#people are told to pass on the word who to vote for

[shisabun]

Before I start, I just want to say thank you to the husbands, brothers, and fathers who voted to support their daughters, sisters, and wives. What I'm about to say doesn't include you.

To the women who voted for Trump, you are a disgrace. Thanks to you, your children and grandchildren will be forced to fight the war that was won by your grandmothers.

You sit content and joyful while others mourn. You laugh in the face of their fears when there's a knife floating above your head poised to fall. You have no idea what's coming, but any woman with half a braincell does.

Let me tell you a story. My great aunt was basically my grandmother. She was born in the 1930s in Spain. Right after their revolution. Right after Spain became a dictatorship. She told me so many stories in her final years that I'll keep with me for the rest of my life. But I'll give one example.

One of her closest friends married young. Her husband claimed she was unfaithful and literally beat her to death. He was never arrested. He was never convinced. He walked away free and remarried in less than a month. Catholicism wouldn't allow divorce back then. He wanted to get remarried and simply got away with it because he was a cop. Franco gave cops full impunity. So does Project 2025.

I know some people reading this are rolling their eyes, and you know what?

Fuck. You. You are trash.

That girl was murdered at 20, and her killer walked free after openingly admitting it. My Tia never told me her name, but she carried her in her heart until the day she died at 98. And so do I.

To my fellow women who are mourning and scared right now, I'll give you the same advice my mother gave me. "Have your cry. Then get up and get things done. You're strong enough not to have this break you."

You are Mary and Esther. You are Caterina Sforza. You are Princess Diana. You are Anna May Wong. You are the living legacy of every woman who has come before you. You carry their strength, their courage, and their determination.

This shit is going to suck. Pure and simple. But we'll do what we've always done. We'll bite and claw our way to a better future. We'll tear down every obstacle so our children and grandchildren will have an easier path to walk.

We are dragons in human form. Steel your heart and give them nothing. Do not give them your affection, your care, or your bodies. Fuck being demure and mindful. When they spew hate, you spit fire. When they ask for your smile, you give them your fangs. Become a walking inferno that they have no choice but to take note of. Do not yield.

You are powerful, and you are not alone. You are a sister in a coven that is millions strong. You are the daughters of the witches they couldn't burn.

To my fellow Millennials. I know you're tired. Our young adult lives were stolen from us, and we've been struggling uphill ever since. But do what the previous generation never did for us. Fight. Fight for the ones that are entering adulthood. Fight for the children who have no idea what they're about to grow into.

They called us snowflakes for pointing out their flaws. Fine. Let's give them a fucking blizzard. If they try to build momentum, we stop them. We are at the age where we need to be both shield and anchor. Let. Nothing. Pass.

We're about to face an orange shitstorm of epic proportions. But we'll do as we've always done. We fight, we endure, and we win. In the words of Samwise Gamgee, "There's good in this world, and it's worth fighting for."

[traegorn]

hi! this is a loaded question but you're a voice i really appreciate. genuinely thank you for keeping calm and moving forward.

i was wondering: why does the left seem to have less "loyalty" to their biggest political party? i'm not trying to say we should be doing this, but the contrast between us and the right is so interesting to me. trump's numbers are generally similar to what they were, with some decrease. just personally, i know so many people who voted for trump despite assuring me that they dislike him, because his vision of america is apparently closer to what they want. and these are not maga, #get-rid-of-all-immigrants type people. they're moderate, in their own words. this has been consistent for the past few years; obviously i'm not a perfect representation, but i do meet a lot of people because of the nature of my job (and generally check in with them again after some time has passed), and this hasn't wavered.

there's a level of "will vote republican even if i hate it and am embarrassed by some of their stances" that i don't think many democrats have? maybe it's just the social media bubble but to me it feels like democrats struggle everyday to maintain the people they have. even some good legislative successes seem to be quickly followed by "ok but that's not enough", and when there are issues because of conservative control, even then democrats are blamed for. i guess. not having power and not blocking this?

or maybe you disagree entirely! just wanted to know your thoughts.

The answer is more obvious than you realize:

The right wing is built on authoritarianism, and authoritarians are more likely to fall in line with what they've been told.

That's it. It's really that simple.

[anarchywoofwoof]

Your whole page has been filled with excuses and reasons why you believe you were right not to vote/ vote for 3rd party.

What do you do in your spare time to revolt against the oppressive system outside of Tumblr?

If not voting, then what are you actively doing?

first of all, i live in missouri. i don't need to make "excuses". i voted in everything but the presidential election and Kamala lost Missouri by over half a million votes. as i expected. so i'm not exactly who i'm supposed to be making excuses for?

furthermore, i also told every single person following me for the last year that they should vote for Kamala if they felt that was the right thing to do. i never once told anyone to vote third party or not to vote. so again, i have no reason to make excuses for myself or anyone else.

second of all, this question is phrased in a way that suggests that someone railing against capitalism online is somehow incompatible with taking actions in your actual, real life to try and improve things. i don't think they're synonymous, but i'm open to being proven wrong.

that being said, i really don't owe anyone a list of my "revolutionary actions" in exchange for my right to say whatever i want on my own blog. however, to help other people who might be reading me responding to your (maybe a tiny bit condescending) question and because i keep being asked this question, here are some things that i do in my own city to try and build community:

i spend 6-9 hours a month at the St. Louis Area Foodbank doing miscellaneous volunteer stuff, mainly packing and sorting

last winter, i made 24 boxes of meals with rice, protein and veggies and handed them out on my block

my local city council meets on the 2nd and 4th Monday of every month - i try to make it to at least one if not both meetings to understand what's happening and what they're focusing on

i try to maintain and keep the Little Free Libraries and Little Free Pantrys in my area stocked with educational and inclusive materials. i've reblogged a post about this before.

i am no longer a dues paying DSA member but i try to attend at least 2 meetings or community actions a month

i canvassed for Cori Bush in August for her primary but unfortunately she lost

i helped for a week on the ground during the spring to solicit signatures for Amendment 3 to get it on the ballot and i did a few hours of phone banking for Planned Parenthood to try and spread the word on Amendment 3 a few weeks ago (it passed)

i had to stop in the last 3 months because i got laid off in July and no longer have a lot of disposable income, but i've donated hundreds of dollars to various local charities, GoFundMes, mutual aid requests, etc.

this was 4 years ago and as a general rule, i do not take pictures at direct actions. however, this was taken by someone from a newspaper and my face isn't showing, so whatever. if there is a direct action to attend, i am generally there - especially if it is related to police brutality, racism, LGBTQIIA+ activism or Palestine. i have been to several.

i don't know if you need more examples or if this is sufficient, but i can probably come up with a few other things that i'm passively involved in or haven't had the time to do in a while if you really need more. i hope this was helpful.

[saddayfordemocracy]

How the Watermelon Became a Symbol of Palestinian Solidarity

The use of the watermelon as a Palestinian symbol is not new. It first emerged after the Six-day War in 1967, when Israel seized control of the West Bank and Gaza, and annexed East Jerusalem. At the time, the Israeli government made public displays of the Palestinian flag a criminal offense in Gaza and the West Bank. 

To circumvent the ban, Palestinians began using the watermelon because, when cut open, the fruit bears the national colors of the Palestinian flag—red, black, white, and green.  

The Israeli government didn't just crack down on the flag. Artist Sliman Mansour told The National in 2021 that Israeli officials in 1980 shut down an exhibition at 79 Gallery in Ramallah featuring his work and others, including Nabil Anani and Issam Badrl. “They told us that painting the Palestinian flag was forbidden, but also the colors were forbidden. So Issam said, ‘What if I were to make a flower of red, green, black and white?’, to which the officer replied angrily, ‘It will be confiscated. Even if you paint a watermelon, it will be confiscated,’” Mansour told the outlet.

Israel lifted the ban on the Palestinian flag in 1993, as part of the Oslo Accords, which entailed mutual recognition by Israel and the Palestinian Liberation Organization and were the first formal agreements to try to resolve the decades-long Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The flag was accepted as representing the Palestinian Authority, which would administer Gaza and the West Bank.

In the wake of the accords, the New York Times nodded to the role of watermelon as a stand-in symbol during the flag ban. “In the Gaza Strip, where young men were once arrested for carrying sliced watermelons—thus displaying the red, black and green Palestinian colors—soldiers stand by, blasé, as processions march by waving the once-banned flag,” wrote Times journalist John Kifner.

In 2007, just after the Second Intifada, artist Khaled Hourani created The Story of the Watermelon for a book entitled Subjective Atlas of Palestine. In 2013, he isolated one print and named it The Colours of the Palestinian Flag, which has since been seen by people across the globe.

The use of the watermelon as a symbol resurged in 2021, following an Israeli court ruling that Palestinian families based in the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood in East Jerusalem would be evicted from their homes to make way for settlers.

The watermelon symbol today:

In January, Israel’s National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir gave police the power to confiscate Palestinian flags. This was later followed by a June vote on a bill to ban people from displaying the flag at state-funded institutions, including universities. (The bill passed preliminary approval but the government later collapsed.)

In June, Zazim, an Arab-Israeli community organization, launched a campaign to protest against the ensuing arrests and confiscation of flags. Images of watermelons were plastered on to 16 taxis operating in Tel Aviv, with the accompanying text reading, “This is not a Palestinian flag.��

“Our message to the government is clear: we will always find a way to circumvent any absurd ban and we will not stop fighting for freedom of expression and democracy,” said Zazim director Raluca Ganea. 

Amal Saad, a Palestinian from Haifa who worked on the Zazim campaign, told Al-Jazeera they had a clear message: “If you want to stop us, we’ll find another way to express ourselves.”

Words courtesy of BY ARMANI SYED / TIME

[kittyit]

"The suffragettes are instructive. Their tactic of choice was property destruction. Decades of patient pressure on the Parliament to give women the vote had yielded nothing, and so in 1903, under the slogan 'Deeds not words, the Women's Social and Political Union was founded. Five years later, two WSPU members undertook the first militant action: breaking windowpanes in the prime minister's residence. One of them told the police she would bring a bomb the next time. Fed up with their own fruitless deputations to Parliament, the suffragettes soon specialised in 'the argument of the broken pane', sending hundreds of well-dressed women down streets to smash every window they passed. In the most concentrated volley, in March 1912, Emmeline Pankhurst and her crews brought much of central London to a standstill by shattering the fronts of jewellers, silversmiths, Hamleys toy shop and dozens of other businesses. They also torched letterboxes around the capital. Shocked Londoners saw pillars filled with paperthrowing up flames, the work of some activist having thrown in a parcel soaked in kerosene and a lit match.

Militancy was at the core of suffragette identity: 'To be militant in some form, or other, is a moral obligation, Pankhurst lectured. 'It is a duty which every woman will owe her own conscience and self-respect, to women who are less fortunate than she is herself, and to all who are to come after her.' The latest full-body portrait of the movement, Diane Atkinson's Rise Up, Women!, gives an encyclopedic listing of militant actions: suffragettes forcing the prime minister out of his car and dousing him with pepper, hurling a stone at the fanlight above Winston Churchill's door, setting upon statues and paintings with hammers and axes, planting bombs on sites along the routes of royal visits, fighting policemen with staves, charging against hostile politicians with dogwhips, breaking the windows in prison cells. Such deeds went hand in hand with mass mobilisation. The suffragettes put up mammoth rallies, ran their own presses, went on hunger strikes: deploying the gamut of non-violent and militant action.

After the hope of attaining the vote by constitutional means was dashed once more in early 1913, the movement switched gears. In a systematic campaign of arson, the suffragettes set fire to or blew up villas, tea pavilions, boathouses, hotels, haystacks, churches, post offices, aque-ducts, theatres and a liberal range of other targets aroundthe country. Over the course of a year and a half, the WSPU claimed responsibility for 337 such attacks. Few culprits were apprehended. Not a single life was lost; only empty buildings were set ablaze. The suffragettes took great pains to avoid injuring people. But they considered the situation urgent enough to justify incendiarism - votes for women, Pankhurst explained, were of such pressing importance that we had to discredit the Government and Parliament in the eyes of the world; we had to spoil English sports, hurt businesses, destroy valuable property, demor-alise the world of society, shame the churches, upset the whole orderly conduct of life. Some attacks probably went unclaimed. One historian suspects that the suffragettes were behind one of the most spectacular blazes of the period: a fire in a Tyneside coal wharf, in which the facilities for loading coal were completely gutted. They did, however, claim responsibility for the burning of motor cars and a steam yacht."

- How to Blow Up a Pipeline, pg 40-42

[jessicalprice]

I think the thing that most Christian atheists who are rebelling against authoritarian Christian backgrounds don't get is why Jews remain Jewish.

Like, I get it, you engaged in your practices because you were told that God would punish you if you didn't, because you're told you're supposed to fear God.

