#same goes for sing and echo i KNOW shit

[fullsaw]

I know other people have a problem with remembering all of the names and characters in tma but i personally have an archive of knowledge on all of the things i like and nothing else

[imaginespazzi]

Not sure if this counts as chaotic family, but I can’t get enough of your writing! I’ve read the ucla story and embarrassing number of times lol.

Can you please write Azzis first day back at practice and Paige is just so excited for her and they’re being cute all morning and then during practice they’re both so happy and then someone fouls azzi hard and she goes to the floor and Paige like kinda yells at them and then azzi tells her to calm down and she’s fine and Paige then apologizes while they’re all eating after practice and the team kinda teases her for getting all defensive about her wife.

Thank you my love and hopefully this lives a little bit up to what you wanted (even if it's unedited and it's been a little bit since you asked for it):

"Happy first day to you, happy first day to you, happy first day dear Azzi, happyfirstdayofbeingclearedforbasketballactivities to you," Paige sing-songs, the last sentence being mushed together so she can make it fit to the tune of "happy birthday, as she wraps her arms around Azzi from behind.

"My poor ears," KK whines dramatically and if Paige wasn't in such an absolutely fantastic mood, she'd give her youngest child the middle finger, but right now, she's too by smiling into her girlfriend's neck.

Azzi giggles, leaning back into Paige and letting herself be wrapped in the blonde's arms, "you're such a sap."

"Your sap," Paige coos before taking her delegated seat on the chair next to Azzi, left hand immediately seeking out a way to intertwine with the younger girl's right one, "you excited to play today babe?"

"So excited," Azzi whispers, wistfulness echoing in her voice. For the most part, the shooting guard excels at hiding her emotions and throughout her injury, she'd done a pretty solid job of keeping them in check. But that doesn't mean she hasn't felt the sting of being away from the sport she loves, every single day. And no one knows that feeling more than Paige as she presses a soft kiss against the younger girl's temple.

"Gonna show us all up at practice today huh Az?" Ice teases and Azzi just shrugs noncommittally with a slight smirk.

But Paige, forever the president of the Azzi Fudd fanclub, is quick to reply for her, "you bet your ass she is."

The rest of the team cheers and it's heartwarming really, how excited everyone is to have Azzi playing again. There's a buzz around the team as they walk into the practice center, the buzz of all their missing pieces starting to fit together. It had begun with Jana, and then Ayanna and now Azzi. With every return, the march towards UConn's 12th national championship, seems clearer and clearer.

It's the first time in a long time, that they have enough bodies available for them to play 5x5 with just the team alone. Much to Paige's chagrin, coach doesn't allow her and Azzi to be on the same team despite her incessant whining ("we haven't played together in ages Coach" "you'll play together all season" "azzi tell him he's being unreasonable" "whatever you say coach" "TRAITOR") but she's not all that upset about it. After all, Paige is nothing if not a competitor and beating Azzi has always been one of her favorite things.

Team adrenaline is on full display, everyone's eagerness to beat each other, but most importantly get better together, on full display as with every minute passing, the game seems to get more and more aggressive. There are no refs and Coach lets them play through the contact, knowing most of them will need to play like that during the season considering how fucking shit terrible the NCAA refs could be.

Call her a psychic but Paige sees it happening before it actually does. Azzi has been great throughout, faltering only once or twice, but that was to be expected her first practice back. It happens in a split secondas she's setting herself for a step-back pull-up, Morgan putting her whole soul into defending her. Something happens in between Azzi shooting the ball and it going in the net and the next thing Paige registers is her girlfriend, her only just recently cleared for basketball activities girlfriend, falling to the floor with a loud thud.

Paige is absolutely still for a second, her vision blurring in red and then-

"WHAT THE HELL MORGAN," Paige's voice echoes around all of Werth, as she marches to where the freshman is helping Azzi up.

She's aware of everyone's eyes on her now, can practically feel the death stare Coach is giving her for letting her emotions get the best of her but Paige doesn't give a damn. All she knows is that this is Azzi's first practice and no one should be being that aggressive with her.

"It was an accident," Morgan recoils, clearly unsure of what do to when her superstar teammate looks like she might murder her.

"DOESN'T MATTER. YOU DON'T FOUL SOMEONE LIKE THAT," Paige yells and even she's aware she's being just a tad bit unreasonable, "SHE LITERALLY JUST GOT BACK. WHAT IS WRONG YOU?"

"Hey hey hey," Azzi pushes a hand against Paige's chest, lightly shoving her back and it's instantaneous the way every part of her seems to calm down at that little touch, "I'm fine."

"That's not the point." Paige spits out through gritted teeth, still glowering at Morgan. Through the periphery of her vision she can make out KK, Ice and Jana snickering and makes a mental note to yell at them because this is NOT an amusing situation thank you very much.

"There is no point," Azzi says firmly, fingers rubbing a soothing pattern down Paige's arms, "it's basketball. Shit like this happens. You need to calm the hell down."

Before Paige, who's slowly beginning to relax into her girlfriend's touch, can say anything, a sharp whistle blows behind them. Knowing exactly who blew it, Paige whispers a prayer to herself before turning to look at furious Geno Auriemma.

"Good job, you just got yourself a technical," he seethes, one hand immediately going up in anticipation of Paige's protest, "do that in an actual game and I will eject you myself.

As Paige nods meekly, the muffled giggles behind her only get louder and when she looks to the side, her own girlfriend, the traitor, is trying to hide a smile.

"It really do be your own people," Paige scoffs and much to her displeasure, the laughs only get louder.

***

"Azzi says I have to apologize to you," Paige grumbles to Morgan as she and Azzi walk into the dining hall after practice, hands swinging together.

Morgan, the good-natured girl she is, just smiles and nods, "nah you're all good. I get it."

"See," Paige says pointedly to her girlfriend who immediately rolls her eyes, "Morgan gets it. You'd do the same too right Morgs?"

"Oh no," Morgan smirks, "I would never. I just know that you're kinda insane when it comes to Azzi."

Paige splutters as Azzi giggles into her shoulder, "I am not insane."

"You're the definition of insane," Jana says.

"And the definition of whipped," Ice chirps in, high-fiving her fellow forward.

"I am not," Paige whines, turning to Azzi "baby tell them I'm not."

"Well I can't lie Paige," Azzi says slowly and Paige lets out an offended squeal.

"You're my girl and you won't even defend me? Can't trust nobody these days."

As Paige pouts, KK waltzes into the dining hall. There's a smirk on her while she walks to the team table and exaggeratedly elbows Azzi on her way there.

"Oh no Azzi, I'm so sorry, I just bumped your arm, Please don't hurt me Paige," KK cowers into Ice, dramatically shielding her body, and the whole team, traitors the lot of them, burst into laughter.

"You're not funny," Paige seethes, crossing her arms, "I hate all of you."

It only makes the rest of the team laugh harder and it isn't until Azzi wraps Paige into her arms, that Paige's annoyed expression softens.

"Hey," the younger girl whispers, and just like that even in the cacophony, they're in their own world, "you are a little insane-"

"Azzi-"

"But I like that you're a little insane," Azzi whispers, before booping Paige's nose and giving her a soft kiss, eliciting a shy smile from the older girl.

And really, if Azzi likes her being insane, Paige is prepared to be insane for a lifetime.

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

We won't be like them.

Ghost x Reader.

Mistakes were made in the past by your families, now, you and ghost are starting a family, and this situation takes both to reconsider if you will repeat the same paths that your families took or will you fix it.

Warning: grammatical and spelling errors, I think there's no mention of the reader's gender but if there's please forgive me.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

The credits of the pics belong to @ave661

Simon wasn't at home but he would arrive soon, both have been trouble, arguing frequently for the most stupid things.

It's late at night, your newborn is sleeping, after hours of singing lullabies, walking around the house to help him to sleep, he's finally sleeping.

You were a mess, you didn't take a shower, dirty dishes are awaiting you in the kitchen, the laundry is still in the washer since you didn't have time to put it in the dryer, dirty diapers are making the house smell bad, and your poor baby cried for hours and hours, it wasn't a good day for you, you just need ten minutes to rest.

You're sitting close to the crib when the door opens and then a bark echoes around the house, you stand up and run out of the room quickly to ask Simon to take the dog out or keep it in silence but then your baby starts to cry.

«Shit» you whispered walking back to the room, taking your baby in arms and talking him softly to try to calm him down «it's okay baby, shhh, it's all alright, don't cry please, shhh, shh...» Ghost rapidly understands the reason the baby's crying, he takes the dog to the garage and goes directly to the baby's room to help. Unfortunately your face says more than necessary, you're not happy.

- I'll take care of him, go to rest.

- As if I could...

You rolled your eyes. He can't be mad at you, he knows he messed up.

- Sorry... the mission took me more than expected, please let me help you with him.

- It's fine, I have it under control, take a shower you stink.

He sighs and leaves the room, walking through the house he observes all the mess, toys scattered, the smell of poo and dirty dishes, the laundry. He really can't blame you, you stayed alone with a newborn for days, but he can't avoid feeling overwhelmed by all the mess and the situation, he never expected to have a family because of both pasts but here he is, husband and now father, it's all new for both of you, but moments like this makes him wonder if you and him took the right decision.

He took a quick shower and as soon as he finished he went directly to the laundry room and put all the wet clothes in the dryer and put another load of clothes, he thinks the least he can do right now is try to help with the workload, even if he feels tired he knows you must be more than exhausted.

Poor Simon, he forgot to separate the baby's clothes from the rest, then he washed the dishes but he forgot to sterilize the feeding bottles.

Finally your baby is sleeping peacefully again, you are tired but you have work to do, maybe Simon is hungry or needs something, the poor man didn't have intentions to wake up the baby, it wasn't very polite of you to reject him and then tell him he was stinky.

On your way to the kitchen you started to clean a little, taking the bags of dirty diapers out, picking up the toys when you hear the alarm from your dryer, Simon tried to help after all you said, you're taking out the clothes when you notice the washer is also working and unfortunately there's clothes from the baby mixed with yours and Simon's clothes.

You're walking to the kitchen to tell Simon he forgot to not mix the laundry when then, the feeding bottles are mixed with the dishes and casseroles too.

He's drying and ordering all the kitchen stuff with the same dishcloth.

- What are you doing!? Simon you mixed the baby's stuff! Oh god, do you have a clue of the new load of work your adding me! I will have to wash and sterilize all the baby's things again!

- Sorry... I was trying to help, I forgot about it.

- «Sorry, sorry» is all you know to say but the damage is done! Fuck!

- Calm down, I'll take care of it.

- You have done more than enough, why don't you go to another long mission and leave me alone again, huh?

He's shocked as much as you, you know you said something really horrible, there's no way you can step back.

- What did you say?

- I'm... Ahhh, Nothing, I'm just tired.

- Do you think I went to that bloody mission to leave you here alone with the baby? I didn't want to but it was work and I can't reject it.

- What about the paternity permission?

- I would have the authorization after this mission, I told you about it but it seems you weren't paying attention.

You scoffed, clearly offended and annoyed.

- Well sorry, I'm worried about our newborn, it's my first time with a baby and I'm trying to do it well, you could also pay more attention when I told you I don't want to mix our stuff with his.

- I forgot it, okay? I'm as tired as you! I said I will fix it and you started to argue!

