#still going to need to handle those things

[mariasont]

hiii, more bimbo!assistant!reader calling hotch, daddy, pleaseeeee😁🫶🏻💖😇

ilyyy!! <3

Bought & Paid For - A.H

summary: you push hotch's buttons just to see how far you can take it, and today, you finally find out pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: suggestive content, reader calling hotch daddy, hotch blatantly staring at r's ass, established relationship, slight brat taming undertones perhaps? wc: 0.6k

You’re talking about almond milk.

Or, at least, you were talking about almond milk — now you’re on some tangent about how store-brand oat milk is never as creamy as the one from that overpriced cafe near your apartment. He has no idea how you got here. He’s not even sure you know.

Your face is full of conviction — deeply invested in a topic that no rational person should have these many feelings about. It’s… impressive. Baffling, but impressive.

Hotch should be paying better attention, filing this long-winded dairy dissertation for the next time you inevitably guilt him into fetching your morning sugar bomb like some kind of begrudging personal assistant.

He’s not oblivious to the irony.

Instead, he’s watching you slide into the passenger seat, and instead, he’s having a private moment of reflection about how you absolutely cannot wear those jeans in public. 

Because they were almost pornographic.

Because they make it very, very clear what’s beneath them which makes it very impossible to think about anything else.

Because they make him look stupid.

He had told you. Repeatedly. Jeans should not cost that much. They were jeans — denim, mass-produced, entirely unnecessary at that price point. You could buy three pairs for half the cost, and no one would know the difference. 

He looked you in the eye and declared, with absolute authority, that he would not enable this behavior.

And then you pouted. And he pulled out his wallet like an absolute disgrace to his own principles.

He was actively experiencing the consequences of his own actions in real time.

Because you’re wearing them to go grocery shopping now and he’s going to spend the next hour fighting the very real, very primal urge to knock out every man who so much as glances at what he paid for.

He hands you your purse once you’re settled, barely paying attention, already running through the mental checklist of things that need to be done before he can call this errand over.

And then you flash him a quick, unassuming smile. “Thanks, daddy.”

His fingers still on the door handle, entire body seizing, breath catching mid-inhale as his brain tries — and fails — to process whether he actually heard you correctly.

His pulse goes from stable to needing immediate medical attention in a matter of seconds.

He straightens like someone just pulled a gun on him, adjusting his watch even though it does not need adjusting. Forces himself to level you with the most unaffected look he can manage. 

“Sweetheart, that’s not appropriate.”

You blink up at him, all wide-eyed innocence that he knows is fake. “Why?”

His fingers drum once against the car before curling into metal, grip bordering on savage, white-knuckled tension bleeding into every line of his body, the only outlet for something too risky to be voiced.

It doesn’t help that you look exceedingly gorgeous in daylight. That the sun — a merciless accomplice in your destruction of him — has taken it upon itself to illuminate every detail.

That you decided today was the day to try a new blush. That you had stood in front of him this morning, asking if it made you look pretty like you didn’t already know how impassioned he felt about that answer.

Like you weren’t a loaded weapon wrapped in silk and perfume, soft where you should be sharp, lethal in ways that have nothing to do with intent.

And now, here you are, stacking problems on top of problems, and he has to somehow be the one to keep himself in check.

He exhales sharply, glancing away for a second — a brief, necessary reprieve — before settling his gaze back on you. “Because you know exactly what you’re doing, and I strongly suggest you stop.”

You bat your lashes. “I really don’t know what you mean, daddy.”

He doesn’t think — there’s no room for thought, no time between your words and his reaction. One second, you’re in the passenger seat, smirking, and the next, you’re hauled up and over his shoulder, one arm locked around your waist, and the other gripping your ass, fingers digging into the denim that started this whole damn mess.

You squirm, thrashing in the most unconvincing, unserious way imaginable, laughter spilling from your lips in delighted, unrepentant little bursts, and he knows it down to his very core that you are enjoying this far more than you should. 

And despite his better judgment, so is he.

“Hey! The groceries —,”

“Groceries can wait.”

Hotch doesn’t even pretend this trip is still happening. The moment the words left your mouth, the destination changed, the entire purpose of this errand replaced by something far more immediate and deserved.

So he spins on his heel and carries you straight back to the house with the ease of a man handling something he fully intends to deal with. 

Because this is about balance, about the fundamental laws of action and reaction, about the way you tip the scales just to see what it takes to tip them back. 

And because, if nothing else, you’ll think twice before calling him that again.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[inmyheaddd]

when you're close to me - grayson hawthorne x reader

summary: trying to get grayson hawthorne to have a reset day— lots of laughs... lots of kisses... not much of the reset day actually taking place... wc: 1.2k

grayson stood in front of you, hands resting on your waist as you sat on top of the sink counter and held his chin with one hand, the other carefully applying a facemark on his forehead with a brush. you focused on your task, determined to make it look perfect.

you had ordered him to close his eyes so you could put the mask on, even though he didn’t need to— not in any sense that was practical— but it was simply because his gaze was making you far too flustered to focus on the task at hand. the fact that he was this close only made it more difficult. 

“i don’t see why this is necessary,” grayson mumbled, his eyes still shut as you let go of his chin to hold his hair back.

“because,” you reasoned with a hum in your voice, “it just is.” you paused for a moment, “this is how reset days work. you’ve been so caught up in work, so let me just… do this for you.” you mumbled, evening out the shape of the grey mask on his forehead 

“i don’t need a reset day,” he countered calmly, “i’m fine.”

you almost let out a snort. “you most definitely do need a reset day.” 

grayson let out a slow exhale. “i’ve handled the past 20 years of my life without one. but, thank you for your consideration.”

you rolled your eyes affectionately, though he couldnt even see you. 

“thank you for your consideration,” you mumbled under your breath in mockery of his words. you huffed, “i’m going to kill you.” you were still muttering to yourself, to which you heard him laugh and open his eyes at. 

grayson tilted his head to the side, raising one of his brows up at you before he asked, “i’m sorry?”

“you heard me,” you responded, lowering your voice to add to the effect, “i know people…” you were happy to see his eyes again and see how they glittered with humour in this moment, but you couldn’t help but chide him for disrupting your ever-so-important endeavour of applying his facemask, “and, stop moving.” you continued as you pressed a thumb under his jaw, turning his face toward you again.

grayson ignored your ominous and extremely serious threat and closed his eyes again with the barest hint of a smile on his face. 

he stilled for a long moment, and you were getting along quite nicely with the mask, and you were even about to move to the rest of his face. that was until he furrowed his brows again. “may i just ask, what is in this?”

your hand dropped down to your sides with a huff. 

“oh my god,” you shut him up with a laugh as you shut your eyes for a quick moment, “grayson!”

grayson opened his eyes. the corners of his lips flickered up into a smile. 

for a moment, you stayed looking at eachother, feeling your own lips twitch as you held back a smile. it instantly became impossible for the both of you to hold back your laughter anymore. 

usually, you thought perfection was impossible. but it was here, it was effortless with grayson—his head tilted back slightly, grey eyes crinkled, and his usual composure slipping for just a second — beaming with that smile of his that was rare to everyone but you. you wanted to simply kiss his face all over until you were both sick of it. 

clearly, he must’ve been thinking the same thing, as he looked at you with affection swirling behind those icy grey eyes of his. 

a laugh escaped him while he shook his head amusedly, with one of his hands that were previously on your waist moved to cup your cheek, “i deeply apologise, sweetheart.” he murmured lowly, his lips sliding into a coy smile. “i understand your face mask duties hold a lot of importance.”

you yourself were still smiling, “oh shut up, you.” you muttered back, your faces inches apart.  

his gaze flickered to your lips right before you wordlessly leaned in to a kiss. 

at first, you giggled against his lips. that was before melting into the kiss with a lingering smile between you, 

you hopped down from the counter, and wrapped your arms around his neck as his other hand moved to your face. the gentleness of his touch and the kiss sent a swarm of butterflies right to your stomach. 

you felt light on your toes as his lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, and you could still feel the slight smile on his lips against you. 

his fingers curled at your waist, not pulling you closer, just resting there, like he liked the feeling of you this close.

and you—god, you could barely think. you just felt. the warmth of his touch, the soft pressure of his lips, the slight tilt of his head as he kept leaning in, deepening the kiss until—

you shrieked. 

you felt something cool, slightly tacky on your forehead…

it was near comical, the way grayson’s brows furrowed so quickly when you pulled back, and just as quickly smoothed over when he saw the laugh on your face.

he was still confused, clearly, but the smile you held soothed his worries. 

he tilted his head, trying to understand. “love,” he searched your eyes fore any hint of explanation, unable to hold back a little smile because of your own laughter. “what’s the matter?”

you covered your mouth, dissolving into a giggling mess. "your forehead," you choked out, wiping your own forehead that was touching his with the back of your hand. “it’s.. it’s wet.”

his expression blanked, a single brow raising in that oh so grayson way of his. and then, realization dawned.

the face mask.

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he ran a hand down his face. “that’s enough of this," he muttered, moving past you and turning on the sink.

you were a laughing mess, and you stumbled backwards, leaning against the back wall. you watched him roll his sleeves up and lean over the sink while he washed his face haphazardly— and dried it just as quickly. 

“grayson!” you managed to get out with your little chuckles. “why did you wash it off?,” you were the one complaining now, though it was all jokes. you fake pouted, “that was expensive.”

he turned back, and his expression was half amused and half exasperated.

he ran a hand through his hair as he looked at you before he started walking to you. “i washed it off,” he started lowly as he got to you in two strides, “so i’d be able to do this.”

you fought back a smile, and kept your eyes on him as he got to you.  those same butterflies erupted in your stomach tenfold when his hands went to your waist, pulling you into him before his lips pressed into yours. 

just moments before, you were smiling because of laughter, but this time you were unable to stop the grin on your face because you simply felt so.. peaceful. fulfilled, even. you doubted you could ever get sick of being like this with him.

one hand moved to hold where your jaw met your neck, pulling you closer. 

no interruptions this time.

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear @clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm @goldi-1-graysons-version @saigonharrington @peppapigsposts @thoughtdaughter3 @apollospoem@jjsblueberry @yayyy-insecurities @thechildofshadows

[cookies-after-dark]

okay but Shmilk would be such a back seat driver if he let black sapphire cookie fuck reader

“Move ur hand lower”

“They like being pinched there”

kiss em like u mean it cmooon”

and whoes to say he won’t get strings involved and fix their position himself if they keep messing up :3c

okay no wait 💡 you dropped this because that is one hell of a good idea.

(additional tags because I went loopy here: explicit content, unhealthy power dynamics, possessiveness, humiliation, exhibitionism, degradation)

See, my lame ass was just thinking of Shadow Milk Cookie using this as powerplay, you know? Like a, 'my pets are playing with each other!' scenario where Shadow Milk Cookie actually lets one of his minions knock you around a bit in his stead. Let's be honest, Black Sapphire Cookie's been eyeing you up and down since the moment Shadow Milk brought you here! He's such an eager, helpful, obedient little servant! You could learn to be more like him, Shadow Milk Cookie thinks.

And Black Sapphire Cookie is more than willing to show you just where you stand, riiiiight at the bottom of the hierarchy! No one can tell me that little purple ball of lint isn't secretly a dominant control freak who needs to have everything go his........- I mean, master Shadow Milk Cookie's way. You're adorable and endearing enough, but you need to be taught a lesson or two before you go strutting around the Spire, thinking you're all that just because your the master's newest pet.

Hence, this situation. Shadow Milk Cookie sees the most perfect opportunity to humble you and get his rocks off at the same time! Well, he has many ways to do that, but plan in partocular has him hardening in his tights already. Passing you off to an underling really paints the whole picture for you - you belong to the Spire now! You belong here, this is your new home, you won't be going anywhere, and the first thing we'll do to make sure of that is to fuck you on every piece of furniture in sight! Lovely, ain't it?

Shadow Milk Cookie also loves giving you yhe illusion that you can choose - would you rather have your legs be folded over your head whilst Black Sapphire Cookie mercilessly fucks you while recording your moans and squeals through his beloved microphone, spreading rumors all over Earthbread how you're just some hungry, poorly trained slut? Ooooor~ you could play with Shadow Milk Cookie instead! Those are the only two choices by the way, so choose carefully.

So that was my lame ass. But this ask is hysterical because this also makes Shadow Milk Cookie sharing you with anyone else an absolute godawful nightmare. Black Sapphire Cookie would never talk back to his beloved master, but even he must admit it's getting difficult continuing when Shadow Milk stops him every few seconds with some kind of criticism.

"Pfft! Well, of course, only one Cookie on all of Earthbread could handle this task correctly! Even still, you could at least *attempt* to have a bit more tact than that~!"

Because the Reader, his darling little popper, isn't just some common whore. No, they're just a speeeeecial whore, deserving of only the best treatment! Shadow Milk's words (he cannot help but through a dirty little nickname for you in there).

Honestly, the fact that Shadow Milk Cookie loves you just so, so, so, so much should be obvious! So what if his love is a little rough? Sooner or later, he'll have Black Sapphire Cookie show you the pleasure you deserve, as Shadow Milk Cookie's beautiful, lovely little pet!

