some men, too,” which made his friend chuckle.

“What a match you make, inciting so much lust and love wherever you go that you constantly feel undeserving of each other,” Bas dropped the photo and took a seat across Rupert, “My point still stands, though.”

He took a long sip of his drink and crossed his legs, “Is that not how a father feels for their daughter? That sort of adoration for a girl is so great that you assume everyone feels it too. The sort that makes you spoil them rotten and leaves you fearful that one day they will grow up and find someone they love more than you.”

He frowned, thinking about it. His actual daughter, Tabitha, was the complete opposite of Taggie in nearly every way — their shared commonality being him and the fact they were both great beauties.

Though he supposed there were some parallels in how he categorized them in his mind.

(Perhaps it wasn’t a terrible thing, he had been a much better father to her than he had been a husband to her mother.)

The words lingered in his mind the following day as he sat beside his wife in the stands, his arm protectively curled around her waist.

He watched the way people watched his daughter as she rode through the course, in awe over her talents and good looks, despite being too young to be a prospect in any way. She would be a menace when she got older, though, and started looking back, and he dreaded that day.

But he loved her, too, and he would do anything to protect her. But he didn’t feel this… need to protect her the way he did with Taggie.

Tabitha, having had him as her father, had no qualms about talking back and speaking up for herself, assuming that her opinion was always the right one, just as he so often did.

She had an awareness of her talents and beauty, and the fact these were perceived by others. She knew her worth and she would curse out anyone who treated her as anything less than what she perceived that worth to be.

But Taggie wasn’t like that. She was talented and beautiful, and completely unaware of it.

Maybe they were both lambs being circled by wolves, but where Tabitha would fight them off with her hooves, Taggie would probably apologize for being so unappetizing, her dying bleat saying how she hoped they found a better meal and didn’t go hungry that day.

Taggie needed him in a way his actual daughter never had.

Rupert was used to being wanted, but never needed. There was a stark difference.

(Maybe he needed someone who needed him, too.)

i cannot remember the worst December

The timeline was…suspicious in many people's minds, and rumors of teenage pregnancy and entrapment ran rampant through Rutshire.

Even The Scorpion speculated as much as they legally could without setting themselves up for a lawsuit, which was something Rupert would have been happy to funnel his riches into.

The whispers followed Taggie when she went shopping, the leading comments from the cashier asking if she had any, ‘unique cravings’ recently, while holding up the jar of pickled onions.

Rupert’s response to this was buying her a wardrobe of summer dresses, ones with fitted bodices that showed off her tiny waist — and often a bit of cleavage, too, which he claimed hadn’t occurred to him at all.

(Rupert would never admit it, but he wished the rumors were true. He would happily trap Taggie in such a way, if she hadn’t chosen to stay on her birth control.)

just watch those icicles form

“I just want them to know you married me for love,” she had told him and he could understand that even if he didn’t like that.

To him, it was so obvious he loved her, and he had finally convinced her of that, he had no desire to waste time convincing others, too.

But he had seen her parents’ disapproving looks and heard the skepticism around town. They didn’t have anything to prove, but it would make Taggie’s life easier if they did.

“Until then,” Taggie said softly, “We should practice a lot.”

(Taggie had never scored well on a test, but Rupert gave her high marks when it came to their sex life.)

When the tell-all article came out a month after they married, he was…god, he had never been so angry, so devastated, and so disappointed in himself.

His dirty laundry had been spread across The Scorpion, spanning eight pages and linking him to dozens of women. It spoke at length about how he had fucked his way through just about every city he stayed in and every party he went to—including ‘the political party’ given that his leg up came from getting his leg over a ‘woman of great influence’ so now people were speculating he fucked Margaret Thatcher.

They outlined drug-fueled orgies, the fact he had sex before and after every competition with whatever groom took his fancy, that he celebrated his twenty-first birthday by sticking himself in twenty-one different women, among countless other sordid stories which padded out the pages.

They weren’t really stories, though, because it was all true.

He had proudly recounted the vast majority of it to Beatie Johnson, delighted to share his promiscuous past.

That had been just a handful of months before he met Taggie, and god, so much had changed between then and now.

Before the articles came out, he had been delighted by his monogamous future with her, but now he was haunted by his past inability to keep it in his pants.

Taggie, the fucking angel she was, was surprisingly non-pulsed.

“I knew you had a past,” she said softly, “It didn’t change the fact I loved you and wanted to marry you. Those actions…and women…they are part of the patchwork quilt of your life, not my favorite parts, but without them, you wouldn’t keep me nearly as warm at night.”

She pressed kisses to his damp cheeks.

“I don’t love you because I think you’re perfect, Rupert. I love you because you’re you. There is no other man I could love the way I love you, and your past cannot change my feelings in the present.”

Now it was his turn to kiss her.

God, he loved her so much and he hoped like fucking hell that was true, and that this angel would stay no matter how devilishly he had behaved in the past.

He almost wanted to say a prayer, but he chose to worship her instead.

(There was a difference between being loved and being loved unconditionally. The first was expected from one’s spouse — the other was expected from one’s parents. But both Taggie and Rupert had been denied both …until they met each other.)

what do I care if icicles form

His political career was over, though he found it hard to be sad about that, especially when Taggie sweetly reminded him it would give him more time with the horses.

And, more time in bed with her, too.

She was optimistic, and truly seemed unbothered by the revelations, not that she had read all of them. She insisted she was only concerned with the man he was now and how he treated her.

She was the only one who seemed to feel that way, though.

She sighed at the headline, Campbell Conquest says: ‘he took all my confidence when he left me’ and Rupert reached out to flip it around.

Then, catching sight of the one below it, Rupert Campbell-Black insists he has moved on from a sordid past, and claims his teenage bride has ‘changed him.’

The wedding photo they used on the cover was sweet, at least. If you ignored the dig at Taggie’s age. She was nineteen for fucks sake.

Barely nineteen, but still.

“It’s fine,” she said, tangling her fingers with his when he reached for the magazine rack again, “You have changed,” Taggie said so genuinely he believed it.

He did, truly, but given his track record and his friendships with men made similar statements while financing a half-dozen mistresses, left him painfully aware of how little the words meant.

Your words don’t matter nearly as much as your actions , Taggie had told him a dozen times.

She had taken to telling that to his daughter, too, like she was trying to make them all better.

(Tabitha had taken to responding with, “You would say that, you can’t read!”)

i've got my love to keep me warm

The pitying looks she got made him feel sick, eyes searching for cracks in the marriage that they were now, more than ever, certain was doomed for failure.

They would prove them wrong.

It made him cling to Taggie all the tighter, afraid the sympathy would guide her to a realization that ended with her leaving him .

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. It was quite the opposite. He thought so highly of her, that it seemed like just a matter of time until she came to her senses. It wasn’t like she would be lacking options, everyone loved her, truly.

His possessiveness only worsened the rumors. People thought him controlling or even abusive.

(Only half those bruises were his fault, and Taggie had damn well enjoyed the act that led to them.)

so I will weather the storm

Taggie was forced to bear the worst of the gossip at the end-of-term recital that Marcus was performing in. Hiding in a bathroom stall during intermission she bit her lip and waited for the trio to leave.

“Did you see them come in? It’s creepy how he never lets go of her.”

Taggie loved how he never let go of her.

She didn’t like parties or strangers and clung to his arm out of anxiety as much as desire. She found it comforting how he returned this grip several times over, fearing she would slip away.

It made her feel confident he wanted her there as much as she wanted to be there.

And god, the pride in his voice when he introduced her to people. The little smile he saved just for her, almost gloating as he said, “This is my wife, Taggie Campbell-Black.”

It wasn’t uncommon for them to get the response, “My god, I thought she was your daughter!” usually said in good humor.

Taggie didn’t mind that either, even if she probably should. It was hardly an insult, to be thought related by blood to a man like Rupert.

(Though, being related by marriage almost felt more special, because he had chosen her in a way you couldn’t choose a child.)

what do I care how much it may storm

“He has always been so…dismissive with his partners, and then there is her, who he constantly babysits!”

“Maybe he misses his children, it would explain the child bride.”

“Fuck, you are so right. He must see her as a kid rather than a woman. That is why he is so loyal and protective, he probably isn’t even attracted to her.”

“That makes more sense, I mean, really, she is so meek—I can’t fathom why else he would be with her.”

“When his daddy era is over I’m going to try my hand again. I miss his cock.”

Taggie winced, waiting until the women left before leaving the stall.

She knew they were wrong, but it still hurt.

She was used to people having doubts, but they were usually directed at Rupert’s past that had recently been dredged up, not her potential failings as a partner.

She wasn’t a child, she told herself as she returned to her seat, playing with her wedding ring while she waited for Rupert to return.

He smelled like cigarettes and mint, not what she would classify as pleasant out of context, but the scent of him, no matter how smokey or sweaty, was so familiar and comforting that it felt like a warm blanket on a cold day.

She took deep breaths, determined not to cry. It didn’t matter what Sarah said. It didn’t matter that Helen was glaring at her, along with just about every other woman in the audience.

They saw her as an inconvenient barrier in the way of seducing the most attractive man in the room.

God, she just wanted to crawl into his lap, to rest her head on his chest and breathe in the fading scent of cologne on his collar.

Maybe she was a child.

She bit down on her lip, hard, grateful when the lights dimmed and her tears were hidden. She had forty minutes to compose herself now, she could do that much — even a child was capable of that.