- I wouldn't start if it wasn't for you and that god-damned dog barking as crazy! Your son hasn't slept the whole day and you arrived doing all that noise!

- and am I supposed to know that!?

- Don't yell! You will wake him up Simon!

- It's you who's yelling!

- Now it's me? You're blaming me for everything just like my dad did to my mom!

-And You're exploding against me just like my father!

Both stopped when the little boy started to cry again. Ghost just walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs, you stayed there cursing yourself and started to wash the bottles again, then you went to check the washer and separate the clothes.

Your son cried for a few more minutes but then stopped. You finished all the stuff you had pendant, you saw Simon's backpack In the doorframe, there was probably more laundry inside so you took it and just as you expected, more dirty clothes, you were separating it by colours as usual when you saw his uniform with fresh blood. You sighed annoyed but then the thought of Simon being injured kicked your mind, you put the clothes in a bucket with some hydrogen peroxide to quit the blood easily and went upstairs.

Simon was putting the baby in his baby crib when he looked at you and made a signal to be silent. Once both are out of the room you point to the bathroom, he doesn't say nothing and follows you.

- Are you hurt?

- What?

- I saw your uniform with blood, is it yours?

- Oh, it's nothing, the medic helped me, I'll be better in a few days.

- Let me see, do we need to clean the wound or something?

- It's fine Love, nothing serious.

Your eyes are full of tears, you feel guilty, he tried to help with all and his wound and you didn't do more than yell at him.

- I'm sorry Si, I didn't mean to explode with you, I was stressed you arrived at home expecting to have some peace and instead of it you found all the mess, I'm so sorry.

He just hugs you and whispers «it's okay my love, shhh, it's ok» once you stop your tears you check on his wound, it's not so bad but was bleeding a little bit more, you were cleaning it when he spoke.

- Look at me, love, I know you're exhausted it wasn't my intention to give you more work, I really was trying to help you.

- I know, I'm sorry... We... we have to solve these things now before that boy starts to grow up, I don't want to give him the same childhood we had, I want to give him a good family, good memories and we're not doing it well lately... We argue all the time and I think the baby feels our stress and then he stresses too... We're bad parents... We are not doing it right.

- I know, we have things to solve, and I want to tell you I have all the intention to fix it, we're new to this, it's also not fair for us to put us expectations of being perfect all the time. we can... Read about parenthood or look for professional help, we will do all in our possibilities to change and be better, it won't happen from night to morning it'll take time, we won't follow our families steps, I promise you I will be a better husband and a good father for our son.

You smiled at him and he returns the smile, you love when he does it, Simon never smiles except when he's with you, nobody else. His smile is only for you and now for your little boy, his words reassure you, he's right it'll be a long process but you will make it, this new family will work.

[willowser-but-nsfw]

literally COULD NOT stop thinking about this. all day. i blame @violentoxidation. afkljalijlajf

katsuki comes back first, just as the atrium roars with applause.

it's a good enough distraction to return to, the sharp sound of hands echoing in his eardrums, bringing him back to the here and now. there's enough sweat coating his hands to make him nervous and he's thankful for the dimmed lighting, at least, so that he can stick to the shadows as he wipes them on his slacks.

someone passes by with a drink tray and—he's fucking thirsty. always is, after stuff with you. doesn't matter how much goddamn water he drinks, it's all gathering at the small of his back and behind his knees and in the crease of his elbows. good thing you convinced him to bring the fucking jacket.

god, hopefully he doesn't stink.

katsuki isn't a fan of the bitter, sharp taste of alcohol, but at least it's something; downing a flute of champagne in one go probably is a mistake, but it's not his first bad decision of the night and with you around—as a little fucking minx—it's not bound to be his last.

he feels gross. he really, really does. call it post-nut clarity or whatever the fuck, but—he goddamn knows better than this. what a great headline that would make, catching him with his pants down at the fucking hero summit. adding lecher to the list of shit the media has against him already. public indecency charge at the least, not to mention the shit storm that would hit you, too.

he should have waited until you were both home; hell, in the car in the driveway, at the very least. thank fuck nobody walked in or saw you coming out of the same place, like horny teenagers in a public goddamn bathroom. gross.

—so why the fuck is his dick still throbbing in his pants?

it's infuriating, to realize he's just as much of a pervert as kaminari denki.

who, of course, is the first to notice his arrival back at the table, swinging his own glass precariously as he calls,

"yeah, kacchan!" the celebratory tone in his voice makes katsuki's stomach flip, and all his sweat runs cold. "let's get fucked up!"

katsuki's a terrible liar and he knows it, but he still tries to feign indifference, reaching for the cup that is most likely kirishima's. "ain't drinkin' that shit, i just want water."

"pfffft, lies!" denki spits all over the tablecloth. "i saw you down that champagne back there!"

"why the fuck are you watching me?"

"are you okay, man?" kirishima asks, frowning as he eyes katsuki up and down. "you're sweating."

"yeah, i—fucking do that, numb-skull." katsuki chews an ice cube between his teeth, trying to remember how his hair looked before he left the bathroom. fuck, did he even check?

denki laughs. "yeah, dude, that's his thing!"

katsuki's nose wrinkles, suddenly offended. "it's not my thing to just sweat, asshole. there's a lot that goes into this shit that you couldn't even comprehend—"

"dude, are you sure you're okay?" kirishima asks again, and then his eyes go wide, like he's figured something out. katsuki hopes not. "did something happen between you and—"

at the very mention of your name, katsuki's stomach tightens and bullets slide down his temple. he can't even think about you right now, because it only reminds him of how much of a scandal this could have been, how badly he wants to take a shower after having his ass out in that bathroom. probably needs to torch these pants.

he can't even think about you right now because—he's never gonna get the image of your face in the mirror out of his head, the way your dress looked bunched up at your hips. how smudged your lipstick got and the imprint it left on his thigh. how fucking wet you were over this perverted shit and how much he liked it—

"dude?"

katsuki snaps, slamming his hand on the table hard enough that the glasses shake. his voice is too breathy when it comes out. "don't fucking worry about us!"

"about who?"

all of katsuki's blood sings—violently—when you run a hand across his back, leaning into his arm as you shuffle to get into your seat. he can tell you've reapplied your perfume because his mouth waters immediately, like he's going to be fucking sick, though the tension in his balls says otherwise.

kirishima eyes you warily, jumping back and forth between the two of you. "everything okay?"

"with us? oh, yeah," you lean into the table, trying to catch katsuki's attention though he keeps it zeroed in on a wrinkle in the tablecloth. "we're great, right?"

from his peripheral vision, he can see the swell of your cheeks from your smile. it matches the even, light tone of your voice, painting you as the picture of fucking innocence even though you were just in the public fucking bathroom asking to get railed.

"please," you said, with your big, pretty eyes, which gleamed in the hall light. and you don't ever ask, because you don't fucking have to, but you asked then and—how the fuck was he supposed to say no?

katsuki finally glances at you and—he needs another cup of fucking water. you look goddamn perfect, perfect, like nothing ever happened, except that there's this little glow surrounding you. some bullshit aura of happiness because you got what you damn wanted.

you smile at him, bright and coy, as he looks at you, and when you pull your lip between your teeth, katsuki nearly sinks his teeth into his fist. underneath the table, his body directly disobeys him.

"yeah," he rasps, eyes returning to his empty cup as your hand rests near his knee. "we're peachy."

wasn't his first bad decision of the night, and it's not bound to be his last.

[aristocrating]

I wish you would write a fic where Bitty died during the first Haus party, but doesn't really realize it, and now haunts the Haus doing his ghost vlogs

that's such a fun prompt!! here's my quick pantsing take on it

Hey, y’all! Sorry it’s been a bit since the last video! Things have been sooo hectic!

Jack was so pissed after the Kegster, y’all! You wouldn’t believe! I heard him yell at Ransom and Holster in the den for a solid hour the next day, over the Lord knows what!

Those two boys are so nice though! They helped me do my first kegstand! I’m a real college boy now, y’all!

But, y’all? These hockey boys do NOT appreciate my baking. Every time I whip up something for them they avoid the kitchen like the plague! Now, I know my mama raised a little Southern gentleman and I may have high standards when it comes to manners, but not even a simple thank you?! Why do I spend this whole time baking for them if they’re gon’ be like this?

Anyways, it turns out there’s not only boys livin’ in that house? I met these two lovely gals after the Kegster who said they’re livin’ there, too! Who knew!

_X_ _X_ _X_

“Holtz, I heard it again.”

“Go back to sleep, Rans.”

“No, Adam, I heard it for sure this time.”

Adam sits up and rubs his eyes. “Dude, I hear nothing.”

“Bro, I’m not fucking crazy. It sounds like it’s coming from downstairs. Like, kitchenware clattering.”

Adam listens into the silence. And, indeed, now that he’s focusing.

“Rans. Is that someone… singing?”

Adam hears the bed squeak above him as Ransom sits up. “Shit. Bro. You’re right.” There’s more rustling, and when Adam looks up, he can see Ransom looking down at him over the edge of his bed, staring back at him, looking as mortified as Adam feels.

Ransom scrambles down from the top bunk, and they both quickly pull on boxers before creeping down the stairs.

Adam nearly has a heart-attack when he bumps into Jack in the dark. “Jesus Christ, dude! What the hell– … Jack?”

Jack is standing in the dark hallway, blue eyes looking ghastly in the dark. He’s shaking.

“Fuck, Ransy,” Holster hisses. “Jack is coral-reefing.”

Ransom quickly pushes past Adam and puts a hand on Jack’s chest. “Breathe with me, bro.”

It takes a few moments before Jack makes a sound like he’s choking as he gasps for air. “I– Ransom.”

“It’s me, bro.”

“Did you also–” He doesn’t even need to finish the question.

“Yeah, bro,“ Adam says and puts what he hopes is a soothing hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Calisse.”

“We were about to go down to look.”

Jack shakes his head. “I know what it is. It’s that baker kid.” He turns to look at them, and Adam sees his face contorted with anger again in the dark.

“Woah, bro!” Adam shoots Ransom a look. He knows Ransom is feeling the guilt well up inside of him again, because he feels the same. “Let’s not–”

“Shhh,” Ransom goes. He holds up a finger. “Do you hear it?”

There it is again, clear as day now. A voice, downstairs. Singing. Clear notes echo faintly through the stillness of the Haus. And what’s worse–

“Do you fucking smell that?” Jack goes.

All three of them slowly creep downstairs, jumpy with every step as the wood creaks beneath their feet. They make it to the kitchen, and there it is:

On the kitchen table, which has been wiped clean, stands a peach cobbler in the pan.

Fresh from the oven.

_X_ _X_ _X_

It’s what you do…

It’s what you see…

I know if I’m haunting you, you must be haunting me…

[amaliabalash]

Legally Blonde at the Oregon Cabaret Theatre

Just got back from seeing the Cabaret's Legally Blonde and so naturally I have to make a text post with every thought and feeling. Bullet pointed stream of consciousness ahead! And I'll be seeing this uh like six more times so I will likely add on to mention other little things I notice and like over time. 😂

This Bruiser was a miniature poodle and very cute.

When Margot is talking to Bruiser, she just held his head and looked into his eyes like she was doing a mind meld and I loved that.