(Incidentally, we don't even use the same language about this. The term that gets translated in most English bibles as "fear" is, like many classical Hebrew words, a lot more multivalent than the English term, and has more of a connotation of "awe." (See, for example, the Gilgamesh dream sequence: "Why am I trembling? No god passed this way." A god is something in whose wake one trembles.) It's what one feels when one is faced with something bigger than oneself, something overwhelming. For some people that may be fear of being harmed. For others it may be wonder or even ecstasy, standing outside oneself.)

But in 2023, Jews have the option (and, indeed, still the cultural pressure) to completely abandon Judaism. Very easily. We can, in fact, do it quite passively. If we're not actively trying to engage with it, it will very much drift away from us.

And it's not fear of divine punishment keeping most of us engaged.

The thing is, if you proved to me tomorrow that God doesn't exist, I'm not sure anything about my life or my practice would change. (I'm already agnostic, so *shrug*. I don't believe in a God-person. Sometimes I believe in a unity to reality, a life and a direction to it. Sometimes I don't. I just don't have the arrogance to think I understand definitively the way the universe does or doesn't work.) I still would celebrate Shabbat, I still wouldn't eat pork, I still would have a mezuzah on my doorway.

I do all that stuff because I'm Jewish, not because I think God will get mad if I don't. I do all that stuff because it's part of a cultural system that I see as wise and life-giving and therapeutic and worth maintaining.

And the thing is, the cultural system that Christian antitheists want us to assimilate into, under the guise of "getting rid of religion", is very much a white Protestant culture. It's not culturally neutral. It has practices, and it has a particular worldview, and it has cultural norms that are just as irrational as any other culture's.

It's also very telling that Christian antitheists purport to be harmed by Jews continuing to be Jewish. Why? We don't impose our norms on anyone else, and we overwhelmingly vote (and organize, and engage in activism) against the imposition of Christian "religious" norms, such as the curtailing of reproductive freedom, blue laws, etc.

So you're only "harmed" by our continued existence in the same way Christians purport to be harmed by it: by claiming that the very existence of a group that doesn't share your worldview and practices is somehow an act of oppression against you.

Which is, you know, white supremacist logic.

You're still upholding the logic of Jesus's genocidal, colonial Great Commission even though you supposedly don't believe in the god that ordered it anymore.

That's gotta be one of the saddest things I encounter among my fellow humans.

You took down all the crosses in the church of your mind and chucked them out the window, but you still refuse to step foot outside the church building, contenting yourself with claiming it's not a church, and firing out the windows at the synagogue and mosque down the road, the same way you used to.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Accidental Targ

Scene III: i told you to hold my hand! | Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x Modern!Reader

Summary: After coming to terms with the fact you were in King's Landing some two thousand years before your birth, you get reunited with your friend and try to manifest your way back to the present. For the meantime, Harwin Strong is your bodyguard.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel au, descriptions of reader's hair, incestuous gremlin!daemon, very sus and innappropriate boss-employee dynamics, low key sugar daddy!otto hightower vibes, crackfic, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS I DID IT. I FINISHED IT 😫 Also, its come to my attention that perhaps the way i planned out everything geographically is ??? bad but no its not just roll with it AND!! remember yall voted for him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i have a feeling you didnt read the prompt fully but whatever HAHAHAA i honestly have no idea where i meant to take this fic, so ???? enjoy?? HAHHAAH

Shoot me if I ever say it again, but for now: gods bless capitalism, specifically for it desecrating a national landmark.

Where once I was one of the people who protested against the building of the High Garden Centre, girl, was I thankful that the old ruins of the fucking Red Keep laid there as a little ol' artsy featurette.

"What's that sound?" Daemon asks as we stand from our spot.

I turn to my side, never before so relieved to hear and see, no more than two blocks away, a rave spilling out of a club, the very one Libby and I were at before we got into this shit show. "That, my prince, is called EDM."

I hurriedly run to Libby's side to pick her up, but Daemon does that himself. He get down and pulls the blue haired woman on his back, and I help him. At the same time, I feel a buzz from my satchel.

My phone!

Daemon watches me as I frantically claw for my device. The amount of texts and call notifications that pop up on my screen is overwhelming. I decide to just let it go off and grab Daemon's arm, "come on."

We walk down from the ruins, shifting through the shrubs and foliage around it. I catch the sight a mall cop and feel agitated when he looks over. He couldn't care less though, the site was open to the public after all, and with a literal club being right there, we were the least of his worries.

We pass the rusty chain fence surrounding it, and draw near Harrenhal (the club). Once we're there, a bunch of men hoot and holler at me. I ignore them as they say something about my 'Targaryen' hair and it dawns on me they were probably calling me princess and lady because I was still in a fucking Targaryen era dress.

Still, I ignore the stupid fucks as they ask to see my pretty skirt, opting to walk faster instead. I was horrified by how loud and violent Daemon's scream was.

He shouted so gutturally that I couldn't understand a lick of The High Valyrian flaming out of his mouth. The vein on his neck popped out and I literally had to hold him back from charging and dropping Libby.

"Daemon, please!" I whimper, heart racing, "Libby's still on you-"

"Grab her and I'll fucking ram steel down- COME OVER HERE AND SAY THAT AGAIN. SAY THAT-"

Steel? I look to his belt. Fucking seven hells, he brought Dark Sister?

I look back at him with wide eyes, feeling nauseous now that I've caught how maddened he looked.

In a panic, I gently pat his face while pulling his arm back, "Daemon, please."

He doesn't look at me.

My voice gets softer and my eyes water, "Daemon, I beg you."

He huffs and clenches his jaw, still not sparing me a glance.

"We don't have time for them," I whisper and keep my hand on his cheek, "I'm just going to connect to the club's wifi from here, then I'll can call us an Ubor."

Daemon does not tear his gaze from the men, who eventually waddle away to whatever sewer they came from, still hollering bullshit as they did.

"Kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot nyetodha aōha irosh," Daemon mutters. I will not forget to slit your throats.

The relief that washed over me was unparalleled when I booked an Ubor set to arrive in 3 minutes. I whimper and rub my eyes, "okay, not long now."

Daemon finally looks at me, still visibly pissed, and adjusts Libby on his back.

I wipe my face, "we're just going to get in the c-" Fuck... I should probably prepare him for the car.

"Okay," I raise my hands, "we're going to get in a metal..." I motion to the space, "... there's going to be a- a- carriage? But with no horse... but and when I get in, you just get in with me, okay?"

Daemon's expression is now one of confusion.

I sigh and place a hand on his shoulder, "it's going to be okay."

His lips curl, "... OK."

I screw my eyes shut and shake my head rapidly, "I mean alright. Alright! ALRIGHT!"

Daemon takes in my visible frustration and nods slowly, "OK."

To be honest, Daemon was a pretty good Ubor passenger, save for the fact his sword nearly cut me, Libby, him and the fucking car seats when he tried to sit without removing his scabbard first. We were lucky the driver seemed to be used to... ren fair people.

He also seemed to be used to driving people to the ER. I was too relieved to think realize how fucked up that kinda is in the moment. Needless to say, I gave him 5 stars and an extra tip.

With Dark Sister in my grip and Libby in Daemon's arms, we finally made it to Lannister Medical Center.

The moment we get there, I run inside the ER and break down at the first nurse I see. I infodump everything, how Libby got attacked, how Harwin lost her, how some maesters tried to help us, how she lost a lot of blood, how I'm afraid she's going to die, how Daemon ended up carrying her, and I just keep going up until I saw Libby's blue hair scattered on a stretcher and the nurse told me to sit down.

I didn't have much fight in me left to argue, so I sit myself down on the bench. But then I see the nurse speaking to Daemon, who, seemed to be explaining what had happened, and I panic all over again.

Before I could stand though, another nurse was there to accommodate me. He did a checkup on me, asked me how I was feeling, and asked if I needed anything to calm down.

I told him I was fine and proceeded to answer his other questions. Daemon eventually came to my side and eyed him.

The nurse gives me a nod and offers a smile, "you seem to be physically well. Just let yourself relax. The doctors have your friend; they'll do their best to help her."

"Thank you."

The nurse nods again. He gives me and Daemon one last look before walking off.

I grab Daemon's hand once it's just the two of us. I look up and shudder, "we did it."

He looks down at me, violet eyes solemn. He brings a hand to my cheek and swipes at my cheek, "ȳdra daor limagon."

"I don't know what that means," I mumble.

"I said don't cry, pretty girl," he kneels in front of me, "worrying will not save your friend."

I stare at him, feeling my heart race and belly roll because of the look he had. He brushes my silver hair back behind my shoulders, only intensifying the flurry in my stomach. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, suddenly, my stomach growls. Oh.

Daemon turns his eyes to my belly as I clutch it.

"You want something to eat... prince?"

Daemon reaches a hand out, "lead the way."

I take his hand, grab Dark Sister, and hand it to him. He fastens his scabbard as we exit the ER and I go through my satchel, fishing for my wallet. Just before I get it, I remember that I blew most of my money on the Ubor.

"Fuck," I curse and turn to Daemon, "I don't have enough money."

Daemon rests his hand on his sword and simply stairs.

"I don't have coin," I clarify. I look around the road and figure our chances of riding a bus at this hour was nonexistent. I give him a look, "do you mind walking home with me?"

Daemon raises a brow, "as opposed to swimming home with you?"

I raise my brows and sigh, "Daemon-"

"Lead the way," he nods and points, "I am not one to tire easily."

I nod and slice through air to drive a point, "okay. No matter what happens," I reach out to him, "you have to hold my hand, okay?"

He looks at my hand then my face, his violet eyes sparkle with amusement. He chuckles but he links his fingers between mine (overkill if you ask me). I'm glad goosebumps don't form.

Daemon smiles softly, "you take me for a child, riña?"

"This child knows how to cross the street," I squeeze his hand harder than necessary and begin to walk off, "I'm not sure you do, kekepa." Grandfather.

Daemon laughs, full-on throwing his head back, "how hard is it to cross? You jus-"

His words go dry when an empty school bus passes us. He was so stunned by the yellow contraption, I had to tug his arm to continue walking.

Just then, a Megatron looking-ass truck drives down the street. I hiss and curse the 14 wheeler for emitting such horrible smoke, eyeing it as it drives away.

Meanwhile, I catch the prince's stunned reaction and almost feel bad for finding it funny. Almost.

We arrive at my apartment about 20 minutes later.

I press the elevator button and turn to Daemon, "don't put your arm between the door, okay?"

Daemon gives me a look.

The elevator opens and we step inside. Daemon gives me a look, "we have lifts you know."

I pull my head back, "you do?"

"At the wall," Daemon retorts as the elevator door closes.

"The wall?" I think for a moment, "ahh. You're right."

A beat.

I knit my brows, "wait, you've been to the wall?"

"Of course I've been to the wall."

The moment we get to my place, relief washes over me. I take my shoes off and scoop my hair in front, "fucking rip this dress off me."

Without a single thought between his brows, Daemon's reaches out to undo the ties at the back of my dress.

Just before he does this, I hear him walk in with his boots and nearly have a heart attack when he passes my threshold.

"OH, ABSOLUTELY NOT!" I turn and shove him back, "take your crusty boots off now!"

Daemon looks at me in bewilderment but walks back and doesn't protest as he removes his shoes. He places his shoes on the rack along with mine.

Not wasting time, he catches my arm and yanks me towards him. He spins me around and immediately undoes the back of my dress. I hastily begin to tug my dress down once I can.

He chuckles, "eager girl."

I rather literally jump out of my dress when I can. Pent-up rage overcomes me. I turn around and start kicking the dress away, releasing all my frustration and anger out on the thing. I curse 8th century Westeros and the Red Keep in particular and assault the object until I'm out of breath.

I proceed to jump onto my sofa and allow exhaustion to finally take over my being.

A second later, I catch Daemon's expression and realize, he probably thought he was going to get lucky when I asked him to basically strip me naked.

"Ahh," I get back on my feet, "sorry about," I point to the dress, "that."

Daemon says nothing as he steps closer. He reaches out for my hip and I swat his hand away. I shake my head, "this is my house."

He chuckles as I evade him on my way to the kitchen, which was not nearly as far as it should have been. The prince eyes the space, "yes. An impressive little room you've got." He follows after me, "I'd love to see the rest of it."

I look at him as I reach my fridge and open the door.

Daemon squints at the light that radiates on me. I cuss at the fact I only had cereal (no milk) and some vegetables that have gone bad. I grab the paper box and hand it to him. He blankly stares at it as I discard the vegetables.

Daemon's brows contort at he box, "it's cold."

I wash my hands, "yeah, refrigerators do that."

"Gra'-nola," he reads.

"Granola," I correct as I dry my hands on my shift.

I'm suddenly struck with the realization his grubby has have never seen antibacterial soap. I snatch the box from him and motion to the sink, "wash your hands."

Daemon turns to the sink and purses his lips.

For a second, I debate if he'd melt if he uses something antiseptic, but then figure I should still take my chances.

I prop the cereal on the counter and exemplify him how to wash his hands. Daemon, with slight reluctance, pumps some hand wash on his palm, opens the sink, and rinses.

I excitedly applaud him once he was done.

"A hand towel," he raises his dripping hands.