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 10

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 10

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: After days of stress and uncertainty, you go to dinner at Polly’s, hoping for a distraction. But when Tommy arrives, the tension between you is impossible to ignore. By the end of the night, you realize something between you has shifted, and there’s no ignoring it anymore.

Word count: 5.9k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language.

--

The next few days blurred together, each one pulling you deeper into a game that was becoming harder and harder to play.

Moving between Tommy and Campbell wasn’t just dangerous, it was exhausting. Every meeting with Campbell felt like walking a tightrope, feeding him just enough to keep him from questioning you, while making sure not to give him anything that could actually hurt Tommy.

And Tommy… Tommy had been busy. Not like that was completely unusual, but lately, it was different. It wasn’t just work– meetings, plans, whatever business he was handling behind closed doors– it was the way he moved through it all. Always in and out, always a step ahead, always too occupied with the next thing to stop, to linger, to look at you the way he had before.

You told yourself it was fine. That this was normal. That nothing had changed.

But you noticed it.

The way he barely glanced your way when he walked into a room, the way his voice never lingered on your name like it used to. The way those fleeting moments– the ones where his eyes softened for just a second before he caught himself, had started to disappear.

He wasn’t being cold or cruel. But he offered you little more than brief glances and clipped words. Not necessarily distant, but detached. 

And maybe that was good. Maybe that was what you needed.

Still, there were nights when you caught yourself thinking about him, about the weight of his hand on your waist, the way he had looked at you in the quiet, like he wasn’t sure whether to push you away or pull you closer. You hated yourself for it, for noticing, for missing something you had never really had to begin with.

On the rare nights when Tommy wasn’t occupying your thoughts, your mind still refused to rest. Instead, you replayed every conversation with Campbell, sifting through the details, making sure you remembered what you had told him, and what you hadn’t. Trying, and failing, not to dwell on the inevitable question: What would happen if he ever found out where your loyalties truly lay?

Somewhere along the way, the exhaustion had settled into your bones. 

Polly was the first to notice. 

It started small, comments here and there. A look she gave you when you lingered too long at the Garrison, staring at the same spot on the counter. A knowing hum when you waved off a drink, saying you had to get home after your shift.

Then, one evening, she set down her glass and spoke.

"You’re coming to dinner. My house, seven o’clock."

The words were simple, firm– not a question. You blinked, pulled abruptly from your thoughts.

Polly stood across from you, one hand resting against the bar, the other wrapped around a half-empty glass. She watched you over the rim, eyes sharp, knowing. Like she’d already decided for you.

You hesitated. "I’ve got things to do."

Polly scoffed, shaking her head as she took a slow sip of whiskey. "What you’ve got is too much time spent caught in the middle of a war you never started. It’s not good for you. You look like hell."

Your grip on the bar tightened. "I’m fine."

Polly tilted her head, unconvinced. "Are you?"

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, to insist that yes, you were fine, you had to be fine. But nothing came out.

She exhaled, setting her drink down with a quiet clink. "Come to dinner at my place tonight. Eat a good meal, think about something other than whatever it is Tommy has you roped into."

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to go, but because you weren’t sure you could sit across from Tommy, feel the weight of his gaze, and pretend it didn’t affect you. Pretend that something between you hadn’t shifted in the last week, that you weren’t hoping for him to see you the way he had before.

Polly watched you, waiting.

But just like that, you were out of excuses.

…

Polly’s house was full when you arrived. Laughter and the sound of clinking glasses carried from the dining room, the warmth of conversation spilling into the hallway.

You let out a slow breath as you stepped inside, shrugging off your coat. 

Everyone was here. Everyone except Tommy. 

Your shoulders loosened slightly at the realization. You hated that it mattered, hated the way your stomach twisted at the thought of seeing him, the way your mind braced itself, wondering which version of Tommy you’d get tonight. The man who looked at you like you meant something, or the one who made you feel like you were just another game piece on the board.

One moment, he was brushing his thumb along your cheek, grounding you when the panic took hold, murmuring things that made your knees go weak. And the next? He was distant. Treating you like you were strictly around for business and information.

But you had to stop blaming him. You were the one who had let yourself feel something for a man like Tommy Shelby. You weren’t naive. You knew what he was, what kind of life he lived. What else did you expect? 

Before you could dwell on it any further, a blur of movement barreled into your side.

"You’re here!"

You barely had time to steady yourself before Finn had his arms wrapped around you, squeezing tight like he hadn’t seen you in years.

"Hello, Finn," you laughed, ruffling his hair as he pulled back.

He grinned up at you, eyes bright with excitement. "Aunt Pol said you might not come, but I told her you would. You wouldn’t miss a Shelby dinner."

You smirked. "Oh yeah? And how’d you know that?"

Finn shrugged, still grinning. "‘Cause you like us too much. Well, me at least."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "You’re too cocky for your own good."

"Nah," Finn shot back, nudging you toward the dining room. "Just smart."

You followed, the tension in your chest easing slightly. Finn had always been easy company, he didn’t ask about the business, didn’t read too much into things.

John was the next to notice you. He was seated near the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in hand, looking more like himself than he had in days.

"Well, look who it is." He grinned, lifting his glass in greeting. "My very own guardian angel."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "How’re you feeling?”

"Pretty good, all things considered. And I don’t take it for granted," he said, patting his side. "Stitched me up nice, you did."

Relief settled in your chest. You hadn’t seen much of John since that night. He’d actually followed your instructions to take it easy, meaning he wasn’t frequenting the Garrison like he usually did. 

"Just don’t go getting shot again," you muttered. 

John chuckled. "No promises, love."

You rolled your eyes. “At least wait until this one’s healed.”

John smirked, tilting his head. "What, and miss out on all the fun?"

You shot him a pointed look, crossing your arms. "Yeah, I’m sure bleeding out on a dirty table at the Garrison was a real fun time."

Finn, who had been listening from the corner, let out a loud snicker. “Arthur said you squealed like a pig.”

John’s smirk faltered just slightly, eyes narrowing as he shot Finn a glare. “Yeah? Well, Arthur’s full of shit.” He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as he took a swig of his drink. “Next time he gets shot, I’ll make sure I’m the one patchin’ him up, see how much he squeals then.”

Finn just laughed, and you bit back a smirk, shaking your head. 

Just then, across the room, Ada caught your eye, gesturing toward the dining table. "Come on, then, since Polly’s gone on about making you stay, you might as well make yourself useful."

You didn’t argue, following her toward the kitchen while the boys continued to bicker. It was easier to keep your hands busy, easier to focus on setting out plates and pouring drinks than to think too hard about why you were here at all. As you moved around the table, setting out plates and pouring drinks, the noise of the room wrapped around you, familiar, and warm.

Arthur joined in on the conversation. He began telling a story, his voice animated, hands moving wildly as he spoke. Finn was practically in tears laughing, barely able to breathe between gasps. Polly, always the sharp observer, poured herself another drink, her eyes flicking between everyone, as if keeping count of who had too much and who wasn’t drinking enough.

You handed Ada a stack of silverware, barely registering her quiet thank you before setting a pitcher of water near the center of the table.

Then, the door opened. "Sorry I’m late." Tommy’s voice carried over the conversation, low and steady.

Your hand stilled over a glass. You glanced up just as he stepped inside, shrugging off his coat, his movements slow, measured, like he was arriving at a meeting, not dinner.

And then his eyes landed on you. It was subtle, just a flicker of recognition at first. But then he paused.

A rare, fleeting moment where he hesitated, where something passed through his expression, surprise, maybe. Or confusion. Like he hadn’t expected to see you here. Like the sight of you, standing at the table among his family, didn’t quite make sense.

Tommy dragged his gaze away from you, exhaling as he tossed his coat over a chair. "What’d I miss? What happened?"

Polly scoffed, swirling the whiskey in her glass. "Nothing happened. I invited her for dinner. Because that’s what polite people do when someone’s helped them out as much as she has."

Instead of turning towards Polly, Tommy’s gaze lingered on you. "You make sure no one followed you?" 

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your expression even. "Of course," you said.

Tommy didn’t look convinced. His gaze flickered over you, searching, as if trying to see past your answer, to find something you weren’t saying. "Are you sure?" he pressed.

“Oh, for goodness' sake, Tommy,” Polly said, exasperation dripping from every syllable as she set her glass down with a sharp clink. She leveled him with a pointed look, one brow arching in that way that made even him think twice before pushing back. “The girl’s got more sense than every man in this room combined. You think she’d waltz in here with a bloody tail on her?”

Tommy’s jaw ticked, but before he could say anything, Polly continued.

"She saved John’s life. Stitched him up when he was bleeding out on the streets." Her voice was stern, there was a weight behind it, something unspoken pressing into the space between them. "And while we’re keeping count, she saved yours too. Twice, I heard."

You tensed slightly, pulse skipping at the mention of France. 

His gaze flickered, but his expression remained unreadable. 

Polly scoffed, shaking her head. “Honestly, you’ve got bigger things to worry about than chasing shadows that aren’t there. Maybe start with a proper ‘thank you’ before you start interrogating the poor girl.” She lifted her glass, swirling the amber liquid lazily before taking another sip. "Or is gratitude beneath the great Thomas Shelby these days?"

Silence stretched across the table. Arthur shifting slightly in his seat, Ada giving a small nod of agreement, Finn glancing between you and Tommy like he was waiting for something to happen.

Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders slightly before reaching for a drink. “Never said she didn’t deserve to be thanked.” His voice was even, but something about it made your chest tighten. He didn’t look at you as he poured himself a drink. 

Polly huffed, shaking her head as she lifted her own glass. "Then act like it, Thomas."

Without another word, Tommy raised his drink slightly in your direction, a slow, measured movement.

"Thank you. For all you’ve done for us."

Simple. Certain.

Arthur raised his glass, “To our miracle worker!” He grinned as he knocked back his drink, and the rest of the table followed suit, conversation picking up again like nothing had happened.

Dinner passed in a blur of laughter, arguments over whose turn it was to pour the next drink, Finn trying to sneak extra food onto his plate when Polly wasn’t looking.

By the time everyone drifted into the living room, drinks still in hand, you found yourself relaxing just a little, letting the tension in your shoulders ease.

Finn plopped onto the floor, tossing a deck of cards onto the table in front of him. "Alright, who’s up?"

John leaned forward with an exaggerated groan. "Jesus, Finn, you always pick the worst games."

"You’re just sour ‘cause you always lose."

You smirked as Finn grinned at you, nudging the empty space beside him. "Come on, you’re playing."

"Am I?"

"Yeah. I think you’re good luck."

"That so?"

Finn nodded, as if this was obvious, already dealing the cards. "You’re on my team."

John groaned dramatically, but he was already reaching for his own cards. "If I catch you cheating, Finn, I swear to God–"

You rolled your eyes but sat down anyway, shaking your head as the game started.

It was easy like this. The stakes were low, the room warm with whiskey and laughter, Finn kicking John under the table when he thought no one was looking.

You could pretend, for just a little while, that there wasn’t a war being waged in the space between your ribs. Or that the pressure of all these meetings with Campbell weren’t eating you alive. 

And then, Tommy walked in. His presence shifted the air immediately, subtle but unmistakable. He leaned against the doorway, cigarette between his fingers, watching the game with a quiet sort of curiosity. And despite yourself, you felt the weight of his gaze settle on you.

It was unfair, really, how effortlessly handsome he was. The sharp cut of his cheekbones, the way the dim light caught the angles of his face, the steady, unreadable expression that only made you want to know what he was thinking. Even now, standing there with that casual, unbothered confidence, he commanded the room without even trying.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus on the game. But it was hard to ignore the way your pulse picked up when his eyes lingered just a little too long. His glance was quiet and knowing. Not a demand, not an order. Just a look that said he expected you to understand.

Then, a slow nod toward the hall. A request, an invitation. And you knew that he wanted you to follow.

Your breath caught slightly, pulse stuttering against your ribs.

You didn’t want to play this game anymore– didn’t want to keep getting drawn in, only for him to push you back a moment later.

But Tommy Shelby had a way of making gravity work in his favor. And despite everything in you telling you to stay seated, to ignore him, to just let it be, you stood. 

You felt Finn’s eyes flicker toward you, but he didn’t say anything. Neither did John. Maybe they understood. Or maybe, this was just the way things worked with Tommy. 

So without a word, without letting yourself think too hard about it, you followed him.

The hallway was dimly lit, quieter than the rest of the house. The muffled sounds of laughter and conversation drifted from the other room, grounding you in the fact that you weren’t truly alone with him.

But it felt like you were.

Tommy stopped near the staircase, exhaling smoke as he leaned against the wooden railing. "John letting you and Finn win, or are you actually any good at cards?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What?"

Tommy smirked slightly, flicking his cigarette. "The game. You holding your own, or is John too soft to let you lose?"

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest. "Did you really pull me out here to talk about cards?”

Tommy shrugged. "Just making conversation." 

His tone was easy and unbothered. 

"What’s wrong?" Tommy’s voice was quieter now, the ease in his expression slipping away. He was watching you closely, carefully. 

You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to look away.