Also, like seven years ago or something, the actress playing Margot played Elle in a youth production of LB that I saw, and it was fun to see her back in the show. She understudies Elle and I hope she goes on one of the times I've there, it'd be a fun full circle thing.

During Blood in the Water, when the students start echoing the phrase, Emmett started and like tried to cue them to do the same? I don't know how to word it lol but it worked for me.

When Elle asks, "who assigns reading on the first day of class?" Emmett across the room starts like reaching out towards her and mouthing "no no no" before grimacing.

Enid throws a beer on Vivienne at the party, which I haven't seen before and was fun as Vivienne runs off stage going "I'm all sticky!"

OG IRELAND LYRICS FTW

During the Christmas part of Chip, Emmett comes in with a reindeer horn headband and I just thought that was very cute.

This Emmett did a lot of like, voices when saying certain lines and it worked for me? I know the actor from many local productions and always enjoy him but he's usually playing character roles, and I enjoyed seeing little bits of that goofiness brought into Emmett.

Major height difference between Elle and Emmett. Most of the time I'm like "yeah height differences are fine" but it made it so if they hugged she's like buried in this chest and yes good I approve.

At the end of Chip right after Elle has her classroom success, Elle and Emmett like lock eyes and walk towards each other and it just felt like a magnetic pull thing until Callahan walks between them, I dug it.

And then when Paulette goes to get Rufus (she goes offstage, because they did not have a dog to play Rufus), again, Elle and Emmett just fucking gaze at each other for a moment before she goes into "is this law?" and I am so here for it.

Holy SHIT Whipped Into Shape. Always impressive to see people hold their own with singing while jump roping, but the first freeze? Forgive the random cheerleader picture for illustration, but the actress playing Brooke held this pose (without the other arm out) for the entire pause on "meet our brand new client Brooke..." through until the hit play again. I've never seen people burst into applause mid-Whipped, but like, you could feel the shock and awe just ripple through the room the longer she held it.

Take It Like a Man: okay first of all they actually put him in a good suit thank the lord, so often it's like "and he looks the same, just in black" but this was a well fitted suit so, A+ costuming, you actually did the job. And Emmett did a clear sort of lean in before Elle hugs him, which isn't anything new, but always great in my book. And when she hugs him, she just buries her face in his chest, I love it.

When Callahan makes the move on Elle, and audience member loudly hissed. 😂

Sadly. There was no Door. However, they DID make it clear that "what about love?" was an aside and not directly to Elle. There was a line change, I don't remember exactly what, so it's not "if you can hear" but something else. But when he's singing about wanting her to stay TO her, she's carrying a bag she's packed and they both reach for the handles and just kind of clasp hands for a moment. ALSO she packs the 2-in-1 shampoo after like hesitating for a moment over it, and that got me right in the heart. Well done.

During the reprise when Elle walks into the supply closet, Vivienne turned to Enid and said "she still hates me, doesn't she?" or something like that and god any little extra bit of Vivienne insight we get I looooove.

After Elle proposes and puts the ring on Emmett's finger, she jumps into his arms and just WRAPS her legs around him, full on star fish cling, I love it. No real end kiss though, which seemed weird? Like they were about to and then went into more singing. I'm not as much bothered by it as confused by the choice but oh well.

Emmett comes out in a hot pink suit for bows.

Okay that's all I got for now. I fucking love Legally Blonde.

[ladynaberrie]

you're walking tall (no need to hide)

Pairing: Kix x Translator!Reader

WC: 2.3k

Rating: T

You're assigned to the 501st again. Kix hovers.

part 1 part 2 part 3

sfw but mdni pls <3

Sometimes Kix wishes you were assigned to his unit more. 

It’s a stupid thing to dream about, certainly not something he should be thinking about when he’s on the precipice of sleep. He knows from chatter you tend to see more generals like Plo Koon and less of the Quinlan Vos types, which, rather unfortunately, includes General Skywalker. 

It’s unfortunate because he’s about had it with Senator Amidala’s protocol droid. (Whenever the golden droid drones on and on, Kix finds himself envious of Wolffe, who gets to see you more than he does).

But at the same time, it’s a relief, one less person to keep an eye on. If anything were to happen to you…

Well, there’s no real reason he should feel anything more than normal. He knows that, and he realistically knows he’d be fine, move on, and get to work. It’s war. Another day, another casualty. 

Kix’s train of thought derails. 

You weren’t made for war, he concludes. Not like him or his millions of vode. His childhood was math, combat, and logic problems that asked him to determine the difference between life and death. You got to follow your passion, and dream of languages and stories. (You probably never had to worry about the consequences of who you kissed).

Kix’s train of thought derails. Again. 

He tosses and turns in his bunk. This was going to be a long fucking night.

The next morning is infinitely better. In fact, Kix is elated.

You’re standing at attention next to Rex, and you look as pretty as ever. Your eyes drift over his unit before they land on him. The satisfaction he feels when your eyes stop on him for a second and light up in recognition is embarrassing. It should be studied on Kamino as an example of what can go wrong when a Clone meets a kind and pretty natborn. 

He tunes back into Rex, who’s relaying information from the General. The more the Captain goes on, the more effort it takes for Kix to not frown. This planet’s terrain was rough; rocky and steep, full of gnarled roots and obstacles. Not suited for you at all. And on top of that, there's a mountain you all will have to climb.

Fucking typical.

While Kix doesn’t like having to split his brainpower to factor you in, he’s not going to complain about having an excuse to stay close to you.

If you notice the way he’s orbiting you, keeping an eye on you, as you carefully step through especially uneven ground, you keep it to yourself. Kix is grateful for that. He’s already getting enough teasing on the internal commlink, as the transcript so kindly reminds him.

[FIVES: 30 credits Kix fumbles this.

JESSE: You’re on.

ECHO: 50 credits that he specifically tries to make his move while doing medic shit.]

But it seems you’re the one who makes a move first. You fall in step next to him, bumping into him in a friendly manner.

Kix grunts in greeting. The comm lights up as he gets absolutely slandered. He mutes it as Fives demands Jesse’s money.

“You know, you could talk to me instead of just hovering around.” He winces at the surge of activity in the transcript.

“Oh. I apologize, Officer.”

“Now, what has you so focused on me?” you ask in a sing-songy voice. Sing-songy? He's certainly never used that word before...

“Terrain. Worried about you falling,” he says gruffly, face heating up. He can practically hear Fives cackling.

“Oh. That’s very kind of you,” you say graciously, probably to save his pride.

He hums in response, mentally kicking himself. Was he going to need to take a class from Jesse on flirting? He’d never hear the end of it. But if it meant sweeping you off your feet the same way Jesse’s woos his person of the week…

He’d put up with teasing until the day he took his last breath.

The silence draws his attention back to you.

“It’s nice having you back. Million times better than Senator Amidala’s droid,” Kix says quickly, hoping to dispel the odd tension in the air. He’s rewarded by your laugh, and his chest feels warm. 

The transcript updates as Jesse goads Fives.

“C-3PO isn’t that bad. Though I will say Commander Wolffe sometimes ignores him if I’m there.” You giggle a little at the memory. Wolffe, huh? Kix frowns to himself, imagining Wolffe standing way too close to you. 

“Commander Wolffe may be onto something there…” he trails off. You glance at him from the side, sending him a pleased look that he wished he understood better.

The ground ahead of you two steepens rapidly. It’s nothing for a Jedi or a clone, but an unease settles in Kix’s stomach, eyes flicking down to your feet as you trek alongside him.

The mountain slope isn't completely vertical, and he's grateful for that. He is, however, ungrateful that the local lifeforms built their village at the very top of this peak.

“Well, I know you and Commander Wolffe, are pretty anti-droid, but they have their uses.” He rolls his eyes at that, thankful for his bucket.

“I think having a sentient translator in addition to a protocol droid makes sense. Access to a very large number of languages and automatic translation, paired with creative thinking, context, and interpretation. A decent team,” you finish, nodding to yourself. He would prefer C-3PO with you, as opposed to just the droid. But still.

“You’re smart enough to do that with just a datapad,” Kix argues, taking a large step up the incline. “And some protocol droids are clunky and can’t always move very fast.” You huff, following him up the slope. 

Kix slows down a little, eyeing the upcoming terrain, and he has to stop himself from audibly groaning. He just had to be grateful the slope wasn't vertical.

He eyes the cliif warily. It's a short climb with plenty of visible handhelds and ledges before the slope evens out again.

Kix gestures for you to go ahead of him. He’s got a feeling if anything were to happen, it would be here. You huff past him, slowly scaling the mountain.

“A kriffing datapad,” you say. “I guess…” you relent, diverting your brain power to not falling.

It grows quiet again as the majority of the company ascends with ease and continues onto the gentler slope.

Kix’s brows pinch together in annoyance; he somehow missed the fact that there was a fucking tiny cliff they'd have to scale. There must’ve been a better way to go about this. Did General Skywalker and Rex forget you would be with them?

Kix pauses on a relatively stable ledge, keeping an eye on you as you climb ahead. His eyes scan the area you're reaching for.

He notices it before you, but not soon enough, and Kix winces as you grab onto a loose rock. It gives way, and you let out a small scream, as you drop.

Reacting as fast as he can, Kix reaches to grab you. His arms grapple around you, pulling your back tight against him. You’re both upright, with Kix supporting the brunt of your weight.

It’s a somewhat awkward position, resembling a trust fall as opposed to some romantic carry. (Romantic? Kix scoffs at himself) It’s not by any means graceful or elegant, but you’re ok. Maybe a little shaken, but ok.

Keeping you pressed against him, he eyes you carefully, assessing any possible injury you may have sustained. When he reaches your face, he freezes. 

You've twisted to face him, and you’re looking at him in a way that makes him inhale sharply. It's a soft and warm look, one that Jesse and Fives are often on the receiving end of. Not him.

Fuck.

It’s at this moment he realizes his arms are still nestled above and below your chest, anchoring you to him. He snaps out of his haze, helping you stand.

“You all right, cyar’ika?” he asks, doing another survey for damage once you’re up. You nod before smiling sheepishly. 

“Good thing you kept such a good eye on me," you say gently, hand resting on his plastoid-covered forearm. His ego swells. 

Echo’s “PAY UP” in the transcript alerts Kix to the eyes on the two of you from above. He wants to curl around you and hide you away from the rest of his vode.

Based on the way you’re looking at him, Kix begins to think you may want the same thing. And the logical part of his brain is telling him he’s not sure it’s a good thing.

Kix’s doubts follow him all the way back to the star destroyer.

It was one thing when it was just him daydreaming, but now, it may no longer be one-sided.

It was one thing when he would steal glances at you from behind his helmet, but now, he sees you staring at him first.

It’s become something all too real because now there’s hope he’s not alone in this predicament.

Kix is pondering this development as he peels off bits of crusted-over synth flesh away from his arm. It’s been a tense day on The Resolute. At least for him.

Your close contact with him had made him lose focus for the rest of the mission. He's lucky he was the only casualty of his negligence.

He examines where his wound was. The skin color is normal; any internal or external trauma has healed. 

“Hi,” you chirp out, eyes widening a little as you enter the med bay. Kix meets your gaze, instincts firing up at the way your voice drops suddenly.

Your body’s stiff, face twisted into a flustered expression he wishes he could appreciate more. Kix tenses a little when he realizes what may have prompted your reaction. 