I look around even though I didn't have a hand towel. I shrug, "I usually just use my pants."

Daemon shakes his hands by the sink, "your pants?"

"Yeah. They're like clothes that you put on your-"

He grabs my shift and pulls me closer. He wipes his hands on it, "I know what pants are, princess."

I push him off and smirks as he dodges. I make a face, "well, I do so beg your pardon, your majesty."

The prince lets out a low laugh, "don't get too brazen, or I'll have you begging till you weep."

I quickly change the subject, "get that damned sword off your hip." I shoo him and rummage through my kitchen cabinets.

Daemon watches this and chuckles again. He tilts his head as he eyes my legs. He undoes his scabbard, sets it on my dining table, and pulls out a chair. He sits down just as I find a can of Sbam. Huzzah!

I grab a chopping board and open the can. A small smile spreads on the prince's lips as stares. But then, his expression drops when I shake, or try to shake, the processed meat out of the can.

I huff once I've succeeded, and I begin to cut the Sbam chunk, "you know this was in created during the war," I slice a piece, "it saved a lot of people from starvation."

"Which war?"

I freeze when he says this. I open my mouth then close it, unsure if recounting the details of world wars to him was a good idea, "you know what, never mind that."

Once I was done with the Sbam, I got a pan and heat it up. I get a plate and a loaf of bread, then place it on the table.

I click my tongue at the sight of his sword, "off the table!"

Daemon watches as I take Dark Sister and replace it with the plate and bread. I place the sword by the shoes and he takes the plastic wrapped bread. He feels the material and opens it, "what is this?"

"Bread," I retort, going back to my pan.

"No, I know that, but what's it wrapped with?"

I give him a quick look, "oh, plastic," I begin to cook the Sbam, "it's made of carbon... I think- I dunno- don't quote me on that."

Daemon opens the bag and takes a slice of bread. He pulls his had back, "it's sliced."

I beam and jump excitedly, "it is! It's sliced bread! Betty White is older than sliced bread! And so are you!"

Daemon ignores this as he sniffs the piece in his hand. He takes a bite then and makes a face, "why does it taste like that?"

"Like what?"

His brows knit and his eyes narrow, "like a pretender."

I burst into a laugh. I flip over the Sbam with a spatula, "imitation bread?"

"It wants so earnest to be bread," he pushes the loaf away and shakes his head, "but it clearly isn't."

I laugh even harder.

He snorts at my reaction. He smiles as leans back on his chair. A few moments later, he grows serious, "you ought to dismiss your royal baker."

Oh. My lips twitch and I chuckle under my breath, "ah, yes. My royal baker. Yes, I will dismiss my royal baker for making horrible sliced bread. Yes."

The Sbam was now cooked. I present it to him on a plate, "bon app-- ... I hope you like it."

Daemon leans forward to scrutinize the dish.

I press my lips into a line as I sit down next to him. I take a slice of imitation bread and fold in a slice of Sbam. I realize just how hungry I was after taking a bite. Through half-full mouth, I mutter, "it's good."

Daemon watches me and follows suit. He takes some bread and Sbam, then chomps.

I stop chewing. Wait, what if he gets an instant heart attack because his living fossil-self can't handle processed food?

He licks his lips and chews. I begin to grow more agitated as he makes a face.

"It's delicious," Daemon says, going in for another bite.

My agitation turns into shock, "really?!"

"Well, it's no roasted pork, but it'll suffice," he mutter between chews.

I let out a soft laugh and nod, "I'm glad it's enough for the prince."

"I'm honored the princess herself made it for me."

Aw, fuck. Who's gonna tell him?

There is a knock on my door. At the same time, my phone rings.

Daemon is alerted by the sound and I dash away to finally answer my phone.

"What is that?" the prince asks.

"It's my phone. Remember? You can call people with it."

Daemon narrows his eyes as I rummage my bag for my device. The knocking on the door gets louder.

I turn to the door, "just a minute."

I find my phone and feel my stomach drop at the caller ID. The banging on the door persists.

I answer the phone and head for the door, "hello?"

"Fucking hells!" the voice is worn and apparently worried, "where the fuck have you bee-"

"It's not you outside, is it?" I cut him off as I head for the door.

"What?! No! I'm in the fucking North, dammit! Your friends have been calling me nonstop, since fucking Sunday! -"

I open the door and my face falls. Standing before me is a man in a dark teal suit; his tie was loose, his stubble was thick, and he held what looked like a dozen bags in his hands.

"- You and Libby have been fucking missing for days! Where-"

"Mr. Hightower," I lower my phone as the man on the other end continues to chastise me.

Otto Hightower looks me up and down, then sighs, "out of the way."

Without another thought, I step back to let him in. He expertly slips out of his leather shoes then heads towards my sofa. He places all the bags on the coffee table. I follow after him.

I hear my name being shouted from my phone. I close the door and follow after Otto.

I listen in on the call again and I hiss when the voice pierces my ear drum, "Jon, calm down."

"CALM DOWN!? HOW CAN I BE CALM WHEN YOU WON'T TELL ME ANYTHING!?"

I begin to panic when Daemon walks over.

"Who is that?" Otto asks me. He notices Daemon, then makes a face, "who are you?"

I look at Otto, then Daemon, and dash over to the prince, grabbing his hand. I watch in real time the recognition and disbelief that floods the Targaryen's features as he watches the other slowly remove his tie.

"Libby and I got stuck in the ren-fair!" I reply to my phone.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING CALL?!"

"MY PHONE DIED, JON!" I shout back a lie.

Otto's brow raises. He looks at me and mouths, "Jon?"

I ignore that and groan "LOOK! I'm fine! Libby's-- ... Libby's," I whisper softly, "in the ER-"

"THE ER-"

"I'M TAKING CARE OF HER!"

"WHY THE FUCK IS SHE IN THE ER?!"

"Libby's in the ER?" Otto mutters.

I raise a finger to answer my phone, "Jon, please. I'll explain everything tomorrow."

He screams my name and I have to rip my phone away from my ear again. I vaguely hear him rant about how I should explain why his sister is in the fucking ER.

"Jon, Jon, I love you but I have to go," I quip and immediately end the call. I turn on airplane mode and throw my phone on to the couch.

I release a breath and find myself pulling a smile as the man in the suit eyes me. He's about to speak, but Daemon beats him to it.

"What was that?" the prince asks, pulling me by the arm to face him.

I turn to him and make a face. It's Otto that answers for me, "her ex boyfriend."

I turn to Otto as he tilts his head and raises a brow, as if daring me to correct him.

I do, "my best friend's brother."

Daemon eyes Otto; the latter makes a face, "who used to your lover," he crosses his arms, "I'm offended you take his calls but not mine."

"And who are you?" Daemon hisses, stepping towards him.

Without missing a beat, Otto meets his gaze and scoffs, "who are you?"

Daemon's pulls his chin back and chuckles dryly. His expression screamed FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT.

I jump in front of him, my back presses his chest. I give a nervous laugh, "Mr. High- Director- Mr. Director- sir. This is Daemon."

Otto watches as I grip Daemon's hands behind me.

"And Daemon," I barely look at him over my shoulder, "this is... my... employe-"

"Otto Hightower," he cuts me off, bringing his hand into his breast pocket, "Director and CFO of King's Landing Holdings."

I wince, fuck.

"King's Landing?!" Daemon laughs out loud.

Otto produces a business card.

"It's a company!" I turn around and wave my hands, "it's a company! An establishment!"

Daemon does not tear his eyes away from him.

"He's my employer!" I explain.

Otto offers a piece of paper between his fingers.

The prince looks at it and slightly pushes me away, "what's he doing here then?"

"That's hardly any of your business," Otto retorts, tucking his business card back into his pocket.

Daemon laughs and finally turns to me. He mutters something in High Valyrian along the lines of 'let me do something' and 'stabbing'. I frantically shake my hand and push him back.

He thankfully relents and I sit him back down on my dining table.

My relief is fleeting when I realize the only reason Daemon didn't refute was because Otto was trailing right after me. My stomach drops when I feel a hand on my back.

Otto is right behind me. He places a few of the paper bags he brought on the table. He opens them, "I bought you dinner."

I turn to him, intent to tell him he shouldn't have.

"Amongst other things," he adds.

Daemon barks, "we have dinner."

"How did you even know I was home?" I say at the same time.

Otto's eyes flick to him, to the plate of Sbam on the table. His face is blank as looks back to me. He decides to remove his coat jacket, "I suppose you'd-" eyes Daemon, "-also think a candle equal to a campfire."

"Mister Hightower," I helplessly mutter.

He hangs his jacket on the backrest. He turns to me, "and you were missing--"

My expression sours.

"-- what did you expect me to do? I obviously utilized my connections. I'm offended you'd ask me such a thing."

Daemon mutters something in High Valyrian again.

"Of course, I had come see you myself," he looks at me through his lashes as rolls up his sleeves. My eyes dart to his sleeve tattoos and arm veins. When I begin to scrutinize the hairs on his skin, I realize I've stared to long.

In a panicked frenzy, I begin to unpack one of the paper bags. He, himself, brings out a stack of food containers and places them on the table.

The smell alone makes my stomach grumble.

Otto steps away and comes back with plates and cutlery. He places one plate in front of me, and has a prolonged stare at Daemon before placing the other in front of Daemon. He says, "I would hate for prince Daemon to be reduced to eating Sbam for dinner."

My expression drops. Daemon does not move an inch.

Otto turns to me and pulls out the chair. I take a moment before sitting down, because, really, did I have any other choice?

Otto opens the containers one by one and my mouth waters as I see lobster, lamb, and lemon cakes. He serves me meat and veggies, "I would assume you're not hurt like your friend."

I watch as he places food on my plate. I gulp before responding, "I'm just... tired."

"Then, I would also assume you'll not be attending work tomorrow," he takes my hand, putting the utensils in them. He scrapes a chair to my side and sits down next to me, urging me to eat with a motion.

I look at Mr. Hightower, "oh no- I will! I will-"

"You won't," he raises a hand, "see to it you're well rested."

I turn to my plate, feeling a flurry in my stomach over his words.

"Are you not going to serve your prince?" Daemon cuts in, raising his brows.

The lamb I was about to eat drops back to my plate.

The two glare, as if willing the other to spontaneously combust.

Before anything else could happen, I stand and reach out to Daemon's plate. I squeak when both grab me by the wrist.

My throat tightens.

My heart races when Daemon stands, "release her."

Otto raises his brows and tilts his head, "sit back down."

I rip my wrists out of their grips. Thankfully, neither put up a fight.

They stare at each other for what felt like ages. My agitation rockets when I see my boss begin to fidget with his hands the way he did when he was annoyed and ready to do something drastic.

I give Daemon a panicked look and grab his wrist, "kostilus." Please.

Daemon clenches his fist.

I continue to beg him until he sits.

I squeak when he grabs my chair by the seat and pulls me towards him. He mutters, "kesan daor emagon ao va bona run." I will not have you near that thing.

I turn to Director Hightower; I could see his annoyance building.

Fuck.

"Miste-" "Enjoy your meal then," he speaks as he stands. He grabs his coat and points, "I've bought some first aid things. I'm sure your friend can help you put that away."

I move to stand but Daemon stops me. He looks up at Otto in disgust, "do mind the steel contraptions on your way out."

I snap at Daemon, eyeing him hotly. He places a hand over my legs, ensuring I do not evade him. I watch as Mr. Hightower heads for the door, and in a split second decision, I turn to the prince and kiss him on the lips.

He is evidently taken aback, but it only takes him another second to get into it. Once he's put his guard down, I rip away from him and chase after my boss just as he exits my apartment.

"MR. HIGHTOWER!"

Otto turns around. I huff as I meet him just outside my door, "I'm really sorry about him. He's... he's just like that."

"You're not responsible for the actions of others," he retorts, nonchalant.

"I know. But still-"

"You are responsible for the company you keep," he adds.

I brush my silver hair back, "and you're not responsible for my well-being."

He snorts and shakes his head, "I'm your superior."

I press my lips into a thin line, deciding not to get into this conversation right now, "that, you are, Director."

We stare at each other for a moment. I examine his well-ironed suit, noticing how he didn't bother to fix his tie or buttons any more.

"I'll-"

"Is he not-" Daemon kicks the door open.

My eyes widen, "DAEMON-"

"-fucking gone yet?!" he points Dark Sister in an offensive stance. I yelp when he swings his weapon and scratches the door.

Otto's fight or flight instincts kick in and he takes flight down the hall.

"DAEMON-" I scream. I duck down and grab him by the torso, "STOP IT!"

Daemon screams out in High Valyrian. He laughs and lowers his sword, "yeah, you better run."

[do-you-ship-it-polls]

Which controversial ship is the best

Explanations under the cut!

Galadriel/Halbrand (Lord of the Rings: Rings of Power) 60 reblogs - 5614 words total.

I didn't read it but it's something about homophobia and racism and misogyny if you like or dislike the ship, i'm not sure which one.