She was so focused on this task that she startled when Rupert’s fingers tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, which was just a ploy to cup her neck and pull her closer to him. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it was hardly appropriate, either.

“How do they expect me to concentrate on anything but you?” Rupert muttered, “A whole fucking orchestra and it doesn’t sound half as pretty as your moans.”

Her cheeks felt warm, growing hotter when someone loudly hushed them.

Rupert sighed, letting go of her neck, and settling his hand on her thigh instead.

Those women were just jealous, she reminded herself, attraction clearly wasn’t an issue in their marriage.

(He was too fucking attracted to her, that was the issue in their marriage.)

off with my overcoat off with my gloves

Rupert laughed, “Fuck, she really said that?”

Taggie nodded, feeling far more at ease after riding him in the backseat of the car, neither of them wanting to wait until they got home.

Sometimes, she mused, a hard fuck was all one needed to see things clearly again.

She hoped his driver hadn't seen much, though. God knows how she would ever look him in the eye again if he had.

“My daddy era,” he spat, “That feels like an insult.”

“It probably was,” she agreed, “But I don’t see it like that — you’re a good dad, you’re good at taking care of me, there isn’t anything shameful about that.”

Not to her at least, god, she hoped she wasn’t some freak for thinking so.

“It’s a bigger insult to me,” she said with a frown, “That I’m an incompetent little girl.”

Rupert laughed, tugging on her hair until her head tipped back, “Mm, but there is nothing shameful about that, either. If what you said is true, you’re my little girl, and sometimes you need guidance, as all girls your age do.”

She shivered, feeling butterflies in her belly along with the familiar arousal that always pooled there when Rupert was present.

“You like that, don’t you?” He mused, sounding surprised.

She shook her head a little too quickly, if that wasn’t a giveaway than the blood pooling in her cheeks surely was.

(It was a good thing that he liked it, too.)

who needs an overcoat I'm burning with love

It had only been a few months, but Rupert liked to think he could read his wife well enough to know what she liked.

Sometimes even before she realized what she liked.

And he guided her towards it, as he supposed fathers did with their children, shepherding them towards their interests and a bright future.

With Taggie, those interests just happened to coincide with sex.

And as often as they explored those interests, they had never taken on roles, never cried out a name other than what they were called by their typical acquaintances.

This was different and he had to tread lightly.

“Don’t lie, Taggie, I’d hate to have to punish my sweet girl.”

She shivered, “I—I’m not…”

Her eyes were closed now, unable to even meet his.

“Are you sure? Or are you just lying again because you want to be punished?”

She shook her head, but her breathing had changed, and her hips squirmed.

“Maybe you’d like being punished, too.” He mused, carding his fingers through her hair, “That is what fathers do, don’t they? When they care, they make sure there are consequences, so their daughters are well-behaved.”

Taggie nodded and then, “I— myfatherdidn’t,” spilled out.

“That’s because you’re so good, he didn’t think he needed to,” he paused, “And you had to be good, to be loved, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“You know I’ll love you no matter what, don’t you? Even if you’re bad. Even if you lie. And I love you enough to punish you, too.”

(When her sister was worried Rupert would hurt her, she probably didn’t mean like this.)

my heart's on fire and the flame grows higher

He had such nice hands, Taggie had noticed that on their second meeting, and hated herself because of it, still fancying herself in love with Ralphie.

Rupert had nice everything, really, though she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that at the time, either.

Now she could scarcely stop acknowledging it, even getting aroused on car trips simply from watching his fingers grip the wheel of his Aston Martin.

His every action and gesture held so much confidence. He never stopped to question himself, and sometimes that was to his detriment, but she thrived in his company. He was such a force of nature that his attitude flowed over his surroundings, over her, and it made her feel brave and confident, too.

And aroused.

God, she had never thought herself a wanton person, but Rupert seemed to radiate sex in a way that made him irresistible. Somehow her inhibitions melted away under his touch, and her response was immediate and instinctual in a way that was entirely beyond her control.

It was terrifying, having her desires be discovered by someone else and trying to process them while feeling so much pleasure.

But it was refreshing, too, because her body reacted before her brain could, she wasn’t responsible for her reaction, and that made any humiliation ebb away — allowing her to enjoy things she would have been far too embarrassed to ever suggest.

She never would have suggested this. No matter how nice his fingers were, she had never imagined them there, stroking her in a place that not even she had touched.

She had certainly never imagined his palm coming down on her bare rear, making her gasp and arch against his grip while she stayed spread over his lap.

She flinched when his fingers smoothed over the stinging cheek, expecting another slap, dreading it, yet almost disappointed when it didn’t come.

“How about we do ten, and by the end, we’ll see if you’re willing to tell the truth.”

Each one hurt more than the last, the ache building and building until her ass throbbed, but it was good, too, he is doing this because he cares. Because he wants me to be honest about my feelings. Because he wants me to be good. Good girls don’t lie.

The thoughts were jumbled, not fully logical but making perfect sense in the hazy moment where pleasure and pain coincided.

“Do you like the idea of being my little girl, Taggie? Do you like the idea of me being your daddy, taking care of you like this and as a husband?”

The word came as easily as it did when he proposed, “ Yes,” she mumbled against the quilt that was still stretched atop the bed.

“Does my little girl want to be fucked?” He asked, his hand stroking her inner thigh.

“Please,” she begged.

“By who?” He sounded amused and perfectly composed, a sharp contrast to her desperate words laced with such obvious desire.

“You — just — you, Rupert, Daddy, please.”

It should have felt wrong, or cheesy, or embarrassing, but it didn’t. It sounded right, it felt right.

“There is my good girl, asking so nicely, of course I’ll fuck you.”

(It felt so good.)

i thought you ought to know my heart's on fire

It wasn’t a kink of his — at least it wasn’t before Taggie.

But he liked it a lot. More than he probably should have.

She sounded so desperate, so pitiful, so overwhelmed as she writhed beneath him, her voice mere gasps of ‘please’ and ‘more’ so frustrated by him taking his time, showing a rare bit of patience and drawing out her agony and pleasure.

And his agony and pleasure, too, because fuck knows his cock was so hard it hurt.

But that would make the orgasm feel all the better.

“You have to let me take care of you,” he admonished, making her whine.

He loved her like this, so desperate, looking like that innocent girl he met a year ago, and so very young, yet begging for his cock and her orgasm like she would die if he didn’t give it to her.

She was so fucking selfless in life, which made her greed for orgasms in bed all the more delightful.

“Please,” she mumbled, “Need you inside of me.”

He curled the fingers buried in her cunt and she wailed, “I am inside of you, darling.”

“Noooo, I–I–need your c-cock, please, I’ll be good, please,” she sniffled, “Don’t be mean, be nice, Dad— please. You said you would!”

“I did, didn’t I? But I didn’t say when,” he really was being mean, but she was so gorgeous like this.

“Now,” she pleaded, “Need it now, Daddy, please,” the word came more frequently the further gone she got, like when she was stripped down to this raw state, it was what came to mind first—how she saw him before anything else, not that she had permission to vocalize it.

He supposed she likely had seen him as such a figure before he became her lover and then husband. He had certainly tried to see her as a daughter for months before acting upon his feelings.

He may have failed to see her as that — or to see her as only that, rather, because having her as just his daughter wasn’t enough, even if she played the part of one when with his children.

And played it so well even the waitstaff got confused when they went out for meals.

He didn’t dislike the idea, not anymore, not when he got to have her as his wife, too.

(He got to have all of her, she was his .)

the flames, they just leap higher

The word slipped out often. Too often. Especially when Tabitha was around. At least then, Taggie could claim it was for the children’s benefit.

Thank god no one ever questioned her flushed cheeks when she stuttered out that excuse.

Rupert always gave her a look, though, because he knew, and when the children weren’t looking, he’d pull her into her arms — tell her that she was his favorite, because she was so well-behaved.

“Tabitha is a fucking nightmare, but you’re a dream, darling.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, because she knew he adored Tabitha too — and he loved Marcus, too, even if he did a very poor job of showing it — but they were exhausting at the best of times, and according to his words, she was perfect.

“Best fucking thing that ever happened to me.”

(She felt exactly the same way about him.)

He was so lucky to have met Taggie.

He was so lucky to have married Taggie.

He loved her long before he had any idea how she would be in bed, and he was pretty sure there was no sex bad enough to discourage him from being with her, because she was so good in every other way.

But fuck, he was grateful she was good at this, too.

As in, genuinely, the best fuck he’d ever had, and he had a lot of experience.

Maybe it was because he loved her.

Maybe it was because she was half his age.

Maybe it was because she was so responsive.

Maybe it was because she was so fucking tight.

Maybe it was because she whimpered the word ‘Daddy’ like a prayer when she came.

(Maybe it was all of those things and more.)

so I will weather the storm

He was grumpy the day he turned thirty-nine, feeling very old, all the more so by the nineteen-year-old in bed beside him.

She had her whole life ahead of her, but he had been too selfish to let her live it without him.

If there was a god, they would probably never forgive him. But that was alright, his life with Taggie was heavenly, whatever came after, no matter how hellish, didn’t matter.

She tried to cheer him up, making him breakfast and insisting on delivering it to him while he was in bed — while she was wearing nothing but a cotton apron.

The following fuck left them sticky, maple syrup being drizzled and licked off of ill-advised places, but the orgasm was worth it.