His blacks hang at his waist, leaving the upper half of his body exposed. He watches as your eyes dip down to his pecs before jumping to hover respectfully above his shoulder.

Interesting. 

Kix flexes a little, chest expanding in pride. 

“I just wanted to say thank you. For, uh, y'know...” you trail off. Your eyes zero in on his bicep, eager for a topic change. “And sorry you tripped. Are you alright?” Fucking hell.

All Kix wants is for a hole to open up in the side of the ship and pull him into the vacuum of space. (You would remain safe in this little morbid fantasy. Space and the Force are able to sense your innate goodness thereby saving you from his fate).

Kix settles on nodding, not wanting to discuss his embarrassing fall at the village. His brothers would never let him forget.

You shuffle forward until you’re right by him, fingers hovering above where the synth flesh had dried. “May I?” you ask. 

He nods, bracing his arm for the soft touch of your hand. Your fingers are light as they ghost over his skin; he nearly groans at the faint contact. 

Kix’s eyes jump to your face; your mouth's twisted up in a grimace as you closely inspect his arm. He smirks a little at your concern.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, as if he’s trying not to spook you. “I'm alright, cyar'ika. I was just stupid. Distracted because I couldn't help but worry about you all day." You look embarrassed at his minor confession, but then the same soft look you had when he caught you comes back, and Kix's heart thumps heavily.

He wants nothing more than to kiss you, to feel you pressed against his bare skin. Would you look at him like you are now? Like he’s not just CT-6116?

Your hand drifts from his arm to the side of his head. The feeling of your fingers dragging along his scalp makes him shut his eyes and suppress a shiver. Some soldier he is; reduced to a pile of mush the second you touch him.

It tickles slightly, as you trace the patterns of his buzzed hair. But he would never ask you to stop; it feels too nice. The pad of your finger sweeps over his tattoo. His eyes feel heavy as they open, and his chest aches at how close you are. 

"Thank you," you whisper again, eyes boring into him as if you're trying to say something else. He really wants to kiss you.

The sound of footsteps echoing towards the med bay wretches him from his own personal paradise.

Kix backs away from you and your wandering hands. He swallows loudly, and your gaze meets the floor as you deal with your own embarrassment. “Anytime, Officer. Please be more careful. The GAR would be worse off without you.” Kix is pretty sure the GAR would be fine without either of you, but he’s hoping you can tell what he wants to say. (He would be worse off without you). 

You nod and keep your eyes on the ground until Hardcase enters, drawing your attention. He looks at the two of you, mouth open in surprise.

“I was wondering if you could check something out…” he trails off, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. You spring into action, taking the opportunity to flee.

“I’ll leave you to it.” You give Hardcase a warm smile, any nerves you had seemingly evaporating. Before you exit, you look over your shoulder, finally looking at Kix again. “Bye.”

He nods at you in dismissal and tries his best to ignore how your departing gaze fluttering across his chest and biceps makes his codpiece feel too tight. The silence lingers in the air, as he looks at the door, wondering if he should up his chest routine when they're back on Coruscant.

“I can come back later, sir.” Hardcase's lip twitches. "Echo and Jesse are debating what entails "medic shit," and I'd like to weigh in."

“Shut up, Hardcase.”

[knives-and-narcissi]

I am absolutely bursting at the seams to scream about Morimyu Op 3.

Wanna write a very structured, intelligent analysis post but I don’t even know where to begin. Just … all of it.

— incoherent rambling about Moriarty the Musical Op 3 in-coming so quick — scroll if you don’t wanna see!

The way William’s yearning is portrayed. And Sherlock’s frustration. All the little references to Sherlock being a puppet on William’s strings. The way William is so infuriating and yet heartbreaking in the same breath. I totally get what Shogo meant when he once said, ‘it would be nice if William could be honest.’

The songs.

Spinning Around the Rondo? That entire spectacle. The lyrics, but also the way William steers and manoeuvres Sherlock at his whim … and the fact that they’re dancing with one another. I just. The metaphors. It was everything I needed from them.

I also love how we see the theme of the scarlet thread connecting them — this idea that they’re both attached but William is the one literally ‘pulling the strings’ — again in the scene with the Jack the Ripper culprits murdered. William tugging on an invisible string as he leaves and Sherlock immediately turning up to investigate. Chills.

In This Lonely Room I think is my favourite song from all 5 Opuses. When I say my jaw hit the floor … the dialogue from Albert beforehand — “you seem quite taken with him” ????? Umm. Okay. So it’s not just us then 😂 WILLIAM. You have been perceived 👀

And Shogo’s perfect called-out expression. But the pain in his eyes like … he doesn’t want to be made to face reality. He was having fun with his own little delusions and fixation with Sherlock. He was living in happy denial. Why do you have to go and be all voice of reason and ruin it, Albert?? “It will only hurt you.” EXCUSE ME is this advice on dealing with an unhealthy crush from your older brother time? I DIED.

But anyway. The song. Oh god, the song. Shogo sang it so beautifully and emotionally it made my soul ache for William and he’s like … he’s got this little glimmer of hope in Sherlock and when he LIES ON THE SOFA and sings TO HIS HAND LIKE A LOVER and then CLUTCHES IT TO HIS HEART. I cannot. Breathe.

What were they thinking? HOW can anyone be normal about them after witnessing that?

All of the songs in the second half pretty much ended me, to be honest.

I’m not sure how many times two people need to sing about having each other in their hearts to get the message across. I heard it the first time. And the second. And the third. BOYS PLEASE I UNDERSTAND don’t make it hurt more.

And then … the Durham date? THE DURHAM DATE!?

Ryo’s acting here was so good. The range of emotions he goes through during his talks with William — from notice me senpai to omfg challenge accepted to oh god we just sang about changing the world together do we really have to return to the weighty matter of why I came here — the LOC — after that? To oh shit you really do want someone to stop you to actually the RELIEF because that means you are a good person underneath it all if it’s really you — and I hope it is because I want you to be as obsessed with me as I am with you.

WILLIAM’S SHERLOCK AFTER HE LEAVES? The way he smiles so full it’s visible even with the dimming lights.

And then the final song … the repetition and switching of ‘I hope’ and ‘I will.’

I now fully understand why Morimyu twitter cannot stop saying those phrases and I am fully with everyone because ever since watching Op 2 they have been echoing in my mind but NOW — now I feel them in my bones like a bloody mantra.

Yes, I am dramatic about this. What of it?

😂😭🥹🤦🏼‍♀️

(Not even gonna start on Op 4 because that also broke me in very specific ways but it still comes in hard second to Op 3 my love.)

[docholligay]

Do you have any words (yours or by others) on grief/grieving a loved one?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot since I got it. I know this will sound strange coming from me, someone who writes not-infrequently about grief in the context of fictional characters, but you have to understand this: A frame makes a thing look like art. It’s easier to do things when they’re made to sit on a wall. So I’ve written and erased a dozen things, because I’m not sure how to talk about it when it’s me saying it. Which I guess is sad in its own right. That’s fine. This will have to be what it is. 

Some people have never been touched by death. 

I know it’s true, but it surprises me every time. I think all people of a certain age think they’ve lost someone, but there’s losing, and there’s being touched. If you’re coming to me with this question, you must know what I mean. You know someone who died, and that’s a little sad, you miss them, and you think of them from time to time. Grandparents, great-grandparents, classmates. Celebrities, if you’re weird enough. 

But then there’s being touched. I’m not sure I could have described the difference, before it happened to me. Someone dies, and, the world changes in an immeasurable way. Nothing will ever feel the same again. Now that’s all a very well traveled and quasi-hackneyed set of ideas, but it is true. The world is shifted. Doorknobs turn the other way, and always will. You could have sworn that clock had a robin at six, and not a blue jay, but the jay is singing now. The coffee didn’t taste burnt yesterday, or maybe it did but it was right for it to be burnt. 

The world is too still, and too loud. 

Grief is a shared way in which we are alien to each other. No two people mourn alike, and no deaths are mourned the same. I have been furious in the first flush of grief. I have burned things and made sacred oaths to my eternal anger. My grandmother sold everything he owned the week of my grandfather’s funeral. My friend once sobbed picking up a box of cookies from the supermarket. If at no point in your grief could you be called insane by a reasonable person, you cannot possibly understand what I’m talking about. 

You ever eaten a piece of gristle? I think grief is that piece of gristle. You chew and you chew, and you chew, but it just won’t go. You think, ‘if only I could get this down, everything would be okay’ but you can’t. It just sticks in your mouth, and it makes you gag, turning its oiliness over in your mouth. 

I nearly died once, by accident, mind you, in the grips of grief. It happens. You gag. 

So I think about that a lot, because its true what they say that flowers grow best where there was rot, and that’s true, but the trick of it is, that before the flowers can grow, that rot has to be broken down. It has to be chewed. And that takes time. 

There was a bar we went to. It was a fucking dive with shitty food and badly-poured beer, but PBR was a dollar on Mondays and you got a free basket of bacon. That’s where she told me she was dying, and I told her if she planned on doing this, she might have paid more than 3 bucks for my tab. 

It was a mess of a bar. 

They tore it down, shit, seven years ago now? And I remember thinking, ‘No, they can’t do that. They can’t get rid of that bar. It has to stand.” and I couldn’t have articulated to you why it had to stand, why this place I never thought much of and in which nothing good had ever happened to me had to stand, but I it tugged at me so hard. Because I could still hear her voice echoing there, and I could still hear what she told me. And if that bar didn’t exist anymore, than maybe it was never really real. 

Because that’s the insane part, right? You have individually and personally experienced 9/11, but everyone around you doesn’t realize the massive change the world has gone through. You are screaming at the smoldering pit, the scent of jet fuel in the air, and someone gives you that pitying look and goes, ‘How you holding up?” because the world is not different for them. You are fully prepared to have your knitting needles confiscated for the next twenty years if it would just make you feel safe again, make things feel right again, but this asshole standing in front of you has no idea. 

Because you’re changed. 

Grief changes us, but it’s wrong to think of that change as a ruining. 

The grand canyon is nothing but but a ditch dug by time, and wear, but people travel from all over the world to see it. A silver bowl tarnishes, but in the tarnish there are patterns and plays of light the new silver never dreamed of. Then again, that shitty dive bar is now a gastropub that serves burgers with aioli and has a gluten free menu, so some change is ruin, but that is not settled law. You can be changed and just be different. Different is not always worse. 

I think every person I’ve lost, and there have been more than I’d like, has changed me in some way. I’ve been a drunk, I’ve been destructive, I’ve been religious and reflective, and I’ve been a planner. I’m not any of those on a full-time basis anymore, but I see them all in the mirror, looking back at me. All those Docs, all the ways she has felt, still exist in me. 

 My grandfather, he of blessed memory, used to say that you don’t ever have to get over things, but you do have to get on with them. I think that’s what I’ve tried to carry with me. 

That’s the first step to breaking down the rot. Chop wood, and carry water. You keep it moving. You carry that with you, and you carry them with you. Sometimes thre’s nothing to do but the work.Then one day, you realize you told a story about them, and you laughed. You didn’t even think about crying. So then you cry.  Time comes you spent a whole day not thinking about them, and then you cry again. But slowly, life starts to take shape there. Things grow in around the ruins, and maybe it’s even more beautiful than before. You fly their memory like a kite, bright and bouncing in the wind of your life. People can see it in you, even if they don’t quite know what it is. It’s just a pretty, dancing thing in the clouds. 