Katara/Aang (Avatar The Last Airbender) 58 comments - 65 reblogs - 796 words.

The arguing actually happened on the Katara/Zuko poll, but it was about this ship. Mostly Zutara shippers complaining about Kataang shippers but i saw maybe 2 kataang shippers in the comments. I repeat: Kataang is on here because it was incredibly controversial on my blog

Laios/Toshiro (Dungeon Meshi) A few comments and reblogs, 228 words out of what I can count + someones 644 word post that was linked to me.

The reason for this is because I jokingly used the tag "shuro has the worst case of allistic disease i've ever seen", because the way he exploded at Laios reminded me of the experiences i've had with allistic people who secretly hate me but never told me. This means I hate asian people and think only white men can be autistic.

Shiro/Keith (Voltron: Legendary Defender) 43 comments

This ship is pseudo-incest and a man grooming a teenager because they met when Keith was an unspecified younger age and Shiro was an unspecified older age. I'm gonna pass away

Zim/Dib (Invader Zim) A few comments and an ask but it stopped quickly

I haven't watched Invader Zim, but I allowed it on the premise that Zim is seen as a child (because I don't like adult/child ships obv). But Zim's age is a big debate.

Yugi Mutou/Yami Yugi (Yu-Gi-Oh) Many reblogs saying the same thing about me

I haven't watched the anime. I saw the same guy twice with the same name and tagged it as "selfcest" incase someone had the tag filtered. This singular tag caused multiple comments and reblogs telling me that it's not selfcest and that it's offensive to DID systems to call it selfcest. I almost snapped here, honestly.

Time to vote! Explode my notes if you want, there's multiple good choices to pick from.

[randomlifex]

Exceptions

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Go Kyungjun x fem!reader

Plot:even bullies have a soft spot. You may be in Kyungjun’s.

Warnings:mentions of death and fear

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Red lights flashing everywhere in the gym. People were screaming, crying, accusing each other of who murdered who while a robotic voice kept repeating the same words:

“Citizens must identify and vote for the Mafia”

“Citizens must identify and vote for the Mafia”

It was an unstoppable loop in which you found yourself paralysed…like always,like in any other situation. Fear to you meant stopping,it didn’t matter if the solution was running;your body would stay still,your brain would break any connection of thoughts. Emptiness. Eyes as pieces of glasses reflecting the world around you.

You were sitting on the ground, surrounded by people running everywhere to get their phones back. They were supposed to be collected into the bean Kyunjun had brought there earlier, but someone had hit it and the objects had scattered all over the place. Your classmates were dying like butterflies shook by the electricity of a lamp as the robotic voice would reveal the identities of those who had passed.

Citizen

Citizen

Citizen

Mafia

What even was a mafia? What even was that game? Could you call that a game? It wasn’t.

Your lips started shaking:you had to get up,find your phone and vote for someone, but you couldn’t. A girl fell dead next to you,her empty eyes staring into your soul. Fuck,that was what you would’ve looked in a few minutes? Terrible.

“Move,do something” you repeated yourself. Your body was out of command. Your jaw started shaking and your eyes burning, but somehow tears didn’t seem to be ready to roll down your cheeks.

A guy ran past you, unwillingly hitting your arm with his leg:your body shook, however you still didn’t move.

That was your end, you were sure, there was no more hope in your heart until…a hand grabbed your shoulder.

“What the heck are you doing, idiot?!” Kyungjun mumbled, chaining his eyes with yours. You didn’t answer.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked. Still no answer.

“You’re gonna die!”. Again, no answer.

Kyungjun sighed in disbelief as he grabbed your wrist, trying to get you up from the ground. Your legs answered to the strength of his arms, but it wasn’t enough to make you run like any other student in that gym.

“What’s your phone?” the boy asked again

“It’s…it’s…”

“What is it? Come on,you’ve got no time left!” he tried to encourage you. It took you a second, but then you finally whispered the model of your phone to him.

In a rush, the guy started looking around until he saw your phone in a forgotten corner. He grabbed it and came back to you.

“Vote for someone. It doesn’t matter who, just vote” he told you, resting his hand on the back of your hips. You nodded unsure, voting for the first name on the screen.

A few more bodies fell, a girl got executed and then…silence. No more screams, no more rush, nothing. Your body slowly started functioning again, even tho the response to that wasn’t good.

Your legs lost the strength to support you as you fell on the ground again, scratching your knees and the palm of your hands while trying to not get too much hurt.

“Damn” you whispered, tears were finally wetting your pretty face.

Kyugjun looked at you from above:he hated the feeling rising in his chest, that little burning sparkle that somehow made him melt at your sight; but he couldn’t do anything about it. He was framed; he couldn’t escape, he couldn’t push back that protective instinct he had towards you, so he just kneeled down to your height, sliding some strands of your hair behind your hear.

“You need to control your fear or you’re gonna die” he whispered. Those words weren’t the right ones, he knew, but he wasn’t great at helping people…he was supposed to put them into troubles. He was a destroyer, not a healer…but with you, damn, with you he couldn’t even think about being the punk that he was.

He wiped your tears away with the back of his hand and gently hit your your shoulder

“Let’s go where there are no bodies” he said,helping you standing up and leading you to the infirmary. You sat on a bed, watching as the boy began to open cupboards and drawers.

“Here it is” he said,placing a first aid kit next to you. He grabbed a disinfectant and a few plasters, medicating the scratches on your knees and hands.

Once he was done he brushed the dust away from your uniform and gently grabbed your leg to fix the socks which had fallen down. His fingers brushed against your skin, giving your shivers and an odd feeling of safety.

“You’re okay now” he said, standing right in front of you

“Thank you” you mumbled, staring at the ground as you were so shy that you could barely hold eye contact with him

“Are you scared of me?” he asked, stepping back.

You rose your head, shaking it

“No, I’m just…confused. I didn’t expect you to act like this” you whispered, holding onto the cloth of your skirt.

Kyungjun gulped, scratching the back of his neck:

“I do sometimes make exceptions-he smirked, caressing your cheek-do you wanna be that exception?” he then asked.

You felt your cheeks burning as you hid your face in between your hands; Kyungjun laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Your head rested on his chest while he ruffled your hair

“I’ll take it as a yes, little thing”

[pomefioredove]

Imagine instead of rook voted for rsa, the reader did. Who is in a relationship with Vil.

Angst:333

ANON ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME /light hearted

summary: betrayal of the highest order type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: established relationship, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, ANGST, hurt w no comfort

"I can't even look at you right now,"

The words hurt.

They burn coming out of his mouth, and they sting your skin when they hit you. You'd never heard a sentence with barbs before.

A part of you was hoping that he would shout. Chastise you, drag you off stage and scold you until his perfect throat was raw.

Instead, he had just... stared.

Vil stared at you after the loss. He stared when you admitted being the cause of it. He stared all the way back to the dorm, where he promptly holed himself up in his room, refusing to speak with anyone.

After an hour and a half of Rook and Epel begging for him to say something to them, he demands you.

And that brings you here.

"I am so... utterly... disappointed," he says. He's not wearing any makeup. His face is puffy and red.

You don't want to dwell on being the cause of that.

"I simply won't allow myself to beg for an answer. You have now to explain yourself, and then I don't want to see you."

You're quiet for a moment. There's really nothing you can say, but he's demanded an answer, and it's the least you can give him.

"I didn't think it would matter,"

His eyes sharpen. "Pathetic. That's the best you could come up with?"

"I was told to be fair-"

"There is no fair," he says, crossing his arms as if putting a barrier between the two of you. "There is no equality. I am your boyfriend. And more than that, you saw how hard everyone worked. How could you-"

His voice catches on that last word, and he stops himself. He takes a long, deep breath, and runs a hand through his hair. It seems more undone than usual.

"For him, of all people. Rook... I understand. Rook would chase the light from a laser pointer if it was pretty enough. But you...?"

Vil falls silent again, turning to face the door. His eyes, though narrow and sharp and uninviting, are glimmering with tears. You feel dizzy.

"Vil..."

He holds up a hand, silencing you. "That's enough. I suppose it's my own fault. I deluded myself into thinking I knew you better than that,"

Is there anything you can really say? Do? Or is this just broken beyond repair?

What is he thinking right now?

"I'm sorry,"

He's quiet.

"I know. But that doesn't fix anything,"

You're both quiet.

You hate seeing him like this. His face contorted into something meant to imitate anger, his body language closed off, but something in his eyes begging for you.

For you to what, you can't imagine. No apology could save this.

The silence passes you both by, although it offers no comfort. He clears his throat.

"I think you should leave. I need some time to think. I suggest the same for you,"

[lokischocolatefountain]

Holdout || Fraternize

Congressman!Javier Peña AU

Fandom: Narcos

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: smut, fingering, arguments, period typical misogyny, American politics, inappropriate workplace behavior, office sex, kinda fem!dom, discussions of healthcare policy, inaccuracies regarding American politics

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: Sometimes it was better to talk face to face than to send his lackeys to speak for him. And who knows? Maybe he’ll get a sweet deal out of it. If nothing else, she was at least a good time.

A/N: I know Javi has nothing but disdain for politics and politicians. He would’ve pushed those DC guys out of the helicopter in season 3 if they’d asked more stupid questions. But it’s the same season 3 Javi who put in all those suits and ties and combed his hair neatly and walked around looking like a WHORE. So it’s actually his fault that I’m writing him as a politician. As usual, give your girl some comments and reblogs 🥹🥹🥹

Tagging: @art-estrange

“How many holdouts, Donna?”

“Thirteen.”

“Fuck,” he whispered, knowing instantly from the number which faction of congresspeople had refused to agree to vote for the bill. He also knew who the ringleader of this group of thirteen was. Without her approval, the other twelve wouldn’t even breathe let alone vote yes. An abstinence, maybe. But a yes? Impossible. She was also one of the few who could reach across the aisle to get them the votes he and Murphy needed to pass the bill in Congress.

“What exactly does she want?”

“Bunch of stuff,” said Donna, flipping open the binder that contained the draft of the Child Health Assistance Program bill. From his seat, Javier could see the color coded remarks that decorated the pages. Only when it went to her office did it come back with the fucking rainbow splattered in the pages. When he was a freshman to congress, the outgoing congressman from his district had warned him about her.

Difficult. Nerdy. Pretentious. A fucking bitch. An absolute cunt.

He would never say the last two things about her, of course. If he so much as thought them, his mama would fly to DC and slap him.

“The premium increase on Medicaid for one. She thinks it’s too much. Did some math on the side, too,” she said, unfolding a sticky note that contained some scribbled out numbers. “She accounted for the average household income nationally and in her district and adjusted for projected inflation and arrived at an increase by 3% on the financial burden on families. She made a calculation for our district, too. And by Stoddard’s calculations, her estimate is accurate.”

“Right, right,” he said, taking a puff of his cigarette and blowing the smoke out towards the open window. “Has anyone told her that healthcare expenses have increased and we cannot afford to keep the Part B premiums at forty four fucking dollars?”

His staffer simply shrugged before beginning to explain all the other demands the congresswoman from West Virginia had. By the time they were through with the major issues, it was time for lunch.

“Try to get Barrett and Kilpatrick on board,” he said, getting up from his seat at the head of the table. He heard her grumble, but didn’t take it too personally. It would be easier to move a boulder up a hill than to convince anyone in the congresswoman’s faction to vote for something she didn’t vote for. He pressed the stub harder into his glass ashtray, his anger towards her manifesting in the present she got him.

“Yes, sir,” she said, marking the page they’d last discussed. His staffers shuffled out of their seats and out of the office, leaving him with just Donna.

“I hear she’s back in the building. Returned from her district last night. Maybe you can convince her?” She said expectantly. Out of all the people in his office, she was the only one who knew that he had a shot. No matter how narrow the possibilities. Fair’s fair, he thought. Since he tasked her with talking to Kilpatrick and Barrett.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “No harm in trying.” He would’ve laughed had someone else said that. There definitely was harm in trying. His sanity was at stake. He had a hard enough time just seeing her at the committee meetings. But if he couldn’t get members of his own party on board, he could bid goodbye to the dream of passing the bill.

He picked up the binder and sped through the hallways to her office, anxious she might leave for lunch. She usually didn’t, but made exceptions for when she met with her campaign team. Something about it being unethical to do campaign business in facilities paid for by the taxpayer. And illegal. Like him, she was a workaholic. If she wasn’t in her office, she was in her congressional district.

He stopped outside the double doors to her office, American flags on either side and a nameplate with her name and state written in gold. Right as he rose his fist to knock for courtesy’s sake, the door opened and a lanky young boy stepped out of her office, sandwich in hand. Intern.

“Is the congresswoman in?” He asked, making the boy jump back in surprise.

“Uhh…” the boy trailed, looking back at the door with wide eyes. So she was in. And the kid didn’t know whether he was one of the people to whom he should lie about his boss’ availability.

“She’s…busy?”