Of course he could read you like a book. It was infuriating, the way Tommy Shelby could cut through every layer of carefully built composure, peeling you back to the parts of yourself you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

Meanwhile, he was a locked door. A man built of walls and carefully chosen silences. You could never tell what he was thinking, never quite pin down what was real and what was calculated. One moment, his touch was gentle, grounding, like he was anchoring you to something solid. The next, he was distant, cold, acting as if you were just another piece of the game he was playing.

And yet, here he was, staring at you like he already knew every thought running through your head. Like he could see every flicker of frustration, every ounce of hesitation.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "I’m just–" You sighed, shaking your head again. "I don’t know, Tommy. I think I’m just confused."

A flicker of something passed through his eyes, but he didn’t interrupt. He just waited. So you forced yourself to continue.

"Maybe I’m reading things wrong, and if I am, I’m sorry." Your voice was quieter now, but still steady. "But one minute, you’re brushing my cheek, making sure I’m alright, looking at me like I’m–" You stopped yourself, jaw clenching slightly before you forced the words out. "Like I’m important. And the next, I’m just another person who works for you. Another pawn in your plan."

Tommy didn’t move, but you could feel the shift in him.

"If that’s all I am, fine," you continued, exhaling sharply. "That’s okay. But I think I just need you to flat out tell me that when you reach for my hand, or cup my cheek, or even fucking look at me, that it means absolutely nothing to you… Because, Tommy, I think it means something to me.”

Silence. It stretched between you like a loaded gun, heavy, waiting to go off.

Tommy’s face remained unreadable, but his cigarette burned low between his fingers, the ash dangerously close to falling. He barely blinked, barely moved, just let your words settle between you, sinking in deeper with every breath.

Your heart pounded, your throat tight. You hadn’t meant to say it like that– hadn’t meant to lay it all out so plainly. But now it was there, and there was no taking it back.

He exhaled slowly, flicking the ash onto the floor before finally meeting your gaze again.

"You think I do things without meaning them?"

His voice was quiet, measured, but there was something sharp beneath it.

You swallowed hard. "I think you do a lot of things, Tommy. And I think sometimes you decide later what they mean."

His jaw ticked, his fingers tapping once against the railing before stilling. "And what is it you think I’ve decided?"

You shook your head, frustrated. "I don’t know. That’s the problem, Tommy. You read me and everyone else in the world like a fucking book. Meanwhile, I have no idea what you’re thinking, and it’s infuriating."

Tommy took a slow step forward. Not closing the space entirely, but shortening it just enough to make your breath catch.

"I don’t do things for no reason." His voice was lower now, rougher, but controlled. "Not with business. Not with my family. Not with you."

Something tightened in your chest. "Then why?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze flickered over your face, lingering for half a second too long before he shook his head. "Because you are important. You matter. And that’s…" Tommy’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t look away. “That’s becoming a problem.”

You let out a slow breath, dropping your gaze for a moment, grounding yourself before lifting your eyes back to his. "A problem,” you murmured, trying to ignore the disappointment pooling in your chest. 

He didn’t correct it, didn’t take it back. You just let it sit there between you, like he’d already decided it was the truth.

The weight of it settled heavy in your chest. You swallowed around it, hands curling into fists at your sides. "Right. Because God forbid something matter, right?"

His gaze flickered, but he didn’t react, not at first. Then, he took another step forward. Closer now. Close enough that you could feel the heat of him, close enough that your breath hitched despite every part of you screaming not to let him do this again.

"I don’t have the luxury of letting things matter." His voice was quieter now, but somehow heavier, rougher. "Not in this world."

Something in you deflated, you sighed before nodding. "Okay.” You didn’t know what else to say. What else was there?

You had spent too much time trying to figure him out, trying to make sense of the moments where he let you in, only to shut you out just as quickly. And now, here he was, saying it plainly. That this, whatever this was, couldn’t exist. That you couldn’t matter.

 The weight of it settled in your chest, pressing down, pressing in.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he didn’t move, didn’t drop your gaze. “Okay?” he hummed. 

"Okay," you repeated, voice steady despite the way your pulse was hammering against your ribs.

Tommy’s gaze was searching. Like he was waiting for you to push back, to challenge it. But you wouldn’t. Because you had always suspected that this was how it would end. 

Slowly, carefully, Tommy reached out. Fingers brushing against your temple, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch so gentle it nearly broke you right then and there, like he hadn’t just told you that you couldn’t matter. Like he hadn’t just chosen the distance.

The breath you took was shaky, and before he could let his hand linger, before you could let yourself lean into it, you reached up and pushed it away.

His brows furrowed slightly, but he let his hand drop.

"Stop," you murmured, shaking your head. "Please– stop. You can’t have both, Tommy."

He stayed still, watching you, but you weren’t done.

"If I can’t matter, that’s fine," you continued, your voice soft but unwavering. "I get it, Tommy. Really, I do. But you don’t get to–" You swallowed thickly, frustration and something deeper curling in your chest. "You don’t get to look at me like that."

You let out a slow breath, willing yourself to stay steady. 

"Either you care or you don’t. But you don’t get to stand here and tell me I’m a problem, then turn around and touch me like I matter," You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "I can’t do that, Tommy."

A beat of silence. Then another.

It was suffocating, stretching thick and heavy in the dimly lit hallway. Tommy’s face was unreadable, but something in his posture had shifted, tighter, tenser.

"Understood," he murmured, his voice low and even.

You nodded, blinking hard against the sting behind your eyes. This was the right thing. You needed to put space between you before he pulled you in again, before you let him.

So you turned.

And Tommy let you take one step. Then another. But before you could take a third, his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist.

Before you could react, before you could even breathe, he spun you back to him.

Your balance faltered, your body colliding into his, and then, his mouth was on yours.

And suddenly, the world was tilting. 

His hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his grip firm, desperate, demanding. The other cupped your jaw, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head just so as his lips crashed against yours, hungry, insistent, like he was starving for this.

A quiet gasp left you, but it only spurred him on. He kissed you like a man trying to undo something. Like he’d spent too long telling himself he shouldn’t, only to lose the battle entirely.

Heat surged through you, burning through the frustration, through the confusion, through the ache you’d been trying so hard to bury.

And you kissed him back. 

Your hands fisted in his shirt, gripping him as tightly as he held you. There was no hesitation now, no restraint. His mouth moved against yours with a slow, aching intensity, like he wanted to commit every second to memory, like he already knew he was going to regret this but couldn’t stop himself anyway.

His fingers tightened at your waist, possessive, firm, as if he needed to feel you solid beneath him, to make sure you weren’t slipping away. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, coaxing you closer even though there was no space left between you.

God, you hated him for this– for making you feel like you were coming undone and put back together all at once. For making it impossible to breathe without breathing him in.

The kiss deepened, his lips parting slightly against yours, and the moment your body softened, the moment you gave in just a little more, he pulled away.

Barely.

His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard, his fingers still gripping your waist like he wasn’t sure if he was going to let go. 

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his, blue, wild, and searching.

"Tell me to stop," Tommy murmured, his voice rough, his breath hot against your lips. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

His fingers tightened at your waist, firm, steady, like he was holding himself back as much as he was holding onto you. His breath was warm against your skin, his presence overwhelming, all-consuming.

Maybe you should have pushed him away. Maybe you should have reminded yourself of every reason why this was a mistake.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you swallowed, your voice quieter now, steadier than you felt.

"You know where I stand, Tommy." Your eyes met his, unflinching. "I don’t want to stop."

Tommy sighed. "If Campbell finds out I care about you," he said, voice rough, “He’ll use it. He’ll use you. And I can’t–" He stopped himself, jaw flexing. "I can’t afford to lose anyone else."

You swallowed, feeling the tension in your chest shift into something softer, something more painful. "Tommy–"

Your voice barely carried between you, hushed and unsure. The weight of his words lingered in the small space that separated you, pressing into your ribs like something you weren’t meant to hear, like something he hadn’t meant to say.

But you had heard it.

And despite everything, despite the risks, despite Campbell, despite this entire dangerous, tangled mess, you didn’t want to walk away. Because when you were with Tommy, the world felt quieter. Even with the weight he carried, even with the danger that lurked in every shadow, there was something steady about him, something solid. He had a way of making you feel like nothing could touch you, like no one else in the room mattered.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because when he looked at you like that, when his voice dropped low, when he let those rare moments of softness slip through the cracks, it was easy to forget the warnings. Easy to forget the risks. Easy to forget that men like Tommy Shelby didn’t get to have things like this.

But more than anything, it was the way he understood. He didn’t just tolerate the weight you carried, he recognized it. He knew the ghosts that lingered at the edge of your mind, because they lived in his too. He didn’t ask you to explain why your breath hitched at the crack of distant gunfire or why you woke up with the trenches still clinging to your skin. He already knew.

And that was the part that scared you the most. Because for all the reasons you should walk away, there was one reason you couldn’t: Tommy Shelby felt like the only person in the world who understood you.

You knew what this meant. You knew what Campbell was capable of, knew how men like him operated. But you also knew Tommy.

And you knew that this, whatever it was, whatever it could be, was already happening.

It had been for a while.

"I know the risk," you murmured, searching his face.

Tommy’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t look away.

"We can be discreet," you said, voice steady despite the way your pulse pounded in your throat. “Campbell doesn’t have to know.”

His brows knit together, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly. "It’s not just Campbell. It’s this life. Even if we get rid of him, even if the plan works and he’s out of Birmingham for good, there will always be someone else. There will always be another threat." His voice was lower now, rougher. "I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you looking over your shoulder, waiting for the next fight, the next danger. I don’t want you living in fear."

Tommy’s words hung between you, thick with warning, with the quiet weight of something unspoken. 

You searched his face, the way his jaw stayed tight, the way his grip on your waist remained firm, like he was already bracing himself for you to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you exhaled slowly, your fingers curling gently against his chest, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him. "I’m not afraid, Tommy."

His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them.

"You should be," he murmured.

You swallowed, shaking your head. "I know what this life is. I know the risks. But I also know that when I’m with you, I don’t feel afraid. I feel safe." The words left you before you could second-guess them, before you could soften them into something less vulnerable.

Tommy's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing against your waist. He dropped his gaze for a brief moment, exhaling slowly through his nose, before looking back at you. There was something different in his expression now, something raw and uncertain, like he wasn’t used to hearing words like that, like he didn’t know what to do with them.

"You trust me?" His voice was quieter now, almost careful, as if testing the weight of the question.

You didn’t hesitate. "I do."

Tommy's eyes searched yours, scanning for doubt, for hesitation, for any sign that you were saying it just to soothe him. But he found none.

His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, closing his eyes for the briefest second, like he needed to steady himself before doing something reckless. Then, without another word, he let out a slow breath and leaned in, closing the space between you.

And then, before you could say anything else, he kissed you again.

It was different this time– not desperate, not frantic. But deep. Intense. Certain.

His lips moved against yours in a way that felt like an answer. Like something he had been trying to hold back, but couldn’t anymore.

And you didn’t stop him.

His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek, tilting your head just enough to let him kiss you the way he wanted.

Slow, unhurried, like he was memorizing you.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, grounding yourself in the solid weight of him, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

He made a quiet sound low in his throat, deepening the kiss, fingers threading into your hair, holding you there, like he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Like he never would be.

Tommy pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead pressing gently against yours. His hand stayed firm against your jaw, his thumb tracing absentminded circles along your cheek.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, his voice rough, quiet, but unwavering. “At my house.”

Your breath hitched, fingers still curled in the fabric of his shirt. The temptation was immediate, curling warm and reckless in your chest.

But reality settled in just as fast. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head slightly. “Tommy… Campbell’s men… What if they’re watching?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of it hung between you. “Would that be smart?”

His jaw tightened, his eyes searching yours like he was already trying to find a way around it. But you knew he had already thought about it. Already weighed the risks.

Still, his fingers stayed where they were, warm against your skin, his forehead lingering against yours. “Probably not,” he admitted, voice low, reluctant.

You swallowed, your grip on his shirt loosening just slightly. “Then we can’t.” The words felt heavier than you wanted them to, like saying them out loud made them more real, more final.

Tommy let out a slow breath through his nose, his fingers threading further into your hair before sliding back down to your jaw. His eyes stayed locked onto yours, like he was trying to commit something to memory. His fingers flex slightly against your jaw before sliding down to your waist. His forehead remained pressed to yours, like he was holding onto the moment, weighing something in his mind.

Then, quietly, “We could stay here. Pol’s got a spare room.”

Your stomach flipped. “Really? Would that be safe?”

Tommy exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “If Campbell’s men are watching, they already know you’re here.” 

His hands flexed against your waist. Then, his lips barely ghosted over yours again, his voice lower now, rough with something unreadable. “I could take the floor,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. 

You huffed a quiet breath, your fingers tightening against his shirt. “That’s what you’re worried about? Sleeping arrangements?”

Tommy’s lips twitched, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m a gentleman.”

You let out a quiet scoff. “I don’t think I want you to be tonight.”

Tommy made a low sound in his throat, something close to a curse. Then, suddenly, he moved, his grip tightening as he walked you back a step, then another, until your spine met the wall.

His hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers pressing against the bare skin of your back, pulling you closer, as if he needed you closer. As if he couldn’t stand the space between you any longer.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth was on yours again, slower this time, deliberate, like he was savoring every second, every stolen moment.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing uneven, his fingers still gripping your waist, you murmured, “Just for tonight.”

Tommy’s lips barely parted, his breath warm against yours. “Just for tonight,” he replied.

Despite everything– despite the danger, despite the risks, despite the quiet warning in the back of your mind, you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Not when he was looking at you like that. Not when his touch made the rest of the world fade away. Not when, for the first time in too long, you felt safe.

[bird-in-the-space]

Humble Bar Musician Being Friends With Soundwave, Jazz, And Blaster

(Author's note: I felt inspired to write this. So, here you go. )

Warnings: some mentions of the incident with the higher-class bot, Soundwave, and his minicons being a bit protective, Jazz being a social butterfly, and nothing else much.

--------------------------------------------------

Soundwave 

- I feel like you and Soundwave became friends after you started working at the bar. He was one of the regulars, and you two hit it off when you revealed yourself as a musician.

- Music was generally rare in the lower-class districts, so I think you and Soundwave, both being music enthusiasts, would have made great friends.

- His taste in music was that of a DJ, but he found enjoyment in your music, especially when it was something unusual yet calming. He also admired how you practiced a wide range of musical genres.

- He would help you find parts when you were trying to make new instruments from Earth, knowing exactly what you needed and tracking them down, especially when they were difficult for you to acquire. You appreciated this immensely, and he became your go-to guy for the right materials.

- As a fellow music enthusiast, he would let you listen to some Cybertronian music from his personal collection—pieces usually guarded from the lower-class bots by the higher class. This gave you new inspiration and allowed you to remake those songs with your instruments, giving the lower-class bots access to their own lost music.

- You got along wonderfully with his minicons. Sometimes, you let Frenzy and Rumble test out your ongoing instruments, like maracas and other easy-to-handle ones, teaching them how to play with rhythm.

- Ravage, however, did not enjoy the newfound energy the two possessed for making offbeat noise. It was one of the few things he despised you for—but he still enjoyed your music nonetheless.

- Due to your humble and non-confrontational nature, Soundwave and his minicons were a bit protective of you. The lower-class districts were occasionally dangerous, and some higher-class bots took advantage of the less fortunate—like the one who offered you a job opportunity but then sent bots to attack you when you turned them down.

- After the incident, you would often find Laserbeak or Buzzsaw keeping an eye on you from a distance. You were even sometimes accompanied by Ravage, who was quick and observant. Soundwave himself, having a fearsome reputation as a skilled combatant, also offered you some unspoken protection, as many were afraid of him.

- You didn’t mind their protectiveness; living on Cybertron as a lower-class bot was tough, and anything could happen.

- Though he had a tough exterior, Soundwave was one of your most trustworthy friends.

Jazz

-Jazz was one of the curious visitors when you first started playing at the bar. After hearing your music, he struck up a conversation and soon became one of your friends.

-His taste in music leaned toward pop, so he especially enjoyed your more upbeat, party-like songs.

-As a friend, he never failed to make you laugh and was sometimes even flirtatious with you. He considered you a rare gem in the lower class for playing great music for free.

-His enthusiasm and optimism motivated you to try recreating jazz music. When you indirectly told him the name of the genre, Jazz became smug about it—clearly enjoying the connection.

-He might have even developed a taste for classy jazz music.

-He indirectly helped the bar’s business grow by bringing many of his friends over for drinks and to see you play. Through this, you met many of his friends and befriended some of them as well.

-Your boss was very pleased with this and encouraged you to make more connections.

-Despite his outgoing and sometimes flirty nature, Jazz was always respectful of your boundaries and backed off if you felt uncomfortable. He also didn’t tolerate disrespect toward you and would stand up for you in difficult situations. He became someone you could rely on when you needed support.

-Whenever you felt uninspired or unmotivated, Jazz would invite you to explore Cybertron and experience events that lower-class bots didn’t often get to see. Thanks to him, you felt less anxious about visiting these places, and through these outings, you gained fresh inspiration to continue making music.

-Jazz was the extrovert in your friendship, but you didn’t mind—it was sometimes nice to have someone bring you out to see the world.

Blaster

(I'm not very familiar with Blaster, so I wrote based on what I read on his wiki page.)

-You most likely met through Jazz, as he had a habit of bringing many of his friends to the bar to either grab a drink or listen to you play.

-Blaster didn’t believe Jazz at first when he claimed there was someone playing music for free in the lower-class district. Music was rare, but when Blaster came to the bar and heard your songs, he quickly became a fan.

-Your music was vastly different from Cybertronian music, and he was even more impressed to learn that you had an extensive repertoire of different genres. He became particularly drawn to music with strong beats.

-You didn’t mind his enthusiasm, especially since he showed genuine interest in hearing your other songs. While he enjoyed them all, he seemed to gravitate most toward your rock ‘n’ roll-style pieces.

-He soon became a regular, never wanting to miss out on your performances. His enthusiasm inspired you to experiment with recreating Earth’s rock ‘n’ roll music.

-Before you knew it, he had become your personal hype man—always cheering you on whenever you lacked energy or motivation.

-Jazz found Blaster’s excitement amusing and felt smug about introducing him to you, much to Blaster’s embarrassment.

-Although Blaster thrived on high-energy beats, he also enjoyed your calming songs, as they helped soothe his nerves whenever he got worked up.

-He probably saw you as some kind of music master—someone uniquely skilled in creating and performing such a wide variety of music.

Tags: @martinys-world

[skunkes]

after reblogging my recent sketchbook page i must add that I feel a lot of this, even when I dont go with the flow and need a preliminary anchoring sketch, is the result of making myself use pens/markers only in my sketchbooks since high school... Its made it easier, when working in digital, to let lines flow out and then adjust as needed, or make a really shitty sketch where I kind of know where things are meant to be and then fixing it/filling in those gaps that I still haven't gotten a handle on.

Its scary but i do recommend it to everyone. Teaches u line confidence as well as forces you to try over and over again if you mess up. Quantity > quality for learning, makes you take different approaches, etc

Anatomy anon!! uhm-- I guess how do you go about building up your poses? They'e very fluid and have a lot of real world weight to them. It's my favorite thing about your art!! >_<

OK it was suggested i do more timelapses since i dont rly know how to do step by steps especially since ive streamlined my process so munch at dis point, this is how i build up poses!

SO i usually draw stuff in one of 3 ways... 1st is just going with the flow...its how i drew the recent smunker with no ref. in this video i occasionally got up to make more or less the same pose in my mirror and used it to guide me... second is drawing small, since its easier for me to fully envision a body like that, and use as little lines as possible....then u just blow it up and fix it/add more curves and details, fix proportions etc....

the talon was a failed attempt of the 3rd which is just drawing a really shitty approximation to anchor you or establish the flow, THEN looking at refs or what have you on the refined version on top (which i also didnt properly do here bc my heart wasnt in making a crisp version of that doodle LOL)

i dont really do the stick figure guidelines or anything for the most part, and all bodies are different, and there's lots of way to stylize each body part, qhich is why its hard for me to give more refined tips/guides/etc

but the one i commonly bring up anyway is learn things in increments if it helps u... i was obsessed w drawing arms and hands in high school, i didnt commit to learning to draw legs til 2 years ago (and i still have a long way to go!), i still struggle with hips/anything below the waist, and i still struggle with drawing flat chests at all angles... but im still fitting it all together....just make sure u dont avoid drawing any body parts even if they dont look right, or while u focus on building up others.

[caparrucia]

There's a fork in the road, when you're unlearning toxic shit, that I like to call the Slur Event Horizon. Where you've learned just enough about social justice to identify the surface symptoms of oppressive structures, but you haven't really internalized the principles on a foundational level.

So you find yourself staring at the face at someone you really fucking hate, and fumbling for a slur to use.

Because you come from a culture (built on those oppressive systems) that has taught you slurs are the words you use, in this situation. You have cultural baggage that has taught you how to handle this situation, and the way you handle this situation is by yelling a slur at someone.

But here's the thing, you've also learned from peers and mentors that social justice is in fact a thing you want to cosign. You agree with everything you've been told about social justice. You think women should be people and gays should be married and trans people should get all the dresses or drugs they want to be happy. You have Black friends and Asian friends and you even know the difference between Latino and Hispanic. Your crush turned you down but you were okay with it because they're ace and you know that's not just an excuse, that's just who they are.

You like to think you're a good person. Nothing extraordinary, you're not one of those people who are radical in their beliefs. You vote when you find out there's elections (but you don't seek them out or stay on top of them or go to meetings to yell at people or anything). You're normal and pretty decent, even, certainly better than your boomer parents and all their hateful bigotry that you've been really thinking about limiting or cutting off contact because you've realized they make you into a worse version of yourself and, well. Here you are, trying to be better. And then you run into this person that you hate (justifiably, even!) and you need to make it known, you need to grab the festering, vicious, poisonous thing under your tongue and spit it out, preferably in your face.

So you do what you're told and you reach for a slur and it... chafes.

Your feelings are real and valid and burning, but you know better, really. You like to think you do. You know calling someone a name for their gender or race or sexuality is... y'know. Bad.

This might be in fact the reason why you hate this specific person so much! They're so bigoted and evil. They pick on your friends. They've hurt your family. They make a mockery of real tragedies. Perhaps, they have proudly committed or participated in actual, real, serious crimes and the thought alone makes your blood boil.

But you're a good person, and you've done all the reading about why slurs are bad and hurtful and evil.

But just this once...

And here's where the split happens:

Because you can choose to swallow it back and sit with your feelings and internalize a bit more why slurs are not good, actually, and yeah. Yeah, you need to learn a new way to express frustration and anger towards people who, frankly, fucking suck, but who are, at the end of the day, still people.

Or you decide you need a slur, but not like all the other ones, because the problem with slurs, surely, is not that they dehumanize people, but that they target the wrong people. So you come up with a new one. This slur is okay to use, because it's targeting evil people.

Or maybe you decide that in this clear instance, the slur is okay, actually, because the target is irredeemable and unforgivable and not actually a person and therefore it's okay to use a slur because it's not dehumanization if they're not human anyway!

And the thing is, the Slur Event Horizon is where a lot of would-be progressives slideback into bigotry, because now you've made a choice. Now it's not about when you were younger and more ignorant and you didn't know any better. You knew and you made the choice and if someone points out, "yeah that's... that's wrong actually, try again" you will feel very attacked. Obviously targeted. Singled out unnecessarily.

Here's the thing, you can't bully a stranger to backtrack, if they've chosen the wrong option out of the Slur Event Horizon. You can absolutely nudge a friend or family member and point out you think they've fucked up, because your relationship will serve as a buffer. See, a friend pointing out they might have gone down the wrong road is helpful. Considerate even. People who are close to them care about them, so it's not about punishment or public humiliation, it's about growth!

But a stranger fumbling this will not in fact recalibrate if you yell at them about it. That's not to say you should just let them go about calling the dipshit of the hour slurs. Slurs are bad, they're toxic and hurt people, more than just the person being targeted. They ruin communities and ostracize minorities. Slurs have no place in public spaces and the reaction to them should always be "no", sometimes "FUCK no" and even "the fuck, NO."

My point is, you should not derail the swift, unforgiving response to slurs by trying to shame or bully the user for being a bad leftie or a bad progressive or a bad whatever the fuck ideological group you're part of. You're not changing minds by derailing into a debate about the appropriate use of slurs and whether a specific dipshit has dipshit enough to merit unpersoning. You're just platforming slurs and giving them a veneer of acceptability, because otherwise there would be nothing to debate.

(There is nothing to debate. Slurs are dehumanizing language and if you give two shits about social justice, dehumanization should be the first, biggest nono you learn. And now, "reclaimed" slurs are not the same as slurs. It's not about the words themselves, it's about how you use them. If you're using words as slurs, you've fucked up and fundamentally lost the plot.)

[butmakeitgayblog]

City Of Angels (I'd Give Up Forever)

First Kiss

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

Standing just outside of the play room on the Pediatrics floor of the community hospital, Lexa felt light for the first time since the previous morning. Only moments after gathering herself enough to move away from the spot where Anya left her, Lexa had been called to a child who required her assistance.

It had been a rough case. A pointless tragedy, beginning as a late night of alcohol and bad choices that extended into the mid-morning hours, and ending with a distraught mother sobbing on the side of a road littered with broken glass and smoking twisted steel. Holding the curious child on her hip and explaining that his mother would be okay, that he didn’t need to worry and reassuring him that she had her own angels with her right now, had left Lexa feeling emotionally spent.

She knew it would be fine, her job done and the child in safe hands, but senseless pain always affected her on a deep level.

She was only gifted a few hours of respite, using the time to sit atop her favored cliff and breathe in the salty air that had always helped to calm her stormy thoughts after such heavy tasks, before being called to another task. Not quite as devastating, but still a taxing order to fill.