And then you realize, you don’t want you knitting needles confiscated anymore. 

I recently laid years of anger to rest over someone’s death. It was the first time I cried about it. As soon as I stopped being mad, I had to let the sorrow in. After you clear the rot, you still need the rain, I guess. 

You get better. There are still trenches dug in the French forest from WWI, but the forest is no less green for them. Tragedy above all others. Covered by the willingness to grow. 

I feel like this fucking ramble makes less sense the more I noodle on it, and in many ways is more about how to move through grief than what it feels like, so, I don’t know, the best I have in the way of a poetic thought is that sometimes grief in the way all the clothes end up in the hamper now, and the way you stop halfway up the stairs with a cup of coffee before you remember, and the way you never walk past that cafe with the little pink cakes. That sharp, cold knife is small, and fits in so many places. 

But it can’t stop the grass from growing.

[dancing-to-architecture]

20 - ZZ Top - Eliminator (1983)

Ah, ZZ Top. The Houston blues-rock band known for spinning fuzzy guitars and big ass beards, except for the one guy who's last name was actually "Beard".

Having existed in America during the 80s and 90s (and having lived in Houston itself for a year and half) of course i know their hits (and i can see a few here) but I'm kinda excited to hear the deeper cuts.

Speaking of ZZ Top's deeper cuts: i got to see these guys live at Bonnaroo, but i don't think they quite got the point of Bonnaroo. Typically, if you're there, you're playing the hits. The Big Numbers. The ones you know everybody there is gonna be able to sing along to.

Over the course of 45 minutes, they didn't play a single song i could recognize.

I don't have an ounce of shame in saying that yeah, I left that set early and went to a different stage to watch The XX right as they started playing Intro.

Easily one of the better calls i made at that festival.

•Gimme All Your Lovin'-

Such a simple but effective drum beat. No frills but it doesn't need 'em.

Aggressively horny lyrics, but it feels almost campy with how straight they're delivered.

"If i blow my top, will you let it go to your head?" At the risk of sounding like John Waters for a moment, i think the world needs more barely-disguised lyrics about getting a blowjob, especially these days where it really seems like everybody's horny but nobody fucks.

"You got to pack it up, work it like a new boy should." Happy pride month, y'all.

•Got Me Under Pressure-

This girl sounds FUN AS HELL. I'm reminded of Sheryl Crow here: "are you strong enough to be my man?" (Yeah i know that's not what that song is about but play with me in the space here.)

•Sharp Dressed Man-

1000% the first song that comes to my mind when i hear "ZZ Top".

Also 1000 is likely the number of times I've heard this song in my 38ish years on this rock.

That riff still kicks all kinds of ass though.

Audience participation section: which movie's "main guy wearing a bunch of different suits for 5 seconds each" changing-room montage do YOU think of when you hear this?

(Correct answer: it's literally the background song for every. single. one. since this album came out.)

Also white gloves and looking for love...that's... certainly a look.

•I Need You Tonight-

I fucking love this song!

Oh wait, shit, no I'm thinking of INXS.

Jokes aside, i really like the echoing guitar tone.

Pretty solid bluesy "i miss my woman" song. If this album wasn't already stacked, I'd say this could have been a single.

And that solo, though!

•I Got The Six-

Before this one started, i was wondering what the six was referencing. A six pack of beer? I got your back? HAHAHAHA NOPE.

"I got the six, gimme your nine!"

Again, more songs about blowjobs! Sixty-nining, even!

And also, if you're attracted to women and you don't/won't eat pussy, know that i have lost some respect for you.

Horny as hell song, but it gets a nod of overall approval especially since the end is kinda hilarious.

•Legs-

ATTENTION META: 40 years ago, the bearded ones taught us all about the importance of having Legs and knowing how to use them. Y'all had no fuckin excuse for your floating torso mananangal-wannabe bullshit.

This song goes so fucking hard. At least 35% harder than a song about legs should go. I hate that it fades out during the solo, though. Let that man cook!

•Thug-

I know, I KNOW this album came out at least a decade before the show did, but that slap bass just feels Seinfeld-y. Funky, but Seinfeld-y.

Also, calendar check: June 21 is Thug Day, i guess. Remember to keep your machine guns and money secure, and bust your friends out of jail!

•TV Dinners-

Know what? I can appreciate that Billy and/or Dusty sings about processed microwaved slop with the same exact amount of gusto and dedication that he does about the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Otherwise it's basically a novelty song, imo. I can't believe it was a single.

•Dirty Dog-

Ah, the flip side of aggressively horny: the creepy/gross/misogynist angle. God forbid a woman does anything.

Also this really sounds like a ZZ Top b-side. It literally sounds like 4 of their other songs put in a blender for a while.

•If I Could Only Flag Her Down-

The misogyny continues and deepens.

In lieu of a review for this song, here's a lyric:

"I just want to crash her/

I just want to trash her."

And here's the vomiting emoji 20 times:

🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

•Bad Girl-

"Praise kinks DNI": the song. I feel like i need a shower after hearing this.

Well, the second half of the album sucks some real shit, but Legs is still a banger. It's pretty easy to see why the deep cuts stay deep, though.

And, like many, many albums I've heard before: after the first 5 or so songs, it's just time to put on a new album.

Favorite Track: Gimme All Your Lovin'. 100%.

Least Favorite Track: If I Could Only Flag Her Down. I'll spare you another 20 vomit emojis.

[gratisdiamanten]

thoughts on maxiel trauma roleplay / exposure therapy in any of your wips?

I'll start with thoughts then give a little excerpt!

Trauma reenactment is actually kind of a common thing in a lot of my fics, whether this is just falling into the same old emotional habits as an old abusive situation, or full-on trauma-related roleplay. My old long-deleted fic actually had a scene like this, but what was interesting was that Max and Daniel were reenacting the kind of trauma that Daniel had actually caused him in the past, rather than them acting out what someone else did to him.

Max has a tendency to self-blame for his trauma. This isn't "reclaiming" in the typical self-empowering sense people think of in a normalizing sense. It's definitely more of, Max blames himself. He's going to do it to himself again and it will hurt less this time, but he's still doing it to himself.

Here's a darker little excerpt from I Could Hear My Father Sing that harkens back to his early abuse, cw for feminization, homophobia, underage:

Daniel holds his jaw and touches the smear of Max's lipstick where it must blur past the limits of his mouth. Max has spit on his chin. Sticky. A thin glaze all over him that has the satin of the slip sticking in places like cling film.

"Baby," Daniel says softly. "Baby, you're taking it so well. Let me see you, so pretty for me, my girl." He pulls back for a moment, his wet cock slipping out of Max's mouth, a long string of something thicker than spit dripping down his chin. More than the blunt prod of Daniel's restraint at the opening of his throat, this makes him feel sick, his sweetness.

"You can—can you pretend," Max starts, and then his voice staggers around the wetness pooling everywhere in his mouth. Sounds more like he is choking now than earlier. "You can say you don't like it, that I look like this. That I'm—" No better than my mouth. A f—, a slut. If I want to look like a girl I should be fucked like one. It echoes in the empty halls inside his brain. "That I don't like doing this."

"Just pretend," Daniel says, feeding him his cock again, pushing in. "Just pretend, baby." Constant pressure. "Fuck," he groans. "You need it all the time, don't you. Don't know what else to do with a mouth like that." Daniel pushes him back against the wall, he's sitting there. Fabric rucked up. A mess. Drool running. When Max tries to twist his head, Daniel wrenches him back in place by his hair. He can feel it, the skin peeling from skull. He's pulled blissfully outside himself. All of Daniel is inside him, unfolding the ridges of his throat.

"You put on fucking lipstick like that? That's what you wanted, huh?" And he thinks of it, when he was smaller. He was—he was only playing, he promises. He was only trying Gina-Marie's tulle skirt. It didn't mean anything, not really. This was years ago. "To get that little mouth fucked. Cheap whore at a bar. You don't even look as good as them. Shit." His cock is already pulsing in Max's mouth. All of it goes into Max. All of it inside him.

[themadsquirrel09]

Find you ☆ Chapter 9

👉 Click here to go to chapter 1! 🚢

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Fandom ☆ South Park

Ships ☆ KenMan ♡ KenEric (Eric Cartman x Kenny McCormick), Clybe (Bebe StevensxClyde Donovan) and Creek (Tweek TweakxCraig Tucker). There might be some glimpses of other ships.

Characters ☆ Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman.

Rating ☆ M

Warnings ☆ Swearing, violence, fluffiness, tegridy. They are aged up here. It starts when they are 14, but happens mostly when they are 18, at the last year of school. 

Chapter summary ☆ A day meant for chilling is interrupted.

☆ 1223 words ☆

I open my eyes, close them again and feel the world spinning. Slowly, I sit up and remember what happened. Oh, right; that's why the room is warm. It also smells like food. I smile at the badly wrapped bandages. 

"Eric?" There's no reply, so I get up and slowly navigate the house. When I enter the kitchen, I put a hand over my chest and feel my heart race; Cartman is cooking as he hums a song. It unfolds a hidden memory: 

I’m at the hospital while my life slips away from me. Something is weird, I get the feeling that I won’t come back this time. I worry that Stan hasn’t come by, so I can’t say goodbye as I did with the others. I take the remote and surf through the channels; I have to go back when I hear a familiar voice. 

“The fuck?” In the TV, I see Eric; he says:

“My best friend in the whole world is Kenny McCormick and he's sick right now. He's really sick. He's only 8 years old and his doctors don't think he has very long to live. Look, I realize that using the tissue from aborted fetuses for research is a touchy subject, but all I know is that if there's a chance, a chance that stem-cell research could save my best friend's life, well, I guess I owe it to him to try and change your minds. I love Kenny McCormick and... I want you to love him too. And I'm not the best speaker in the world. Maybe I can put it best in the words of a timeless song.”

“What.” I’m dumbfounded. He’s crying, so he wipes the tears, takes a deep breath and sings:

“It was the heat of the moment telling me what your heart meant

The heat of the moment shone in your eyes

I never meant to be so bad to you

One thing I said that I would never do.” The people of the audience join in, singing:

“One look from you and I would fall from grace.

And that would wipe the smile right from my face. 

Do you remember when we used to dance? 

And incidents arose from circumstance?

One thing led to another; we were young”

They all move and clap together, harmonizing.

“And we would scream together songs unsung

It was the heat of the moment

Telling me what our hearts meant

The heat of the moment

shone in your eyes.”

Cartman's voice is the one that’s heard above them all. Tears roll down my cheeks while I look at him. Was he serious about finding a cure or is this just one of his sick jokes?

Either way, it was too late. I died that time for so long I thought I wouldn’t come back. But here we are, together again.

“Eric,” I say, he grabs his chest out of shock.

“Kenny!”, he is pissed, but his expression mellows when he sees my bruised face. “Why don't you stay in bed?” 

“I don't want to,” I say, sticking my tongue out.

“Breakfast is almost ready anyway.” I sit and look at him go, it is kind of hypnotizing, since I can’t cook for shit. He serves us, I doubt.

“Who are you and what did you do to Cartman?” He scoots over.

“Don’t be an asshole and fucking eat, Kenny.” I snicker. As we eat, I try Tweek's breathing exercise; it seems that everything goes slower. The food Eric made tastes good and he is so close I can feel his warmth. I wonder if he’d sing that song just for me. 