Javi snorted before putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gently nudging him away from the door. “Enjoy lunch, kid,” he said before slipping into her office. The boy said something in an effort to stop him, but the door thankfully muffled the sounds. He kicked the door with the deadbolt, eager to not get caught. Nothing interesting ever happened in congress. So the first wisp of smoke would be enough for gossips to start a fire. He walked past the front office with the plush couches for guests and right into the inside where the magic happened.

Sure enough, he found her hunched over her desk, punching numbers into a calculator with her left hand as her right scribbled them out on her notebook. The black high heeled shoes she wore pushed her ass out invitingly. His eyes trailed up the shoes, following the black lines of her stockings. He took a deep breath and turned away, his eyes landing on one of her staffers’ desks.

A carton box with sandwiches from the nearby cafeteria sat open, mostly empty but for three sandwiches wrapped in aluminum foil. He wasn’t planning on lunch, but he wouldn’t decline after seeing some perfectly good sandwiches laid out in front of him.

“Get your own, Peña,” came a cold, stern voice right as he touched one.

“I would, but you owe me sustenance for making me read through all your notes. I need more nutrients to keep up with your shit,” he said, unwrapping the foil. He took a bite, nodding appreciatively as the well seasoned meat and garlic mayonnaise touched his tongue.

She put her pen down and turned around to finally face him. She looked well put together as she always did. A navy blue pinstriped skirt that clung to her beautifully, matching the jacket draped over her chair. Her white blouse was tucked in, her hair up in a neat bun to show off her pearl earrings. She placed a hand on her hip, crossed one leg in front of the other and narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s not my fault that your diet of whiskey and cigarettes doesn’t nourish you enough to read some notes on your poorly drafted bill.”

“It’s called a draft for a reason, Glitter,” he scoffed, his lips curving up in a smirk as he used her nickname against her. He knew she hated it. He wasn’t even in congress for the origin of the nickname, but it took only days for him to learn that the Congresswoman from West Virginia had “accidentally” used a glitter pen to write notes on the final draft of a bill. Sure she changed the pen after she realized. Only one word was in the imbecilic ink, but the name stuck.

“I forgot that your standards are low.” She rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “What do you want now, Peña? Is it just the sandwich? I knew you had a tight budget over in the 23rd district of Texas, but I didn’t know the situation was so dire even the congressman had to mooch off someone else.”

“I already paid for it. With my soul.” He took another bite of the sandwich, unaffected by her jabs. As he chewed on his free lunch, he slapped a hand on the binder he abandoned on a staffer’s desk.

“We need to discuss your ridiculous demands.”

“I don’t see how asking to restore coverage for disabled children counts as ridiculous.” She leaned back against her desk and placed her palms flat against the surface. “Unless you hate children. Disabled children.”

“You’ve been in D.C. too long,” he said, annoyed by her spin. “And it’s not like I slashed the funding for disabled kids. They did. Don’t fight me for shit I didn’t do. And it’s not like they would’ve changed their minds by now. None of them have grown a conscience all of a sudden. They’ll just laugh us out of their office.”

“Peña, are you proposing the child health program for the children or the fucking pricks in the House who think it’s a waste of money to invest in healthcare?”

“To invest in healthcare, we need to get the bill passed. Would you rather get some coverage for kids or none?”

“Obviously, I would like some. But some or none aren’t the only options. If you’re going to cut out necessary things preemptively, we’ll get even less than what we need by the time we’re done negotiating with them.”

He darted his tongue out, licking his lips as he considered her words. They did not differ much ideologically. He too was an idealist like her. The people of his district voted him in for his ideals, for his promises. But D.C. had a way of making cynics out of optimists. It was easier for her to remain an idealist. There was no real threat to her seat.

“We don’t have an unlimited budget. It’s going to be a pain in the fucking ass trying to get this through. I put the shit you’re asking for and we can forget getting any coverage. Just like your demand to expand benefits for low income folks. If we do what you’re suggesting, it’ll be an expenditure of 3 Billion dollars over five years instead of the 1.5 billion we have available.”

She sighed and leapt up, sitting herself down on her desk. “Listen, Peña. I know you’re holding on to your seat by a thread because your margin of victory was thinner than said thread. You need to schmooze the conservatives back in Webb County. But I refuse to pay with the health of my people so you can keep your job.”

He fist clenched at the accusation and he let out a grunt. “Easy for you to say. Your district would vote for a fucking donkey if it had our party’s name slapped on it.”

It wasn’t so easy for him. Every move he made was like walking a tightrope between doing the right thing and what his constituents thought politically correct. One wrong move and they’d be out there on CNN calling him a fucking commie. Not that it bothered him. It just wasn’t good optics.

She held her pen up like it was a sword, like a threat. “They’ve tried to primary me multiple times, asshole. Never worked. I do the work and people vote me in for it.

“Listen. You wanna talk shit or actually work on this thing so we can get it passed?”

“I did my part, Peña. Thought you read through it since you’re claiming to be so exhausted.”

“It’s not gonna work sending it back and forth. Never does. We need to sit together and sort it out.”

“Right…” she drawled, her pink painted lips curling up in a smirk and her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. He huffed, knowing immediately what she was smirking about. He licked his lips and let himself think of what they did the last time they decided they would sit together and ‘sort it out’.

“You know I didn’t mean that,” he said, the words tasting bitter on his lips. He didn’t mean that. But he would never refuse an opportunity to do it again.

“Oh?” She teased, an eyebrow raised.

A carefully manicured fingernail dazzled under the light as she used her pointer finger to beckon him forward. He stepped towards her, his feet moving automatically like his cock remembered how he would be rewarded if he complied with her. Eyes connected to hers, he imagined what she looked like under her suit. If he would be able to catch even a glimpse of her body this time. If he would have to reach under her skirt, rip her stockings and push her panties aside to fuck her.

He loved knocking the smirk off her lips the last time, just the sight of her pliant against his chest giving him all the satisfaction he needed even before he came. She wasn’t arguing then. Just sweet little whimpers as she clutched onto his shirt and begged for release.

Just as he could deal with the smirk by reaching her and capturing her lips in a kiss, she lifted her high heel clad foot and placed it on his pants. Over his fucking cock to be exact. He raised his eyebrows at her, confused by her move. She put a gentle pressure on his cock with her foot, making him swallow.

“The fuck are you playing at, Glitter?”

“Nothing,” she drawled in a low, seductive voice. “Just testing if you have a foot thing.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. “I don’t fucking have a foot thing.”

“Yeah? Must be an ass thing then,” she said, lifting her leg higher and caressing his face with the top of her shoes. “Maybe it’s a shoe thing…” His breaths got quicker and his heart beat faster, his body enticed by her daring when she was usually quite conservative and no-nonsense. “You didn’t want me to take my shoes off last time. It was fucking uncomfortable. I know you like how my ass looks when I wear these.”

She trailed the pointy end of the heel down his neck, just barely touching his skin, driving him mad with want for more. The hairs on his body stood to attention and his cock twitched in his pants. She hooked the heel under his tie and pulled. When it budged only a little, he tugged on it himself, taking the thing off completely and stuffing it into his pocket.

Before she could retreat, he caught her leg. Hand wrapped around her ankle he placed a kiss above the strap of her shoes. He looked up at her, relishing in watching her confidence chip away bit by bit as he left a trail of kisses up her leg. A silent gasp left her lips as he stopped at the edge of her desk and put her leg over his shoulder.

“You up for a meeting? To discuss,” he said, tilting her head up with a finger to her chin.

A soft smile played on her lips as she said, “We’ll see…”

“Yeah? What exactly do I have to do to get you in my office, Congresswoman?”

“Convince me. Give me something I’d want.”

“Everything’s a quid pro quo to you, isn’t it?”

“Such is politics, Peña.”

“If you say so,” he said, leaning close and kissing her neck right above the collar of her blouse. He felt her swallow, making him smile against her neck. The perfume he knew she spritzed on her neck seduced his senses and he licked her skin in a quest for his other senses to experience her delicious scent.

“Javier… Someone could come in at any time.”

Javier… It was always Peña for her. Except when they fucked. Then it was Javier, Javier, oh fuck please, harder! Once she fixed herself post fuck, it was back to Peña with a tinge of disdain. Like some crude separation of church and state.

“Everyone else knocks. I’m the only one who drops by without announcing myself,” he spoke into her skin, his voice a low drawl. “And I locked the door. Because I know you can’t resist me.” She snorted, but relaxed beneath his touch. Her hand came up to his hair, touching him oh so lightly in a way that she wouldn’t mess it up too much.

“Fucking caveman,” she chided, her voice too warm for him to believe she opposed his behavior. He trailed a hand up her skirt, stopping where her thighs met. He cupped her pussy, his eyes fixed on her face to read signs of displeasure.

“Congresswoman, I just kissed up your leg like you’re a delicate fucking princess. A caveman would rip your clothes up, hold you down and fuck you hard,” he said, feeling proud of himself when he felt her pussy react to it under his hand.

“Guess you have a caveman thing,” he mocked, leaving her no time to respond before grabbing her stockings and ripping it in his hand. She shrieked and grabbed on to his shoulders to steady herself.

“That’s the second pair you’ve ruined, asshole.”

“I wouldn’t have to ruin your stockings if you just took your clothes off and bent over the desk.”

“Oh fuck you,” she laughed, letting out a little whimper when he pushed her panties aside and found her clit.

“I will, Congresswoman,” he said in a soft voice as he rolled her nub under his thumb. Her hand traversed his back, feeling the fabric of his suit and making him wish they had the time and privacy for him to take his clothes off. Feel her bare hand on his back and let her leave scratches as he took his time to get her across the finish line.

“You address everyone by their designation when you fuck them, Javier?” She rocked up against him, her chest flush against his as she searched for her pleasure under his thumb.

It felt so fucking good though she wasn’t doing anything to him, to have his mouthy, disagreeable colleague in the palm of his hand. To play her like an instrument. Have her spinning in her head for a second longer before her snarky retorts left her lips.

“No, just the infuriating, fuckable Congresswomen,” he joked, getting a shove to his chest. He didn’t budge, having prepared himself for the attack since he anticipated it.

“You tease all the men you fuck in your office with your shoe?”

“No, only the ugly ones,” she said, laughing. He smiled, happy with her giving it to him as good as she got. They were close, so close he could feel her warm breath against his skin.

“Asshole,” he whispered against her lips before closing the gap between them. She looped one arm around his neck and allowed her other hand to play with his suit lapel. Her lips were soft, contrasting the sharp words they often spoke to him. A sense of calm settled in his chest as she slipped her hand under his jacket. He felt her hand now, caressing him up and down, making him long to know what she would feel like against his skin.

Spurred by the thought, his hand rubbed her more enthusiastically. She whimpered into the kiss and he took the chance to slip his tongue between her lips. Her hand traveled up his shirt and clutched his collar, her thumb slipping under his shirt and touching his neck. He moaned and quickly felt her smirk against his lips.

Unwilling to give her the upper hand, he grabbed her panties and tugged, making the frail fabric rip in his hand.

“What the fuck, Javier!?”

“Shh…”

Unobstructed by her panties, he was free to let his hand do two things at once. He parted her pussy lips and pushed a finger inside her, her warm wetness inviting him in easily. He added another finger and coated himself in her slick.

She gasped as he returned his thumb to her clit, making him smile smugly. He pulled away so she could see him. So she could see the power he wielded over her.

“You’re much nicer like this, Congresswoman.”

“And you are more of a dickhead somehow,” she said, grabbing his cock through his pants. When she began stroking his length, he drew a sharp breath.

“Why wouldn’t I? You get wetter when I’m a dick to you. You get like this when we’re talking business too?”

“Of course not, assface.” She gritted her teeth and grabbed him harder, making him grunt.

“Maybe I should check the next time we’re yelling at each other in the middle of the hallway. Reach under your skirt and find your wet panties.”

Her grip on him got harder and her eyes narrowed at him, but her pussy clenched around his fingers. “See, you like it.”

“You’ll see what I like and don’t like when I break your little prick, Peña.”

“Thought I was Javier when I’m fucking you.”

“You thought wrong,” she said, squeezing his cock again.

He yelped, the pressure getting too much even through his pants.

“Fuck!”

“Yeah. Fuck,” she snarked, releasing him only to snake around to his behind and grab a cheek.

“Get it done quick. Unlike you, I have things to do after this.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe I should go now. Can’t keep the Congresswoman from doing the best for her constituents,” he mocked, pulling away from her.

She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him back, trapping him in place with them. “Finish the fucking job,” she spoke, a serious expression overtaking her features.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, keeping up the pace of his thrust. He found her neck with his lips, placing sweet kisses on her skin. So close to her, he could feel the effect of every touch, every kiss. He locked the responses in his mind, ready to use the information for the next time he found himself with his hand up her skirt.

“The other side, Javier…” she breathed her command and he followed, eliciting a moan from her.

“Just like that… Keep going.” She thrusted back into his fingers, taking her pleasure from him eagerly. Every now and then, she issued a new command. When he obeyed, she rewarded him with sweet sounds of her pleasure.