A young girl, crying alone in the dingy bathroom of her middle school, silently begging for someone to save her from another day of taunts and abuse of her peers. Lexa couldn’t make it better, not in the way the girl had whimpered to any entity listening, but she did what she could. Almost an hour she spent sitting there on the ugly blue and gray tile, unseen arms wrapped gently around the girl, infusing her small frame with as much comfort, courage, and power to keep going as her abilities allowed. By the time the final lunch bell rang, and with tears having long since dried, the girl was able to lift herself up with enough will to face another day. As impotent as cases like those made her feel, seeing the girl square her shoulders before heading on to her next class gave Lexa a sliver of hope that she had made a difference.

The evening and following morning had carried on the same. She wasn’t used to handling so many appointments in such rapid succession, more accustomed to the duties of her kind being spread out among the other angels of her designation in the surrounding area. But she knew sometimes things happened. Big things and small things and batches and lulls, so in the end it didn’t matter how often she was called or when she was called, she went. But the emotional tribulations involved with her job could become wearing, and like any being, she needed something positive to keep her going. While sitting on her cliff relaxed and centered her troubled mind, being around the silliness and seemingly unending positivity of young children centered and healed her fractured heart.

Which is how she found herself standing in the hallway of the pediatric general floor, making ridiculous faces to a group of riotously giggling 4-year-olds in the brightly decorated play area.

Costia and Margery, the attendants who were in charge of overseeing designated play times, were more than used to the odd but harmless and charming stranger who visited occasionally to brighten the childrens day with jokes and faces and magic tricks even they couldn’t figure out. She didn’t bother anyone, helped clean up after art projects if she had the time, and the children absolutely adored her.

After finishing a, in her humble opinion, spectacularly stylized rendition of the entirety of ‘Let It Go’ (you can’t be friends with kids these days if you haven’t seen Frozen, she had learned that the hard way from a wide-eyed and highly scandalized 5-year-old a few years back) to the tiny group, and knowing she needed to leave so they could be laid down for their afternoon naps, Lexa felt it was a prime opportunity to show off some of her superior face making skills through the glass window on her way out. She liked to end trips on a high note. She knew her strengths.

After the patent eyes-cross-puffed-cheeks look that she particularly enjoyed watching the littlest ones try to replicate, she seamlessly moved into the classic thumbs-stretching-mouth-wide/eyes-pulled-down/tongue-stuck-out maneuver.

Not for amateurs, or the faint of heart.

“Lexa?”

So startled by the sound of her name, considering she had never spoken to anyone present besides Margery, the middle aged woman in charge of overseeing the children during play time today and who was currently still in the room she had just been making herself look like an idiot in front of, Lexa snapped her head towards the voice.

Standing several feet away, staring at Lexa in all her angelic glory as she made the most ridiculous face known to the universe, was Clarke.

“What, what are you doing here?” Clarke asked, confusion and disbelief painted clearly across her features.

“Iwuth,” she bit her tongue trying to reply, realizingly to her horror that her thumbs were, in fact, still stretching her mouth wide as the entirety of her tongue hung limply from her mouth. Swiftly yanking her hands down to her sides and rapidly redistributing moisture to her now desert dry mouth, Lexa felt the blush raging up her neck and topping off her ears. “I-mlem-I um, I was just messing around. The, uh, the kids,” she said, vaguely pointing towards the window, “after lunch entertainment,” then vaguely motioning to herself.

“You, you’re visiting the kids?”

“... Yes?”

Lexa’s blush deepened the longer Clarke stared at her, every second feeling like an hour. “You just, decided you were gonna visit some sick kids? In the middle of the afternoon?”

“I, well... Yes. I did.”

“Why?”

“I do that, sometimes. When I can. And also I, when I’m having a rough day or responsibilities get to be too heavy. Kids, you know. They tend to just smile and keep going. It’s nice to make them laugh.”

Clarke continued to stare, jaw slack and brow furrowed to the point it looked painful. Lexa knew if her body actually produced sweat, her forehead and neck would be beading with perspiration to match how hot she felt under the woman’s gaze.

‘Insane, Lexa. She thinks you’re insane.’

Abruptly the door to the playroom swung open, the sound of over dramatized groaning and squeaky protests of, “But I’m not tiiired, Ms. Margery,” exploded into the previously silent hallway. One by one the children marched or were wheeled past the angel and her companion, whose eyebrows now shot clear up her forehead as each pocket sized human stopped to give a vise-like hug to their friendly visitor’s leg, or yelp a drowsy, “Bye bye Lexa!”

Distracted by doling out good natured ruffles to small heads of hair and returning shining, adorably toothless smiles, when the last small wave disappeared around the corner, Lexa was almost startled to see Clarke still standing in the same spot gaping at her.

“I, I hope this doesn’t seem strange. Or like I’m stalking your place of work. You can ask Ms. Margery or Ms. Costia, I really do visit randomly. Not as much as I’d like, but when I can. When I need to rechar-” Lexa quickly snapped her mouth shut when, without a word, Clarke deeply frowned and lurched forward from her spot to grab Lexa’s hand. Not breaking stride, she continued walking briskly down the hallway, practically dragging an alarmed Lexa behind her.

With each step, dread filled Lexa to the point she felt she might vomit. If she could vomit, of course. She knew before coming, if she got caught it would freak Clarke out. She just never expected her to get angry. Certainly not angry enough to roughly drag her like a rag doll by the wrist down one, then two hallways, before stopping in front of a large oak door bearing a small metal plaque that read “Clarke Griffin, M.D. Pediatrics”. She dropped Lexa’s hand to fumble with the set of keys attached to her jacket pocket to unlock the door, before grabbing her again and yanking her inside the room.

The door slammed shut from the force of Lexa’s back colliding with the wood, Clarke having turned around immediately to walk directly into Lexa’s body. Delicate but determined fingers slid over Lexa’s jaw to grasp the back of her neck, drawing her forward and onto waiting, supple lips.

It took several seconds for Lexa’s mind to begin to unfreeze, and her previous panic to subside, enough for her to register exactly what was happening.

She was being kissed. Really, honestly, kissed.

She was being kissed by Clarke.

The realization had her mind going in a thousand directions and her heart hammering against her ribs.

Having never kissed anyone in all of her existence, she wasn’t entirely sure what to do, but knew she wanted this more than she had ever wanted anything. Forcing herself out of her stupor, Lexa quickly raised shaking hands to the small of Clarke’s back and pulled her impossibly forward. It was a useless attempt as Clarke had practically painted herself to Lexa’s front the moment they stepped into the room, but the soft moan Clarke released when she felt Lexa trying to tug her closer? Lexa knew she would never forget that sound.

Incredibly out of her depth but determined to get this right, Lexa did her best to follow Clarke’s lead. She slid her lips purposefully over and between Clarke’s own, caressing and sucking and nipping like she felt Clarke doing. She lost herself to the feeling of Clarke’s mouth, though muted for her, their warmth and pillowed softness overwhelmed Lexa beyond anything she had daydreamed before.

And her flavor. ‘Starlight’, Lexa thought to herself. Clarke faintly tasted like stars and midnight velvet skies.

And then Clarke gently ran her teeth over Lexa’s full bottom lip before sucking lightly, causing Lexa’s mind to completely short circuit and her knees to turn to jelly as she let out a loud whimper at the sensation. With an audible pop, Clarke released her lip with a devilish grin, only to immediately dive back in for another kiss, effectively slowing down the tempo of their impromptu makeout.

Placing two more soft but luscious kisses to Lexa’s lips, slightly panting and eye’s darker than Lexa had ever seen them, Clarke finally pulled back enough to look up at the woman still pressed to her office door.

Staring back just as dazedly, Lexa slipped her tongue across her lip in to savor the feeling and taste of this woman.

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

[vampzyb4tz]

Baby Fever 🤒

A/N: This is Dick Grayson x Reader. It's kinda bad 😞 but who cares man.. Have fun reading this, lovey <3

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, unprotected p in v (don't do this!! Do as I say, not as I write), fingering, oral f! receiving. English is not my first language!!

ALL REPOSTS ARE WELCOME!!

-------------------------------------------------------

Dick was proudly holding your hand, and beaming. This honeymoon had been amazing. You two had been dating for five years, engaged for one, and now finally he's been married to the love of his life for a week.

Nothing could possibly make this better. As you both are walking down, you see a cute little café. "Hey, baby. Let's go in there."

Bruce gave him a shit ton of money, and he planned to spoil you with every penny.

As you two walked inside and you were looking up at the menu, Dick began scanning the shop. This was his honeymoon, and he deserved to have a break. However, he was just so used to making sure there were no threats.

Instead of danger, he spotted a baby. Her face was all messy, as she giggled. She had been eating ice cream. Dick was now shown just how much he needed a kid with you.

"Babe... Can I talk to you about something?" He asked, swallowing as he looked at you. The last thing he needed was to upset you by begging for a baby. Then, you looked up at him with those pretty eyes of yours. He was smitten.

"Mhmm, what is it, Dickie?" You asked, smiling up at him. He internally sighed. "Uh... I'm just gonna come out and say it. I want a family with you, and I want to start trying."

You damn near choked on the breath you were breathing. You both went from getting something to eat, to talking about a family. But... You both knew that you wanted kids, as this came up before. Your honeymoon was the perfect time to start.

"Me too, Dick.. Why don't we get out of here?" You proposed, smiling up at him in the way that made him cave immediately.

He loved seeing you like this, and he could already tell that you were going to be an amazing mother. He leaned down again, kissing you softly and with all the tenderness in the world. When he pulled back, he bit his lip again and smirked once more.

"Alright then, sweetheart. Let's head back to the hotel. No more waiting."

It was a short walk back to the hotel, and Dick kept his hand on your lower back almost the entire time. The moment you guys got into the elevator, he pushed you against the wall, and began leaving kisses and love bites on your neck.

"Baby... " he said, his voice low and breathy. "You just can't wait, can you sweetheart? You want me to put a baby in you right this minute."

Your head fell back, giving him full access to your neck. Your hands threaded into his hair, and began playing with his hair as he kissed your neck. His breeding kink was showing.

"Mm... I do, I want to have your baby.. Fuck, I wanna carry your baby so bad. But, it looks like you're the one who can't wait, Dickie. We're not even in the room yet, and you're all over me." You responded, laughing softly.

He groaned softly against your neck, the sound a bit like a moan. He knew you were right. He was usually a bit more patient, but he was desperate to fulfill the promise he just made.

The second the ding of the elevator signaled that you were at your floor, he pulled back from your neck. His hands gripped your upper thighs, and suddenly he'd lifted you up off the floor and into his arms as he quickly made his way to the door.

"Can you blame me?" He asked, still carrying you. "This is literally all I want right now."

Your lips attached to his instantly, and you both kissed as he fumbled with the door. Eventually, the door swung open. He threw the keys off to the side, as your tongue invaded his mouth. A soft whine left your lips as you tasted him, and he dropped the 'Do Not Disturb' sign onto the door handle, before swinging it shut.

Within the blink of an eye, he was on his knees in front of you. His face buried in your cunt, raven strands being tugged on by your long fingers, and long thick fingers pumping in and out of you. Your head fell back, and his name left your lips like a prayer.

His tongue was lapping at your clit like a needy puppy, before going down to rub all over your slit like a starved man. Moans poured out of your lips as he did what he knew you liked.

"DICK!! Fuck, mi vida.." You breathed out, feeling yourself approach the edge. His fingers curled, hitting that spongy spot inside of you.

"Cum.. Cum on my tongue, baby." He said, the vibrations sending you over the edge. Before you knew it, you were coming crashing down on his tongue with a scream. He lapped up everything you gave him like an obedient puppy.

Once he was sure you were prepared for him, he slid his pants down. His perfect dick was freed from his boxers, slapping against his stomach with a quick 'Fwip!' noise. He grabbed it, stroking his cock while he looked down at you. His thumb rubbed over his pretty pink head that you so desperately wanted to kiss..

Once he was done waiting, he positioned himself at your entrance. "Get ready, baby.. Deep breaths, and just relax. I got you, I'm here." He cooed, as he pushed in. Inch by inch, you took him. Once he bottomed out, tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. He kissed your tits, gently sucking on your nipples as he waited for permission.

"Mmm.. I'm ready, babe.." And that was all he needed to hear from you. He began moving in, and out, moaning when it felt really good for him. Your eyes squeezed shut, savoring as he split you open.

"Mm... Good girl. Fuck, baby... you feel so good. So warm, and tight... This cunt is all mine, so eager to suck me in.. So wet, because my wife got all excited about getting bred by her big strong husband.." He said, circling your clit. Your hands grabbed at his back, as you only moaned in response.

"Fuck... You're about to spasm on my cock, huh? Getting so excited for this? I knew that you couldn't wait. You want that baby as much as I do." He said, his balls swinging and hitting your ass as he thrusted. "Oh, is my girl clenching? She can't wait for her husband to shoot his load inside of her? You're my little princess. I'm gonna dump my cum in you, and give you my goddamn baby, love." He groaned.

He could feel his balls tightening. Moans were leaving your lips, as his tip kept abusing that spot that made you see stars. Not to mention his finger pad against your clit. You were starting to feel overstimulated, and you haven't even came yet. That was, until he began sucking on your breasts that jiggled under him.

It was too much for him. With a moan, your back arched, and you came on his dick. He smirked, until the feeling of you spasming around him started to feel like too much. Soon enough, he was painting your insides with pearlescent squirts while groaning.