He starts going about a new video game console that will come out and I realize that his voice is soft and hoarse at the same time. I look at his lips, when he smiles, I find myself echoing the motion. Suddenly I’m horny, but I remember Kyle’s words, they fall on me like icy water: Do you think you fall in love, or is it only craving? I listen to what Cartman is going about. So you want us to play that together? 

“That’d be awesome.” 

“Liane is out today, what do you wanna do?” When he looks at me, I shoot him an inviting look; he grins, raising an eyebrow, but then he takes my chin, checking my wounds. “Maybe we should just chill.” Oh. We stay like that for a moment. I don’t want to. But I look at my bandages, the half-eaten food, his face. Is he worried?

“Ok,” I say, defeated. After breakfast, I show him the blood splashed Mysterion costume.

“Can I wash this here?” I ask.

“Sure, what did you do to it?” He seems excited, I didn’t even think he would notice.

“A total redesign.” 

“Sweet,” he says when he checks it out, I nudge him.

“What about The Coon?” Cartman takes a box from under the bed, the costume is there. It looks just like when he left. "Hadn't you worn it in all these years?”

“I can’t be The Coon out of South Park, Kenny, my powers won’t work!” He snorts, I take his hat off, then put on his coon ears instead. Fuck, why did you have to choose something so adorable? 

“You can be The Coon again now and we can fight together, but if you betray me...” I lean to whisper in his ear. “I will have to take you down.” A loud noise comes from downstairs, we both snap. “What was that?” I look around for Mr. Kitty and see him sleeping in bed, then I look at Cartman; his face is red. “Eric?” He doesn’t reply. I take his hand and put his claws on. “Stay close.” He grabs me and we go downstairs.

In the living room, we see the table is flipped and the plates from breakfast are on the floor, shattered. Cartman pulls me into a hug.

“Fuck,” he says, tightening the grip.

“Let me go, Cartman. We have to find who did this!”

“No, we don’t.” His claws dig on my back.

“You are hurting me.” I gasp for air and he releases me. I get in a defensive position again. 

“Shit!” He exclaims, horrified at the blood on his claws. 

“I’m ok. Come on.” I grab him and we check the rest of the house. “No one is here. The windows and doors are closed. I don’t get it.” 

“I know, Kenny. God-fucking-dammit! I told you.” His voice comes out suffocated. Cartman steps out of the house and sits in front of it.

“What do you mean?”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. Answer me, asshole!” He laughs nervously. 

“You’ll think I’m insane.” I get close. 

“I already think that.” I smile and he scoffs.

“Ok. This has been happening for a while. I’ve been trying, Kenny, not to do those things that get me in trouble because I thought that’s what would bring me back to you.” I gap. Is he fucking with me? “It feels like I’m always having to stop myself and I can’t! It comes out somehow. When I feel like I’m gonna blow, I don’t, but something falls or breaks or both.” His face is getting red again. “I looked it up. People call it a poltergeist.”

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About this chapter: what Kenny sees in the TV is from "Kenny dies": E12S5. Special thanks to the person who posted the transcript of this episode

[legalphees]

@taylorswift

Tay,

Hey, girl. I’ve felt lucky to consider you a friend for about half of our lives (I’m a 1989 baby too!). Admittedly, our friendship has been a little more one sided than some of my other friendships, but no less important to me. I have the friend who hates who hurt me even more vehemently than I do, the friend who considers carefully and gives sage advice, the friend who listens without judgement and lets me be me, and I have you, the friend that goes through the same shit as me and can distill so many of my big, messy, complicated feelings into a few simple sentences.

Back when reputation came out, for the first time I didn’t connect with one of your albums. Then, in 2018, I fell in love, hard, and recognized my own thoughts and feelings in your words, as if we were living the same story. In 2019, when playing Lover, I didn’t feel like I was listening to someone else sing about her life but like my own thoughts about my relationship were being echoed back to me. In 2020, while isolating with him, I caught a glimpse of our invisible string tying us together all those years, pulling us towards each other and the life we were meant to have. But things happen, the one you love disappoints you, and the one you saw everything in saw only himself. Betrayal stings worst when it comes from the person you’d die for in secret.

If the internet is to be believed, we’re both dealing with the end of our respective longest and most significant romantic relationships and I find a fitting, if unfortunate, commonality with a friend whose life has long mirrored my own. Misery loves company, I guess. I’m sure that soon I’ll get to hear you so deftly describe my deeply broken heart like you’ve done many times before. But I wanted to take this time, while you’re in my city, to let you know no matter what happens, that I and the scores of your other parasocial friends will be here for you when you need us. Just like you’ve been there for me all those years.

Can’t wait to see you make the whole place shimmer on Sunday!

@taylornation

[coyotesamachado]

Picture Perfect Porcelain

Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader/Original Female Character

Her arm curls around the door so it’s lined up along the edge of it, Bob thinks he sees a droplet of water track from her wrist back down to her elbow, but his glasses are back in his locker and he really wishes they weren’t right now. He swallows thickly, because it’s different when he knows she’s naked behind there as opposed to it being salt water after she had been thrown into the ocean by Coyote during dogfight football.

Basically, I love hot showers.

Title is from Ever After by Marianas Trench.

Callsign is Mist.

This is cross posted from my AO3, link in the source.

WC: 2907.

Warnings: 18+, smut, hot showers, girl can’t deep throat, oral (male receiving), vaginal fingering, rooster is a menace.

Walking into the shower room, Bob could kick himself. She always waits until everyone else is finished with their showers, because she likes to have hot showers, the kind of ones that turn the room into a sauna, and leave no hot water for anyone else. Apparently, he hadn’t been fast enough though, because Mist is in here and he still hasn’t had a shower.

The door closes behind him and he flinches as the resounding bang echoes around the room. He hears her gasp, and she’s opening the door to her stall and peaking her head out.

“Bob! Shit, sorry, I was told everyone had been through already, I’ll finish up,” she rushes out.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll just have a cold one. I don’t mind,” he says quickly, trying to placate the situation because he doesn’t want to take away her shower time. His own are a moment to decompress from the day, and since she tends to take the longest and the hottest whenever she has the chance, he can only imagine that it’s the same for Mist. Her arm curls around the door so it’s lined up along the edge of it, Bob thinks he sees a droplet of water track from her wrist back down to her elbow, but his glasses are back in his locker and he really wishes they weren’t right now. He swallows thickly, because it’s different when he knows she’s naked behind there as opposed to it being salt water after she had been thrown into the ocean by Coyote during dogfight football.

“No seriously, just give me a minute and I'll wash all this soap off and then it’s all yours, plenty of water left.”

She pulls her arm back and goes to lock the door behind her when Bob speaks again, it’s so soft that she can barely hear him.

“What was that?” she calls out, her voice singing out over the noise of the shower.

Bob rubs the back of his neck, wondering whether he should repeat himself or just let those words disappear with the steam.

“Bob?”

This was going to end badly, he could tell.

“What if...”

The door opens again, her head and shoulder appear before him. While he wishes he had the kind of easy assurance that Hangman does to ask for what he wants, he doesn’t. It deflates him a little and he sighs.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be out in the locker room when you’re done,” he says, turning away from her and going to walk out.

“Wait! Were you... Are you... Will you...” she stutters, and she wishes she had the kind confidence that Phoenix has, to say what she wants without stuttering over it.

The steam is still thick around them, but it feels thicker than it had a minute ago.

“Bob, what if you just joined me, instead of waiting or...” she trails off again, and it’s so difficult to just put herself out there.

He turns back to her, and the door is open a little more, her collarbone now in his line of sight and he feels ridiculously overdressed. He stands there staring at her a beat too long and she breaths a long sigh.

“Sorry Bob, I just, I promise I’m nearly done, just forget what I said.”

It’s the door closing again that pulls Bob from his head and he’s dragging his shirt over his head, and unbuttoning his pants as he walks over. The shower turns off before he can knock or speak again. He feels like his lost his shot, but for once, he doesn’t want to walk away from it without trying.

“Turn it back on,” there’s a demand in his voice, and it kind of shocks him because he only really talks like that when he’s in the plane and needs Phoenix to do something in particular. He hears the gasp behind the door, and he smirks to himself. But her shower is back on and he feels the steam where he’s standing. The snick of the lock opening again captures his attention, and his heart is beating an unhealthy rhythm. Her hand is darting out like she’s trying to grab his shirt and pull him in, but when she only meets the smooth skin of his chest, there’s a choked off groan hitting the back of her throat.

She pulls open the door and steps back into the heat of the water, hoping the steam gives her a little bit of modesty. For the fact that Bob isn’t wearing his glasses, he really wishes she was closer right now. He drops his shirt on the little bench seat next to him, and turns to lock the door behind him. He takes in a deep breath, it’s all humid air at this point, and tells himself he can do this. She’s watching him carefully from where she’s near pressed up against the back corner. She feels like she should look away, but he’s bending down to shed himself of his pants and she can’t take her eyes off him. He folds both his pants and underwear neatly and puts them with his shirt, and her eyes are glued to the curve of ass down to the muscle of his thighs. When he turns, she’s suddenly very interested in the tile beneath her feet.

He hisses when the water touches his skin, used to the more tepid temperatures that came with being on a carrier, not this, which feels like she hasn’t even got the cold water turned on.

“You can turn it down, I won’t die not having a hot as hell shower,” she laughs, and it’s cutting through the tension, so Bob feels himself smiling.

“I’d rather not walk out looking like a lobster,” his voice is jovial, but he means it as he tries to avoid giving Hangman another reason to tease him.

“I think you’d make a very attractive lobster.”

And that’s what breaks his resolve, so he turns to face her, finally close enough that he can see the droplets of water caught on her collar bone, the lines of her hair plastered to her shoulder, and he picks a freckle that’s sitting right there at the front so he’s got something to look at.

“You’re being a gentleman,” she utters, taking a step closer to him. And yeah, he is, because this feels like he’s about to wake up any moment, alone in his bed and he’ll miss the heat of the shower. He doesn’t know how he’ll look at her in the morning if that’s the case.

He’s just blinking at her, and he knows he should be doing something but it’s been a while since he’s been in this position. Well, not this position exactly, but a woman, naked in front of him isn’t something that happens every day.

“Bob, I’m going to kiss you now,” she whispers and she’s right in front of him, her eyelashes sticking together in the damp. She places a hand on his cheek, her thumb moving in a comforting motion, but she’s really waiting for him to tell her to stop, to tell her that he doesn’t want this.

When he doesn’t, she gives him a gentle kiss, and Bob’s grateful that his brain switches back on in that moment, and he’s able to kiss her back rather than just stand there dumbly. His hand wraps around her hip and his thumb digs into the soft flesh above it. He backs her up until her back hits the wall of the stall and she’s barely in the spray of the water. She sucks in a breath at the change of temperature that hits her suddenly.

A quick sorry is mumbled against her lips, but she shifts her hand to the back of his neck, her other one reaching up to meet it, so she can pull him closer and deepen their kiss.

He hisses when the heat of her skin is pressed up against his chest, and she grins into him. She breaks the kiss but keeps him close and Bob doesn’t really know what to do with that information.

“We should get you cleaned up.”

“We should?”

“Mmhmm.”