“Was that my present?” He asked, and he would be perfectly content if it was.

Taggie bit her lip and shook her head, “No–I couldn’t think of what to get you, when you have so much, so instead, I got rid of something instead.”

Maybe his memory was going in his old age, but he didn’t quite understand, and the fact she looked nervous was not helping things.

“What did you get rid of?” He asked, very slowly.

“My birth control,” she said plainly.

He froze.

“Do you mean it?” He asked, not wanting to sound too hopeful.

She nodded, but looked more nervous now, “You want that, right? I can get them back out—they are just in the tras—”

He rolled them, “ Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, feeling his arousal flare again at the prospect of knocking her up.

She knew he wanted that more than anything, and had been trying not to pressure her while vying for it since before they even married.

If someone asked him a year or two ago if he wanted more children, he would have said no.

But Taggie was such a natural-born caretaker, she would be such a good mother, and he wanted to make her one.

And, a possessive part of him, wanted to see her pregnant. He wanted everyone to see her pregnant with his child, because she was his wife, and she was so much more than that too.

“I fucking love you,” he muttered against her lips.

(Since ‘actions speak louder than words,’ he made love to her, too.)

how do I care how much it storms

Their first Christmas together felt like a test — both the day of, and the parties that came before and after it.

It had been six months since Beattie released the dreaded article, and even longer since they married.

They had survived Rupert’s thirty-ninth birthday, and his…response to her ‘gift’ had given her confidence that he would like this one too.

Because the truth was, she was already pregnant.

She hadn’t taken a pill in nearly three months but didn’t want to get his hopes up, knowing it could take a while for it to leave her system.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said, when she saw the boxes under the tree.

He scoffed, “Of course I did.”

This was it.

“You didn’t, really, you already gave me the best present.”

His brow rose, and she was impressed by the restraint he showed in not saying, ‘my cock?’

“You gave me a baby,” she said softly, hand moving to her stomach.

He looked stunned.

And then he smiled.

“Going to make you a dad for real,” she said softly, then adding, “Again,” since she could never forget Tabitha and Marcus.

“Can’t fucking wait for it,” he said, pulling her into his lap, “You’ll be the best mother, god, can’t believe my little girl is giving me a baby,” he purred.

She squirmed, feeling the heat build in her pelvis.

“I’ll still be your little girl, though, won’t I?” She asked, hating how insecure she sounded.

The look he gave her was adoring as anything, “Of course you will be, Taggie.”

And he’d still be her daddy .

But—

“Will I still be your favorite?” She asked, feeling ashamed for asking but needing reassurance.

“Always,” he promised, “My favorite girl, my favorite wife, my favorite fuck, my favorite person on this fucking earth.”

(It was not lost on Taggie that he said favorite person, she knew better than to ask where she placed amongst the hounds and horses.)

i've got my love

People knew right away. They couldn’t tell from how she looked — the red velvet clung to her waist that was tiny as ever, the little bump barely visible even when she was nude — but the way she refused drinks could only mean one thing.

The congratulations were plentiful, if not particularly genuine.

He heard the, ‘that poor girl,’ muttered, and got sympathetic, ‘sorry your young wife is going to get fat,’ slaps on the back from other men, both of which he found equally offensive.

Taggie was glowing, though, she couldn’t stop smiling, even with the stressors of the party and holiday.

“I got everything I wanted this year, you know,” she told him that night, “I have you and I’m having your baby.”

(He had her, and he made her happy, and that was all he wanted, too.)

to keep me warm

“Fatherhood suits him,” Sarah said longingly, her bleary eyes focused on Rupert while she sipped her fifth drink of the evening.

Though Taggie usually appreciated her husband earning such compliments, because he deserved them, Sarah’s attempt to ‘nurse him’ while Taggie fed Matthew in one of the spare bedrooms was not something Taggie would forgive or forget any time soon, even if Rupert had turned her down quite emphatically and publicly.

“It does,” Taggie agreed, “He is the best daddy,” she said, drawing the word out and leveling a glare in Sarah’s direction, because she hadn't forgotten her words from last year, either.

“He will always be that to me, so try your hand at something else. And keep your tits to yourself, too.”

Rupert moved towards them, and baby Matthew reached for her, bouncing in his father’s arms while looking delighted to be reunited with his mother, “How is my favorite girl?” He asked, greeting her with a devastating grin and a lengthy kiss.

“Tired. Happy. Hopelessly in love. And horny, too," she told him, when her lips were freed from his.

He laughed, “So the usual, then.”

She nodded, “You’ve turned me into a monster.”

He shook his head, “I think you mean mother, though some are one and the same.” He frowned in the direction of her mother, Maud, who was hanging off some stranger's arm, while Declan looked on with an expression of exasperation heavy on his face.

“Not you, though,” he reassured her, “You’re an angel, darling. All the more so, when I’m such a devil.”

He meant the words in jest, but they didn’t come out that way. He was still too concerned with corrupting her, even if they both enjoyed her corruption a great deal.

He had been especially whiny on his fortieth birthday, going on about how she was ‘wasting her life with an old man’ until Bas called him a, ‘fucking idiot wasting a day moping when he could be fucking his gorgeous wife who is half your fucking age’ which was a bit crass, but something Taggie very much agreed with.

“Rupert,” she said, tugging on his tie and forcing him to look at her, “I may be an angel in your eyes, but you are hardly a devil in mine.”

Maybe he expected her to make a joke, but she was quite serious when she said, “You’re my wings,” she said with a smile.

Sometimes, he really did make her feel like she could do anything, maybe even that she could fly.

But he made her so happy, that she had no desire to fly away.

i've got my love to keep me warm

#rivals #rivals hulu #taggie o'hara #rupert campbell black #rupert x taggie #taggie x rupert #fanfic #angie writes

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hallmarkdestiel · 2 days ago

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This one is about one of my favorite ships. Sabriel is the relationship between Sam and Gabriel. Now I know what you’re thinking.

“But he tortured Sam in the Mystery Spot episode by killing Dean over and over again.”

I get it. That’s a valid point. But here’s the thing. Sam and Gabriel have similarities in their storyline. The younger brother who just wanted out so he ran away. He wanted to be free. I’m not sure how to do this. This is hard. The point of Mystery Spot was that Gabriel was trying to prepare Sam for Dean’s death. Oh and the fact that he played ‘Heat of the moment.’ By Asia which by the way, is a LOVE song.

‘I never meant to be so bad to you

One thing I said that I would never do

A look from you and I would fall from grace

And that would wipe the smile right from my face’

Those are the first words in the song that played every morning. Gabriel was apologizing to Sam for doing this. He was trying to make a point but clearly this wasn’t exactly the best way to do that. I should probably add in here that Sam knows how Gabriel feels and what he went through in hell. They both shared the same trauma. By that, I mean they were both tortured in hell. Oh and they both have trauma due to Lucifer. If you consider the fact that Gabriel was killed by his own brother. (Or well we were meant to think that for EIGHT years.)Gabriel stayed back with Lucifer at the hotel, telling the Winchesters to leave with Kali. He stayed behind in the AU world with AU Michael. Do you ever think about the fact that Gabriel stayed behind twice because he KNEW he was going to die? He knew he wasn’t going to survive and not only that but when Sam begged him to bring Dean back, Gabriel did (Sam gave him the puppy dog eyes. The power that he has.) Even back at the hotel, he looked at Sam first before he looked at Dean. Oh and here’s something else. You know how Castiel says, “Hello Dean. Sam.”

Gabriel said, “Sam... Dean.”

Also the fact that Richard Speight Jr himself thinks that Gabriel is a good Guardian Angel for Sam. Gabriel is the Angel of Monday and what was Sam born on. Yeah. You guessed it. A MONDAY. In the Thing, Sam was the only one that Gabriel let touch him. He wouldn’t even let his own BROTHER touch him. Sam sat there with Gabriel. He was patient. He was so gentle taking the stitches off. If you watch the whole episode, when Gabriel is with Sam. That is the ONLY time he blinks. Plus everyone knows that saying “I need you” is the Winchester way of saying “I love you.” Now I know what you’re thinking.

“But that I need you belongs to Destiel!!!!”

No. It doesn’t. It can apply to other ships too. Sabriel is just another parallel to Destiel. And I can tell you why. In Exodus, when Sam dies, Gabriel blames himself. He blames himself because he couldn’t do anything. He’s low on grace, practically human and he couldn’t do anything to save Sam. Then when Sam came back, he stood up and he couldn’t even believe his eyes. Sam was alive. And don’t even get me started on the whole leader of Heaven thing. They made this whole big deal about Gabriel being the leader of Heaven.

“Get off my moose!”

And before that, when Asmodick came back in the bunker to steal Gabriel back, that Boss hog wannabe hurt Sam and Cas and faced the wrath of a VERY pissed off Archangel. I forgot to talk about tall tales. The first time they met. The way they looked at each other is just like how Dean and Castiel look at each other. It’s obvious that Gabriel had a crush on Sam. He’s a trickster. He’s messing with Sam and doesn’t know how to handle it. Changing channels. He constantly screws with Sam. Mystery Spot. Again, he doesn’t know how to deal with his crush on Sam. Oh and did I mention that Gabriel straight up flirted with Sam? He literally said, “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you’re just a pretty face.”

I think that’s all I can think of for now.