Safe to say, when you guys came back from your honeymoon, you had some news for the family!! 🤭

[anewbeginningagain]

I need your full uncensored take on the fb/c partnership because I'm going crazy lol

OK but you asked for it... Get ready for some complicated thoughts and feelings.

As a team, I'm fascinated to see what they would look like. His basics are great, he has zero ability to emote, and he can only do pretentious lyrical programs, so I assume she will adapt to him.

I already know I will be livid by their scoring, ffsg will throw L/B under the bus so fast their heads will spin, and they will politick for FB/C like crazy.

The response from the skating fans is obnoxious. If I see one more person post about them being "rape apologists" I'm going to scream. Legit 90% of those skating fans who are posting are rape and sexual abuse deniers themselves, their response is nothing more than virtue signaling and playing favorites, and they couldn't care less about the actual allegations. It's all performative and they are hypocrites af.

Circling back to the hypocrisy in question - I admire Gabi for the way she's been handling herself, but to paint her as a saint who's fighting the good fight is a bit much, she's a good person for sure, but she's very much still publicly linked to I.AM (and I.AM Ontario), so that's not the same as some others for sure, but the fact that the criticism level is directly linked to a skaters popularity is very telling.

Some responses are legit insane, the fact that over 400 people liked this tweet is crazy, and the second one is beyond unhinged.

And back to the skating aspect - honestly this has been such a drab quad and the Olympic season was looking like it would be mostly boring, this pairing, while I'm not rooting for, just brought a lot of chaos and drama to ice dance, and in its current state that's not a bad thing at all.

[schwarzgeier]

Just popping in to say i love your goober geiers SO much they have fantastic design and are just really cool in general. I can't stop thinking about them SO I'm satiating my need to hear more by giving you (🫵) the unsolicited invitation to yap about anything an everything.

COMMENCE THE GEIER YAP!!

First of all ,thank u so much again for liking and interacting with my goobers ,it always brightens up my day . The joy of sharing things and creations with people is what fuels me in this life.

I. Have both so much to talk about yet nothing I feel like??? It's weirddd . On one hand all i have is Geiers in my head , on the other, Sybil and Blaus content is better storywise i think. Bleh

Welp i will start by talking more about Copper i think cause i feel like i haven't done her justice and she has a lot of potential. Her relationship with the Kolibris can grow into something great but also scary sort of.

Copper despite being a Geier is suprisingly unstable as i mentioned due to her weird inner fights. She wants to know more about the world sometimes ,or her condition or anything really. Yet she beats herself with a stick over thinking those thoughts heavily. It's a vicious cycle. And Kolibris entering that equation is both helpful and stresfull fhfhfj.

I haven't explored this part of Geiers much yet cause im unsure how to handle it but Geiers being anti-bioresonant gives them the unique ability to actually. Govern the bioresonant units kinda. Not govern but. Check up on. AEON is still in it's early stages with this job position for this unit but essentialy they have given Geiers the option to call a decommisioning order on a Falke/Kolibri unit if they deem them too degrated. It's a very edge case scenario since usualy they aren't the ones deciding who is defected or not in Nations eyes , they just carry out the orders. But AEON is toying with the idea of employing this strategy permanently as another check for bioresonant deviancy or spies etc. It's a hit or miss so far.

Anddd this is why Copper pursuing anything with the Kolibri cadre is a very polarizing topic for her. On one hand she does like them . And they are clearly at least intruiged back , interacting with her , offering books and their thoughts. It's both fascinatingly fresh to talk to someone they can't be in the head of , and also concerning . Because Copper fully realizes the Kolibris reciprocating can lead to their degradation, which she would have to report. Its. A very delicate and messy situation but they do get closer with trial and error. Sometimes Copper gets burned and pulls back, sometimes something upsets the Kolibris. But they do small gestures for eachother , like sharing books together or insights on different topics. Copper has always had a bit more refined speech for a Geier , purely as a personal choice of not being blunt as the bare minimum in conversation most geiers do. And this impresses the Kolibris a bit. They in return slowly let her inside their small circle and even start to read in their dorms together.

The check ups also turn a lot more . Interesting / tender sometimes depending on the Kolibri performing it. Cause I see the Kolibris as something of a unified mind , but with slight personal opinions sometimes . They do have their own opinions on some things but come together to a consus always. And with Copper some of the cadre is bit hesitant to engage more , it's a risk afterall. But the other half is very much into her dhfhgjb big coocky fire women that likes the smell of burnt flesh ,what can go wrong. The process of digging through Coppers mind is like disecting a special new book for the Kolibri.

Copper is bit of a loose lost bird , and the Kolibris constant hum and buzz of talking and moving in herd keeps her stable weirdly enough. Yes she gets gay panic but hey better than a mental breakdown.

(I am also working on another sketch page so stayed tune for that)

[all-for-the-game-confessions]

idk if it's mean to say and I don't mean it meanly at all. I think there's a weird culture of trauma dumping in this fandom though.

especially when any kind of discourse comes up, ppl seem to feel the need to 'prove' they can talk on a topic/have more authority than others on a topic by telling stories about how they've been through things the discourse is related to.

like when there was discourse around kevin/jean/riko and the cult thing or whatever. and there were ppl giving their opinions, but also a bunch of ppl chiming in to tell traumatic stories about them being in a cult. and it's not that I don't want ppl to speak about their experiences, but rather, I just think it's crazy that some ppl seen to think its relatively normal to jump into a conversation about fictional ppl with real stories about very triggering subjects with no warning whatsoever.

they also often assume by default that anyone who won't speak openly about going through traumatic shit hasn't been through it. which I don't think is good or fair.

I'm not trying to single ppl out either. it's not all the people who were in a cult or only them, its just the first example I could think of. it happens with basically everything though! from rape to homophobia to being abused by your parents, and so on.

I think the bigger problem which I briefly touched on is that it often comes with the assumption that those who don't speak openly about experiencing these things are assumed to not have experienced them. and ppl who do speak openly about it, will often explicitly make those assumptions.

bringing it back to the cult thing cuz it's the example I started with - I remember somebody would make a post (with admittedly a bad take), and then somebody would respond with their take + the fact that they'd been in a cult & add on a bit at the end being like "you wouldn't write a take like this [the original bad take] if you knew what it was like to be in a cult". and while I understand the frustration of ppl saying stupid or offensive or ignorant stuff, it's also stupid, offensive, and ignorant to make the automatic assumption that because someone's take/opinion on a tough subject differs from yours then that means they haven't been through similar experiences to you. because many ppl can experience the same thing and come out with differing opinions.

I just think it sets a bad precedent. it's also often completely unfair to the person they're saying this stuff to, even if they hadn't experienced that stuff themselves. because it also now means that the person hearing the trauma dumping has to respond with perfect civility, be perfectly calm and understanding, or else they'll be seen as not taking the person's experiences seriously. and while I obviously think you should handle somebody telling you their bad experiences with kindness, understanding, etc, this expectation is a little unfair sometimes because it often expects the listener to be perfectly nice, while the person doing the trauma dumping gets away with not being civil back. like they can throw stuff like "fuck you, you stupid bitch" or whatever into their post, essentially freely insult the other person, but the person hearing it can't do anything similar back without looking like The Asshole.

even if u are perfectly calm & understanding anyway, you can still look like The Bad Person if u continue to even respectfully disagree, becuz the trauma dumping person can just say something like "I experienced x and told you My Opinion and you still disagree 😡". and unless you want to openly admit you've also experienced x, you can't rlly defend urself.

all this to say. I don't think it's good to have this attitude of only being able to speak on things or having authority over others to speak on things if you've experienced said things. becuz on a platform like this, the only way to know if somebody has had those experiences is if they tell you. so it sets this expectation to talk about it. and I think it's normal not to want to talk about the bad shit you've been through with strangers on the Internet for brownie points. additionally. everybody's been through shit. it might not be the same shit as you, but it's important to remember that. we should all be trying to not make bold assumptions about people we don't know just because they think differently to us.

.

[ivystoryweaver]

Cosmic - Poe Dameron

Episode 4: It Came From Outer Space previous

Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Summary: Quality time and a day at the fall festival with Poe, who doesn't really get the point of a ferris wheel. Oh and your ex is there.

Content/Notes: fluff, tw food, language

Word Count: 3.2k

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"That everything?" Poe asked, securing the final basket in the back of your truck. Heaps of fresh organic produce, homemade jellies, herbs and eggs from your chickens were loaded and ready for your little farm's booth at the fair.

The warmish weather had finally eased into a crisp, cool morning, invigorating your fall spirit and giving you a boost of energy needed to peddle your wares.

Poe, dressed in his boots, jeans and a flannel button up of your dads - a dark green and navy plaid over a white t-shirt - gazed at you expectantly, hands on his hips.

"I think so," you answered, granting him a bright smile. "Thank you so much for doing this. It would have been a lot with Chester away in New Jersey. I've never done it by myself." Your thoughts briefly drifted to your father. This was only your second year without him at the festival.

"Glad I can help," he grinned, pushing a hand through his curls.

Since you'd bought him hair products and toiletries, he'd attempted new styles with gel and hairspray, usually preferring his hair off his face. Today it seemed he didn't bother, remarking how his hair had grown longer than ever, and beyond his control.

You offered to cut it for him soon, after the festival was behind you.

Right then, your cat Cheddar darted out of the barn, with Marigold and Kit Kat hot on his trail. Your three barn cats had added themselves to the long list of animals who instantly loved Poe. Cheddar had almost convinced the both of you that he was truly a house cat who needed to sleep in Poe's room at night, rather than out in the barn with his siblings. Almost.

Curling around Poe's legs adoringly, Cheddar meowed, waiting for attention, which Poe was more than willing to give.

"Heyyyy, little buddy, came to say goodbye? Don't worry, I'll be back."

Kneeling down, he granted some attention to Marigold, while Kit Kat hissed in jealous protest.

"All right, you guys, go back to catching things. We have to go." You playfully rubbed each of their heads before gently shooing them away.

It was then that you noticed Poe eyeing you with about as much fondness as Cheddar had displayed. It caught you off guard for a moment, until he held up the truck's key and dangled it in front of you.

"Can I drive?"

"Give me those," you laughed, yanking them out of his hand and bumping shoulders with him as you headed for the driver's side.

"Come onnn, please," he whined, following you closely.

You reached for the truck's door, but he pushed his arm up against it to stop you, trapping you there against the side of the truck, with his arm caging you in. Noticing how close your bodies were, he lowered his arm slowly, licking his lips as your eyes locked with his.

"Sorry." He backed away to give you some space, noticing how your breath stuttered and your eyelashes fluttered. "I'm the best pilot in our fleet, I swear. I can definitely handle a truck."

"Wow," you whistled, pulling open the truck door finally, but Poe noticed you still had a playful glint in your eye. "You actually insulted my truck while bragging. Well done. Passenger's seat for you."

He groaned, but complied, leaving it alone while you cranked the truck and backed it away from the house. Stopping at the end of your long driveway, you peered over at him.

"I know you can drive my truck. It took you like half a day to get what usually takes us regular people a few months to learn. It's just that you don't have a license and we cannot have any questions asked about who you are and where you're from. You understand, right?"

Poe swallowed, nodding, noting how serious you were. "Sorry. I just thought it would be fun. I didn't realize..."

"It's okay," you smiled warmly. "I just...I get nervous thinking about if someone found out. I mean, Poe, to think of what could happen to you..."

"Is it really that dangerous here? In the United States?" He asked, as you eased onto the main road and started driving.

"It could be. It really could. We are in a kind of war right now. A cold war. No one's firing, but it's tense. And if they find out you're from space, they'll never let you go. We have to keep it a secret no matter what. Let's go over our cover story again."

So you spent the drive into town reviewing the story you'd concocted. Poe had come to work on your farm temporarily, as a replacement for Chester, who was with his ill mom in New Jersey. Simple enough. For now, the story would be that Chester gave a friend of a friend-type recommendation. You would loop Chester in on the plan ASAP, when he wasn't preoccupied with helping his mom.

Poe would be called Joe, which sounded a little more run-of-the-mill Earthy, and would be from Florida. The next step was to somehow get him some convincing documents without drawing attention from the wrong people.

This story should be easy enough to maintain. If someone were to question you about Poe's past, you could simply claim to not know, since you truly met him so recently.

Something heavy settled in your stomach as you drove toward the first public outing with this man who fell to earth.

"Look, I'm sorry about the driving thing," he offered, once you'd double checked your story together. "I know we have to be careful. I promise I won't get you in any trouble."

Glancing over at him, you realized this must all be frightening to him, or at least alarming. "It's okay. You must be bored out of your mind on the farm." Pulling into a parking space in the grassy field outside the fair's entrance, you turned to face him. "You don't have to stay in the booth with me all day. You should ride some rides. They're fast. Probably not as fast as an X-wing, but...could be fun."

"Okay. Only if you ride with me."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

To absolutely no one's surprise, Poe was a perfect addition to your booth. Chester was a great help when he was around, but he was more of a behind the scenes worker.

Poe was a people person, charming customers, introducing himself as Joe, as instructed, and making them feel at ease. With the way he was able to add a dozen farm fresh eggs or a jar of your jelly to each order, you were certain he could probably persuade anyone to do anything.

