#then i get some god damn healthcare tomorrow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minyoongiest · 4 years ago

Text

Positions || KNJ (M)

• pairing: Namjoon x reader

• rating: MA/18+

• type/genre: smut, fluff, multichapter, idol!au, established relationship, nurse!reader/single mom!reader/stylist!reader

• word count: 5.7k

• summary: After a long day working at the hospital in Seoul, you’re ready to spend some alone time with your man, and since your daughter is staying with her aunt for the night, Namjoon has some ideas for how to work off the stress of your day.

• contains: explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral (both receiving, not simultaneously), vaginal sex, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, creampie

• note: a commission for K. Thank you so much! I loved doing this, and I hope you like it!

(translations are at the end)

|| ao3 ||

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As soon as I shut the door to my car, I let out a sigh of relief. I like my job. (I like more that it pays my bills.) But no matter how much I like it, being on my feet all day and trying to do a million things at once so patients are taken care of and the doctors and my supervisors are happy is exhausting. I am so glad to be off and that I don’t have another shift for forty-eight hours because I need a break.

Checking my face in the sun visor mirror, I’m pleased to find my eye makeup is still intact. I was pretty sure by this time I’d look like as haggard as I feel, but my eyeliner is still perfectly winged, and my mascara isn’t even smudged. Tilting the mirror, I turn my neck to check my hair. It’s in a tied back for function, but practicality doesn’t trump style. Not for me, which is why it’s sleek and straight rather than just haphazardly thrown into a ponytail.

“Time to go home and get out of these scrubs,” I murmur, starting my car.

My phone rings as I’m pulling out of the parking garage, and my heart flutters when I see his name on my car screen. I use the button on the steering wheel to answer.

“Hey, I’m just leaving the hospital.”

“Oh, good. Are you on your way to pick up my angel?”

“Actually, I have two days off, so my sister is picking her up and keeping her for the night.”

His angel is my daughter from a previous relationship. Her dad split before she was born, so it was just me and her until Namjoon and I randomly matched on Tinder. At first, I wasn’t actually sure it was really, truly him because Namjoon being Namjoon it seemed like it was definitely a hoax, but I agreed to meet up with him just to see, and what was supposed to be a hookup turned into a fancy dinner date followed by a casual lunch date and then drinks at his apartment after work which turned into a naked sleepover…

That sort of went on for a few months, in which I introduced him to my daughter through pictures and stories, and then they met in person, which was exciting and nerve-wracking for me, but she adores him, and he adores her. So on the night of our sixth month anniversary when he asked how I felt about us moving in with him, there wasn’t much for me to think about.

“Oh,” he says softly. “So, we’re alone for the night?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t have to be up for work?”

“No.” I bite my lip as I stop at a red light and flip on my turn signal. “I do have to go get her before noon though, so I can’t be in bed all day.”

“That’s okay,” he answers quickly. “I have a schedule before that, so I’ll be up.”

“Are you still at the studio?”

“Yeah. I want to get a few more things recorded before I head home. Do you want me to pick up takeout on my way?”

“That would be great. I have some stuff to do around the house, and I had an email about a styling job I want to look into, so that works for me.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at home. Later, baby.”

“Bye.”

He hangs up, and my phone switches to a Spotify playlist. As I drive the last few miles, I do a mental rundown of the things I need to get done before he gets home. In addition to looking into the styling contract, I want to get the dishes in the sink washed first and then cut up the fresh fruit in the fridge for my girl’s lunches next week, and if I have time go ahead and fold some of the clean laundry sitting in the basket in the laundry room.

The actual first thing I do when I walk into the apartment is take off my scrubs and hop into she shower to wash off my day, literally, since I work in healthcare. When I get out, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top before I go to the kitchen to start loading the dishwasher. While it’s running, I do the fruit which isn’t my favorite thing to do since it gets boring, but it’s so much easier to pack lunches when the fruit is done and ready to grab from the fridge.

Finally, I settle down on the couch with a glass of champagne and my computer to go over the details of the styling job. Since I already knew it would require the most of my time I have before Namjoon gets home, I saved it for last. After I skim the entire email, I take another sip of my drink before setting my glass aside and scrolling back up to the details that pique my interest—what designers their looking for, what the concept of the style is, and how soon they need it done. If those things work for me, the next thing I’ll look at is compensation, but I have to be interested enough to want the job first.

“Gucci…Balenciaga…Dior…” I mutter to myself as I make notes in a separate window on my computer.

As I look slowly through the email again, I’m thinking of what connections I have with which designers and if I can put something together. Before I had my kid and went back to school to be a nurse to support her, this is what I did. During that time, I met a lot of people in the industry, so I know someone pretty much everywhere.

“Oh, if that’s the concept…” I close my eyes for a second to picture different pieces from different collections.

“Dior.”

As soon as I say it, my phone starts to ring, making me jump. I see my daughter’s face on the screen and realize how late it is. She must be going to bed.

“Hey babe,” I answer, closing my laptop and setting it aside.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Are you having fun at your sleepover?”

“Yes, Mommy. We made cookies and then we went outside and then we had pizza and played games and then we watched Rapunzel and had ice cream.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of things.”

And a lot of sugar. I’m not mad at my sister. She can spoil her if she wants. I’m just surprised she’d do that to herself knowing my kid is going to be bouncing off the walls until she crashes.

“Mommy, when are you coming to get me?”

I sigh and ignore the way my heart gets all soft. “Tomorrow at lunch time.”

“Okay, Mommy…” I can hear her frown, and I hate it.

“Do you have your pillow?” I stand and start to check her bedroom. If she doesn’t have it, she won’t sleep, and as much as I want a night to myself, I also need my kid to sleep.

“Yes, Mommy, and my pajamas.”

“Oh good.”

I start to ask her another question when I hear the door open, and I turn to look as Namjoon comes in holding a paper sack with our takeout order.

“Hey, baby,” he says quietly, his stupidly pretty face splitting into a grin.

Fuck. Those damn dimples. I can’t.

I see his eyes go to the phone in my hand before he asks, “Who are you talking to?”

“JOONIE!”

I jerk the phone away from my ear as my daughter shrieks into it.

“Oh, let me talk to her,” he says as he rushes to put the food down on the bar top and hurries over to me.

I hand him the phone and watch as he lifts it to his ear.

“How’s my angel tonight?” he asks gently, sitting down on the arm of the couch. “Oh really? … Well that’s good. Did you have fun at school?”

I press my lips together as I wander over to the food and start pulling things out of the bag.

“Well, maybe Monday it’ll be easier,” he says quietly. “Okay?”

He laughs softly, and I can’t help but look over at him. God, he really loves my baby.

“Goodnight, angel,” he whispers. “Do you want to tell your mom goodnight? … Okay, I’ll tell her.”

He hangs up, and I pretend I wasn’t spying as I set out the rest of the food.

“She said she misses you,” his low voice rumbles into my ear as he comes up behind me, his arm sliding around my waist.

“She’ll be okay.”

“She also told me to kiss you goodnight for her,” he says softer.

“Oh yeah?” I tilt my head back to look at him.

“Mmhmm.” He leans down a few inches and his lips brush mine, a pleasant shiver running down my spine.

Damn those soft lips. Why do they feel so good?

“I don’t think that’s the goodnight kiss she meant,” I whisper.

“Oh, you want another one?”

He smirks and leans down to kiss my cheek, his arms squeezing tight around my stomach.

“Quit. Quit!” I pull away. “We need to eat still.”

“Hmm. Okay, but I’m coming back to this later.”

“Sounds good to me,” I mumble as he walks around the counter to the fridge where he grabs a beer.

“What do you want to drink?” He glances over his shoulder at me.

I sort of finished the champagne already, so I shrug and say, “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Cool. Do you want your own or some of mine?”

“Some of yours is fine.”

He nods, and I wait for him to grab his food and head to the couch before I follow him, setting mine on the coffee table while I get comfortable before I reach for it again.

Namjoon talks to me while he eats. About anything. About everything. He tells me about work (at least vaguely), about what memes the members are talking about in the group chat, about changing his hair color… Aside from the occasional comment, I eat and listen to him. I could say more, but just listening to him talk makes me happy.

When we’re finished, he gathers up our trash and then decides to take the bag out because it’s too full to close the trash can. While he’s gone, I go to empty the dishwasher. I mean, normally, I would leave it especially since we’re alone for the night which is rare and usually means something very naughty and very fun is going to happen, but the cabinet has literally no plates or cups in it, and I don’t want to forget and have to rush to do them later. Plus, I have a bunch of nervous energy, and I need to do something until he gets back.

The top rack is empty and I’m halfway through the bottom rack when Joon comes into the kitchen.

“I figured you’d be in the bedroom,” he says in a low tone.

“I was killing time.” I shrug. “And now that I started I might as well finish.”

“Let me help you.”

He reaches down and grabs the rest of the plates and moves behind me, reaching over my head toward the cabinet, so close his chest touches my back.

Which is when I feel it.

Feel him.

Thick and hard and pressed against my ass.

I suck in a breath and bite my lip.

“Baby, you okay?”

“Fuck the dishes,” I whisper.

“What?”

Turning around carefully, still pinned between him and the counter, I look up at him, while at the same time sliding my hand down between us, cupping his firm bulge.

He winces, and I see his eyes flash.

“I want this,” I murmur as I give it the faintest squeeze.

He grits his teeth and grabs onto the counter next to my hip.

“Shit,” he mutters.

I start to ask what that means when suddenly he grabs my waist and lifts me onto the counter.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“You started this,” he says roughly as his eyes darken with arousal and he steps between my thighs, reaching for the waistband of my pants.

“Wait, right now?” My voice gets higher, and I bite my lip.

“I’m starting right now.”

I don’t get to ask what that means because his hands start pulling on my sweats and I almost slide off the counter before I reach back and push up on my wrists so they’ll slide off.

My panties go with them.

Oh God. My bare ass is on my kitchen counter. And Namjoon is between my knees. Cool air glides over my exposed pussy and I bite my lip, fighting a whimper.

“Mmm.” Namjoon’s eyes travel over me, landing on the now-pulsing place between my thighs.

Instinctively, I try to close my legs, but his hips are in the way.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says softly, his fingers trailing over my skin, from my knee toward my hip, along my inner thigh. I stop breathing as the edge of his fingertip traces the outside of my lower lips.

He leans closer, bending so his face is right there. My hands grip the edge of the counter tightly as a rush of wet saturates between my legs.

“I think I want dessert now,” Namjoon says softly as he straightens.

“What?” I blink.

I—He just—I thought we were going to—

All of the sudden he drops to his knees, and my spine goes rigid. He moves closer to the counter, his large hands on my legs, his eyes on my pussy. He pauses, and my eyelids flutter closed. I try not to moan as he exhales, a warm stream of air hitting directly against wet slit.

“Joon…” I swallow. “What are you–”

“Eating,” he rumbles, his mouth brushing against me as he says it.

My back arches instantly as his tongue dips in between my lips and runs the length of me.

“Namjoon,” I gasp as his large hands slide under my thighs, lifting them, pulling them apart as he tilts his head and plants a gentle kiss right there.

He kisses again. Harder.

And then he starts sucking.

First on one side. Then the other. And slowly from the front to the back. My back arches, forcing me further into his mouth, and I moan loudly. Without missing a beat, he tilts his head and sucks deep, his tongue darting out again, teasing me. I swear under my breath and one of my hands slides down into his hair.

His eyes lift to mine, and I feel the heat of them where his thumbs are slowly pulling me open. He smirks, and I feel it in my nipples, which tighten painfully right before he lowers his head again, his soft lips rubbing over my throbbing ones before the flat of his tongue laps them, the tip flicking across my clit.

“Son of a bitch,” I whisper.

He laughs against me, and I swear I almost come. Except he stops.

“Namjoon, what are you waiting–”

I choke on my question when he suddenly sucks hard, his teeth grazing my lips before his fingers pull me open and he tongue drives inside.

I swallow a scream as my head flies back as he fucks me with his mouth. Sucking and licking and his tongue moving in and out of me. He quickly adds two of his long ass fingers, which only makes me crazier. My hand on the edge of the counter is holding on so tight it might be cutting into my palm. The other is fisting his hair, my thighs clamped around his face as he devours me.