#sam winchester #gabriel #sabriel #dean winchester #castiel #destiel

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closetkitsune · 3 days ago

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...sooo yeah, I've seen a lot of posts about "tiktok therians" and also younger therians in general and I might as well get my two cents about it out here.

Short version: leave them alone; if they bother you that much then block them and move on instead of wasting your energy

Long version: Loud sigh... I feel like I might get some hate for this, but I might as well get it off my chest sooner or later.

Look, I get it, people are frustrated with how things are being watered down, but please think before you cause needless damage. What if, instead of your teacher correcting your answers on a quiz or test, they just insulted you, ignored you, and kicked you out of class? Not only would you not learn anything, but you'd probably end up disliking the teacher, if not developing a dislike for the subject they taught as a whole (as younger crowds tend to do). I've seen this happen in LGBT+ spaces and it saddens me to see it here, too.

Doesn't anyone else remember what it's like to be a teenager, exploring your identity, exploring concepts of the world in general, learning things, growing and maturing as a person? People get stuff wrong and misuse terms ALL. THE. TIME. Especially when young! That doesn't mean that some of them policing terms and identities is okay, of course; I don't blame anyone for taking a stand when it comes to that.

It's important to ensure that misinformation doesn't spread, of course. And that isn't done with gatekeeping and rage; it's done with compassion and patience. Not everyone is built for that sort of thing, of course; I'm not saying everyone out there needs to have the patience of a saint to correct people when they get certain alterhuman-related concepts or terms incorrect. Just know that being a bully on any level, no matter the excuse, will cause more harm than good.

"But it's the only way they'll learn!" No. Those are the words of someone who is letting their frustration and anger guide their actions. Maybe some people will need that kind of kick in the rear, but that should never, ever, ever be the action of choice. To be fair, I might be biased in this regard; my abusive guardian used that excuse all the time to make me do things because she didn't fully understand how my neurodivergence affected me. As a result, every time I see/hear anything similar to that, I'm strongly against it because it only reminds me of the bullying I endured.

Those who have been in this space for a while need to be welcoming to newcomers, willing to point to resources on some level, but still be firm in their boundaries in case someone decides to start trouble. Gatekeeping is not the answer and will never be the answer; the only thing it does is make the whole community look bad while ultimately causing damage. Of course, if you don't have the spoons to deal with any of this, then just block and move on. don't waste your energy on something you know isn't going to do you any good.

Those who are new to the space NEED to do their research from older, more established sources instead of only defining things in a way that they prefer. Things are going to exist in ways that don't make you the most comfortable, but you have the tools to keep that out of your space and you should absolutely make use of them.

I think everyone needs a reminder here that You are in charge of you. If something upsets you, it's your responsibility to block the appropriate people, set up the appropriate filters, whatever you need to do to make your space safe. If you claim an identity, you should at the very least know what it means and refrain from trying to needlessly police it.

And, I say this as a sex-repulsed asexual: sexual things are going to exist in every single space, be it an identity, fandom, hobby, whatever. It's not inherently bad, but it's certainly okay to not like it and it certainly shouldn't be aimed at minors. Set up your filters, block as needed, and move on. (And if you're the one posting NSFW stuff, tag it or otherwise mark it appropriately.)

If you're coming to tumblr from Tiktok, welcome! I hope you can find a safe space here. If you're a minor, please remember to practice basic internet safety. Don't share your age or location, don't show your face (masks are great for this!), be careful who you talk to, etc.

Please, don't fight each other. Educate each other and stand together. The world is a scary place; we don't need to add more bickering where it could be avoided. And we certainly don't want to alienate people who don't need to be.

(Obligatory disclaimer because this is the internet: please remember to use common sense and critical thinking; I'm not going to tolerate any logical fallacies. I don't have the patience for that.)

#therian #alterhuman #otherkin #closetkitsune rambles

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gouraminnow · 3 days ago

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One Piece / Straw hats with a Reader who struggles with ASI (Autistic Self Injury)

Warnings: Self harm, primarily

ASI is sometimes referred to as Non-Suicidal Self Injury, and it's typically not done deliberately the way "standard" SH is. It can be because of both under or over-stimulation, or sometimes it can just be a form of stimming that happens to be physically harmful. This isn't exclusive to autism, it's also common w/ compulsion based disorders such as OCD.

Disclaimer: I'm not a professional of any sort I'm just a guy who has it. My experience is not universal and most of this will be based on how I experience and deal with these problems.

POST THAT CATERS TO ME BEFORE ANYBODY ELSE HERE WE GO!!!

In all honesty One Piece is so chock-full of quirky and frankly weird people that I don't think an autistic person would phase most characters all that much. Not saying ableism wouldn't exist at all, but like. Franky is here. I don't think most lower-support needs autistic people would even be noticed by anyone other than some of the doctor characters and I don't think high-support needs people would be treated badly (By the more... decent characters, anyway). I mean hell I will always go to bat for autistic Luffy hcs, as well as Robin and Usopp to a degree but ANYWAY!

Before everyone is used to it, the site of you doing it (while upset especially) has everyone scrambling to grab you and stop it from continuing. There is… a good chance this upsets you even more, having your new crewmates suddenly swarming you... it takes a bit of back and forth, explaining that this is just normal for you.

Luffy is the one I thought of first... I've always been a biter. Whether it's nails or biting open the skin on my hands it's one of the forms I personally struggle with a lot. Now I may think Luffy is autistic but this does NOT mean I think he'd immediately understand/get it. Obligatory "autism is a spectrum" spiel, a lot of us butt heads if we have conflicting symptoms/struggles. Luffy is sympathetic, and worried about you, but he's also very blunt and there's a good chance he'd argue with you over it. What are you upset about? Clearly something's wrong, if you're doing this. What do you mean you don't notice? You're bleeding. Doesn't it hurt? This is bad for you. He's worried, so just cut it out already!

You tell him it's just an impulse you don't think about, like wiping your nose or tapping your foot. It doesn't really hurt until someone points it out, or if you accidentally do something really bad. His brows screw up, and he stares at you very intently. He says if you can't stop, then he WILL help you the next time it happens. You're a little put off, and have the suspicion that he doesn't really get it, but... well, he clearly means well. It's nice that he worries about you, and that even while ignorant in some aspects of his concern, he doesn't belittle or blame you for these behaviors... ultimately, you feel pretty okay about how things went.

Until the next time he sees you doing it, he launches across the ship to shove his nasty, grubby-ass hands into your mouth. "It doesn't hurt me!" he exclaims, while you try to cuss him out and avoid gagging on his stupid, rubbery fingers. "You need to bite, so bite me! This way hurts nobody, shishishi!" You shriek, the two of you toppling over onto the deck. Sanji or Nami smack him over the head to get him off of you. It wasn't what you'd call helpful, but... if he's out on deck or in the room with you, there's a little self-check you run through to make sure nothing your doing will warrant... that. So maybe it does sort of work?

Luffy has a similar approach to other forms of ASI too. Skin picking and hair pulling? Hitting yourself? Yeah he's going koala mode(animal that clings. Not the character) and wrapping himself around you, restraining your limbs. Which unfortunately has a high chance of making the urge worse, if it's compulsion based...

Now, Chopper has heard of this, and read about it, but he hasn't actually seen it in person yet. The first time he sees you doing it, it's shortly after you've joined. He goes to meet with you- every new member gets a check-up just to make sure everything's in working order! He finds you in the aquarium bar, absentmindedly gazing at the fish... but when he calls to you, you turn, and reveal the bloody mess of your hand- nails chewed far past the quick. He freaks out, which probably freaks you out, which attracts the attention of the others, and...

Yeah. That could've gone better. It takes a bit for you two to calm down. There's a chance he might think this is a more standard form of self-harm, and feel guilty because you're so unhappy you'd do this to yourself... when he learns the actual reason, he... still feels pretty guilty for not noticing or considering the possibility sooner. But he's the one who briefs everyone else on the details, possibly even you if you don't know you're autistic or why you do these things. I don't think these types of diagnoses or the terminology surrounding them are well known in the OP universe, so there's a good chance you don't have clue what your own problem is. Either way, everybody knows now.

Chopper lays down the basics. There's the passive SH you don't even notice, reflexive the way scratching an itch or brushing away hair is. Then there's the kind that you do because you're upset or overwhelmed in some way. It's not so simple as just stopping. You need other outlets when you feel the urges start up. He works with you to try and practice healthier grounding and coping strategies, and the others fall in line.

Nami isn't great about it if she sees it before Chopper tells everybody what's up... means well, but scolding you or grabbing you directly does not help the urges go away. She means well, but she's used to the other knuckleheads and their more... deliberate brand of dipshittery. Much more patient once she's been told the details, whether from you or Chopper.

If Nami catches you picking at your skin, it's pretty common for her to hand you a tangerine to peel. It's similar enough to skin, she reasons, it might be a good alternative. And then you can eat it afterward instead of chewing on yourself. It's a two-in-one solution! Both of you fail to consider how easily citrus juice gets inside a hand-wound though... after the first incident, it's a solution for picking at any other body parts. You can hang out in the map room with her for a little bit of peace and quiet, as long as you don't distract her. She might explain some of her work to you if you're interested.