"You know, maybe I should go ride rides, since you've almost sold all the eggs before lunch," you teased during the briefest lull in customers.

Dark eyes went wide until he realized you were messing with him. "Oh...I thought I was doing it wrong for a second."

"No, please. The sooner we sell out, the sooner we can pack up and the less we have to carry home. Be my guest," you grinned, folding your arms over your chest. "Exactly how many dangerous situations have you charmed your way out of?"

Poe laughed, pushing his fingers through his curls again. "Way too many, Trix. You have no idea."

"Oh shit," you whispered, ducking behind the corner of your booth, frantically waving Poe over to join you.

"What's wrong?" He whispered, conspiratorially huddling with you. "Is it someone from the government?"

Shit, you probably scared him. "No. Sorry, no, it's just my ex."

He gazed into your eyes. "Your ex...boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

"Ex asshole," you failed to clarify, groaning as you realized it was too late. You'd been spotted.

"Heyyyy, it's my favorite organic farmer," your ex boomed, embarrassingly loudly, as he was often prone to do. At one time, you had adored his exuberance and bold personality.

"Hey there," Poe interjected, "what can I help you find today? We have homemade jelly."

Your ex made a sour face at you and hitched his thumb at your new, shorter friend. "Who's this guy?"

"Joe," Poe responded, thrusting his hand between you and your ex for a handshake. "Just started at the farm a few weeks ago, while Chester's away. So what can we get you?"

Ignoring Poe, your ex stared at you, waiting for your attention. Fighting a smile, you returned his rudeness and instead turned to Poe. "I think you've got this covered, so I'm gonna unbox a few more things."

"Take your time. We're good here." Poe sent you off with a wink.

Your heart raced as you darted around the side of your tent, so thankful for the embarrassing situation that didn't just happen. It wasn't that you couldn't take care of yourself, or handle your ex. Hell, you were the one who dumped him. You simply weren't in the mood for his loud mouth and embarrassing antics, especially if he tried to give Poe the third degree for simply existing in the same space as you.

Wondering, for a second, if you felt managed by Poe, or dismissed, you sighed in relief, realizing that his reaction was spot on, and just what you needed. He minimized someone who loved to make everything about himself. He kept the focus on your booth and your products, allowing you to get to tasks that needed your attention.

To be seen and understood so effortlessly felt really good.

Another hour passed before the two of you took a break for lunch, closing your booth for about twenty minutes to sit near the back and munch on some ridiculously fried fair food you insisted Poe try.

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By mid afternoon, you'd sold out of everything except a few greens, but Poe was determined, continuing to sell while you started packing up.

As the sun set, your booth was empty and cleared, leaving the two of you free to enjoy the festivities.

"Thank you so much for today," you sweetly said, bumping shoulders as you walked along rows of various carnival style games. "This is the most successful year I've ever had."

"Happy to help," He smiled over at you, "with getting rid of produce...or ex-boyfriends."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry about that," you chuckled. "I appreciate it though. I was not in the mood to talk to him, believe me."

Poe focused his eyes ahead, enjoying the music drifting through the air, the smell of what you called popcorn and brightly colored balloons. "I thought it would be good practice for getting rid of unwanted attention," he shrugged. Waiting a bit, he added, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

You let out a long sigh, prompting Poe to say, "sorry."

"No, it's okay," you assured him. "We had some good times. He helped out, you know...when my father got sick. But I found out he was going to propose. And then I found out why he wanted to propose."

Poe groaned, "Don't say he wanted your farm."

"Bingo," you remarked, snapping your fingers and pointing at him. "I mean, really, is this 1881 or 1981? He was after my land?"

"I guess there are worse reasons to marry. But I see your point," Poe conceded. "Was he good to you?" He flinched. "Is that okay to ask?"

"He was until he wasn't," you confessed. "Kind of ruined the whole, benevolent 'help my father' thing when I caught him with another woman."

Poe whistled. "Okay, now I have to kick his ass."

That made you laugh. "He's not worth it. Come on, let's ride the ferris wheel."

Less that ten minutes later, you and Poe sat side-by-side in the bucket seat...of the world's slowest ride, apparently.

"What does this thing do?" he questioned. "It's really slow. And goes in a circle. Is that fun in Iowa?"

You burst out laughing, swatting him on the arm. "It's peaceful and kind of magical because it goes up high and you can see the town." You explained this as your gondola climbed to the ferris wheel's highest point.

Poe nodded, taking a moment to enjoy the highest vantage point he'd seen in weeks, since his ship crashed here. Normally, he was used to being up in the air on a daily basis, so this was nothing too special. Until he glanced over and noticed your eyes shining as you gazed out across the festival and surrounding, rural fields.

Peering over the edge, you remarked how high up you were, bouncing with excitement before looking back at Poe, eyes bright and filled with wonder.

"You're right about the view," he said softly, eyes never leaving your face as the ferris wheel slowly brought you back down to earth.

Next you dragged him to a mini roller coaster, promising it would go at least somewhat faster. Hands gripping the safety rails, you squealed in delight as Poe grinned, enjoying the ride almost as much as he loved riding full speed on your horse Annabelle a week ago.

"I'll take you flying someday. Somehow," he promised. You appreciated the gesture, but your heart burned at the faraway look in his eyes. It sobered you to remember, again, that he needed to find a way to get out of here eventually.

"I'll probably embarrass myself and scream or get sick, but I would love to see you in action."

As soon as the words left your mouth, your face heated up. And he noticed.

Leaning closer his eyes dropped to your lips before he smiled knowingly, nodding behind you. "You want to see me in action, let's go."

Brushing past you, he left you a bit speechless until you realized he intended to play a shooting game. With perfect precision, he used rubber darts and a plastic gun to take aim at, and perfectly eliminate yellow duckies in a row, earning some oohs and ahhs from interested onlookers, and the game's attendant.

"Best shootin' I've seen all day, son. Pick a prize from the top row there." The older gentleman pointed up to the row of ridiculously oversized stuffed animals.

Poe grinned at you. "Which one?"

"You won it," you giggled. "You pick."

He chose a gigantic plush lizard.

"For you." He presented it with a dramatic flare.

"Wowww, this is...this is really something. Thank you." You laughed in spite of the weird but oddly cute offering.

"Well you have lots of animals at home, so I thought you might like something different," he explained as you headed for the cotton candy tent. "Besides, all the animals here are really...hairy." He squeezed the giant lizard. "This guy looks more like my galaxy."

"I love it then," you decided. "What should we call him?"

"Toe Dameron," he teased, a twinkle in his brown eyes. "That way, you'll think of me when you hug him."

For the first time in a while, you enjoyed a good belly laugh. "I don't need a giant lizard named Toe to think about you, but okay."

Poe carried Toe Dameron around while you bought some cotton candy, which intrigued him immensely. He gobbled it up quickly, which let both of you know he was actually hungry. So next up was the pizza stand, of which Poe was definitely a fan, polishing off three slices while you sat at a small table with Toe Dameron on the ground beside you.

"A picture for the lovely couple?" A photographer asked, appearing beside your table, with his camera at the ready.

"Uhh, not a couple, and no, actually, it's okay." You waved him off. Digging into your pocket, you gave him a small tip. "Thanks anyway."

"What was that?" Poe asked through a mouthful of pizza.

"Nothing, he just wanted to take our picture - like the ones in my hall, you know? A photograph?"

Poe nodded, polishing off his meal.

"But, even though I would love to have a picture with you, I just think it could be dangerous. Better to keep a low profile."

"Right, good thinking." Glancing around, the idea that he was an unwelcome guest on planet Earth seemed to sober him. "You're sure it's safe to be here?"

"Yes, it's fine," you assured him.

Hoping to cheer him up, you took him to a very spinny, very fast ride that he loved. But as soon as it ended, you both realized what a terrible idea it was to ride the spinning ride after eating a ton of pizza.

"Ready to go?"

Poe was gazing past you again, as he'd been doing all day, his interest piqued by every different or similar thing to his home galaxy.

This time, his ears perked up at the sound of live music and his eyes gazed at couples dancing on a makeshift dance floor.

"Come on," he urged, taking you by the hand. "Dance with me."

"Oh...okay," you smiled at his exuberance. Poe was so full of life, so interested in every little thing.

Swallowing down any trepidation you felt about making a fool of yourself on the dance floor, you eased into an embrace with him, swaying to a medium tempo song, getting used to the feel of one another.

The song cadenced and the beat kicked off a lively tune, which delighted Poe. He took the lead, guiding you through steps that were probably not of this world, but seemed to make sense. He certainly had a good sense of rhythm and was no stranger to dancing.

You slightly stumbled once, but he steadied you with his palm spread across your back. "Just follow me, I've got you." He smiled brilliantly, giving you a twirl and guiding you around to his opposite side, before somehow doing the same thing in reverse. You weren't sure how he managed it, but it was fun and you found yourself laughing and relaxing all the way through the end of the song.

The music slowed into a couples' dance, so you stepped back to give Poe an out, but he held out his hand. "One more?"

You smiled sweetly at him in spite of yourself, taking his hand as he pulled you close, somehow still keeping time even with the slow tempo.

"Is this okay?" He breathed against your cheek, arm cinching you closer even as he asked permission.

"Yeah...it's okay. You're a good dancer," you breathlessly whispered on his ear. "Which isn't surprising. You're good at everything."

"Thank you," he granted you a sincere reply, which you appreciated. "We danced a lot growing up. Not exactly like this but...anyway."

Easing back, you gazed at him questioningly. "What is it?"

He gently smiled, eyes fixing on yours. "Nothing. I just...I haven't had a day like this in years. A day off, to have fun and dance and eat and laugh." He sighed, peering up at the night sky. "I think this is one of the best days I've ever had."

"Really?" You gasped, surprised and touched, honestly.

"Yeah," he nodded, eyes finding yours again. "Really. I think maybe Iowa is a special place."

That made you laugh.

"Or maybe it's because you're here." His arms wrapped all the way around you now, palm pressing along the curve of your back.

You reached up to push a stray curl out of his eyes. "Bet you say that on every planet you land on."

"Maybe, maybe not. But there's definitely only one Trix."

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thanks to @silvernight-m for the names-that-rhyme-with-Poe exchange and @reallyrallyauthor for pointing out that many animals in Star Wars world are reptilian

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[elainsgirl]

The fandom hasn’t been this much of a mess since 2021. I’m still here mostly because I feel like the announcement is coming soon and at this point I’ve been around too long to just dip.

But man, seeing gwynriels mock the elriels who left actually has me seething. Acting like they’re just too sensitive for fandoms or scared their ship is sinking. Like, really? People can’t even leave without getting dragged? It’s like they can’t turn off the ship war mindset for five seconds and realize that real people were actually hurt. Instead they just make fun of them on their way out. It’s messed up. And the worst part is that the wrong people are leaving. Like I get why, but it’s always the kind ones who go. How many times is this gonna happen? I’ve seen so many good people leave over the years and many never came back.

This week sucked ass. Easily one of the worst since the 2021 chaos. So many who joined the fandom after silver flames just have no decency. I just feel weirdly empty now. We really need that announcement.

A fandom is meant to be a space of fun. A space where you can shut off from real life issues & problems - and simply enjoy, stressfree for a while whether that’s through creating content or simply consuming it. Obviously it will be inevitable that some real life issues filter through into fandoms, however it should always be talked about with empathy, caution and care - so those that are affected or going through these issues aren’t so triggered.

That side were simply not mature enough to handle such heavy topics. Their posts were careless and triggering. Any sane, normal person would be able to understand why people are upset and leaving. I think lately, I’ve really come to the realisation that antis do not see elriels as real life people who are going through our own struggles. As you perfectly put it -(and a phrase I will now be using so thanks anon) it seems as though most antis cannot turn off their shipwar mindsets for a minute to look past and understand how these sort of heavy topics are very disturbing. Each post they made this past week about the issue/article basically went

“Yh no sure the article was wrong…but like, its just an opinion and tbf the author did write it as such where people would y’know bring up Elain not having the right anatomy…so blame Sjm and not the readers/journalist and…like, its not a big thing - elriels have said so much worse! And honestly…they’re just mad bcs the point make sense and they can’t deal with that. It was nothing to make such a big deal about”

I know this might come across as mean but, you know when a young teenager or even child enter spaces meant for more mature adults - they dont understand or grasp on how to communicate with the conversations going on in that space. They just end up blabbering and saying dumb stuff, missing the point. THAT is how antis have acted this past week.

You know, Im going to be real with you. Everytime I think antis can’t go any lower then they already have - every time they prove me wrong. Who and why is anyone creating posts & making fun about those leaving due to feeling triggered? Its just immature and pathetic. People have a life outside of the shipwars, something most antis won’t know about. I feel like most of them are consumed within the shipwars and its the centre of their lives.

You’re so right anon. The wrong people are leaving. The people that make the fandom a better, brighter place that have put nothing out but positivity. Its sad to see them go but hopefully they’ll be back once we finally get something about the next book.