He grunts against me, and I whimper at the sensation. I’m so close I could cry.

“Joon,” I plead softly. “I want… I want to–”

One of his thumbs rolls over my swollen clit at the same time his tongue and fingers thrust deep. I come instantly, exploding in his mouth as I fall back on my elbows, moaning his name. His hands move to my ass, pulling it off the edge of the counter and against his face as he continues to suck and lick my wildly spasming pussy. When I come down, his tongue runs along my slit one last time before he puts my bare ass back on the counter and climbs to his feet.

“I can’t feel my legs,” I whisper as he rests his hand by my hip, leaning in to kiss me.

“Mmm.” He smirks against my mouth, and I realize I can taste myself on his lips.

I get wet instantly at the thought, and reach up to put my hands on his shoulders.

“I guess that means you’ll have to carry me to the bedroom,” I murmur.

He makes a low growling sound as his large hands yank my hips against his, my trembling legs instantly locking around his ass, as he lifts me off the counter and starts down the hall. My lips land on his neck (because how can I resist?), and I suck gently as my hands slide over his massive pecs down over his abs, toward his—

“Ah!” I gasp as my back hits the wall.

“You just came in my mouth,” he grunts into my ear as my hands pull at his belt. “And you’re still this horny?”

I can’t answer because his lips land on mine, pushing my head back against the wall, distracting me completely from unbuttoning his pants. I nip at his plump lower lip, and he grunts, taking control of the kiss. My lips part in surprise, and I whimper as his tongue slides over mine. My arm curls around the side of his neck, one of my hands driving into his messy hair. His fingers dig into my ass as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss even more.

He presses forward, pinning me completely to the wall, before his hands let me go. I let out a small scream, tearing my mouth from his, my hands going to his shoulders to keep from falling.

“Namjoon, what are you doing now?”

“Clothes,” he curses.

His fingers curl into the hem of my top, and I jerk as he yanks it over my head, leaving me completely naked.

“Better,” he whispers, his eyes traveling over my exposed skin with awe.

“The bedroom is so close,” I remind him, looping my arms around his neck and teasing the curve of his ear with my tongue.

He grunts and his hands return to my ass, lifting me higher, causing my boobs to bounce. I moan softly when my nipple grazes his lips.

“Bedroom,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” I tilt my head down and kiss the side of his jaw. “The faster the better.”

His soft lips press against my neck, and I quit breathing for a second as he moves us out of the living area. My eyes flutter closed as he begins sucking on my skin. Gently at first and then harder. My hand moves down again, over his chest and abs, zeroing in on his fly. I’m already naked, so my first priority is to even the playing field.

I get his zipper down and his teeth sink into my neck in surprise when my fingers brush against the feverish lump behind it.

“Shit,” he groans. “Let me get to the bed first,” he grunts. “If you keep that up, I’ll drop you.”

“Don’t you dare.”

I try to sound threatening, but it’s hard when his fingers are clenching at my bare ass, holding me tight to his hips, the bulge of his erection grazing against me. Instead it sounds weak and desperate. Which is exactly how I feel right now.

“Mm.”

He moves faster, his lips abandoning my neck as he pushes into the bedroom and throws me on the bed. A small cry leaves my throat, and I whirl around on all fours to look at him.

“What the hell, Namjoon?”

“’Bouta come in my pants,” he swears softly, reaching over his head to pull his shirt off with one hand.

“What?” I blink.

“Nothing,” he says as he swallows, tossing the shirt aside. “Come here.”

He stalks toward the bed, and I scrambled backward.

“Hey, whoa, slow down.”

“Slow down?” He stops at the edge of the mattress and raises a single eyebrow.

A jolt goes through my pussy, and I feel hot all over.

“You were all about going fast two seconds ago,” he says in a low tone.

“Well, yes, but you’re being really…”

“Horny?”

“Aggressive,” I whisper.

Fuck. It’s so hot.

Both his eyebrows rise, and I bite my lip.

“You want me to stop?”

“N-no…” I slide off my side of the bed and walk around the foot.

His eyes follow me, and then his body as he turns to face me when I stop in front of him.

“What are you doing?” He frowns in confusion.

“I just was thinking…” I reach down and unto the button of his pants. “You got dessert on the kitchen counter…”

A throb hits between my legs as I say it, and I clench my thighs together.

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, what about me?” I look up at him as I edge my fingers into the waistband of his pants. “I don’t get some?”

He opens his mouth and I slide my hands into his underwear, my fingertips instantly finding burning, turgid skin.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands reaching out to grab my wrists. “Hold on.”

“I want to blow you,” I whisper.

“I guessed that.”

His face twists in pain, and for a second, I almost feel guilty.

“Let me sit down first.”

I pull my hands out and wait while he shoves his pants down and off and reaches for his underwear.

“I want to do that,” I pipe up, putting my hand on his shoulder.

“Oh?” His eyes flick up to mine, and I gently push his torso, urging him to sit.

His fine ass lowers to the mattress, and I slide my hands down his chest and abs and over his thighs as I get on my knees in front of him.

I reach for the band of his underwear and tug, squirming as his mammoth cock springs free. He hisses and his hand on the bed fists the sheets.

The longer I look at it the wetter I get. It’s not just big, it’s angry. Red with veins everywhere, the thickest one running up the underside. I swear I can see it throbbing. The head is visibly swollen with precum glistening at the slit. I’m a little surprised his zipper didn’t bust open trying to contain it.

I reach out to touch it, and he tenses.

“I’m not going to bite it,” I mumble.

He makes a low sound, and I put one hand on his thigh as I reach out with my other one and run my fingers from top to bottom.

God, it’s on fire.

The heat of it shoots straight from my fingertips to the aching spot between my legs.

“Ppalli-ga,” he grunts, and I know I have to move faster.

From how hard he is, I can tell he’s already close. It won’t take much for him to blow.

Moving closer, I bend my head and lick up one side. One of his hands lands on my head, and I immediately repeat the motion. His grip tightens, and I begin licking everywhere. It doesn’t take long before he’s ready. (Not to mention he’s leaking precum like crazy.) When I’m done licking him, I sit back to catch my breath.

Fuck, it’s thick. I always forget how sore my jaw is after I blow him. Probably because I enjoy it so much that I don’t care.

“Goddammit, baby, suck me,” he groans, and I look up to see his head thrown back and the veins in his neck popping.

Wetness floods between my legs, and I gasp, gripping his thigh tighter.

His hips come off the bed, and I jerk back to avoid being smacked in the face with his dick.

“Okay,” I murmur. “I’m starting.”

He nods, or rather, jerks his chin forward, and I lower head, the bulbous tip sliding between my lips.

“Oh my God,” he groans.

I suck slowly at first and then harder as I move up and down. I use my fingers to toy with his balls and to tease the base until I’m ready to take all of it.

I hold my breath as I tilt my head and open my mouth as wide as I can, forcing his massive length between my lips. My jaw pops, and I wince.

His fingers slide into my hair and grip tight as I start to slide up and all the way down again.

“What are you doing?” he grunts suddenly. “Stop. Stop.”

I do but only because he sounds worried.

“I want to do this,” I tell him instantly. “Don’t make me stop now.”

“I’m hurting you. I can feel it,” he murmurs, letting me go.

“Well stop feeling it.” I frown at him, straightening my spine. “All you should feel is orgasmic.”

“Baby–”

“Let me deep throat you, Namjoon. I want to make you feel good.”

He sighs, and I lick the tip of his cock again.

“It does feel good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “It feels fucking amazing.”

“Then don’t stop me, okay?”

“Fine.” He leans back, presenting his big dick to me again. “Go ahead.”

Before he even has the whole word out, I have him in my mouth again. I have to figure out my breathing as I go, making sure to suck deep and not graze him with my teeth. I move faster and suck harder with every entrance, ignoring the way his tip feels ramming into the back of my throat.

He starts swearing softly. And then louder. And then all at once in a mixture of Korean and English. His hand goes back to my hair and holds tight as his hips start bucking into me.

He’s going to come soon. I’m certain of it. Bracing for his load, I continue to suck and lick at his thrusting cock.

Suddenly he pulls out, practically standing as he fists my hair and holds my head still where I can’t get my mouth on him.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps, his raspy voice sending small vibrations through my whole body.

“Okay, so?” I ask hoarsely. “Let me swallow it.”

“Don’t wanna wait to get hard again,” he explains gruffly. “I want to come inside you but not in your mouth.”

“You have a long refractory period,” I remind him. “You could still fuck me even after I suck you dry.”

“Not this time,” he shakes his head, the veins in his neck still popping. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I have things I want to do before I come.”

“Can you last that long?” I ask softly, my eyebrows rising as I glance back at his swollen, wet cock.

I’ve gotten him off enough to know he’s at his absolute limit right now.

“I just need a minute to come down a little,” he says breathlessly. “Then I can keep going.”

“Mmm…okay.”

“Get up on the bed.”

I climb off of my knees slowly, ignoring the tiny bursts of pain in my knees as I crawl onto the mattress. He stands next to the bed, and I watch him inhale and exhale slowly as he regains control over his urge to come.

“Namjoon, if you need to finish, I can–”

“I got it,” he interrupts gruffly. “Lie down on you back for me.”

I blink as he starts to climb on the bed.

“Now, baby. Spread your legs.”

He’s still close, I realize, but he wants to do this anyway, that’s why he’s in such a hurry.

Quickly moving up the bed, I turn onto my back with my head in the pillows like he said. Before I can breathe, he’s on top of me, his giant pecs in my face, his fucking huge biceps on either side of my head.

“You ready for me?” he grunts softly, his fingers dragging through the wet between my legs even as he asks it.

I gasp instead of answering.

“Mm.” He nods, biting his lip. “That’s a yes.”

“Joon…”

“This is going to be rough,” he says quietly. “Can you handle that?”

“Yeah. I can handle—ah!”

My words dissolve into a sharp cry as he suddenly drives into me. My legs lock tight around his hips as I feel it—the fat tip, the thick shaft, his balls against my lips. All of it hot and pulsing and stretching me wide. My pussy squeezes around it, and I hiss his name like a swear word as my back bows off the bed.

“Fuck, your pussy is a miracle,” he groans.

“You’re so thick,” I moan at him. “A little warning next–”

He moves again. Pulling out and thrusting back in. I choke on my sentence and grab onto his broad shoulders. He keeps going, fast, rough just like he said, pounding into me. One of his hands slides around my thigh under my ass to hold me steady. His other slides inside to the front of my slit, his large thumb zeroing in on my clit which he begins rubbing furiously.

“Namjoon!”

I don’t even feel it building before I’m coming as he continues to growl and jerk against me. I’m not done when he pulls out.

“Wha-what are you–”

“Next position,” he gasps as he grabs my legs and flips me onto my belly.

“I’m still coming, Joon. Wait–”

He doesn’t. Instead, he hooks an arm under my hips and pulls them up, forcing my knees open with his own before he puts a hand on my back and gently pushes my cheek into the pillows.

“Oh God,” I whisper.

His other hand rests on my ass squeezing lightly before I feel him pushing into me again.

“Oh God!”

He slams back into my still-coming pussy, and I whimper into the pillow. It feels so good and so deep—even deeper than before.

“You okay?” he leans over me, his hand coming up to cup my breast. “Too much?”

“Don’t stop,” I murmur. “It’s too good.”

I hear him laugh in surprise, and I feel it in my nipples, which he’s doing a fabulous job toying with. Suddenly, he grabs my whole boob in his hand and starts rutting into me. My knees spread wider on their own and I grab onto the pillow with both hands, my mouth parted in a silent moan.

“Baby?”

“I’m coming,” I hiss. “Again. Harder this time.”

I squeal when he sits up suddenly taking me with him. I’m still full of him, straddling his thighs, which are resting on his heels as he continues to jerk into me, his hands on my chest holding me to him. I grab his wrists with both my hands without thinking. My head falls back on his shoulder, and I press my lips to his neck. My body feels exhausted and overstimulated and like I’ll never stop orgasming.