She'll smack around any of the others if they upset/overwhelm you, whether it's actually enough to start up the sh. Her yelling might not help, but it is nice to feel supported... she'll get you jewelry to fidget with instead, and take you clothes shopping for things that don't set off sensory issues(AND look flattering, of course). Her and Robin will paint your nails. The dried polish is another better peeling/picking alternative to skin and hair. Nami adds the prices of the jewelry and nail polish to the debt of whoever accidentally sets you off.

Robin is a little better about it. If you hit yourself, or bang your head against another surface, she'll use her power to summon hands that cushion your blows. If she sees the scratching, hair pulling, etc. she asks you about it- the question usually enough to ground you and realize it's happening, if you aren't already.

She's good at redirecting you. Has you come relax somewhere quieter with her if you're overwhelmed. Works with Nami in regards to the clothes and nail polish, but also has good chapstick recommendations, since chapped lips are a big problem for lots of people with dermatillomania.

A relaxing person to be around in general (unless you're offput by her morbid comments) and is good to talk to. You admit you feel a bit ridiculous having these issues on a crew chock-full of such accomplished individuals. Childish, even. She chuckles, asking how you can say that living on the same boat as Luffy, of all people? You're hardly the only person here with self-destructive habits and it's far from your only defining trait. And though for differing reasons, both her and Brook commiserate with you regarding the loneliness and feelings of isolation a lot of autistic people face. The struggle of not understanding or being understood in turn...

Insists on you joining her and Nami while they relax, on occasion. Makes Sanji dote on you too, if you aren't a woman and he isn't already.

Speaking of Sanji, he's also good at redirecting you. The kitchen is his domain, but if you're in a rut and it'll help keep your hands busy without overwhelming you, he'll give you something to do. Help chop, help peel, here the eggs are done boiling so be a dear and help with the ice bath, won't you? Won't let you chop onions or chilis even if you insist you'll be fine.

And if you're a chewer/biter, he always has some sort of snack to give you. Finds you chewing your knuckles and shoves some Hors d'Oeuvres at you. Takes care to figure out which textures you like vs. can't handle as well. If you're hitting yourself, he sticks some thick oven mitts on your hands. It's not... perfect, by any means, but it's better.

Zoro hears the way you talk about some of it. The feeling of some sort of tense, uncomfortable energy that fills you, and the desperate need to get it out. Tearing at yourself, hitting yourself, banging your head against something to try and alleviate the feeling. He... thinks he sort of gets it, actually. Not in the same way but he gets antsy and weird if he doesn't get to do something active for too long. Is it something like that..? Passively mentions that weight training might help. It's worth a shot, and you're free to come join him if you'd like to try. And you think it over. Maybe the straining of your muscles would provide a similar and healthier form of relief, while also achieving something productive at the same time... so you make your way up to the crow's nest one day, and he's happy to see you there, truly!

But... Zoro has come a long way since he first joined. He knows he's stronger than you, but misjudged just how big the gap was. He walks you through the proper postures and stances for lifting, only for you both to face a bit of a rude awakening...

You can't lift any of his weights... both of you feel a little awkward, to say the least. And you're a bit disheartened. He makes a plan to get a beginner's set for you, but Usopp and/or Franky probably beat him to the punch and build a training set.

Usopp and Franky work together. Or, well, more like they both get the idea to design fidgety little devices for you, and Usopp nervously tells Franky that they probably shouldn't double as armable explosives or mini missile launchers. There should probably be a clearer line drawn between something you absentmindedly fiddle with and a weapon of mass destruction. He nods earnestly. That's a good point, bro... Guess they'll just make em both separately! SUUUPERRRR!!!!!!

If you have hair pulling issues, Usopp suggests some sort of bandana to cover and pull your hair back like his, just as an added barrier between your hands and your scalp. On top of that, he insists on wrapping bandaids on your fingertips to make picking of all sorts much harder, and makes little finger-caps with Franky when the bandaids also interfere with more regular tasks. For hitting, with Chopper's advice, they make padded gloves, vests/coats to wear that help cushion the blows. They make more covert options too, like chest guards that can be worn under normal clothes. They run their drafts by you, making sure they're not uncomfortable to wear.

Franky's "SUUUPEERRRR!!" is just as likely to become a stim as it is to be overwhelming, honestly. He fashions some noise-canceling headphones for you. When Nami learns about these, she wants her own pair, too.

Brook is always ready to help sooth you with music, but sometimes the elegant notes of a violin can become a pitchy whine to you if you're already overstimulated. It just depends on the situation. It can get to him if he accidentally makes things worse for you, but he tries not to take it personally.

But it often does work. If he's not adding to a racket and things have quieted down, sometimes starting up a song will have your hands fall to your sides without you realizing you were hurting yourself in the first place. He's very giddy about it when he pulls this off but tries not to be obvious. Subtlety isn't exactly his thing, though.

He makes a joke from a place of concern- that if you keep tearing at yourself like this, you'll end up a skeleton just like him. If it bothers you, he'll never make a joke like it again. He isn't trying to be cruel, he just likes to deal with things by being silly. If you do like it, and he gets a laugh out of you, it becomes a running gag. "You know, they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. But as much as I would enjoy having another skeleton on board, this really isn't good for you..."

#one piece x reader #Luffy #Chopper #Nami #Robin #Sanji #Zoro #Usopp #Franky #Brook #hcs #autistic reader #I kinda lost steam but I rlly like this #one piece headcanons

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drabbles-mc · 10 hours ago

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don't mind me getting to this ages after i said i would. merry chrysler to all of us we are catching UP on fics today!!!!! johnny davis first and foremost!!!!!!

OHmg you're just gonna kick it right off with Benny Cross Tension Hours???? absolutely devouring

And you really would never say it to his face, or anyone else’s for that matter, but you’ve even been considering the possibility that Benny might be part of the reason things with him and Betty didn’t work out. <- OHHHHOHOHO READER!!!!!!! YOU JUST MIGHT BE ONTO SOMETHING HERE!!!!!!

Stuff, and other things and what not. <- idk if I've said it out loud before but i definitely say it in my head all the time: i fucking LOOOOOOVE the way you create such unique voices for all of your reader characters. you have so so many talents as a writer and this is DEFINITELY one of them!!!! each of your readers is so unique and fit so well to their respective stories i could weep

The way even you might’a liked him, had you never seen Johnny, of course. <- reader is so real for this. i, too, might have been bewitched by benny if i hadn't rolled up to that film in love with johnny davis six ways to sunday before the opening credits even came on-screen

Sure, you can share as long as everyone’s playing nice, you’re not spoiled or nothing. <- mmmmm this feels like a Famous Last Words typa moment but I've been wrong before so i will 👀 continue to watch closely 👀

Or if he does, he’s still two hundred miles back from dealing with the meaning of it, and you know he’s not planning on running nowhere on those knees of his, so it’s whatever, right? <- the way i spit my fucking drink out over this description of it all. mj you have THEE most way with words I'm kissing you on the mouth right now

“and I never come off no more, so don’t worry about it.” <- first of all, i love the whole leadup to this, of him showing them around like he's giving them a museum tour of Vandals History. on his tour guide shit forreal in the cutest way. but this little add-on had me cackling and kicking my feet. benny's the one flying over the handlebars now etcetc

“Hm, think I have maybe three ‘just under six foot jokes’ left in me,” you promise, “but I’ll spare you today.” <- I'm obsessed with them. if benny gets in the way of reader and johnny, EYEEEE will gladly date reader instead

Yeah, Vandal stuff and you stuff. Two hands at once. No more juggling. But, obviously, there are some Benny shaped parts of that, that don’t seem to be mixing too well at all. <- i am gnawing my way through this paragraph in my mind in the most satisfying way possible. i love the turmoil of it all.

Like Benny was some sort of mystical kind of guy, like he wasn’t really all the way real, or something. <- let's be real, benny is an ethereal thing right out of johnny's dreams that he doesn't remember having

You know which ones you prefer just by looking. And you really know which ones you wouldn’t be caught dead riding on. <- oh they are SOOOO real for this actually 😂 only one type of bike is passenger-friendly and they figured that out right quick lmaooo

or maybe he’s from Europe <- MJ YOU CANT DO ME LIKE THIS 😂😂😂😂 I'm fucking weak bro i cannot. i love this so much. i love that reader went from "horrible tragic accident that damaged him forever" to "European". bikeriders was a comedy before it was a tragedy, after all

“I know,” he says back. “Johnny talks about you.” <- OHHH LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOO!!!!!! benny speaks!!! benny spills the beans!!!!!!

To your surprise, Benny laughs at that, and shit, he’s as movie star pretty as you’d expect with a smile on his face. It just gets worse with this dude. <- oh i love this. i love this adventure of reader trying to figure out benny and just having the "oh no he's hot" moment 😂😂 plot twist: johnny and reader have to fight (fists or knives style) for benny 😂😂

“You been with the club long?” / “Feels like it,” he says. <- obsessed with this Old Man Trapped In A Young Man's Body type of answer. benny. a man of multitudes

“You never figure they don’t give names to people that might not stick around?” he says. <- the way that reader and i both went from cackling to real pensive over this

his thigh’s resting against your shoulder and your neck’s half breaking just to look at him <- the way that if i was ever put in this position with him i would instantly be copping a public indecency charge for the things i would do next

🚨DANNY LYON SPOTTED IN THE NARRATIVE!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!🚨

but now you’re learning that this whole time they’ve had a walking talking wire tap rolling with them? Asking Q’s and getting A’s? <- crazy that you just come sweeping through here and decide that no one else will ever be able to match your prose. left none for the rest of us!!!!