Im convinced most who joined after SF - its either their first fandom experience or most of them are just attention seekers. At this point, I simply have stopped caring about anything fandom related, you’re right. I also feel empty and tired - just done with this fandom but Im just praying we get an announcement soon. Match preferably - we need something new to create a positive buzz again.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: It's your first official date with Lloyd.

Warnings: Implied past abuse, Masturbation, Sexting, Smut. Please let me know if I missed any.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Previous

Lloyd is pacing in his apartment, frustrated, angry. A date? Him? What the hell is happening to him? He's always been a "just sex" kind of guy. Then he meets some random woman now he feels like he's gotta stake a claim? Why the hell did he get angry at Wilson for flirting with you? It was just sex! That's how it's always been!

But now you've got him setting up a date with you. Sure it'll end in sex, you'll be going to Lucky Lady for a scene afterwards. But why is he even bothering with the date? Why is he showing an interest in you as a person?

Sure, you're a great sub, quick to follow orders, just the right amount of tease. And you have the best facial expressions he's ever gotten to enjoy. And even when you're just working together you respect each other's need for space or quiet which makes your conversations much more natural, less forced or awkward. You've never reacted to his dirty jokes with a sneer, always chuckling at them in earnest. And damn did you have a beautiful laugh.

"Ah, fuck!" Lloyd stops in his tracks as he catches himself smiling. He rubs his temple as he realizes: he's got it bad for you and he has no idea how to handle it.

Clocking out on Friday, you're feeling a little jittery. Lloyd's actually taking you on a date before you head to the club. You head to the bathroom to touch up your makeup. Lloyd Hansen is not the type of guy who lets people in so you don't want him regretting this decision.

Stepping out of the elevator on Lloyd's floor you're hit by how quiet it is. Even for a Friday evening, the place is almost empty. Rumor has it, Lloyd was quiet all day and no one knew what to make of it so they clocked out early for their sanity.

Lloyd's office door is closed so you give it a gentle knock. You enter only after he says to.

Without looking at you he points to one of the chairs by his desk and you sit. He seems very focused on his work and you're not one to interrupt. It's one of the things you like about your...relationship? You both respect when the other needs to focus on something. Unsure of how long he'll be you take out your phone and start playing a quiet game of minesweeper. Something you can stop doing as soon as he's ready to go.

You're sitting there for about 30 minutes before Lloyd finally clocks out. He groans and stretches, getting your attention. You gently bite your lower lip as you think about how those muscles look beneath his shirt. About how good they feel during a scene. Your phone is put away and you're eager to get going.

Lloyd looks into your eyes and he almost winces at seeing how excited you are. He doesn't want to disappoint you and that scares him. Part of him was hoping you'd cancel or you'd get frustrated with him working and start an argument so he'd have an excuse to just end things. But, no. You sat patiently and waited. And even that wait didn't take away from your excitement.

"Let's get going, Maestro," he grumbles.

The restaurant isn't anything fancy and you're grateful for that. You're still in your work clothes and, while you dress well for the office, it's still not far above casual wear. You coo over Lloyd as you thank him for not picking someplace fancy but your greeted with a soft grunt, making your smile falter.

"Are you okay, Lloyd? Do we need to cancel tonight?"

He furrows his brows at you, "why the hell would you say that?"

"You've been real...withdrawn tonight."

"Never been one for chatting."

"No, but you've never been so tight lipped."

"Well this is kinda new territory for me," he snaps. "I'm not exactly a feelings and relationship kinda guy!"

"I know," you respond as gently as you can. "Even before you asked me out I knew you weren't that kind of guy. But I still agreed to go on this date with you." He huffs a little. "Hell, I was genuinely hoping you'd ask me out."

That gets his attention. "What do you mean?"

"Well, that day you asked me out, when the CFO was flirting with me, all I could think was, 'I wish it was Lloyd.' I feel safe with you. More than that, I feel comfortable with you. Maybe it's because you're not a feelings kind of guy but you still take care of me. We don't have to talk about anything and everything, but we can talk about anything and everything. As we're both comfortable with doing so."

You place your hand over his, grateful he doesn't pull away. "You're an asshole, there's no arguing that. But you're not an asshole to me. And that counts for a lot."

He lets out a heavy sigh, "why d'you gotta be so good to me, Maestro?"

"Because I'm a good sub who takes care of her dom," you smirk.

Lloyd's eyes darken and he gently grips your chin. "That you do. What d'you say, after dinner, we skip Lucky Lady and just go back to my place? I've got some toys I'd like to try on you." A shiver runs down your spine and Lloyd grins as he notices your nipples hardening underneath your shirt. "Shall I take that as a 'yes'?"

"Yes, Sir," you wink.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory;

@late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[socialitesleuth]

Penelope wasn’t sure what was worse: the sight of the bruising on his ribs, or the fact that he was showing it off.

She hadn’t needed to see the swelling to believe him, or to know what bruised ribs looked like. Her first thought, upon being shown the injury, had been concern over whether he’d ended up breaking anything, but her faith in Virgil’s medical skills had her refraining from asking. Penelope trusted that, if there had been anything more to worry about, Virgil’s medical gadgets would have flagged it up for him.

Which left her with a really large realisation, one she wasn’t about to verbalise any time soon. If she trusted in Virgil’s abilities to do his job, why was she unable to trust in Gordon?

Of course, it wasn’t really about trust. Penelope had meant what she’d said before, about trusting him with her life. Her trust in him unshakeable. She knew he could handle himself, in most situations, and yet there she still was, seemingly fretting over his abilities. It would have been so much easier if Penelope just openly admitted why she worried so much over him instead of his brothers, why she lectured him so and commented on his injuries.

It wasn’t about her lack of trust or her lack of faith. This was about her lo—

Dangerous territory! Don’t go there!

“Accidents happen when people become careless, so yes. You were careless!”

Penelope spoke so confidently that anyone who might have been listening into the call, who wasn’t aware of the details, might have assumed she had been physically present at the rescue in question.

“Two hundred people were relying on you to get them home safe, yes, but I was relying on you getting home safe too!”

Her voice could have cracked. It didn’t. Somehow Penelope had managed to keep her features composed. The only emotion in her words had been translated as intense exasperation. It was easier to be outraged. It hurt less to express the fury she felt instead of the deep-rooted fears she’d developed ever since she’d pulled him out of that trench.

Her anger had supposed to be directed towards the situation, not him. Never him. But once Penelope began, she couldn’t stop. Her emotions, though they were still masked to a certain degree, poured out of her at a rapid speed.

“I’m not sure whether it’s wise you come on Saturday, Gordon. I wouldn’t want you to worsen those injuries.” Or get anymore injured. “It’s better to play these things safe. You can pass on the invite to one of your other brothers, if you so wish, otherwise I shall go alone and pass on any intel I may find.”

Icing him out was the wrong decision. Penelope knew that.

But, equally, she couldn’t bare the thought of him in pain. If things went south at the weekend, she didn’t want Gordon, already battered and bruised, getting caught up in the middle of that.

Yes, technically speaking this mission should have been shared between them — he’d brought it to her attention and she had the relevant skills to see it through — but Penelope believed, at least in this area, she had some sort of duty of care to enact. Was she being overzealous, over cautious? Perhaps. But, if the worst did happen, how would she explain it to Scott?

How would she be able to live with herself? 

:COMMS BEGIN:

Lady P,

Sorry for the early morning comms, hope this doesn’t wake you too early - I make it just after 5 your time.

We’re just finishing up a mission in the Persian Gulf - a luxury hotel collapsed overnight, on an island just offshore Doha. Only built two years ago, whole place is pretty new and shiny.

Been a rough night, Pen - fifteen we were too late to help, including two kids. Just families on vacation...

Anyway, victims are saying they felt tremors, it certainly looks like a quake from the debris now the sun is up and J is absolutely confident it came from beneath the sea bed (absolutely being a rather irritated direct quote, so I’m not asking again).

But… this isn’t a quake hot zone. It doesn’t make any sense, and there haven’t been any aftershocks either while we’ve been working. Five can’t get a good read because of the debris and mineral interference underground. The whole place is on top of the enormous old oil fields, and it sends the scanners haywire.

The company that owns the hotel has set my squid sense off though. Name’s Fulcra, I’ve sent you the profile on them. Ran by a guy named Randall Price. He’s a venture capitalist from Houston originally, but the company’s HQ is a London address. That’s as far as I’ve managed to get.

They own a couple of the small artificial islands around here that are being used as tourist hotspots. Think luxury waterfront villas on stilts kinda stuff, the hotel that’s collapsed was the biggest. Nice place, high end, lots of good dive spots.

This area’s all under a World Heritage protected marine environment permit for a biosphere reserve. They’ve spent decades trying to replenish the mangroves and coastal vegetation after what the oil fields and production did to the waters here, the aquatic populations are only just starting to rise comfortably. I didn’t understand how they even got permission for this sort of work but…

They’ve got a giant platform further out in the Gulf that’s supposedly ‘cleaning the sea’ and helping to replenish the sea bed. Seems to be some sort of agreement that they can build these resorts, in exchange for what appears to be green work. I tried to get a proper look at the platform in Four, out of interest, but they’ve got laser nets up. I got an autoturret my way for trying to go any further in the exosuit…

I’d like to think they’re just really protecting that biosphere, but I don’t get a nice eco-friend impression.

My gut says I’m getting Hydrexler vibes, and you were right about that oily CEO last time. I’m not sure I want to be right, but I do want to know what’s going on here… and I thought you might too, as our resident top agent with a passion for all things Earth-saving.

So, I thought I’d hand it over to you, and let you do what you do best - cosying up to the billionaires and getting them to spill the tea.

Lemme know if you know or find anything on them. We’re going to be here another couple of hours, finishing up stabilising the debris field and having another run through, and then heading back. S managed to get the Price guy on comms briefly, but he wasn’t much for talking. Maybe you’ll have more luck.

G 🦑

:COMMS END:

FIRST DATE?

The flickering light and the soft buzz from her compact device caught her off-guard. Penelope, who had positioned herself in an armchair beside her tall windows after giving up on sleep half an hour earlier, sat herself up a little straighter. The blanket which she’d wrapped around herself was pulled tighter to her frame as her eyes read the message.

The hour might have been earlier and, on any other day, Penelope might very well have still been sleeping, but today was different. She rubbed her tired eyes as they scanned Gordon’s words. At first, she’d hoped it had been something akin to a social call. She rather enjoyed those, especially when they came from Gordon, but the more she read, the more Penelope realised it was anything but that.

Her interest peaked as she reached Gordon’s conspiracy.

Her mouth grew dry when she reached Gordon’s information.

The blanket was thrown off her body and Penelope stood. With her comms device still in hand, her eyes still darting from left to right as she continued her reading, she crossed her bedroom and gently tugged on the bell. 

Minutes passed before a very sleepy Parker knocked on her bedroom door. Penelope, having only just finished Gordon’s message, opened it.

“Terribly sorry to wake you, Parker, but it seems we have a situation. I need you to cancel my schedule for today and then get me all we have on the company known as Fulcra. CEO is a man named Randall Price.”

“But, m’lady, that’s—”

“I’m perfectly aware of that, thank you, Parker. See if you can arrange a meeting of some kind, if that’s at all possible.”

Parker nodded, still more asleep than he was awake, before he trundled off down the hallway to make good of his ladyship’s requests.

Penelope returned to chair by the window and curled herself back up. The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon as she typed out her reply.

COMMS BEGIN

@squidsinashirt, Thank you for your concern — I shall look into this and get back to you when I

Penelope ceased her typing and sighed. She knew it wasn’t fair to lie to him, not after her sent her looking. A moment or two passed before Penelope deleted her previous sentence and began to re-type it. 

COMMS BEGIN

Gordon,

This company?

I shall look into this as you requested but, I must warn you, you may not like what I find. Randall Price is… let us say a man I am already familiar with, or rather his business is. What I can tell you is that, for the most part, Fulcra is celebrated as a rather clean company, but that doesn’t always mean much — you were right to mention Hydrexler. The Persian Gulf was supposed to remain a protected marine environment, at least that was how I understood it. I’ll ask some of my World Heritage connections what they know too, see if I can get a bigger picture for you.

Give me a couple of days. I’ll try and, what was it you said? Cosy up to the billionaire? Get him to spill the tea? Parker is going to try and get me an appointment but, if that fails, I do have an alternative plan.

Do try and get some rest once you’ve finished up. The mission in Doha sounds like it’s been a terribly distressing situation for all involved. You know I am always here if you need to talk about it. Any of it.

I’ll be in touch once I hear something.

Stay safe, 

Penny x

COMMS END

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Once upon a time, names held weight. Penelope had thought that Scott’s name had simply been too tied up with International Rescue for Randall Price to give him the time of day… until she too was ushered away once the more difficult questions were asked. From her other sources, Penelope had heard only rave reviews of the company. Yet something felt… off.

It was just after dinner when Penelope began her second message to Gordon.

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It's too clean. Not sure what’s going on but I definitely sense something. Plan B is in operation. Randall Price might not have wanted to speak to me today, but he did invite me to his Charity Ball this weekend — I’ll see if I can find out more then.

I’m hoping you returned home safe and sound and that you managed to have a good rest. I suppose it’s my turn to apologise if this message wakes you. 

Penny x

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