And she’s letting him go, slipping from between him and the wall, and if he wasn’t getting hard before, the drag of her body would do it.

He smells the citrus of her body wash, and no, he would not admit to anyone else that he had paid that close of attention to her, that he recognizes the scent of her soap. There’s a slip of her hands on his back, the cold of her wash, and he moans at the feel of her hands running over him. She rubs at the knots in his shoulders, he feels them loosening up in the warmth of the shower and the careful ministrations of her fingers. She runs her hands down the length of his back, over the curve of his ass and he jumps a little when she smacks him gently. The soap suds fall around their feet as her laughter rings through the shower room.

She moves around him, a hand on the back of his neck, up over his shoulder and down the line of his chest. He finds the freckle on her shoulder again, giving something to focus on rather than the feel of her hands against him. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, concentrating on her work as she lathers him up. He finds it just a little bit adorable when he looks back up at her, and he wonders whether she does it while she’s flying. God, now he’s going to be thinking about that when he’s up in a plane. Thankfully, Phoenix sits in front of him.

Her eyes roam over him, easily giving herself permission to look. Her hands track a path over his chest, down his front until her hands dip low across his hips and he sucks in a breath through his teeth at the sensation.

“You don’t...” “I want to,” she interrupts quickly, not giving him a chance to shy away from her.

Bob moans loudly at the feeling of her hand wrapped around him because it’s been so long since it wasn’t his own hand. She kisses him quickly, trying to silence him, but it’s messy as laughter starts falling from her lips, because it doesn’t work. So instead, she buries her face in his neck as her body wracks with her giggles. It brings a smile to his own face, despite the fact that her hand is still on his cock. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her under the shower spray with him, and grins when she looks up at him, hair plastered to her forehead. He pushes it away with a gentle hand before gripping the side of her face and kissing her hard. He bites at her bottom lip when she squeezes him, her hand slick with water and soap, so she glides easily over him. When her thumb pushes on his tip, Bob tosses his head back, when she does it again, the moan is ripped from him, echoing off the walls of the shower room.

“Shhh Bob, someone might walk in,” she chides, but the fact she swipes her thumb over it a third time, tells him there’s absolutely no heat behind it.

She pushes him up against the opposite wall, giving him a quick smirk before she’s squatting down in front of him and licking a stripe up the underside of his cock.

“Oh fuck,” he utters, and Mist grins because she doesn’t think the word ever sounded so sweet.

It’s not comfortable, but knees on a tile floor would be significantly worse. She takes him in her mouth and Bob honestly doesn’t know what to do with his hands right now. It’s an overload for his senses, the heat of her mouth and hand around him, the near suffocating steam, the spray of the water and the cold wall behind him. It’s a lot.

She works her mouth over him, trying to take him as far as she can, but she can only get to her hand before she’s choking and pulling back with a cough.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, before trying again with the same result, it’s definitely not as easy as they make it look in porn. But Bob places a comforting hand on her cheek, like he’s telling her that she’s doing great, that it’s the effort that counts. So, she swirls her tongue around the head, focusing on making that feel good while her hand takes care of the rest of his length. His breath is coming out in short pants mixed with the occasional moan when she twists her hand just so, and then her hand is speeding up while her tongue laves over him, and Bob’s moans grow louder and more frequent until he’s pulling her by her hair off him and she’s moaning at the sensation. He comes, it mostly missing her still open mouth but landing in painted stripes across her cheek, chin and chest. Bob wishes he had photographic memory at that point, because it’s an image he never wants to forget.

It’s cleaned off pretty quickly with her in the direct line of the shower.

She stands up slowly, taking Bob’s offered hand to help her, and once she’s level again, he's on her in an instant. His mouth slips over hers and he’s quickly deepening the kiss before she can really react. She wraps her arms around him again, pressing closer this time, and he’s less careful in his movements now. His hands run up and down the length of her back, over her sides and when he brushes the swell of her breasts, she huffs out a satisfied breath. He turns them around, taking the heat of the shower spray, one of his hands running down the length of her body until his fingers are sliding through her folds, teasing her gently. She’s so so wet, and Bob wonders idly whether she touches herself when she showers or if getting him off really affected her that much. A part of him wants to ask, but the other part of him doesn’t really want to know the answer to that. The self-conscious part of him is telling him that it’s just a part of her nightly ritual, but the other part that can acknowledge her soft moans and the cant of her hips chasing his fingers, tells him that it’s all about him.

He circles one of his fingers over her clit, drawing the sweetest sounds from her, and his cock jumps in interest. She’s practically mewing under his hands, but it’s just not enough for her.

“Please Bob,” she whines, her voice high pitched. He smirks at her and pushes a finger inside her, groaning at the heat around him. He brings his lips to hers again, and he swallows her little moans like they’re an oasis in the dessert. His thumb swipes over her clit as they kiss, and he hopes he’s making her feel as good as she made him feel.

As he plunges two fingers inside her, he pulls her hair at the same time, and Mist near about screams at the sensation. Bob hadn’t realized hair pulling was a thing he liked until it made her make those pretty little sounds, and by God, if he hadn’t just come, he’d be coming again. She rocks herself back and forth on his fingers, and the only thing that would make it better, is if it was his cock inside of her instead of his fingers. But then her moans pitch up and she drops her head to his shoulder, sucking messy, wet kisses there while she rides his fingers to her orgasm. He tugs on her hair again and she’s trembling around him, coming silently like it’s a surprise.

He lets go of her hair and wraps that arm around her, holding her close as he slows his fingers. He slips them from her when she stops shaking and washes them off in the shower that’s slowly cooling. When she looks up at him again, her smile is bright, but her expression quickly turns to embarrassment when she notices the line of red and purpling bruises she had sucked into his collar while she rode out her high.

“I’m so sorry Bob, I’ll help you hide those,” she says quickly, tucking her chin and looking down.

“Hey, no need for that Mist, don’t care if anyone sees them,” he says, cupping her chin and forcing her to look up at him.

He’s smiling, satiated and happy, glad that she had been in the shower when he’d walked in. She smiles shyly back, and he kisses her again, this time soft, like an assurance that everything is fine between them. He holds her close, pressing his forehead to hers and she finds something comforting in that.

“If you ever want a round t....”

“Yes, absolutely, as soon as possible.”

-

Phoenix walks into their common area, and throws herself on the lounge opposite Rooster.

“Where’s Mist?” she asks him.

“Showers,” he grunts in response.

“What about Bob?”

Rooster has the decency to look a little sheepish as he finally catches her eye.

“Showers.”

Phoenix’s jaw drops.

“Rooster, what did you do?

[victorian-platence]

You come from your dancing classes positively reeling. You are a melancholic mixture of excitement and dissappointment. For a moment, Yuri thinks that you might have confessed your feelings to your dance teacher and perhaps been given an ambiguous answer. Or rejected. Homicide makes its way towards Yuri's mind. He is angry that someone rejected you, he could make that Miss Rosa pay for such an offense. But simultaneosly, he is angry that you had feelings for another person.

Once Yuri has gone through many mental paths, considered and discarded murder and torture, he asks you what is going on.

"It's nothing really, we were practicing this dance, it reminded me of home." Oh. So... it's going to be one of these days, isn't it? Yuri sweeps his previous anger under the proverbial rug and goes back to arranging the flowers on the dining table. He keeps bringing flowers home, for no reason, you keep making makeshift bases for them. One day, maybe you'll make use of the money he gives you and buy a base or two. You have already taken to telling him when the flowers in your room and the kitchen are dead so he can replace them.

"Was it very similar? Perhaps I can dance it with you, It might make you feel like home!" He suggest excitedly, turning back to you with a hundred watt smile. It's a sort of enthusiasm he pretends solely for the benefit of cheering you up, but you don't need to know that. He is met with a burst of cackling laughter that confuses amd vaguely offends him.

"Oh, god, no!" She chuckles a little more. "You would not survive one of my dances, this was just a little similar in that we were dancing face to face and this guy had his hand on my waist but that's about it. It just reminded me of parties I've gone to." Yuri knows what you are doing. You are challenging him on purpose (you are not, but he doesn't know that) . But he won't fall for that. He can dance any stupid dance. He is capable at everything. (he is not)

"Don't be stupid! I can dance any stupid dance you have, I'll have you know it was part of my undercover training to learn and I am proficient!" You pointedly ignore the word undercover. Even though it makes your skin crawl. At this point you have learnt to dissociate Yuri from his job. It's easy because he is grumpy in the mornings, he likes your coffee a lot and he has a smile plastered over his face most of the time you share with him. It's easy because he cries himself to sleep after nightmares and you can hear his sobs echo through the walls, because he pays attention to what you like to eat and he cooks stuff your way when he can. It's easy because he is the only one who knows the truth about you and you are not dumb, you have been out and about enough in the past year to know what it's like, you know that half the shit you tell him should have gotten you killed. Yet he doesn't ever report you. He makes you think there is something redeemable in him when he is not talking and making it known to you that he believes in a bunch of bullshit. You can pretend that he is not what he is. You can pretend he is just your roommate. Your hot roommate you definetely don't fantasize about kissing by pulling his tie and tipping his plush lips to yours so he will finally shut the fuck up.

"It's adorable that you think you would last a minute dancing with me. You are so proper, Yuri. It would give you a heart attack." What do you even mean by proper? Yuri inhabits a shadowy world. He wouldn't call his job proper.

"Try me." He insists.

"What, without music?"

"I can put on music!"

"It wouldn't be the same"

"You can sing over it, come on, stop the excuses. Or are you the one that's scared?"

"Oh, alright but you better not have a stroke." You tell him, and he puts on a random vinyl in his record player. The melody starts playing and its completely wrong. It's too classic, too classy, too similar to Vivaldi. "Put your hands on my waist." Yuri is already blushing, the weight of his hand is warm and solid over the tafetta of your dress. "Alright, put your leg, it doesn’t really matter which, put your leg between mine."

"Wha-wha-WHAT!"

"Are you having your stroke now?" You eye him with laughter in your gaze. You tease. Yuri looks at you with fury but he makes no move to let go of you.

"Absolutely not." And he pushes his right leg between yours. You flash him a grin. Then you pull yourself flush against his chest and his leg, you hide your face in the crook of his neck and you can see even from this dimmed closeness that he is struggling to hold in a stutter of outrage, you feel it in the burning warmth that spreads from his neck. "Is this– is this necessary?" He croaks, voice breaking like a teenager.

"Absolutely yes." You say and Yuri can hear the grin in your voice. "Try to follow the movement of my hips and look at my feet, the steps are easy." Maybe you should count to make it easier for him but Yuri is a cocky jerk sometimes, if he steps on you, you can laugh at his proficiecy. But he powers through his embarassement, if he holds you a little too tight, you don't let him know. You start singing, like he said you should. It serves as a distraction from how attractive you find the restrained strength he holds you with.

Tus besos eran soles, mis manos puñales

Tu sonrisa y la mía se dijeron "te quiero"

Y brotaron las frases poco tradicionales

En una mujer libre y un hombre soltero

Y esa fue la noche más linda del mundo

Aunque nos durara tan solo un segundo

You think the song fits the moment. You are dancing bachata to (something close enough to) Vivaldi and singing salsa. It's all wrong. It's nothing like back home. But it doesn’t matter. It's fun in its own way. Rolling your hips against his leg, twice to the side, twice to the other and switch. It fills your chest with something, feeling Yuri grow confident, less flustered, getting a little bold with the way he moves his hips.