“Nah. Spends a lot of time over at Kathy’s place.” <- the way I'm well and truly :smugpablo: rn despite the fact that also just....canonically....that's exactly what fucking happened 😂 but kay's dannykathy is in my head giving me brainworms so we are just going to have to run with that!

“I don’t want you talking to him,” he says, “about us. Can I ask that? Am I allowed to ask that of you?” <- i simply cannot piece apart all of the feelings that this little set of statements gave me. much to think about!!!!

“Well, usually,” he says, “when a guy’s going steady with someone—not to assume or presume, Johnny, every journey is a beautiful one—but, well, usually they bring ‘em along to these things.” <- mj the laugh i let out at this was so loud and genuine justin poked his head out from the next room over to ask me what was so funny 😂😂 i can HEAAAAR cal's voice in my head I'm fucking screaming. i love this so so much. kissing him and kissing you.

OHHHHH MJ WE ARE SO BACK, BABY!!!!!!!!!! this was so fucking phenomenal, not that i expected anything less. I'm taking the bikeriders away from jeff and giving it to you, actually. merry Christmas. 😌

white room - pt. 5

johnny davis x gn!reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 5.8k words, 5 of ? ao3 link | previous part a/n: hellow :3 we are back after an unexpected hiatus and lips finally gets to meet benny ! very exciting all round <3 i hope you like it and forgive me for falling off planet earth for a bit

Might sound kind of stupid, but recently, you been thinking that you’ve finally got it all worked out—about Benny, that is. Somewhere between the last time you saw him, and the Saturday of the picnic, Johnny’s weird kinda way of talking around him started making a whole load of sense. And it wasn’t just some little joke when he said he didn’t want you knowing Benny, it was pretty much sort of the truth, you think, hidden under all the hums and grumbles of him. He actually was cut up about it a little. Nervous, though someone like Johnny never aught’a be nervous about nothing. And you really would never say it to his face, or anyone else’s for that matter, but you’ve even been considering the possibility that Benny might be part of the reason things with him and Betty didn’t work out.

Fuckin’ rat up the drain pipe sort of shit, right? Never saw it coming ’til it started scratching at your head one night. You were lying there staring at the ceiling and thinking, huh, Johnny talks about Benny the way you’d be talking about Johnny, should anyone ever ask you about him when you didn’t really wanna say nothing. Eh, he’s just some guy, you’d say, yeah, we hang around with each other, you know, doing stuff. Stuff, and other things and what not.

Like, he’s got a hold on him, alright, the same one Johnny’s got on you. A real, steel grip, hold. You started off thinking well maybe it’s a jealous type of thing, you know, old guy wanting to step into the young buck’s riding boots, but it ain’t just that. Can’t be. Half of Johnny’s crew are ten years younger than him, but well, they aren’t Benny, right? And there’s something about the way he looks at him—the few times you’ve been around to catch it—something ‘bout the way Johnny watches him. And talks about him. And makes excuses for him, and the way he is. Sure, he may like him like he wants to be him, you know, foot taller, blonde, pretty as anything, but by the time Saturday rolls around and you’ve really sat on it for a while, you’re starting to think: well, what if he likes him the way every girl that ever meets Benny likes him? The way even you might’a liked him, had you never seen Johnny, of course.

Seems obvious once you’ve really put some time into the idea. Nothing about Johnny says he couldn’t be liking men the same way you do and, jeez, maybe you’re dumb for it, but even with all of that, you can’t find a single part of yourself that seems to mind. Johnny still treats you good, still makes the nights feel longer than the days—and he invited you to this picnic of theirs, which he says is only ever for wives and girlfriends and serious things like, so you figure you’re someone real important to him now, cause even if you aren’t one of those things, you’re something, right? And he did all of that with Benny around, so what difference does it make to you? Sure, you can share as long as everyone’s playing nice, you’re not spoiled or nothing.

Well, alright, maybe not share, you aren’t an angel—who is?—but right now, if Johnny likes Benny like he likes you, he sure don’t even know it yet. Or if he does, he’s still two hundred miles back from dealing with the meaning of it, and you know he’s not planning on running nowhere on those knees of his, so it’s whatever, right? Can’t fix nothing if it ain’t broke yet.

“You like dirt bikes?” he asks, while he’s dragging you across this damn field that you spent all morning riding for, grass wet from yesterday’s rain still. No place for any sort of picnic you’ve been to, but for Vandals, sure, it’s like a natural haven to them or something.

“I never liked any sort of bike ’til I met you, Johnny.”

“Yeah,” he winds, like he knew as much but didn’t really care in the first place, “few of us are gonna race ‘em. See that track there?”

You see nothing but a whole load’a mud on top of another bunch of it. “Mhmm.”

“That’s where this whole thing started.”

“And when you go spinning over the handlebars, that’s where it’ll end it up,” you say.

He laughs, but he goes on, “I’m serious,” through the smirk of it. “That’s where me and Brucey got the idea for the club in the first place. Well, that and, yeah.” He nods. “Here, when we was racing.” He waves toward the tracks in the dirt, and the bikes in the dirt, and the men that are fifty-percent fuckin’ dirt, like the whole lot is some sort of sacred ground to him, like he’s just a humble guide blessing you by bringing you here, then he says, “and I never come off no more, so don’t worry about it.”

And you like him enough to go along with it, cheesy Colby Jack that you are. “It’s something special,” you tell him, mostly meaning it. Well, all the way meaning it, but only in the way people look at scraps of metal in a museum cabinet, and think that it’s really something just cause the guys in tweed say that it is.

“Benny race with you?” you ask him.

“No,” he shakes his head a little, “not his kind of…”

“What, you gotta be short like jockeys to race or something?”

“No—“ he shoots a confused look at you, then realises that you’re joking, at his expense, and forgives you for it too, all in the same sort of moment, “—would you give it up with that?”

“Hm, think I have maybe three ‘just under six foot jokes’ left in me,” you promise, “but I’ll spare you today.”

“Yeah, you will.” And it’s as much a threat, as it is an invite, cause he’s smiling like a little something or other, and your lips find his in a real awkward, bumpy, kind of way, noses knocking as you walk, you know. Giggling and stuff. Real cutesy lovebird shit that you wouldn’t be repeating to no-one, if you wasn’t, well, you know.

“So where’d he come from then?” you ask, wrapping your free hand around the arm that you’re already attached to. Half-way close to crawling under his leathers, under the shirt and undershirt too, right under the curl of hair beneath that chain that he wears, if you could. “If it wasn’t the racing, I mean.”

“Benny?”

“Yeah, Benny.”

You should probably not be asking so much, now you know what you think you know—even if you don’t know it, and have just convinced yourself that you do—but it’s bothering you, well not bothering, but toying with you. He’s never wanted to say much about him and you figure you should take advantage of that sentimental look in his eye, for research purposes, of course.

“He just. He’s just always been around,” he says. “Came through one time needing something, yeah, and he stuck around when he found it. Like any of us would.”

“You mean Kathy?”

His face screws up, sort of like a wince almost. “No—me, the club. He needed someplace to be. Something to belong to, you know?”

“Yeah.” You know.

“All just gotta have somewhere to belong.”

“And you ain’t let go of him since,” you think, not meaning to say it aloud, but saying it anyway, cause Hell, it’s the truth, whichever way you wanna look at it.

He don’t like it of course. Tightens up right to the sides of his neck, and wrings his hand around the strap of the bag on his other shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. “Nothin. It’s good he’s got you guys. And Kathy.”

Johnny nods. That, he can agree to, though he don’t look happy about it. You caught him and let him right back out again, cause you’re not looking to pick fights, and that bothers him as much as if you were, apparently. Keeps him all quiet and rigid as you finish up the trek to where you oughta be.

The closer you get, the less barbaric it seems. Picnic benches, coolers, brave sorts on tartan blankets right on the rain-wet floor, but still, that sticky, dirt bike track in the middle, winding all over the place.

Not bad, all in all, suppose it is somewhere you don’t mind spending your Saturday so much.

“Sorry,” you tell him, “for always poking my nose in.”

He squeezes your hand. “S’nothin. We’re mixing it up, right?”

Yeah, Vandal stuff and you stuff. Two hands at once. No more juggling. But, obviously, there are some Benny shaped parts of that, that don’t seem to be mixing too well at all.

You know, you and him haven’t talked once, or so much as breathed the same air at the same time, right, which isn’t too crazy, but would be if it goes on much longer than it has. Cause one time, when Johnny came by, he had Cal with him. And you said hi and stuff, before he went on again—well, it was real heavy on the stuff cause Cal talks exactly as much as you do—and another time, Wahoo and Corky were with him, yeah? And sorta, somehow, you met a few of them; not all, not properly, but a few, and never having more than a bit of small talk, you know, but it was something.

But you never even got introduced to Benny, so you asked him once, and Johnny said that’s cause Benny is either with his lady, Kathy, or with the guys at the club, or on his own, doing something he shouldn’t. That’s it, supposedly. Course, you said, wait, what? You ain’t never gone nowhere alone with him, just you two? And he just shrugged and made a noise like you should quit talking about it, like you were asking something of him that he couldn’t explain. Like Benny was some sort of mystical kind of guy, like he wasn’t really all the way real, or something. Just a guy you only see when the light’s hitting the right place, or the stars are in a line, or some shit.