As he brought her closer, she gripped his fingers tighter. Her eyes glazed over and she stopped giving instructions, only enjoying the fruits of his compliance with her earlier ones. She leaned against his shoulder, placing some of her weight on him. Being the sucker he was for beautiful women in the throes of pleasure, he placed a kiss on her head and cradled the back of her neck with his free hand.

“Come on, come for me…” he said softly when he felt her at the edge of the precipice.

“F-fucking make me, fucker,” she cursed, mewling when he changed the angle of his fingers to add a twist to his touches.

“Will you give me a meeting in exchange then? We could work it over together…” he negotiated with no shame whatsoever. It was a shameless business, politics.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to let out anything other than a breath as he assaulted her senses mercilessly. She shook her head in denial, making him smile at her defiance.

She panted as he wore her out, her chest heaving and her eyes rolled back. The hand gripping his lapel grew weak and she went limp against him. With a low moan, she came around his fingers and collapsed against him. He kept his fingers inside her, not having the heart to kiss out on how her pussy spasmed around them as she recovered from the high he brought her.

She lifted her head off his chest and dropped her legs, freeing him from her prison.

“You’re not getting a meeting in exchange for fingering me, Peña.”

“What does a man have to do then? Fuck you in the ass? Cause I’ll do it,” he said, laughing when she shoved at his chest weakly. He pulled out finally and took a step back before grabbing his handkerchief and wiping his fingers clean of her release. She hopped off her desk and pulled out her handkerchief from her purse. She unfolded the white cloth embroidered with flowers and leaves and dipped a corner in her glass of water.

He raised an eyebrow at her when she turned back around to offer it to him.

“You have lipstick on your face.”

“Ah.”

“Where?” He asked, accepting the cloth from her.

“Right there. On your neck,” she said, pointing vaguely at his neck. He swiped where he guessed the lipstick mark was and looked up at her, asking silently if he got it.

She shook her head and reached back into her purse. She offered him a black circular box- a makeup thing he knew had a mirror in it.

“Thanks,” he said and pried it open.

“Who are you expecting to vote for this from the other side?” She asked as she adjusted her clothes and reapplied her lipstick. He wiped off the traces of her from his neck and lips. He closed the box, careful not to spill the powder inside.

“Hayworth, Calvert, Cunningham, Doolittle. Rohrabacher would do it, but it’ll require a lot of negotiation. Chenoweth would find the bill agreeable, but it’s unlikely that she’ll vote for it,” he said, a little disappointed that she was talking business even though that was why he came over.

“Yeah. She has a poor record on bipartisanship. Is Evans on board? Cause he’s pretty close to Porter and he can convince him to come aboard.”

“I think he will. Stoddard is talking to Evans’ people and it seems he’s content.”

“Alright,” she said, nodding. “I don’t have time for this shit, but it needs to be done. Surely your buddy on the other side can convince a lot more people to sign on. If he isn’t confident, there’s no point in us discussing this further.”

“Murphy’s got a list. He’s still in talks with them.”

“He’s still in talks? Motherfucker, why did you waste my time then? Could’ve waited for his chipped down draft before you sent a copy to my office.”

Because as much as I fucking hate you, I respect your intelligence. I respect that DC’s cynicism hasn’t turned you away from your ideologies.

But that wasn’t what he said. That wasn’t how this partnership worked. Political alliance didn’t equal friendship. Hell, Murphy wasn’t his political ally. He was on the other side. Yet they were friends.

“Mhmm. I had it sent to you so early on ‘cause I know you’re the hardest to please.”

“Well,” she said, mischief playing at the corners of her lips. She walked behind her desk and sat back down. “You pleased me okay today. I could do without all the yapping building up to the act, though. Really sucks the fun out of it, hearing your stupid voice.”

“Asshole,” he mumbled, as he pocketed her handkerchief and retrieved his tie. She laughed, the sound eliciting a smile from him. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he busied himself tying his tie, loath to have her see him enjoy something so trivial.

“I’ll see you at the committee meeting then,” he said when he got his tie back on.

“Yeah, see you there to watch them slash programs so they can give tax cuts to their buddies.”

He snorted, agreeing with her. It drained him to sit in on the budget committee meetings. It was a high honor when he got assigned to such an important committee. Felt like a pat on the back for his hard work. Until he had to do the hard work of arguing against the fucking worst suggestions futilely. Nothing fucking mattered when they didn’t have majority. Yet, he argued. So did she.

“Pass me a sandwich on your way out, Peña.”

He picked one of the two remaining sandwiches. “Here you go,” he said, making a throwing motion without tossing it. She reacted, throwing her hands up in the air to catch a sandwich that never came.

“Asshole,” she cursed, picking up her paperweight. Before she could throw it at him, he skipped away, another free sandwich in hand. As he closed the door to her office, he could’ve sworn he heard her giggle.

.

.

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Main Masterlist

Guys, I’m so excited about how fun this could be. Javi in his suits. Angry Javi. Javi taking his tie off like in that one Narcos episode from season 3. Javi and reader having clandestine meetings under the guise of work. Maybe a sex scandal? Who know… Let me know what you think of Congressman!Javi and Congresswoman!Reader.

[avatar-anna]

young mom or professor !!

It was a busy afternoon at the Styles residence. Hair and makeup teams were running around, style teams were laying out last-minute options in case he or Y/n wished to change their outfit ideas for the night, and obviously, his most important team was hard at work to get him ready.

"Stay still, Daddy!" Collette, his second daughter said, looking up at him with a pout.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll try my best," Harry said, nodding for her to continue painting his nails. He peered down at her, eyeing the careful work she was doing. "You're quite good at this, you know."

Collette didn't look up from his hand, but Harry saw her smile, one that was nearly identical to her mother's if it wasn't for the dimples in her cheeks. "Thank you."

Before he could respond, Harry's chin was being tilted up by Simone. "This should make the bags under your eyes go away," she said, placing gel masks just under his eyes.

Harry tried not to frown at the implication that he had bags under his eyes to begin with. He never thought his daughters would be so brutally honest, but they never minced their words, especially when it came to his appearance.

So instead of opening that can of worms, he asked who was helping their mum get ready.

"The twins, but I think it's more pretend," Simone said, combing his eyebrows in place with a little brush.

"I see," he mumbled. "Well, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to help me look pretty."

In truth, Simone was so excited about Harry going to the Grammys, she wanted to be a part of it in some way, shape, or form. She wouldn't be able to go, as that would stir up a media frenzy. For the first time, though, Harry had considered risking it all just so he could have a Daddy-daughter date tonight. Ultimately, he decided that it was better to keep that secret a secret, though he did have to promise to get Olivia Rodrigo's autograph and bring it home by the end of the night to make up for Simone not going. How he was going to manage that, he had no idea.

Still, it was a big night, for many reasons. Not only was Harry nominated for some of the night's biggest awards, Y/n was also joining him, marking their first public appearance. Ever.

His wife had been nervous, and rightfully so, but Harry wanted her to be there, wanted to spend this night with the people he loved, and there was no one else he loved more than Y/n. Except for his children, obviously.

So Y/n was in a different room getting her hair and makeup done, preparing for a night no one would soon forget while Harry was letting his two oldest children pamper him before he had to get dressed.

"Do you know what your mum is wearing? She refuses to tell me," Harry said. Simone seemed to be done with his face for the time being and was helping Collette paint his nails.

"We're not going to tell you, either!" Collette said.

Harry frowned playfully. "And that is why Julian is my favorite. He would've told me."

The girls giggled before continuing on. When it came time for Harry to start getting dressed in his red carpet outfit—a fun jumpsuit that passed voting from all six of his children (mostly four because Geneva and Natalia couldn't talk yet, but they seemed as excited as they could be)—Simone and Collette watched with wide eyes. The hair and makeup teams, who were all under strict NDAs, were incredibly kind to Harry's daughters and even styled their hair and put a little blush and lip gloss on them. Harry could only be glad that they got to have a small part of this whole experience.

He was ready in no time, and suddenly it was time to go. Harry waited patiently and anxiously downstairs as the time to walk on the red carpet drew nearer. He was nervous about tonight for so many reasons, but all he could think about was what revealing such a well-kept secret would mean for his family.

Had they really thought this through? Did Y/n want to come tonight or was she humoring Harry? Would she be more comfortable watching from a dressing room? Or even here at home? What if something happened to GiGi or Natalia or Maeve—

"Harry?"

All his thoughts came to a halt as his wife appeared in front of him, brows furrowed with concern.

And as he blinked, taking her in for the first time since she disappeared to get ready, the only thought he was capable of thinking was he was pretty sure he'd just fallen in love all over again.

Y/n had secretly gone to a handful of events for years, they'd gone to dates at fancy restaurants, and had attended weddings that required dressing up. But all of those times Y/n had dressed to blend into the background so as not to raise suspicion. Tonight, however...

Tonight Y/n was meant to stand out, was meant to be noticed. She was in a dress of gauzy, white fabric that gathered in ruffles all the way down until the gown hit the floor. The fabric was light enough to see just a hint of skin, but not enough to reveal much, though Harry could identify every curve and dip her body made. She was ethereal, an angel in white, almost like—

"It almost looks like a wedding dress, huh?" Y/n mused, twisting so the gown swished back and forth on the floor. "Don't know if I would've worn this to our wedding, though."

Harry and Y/n never had a big white wedding. They'd snuck out to a courthouse one afternoon while One Direction was touring, with Niall and Louis as their witnesses while Liam distracted everyone at the hotel. It was small and rushed, and the judge definitely thought the couple was much too young to be getting married. They didn't even have rings, as a wedding band on Harry's finger would be completely unacceptable. But none of that mattered as they both recited the vows they prepared and sealed their union with a kiss.

Her jokes did the trick, and Harry's brain began functioning normally once more. He grinned and took her hand so she could spin and show him the whole thing. "The judge definitely would've raised his eyebrows."

Years went by and they never had a vow renewal. Since Harry had bought out his contract with One Direction's management, he'd wanted to have a proper wedding, but there was just never any time. And now that they were six kids in, free time was a pipe dream, though they were the kind of busy he would never be sorry for.

Tonight, though, in this dress, Y/n looked like she could walk down an aisle, and Harry was nearly tempted to run upstairs and grab the velvet box he'd had since he was seventeen years old.

"If you're not ready, I completely understand," he said.

"I'm nervous about tonight," Y/n admitted, and with one look at her face, Harry could see the anxiety written all over it.

They could keep the secret going, he could brave this night with Kid and Jeffrey and it would be great. He would miss Y/n and the rest of his family, but he would manage as he always did.

Y/n shook her head, and Harry's shoulders sagged just the tiniest bit with relief. "I want to be with you tonight. This is a big deal."

"It's nothing—"

"Don't do that," Y/n chided, holding Harry's face in her hands. "Don't minimize what a great achievement just being nominated is."

Y/n knew Harry like no one else. She knew he would try to downplay tonight if it made her worry about him less, but this was his big night. Win or lose, she was immensely proud of him, he had to know that.

"I'm coming, you just have to promise to hold my hand the entire night," she said.

Harry grinned. "What if I win and have to make a big speech?"

She wrapped her hands around his neck, her fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair. "Then and only then can you let go. Oh, and for your performance. But that's it."

"I think I can make that work."

Harry leaned in, his nose brushing against Y/n's teasingly until she pressed her lips against his. They were hardly brushing when the sound of footsteps hurtled down the stairs.

"Mommy! Simone says she gets to stay up all night to watch the show and I don't!"

"You're not old enough, Collette!"

"Neither are you!"

"Daddy, don't go," Julian cried, tugging on Harry's pant leg. He gave Y/n a look as they pulled apart to attend to their children. Sweeping Jules into his arms, he gave his only son a kiss on the cheek, which was already sticky with shed tears.

"Don't cry, Julian," he said softly, pushing the boy's thick hair from his face. "We won't be gone long. I promise."

Julian continued to cry, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Harry's neck, and Harry whispered softly into his ear until his son's little heart stopped beating so wildly in his chest. Jules hiccuped as Harry walked over to see that the argument between Maeve and Collette had been settled, and they were now admiring Y/n in her dress.

"I wish I could take you with me, Jules, but I don't think you'd like it very much," Harry said. He tried to set his son down, but his little legs clung to Harry's waist even tighter. "It'll be loud with lots of bright lights and not a chicken nugget in sight. I think it's best you stay home, don't you think?"

Julian nodded, but he was still clinging to Harry, who shot a look of desperation to his wife. Harry loved all of his children dearly, but they were on a tight schedule.

Y/n understood and took Julian into her arms, not at all worried about the couture dress she was wearing. She took him back upstairs where the babysitter was with Geneva and Natalia and Maeve. When she came back down a couple minutes later, Julian was gone.

"Poor thing tired himself out," she explained. Then, to her two oldest children, she said, "The second the last acceptance speech is done, up to bed. Understood?"

Simone and Collette nodded, then rushed forward to hug Y/n and Harry before ushering them out of the house, telling them to say hi to Auntie Lizzo.