He grunts sharply, and I feel his hips tense.

“Come with me,” he whispers, his lips landing on my shoulder.

“I can’t,” I choke.

Or I am. I can’t even tell now.

“Just one more,” he bites out. “Now. Now!”

He drives up into me as he comes. My walls spasm at the hot fluid spurting inside me, and I gasp as I another orgasm hits below my belly, racing up my spine, down my aching legs and up into my nipples. He buries his face in my shoulder, and I struggle to catch my breath as I finally come down. He’s still coming even after I’m finished, probably because he kept bringing himself so close to an orgasm only to delay it again and again. When he finally relaxes, he lifts me off of him slowly, and I lie down on my stomach in the bed next to him.

“I need to clean up,” he says gruffly. “Clean you up too.”

I nod because I’m so exhausted I’m not sure I can speak. When he comes back with a rag, I roll onto my side and wince at the ache in my legs.

“What?” He frowns instantly. “Did I hurt you? I was too rough, wasn’t I? Fuck.”

“No.” I shake my head at him. “I really liked that.”

“Oh…” He blinks. “You did?”

“I came like four times or something,” I remind him. “I definitely liked it.”

“Well…good.”

He runs the rag between my legs and over my thighs, and when he walks away, I grab his pillow and pull it under my cheek.

“Are you going to sleep now?” he asks softly when he comes back.

“Mmm. I don’t know,” I whisper. “I could. You wore me out.”

“I was hoping to watch a little TV first.”

“Okay,” I mumble, “but body is a puddle, so, if we’re going to cuddle, you’re going to have to pick me up.”

He yanks on some sweat pants and climbs in bed beside me.

“I can read if you want to just go to sleep now,” he says quietly.

“Mm.”

“You have to sit up though while I put this shirt on you.”

“Why?” I yawn. “I can sleep naked.”

He clears his throat, and I watch his eyes skim over my body.

“Trust me,” he says hoarsely, “you need to put on this shirt.”

I bite my lip as he reaches over to help me into the oversized FG shirt. I collapse into his pillow again as soon as it’s on, the warm, soft fabric that smells like him making me even sleepier.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmurs as he reaches over me to grab his book off the nightstand.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

My eyes flutter closed as I feel his soft lips press against my temple, and then I fall into a blissful, post-orgasmic sleep.

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

Translations:

Ppalli-ga - go fast

#networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #btsguild #houseofddaeng #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #bts fanfiction #my fic #bts fic #namjoon fic #bangtan fanfiction #namjoon fanfiction #my comms

27 notes · View notes

drethanramslay · 5 years ago

Text

Uncover

Pairing: Ethan x MC (Leah Garcia)

Word count: 4.8K

Summary: Leah goes on a date with the Tobias Carrick, Ethan's ex-best friend. The jealousy and anger which unfolds within Ethan, leads him to confronting Leah. But in midst of their confrontation, feelings are uncovered.

Author's note: It's angst in the first half and towards the end it's smut... I have differentiated it if you aren't comfortable :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @openheart12 @sekizincimektup @junggoku @ethandaddyramsey @edith-eggs1 @ethanramseysgirl @samihatuli @loveellamae @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @zeniamiii @binny1985 (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list 😊)

Songs: Uncover by Zara Larsson and Missed you by The Weeknd

Forgive me if there are any mistake

Ethan was walking down the hallway of Leland Bloom's mansion. To be honest, he didn't even know where he was but his pride wouldn't let him go and ask for help.

Just keep going, you will eventually find the way.

That was his mantra in life. Whenever things became difficult, he would keep on pushing forward, never stopping. His mom left him? Study, work and get into a good college. Tobias and him had a fallout? Work harder, get into a better undergrad program than him and go on to join the best diagnostics team in the country. Naveen fell sick? Stuff all the feelings in a box, shut it and work hard till Naveen can stay alive.

He never stopped. He switched off his feelings and kept marching forward.

But when he met Leah, it felt like he came across a speed breaker, which forced him to stop. Forced him to breathe. Forced him to feel. Forced him to be human.

And the funny thing is that, he didn't know whether to be grateful or be terrified of this change.

Leah had a fiery spirit and a kind heart. They were so alike that it often took Ethan's breath away. They were the dream team, complementing each other. They worked like a well oiled engine, their dynamics so superior that they could complete each other's sentences.

Leah and Ethan.

Sunshine and E.

But being alike had its downfalls as well. Both of them were stubborn and had their head all the way up their asses.

He had still not forgotten the way she opened the door to her room in bra and panties. The way the golden rays illuminated her long tanned legs and the way the lace contrasted her flawless body, sent Ethan reeling through memories of them lying naked in that very bed.

And as if that wasn't enough, she stripped in front of him. The most incriminating thoughts ran through his head and he had to clench his fists to prevent himself from fucking her against the wall, having her scream his name, as her nails dug into his back. There would be red scars down his back but he would wear those scars as a damn medal.

But he was angry and furious as well. Going behind his back and calling that air head of an influencer made his blood boil. It went against the beliefs and the rules based on which, the diagnostics team was laid.

There are rules of the world that are meant to be followed. Monotony, no matter how boring it is, is the way of life. It's not always safe to shake things up. You never know what consequences arise.

On their way to the patient's mansion, they bickered like a married couple. June and Baz had a field trip seeing him being called out by Leah.

She called him a fucking diva.

All his life he had worked on building a reputation which commanded respect and awe but this girl just comes in like a wrecking ball.

Good lord, how can this woman make me pissed and turned on at the same time?! He grumbled internally as he turned the corner.

He heard Tobias's deep voice carry over."I must say Dr. Garcia, you are a vision and you take my breath away. Such a beauty-"

"Dr. Carrick if you want to flatter me, you are going about it wrong. Screw beauty, that's subjective." Leah said as she wrote in the chart, without sparing a second glance at him.

She walked past him and Ethan couldn't help but chuckle at Tobias's expression. Tobias just gave him a dark glare before following her. He was proud of his Sunshine.

But that momentary pride diminished as soon as it came.

Ethan walked to the exit and saw Tobias talking to her again, and this time, Leah was laughing and blushing.

Why that asshole-

"No I must say, not everyday do you see such bright minds as yourself."

"Thank you Tobias. You are too kind."

They were on first name basis?! When did that happen? Did I step into an alternate universe? Ethan thought as jealousy slowly burnt bright in his veins.

"So, can I buy you breakfast tomorrow? As an apology and a chance to get to know you better?" Tobias asked, his turquoise eyes shimmering in the sun.

"Dr. Garcia. We need to run couple of tests on Mr. Bloom. Time waits for no one." Ethan called out to her, cock-blocking them. He wasn't gonna lie, that was the most satisfying thing he had ever done.

Both of them glared but Ethan just held an impassive face, as if he didn't hear their small 'cute' exchange.

"Yes, Dr. Ramsey." She walked towards Ethan not before waving him goodbye.

They walked towards Helen, Baz's cute mini cooper. "Leah..." Ethan spoke, wondering how to frame his sentence without sounding like a jealous imbecile.

"Yup Dr. Ramsey?" She turned to look up at him.

"Tobias... He isn't a good man."

"God, Ethan! I think I can decide for myself." Leah rolled her eyes.

"No, you don't get it. He charms and lures woman to his bed and after he has sex, he leaves them high and dry. I don't want you to go through that pain."

She stopped and turned towards him, "Ethan I am no weak bitch. I'm not naive and he isn't my first date. I am just goofing around and I will do whatever I want because this is a free country. And, in a long time some guy has shown me attention so I'm not letting that slide-"

"Sunsh-"

"Shh! And about pain... I think I have experienced that because of you."

"Me?" He gasped out loud, his world stopping. Doesn't she know that my feelings for her are so strong that the thought of hurting her physically pains me?

"You heard me. Your constant rejection and the 'hot and cold' moments pain me so damn much. It breaks my heart that we pretend that we are together but when I ask you, you close up."

"Leah you know there are ethics-"

"Don't give me that ethics and moral crap. You yourself said that I am not a resident, I am a PEER. A colleague. Hell, Lahela and Harper have been dating and absolutely nobody has blinked an eye." She said with a steely voice.

Leah gave a sigh and Ethan could see the dark circles under her eyes. She looked so tired. "Ethan... I- I'm so exhausted. You can't reject me and prevent me from seeing a guy." With that she turned on her heels and walked away.

What just happened? Ethan thought, feeling shaken to the core.

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

Leah wore a simple pencil skirt and tucked in her olive green blouse into the skirt. Her hands continued their daily chores, but her mind was so far away. When she thought about Ethan, she would get so angry that her hands would tremble.

Just who the hell does he think he is? Wasn't he the one who kept pushing her away? Wasn't he the one you said that "if I gave a damn about you, I won't be with you"?

What a damn hypocrite.

There was so much tension between them already. Ethan was giving her the cold shoulder and Leah returned it with such a punishing silent treatment that people on the entire floor could feel it.

They already had fought about the team giving more priority to rich and wealthy patients. And this entire Tobias situation made things even worse. She knew about their background, about how that his ex girlfriend, Stephanie bitch played both of them like a violin and ended up cheating on Ethan. She knew and yet she went ahead, flirting with him, repeating history.

What a hoe I am. Leah shook her head getting annoyed with herself. What has gotten over you Leah? When did you become a fucking hypocrite? Throwing yourself at other men so that you can make Ethan jealous?

Her feelings were in a flux. Sometimes, she wanted to jump his bones and other times she wanted to bash his head for being such a colossal pain in the ass. She craved him and wanted him to belong to her, but life isn't a wish granting factory.

She sighed and stared at her reflection, seeing how all the stress and workload was taking a toll on her.

I just need sleep...or some dick and then we will be golden. A girl gets tired using her own hand... Her conscience comforted her.

Picking up her bag she headed to the deli where she was supposed to meet Tobias for their so called 'breakfast' date.

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Tobias was a nice guy. He was kind, brilliant and handsome. He was a true gentleman. He held the door open for her when they entered the deli. He had an amazing sense of humor and managed to make her laugh till her sides hurt. He was intelligent and they had a great discussion on the American healthcare system.

Any other woman would have thought that he was the complete deal.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't help but compare him to Ethan. His cerulean eyes were so much darker than Ethan's stormy eyes. She couldn't help but think that she found Ethan's dark humor and sarcasm way better that the light hearted jokes. She couldn't help but think that in any discussion, Ethan would push her and challenge her rather than be a simp like Tobias who just would give in.

She couldn't help but think that absolutely no one would ever compare to Ethan.

Oh. My. God.

It is Ethan. Always has been and always will be.

And she hated herself for that. She was getting tired of waiting. Wasn't her affection enough for him? Why was there a need to complicate something that is already so simple?

Leah sighed internally. Tobias and her were walking down the driveway of the hospital. There were just talking about random things but Leah was not able to focus.

How could she when she had a mind shattering revelation that her pussy is whipped for a certain hard-ass diagnostician?

They were walking through the foyer and they stopped at the reception.

"So this is me." Leah smiled.

"Well... I enjoyed myself. " He gave a grin.

"I did too..."

"I sense a 'but'." The blue perceptive eyes noticing the hesitation.

Leah chuckled, racking her brain for a good reason. " Yeah... I'm sorry it won't work because we technically are rivals and I don't want to be seen fraternizing with the enemy."

Tobias stared at her some more, trying to see through the truth but Leah didn't flinch, even if her palms were getting sweaty.

"It's okay. I get it-" Tobias began talking but he was interrupted.

He was interrupted by Ethan's fist in his face.

Tobias crumpled to the floor like a paper doll and suddenly the entire hospital's eyes were on the three.

"Motherfucker." Ethan shook his hand because of the blow. He stretched and clenched his fingers, his knuckles an angry red.

"Ethan Jonah Ramsey! You have five seconds to explain what the hell was that?" Leah said, her eyes glimmering with anger.

"What is he doing here? Mass Kenmore is all the way downtown."

"Don't you dare tell me that thi-" Leah was interrupted by Tobias's painful groans. She helped him up and threw another glare Ethan's way.

"When you have got your head out of your ass, we will have a chat." Leah spoke.