Well, today, you decided it’s gonna be different, and you’re gonna talk to him. Properly. You don’t got a choice, right? Cause you figure, you don’t know Johnny ’til you know Benny, and you’re getting real hungry for the full picture of him, if he’s gonna be around so much, that is.

“You mind sitting here while I…?” He points to the bikes, angling you toward the bench he’s apparently picked out for you. Front row, not even a splinter. High prize for the VIP.

“Yeah,” you throw him a good smile, an easy one, “you go ahead. I’ll watch.”

He looks back at you, all sweet, lips curling, then pulls a helmet from that bag of his—cause apparently, these ones need ‘em, but the other kind don’t—and then he’s off, going like a kid. Half jogging, half walking, and heading right over there to the rest of them.

They’re skinny bikes, these ones, kinda looking like street dogs. All wiry and bite-y, and a whole world different from the big, hulking, spoiled dogs of his usual sort. No shiny curves and nice painted metal here, just rahh, and grrr, and all that sort of shit. You know which ones you prefer just by looking. And you really know which ones you wouldn’t be caught dead riding on.

You put your hands in your pockets and wait, looking all sorts of all over the place, cause the racers are chatting still, and no-ones going yet, and that bench actually looks as wet as it is rotten, so you got nothing much else to do other than stand there, looking about you some.

This can’t be all of them, you don’t think, cause you see some faces you know, and a whole load that you don’t, but no where near enough to be their chapter and the new one combined. But then, is it really all that surprising that Vandals, wherever they’re from, aren’t used to turning up on time? It’ll be nearly evening before it’s a full turn out, no doubt, and, God, standing in a field that long? You had no idea what was coming when you agreed to this.

You look down at your boots, splattered with mud, and try to remember the last time you wore them for longer than a few hours. Which was a long while ago, or maybe never—though you do remember how bad the blisters were, whenever it was, so it must’ve happened once—and you suppose Johnny’s worth living through that again, just about, so you decide to stick with what you were doing. Accepting your fate and that, in with a bunch of people you barely know, looking round ’til one of them knows you too—and then you spot Benny.

And he must’a saw you before you saw him, cause he’s coming right on over.

He doesn’t say nothing, so you stay standing with your hands in your pockets, wondering if he was looking at you at all, or if he thinks you’re just some tagalong from Milwaukee, waiting for a bike to polish. But then he stops right next to you, and turns back facing the way he came, and puts his hands in his jacket like he’s copying you or something.

So you stand, and it’s quiet, and he looks at the guys getting onto their bikes, engines growling and barking all at once, and you think, my God, you have never survived a silence like this. You wanna wait him out, but he could be a mute for all you know. You never even thought of that. He could’a taken a hit to the head coming off his bike and lost his nerve for speaking, or maybe he’s from Europe. Maybe he don’t know a lick of English, especially not the kind you’re gonna be talking, you never even thought to ask Johnny about that—what if it’s that?

And the longer it goes without him saying nothing, the more certain you are that whatever you end up spitting out is gonna be the most insane thing a person could say to someone they never spoke to before. Like how’s your relationship with my maybe sort of boyfriend going? Anything I should know?

“Think the green’s got this one.”

“What?” Not mute. Not mute, and not European. Talking and pointing and waiting for you to say something back, even though he’s not looking at you, up there, under the flop of his dirty blonde hair, but waiting all the same. Like he’s fly fishing and you’re ignoring the lure no matter how much he flicks it. “Green who?”

“The bike,” he says, “don’t know his name.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Green fucking bike, what do you know? You can’t even tell the colour of the one Johnny’s on, you can’t even see him no more really, not when they go up there by that corner there.

“Sorry, wasn’t paying attention,” you tell him, and you know you don’t sound sorry, but him talking like he knows you has thrown you all the way off. Your big scheme to get in and get cosy now seems real dumb and real pointless. “You’re Benny, right?”

He nods. Then he pulls his arms tighter, denim pockets bunching above his waist, like he’s freezing—which he might be, cause his jacket don’t have sleeves like Johnny’s does.

“Feels like you’re the last one of them that I ought to be meeting,” you say, and cause you’re still good mannered and things, you throw your name out for him afterwards.

“I know,” he says back. “Johnny talks about you.”

“He does?”

He nods again, which is real great, cause it means he talks just as little as Johnny does, but instead of humming and making noises, he just nods and looks at you. Jeez, he really does look at you. Not too long, nothing creepy, you know, but long enough like he might’ve flicked through the file-o-fax in your head and plucked out exactly what he wanted.

“Johnny doesn’t talk about anything,” you tell him, hoping that whatever he thinks he saw, is the opposite of what you actually said. “What’s he say, ‘I’m seeing somebody’?”

To your surprise, Benny laughs at that, and shit, he’s as movie star pretty as you’d expect with a smile on his face. It just gets worse with this dude. “Yeah,” he says, “thats, er, that’s pretty much it.”

“Figures. I gotta get him in a headlock before he says shit about you—or anyone else that means something to him.”

He’s looking ahead again, but you can see he’s smiling still, even if it’s small. He really is a quiet type, two minutes in and you’re realising as much already. Even when he’s talking, or doing anything, there’s a real quiet to it, which is probably the last thing you expected to learn about him. None of these biker guys are ever like that, not even Johnny, somehow, he’s loud even when he’s saying nothing. It’s in the face, in the way he carries himself. But Benny? You could switch his colours for a church suit and believe that he was a good kid Sunday through Friday, never speaking back to no-one.

Which makes no damn sense, and can’t be the fucking case, and makes you realise all at once that he’s the sort of person you keep around just to try and solve the puzzle of him. Shy smiles and listening ears in a guy like him, riding bikes like that? Yeah, sure. The club might not be doing much as far as you know, but it sure is doing more than that, and yeah, you remember, he said it once, Johnny said Benny got all wrapped up with some cops a few times, so who the hell is this?

“You like the picnic?” he asks, flicking his head that way.

“Depends on whether there’s any actual picnicking, or if it’s just standing around watching stuff.”

“Yeah, there will be. Kathy, she uh,” he rubs his face on his shoulder, like he’s getting an itch and the itch is small talk, “she brought some stuff,” he says.

“Then I guess I like it,” you say back. “Skipped breakfast.” And real surely suffering for it, stomach aching like you’ve not even sniffed food in years.

He puffs a short breath through his nose, like he’s laughing without trying to. “Don’t think I’ve had breakfast since the fourth grade.”

You can’t help it, you answer like you’d answer anyone else, Benny or no Benny. “That’s sad. You know that’s sad, right? No breakfasts, not even as a kid?”

He shrugs, and he don’t seem offended, but he don’t seem amused so much anymore either. He certainly ain’t knocking back with a joke like Johnny would have.

“I think waffles are a fundamental necessity,” you say, just to say something again. Then you put your focus on the track, cause the wheels are back now, spinning and spitting up wet dirt, and the looped route they took might’ve gone around a couple times without you noticing, cause it seems like they’re done. Like someone’s kicked a stand and thrown his helmet and started shouting like he’s a winner.

“Green,” Benny says, like you might’ve been betting against him.

“And Johnny—?”

“Third place.”

You find him in the group, grinning like he’d won, helmet on, goggles pushed up over the curve of it. “Used to be faster, right?”

Benny shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You been with the club long?” you ask.

He chances the air, pulling his hands free and a pack of cigarettes along with them. “Feels like it,” he says.

You laugh, though it’s mostly sort of a scoff, and probably sort of rude, but, come on, what’ve you gotta do to get a real answer round here? “Jeez, between your riddles, and Johnny’s half sentences, I don’t know how you guys even found yourself to be friends.”

He cracks a light and takes a drag and you’ve pretty much given up on getting anything more out of him, when he says, “Johnny’s only like that when he’s talking to someone with more to say.”

“Yeah, yeah,” your eyes roll, “Lips, I get it. Course he’s been spreading that around already.”

“Lips?” He tweaks an eyebrow, looking at you through the smoke.

Great. So you really are just like that. “Dumb name he’s come up with,” you say, though you’d rather not, considering he didn’t know about it until you brought it up. You and your lips. “Why don’t you have one? Don’t seem fair to me. I mean, you got Cockroach, walking round with a name like that, and you get to be just Benny?”

“Things like that aren’t planned.”

“Feels like they are.”

He smirks like you’re real crazy. “And you think I’m a special case?”

“I think you’re the favourite,” you tell him. May as well come out with it.

He snorts. The cigarette smoke goes like an ink spill around his head. “You never figure they don’t give names to people that might not stick around?” he says.

Well, that gets you, because no, you never did think of that. And now that you are thinking bout it, the truth feels like a jackhammer against you and him both. Him, who hasn’t got a name and you, who has one already, willing or not. Johnny wouldn’t stumble into a thing like that by accident, would he?

“You move around a lot?” you ask, with all interest and no attitude. Cause if he’s right, and that is the reason, he must’a done something to make them think as much.

“Used to,” he says.

“Me too.”

“You miss it?”

“Fuck no,” you laugh, “no, I’m planning to spend a real long time in one place from now on.”

He nods, but he doesn’t comment any more on it, and you take his quiet to mean that he thinks the opposite—well, that and the way he’s looking off now, smoking like he never asked in the first place. All of that seems to you like someone who’s planning on moving around some more, some time, whenever it is, and, if you’re real honest, for a second it reminds you of Mom, and that way she’d be when she started itching for it again. Something new, something unattached. You near enough shiver at the thought. Last thing you want is to be drawing a line between Benny and your mom, at your first big meet-the-family picnic of all places.