As promised, Harry took Y/n's hand as they walked to the car that would take them to the theater that was hosting the Grammys. She looked at him appreciatively, resting her head on his shoulder as the car pulled away from their house.

"I'm proud of you," she said out of the blue. "If I don't get the chance to say it when you win, when you win," she repeated when Harry tried to object. "I just want you to know how proud I am of you, and not just as an artist, but as a dad and a husband too. You're one in a million, H, and I'm so happy I get to be a small part of that."

Harry was speechless. There was nothing to say that would express how much he appreciated Y/n, so he settled for a kiss. His hand was steady as he cradled the back of her head, his lips immediately finding the familiar place around her bottom lip. He suddenly wished Y/n's dress didn't have so much fabric so he could have better access to her, but he settled for trailing his hands up and down her arms and kissing all along her jaw and neck and chest until she eventually pulled him up again.

"This is one way to settle nerves," she joked, thumb grazing his jaw.

"Let me know if your nerves need any more settling throughout the night. We can sneak away during commercial breaks."

Y/n shook her head at the look Harry gave her, the same one that landed her pregnant six times. "I'll keep that in mind."

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Harry took a bow at the end of his performance, then straightened. His eyes trailed the room back to where his table was, finding Y/n's gaze instantly. Her hands were clasped together tightly, covering the bright smile on her face.

Looking at her, his heart settled. He'd gotten lost in the heat of the performance, but she always managed to bring him back down to earth.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Before he could think about it, he pressed his fingers to his mouth, then gestured out, blowing a kiss to his wife. Not caring who was watching, Y/n reached up and grabbed the kiss out of the air and placed it on her chest, her eyes crinkling even further as she continued to smile from ear to ear.

"So, Harry, talk to us a little about how it feels to win Album of the Year."

Harry gave his answer, talking about how surprised he was to win and what it meant to him that his music meant so much to people. Y/n thought it was cute how he stumbled over his words, trying to piece together how he felt.

"And how do you plan to celebrate? Can we expect to see you at any after parties tonight?"

"Uh, no. It's back home to the little ones for me," he said, the answer rolling off his tongue before it was too late.

"Little ones?"

"My, um, my cats. I have a few cats that are practically my children. I'll be celebrating with them tonight."

"There's no way in hell anyone is gonna believe that," Y/n muttered to Jeff, who was holding his head in his hands, not unlike Harry had when he won earlier.

"Well, Harry, we wish you all the best!"

"Thank you, I appreciate that," he said before shuffling away from the press room.

[one-piece-aus]

Unbottle Your Emotions

Eustass Kid x Reader (Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Taglist: @lingxio @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @lil-skelly-bones (ask or comment if you want to be added)

Ahoy! Part 5 is here! I took inspiration from ask-bolthead-crew for the crew's names (aside from Killer, Heat, and Wire). You should check their blog out because the art style is metal(/pos). Also shout out to the people who voted in Killer poll, it was helpful :3

Without further ado, enjoy the story ^-^

Okay, calm down. You'll be fine. Hawkins said the cards said you'll be fine so you'll be fine, right? You just need to stand here, where Kid told you to meet him at lunch. Is this the right one? Well, he did say to be by the glass-stained window by the south entrance, and you're staring at a glass-stained window as you lean next to the doors.

...

Surely it's been a few minutes, and it'd be understandable if you left, right? You did wait and he hasn't shown up so-

"Is that her?"

'Oh great, they're here.' You internally groaned.

You glance over to see Kid and his gang approaching, internally thanking there's a security camera monitoring the hallway. Bouncing off the wall, you wave.

"Hey."

"And I thought you would've been late." Kid smirked at you.

You roll your eyes. "I was only late to class this one day."

Truthfully, you had shown up late to English class (when Makino started attendance) because you didn't want to go knowing Kid's your work partner. You only showed up because you feared what Kid would do if you didn't. You've been early to class otherwise.

"Enough chit-chat, let's go. I'm hungry." A guy with sunglasses and a tall mohawk took the lead, and you all followed outside.

You felt assured that they were heading in the same direction you went yesterday, when you had lunch with Hawkins and Apoo, at least you'd know your way back in case you needed to run. Still, you were dragging your feet, lagging at the back of the group. The blond with long hair took notice, slowing his pace to walk next to you.

"Kid forgot introductions, didn't he?" He guessed.

You nodded, pushing away the urge to question why he wore a face mask. "Yeah, uh I'm [L/n] [Y/n]."

"I go by Killer."

You try to keep a straight face. That doesn't stop the thousand questions erupting in your brain. Main one being: Is that part of the teenage edge phase or has he genuinely killed people?

Killer begins pointing out the others to you, starting with sunglasses. "That's Haikei, Oscar, Noe, Wire, and-"

"Heat?"

"You already know him?" Killer raised an inquiring brow.

"Yeah, he uh- he was in one of my classes last year. He probably wouldn't remember though."

Normally would've forgotten your classmate's name, but the few times Kid came to your classroom after the lunch bell rang because Heat was there, not only made you aware of who the loud redhead was, but you also took note to avoid him in order to not encounter Kid.

"I see," Killer said. A moment of silence passed, well at least between the two of you, Kid and Haikei were loudly arguing about something in front of the pack, before Killer spoke to you again. "So you're Kid's partner in English?"

"Yup." A nonchalant answer.

"You must be smart."

"What makes you say that?"

"Kid normally complains about group projects. He hasn't said a word about you."

You're taken aback. Letting Killer's words sink in, your mind does its best to keep the shock invisible. Does that mean Kid enjoys working with you? No. It means he tolerates you, that's the reasonable conclusion. He's only interacting with you because you have a project, as you are with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Find us a booth." Kid grinned as he walked up to the counter.

You were about to follow when the guy with the beanie called you, Noe you think it was. "Woah, where ya headin' off to, dollface? Kid's already ordering for us."

"I'm gonna make my order," you simply stated.

Last time someone ordered for you, you got a salad. You were pissed to say the least.

Killer face palmed. "Kid didn't tell you, did he [L/n]?"

"Tell me what?"

"The whole point of Kid inviting you was to help us finish this challenge," Haikei said.

"What challenge?" You didn't have to wait for your answer when Kid approached your table with a giant platter full of chicken wings.

"Alright boys, you know the drill!" Kid set down the platter and took his seat. He glanced at you, looking at you with a gaze that questioned why you were standing. Rolling your eyes, you sit down across from him.

A waiter came by a set a timer down. "600 chicken wing challenge, finish in one hour or less and your meal is free. Your time begins now." He hit the clock and the others dived in.

You blinked a few seconds, confused as hell. 'An hour? We didn't have an hour, lunch is only 45 minutes, and we'd have to leave in 30 minutes if we didn't want to be late for class. Are they stupid or do they not care?' You glanced at Kid, a frown present on your face. Though one of them spoke up before you got a word in.

"Whatcha waiting for? Dig in," Noe told you, his mouth full. 

"The three who eat the least gotta pay the bill," Heat informed beside you. "But I'm sure you won't have to since it's your first go."

"We only have half the time the restaurant gave us, shut your yaps and get to eating!" Kid ordered putting four chicken wings in his mouth.

"Guess we have to, princess over here must not like chicken," Haikei remarked.

Oh hell naw. You got up and walked to the counter. Kid briefly glanced at you before looking back at the platter. Maybe he should've let you order something while he got the chicken wings-

"Let's do this!" You slammed a large glass of milk down and took a handful of chicken wings. Kid's gang stared at you wide-eyed and jaws dropped as you began wolfing down food. You glared at them during your milk break. "Come on, I don't wanna be late to class."

Kid snapped out of it and continued eating, as did the rest. Killer took notice of his friend's demeanour shifting. The blond glanced at the rest who were now glancing at you with interest, however, a quick stern shake from Killer made them drop it. Humming, Killer ate another chicken wing under his mask.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright, we finally beat that stupid challenge!"

The gang cheered as they exited the restaurant. You simply smiled, satisfied with your lunch. Maybe you'll have that burger tomorrow. You felt someone pat you on the back.

"All thanks to [L/n]! Here here!" Noe exclaimed. "No wonder Kid brought her."

"Kid knew you weren't going to be any help," the one with the short blond mohawk remarked.

"Fuck you, Oscar." Noe flipped him off.

You laughed along with the others, though you felt that irritation from earlier begin eating at your mind again. Did Kid invite you because you were extra help? What would he have done if you didn't help like the others expected? A sour taste sat in your mouth, at least you tuned into the conversation.

"Is she not part of the gang, already?" Heat's the one that asked.

"What?" You blink confused.

"This was [L/n] initiation, wasn't it?" Oscar asked, looking at Kid.

The redhead didn't say anything, making brief eye contact with you. Tossing the sourness out the window, a mixed puzzle settles in your mind instead.

"Hey, Kid just invited me for lunch since I'm working with him in English. I accepted since wasn't working on anything else, though I'll likely be busy studying tomorrow."

Sweet, you corrected the situation and made an excuse so you don't have to go tomorrow. He can't get mad if you're studying, right?

"I'll invite you again when we get the A on our project," Kid said.

"Alright," you say nonchalantly, internally dreading the idea of coming back. You barely survived today. The only reason you didn't struggle to hold yourself together is because you did more than they were expecting so Kid's barks were directed at the others. You can't go through that again now that you've raised his expectations.

"How 'bout we get something else for lunch," Killer suggested. "Since we completed their challenge, I'm sure it'll be a while before they let us take it again."

Well, that was a relief. At least, you know you won't have to deal with that. You half-tune out of the conversation now that they're chatting about other food joints. Slowly the school building came into sight, your eyes passively precepting your surroundings, until you heard an annoying voice. Not just any annoying voice.

Trying to stay cool and invisible, you glance in the direction you heard the voice. Sure enough, it's Helmeppo who is talking to Koby. Shit. You're dead meat if Koby spots you.

You slowed down by some plants and stepped into nature, walking for a few moments before hiding in the green. Silently, you counted up to a minute and stepped out. Glancing around, you sighed, relieved before heading to a different entrance than the south, blending in amongst the crowd.

For a moment, the thought of Kid getting mad because you disappeared without saying anything crossed your mind. A drop of fear swirled in your mind, not knowing how he'd react when you'd see him again. However, when comparing it to the latter, an angry Kid is far less worse, he's only in one class and you know how to hide in the crowded halls. He's easy to escape from, unlike the alternative.

You stand by your choice.

[alekthefox]

Headcanons about professor Aventurine and Professor Ratio AU!

Veritas mainly teaches one subject (i cannot decide which one) but substitutes for any of the other seven subjects he has PhDs in. He's in charge of the chess club.

Aventurine is happily in charge of the theatre club and teaches social studies. By Ratio's continued insistence he also became a licensed psychologist though he doesn't work in the field currently.

Reputation. Among colleagues Ratio is well respected and as for Aventurine... Sometimes people wonder how he got so far from his demeanor and leniency with students yet his results make people shut their mouths. Once, there was an important figure coming to the college by surprise and one of the higher-ups was sent to notify everyone currently working in order to make the college look good. Shock when Aventurine was on his phone, not lecturing, while the class did anything but study. Literally doing hair and nails, playing cards(and gambling secretly which Ave turned a blind eye to), drawing, chatting loudly, etc. After that Ave's students' results of the past year were checked over again more closely because it was unbelievable how relaxed and chaotic class time was with such good results. They were dumbfounded when it was all legit. Not ONE of the students used AI, or cheated in any way. NOT. ONE. That is how much they respect Aventurine and his subject. He made sure to spoil them more after that.

Aventurine is loved by all students. Extremely rare exceptions. Ratio though... Freshmen absolutely hate him to the bone marrow. He's extremely strict and not lenient at all with test scores. But with time things become clearer, usually taking a year or two to see he does actually care. One instance being how when a chronically ill student was on the verge of failing he compiled the entire year's lectures into a more succinct paper and sent it to them. (The student passed.) Another being how when one of his students was barely scraping by and finally got a score they were happy with Ratio praised them the same way he does to all other students who get a good score. And he never compares them or praises the one who used to struggle any more than the rest. Another being how he would buy textbooks for his students who couldn't afford them or get them through the school. (He did get into trouble for that but kept doing it. They couldn't do much to stop him.) But each year he would face the same pain.

Aventurine noticed each time. He sent his students to spread word and positive rumours about Dr. Ratio to anyone who would listen. Soon enough each year as soon as the first day—it had become a tradition—older students would warn freshmen of Ratio's demeanor being demanding and cold but assured them he had a gold heart and told of his many shiny moments.

Veritas was deeply confused by this. He didn't know how or why it was happening. There was also no good way to investigate, besides it did soothe his pain. One day Ratio wanted to speak with Ave about one thing or another but when he entered he was surprised to hear him telling his students to do exactly that. To praise him to anyone who would be willing to hear it. In exchange this damned man offered that the students vote on what play they want to perform and he'll convince the principal to let it happen.

Veritas leaned on the doorframe with crossed arms and fondness in his eyes. Aventurine noticed everyone was looking behind him and looked startled that he'd been caught, as if Veritas would be mad about it. This was the very first time Ratio had kissed him in public, and in front of students at that.