"But sunshi- Hey don't walk away from me!" Ethan pleaded. Seeing Tobias so close to her made him so angry and he didn't realize his actions before it was too late. And the fact that she had an arm around his waist and was walking away, just made his heart heavier and cold fury seep into his veins.

Leah ignored him as she dragged Tobias to the first examination room she found. She made him sit on bed and immediately reached for a pair of gloves.

She started wiping the blood up with the help of a cotton swab, analyzing the injury with cool calculated eyes. There was a cut on his cheekbone which needed stitches.

Goddammit Ethan.

"You have blood on your shirt." Tobias pointed out and surely it was visible on the dark green blouse.

She shrugged nonchalantly as she picked up another cotton swab and dipped it in antiseptic. "Eh.. won't be the first time. I have ruined my fair share of shoes and shirts, but it's worth it."

They were silent as Leah continued being thorough in cleaning the wound. Suddenly, Tobias chuckled and Leah looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

"No...it's just funny to see Ethan so worked up. I think that's the most emotion I have seen from him."

"Really?"

"Yup. Do you know what happened between us?"

"I know what happened between the both of you..."

"And you still went out with me?" Tobias asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Leah sighed. The cat was out of the bag and there was no point hiding it anymore. "It's just... Ethan can be a robot. I'm tired and I needed fresh perspective. That's why I went out with you."

"Did it help?"

"Yes. No. Maybe? It just left so many question marks in my head.." she picked up the needle and thread, getting ready to sew his face.

"Well... When Ethan walked in on his girlfriend cheating on him with me, he just turned around and walked out of the room. But when he saw me talking to you, I'm on the ground, groaning in pain. Does it help?"

Leah sighed "It kind of helps.. but I am still pissed with him. He is an asshole." She grumbled.

"Congratulations, you have feelings." He said in a sing song voice.

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It was an awful day at work and Ethan sending withering looks her way didn't really help. She avoided him for most of the day because she needed to think.

Her feelings were all over the place. On one hand she felt angry with Ethan because that hard-ass isn't ready to confess the feelings that's written all over his face. And on the other hand, she felt like she was just being a whiny bitch on heat, complaining about everything.

The internal war in her left her restless and irritated.

She unlocked the door to an empty apartment. All her roomates had driven down to Quincy for some music festival on their day off and were going to stay over for the night.

Leah would have gone with them, but a certain somebody had stormed into her room that morning and dragged her out of the comfort of her bed.

She stripped in the hallway and threw her clothes for a wash in the laundry basket. She slid on a long loose jersey and some fresh panties and headed to check the fridge for leftover lasagna Sienna had made the other day.

She was about to pop the tray in the oven when she heard the door bell ring. She saw through the peep hole and her eyes widened.

Ethan.

Maybe if I stayed quiet he would go awa-

"Sunshine, I know you are in there! I see your heels out here and your eyes through the peep hole."

Fuck Ethan and his observation skills.

Sighing she opens the door, where Ethan stood. A tense energy radiated from him and it made Leah jittery and on edge.

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently, which wasn't really a good idea because it made her bare boobs more prominent. Ethan's eyes went down at the movement.

"Eyes up here, hero. What do you want?"

Ethan blushed pink and shook his head to regain composure. "We need to talk."

"Yeah no shit."

"Will you let me in at least? Unless you want the crime scene of my murder out here." Ethan tried to joke but Leah wasn't fascinated.

She side stepped and he entered her apartment. He always liked Leah's apartment. It was homey with all the colourful pillows and the various vintage art decorating the place. From the huge glass facade you could see parts of the bay.

They stood in the kitchen, neither of them spoke. They just stood in silence. Nobody knowing what to say.

"Why did you help him?" Ethan asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"Because you punched him and he was on the floor, bleeding. I had too."

"We work in a hospital. Somebody else could have stitched him up...why did you? Do you have feelings for him?" Ethan asked as he placed his elbows on the island counter.

"Ethan.. Jealousy never suited you well." Leah said.

"Dammit sunshine! Just answer the question. Do you like him?!"

"What would you do if I liked him, huh?" Leah asked tersely.

Silence. Heavy breathing. Tension.

"Nothing right. You would just sit there, belly up and see me being whisked off by another guy."

"That's not-"

"Stop lying to yourself Ethan. You are nothing but a ball- less bastard who hides behind your so called 'beliefs' and 'rules' and what not!"

"Yes! I hide behind them because I want to see you grow and be better-"

"WHY?! Haven't I become better? Am I not growing to my potential?"

"And that's because I am not distracting you."

"Ethan, for a man who is so smart you are so dumb. Can't you see? Can't you see that you are in my thoughts?! That I am always thinking about you?! That I am always afraid that you will find someone else and leave me in the dust?!"

"Ethan it's too late because you are already a goddamn distraction."

Ethan's fists wrapped around the counter and he bent down, trying to calm his racing heart.

"God. I knew this was a bad idea. I shouldn't have come." He started heading towards the door.

"Yeah run away Ethan. Run away like you ran away when you saw Tobias having sex with your girlfriend, Stephanie. Run away like you did when Naveen was gonna die. Run away like you did to the Amazon when your feelings for me intensified. Run away like you always do." Leah was breathing heavily, angry and furious.

Ethan froze in his tracks before turned around, scoffing. "I'm not running awa-" Ethan tried reasoning.

"Oh really?! Every time I think that I am close to knowing you, you throw up your walls. Every time we have a moment, you distance yourself. The entire universe has been pushing us to be together but here you are, defying it and turning a blind eye to what we have. If that isn't running away, then I don't know what is."

"Sunshine please, don't." Ethan pleaded. He can't deal with feelings. It's too much for him.

"No. I'm tired of waiting for your affections. I'm tired of the mixed signals. I'm going to go to Tobias's house right now-"

"Are you giving me an ultimatum?" Ethan asked incredulously.

"Have you left me any choice?" She started heading to her room and Ethan followed her.

"Sunshine please don't go. I beg you. He isn't the man you deserve."

"If you can't grow a pair despite everything, then I can't help you. I'm free-"

She was interrupted when Ethan pushed her against the wall. "No. You won't be leaving this apartment. Even if it means tying you down."

"You are not my damn keepe-" Leah began but Ethan interrupted her again when he pressed his lips against hers.

They were kissing. After almost a year.

After a year of longing to touch each other.

After a year of pining over each other.

After a year of pain, heartaches and tears.

But all that pain and longing vanished when their lips collided with each other's.

Time stopped when his lips met hers, but the flutter only intensified. Leah's heart pounded in her chest as her knees got weaker. She could only focus on how hard his body felt against her small frame. But at the same time, his lips were soft and fervent against her mouth.

Ethan kept his eyes half open, sneaking a guilty peek at her every time he came back for air, just to make sure this wasn't a product of his imagination.

He wasn't sure if nature rooted for this moment or if his mind tricked him into a perfect present, but every breath he took, smelled like lavender, like spring time and for the first time since he'd known himself, he didn't feel scared anymore. He didn't feel like running anymore. If anything, the warm feeling of her lips was inviting and addicting.

They parted for breath. Both of them standing with their bodies pressed against each other, in the dim lighting of her room. "Ethan..." She said like it was a prayer.

"Oh how I've missed you sunshine." Ethan cupped her cheeks and pressed his forehead against hers.

"Me too.."

"Let's make up for the lost time, okay?"

Leah just went in her tip toes and kiss him, conveying her need for him. He hiked one of her legs up and she gasped when she felt his growing erection on her heat. Ethan bent down and placed hot, fiery kisses up her neck. When he reached the spot below her ear, he whispered is a husky voice. "Sunshine... I really, really like you. But, I am a man of needs... Please, can I fuck you?"

"I did not wait for a year for some gentle sex Ethan. Don't hold back." She purred.

******************************************************

Ethan groaned at her words and took her earlobe in his teeth, his hands roaming around her body. He pinched her nipples through the t-shirt and Leah's stomach clenched with pleasure and she threw her head against the wall, enjoying the way Ethan's hands made her feel.

Leah reached and took of his jacket and Ethan obliged. The need to feel her skin against his, fueled his moments. Taking of her t shirt, he threw it across the room.

"Hey, don't dirty my room." Leah spoke with feign anger.

Lifting her up so that her legs could wrap around his waist, he went back to kissing her lips. "I don't care, sunshine. I just want to make you feel good. I want to worship you. So let me just do my job while you focus on how to scream my name, mkay?" He whispered against her lips before going back to ravaging her mouth, not able to get enough of her taste.

How is it possible for a man to drive me mad with only words?

He lifted her and threw her unceremoniously on the bed. Leah giggled as her back hit the soft mattress. She lifted herself on to her elbows and looked at Ethan's dark stormy eyes.

"You are over dressed for this occasion, Dr. Ramsey."

Taking his shirt and jeans off, he crawled in to the bed, stalking her like a predator. He settled between her legs, bare chest pressing against each other as he kissed her hard.

Their tongues swirled and rolled against each other's, as if it was a tug of war with no clear winner. He pulled back and started placing searing hot kisses on collarbone. His hands traced her sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He took her breast in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the dusky nipple. As his tongue continued to assault her nipples, Leah grew wetter and wetter.

"Ethan.. I- please.." She moaned out.

He took off her panties and nipped at her naked hip bone, eliciting a breathless moan from her. He peppered scratchy kisses on her inner thighs and lower abdomen, his beard making her skin sensitized. It felt as if all her nerves down there were on fire.

"Don't worry sunshine. I will be here all night-" he said as he parted her pussy's lips, "-eating you-"

He blew air on her dripping slit before speaking, "-fucking you-"

He lapped her juices slowly, his blazing blue eyes making contact with her dark brown orbs "-making you scream my name all night."

That being said, he threw her legs over his shoulder and buried his face into her womanhood. Leah's back arched and she let out another moan. Her sexy moans and the way her eyes fluttered shut was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He closed his eyes enjoying the way she tasted, reminding him of how starved he had been for the last one year.

She fisted her hands through his luscious brown locks as his tongue swirled her sensitive nub. He enjoyed seeing his sunshine this way, moaning and writhing as he ate her out.

He slipped his finger into her started moving it. When he gained enough momentum he slipped a second digit and continued to finger her to oblivion. Leah was a in a daze. Her mind was only focused on the handsome man who was with her, in her bed.

She had touched herself, thinking about him. But none of those fantasies compared to the real deal.

He let out moan and it reverberated through her entire body, pushing her of the edge.

She was coming, hard and fast. Crashing and soaring at the same time. She hadn't even come down from her high when Ethan lifted her leg as far as it could go, and entered her pulsating cunt.

"Try not to ruin your manicure when you dig those nails into my back, sunshine." Ethan said as he snapped his hips and started pounding her.

The sensation was overwhelming. It was so much. There were moments like these when the pleasure and the pressure of the orgasm was so intense that she wanted him to stop.

She shouted his name and the way the tears of pleasure streamed down her face, made him make his moments rapid.

"Just like that sunshine... Scream my name." He pressed his lips against hers, greedily swallowing the moans she let out.

Burying his head in her neck, he felt his lower abdomen tighten, the need to release becoming urgent with every stroke.

"Oh go, sunshine you feel sooo good." He moaned.

His moans are now my favourite sounds... I could hear them all day. Leah thought.

"Come with me Ethan. Come with me." She said as they interlinked their fingers, holding each other's hands.

And he did. His strokes became sloppy and slower as he dumped his load into the condom he had slipped on. Leah felt his dick jerk in her and it triggered her release as well.

***********************************************************

Both of them were falling together, holding on to each other as they rode the waves of euphoria, rushing through their veins. It was one of the best feelings they had experienced. All the pinning and sadness was all gone. There was only joy and the feeling of contentment in their hearts.

After their rapid heartbeats had calmed down, Ethan pulled out and got up from the bed, and stretched. Seeing the muscles of his back and abs stretch, Leah gave out a rumble of approval.

Ethan gave her a small smile and started heading towards the door but Leah caught his wrist. "Outside bad. Bed good." She said, her brain still a mess from the mind blowing orgasms.

Ethan bent down and kissed her forehead. "Sunshine, I'm just going to get some food and run a bubble bath."