“I better check on Kathy,” he says, pointing that way with the red end of his smoke.

“Yeah,” thank God, “yeah sure, nice meeting you.” You smile, waving as he goes, and he takes all that weird, creeping feeling along with him.

Half successful, half fucking weird. Benny ain’t the sort you thought he was, but you don’t like him and you don’t dislike him neither, which is probably music to Johnny’s ears, should you ever tell him that. But as he walks away you find yourself watching the back of him, and as dead-ended as the conversation was, you feel like you’re wanting to make some more sometime. Just to work him out, you know? Just to see what Johnny sees.

“You could’a gone again, if you liked.”

“What? No, nah, one’s alright by me.”

“Got it out your system?”

“Yeah, yeah, couldn’t spend all day away from you, could I? Leave you standing up there all alone.”

Couldn’t, but would’ve, if you hadn’t caught his eye over the way there and given him a look like you were real thirsty for him. Took some fighting inside, you know, to take his helmet off and leave the racing to the rest of them, but he did, sweet as he is, and came and swept you up with all the other guys that are more keen on picnicking like you are.

And he’s sitting beside you now—well, you sat down on one of them benches there, expecting him to come right up next to you, but he went and sat on the table part, still clearly with you but above you, you see, so that his thigh’s resting against your shoulder and your neck’s half breaking just to look at him. But you kind of like it. Having the head dog sitting over you like that, hand resting on the little bit of skin between your hair and the collar of your shirt. Sure, maybe it’s possessive, and maybe he really is worrying about you seeing something in one of these other guys that you’re never gonna see.

But the more he does that, running a couple fingers over your neck like that, the more you’re thinking he’s worked out that it gets your stomach doing all sorts of summersaults, and that’s why he likes sitting up there like that. Hell, he can sure enough feel how hot your skin’s getting, so it wouldn’t take a scientist to figure out what it’s doing to you, and at the end of the day, a man’s a man, you know?

“You not finishing your…what was it again?”

He’s pointing over your shoulder now, at the napkin-rolled parcel of good fucking food waiting there on your lap. You had only put it down for a second to get yourself situated. Would’ve eaten it in two bites if you didn’t have Johnny to think about. “Some kind of sandwich,” you answer. “Though it’s more like a burger in a home that don’t fit it—and yeah, I’m finishing it. It’s good. It’s alright.”

You can hear him smiling, feel it without even looking back at him to check. “Just alright?” he asks. Then his head’s down by your head, ear by your ear, eyes across the way to where Kathy and Benny are snuggling on the opposite bench. “Now don’t let Kathy hear you saying that.”

Which he says altogether too loud, exactly as he planned to do.

“Hey, no!” And you hate to admit it, but you’re talking louder like she might’ve heard, just to cover your back that don’t really need covering in the first place. “I mean it’s good. It’s real good! They ran out of regular buns is all.”

Kathy smiles, you think, and Johnny laughs at you relaxing at it—and you would’a liked a kiss or something as an apology for getting you to fret like that, but he just leans back again and runs a thumb down your cheek at the same time, like that’s near enough the same thing. Real charmer. So comfortable already, you know, so sick that he thinks that’s enough, and so perfect and fine and sweet, that it has you smiling while you un-peel the damn napkin. You seem to be taking turns these days, over who has who wrapped round their little pinky, and today it’s your go around that bent little finger of his. Broke it coming off his bike, he says, but you know a fighting injury when you see one, and he’s certainly no type of guy to be avoiding a bust up when it’s put in front of him.

“John, who’s that skinny, mousey looking dude over by Wahoo?” you ask, before taking a mean bite of your sandwich-burger. Then you chew and chew and and God, if Kathy weren’t married, you’d be asking her yourself, before licking your lips and clarifying who you mean, “The one with the camera and the tape recorder?”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, fidgeting enough to make his leathers creak. “That’s Danny. He’s a… I dunno, a sort of journalist, I guess. Yeah. Scouting out stories and things. Been riding with us for a while.”

“Yeah?” Your brows go up, ‘cause that’s the last sort of answer you thought you’d be getting. “He’s out here interviewing you guys?”

“Putting together a book, he says.”

“Hmm.” S’all you can manage to say to that, Hmm.

On that second or first date of yours, Johnny was real antsy about the idea of you going home and typing out his secrets, and you had to be seeing each other for weeks and weeks before he wanted you to really meet everybody here, but now you’re learning that this whole time they’ve had a walking talking wire tap rolling with them? Asking Q’s and getting A’s? Yeah, feels like something that makes no sense to you, coming from the big boss himself.

“He’s from New York,” Johnny adds, like he don’t like your silence. Like he thinks you’re weighing this Danny guy up, or something. “S’a good kid.”

“You speak to him much?”

“Nah. Spends a lot of time over at Kathy’s place.”

Figures. He probably wants to work Benny out the way you and everyone else does—and what better way to work him out, than to get talking with his lady like that?

“Maybe he’ll want to talk to me,” you say.

“Why’d he wanna do that?”

And you don’t like the joke in his voice, so you turn right round to face him, elbows sitting on his thighs. “Why wouldn’t he? I got stories to tell.”

He’s not looking at you, but looking over your head at Danny and Wahoo still. “You’re new to the Vandals,” he says, “you don’t know nothing about it. What’ve you got to say to him about all this?”

You agree as much as you don’t. And you’re itching at the principle of it anyway, so you were planning to keep on going, agreeing or not.

“I know you, don’t I?” you tell him. “Plus new people got as much to bring to the picture as old people, you know, and when you’re writing something up you gotta have the whole entire picture from as many people as you can get, right—and I know, I like to write too, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“So why wouldn’t he wanna talk to me? I could tell him a whole load about all sorts of things—how someone like me got all wound up with someone like you, for starters—“

“Alright.”

“And how it feels to be fitting in with a bunch of people that are as much like you as they aren’t like you, you know?”

He’s looking at you now, and in the break you take to get some air and another point lined up, he asks, “You done?” Like you’d been talking forever or something.

And you’re surprised enough that you can’t say whether you are or not.

“I don’t want you talking to him,” he says, “about us. Can I ask that? Am I allowed to ask that of you?”

“Sure you are, Johnny.” That was beside the point. You was just giving an example, you know, of why Danny might wanna point that microphone of his in your direction.

Johnny’s looking down at you in one of those sorta ways that reminds you he’s a father still—and a father of two girls at that. The kind of look a guy might give a lion after kindly asking him to put his teeth away. “Feels like maybe you got a problem with it,” he says.

“You don’t want me talking to him about you? Fine.” You shrug. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, come on, I just don’t like the implication that I got nothing interesting to say to someone like that.” Which is the truth, and you aren’t anyway shy of admitting it to him.

He hums in response, and you don’t know if it’s a ‘you’re so funny’ kind of hum, or a ‘you’re getting on my nerves but we’re in public and I can’t say nothin’ kind of hum. And you don’t get to work it out neither, cause Cal shouts from the next table over like you’d been listening to his conversation, and not your own, this whole time.

“You coming, Lips?” he says.

“To what?”

“Car show, couple weeks from now.”

Right, cause that clears it up. “Why’d I do a thing like that?”

He looks down a little, like you caught him feeling nervous about the thing. Like it was prom and you were waiting for him to ask you, or something, lone earring swinging while he doubts himself. “Well, usually,” he says, “when a guy’s going steady with someone—not to assume or presume, Johnny, every journey is a beautiful one—but, well, usually they bring ‘em along to these things.”

You’re laughing. Well, trying real hard not to, cause he’s trying so hard to be… whatever that was, and you don’t mean to come off as rude so early on, y’know? “No, I mean, you bike guys go to car shows? Where’s the sense in that?”

“S’more of a wheel show,” Cal says.

“S’more of a something to get drunk and start fightin’ each other for no reason,” Kathy adds from across the way, conversation travelling like a bunch of fish going upstream, “you don’t wanna be there, trust me. They just like lookin’ tough to all those nice boys in the 4-wheelers there.”

And you believe her, having said no more that a few words to her in your life, cause if anyone knows about these things, you kinda figure Kathy does.

“You wanna go?” Johnny asks, before you can say anything about the drinking and fighting part.

You look up, and he’s frowning like he might’ve asked you something real troubling, or like he’s trying to suss you out, even though he’s already done that and more, you reckon, sussed you out down to the parts even you don’t like thinking about.

“D’you want me to go?” you ask.

“Well, yeah,” he says, easy but hesitant, “I do, yeah.”

“Then sure.” You turn back to Cal, who’s smoked up like a teenager in the brief moment you looked away from him. “S’pose I’ll be there, then.”

“S’pose we’ll be glad to have you,” he says back, and it’s probably only the weed, but he’s smiling like he means it. Like you’ve spent a whole lifetime with these guys, and not just one muddy afternoon in a fucking field in the middle of nowhere.

Funny how it works sometimes, ain’t it? Johnny spent so long trying to balance things between you and the Vandals, when all he really had to do was stop worrying so much, and let everything fall together. One big pile of imperfection is a Hell of a lot easier to deal with, and you don’t mind being a part of that. Dirty boots and Benny included.

~~~~~~~~

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