They would always spend lunch together. You cannot convince me otherwise. These two are glued to each other(sometimes begrudgingly).

Whenever students would ask Aventurine about family life(they still don't dare ask Ratio) he would openly derail everything on schedule for the class and gush about Veritas. He was careful not to reveal his identity though. Most students don't believe the 'rumours' of their kiss. It seems completely beyond reason and belief to them which Ave finds absolutely hilarious. One day a student asks what his boyfriend does for a job. Aventurine smiles and says: "Why do you ask when you already know?" It confused everyone in the room so he continued. "He is in the same line of work as me, and same college." Ave was so incredibly smug about it as they tried to figure out who it was. It took about four minutes of distressed chatter(Aventurine watched in delight) until someone mentioned the 'they got caught kissing' rumour. (Of course time will twist the tale.) When Aventurine smiled wider at that mention... you can imagine the reaction.

Aventurine actively advocates against the dress code(within reason). A dress code is a good idea until it turns into sexism. If he sees a shoulder... No, he didn't.

[a-rat-who-writes]

UA Class Movie Night (Kirishima)

(This is all Pre-S7 to avoid spoilers!)

‣ After some intense training, some of the girls in the class proposed that you all should have a movie night past curfew since the following day was a weekend

‣ Some people were opposed to it since they either broke the rules, wanted to sleep, or simply were just "above" engaging in group activities that weren't important.

‣ After some convincing from people like yourself, Kirishima, Mina, Midoriya, and Ochaco, you all managed to group everyone up and sit them down for at least one movie.

‣ There was the whole debate on what genre the movie should be, some people like Bakugo insisted on some... rather violent movies, some like Denki who suggested a rom-com, and then there were people like Midoriya who hinted at a hero documentary.

‣ Much to Bakugo's irritation and rejection, it was settled on some musical that was voted on. It didn't seem like the most entertaining out of all the options, but the most widely accepted among everyone.

‣ People like Sato and Yaoyorozu were rather pleased with the preparation phases for making food, and some others took the initiative to go out and buy the normal movie snacks.

‣ When everything was set and ready, you found yourself setting down a bundle of blankets on the couches everyone rearranged around a large TV in the commons when you heard Kirishima's voice speak up from behind you

‣ He held himself in almost a shy way which is unlike him, but upon realizing it was only because he wanted to ask you to sit next to him.

‣ It was a little painful to hear him scramble to find the right words to string together to ask in the least conspicuous way, but you eventually just held a hand up and told him you didn't mind and were planning on asking him yourself.

‣ He was relieved and.. honestly a bit jittery when he heard you say you were gonna ask him yourself. You could very clearly see it on his face-- he wasn't the greatest at hiding his emotions, but it made him all the more endearing.

‣ With that, everyone had food passed out and sat down on the couches, mostly sticking to their friend groups. Kirishima had came over as per your earlier conversation, and the two of you shared a maroon colored blanket.

‣ Everything went relatively smoothly, but you could tell Kirishima wasn't the most.. awake. He was definitely more of an action movie type-dude, which you concluded after seeing the way his blinking slowed.

‣ You didn't want to be too forward by telling him he could rest on your shoulder or change positions, so you continued to glance at him, watching the way he began to relax, whether it was due to your presence or because of the exhaustion from training finally hitting.

‣ By the end of the first movie he was already wiped, resting with his head craned back on the back of the couch. A few people left after the movie was done, but most at least wanted to stay for one more, enjoying everyone at peace and laughing together.

‣ You carefully took his head in your hands and leaned him on your shoulder, relieved he didn't wake up in the process. No one else seemed to pay all that much attention, Kaminari and Mineta already having fallen asleep too.

‣ As the second movie played, you couldn't shake the feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you glanced down at him. The slowness of his breathing against you and the way he was pressed next to you under the blanket made you want to almost protect him because of how peaceful he looked.

‣ The movie was mostly a blur since you were too distracted with Kirishima. During the credits you were tempted to let him continue to sleep, but Iida was pretty insistent on everyone returning to their respective rooms now that you all were finished.

‣ You carefully ran your hand against Kirishima's far arm, trying to wake him up as comfortably as possible. He stirred a few times before actually waking up. He raised his hand to rub his eyes for a moment before looking up at you. (SHIT HIS SKIN WAS SO SOFT)

‣ OH WOW was he cute. You had seen him tired before, but nothing beat this moment as your hand still kept in contact with his other arm. He looked around and saw most people dispersing before he flushed, looked at the two of you.

‣ You pulled your hand away, afraid of making him uncomfortable, but only then did you realize how warm he was, and jeez-- how warm your face was too.

‣ He laughed quietly when he saw your reaction, you avoiding eye contact. He pulled away which made you calm down a bit more, but also missed the contact. (You had it bad for him)

‣ You had gotten up with him and told him that if there was another time like this, you would enjoy it if you two would sit next to each other again, which he immediately agreed to.

‣ Despite him having fallen asleep for most of the movies, he claimed he came in and out of sleep, catching a few moments of the movies.

‣ Although it was more of a mumble, he added that he enjoyed you being by him the whole time and keeping him warm.

‣ He quickly departed after that, leaving you standing there in modest shock, your heart racing at that last sentence before you also turned in for the night.

[artificial-transmutations]

Perfectly Normal

Devon wasn't a homophobe, really. He was, and he was pretty sure about that, just a normal guy. Not "cis" or "straight" - those were completely unnecessary new words to describe what had a perfectly fine word since ages: normal.

He was a normal man who lived a normal live, had his normal share of girlfriends over the years, had a normal job as a baker and was overall just normal. Even when describing his body, he would use the word: Normal build, not too big or too small, with brown hair in a normal haircut. He wore normal street clothes and voted in the normal, conservative way.

Devon was even, according to himself at least, very tolerant of other ways of life. Sure, he would cast the normal odd look when someone told him that he or she voted for some progressive, liberal or green party, and sure, he was strictly against any of those new woke things, but for example, Devon didn't care if someone was gay.

At least, if those fairies didn't bother him. If they just kept their abnormal fetishes in their bedrooms, everything was fine. Where Devon drew the line, however, was when those people went out of their way to let everyone - Devon included - know of their weird preferences. Those "pride" parades, for example, or when two men had to kiss in public. Or hold hands. Devon wasn't opposed to gay marriage, too, as long as they didn't marry each other. No, marriage was between a man and a woman, and sure, Devon didn't see why gay men shouldn't marry women. Everything else was out of the question, of course, and Devon didn't get why people were branded as homophobic who said such things. It was just a fact: Marriage between two men was not normal.

Devon, however, was a tolerant person. He would allow the gays to exist, even though they were gross. Just keep their distance, and Devon wouldn't have any problems with them.

Everything changed, however, when Devon's best friend, Marcus one day came out to him as gay. At first, Devon was taken aback.

"Why?", he asked, and Marcus replied, "Because I love men. I'm in love with a man."

"No", Devon replied, "I meant why did you have to tell me? This isn't normal, Marcus! Why couldn't you keep your perverse preferences in the bedroom?" Devon tried to keep calm but couldn't help feeling somehow betrayed and disgusted by his childhood friend all of a sudden.

"Devon, I didn't choose to be gay. I don't get how it's not normal. Love is normal, and I'm in love with a man. That's not... not normal. Perhaps you should update what you think is normal sometimes; it's 2023, not 1973."

With that, Marcus left, agitated himself, Devon to his brooding.

This was just unfair. Why did Marcus have to be that way? It wasn't a problem until he said it. Of course, Devon had read the 'argument' of what was normal and what wasn't before, in numerous online discussions that he had been part of, but to hear it from his best friend - former best friend? - made him think. However, regardless of how he shifted the thought around in his head, Devon was unable to come to a different conclusion: Something like that, men sleeping with men, was not - could not be - normal. There was just no way, he could ever see something like that as normal.

Of course, that meant that Devon would have to re-think his friendship with Marcus, a fact that hurt him a lot.

"God, I wish he would just be normal!", he exclaimed to no one in particular. Little did Devon know that a mischievous sprite had been listening in and decided to grant his wish - although not in a way he would expect.

As some hours passed, Devon calmed down more and more. What was he getting so upset about, after all? Perhaps Marcus had been right. It was 2023, and the definition of what was normal was perhaps a bit different from what he was used to. There was certainly no reason to end his friendship with Marcus over that. Devon was straight and... Marcus was gay. That was it. Perfectly normal. It wasn't Devon's cup of tea, but, hey, it didn't have to.

Devon felt really good with that insight. So good in fact that he decided to close the bakery sooner today and grab a bit of coffee in the shop across the street.

He usually avoided the place since he had the strong suspicion that the barista was one of those homos, but suddenly, that didn't matter anymore. It was normal, wasn't it?

So, Devon ordered his coffee and when the barista handed it to him, he said:

"Here you go Sir! Might I add that you look very handsome today?"

Devon felt flattered! Sure, he wasn't gay, but being complemented always felt nice. He smiled brightly and replied: "Thanks!"

"No, seriously, you should think about wearing something more form-fitting. It would suit you well, I think. Perhaps some tank tops to bring out the guns?"

Devon looked down on himself. Yes, he could very well imagine wearing those! His arms were nice and strong from the hard work in the bakery and the colorful tank tops he wore brought that out handsomely. It was sometimes a bit cold in the winter, but since it was always warm in the bakery, those were pretty much his standard attire.

"Yeah, right? I love tank tops!" The barista looked at him as if he had seen a ghost or something, but quickly regained his composure.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Sir." After a short pause, he added: "Would you... mind if I touch them? Your arms, I mean, they're just so strong."

Now, Devon wasn't gay, but he couldn't see anything wrong with that request. A bit of friendly feeling up was perfectly normal, after all, so he just nodded. He was the only customer in the shop, so the barista came over and groped his arms.

"Amazing!" he muttered, and Devon wasn't entirely sure if he was still referring to his arms.

"Do you mind?" the Barista asked, but before Devon could nod again, his hands were already exploring Devon's manly chest that was only clad in the thin fabric of the tank top. After a few more moments, the barista's hands went under his shirt and felt up Devon's abs and chest, with his fingers running through the forest of hair there. This time, he didn't ask for permission, but why would he? This was a perfectly normal thing to do, at least to Devon!

When Devon noticed that the barista wanted to pull off his tank top, he helped him by holding his arms up before continuing to sip on his coffee. It was fairly obvious that the barista sported an erection in his jeans - good for him, Devon thought.

"You know", croaked the barista, "perhaps you should try something more... dangerous than a jeans. A pair of shorts would really work wonders with your ass and your... bulge."

Devon almost laughed out loud. What was that guy thinking?! It was not like he wore any other clothes. Colorful tiny shorts, with tank tops - that was all the cloth he wanted to wear. Not even socks, if he didn't have to. And the tops were optional as well - sometimes, Devon wore only stringy mesh tanks - or none at all. That was normal for him!

Devon jumped a little as the barista pinched his exposed nipples, the ones with the piercings. It was okay, of course, normal even, that's why he had nipples. It just came as a surprise. "Sorry, I flinched." he smiled at the other guy.

The barista didn't reply, he was busy pawing Devon's ass and cock through the shorts with both hands. Devon wasn't gay, but it was good to see the barista was enjoying himself. Apparently, the other man's cock twitched and pulsed within the confines of his pants.

Devon took another gulp out of his coffee and nodded towards the other man's crotch. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself." Devon repeated the words from his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah, sorry about that." The barista said and went red instantly.

"No, no, nothing to be sorry about. That's perfectly normal, you're a guy after all." Devon said.

"Yeah..." the barista said, hesitated shortly before asking:

"Would you mind giving me a blowjob?"

What a ridiculous question. Devon was certainly not gay. However, giving other men a blowjob was just common curtesy, especially if they asked this nicely.

"Sure, no problem." He said. He took another gulp of coffee and set the cup aside before getting down on his knees. The other guy had opened his pants by now, and Devon took his hard cock in hand and began rubbing it. He knew how he wanted girls to blow himself, so even though he had never done it before, it was fairly easy for him to do it right.

The barista moaned out loudly.

"Damn, that's good! How are you so good at this?!"

Devon gave him an answer, even though it was a little difficult while his mouth was stuffed with cock:

"I don't know - it's normal, isn't it?"

"It sure is!" the barista replied and pushed his dick all the way into Devon's throat.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum! You're making me cum!"

A moment later, the barista shot a load of hot sperm into Devon's throat. Devon wasn't sure what to do with it but decided to swallow and drink it down with the rest of his coffee.

"Thank you!" he referred to the coffee and the gratis cum shot with it, of course.

"No... problem." the barista was still out of breath. "See you again tomorrow evening?"

Devon just nodded. That's what he was doing normally, right? As he exited the coffee shop in his colorful and skimpy clothes, he glanced at his clock. He really needed to hurry now if he didn't want to be late to service Marcus and his boyfriend. Of course, Devon himself wasn't gay, but this was just... normal for him.