"Okay."

After a couple of minutes of rummaging through cabinets, Ethan came and lifted Leah in his strong arms. Leah was smiling so much that her cheekbones hurt. She hasn't smiled like this in such a long time.

He put her down on the bathroom floor and Leah grabbed a stool where they could keep their drinks and the lasagna that he had heated.

Ethan first sunk in the hot water, the water reaching till his chest. Leah sat across him, sighing when the hot water soothed her sore muscles.

"Ethan...you are a goddamn blessing." She sighed as she picked up the plate with her food.

"I should be saying that. You changed my life."

They sat comfortably in the large bathtub, occasionally joking and eating the cheesy goodness. Leah inhaled her food, realizing just how hungry she was.

After they finished eating, Leah closed her eyes and sighed. Ethan was massaging her feet and she made it a personal mission to make him her masseur.

"Ethan?"

"Yes sunshine?"

"You won't run away from me, right?"

"No sunshine. I'm here to stay. In fact, tomorrow we both are going to go and talk to HR. Enough with the pining and the jealousy. I just want to make you mine, baby."

"Really?" Leah asked, with happiness gleaming in her chocolate brown eyes.

"Yes sunshine. I guess you are stuck with me."

Leah surged forward, water sloshing over the bathtub. She pressed her lips against Ethan's. He chuckled and kissed her back chastely and tenderly, pouring all his affections for the beautiful and intelligent woman before him.

Leah. His girlfriend. His sunshine.

And it's going to be together like that, forever and always.

aaahhhhh if only Ethan could just give in... but for now we will comfort ourselves with fan-fiction 😉

also, i want to sort out my tag list... so if you guys could dm me with which fics you want to tagged to, i would appreciate it 💗

like, comment and re-blog

240 notes · View notes

francoiserenaldt · 5 years ago

Text

week three

last week | next week

warnings: several mentions of death, potentially triggering references to c****a, angst central, desirée is Bad At Feelings

word count: 1951

Sunday, August 17th, 2023 - Day 15 of quarantine

“Westchester County residents should be expected to shelter in place for at least 5 more weeks. Healthcare professionals are resigning by the hundreds as the disease spreads to nurses and doctors throughout the country. Over half of all patients that have tested positive for the Westchester Plague have either committed suicide or attempted to commit suicide. More at noon.”

“It only gets worse and worse every day,” Desirée frowns.

“Maybe we should take a break from the news for a while.” Andy turns the TV off and heads into the kitchen. “What do you want to eat?”

“Um…” Desirée could probably read him a numbered and alphabetized list of foods that she would ruin right about now, but she refrains. “What do we have?”

“Well, there’s some ramen in here…”

Not ideal, but it’ll have to do. They are in the middle of an epidemic, after all. “Awesome.”

So they eat chicken flavored ramen like a pair of broke college students while watching some old anime, which Andy adamantly rejects the second the words leave her lips (“Avatar: The Last Airbender is a cartoon, Desirée”), and she lets her mind wander.

Eventually, it arrives to Andy, as it seems to do more and more often these days. His name warms her skin like the sun on a late summer afternoon. His presence feels like the down comforter on her bed after a long day of work.

A small smile plays at her lips as she leans into the promise of an exciting summer and sweet dreams. It welcomes her with open arms and promises fond memories for years to come. But as soon as she goes to take it, she finds herself drenched in a raging storm.

While they polish off the last of their cups, a devastating truth hits her.

As lovely as their moment feels, its end is as inevitable as the bone-chilling winter or the start of a new day.

Monday, August 18th, 2023 - Day 16 of quarantine

“Did you want to give video games another try?” Andy asks tentatively. Then, like the infuriating bastard he is, he smirks. “I promise I’ll let you win.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Desirée retorts, donning a small smile.

“Don’t get too cocky or I’ll have to show you up.” Andy

After a tense round of Mortal Kombat, the TV screen flashes a victory. Andy slumps back, defeated.

“I...how…?”

“Lily and I used to play. I’m excellent at playing dumb, Andy,” Desirée smirks. “You know this about me.”

He shakes his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“If you say so.” Desiree rolls her neck and stretches her arms. “Ready for round 2?”

Tuesday, August 19th, 2023 - Day 17 of quarantine

“Scientists have found that cutis dissolutitis, better known as the Westchester Plague, mutated from Bacillus subtilis, a bacteria species found in dirt that acts as a decomposer of organic materials. It was first found in a large forest area. The best way to protect against this epidemic is to cover all exposed skin when you’re outside and sanitize once you’re inside.” A disgruntled news anchor reports from the outside of a nondescript building. The only patch of visible skin is around his eyes, which are covered by transparent goggles.

Desirée gasps suddenly. “Oh my god, the woods. Andy, you don’t think that…”

He catches the implication. “There’s no way. Devon would never do this.”

“We never suspected that Jane...or Noah…” She shakes her head. “I just hope not.”

Wednesday, August 20th, 2023 - Day 18 of quarantine

The official body count is projected to be 100. Over 200 citizens in the county have reported testing positive for the virus and 400 more are showing symptoms. Ignoring the news at this point is just short of irresponsible, but fear keeps her from lingering on the headlines.

As the day winds to a close, a feeling of dread slowly infiltrates her mind. The thought of tomorrow makes her skin crawl. Her stomach inverts and reverts on a constant loop as she reads yet another headline about yet another person committing suicide to avoid the disease.

The sun sets and she’s overcome with a terrible truth. A subtle prick of worry that blossoms into a deep ache in her chest that she can’t quite place.

“Something terrible is going to happen tomorrow.” Desirée whispers aloud. She locks herself in the bathroom as she feels the omen leave her lips. Andy doesn’t need to hear this. “Something that will change everything we thought was true.”

Thursday, August 21st, 2023 - Day 19 of quarantine

They don’t bother changing out of their pajamas anymore.

An alert on her phone tells her that the death toll in Westchester County has climbed from 100 to 1,000 overnight. Westchester alone has lost a third of its population. Then, she gets the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dizzy,” Lily sniffles.

She knows that something is very wrong for two reasons. One, no one has called her Dizzy since her junior year in high school. Two, Lily is a notorious night owl and wouldn’t be caught out of bed before 9 in the morning if she had her way, let alone willingly engaging in human interaction. If she was calling at 8 AM, it had to be serious.

“Lily, is everything okay?” Desirée whispered as she tiptoed out of bed to avoid waking Andy.

“It’s my mom.” She sobs, and suddenly she can no longer hear the hum of the vents above her head or the whirring of her computer on the coffee table. “She has the plague.”

“Lily, how long has she had it?”

“I don’t know.” She sobs harder. “They’re queueing everyone on the block for testing.”

“Lily, it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay,” Desirée whispers. The burning in her eyes and the constricting feeling in her throat tell her that she’s crying, too. “You’re going to be okay.”

She’s lying through her teeth and she knows it, but the words seem to offer Lily some comfort as she recites them back to her.

“I will be okay,” she chokes out. “Everything will be okay.”

“If you need anything at all…”

“I know who to call,” Lily replies. The line goes dead.

Desirée holds the phone to her chest and sends a silent prayer. It’s bad enough that you’ve taken a third of our town. Please don’t take Lily, too.

Silent tears stream down her cheeks as she prays over and over again.

Don’t take Lily.

It’s that exact moment that Andy wraps his arms around Desirée’s middle and buries his head in the crook of her neck. She’s suddenly overcome with guilt and shame as she turns to him with shining eyes.

“Andy, I-”

“Shhh.” He shakes his head and pulls her into his chest, blinking back tears of his own. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Soon, everyone knows. The news is bleaker than ever, with cameras being shoved into the grieving families of the victims and the death toll climbing by the hour. As the day crawls to an end and she lays in Andy’s arms, one thing becomes astoundingly apparent.

Life will never be the same again.

Friday, August 22nd, 2023 - Day 20 of quarantine

It becomes physically unbearable to look at the news. Desirée briefly considers letting Andy unplug the TV again.

No one takes the news of Lily’s mother well, but Ava seems to struggle with it the most. She refuses to answer phone calls from anyone and only replies in short, but extremely worrying sentences.

“I wish this wasn’t going on so that I could check on her.” Desirée sighs after a fifth “missed” call. She’s curled up on the living room sofa with her head hanging on the arm. Her eyes are shut tight. “But here we are.”

“She’s never really been the emotional type, Rée.”

“That’s why I’m so worried about her. If she’s shutting down this early, what’s she gonna do if Mrs. Ortiz doesn’t make it?”

“I don’t know, but I think what Ava needs right now is space.”

“Andy, I can’t just let her spiral.” She sits up at this, frowning.

“I know it’s hard to see her like this, but you can’t protect everyone.”

“I know I can’t. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.” Desirée whispers. “But I can help.”

“What happened with Devon wasn’t your fault, Desirée. The only person you should blame is-”

“Don’t.”

“The point I’m making is that you don’t always have to be everyone’s person.” Andy stares deeply into her eyes. For a second, it feels as if he’s seeing her every flaw, every imperfection she’s buried deep into her heart and mind, every secret she’s ever kept and maybe even the ones she didn’t. For the longest second, it feels as if he’s peering into her soul and reading it with the ease of a picture book and she’s helpless to turn away and shut him out despite the fact that she desperately wants to. “You’re always so focused on being there for everyone else, but who’s going to be there for you?”

You. She almost whispers. It’s always been you.

“A therapist.” She replies instead, forcing a small smile. “And a bottle of wine.”

“Take care of yourself.” Andy squeezes her shoulders once and turns for the bedroom. “Let someone else be there for you once in a while.”

“Someone else like who?”

“I don’t think either one of us is ready for that conversation.”

“You sure?” Desirée retorts, suddenly emboldened. She’s not the only mind reader between them and she’ll be damned if Andy Kang gets to leave her wondering like every night before. “Because I feel plenty ready to talk. If you’re scared of going there, just say that.”

“Who’s scared?” Andy turns back around, staring her down. She holds her own, meeting his gaze head on. “I’ll go there if that’s what you want.”

“Hey, don’t hold back on my account. If you want to say something, I’m all ears.”

“Could you handle that?” He walks slowly toward her as he speaks, sizing her up. “Could you handle it if I told you that I wish you’d stop trying to play tough all the time and open up to me like you used to? That I wish we’d just quit this dance where we pretend we’re still not in love with each other?” Her breath catches and his face is inches away from hers, so much so that she can feel his breath on her cheeks. “Could you even function knowing that?”

“I could. You know why?” She finally responds, placing her hand directly onto his chest. “Nothing is the way it used to be, Andy. We’re not the way we used to be when this started and we’ll never be those people again. So I suggest…” She tilts her head upwards and brushes her lips against his chin. “...you make peace with that.”

She lets him meditate on her words as she heads toward the bedroom and into the conjoined bathroom, where she finally lets her face rest in her hands as she cries.

Saturday, August 23, 2023 - Day 21 of quarantine

They don’t speak for most of the day.

“I probably should’ve told you this earlier,” Desirée tells Andy during the evening. They’ve just eaten dinner. “But everything that happened on Thursday...I felt it.”

“You...what?”

“I’d just been feeling horrible all day and I thought my anxiety was just acting up, but then I just felt this ache in my chest and I knew something awful was going to happen.”

“What did it feel like?”

“Death.” She inhales a shaky breath before nodding resolutely. “It felt like death.”

#something gained #mc: desiree ashton #li: andy kang #ship: desiree x andy

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etraytin · 5 years ago

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Quarantine, Day 63

I did not go anywhere today, and I know that only because I am still wearing my clothes from last night and now it is tonight. Usually when I go someplace, I at least make the effort to change my clothes. Tomorrow I must take a shower and put on clean clothes, yeesh. I am setting a terrible example for my stinky child, no wonder it's hard to get him to take a shower. Time needs to get real again very soon before we start growing fungus behind our ears or something. Anyway, we spent most of the morning preparing for and then actually having the telemeeting we were supposed to have yesterday, and it was both productive and depressing.