You want to fluster him again.

Rather, you have to.

Being a good dancer can make an average man attractive. Yuri, who is already handsome, with his intense red eyes, his sharp jaw, full lips and that cat like grace that adorns his deceavingly slim body, Yuri who is so strong he can carry you with one arm like it's nothing over a flight of stairs when you pass out drunk on his living room. God. You can't allow Yuri to become more atrractive still.

Morally, you simply can't.

His humanity is deceptive. He embodies everything that has made your life miserable. He is worse than complicit with a sick system. He works with it. Back home he might have been putting that lovely grin of his to use while killing and maiming and procuring more names for the killing and maiming of anyone who might have been resistant or related and innocent. Just like you.

You lead him to give you a turn as you sing. And he starts doing it by himself. You can tell the moment he starts to truly enjoy himself because his joy is unabashed. He tries to hum the melody you sing, you can hear his smile in his voice. His hands are so warm and so firm and if you were to touch them you would feel the popping veins, the corded muscle that runs beneath his skin and the bone structure that makes you wanna touch them all the more.

God. You can't let this bastard become more attractive.

But you want to enjoy this. It's so tiring pretending that you don't like him. What does that say of you? You think he is a monster. A bloody monster of a man. Why don't you push him away already?

"Is that how it is in your parties?"

"Oh, not at all, this is what the DJ plays when its six in the morning and he wants to chase us out and he is getting desperate. It's one of my favourite moments, my friends and I loved that part because we would dance to anything."

"I see." Yuri doesn't ask what a DJ is or what on earth would you be doing partying well into the early morning. Instead, because he has become bold with the sound music and your body flush against his, he says: "show me what the other stuff is like."

You want to show him. No you don't. You shouldn't. It's going to rattle you to your bones. Your heart is already beating itself out of your chest. You can already see it. He will adapt and he will make you shiver and you will die because you will have to fully admit to yourself how much you want to this man to fuck you silly. God its gonna be embarassing. You are too sober for this. But you already know you are gonna do it.

"Alright but you really aren't gonna like it. It's a bit, uhm, sensual?"

"More than this?"

"Yeah," the word 'crude' is on the tip of your tongue, but you don't wanna say it. Because it's not. That's just a social construction that is based on shaming sex and you are well past that sort of anacronism. You haven't gone to collage to waste your time. You will not put shaming words onto something you love, something so full of good memories.

"Ah, what the hell, show me."

You fake confidence, "You will regret this, Briar." You turn around in his arms, "okay, move your leg back, okay, there, now don't have a stroke, okay?" You are the one about to have a stroke. But Yuri doesn't need to know that. This is so awkward, at least there's music. You really are about to shake your ass for ( flush against) Yuri Briar, aren't you?

Yep.

That's exactly what you're doing.

Yuri gets absolutely outraged when you tell him he should grab your waist again and do 'thrusting motions against you'. You giggle. Because what else can you do? You try to think about music. You think, actually classical music is good to twerk to. You should have guessed that before. You would have tormented mum so much more.

Yuri, on the other hand, is about to die. He could keep his cool with the other stuff. But this. Your hips gyrating, your body going low, chasing the floor before coming up, up and pressing up against him. God. Is he supposed to be this hard? Are all men straining against their pants in your parties? He doesn't really like the thought of that. Your knees make circles, they make your back snap and push your... rather lovely behind, up and down. Yuri's mind is infested with this.

You said this was sensual. But it's not. It's downright sexual. You'd do this in public? He can’t even fathom it. The motion of your hips, up and down, front and back, all in the same fluid movement, recreate a vivid image of what it would be like to have you from behind. This is going to follow him after the lights are off. You feel warm, so warm, it seeps through your clothing and Yuri keeps holding you close, maybe a little firmer, maybe his fingers strain with the effort to not turn you around and start something he doesn't think he should.

But dear fucking god, he can't stand this for long.

You are so close, and Yuri is sober. Completely sober. Why does he feel so drunken? When you spin it's hardly a surprise, he was expecting it sooner or later, when your eyes look for his, he worries about how flushed he is. He doesn't expect to look at tints of darkness coloring your skin, he doesn't expect your eyes to linger on his lips.

The madman within him, the one you call bloody, the bastard, raises his head at the overt show of desire. He has known he has a thing for you for a while. How not to? He has been living with you for over a year, has heard you languish and rise, you have made him eat his own words more than once. God how he has been drawn to the curves that make up your body! Almost from the very start his eyes have lingered over your shape. It was an inevitability. Not a question of 'if' but of 'when'. Still, realising you want to kiss him unleashed Pandora's box.

It's a short distance. There's already not an inch of space between the two of you. And Yuri really, really wants to kiss you. Or throw you against the wall. Yeah. That would be lovely. He wants to do that. And he is going to. His thumb and forefinger capture your chin, and you open your mouth, possibly in surprise, but Yuri is not really thinking, he can't think straight when your lips pop open and your eyes delve into his.

It takes only a moment. And then Yuri is tumbling you onto the floor, lips searing onto yours, hips craddled into your open legs and, oh fuck, he is pushing into you. His hands aren't just warm anymore. They are burning, tearing out your dress and his shirt, going under layers to find skin.

Part 3 Next part

[mostly-marvel-musings]

All you had to do was ask

Summary: Your ‘no strings attached’ deal with Bucky goes to shit when he requests you to stay in bed with him one night. The concept of cuddling alien to the super soldier, lucky for him you’re willing to help out.

Warnings: 18+, little smutty, fluff.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Square Filled: Cuddling

WC: 1.2k

A/N: Written for @avengersbingo Feedback is love!

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Exhausted pants and sighs echoed broke the silence of the night as you and Bucky got your breathing back to normal. Your room was dark minus a little moonlight streaming through the glass wall that was adjacent to the bed, you watched Bucky’s silhouette as he got dressed to leave.

“Goodnight (Y/N).”

“Night Buck.”

This part of the deal always broke your heart just a little every single time, even though it was you who had initiated the whole ‘no strings attached’ with the super soldier after a drunken night. You and the guys went out for drinks to celebrate absolutely nothing and it had led to you and Sam singing your heart out on the streets before Steve and Bucky – who couldn’t get hammered even if they tried, dragged you both back to the compound.

Bucky wanted to make sure you were safely tucked in bed and that ended up with him staying with you that night, holding your hair back while you puked, making you a quick sandwich to sober you up and before you knew it, you were kissing the man before peeling his clothes off.

It worked out well in the beginning, sneaking around and emerging from each other’s bedrooms while other residents of the compound were blissfully unaware. Six months in and you were contemplating either expressing your feelings or calling the whole thing off in case it went south.

You stayed up after Bucky left going over the last few months before realizing you were thirsty. Getting to the kitchen meant passing Bucky’s room that was left open for some reason. As you got closer, you could hear faint groans and heavy breathing coming from the other side. Pushing it open, you saw Bucky’s sleeping form on the floor, sweat gleaming on his torso as the nightmare he was having disturbed the peace he deserved.

“No!” he sat up yelling, eyes flying open to look around before they landed on your frozen form illuminated by the light coming from the TV that was left on. Your feet took you near him and you knelt down wiping some of the sweat off his forehead in attempts to calm him down.

“It was just a bad dream Bucky. You’re alright.”

You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him, glad when he didn’t resist, rubbing his back in soothing circular motions, running your fingers through his hair softly you felt him nod in agreement. This wasn’t the first time you found him after a nightmare, and he was glad you were the one making him feel safe every time this happened.

He followed you in the kitchen, staying silent as you brought two glasses of water before joining him on the barstools.

“Still sleeping on the floor?”

“Yeah the bed is too soft. I can’t fall asleep there.”

“Well we could always get you a new mattress.”

“We?”

“I—I don’t mean we like you and I. I mean I could come along if you wish to o—or Steve you know whatever you want.” You fumbled with words, keeping your eyes on the glass, mentally slapping yourself for letting the ‘w’ word slip out.

“We can go together. I’d like that.” He managed a small smile to ease your distress.

You were heading back to your room when Bucky stopped you by grabbing your hand all of a sudden making you stop in your tracks,

“Hey could you stay with me tonight? If—if you don’t mind.”

Taken by surprise for sure but, your heart fluttered hopelessly as you nodded and followed in into his room. Another thing that managed to surprise you was Bucky’s room since this was the first time you were actually in it, blank walls, with little to no furniture minus a few essentials. The bed was untouched, you knew it as soon as you entered, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were actually going to ‘sleep’ with Bucky for the first time.

“Do you um, have a preferred side?” You asked, drawing the covers back before sliding in as he shook his head in a no as he joined after turning the lights out.

It almost felt wrong to lie in bed together with a considerable distance in between. Luckily Bucky sensed it too but found it rather hard to express.

“You can shift closer if you want. I mean—”

“Bucky. Do you want to cuddle?”

You didn’t need light to know there’d be blush creeping up his neck as you asked that question. It was funny and endearing at the same time.

“Have you never done this with anyone before?”

“Nope.”

“Of all the things we’ve done, I can’t believe you were afraid to ask for a cuddle.” You chuckled, scooting closer before resting your head on his chest, hearing his rapidly beating heart over the T-shirt he’d pulled over before getting in bed.

“I just didn’t want it to be weird. Sorry.”

“But it’s not weird. Is it?”

“No. This feels perfect. Thank you (Y/N).”

“All you had to do was ask.”

Your grin got wider when he hugged you back after pulling the covers up, comfortable silence falling over the two of you as sleep began tugging at your eyelids once more. Holding your sleeping form so close to his body, hearing the steady beating of your heart lulled him into a peaceful dreamless sleep, something he had craved for a very long time.

.

A sharp irritating sound of your morning alarm stirred you awake next morning but you soon realized there was very little you could do to move. To be honest you were afraid to, fearing he would think this had been a huge mistake.

The pleasant weight of the super soldier, his limbs wrapped around your body with a tangled mess of the sheets and his soft breath against your neck prevented you from moving a muscle. Your attempts of squirming to turn the alarm off provoked a groan from Bucky who pulled you back against his chest, burying his face deeper into your hair, mumbling something incoherent.

“Bucky we’re gonna miss training…” you whispered, reluctant to let him go yourself but you were sure to receive an earful from the Captain if you didn’t show up.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“M’ not ready to let you go.” His sleep-heavy voice travelling straight down to your core, the fact that his half-mast but clothed erection was pressed up against your thigh didn’t help either.

Giving up, you shut your eyes once more, relishing in the feeling of being so close with the man you loved. The quite calm was disturbed once more when Bucky’s phone buzzed loudly from the nightstand. Now it was your turn to groan.

“Come on we gotta go. Your best friend won’t let us be.”

Bucky lift his head just enough to gaze at your face through his eyelashes, his features undeniably gorgeous even more so in the morning light.

“What if we do a little cardio in here first?”

You were about to reply when he dipped down to capture your lips in a kiss. It felt like a dream come true to wake up next to him, share a morning kiss.

You could really get used to this.

Rolling you over, he pulled you to lie on top, never breaking the kiss as one of his hands held you by your neck while the other pressed your ass to his growing bulge.

You chuckled, sitting up just to turn Bucky’s phone off before removing your top to resume your morning activity.

“All you had to do was ask.”