Things are not getting better with my FIL; the occupational therapy does not seem to be working yet (though for fuck's sake, he's in his eighties and it has only been a week), and the staff believe it's likely that the insurance is going to kick him out soon because fuck insurance companies. The doctor at the hospital said at least two weeks of rehab, but that doesn't matter because the insurance company said 5-7 days plus reevaluation. I just do not understand anybody who says private insurance is better because it's better to be a customer than a citizen. We are customers of the insurance companies and they constantly treat us like hot garbage while we pay out the noses for the privilege. I mean, I do understand why people want private insurance instead of universal healthcare, it is because they understand that the current pool of healthcare has a limit and they want to make sure it stays limited to people with money, but that's another fucking rant.

Anyway, he's not getting better, which means we are very unlikely to be able to bring him home when insurance decides he is done. We just can't provide the incredibly comprehensive care he needs when he forgets that he is eating with a bite halfway to his mouth and cannot brush his teeth without step by step coaching, not to mention whether we are physically up for moving him in and out of bed or emotionally up to dealing with the fact that he is often only tenuously connected to what’s going on around him. It sucks, it sucks so bad that I can't even describe it, but it's reality and it's just staring us in the face.

The only good news is that there is a bed available at our second choice facility (we're still waiting on the first choice, but second choice is good too) and we learned that there is a move-in period where we will be allowed to send things to decorate his room. So we're brainstorming ideas about drawing pictures for the walls and making photo albums, and I might try to crochet a quick lapghan if there is enough time. The insurance is required to give us two full days notice before they cut us off, which is a heartlessly short time period, but at least it is some kind of notice. When he's in a regular room he won't be so isolated (he is in semi-quarantine till his second COVID test comes back), and we can make his room more homey, and maybe he will start to feel a little better.

I didn't feel like eating lunch today, which was a bad choice because I ate two billion comfort snack foods instead and made myself half sick. To make up for it, I made egg noodles, hand rolled them because my pasta maker is still in Virginia, and am drying them for soup tomorrow. When I go home, I should bring back my pasta maker. And my plants. And some kittens. I wonder if I could convince my rescue to give me some weanlings, at least. If they send me healthy three or four weekers and I take along my kitten medical kit, all they'd need to give me is some Strongid and maybe some ponazuril just in case and we could telemedicine. I feel terrible because my rescue is now suddenly up to the eyeballs in kittens and I'm sitting four hundred miles away and not helping. And I know being here is more important, but god, most of the time it feels like what I can do here is pretty damn limited as well. Kittens would certainly keep me too busy to be frustrated.

MIL fell again today because she was wearing the bad shoes, but at least she was using the walker and fell on her butt and not her knee again. These hardwood floors are a bitch and she really, really needs to walk less. A lot less. Still caught her sweeping the kitchen floor this morning, ffs. That was the subject of tonight's post-bed conversation with the kiddo; he is upset that things are rough with Nana and Papa both at the same time and that Nana is not taking care of herself. He has been watching me ride herd for days and is also trying now, with even less results than when I do it. I reminded him that Daddy and I are trying to help Nana remember to slow down, and that it is not his job to have to be the Nana police and make Nana sit down. We told him that he is doing all the right things already by fetching things for her and reading to her while she is resting, and by helping her be happier. Before we got here, things were a lot worse and Nana wasn't eating or sleeping enough, but now she is and that is very good. I also reminded him of the good things we were planning to do for Papa's new room and that he was going to be instrumental in helping with that, and that was enough to make him feel better.

Anyway, he's gone to sleep now and I have been entertaining myself with podfic and browser games, my current go-to happy place. There's something about being able to listen to a story and play a game that requires little thought that just takes up enough of my brain that I don't have to worry or think too hard about anything, and it feels good. Gotta be careful though, out here on Day 63 where time hasn't been real for months, it's easy to lose track of how long you spend doing nothing.

#quarantine #self care and the lack thereof #at least showering less is making my hair color stay looking really good?

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oculusius · 5 years ago

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Desk Jockey

“I want that report on my desk at 6 AM tomorrow or your ass is on the street.”

I look up from my keyboard, from the sickeningly modern, blank desk to the even worse face of my branch manager. Picture what you’d expect the person saying this to look like, and you’re probably right. Tall, dark hair combed back, slicked back with just enough gel to not be disgusting. Attractive, but only conventionally, because it hides his fetid interior. The rotten, wriggling insides of the kind of guy who relishes other’s misery, especially when he’s snorting high grade blow on the weekends. Though he’d probably prefer orphan’s tears (But that’s a story for another time).

I’ll do my best, you fucking cretin.

I mumble out some garbled excuse. I won’t even tell you what I said because I forget, or rather, it was so insignificant that I never committed it to memory in the first place. “Sorry Eric,” (He’s one of the ‘hip’ bosses that makes us call him by his first name), “Won’t happen again”, Please don’t take my healthcare away I will literally suck your dick to keep it. He shakes his head and walks away. We’re the last ones in the office, one of the tallest buildings in our shitty, Midwestern town; all glass and steel like some gaudy San Francisco startup. The only lights still on are in the lobby; besides that the only other illumination is from the sickeningly crisp glow emanating from my monitor. As soon as the elevator doors close behind Eric, I grasp my hair in my hands; it’s drenched in sweat and I’m balding already, despite being in my late twenties. Flakes of dandruff are appearing on my scalp, but by the time I get home from work I’m too damn tired to remember to get that special shampoo. Stress related? Probably. Did I have time to fix it? Fuck no.

I swear to God you motherfucker I’ll name you when I eat a fucking bullet you shit fuck…

Stop. The more rational voice in my head. Finish this shit in the next—5 hours? Shit, it’s already 1 AM! I’ll smash bottles and get proper wasted when I’m finished. And when the following day is over, seeing as I’d probably be pulling an all-nighter. Fuck. I take two caffeine pills from the nondescript tin in my top drawer.

Alright. I need to get the excel sheet from that old email inbox the intern left when he quit (not that I blame him). To do that, I need to go through my inbox and find that time I CC’ed him about scheduling that conference call. But to get into my inbox, I need to reset my password because company policy is to change passwords every 3 weeks, and it can’t be a past password…

Alright. One step at a time.

It’s two hours later. I found the file, finally. I feel like I crossed the fucking Rubicon with no limbs to get here. Now, to get the shit I need from it and send it to Eric. I hope he chokes on it. While bleeding. From every orifice, and then some. I open the file, and I’ve never been so goddamn happy to see the sickening green of excel. Document recovery—what’s that? Fuck it, I’ll deal with it later. I ctrl f the account name. Beads of sweat are dripping off my forehead. Outside, it’s still the vaguely pinkish black of night in any big city. I might actually get some sleep tonight…

WHY IS THERE A FUCKING HYPERLINK HERE?

Oh boy, this better not cost me my job. I get sent to a greyish webpage, the kind of soulless portal that screams ‘high finance’. A nondescript login page for “Kleene-Rosser Accounts Management LLC”. I roll my eyes. Management occasionally threw us these shitty platforms because their friends from way back developed them, and they wanted to help them out. Because God forbid we use Citibank.

There’s no login, but there’s a support number on the bottom of the page. Maybe if I call, they can help me? It’s worth a shot. I mean, I had nothing but time, and if it actually worked and saved my job, I would fly all the way to India or some shit to kiss that phone technician on the lips. Alright. God, when I was an undergrad did I ever imagine this would be my waking life (or lack thereof?) I should’ve joined the military. Better to be blown up overseas then mentally scarred over here.

4-887-612-393: 24/7 Live Support

I call from my office phone, in the hopes that it’ll lend credence to the claim that I fucking need this login. The phone rings for what seems like half an hour, but I can tell from the clock on the wall that it hasn’t been a single, godforsaken minute. Maybe I’d died and gone to purgatory? Seemed believable enough—although, I wasn’t sure what I’d done in a past life to deserve this. Maybe I was a Mongol slavedriver, and…

“Hello, this is ZenDesk, my name is Robert. How may I help you today?” My crisis of existential spiraling instantly, mercifully, shatters. I put on a cheery voice.

“Hi, I work at [company name]. I really need to find something for my boss, and in this accounts payable excel file, it says that I’m supposed to login to a ‘Kleene-Rosser Accounts Management?’ I have all my company info if you need it, I was just never told we used this firm before.”

A beat passes. I hope he heard the desperation in my voice, because if I had a guardian angel, it’d be on the other end of that phone line. Why did I tell him I never heard of this place? He doesn’t care! He isn’t paid to care!

“Of course, sir. Just a moment please. What’s your name sir?”

That thin veneer of politeness again.

“Uh, Keith Sanders. I also have my company email, if you can send the password there…”

“OK sir, what’s the address?”

I spell it out for him. My fingers are digging into the faux-leather of the chair. I’m starting to sweat. If this doesn’t work, I’m fucking hosed…

I tell him the address, and soon I have the URL to reset the Kleene-Rosser password. Surprisingly, my company email works for the username. Lucky guess I suppose? I thank him, truly from the bottom of my heart, and wait for the page to load.

According to the web page, the site was some kind of file storage service. Besides a few nondescript tabs on the top leading to “Home”, “Support”, etc. there’s nothing but a grey background set behind a very basic file directory.

[company_name]/Accounts/Accounts_Payable/2019/May/.

There it is! So deceptively close. 05.19.19.xcl

When I try to open it, I hear the most awful of noises: the Windows 10 error sound, impossibly loud. File corrupted. WHAT THE FUCK? HOW DO YOU CORRUPT A FUCKING EXCEL FILE? SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS SIDEWAYS?

I dig my fingertips into my temples. I can feel the faint outline of an engorged vein on the side of my head. I imagine it, an angry, vibrant purple, the shooting representation of my immense, earth-shattering frustration.

It was as if every cog in the infernal machine that was my work place was designed specifically to drive me fucking bananas. Like my life was some cosmic joke to see how much I would endure before going postal, or at least smashing my monitor. Jump out an office window, strapped with speakers blaring “FUCK THIS PLACE” over and over again, even when they’re scraping me off the pavement with a comically large spatula. Every little thing piled atop one another to form the worst shit tsunami eternally suspended above my head. Every wriggling, squealing fucking cell in my brain…

Alright, let’s think of solutions. Eric wanted the file, and if it was corrupted, I’d just tell him the truth: that it’s how I found it. Man, why did I drive myself up the wall earlier? So stupid… I log into my email. Actually, I don’t. As soon as I hit enter in the URL bar, I get that fucking google “no internet” error dinosaur. At this point, I try to keep rolling with the punches. Alright, network diagnostics, here we go. After what feels like centuries, after windows resets the router, etc. I finally get an answer. Sort of. An error code. I had two hours left before I was unemployed. I take another caffeine pill and keep going, determined to see this shit through to the end.

Hidden on the fifth page of the search results is my answer. It’s on an obscure, early 2000s web forum that had a grand total of 2 users online, probably bots. A post from a literal decade ago has my same issue, and one of the commenters mentions he had the same thing. Apparently, it’s a hardware issue with the router. Despite being woefully underqualified to deal with IT issues, I have no other choice. No fucking way Eric will believe that the internet cut out 2 hours before my deadline. I find the tech support number, and pray that the information is up to date and that they won’t have to send a technician out to fix it.

As the phone rings, I ponder my situation. I was unlucky enough to find what I needed right as the Wi-Fi died, and it was probably one of those issues that fixes itself in an hour anyway. There it is again; I can almost see the shadowy gears of the universe working against me, trying to crush my psyche beneath their teeth into bits of mental scrap. When I finally get a response, I’m caught off guard. This guy seems American. His voice is a bit hoarse, and I picture him as the fat comic book guy from the Simpsons, gut and all.

“----- tech support. How can I help you?”

I don’t like the way his voice trails off every word, leaving a breathy wisp behind like the tail of a comet. It makes me want to shudder.

“Yeah, uh—“

My mind blanks for a minute. I’ve been derailed, and it takes an agonizing few seconds for me to decide what I want to say.

“I was trying to email my boss, and—“again with the unnecessary details “I got this error code, and I saw online that it was an issue with the router.”

“Uh huh.” He sounds skeptical. And disapproving. I imagine he’s wrinkled that gob of cartilage clinging to his face he calls a nose. “What’s the model number?” He finally asks.

I read off the name, and he laughs. He fucking laughs. Is my suffering amusing him? Arousing him?

I have a clearer image of this guy now. Pervading my mind, filling the gaps in my brain, covering my synaptic gaps with fucking cement. He’s grossly overweight, in some dark room somewhere. He smells like BO and he is sweaty milky beads off his forehead that are landing into his keyboard and congealing. The scent is odious, like a corpse coated in mayonnaise and left in a tomb for five millennia, except it’s still wet.

“Sir?” That subtle tone of annoyance again. “Do you understand me, sir?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Would you mind repeating that? I was just—talking to someone.” Idiot he can tell you weren’t.

I write down his instructions, but first he pontificates about some issue with a chip in the router or some shit. Apparently I have to call the manufacturer? And they can help me dust it off or some such?

He’s fleshy and sickeningly soft, like a malformed, hairless puppy. That shirt’s been pasted to his damp stomach longer than you’ve been on Earth. It’s just a crude impersonation of the kind of people that run this industry. And you’re just his plaything, to be antagonized and fucked with until…

As soon as my attention is re-centered, I say “Alright thanks bye” without even knowing what he was rambling about before. He laughs. No, cackles. I can practically smell the stale coffee and tobacco on his breath. I slam the receiver down. It was starting to stick to my face with sweat and I really wanted to switch to my cell anyway. Peeling it away was orgasmic.

I examine the napkin I had scribbled on. I’d written it down in a haze, and it almost felt like I was reading someone else’s handwriting. Was that a 5, or a 6, or what? Doesn’t matter. I plug in the numbers, to some obscure fucking company I know nothing about. There’s like 12 digits, not like any number I’ve ever dialed. Unbeknownst to me, I was about to make the worst fucking mistake of my life, worse than taking on that debt to go to college or that time I puked on grandma’s casket at the funeral. Light years away, I imagine, some metaphysical blade was eagerly, sexually, preparing to scoop out my insides and flay them across time and space, flicking its imaginary tongue back and forth in anticipation.

I had expected that infuriating error code, but instead, I feel it. All of it. The other side is cold, and every hair on my body stands right on edge.

“Hello?”

The phone’s definitely connected.

“Hello?!”

This time it seems to echo. I’d opened a door, a beaming ray of light into a place that hasn’t been graced by it in eons.

“Is this Infolink appliances?” I gulp suddenly. My throat is impossibly dry. Everything that made me me, my identity, my memories, my interests… were spilling out into space, into an impossible void far blacker than even the darkest of nights. Please. Like my brain was a plastic bag full of air, but now it’s been punctured. It’s getting sucked out like a breached spaceship, and my body is curling around the now torturous void. I am a husk.

I drop the phone on the ground, and the screen cracks. But I’m far beyond caring about that screen now. The spiritual, inky black is billowing out of the phone like an endless wave going out in every direction. And there’s something else. A raucous laughter, and sneering, they’re laughing so hard somewhere backstage that their mouths, or whatever they call those fucking gullets, are overflowing with sickening white foam with streaks of yellow bile. Dark silhouettes that have been eagerly waiting this whole time for this horrible climax. I’d played my part. Everything else was out of my hands now.

#horror #writing #lovecraft

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harryfeatgaga · 5 years ago

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i genuinely just saw someone on twitter say anyone who says they’re bored in quarantine is a privileged asshole and have no sympathy for people in healthcare and grocery workers that have to go to work. like damn let people be fucking bored sitting at home all day. having sympathy for others and being bored isn’t mutually exclusive. fucking weirdos

bruh I cant

Anonymous said: God, my best friend is half Italian and she’s so worried about the situation in Italy, obviously. She’s flying home from uni (Scotland) tomorrow, but home is Spain and she’s kind of worried if she even gets there. I feel so bad because she’s a dual citizen, but she lives in neither countries she’s a citizen of and goes to uni somewhere else. I’m just glad her family is okay. That’s truly all that matters.

I hope she stays safe!

Anonymous said: Elite is a Spanish show. I also really loved Money Heist (some of the actors are also in this). But it’s basically about how three working class teenagers start at an exclusive, private high school in Madrid and there’s a clash between rich and poor which leads to murder... but, as least what I know from what I’ve seen so far, is that most of the story is just back story that explains why this murder happened. except idk what has happened so far and I just started ep 4 lol

oooooh!!!

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ximaginedreamsx · 5 years ago

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Unbound

Chapter 4: Risky Business

The group settled down quietly in the dining area once again, a whole new set of thoughts buzzing in each of their minds. After a few moments of yet another silent spell, Ichigo spoke up.

"Urahara...I've got a question for you."

The shopkeeper looked over at the orange-haired boy. "Yeah, and what would that be?"

Ichigo's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Well, I was wondering...why didn't you just let Orihime come and heal Grimmjow? I mean, I'm not saying that Hanataro isn't skilled or anything but..."

"I understand exactly what you're saying, and that is a valid question." Urahara replied. "My reasoning is quite simple really. While I wasn't going to leave our guest as banged up as he was, I wasn't going to have him completely healed either. Orihime's healing abilities...they reverse all damage done to a person, to the extent that you would never know he or she was injured in the first place. Hanataro's abilities, on the other hand, require the person's own body to do some of the work. Despite his position, Grimmjow is still an Espada; even having him healed as much as he was is a highly risky move."

Ichigo nodded slowly. "Yeah...I guess that makes sense."

"Instead of discussing the odds and ends of hollow healthcare, shouldn't we actually be taking a moment to examine the severity of our current situation?" Uryuu interjected, drawing Ichigo's and Urahara's attention, as well as that of everyone else in the room. "We're not just harboring some random hollow here. It's an Espada - a vasto lorde-class menos and a soldier out of Aizen's own personal army. We're setting ourselves up to face potentially severe consequences from both the Soul Society AND Hueco Mundo. And that's not to exclude any potential problems we may have with the Espada himself, who had already demonstrated that he is still perfectly capable of defending himself despite being only "partially healed" as you put it. It seems to me that we are getting in way over our heads here."

Urahara's expression turned thoughtful. "I have taken all of that into consideration. It's an almost inescapable truth, for sure; once Soul Society finds out about this, the Head Captain's wrath will not only extend to Grimmjow, but to us as well. And there's absolutely no doubt in my mind that Aizen will be coming to retrieve his missing soldier at some point. However, in the grand scheme of things, I'd say we couldn't have made a better decision than the one we're making now. Like I said earlier...this occurrence has presented us with a grand opportunity - gathering pertinent information on Aizen's movements thus far, and any future plans he may have. For that purpose, I'm willing to face any risk if it means we can thwart Aizen in any kind of way."

Uryuu sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Well...I don't think I can argue with that logic."

Murmurs of agreement hovered in the air. Rukia, who was still recovering from the initial shock of her close encounter with the Espada, rolled her eyes.

"You people have no respect for self-preservation." she grumbled. "This is an insane - and, might I add, AVOIDABLE - risk that you're taking that will require the luck of gods to endure, the likes of which could get us all killed without a moment's notice...and the only thing you can think to do is jump in head first..."

"We can endure."

Once again, Takuya's quiet voice drew everyone's attention to her. She was sitting against the wall almost directly behind Urahara, listening intently to everything that had been said. Rukia stared confusedly at the girl.

"I believe...that we can endure whatever that is sure to come as a result of Mr. Urahara's decision." Takuya said; her attention then shifted to Rukia. "But everyone must be in accordance...if we are not all in accordance, then we have already doomed ourselves to failure before we've even gotten a chance to try."

Rukia gasped, taken aback by the girl's words; she opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again, finding that she had no response to counter with.

"Well, I think that about settles it." Urahara stated, moving to stand up. "And on that note, I suppose I should go and prepare a gigai. As for you guys, you should probably head home and get some rest. Tomorrow's gonna be the start of what's sure to be endlessly long days for all of us. Try to be back here by noon at the latest."

At that, everyone stood up, stretching and yawning as they did so. After muttering their goodnights, Ichigo, Uryuu, Orihime, Chad, and Rukia filed out of the shop and took off towards their respective residences, all wearily anticipating what new dilemmas tomorrow would bring them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Takuya stood before the door to the spare room, taking a moment to gather her nerves before she entered. She'd once again volunteered to go and check on the Espada...to make sure his wounds hadn't started bleeding again and that his bandages would last until morning. Finally able to gather what little courage she had, she slowly slid the door open and stepped into the room. Moonlight poured in through the small window above the bed - a sign that the rain had finally stopped and the clouds had broken up, she noted - partially illuminating the room with a pale glow. Sliding the door closed behind her, she stood there for a second or so to let her eyes adjust to the still predominant darkness before moving to sit by the bed. She looked down at the Espada momentarily. His eyes were closed, and he made no indication that he'd heard her enter the room; his chest rose and fell with steady, even breaths, convincing her even more that he was actually asleep. At that she brought her hands up to grab the hems of his blankets and, as gently as she could, pulled them back, revealing his almost completely bandaged torso. She then began checking him over, running her fingers lightly over certain areas of the bandaging where she knew the more serious wounds to be; however, not even five seconds after she started her ministrations, the Espada began to stir, and she immediately drew her hands back.

Feeling the sudden change in temperature somewhere in the haze of his sleep, Grimmjow stirred slightly. In that brief moment, he immediately felt the presence of someone else in the room, and cracked his bleary cerulean eyes open to see just who it was. It didn't take him long to identify Takuya, even in his state of grogginess; the girl's crystalline gray eyes glimmered in the pale rays of moonlight shining into the room. A slight scowl furrowed his brow.

"The hell're you doing, girl?"

Takuya struggled to slow her pounding heart, bringing her hands back down into her lap. "I was checking your bandages...and making sure that your wounds hadn't started bleeding again." she replied timidly. "I apologize for having disturbed you."

Grimmjow looked at the ebony-haired girl for a second longer before grunting and once again directing his gaze to the ceiling. Takuya, registering this as his "permission" to proceed with her task, brought her hands back to his bandages, her fingers once again lightly skimming over the areas that covered his more serious wounds. Immediately upon feeling the touch of her hands, Grimmjow shifted his gaze back to the girl's face. A focused expression had replaced the apprehensive one that was there only a second ago as she concentrated on her task. Slowly, his half-lidded eyes began to slide closed.

What is this...? Her touch feels...weird... Weird and...almost relaxing... Wait, relaxing?!

Grimmjow immediately forced the foreign thoughts out of his mind, mentally cursing whatever black hole they originated from. He then redirected his attention to Takuya, his eyes now almost completely open. His scowl deepened as he suddenly became even more determined to completely banish the disturbing feeling.

"I'm not gonna break into pieces if you touch me." he muttered. "I'm a fucking warrior; it'll take a lot more than your prodding little hands to even make me flinch."

Takuya, slightly caught off guard by the comment, slowly withdrew her hands once again. "I'll try to remember that next time." she said quietly.

She then pulled the blankets back over his body and got to her feet. "Goodnight, Grimmjow." she said with a slight bow before turning to leave the room.

Grimmjow's eyes followed her until she disappeared behind the closed door, almost as if to make sure that she actually left. Then, with a deep, irritated sigh, he allowed his sore body to relax again. Tch, relax...damn god-awful human feeling... At that final thought, his cerulean eyes finally slid closed once more.

"Damn girl..." he mumbled before slipping into a dreamless sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tension hung in the still air of the oversized throne room, despite the deceivably calm demeanors of the three men who now occupied it. Aizen sat in his typically relaxed position upon the stark white throne, his chin resting in his palm as he gaze stretched aimlessly to nothing in particular. Gin and Tosen stood on either side of him, the latter waiting on him to break the uncomfortable silence with a command or some sort of instruction regarding how they were to handle their current situation.

"My, my...we've certainly landed ourselves in a rather unfortunate bind, haven't we?" Gin spoke up, finally dispelling the awkward hush of the throne room. "Even after all we did to stop him from going to the living world, little Grimmy-kun managed to make it there anyway... Doesn't this little stunt greatly interrupt your plans for capturing that little auburn-haired girl?"

"Hmmm...I suppose it will alter them slightly, yes." Aizen replied coolly. "However, this slight change in events has in no way interrupted them."

"What then are your orders, my lord?" Tosen asked. "How shall we proceed with Grimmjow's capture?"

Aizen paused for a moment in thought before speaking again. "We shall take no action for the time being."

Tosen, almost visibly shocked by the man's decision, stepped forward slightly. "With all due respect, Lord Aizen...I must disagree with your inaction. I feel that this situation calls for us to act immediately. If we leave Grimmjow unattended, things could rapidly go beyond our control..."

"I am well aware of the severity of this situation, Tosen." Aizen stated. "I'm also quite sure that Grimmjow is more or less expecting us to come after him at some point. He, however, does not know when, where, or how this will occur, which gives us some measure of an advantage. And, if the timing of our pre-ordained retrieval is made flawless, we may also be able to capture the human girl as well, and would thus have killed two birds with one stone."

The ex-Shinigami turned slightly so that he could see his stolen captain out of his peripheral view. "Do you understand now, Tosen...why I am choosing not to act immediately?"

Tosen bowed. "Yes, my lord. I understand."

Aizen's everlasting smile broadened slightly. "Excellent." he purred; he then turned his attention to Gin. "Have you already pinpointed Grimmjow's location in the world of the living?"

"Sadly no, I haven't; Grimmy-kun's spiritual pressure is a bit too low to find at the present, but I'm sure that'll be changing eventually." Gin replied. "No doubt our little ryoka friend has haphazardly stumbled across him since his impromptu arrival in the living world, especially if he managed to land in Karakura. The boy's kind heart won't allow him to simply leave our Sexta Espada in a mangled state, so he'll surely be healed to some extent...which will in turn raise his spiritual pressure enough for me to find him."

"Hmmm, very well." Aizen said, resting his chin back in his palm. "Then I suppose that all that's left to be done now...is to wait for the most opportune moment..."

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

#bleach #unbound fanfic #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow x oc #chapter 4

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innuendostudios · 6 years ago

Video

vimeo

[edit: the video was false-flagged as “hatespeech” on YouTube, so I have swapped the embed with a mirror on Vimeo. I will swap them back when I get the YouTube version reinstated/replaced in a re-edited form.]

It would not be possible to continue The Alt-Right Playbook without sitting down and defining fascism, so here we are. I know I said the next one would be shorter, and I was proven a damned liar. Maybe the next one! As ever, keep this series, and all my other videos, coming out steadily by backing me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

"Fascism" is a term I've heard thrown around since I was a kid, but, most of the time, idiomatically. "Fascist" is what you called your Type A, passive-aggressive roommate: "Stop being such a fascist, Debra." Through osmosis, I knew its literal meaning was among a cluster of related words: Authoritarianism, totalitarianism, white supremacy, nationalism, dictatorship. But, for much of my life, if you pressed me to define any of these words, I could have only said, "You know, Nazis. Hitler, the Gestapo... you know, Nazis!"

This colloquializing of fascism, and its association with the cultural shorthand for pure evil, makes it very hard to discuss as an ideology, because even using the word, "fascism," sounds both hyperbolic and like a punch below the belt. To call a person, group, or idea "fascist" is to exaggerate for the purpose of dragging them.

Counterintuitively, this prevents us from criticizing fascist groups, even though most everyone agrees fascism is terrible, because, saying it, you sound ridiculous. You’re talking about Indiana Jones villains. So I'm going to be using the word, "fascism," kind of a lot in this video, hoping that we can semantically satiate it just enough that its connotative meanings - irreverent sarcasm and the envisioning of stormtroopers - are dulled to the point that we can talk about fascism as a system of beliefs, and as a mode of political organizing, and about who practices it today.

Our work necessitates a conversation about fascism; specifically, white fascism.

(Fascism, fascism, fascism.)

I. Fascism

Central to fascism is the belief that some people are more deserving of power than others, and that society’s appropriate structure is a hierarchy where increasingly smaller groups of betters rule over the lessers. This is not unique to fascism; this is the organizing principle of many social systems.

The difference between systems is whom each hierarchy says should be at the top. In a feudal monarchy, the top is the king and his family, and they get there by royal bloodline. In a capitalist free market (*cough*), people earn their place at the top by success in business. In fascism, the ones at the top should be “us,” whomever “us” happens to be, and they should get there by any means available.

The most succinct definition of fascism comes from Roger Griffin: “palingenetic ultranationalism,” a wonderful term because it fits a great many ideas into only two roots and a bunch of affixes, and a terrible one because both words need definitions of their own. (That’s not how efficiency works, Rog!)

So, OK: Palingenesis is the idea of rebirth, with some frankly Biblical overtones. The word “palingenesis” is used to refer to reincarnation, or the remaking of the world after Judgment Day. In terms of fascism, it is the notion that “we,” as a unified people, are ancient, that our former glory has waned, and that we are due to rise again. The implications that this rebirth will come by purging the world in fire with boiling seas and a blood-red sky are not entirely accidental. It is the granting of “us” with mythological importance.

Nationalism is, in the broadest sense, thinking of oneself through the lens of national identity. A single person holds a lot of identities: White, male, gamer, New Englander, cyclist, sports racer, and so on. Nationalism is the lens through which thinking of oneself as, for instance, American, is distinct from being Canadian, Liberian, Chilean, and that putting stock in this distinction is desirable. This can play out a lot of ways: Nationalism can be a colonized people forming an identity distinct from the ruling class and arguing that this people should have its own state, as in the American or Haitian Revolutions; Black nationalism has argued, at times, that Black Americans, while coexisting with other Americans, should maintain a distinct identity rather than be assimilated into white culture; and where Black nationalism has also sometimes argued for the repatriation of Black Americans to African nations, white nationalism typically argues that whites should have a nation of their own, not by returning to Europe, but by removing non-whites from the US (something Native Americans have opinions about). This would be an example of ultranationalism: The emphasizing of national identity as among the most, if not the most, important.

(These are not rare traits, and I want to stress that it is not the presence but the confluence of them that gives fascism its character.)

So, palingenetic ultranationalism: The belief that the nation is of the utmost importance, that the people running the nation should be a narrowly defined “us,” and that “we” should rule because it’s, more or less, our destiny.

The religiosity of this framing is intentional. Most hierarchical systems will make some case for why society should be structured a certain way: The king has been groomed for his role since birth, Steve Jobs did real good at the business factory. Fascism suspends the need for explanation: We belong at the top because we just do. Destiny. When pressed, fascists will offer pseudo-rational justifications for why they should be in charge which fall apart under the barest scrutiny, but debunking these claims is largely ineffective because, while they follow the cadences of reasoned argument, they’re operating on the level of emotion, faith, and a sense of belonging.

There’s a reason fascist regimes rely heavily on propaganda: Propaganda traffics not in arguments but in symbols. For the Nazis, it was the German soldier; for the Soviets, it was the worker. Propaganda relies on inspiring imagery that evokes cherished aspects of the culture, like the family or the countryside - “the babe in his cradle is closing his eyes, the blossom embraces the bee” - and ties those images to fascist ideals - “but soon, says a whisper, arise, arise, tomorrow belongs to me.” All of this is meant to make one swell with pride in such a way that it’s very hard to think about what is actually being said. Racist caricatures of Black and Jewish people - or whomever is “not us” in a given system - serve the same purpose by evoking hatred, or fear of what might happen to “us” if “they” were in control.

Jason Stanley calls this “affective override,” the moment where emotion shuts down critical thinking. If you’ve ever had a conversation with a conservative about, like, healthcare or something, and after a few exchanges they’re chest-beating about how “this is the nation of freedom and choice, the greatest nation that ever was, and I’m not going to let you take from me my god-given…” you’ve seen this in action. Fascism depends on this passionate fervor because it can’t convincingly pretend to be rational. The reason why one particular “us” should be at the top of the hierarchy, or why there should even be a hierarchy in the first place, is arbitrary. It’s that way because a particular “us” wants it that way.

II. Authority

We usually associate fascism with the image of state violence, be it the punishing of The Other, the policing of citizens, or the conquering of other nations, and, while this is almost always the case, fascism is not, as a rule, militant. In practice, fascists are not authoritarians or pacifists. For that matter, they're not capitalists or anti-capitalists. They're not statists or anarchists. They're not monarchists, oligarchists, or plutocrats. They are Whatever Puts Us In Power-ists.

For instance: Capitalism is a hierarchical system, and so fascists will often try to influence policy such that the capitalist hierarchy starts to resemble the desired fascist one, but only until the point that it stops suiting their needs. The “us” of fascism is always defined by essential qualities like race or heritage, qualities that don’t change. A poor person can become less poor, but a Black person can’t become less Black, so, no matter how biased and stratified capitalism becomes, so long as it is still technically possible for someone from the lower classes to rise above their station, there will come a time when fascists must leave capitalism behind in favor of a system fully without social mobility.

Similarly, if fascists have the ability to take governmental control through nonviolent means, they will often do so - remember, Mussolini took power in a coup but Hitler was elected. If democracy and nonviolence can be put to fascist ends, they will be. But instituting a system that benefits the few while the many suffer and where, by design, no one suffering is allowed to improve their situation, might as well be writing ad copy for guillotines, and that’s how you get the SS. So, yes, fascist power trends towards authoritarianism because, on a long enough timeline, it will be the only way fascism can maintain itself.

But, also, fascists and authoritarians think power, brutality, and subjugation are sexy in more or less identical ways, so, while not all authoritarians are fascists, most fascists are authoritarians. And state violence is often a way of getting people invested in a hierarchy that doesn’t directly benefit them: “You may not be at the top, but if you’re somewhere around the middle, we can employ you as military or police to keep the lower classes in line.” Many people will relinquish their rights to fascists in exchange for being “the arm of the law,” and, the more powerful the state becomes, the more vicarious power they get to wield. So long as they’re not at the bottom, they have some investment in the system continuing as is, because it authorizes them to fuck people up.

The other way fascism justifies itself to the masses is to insist that the only alternative is death. “We are a great and noble people with an illustrious history, and if we achieve our fated rebirth we will form the most glorious nation in all of history and take our rightful place as world leader, and if we fail we will be eradicated.” There is no in between. “They are coming for us, they are everywhere, we can beat them, but this is the only way.” Race war is the usual go-to, claiming Black people are savages and razing our cities to the ground is their nature, or that they want revenge for slavery (which, I mean…). Sometimes they go with a Jewish conspiracy as revenge for the Holocaust. Or both at the same time. Right now Islamophobia’s in fashion. Each depends on downplaying slavery or the Holocaust or the Crusades as the horrific acts that they were, insisting that the crimes are greatly exaggerated by history, because these are all pretty damning counterarguments to “us” being the greatest people who have ever lived.

III. Whiteness

Race is like gender and money: It’s real, but only because we make it real. But fascism necessitates the belief that whatever makes “us” us is not only extremely real, in the biological and/or spiritual sense, but that people can be ranked by it. And, when stacking the hierarchy, white fascists put themselves at the top. So: What is whiteness?

The short answer is that whiteness is whatever it needs to be. Whiteness was created to differentiate one people from the people they were oppressing. Whiteness is a means to an end. The people most fixated with the definition of whiteness are racists, but there is no anti-racist definition. Racists invented whiteness, and all white people are folded into it.

And the way white people conceive of whiteness is fundamentally different from how they conceive of other races. A common example of this phenomenon is Barack Obama: Obama had one Black parent and one white parent. But, while he can call himself the first Black President, he could never call himself a white President. (Or, well, he could call himself whatever he wanted, but white people wouldn’t agree, and no one would treat him like a white President.) White people are only white if they’re purebreeds, or if non-whiteness is far enough back in their family tree that one can pretend it isn’t there. These rules of purity don’t apply to other races: When Black and white people have children, those children are allowed to be Black, or any number of (often racist) terms for mixed-race children. But, whatever they are, they can’t be white.

This frames interracial families as an increase of one race and a decrease in whites. So, by this logic, where other races spread, whiteness has to be maintained.

White people don’t consider whiteness a race; it is the absence of race. The undiluted form of which all other races are deviations. And, if it goes, it can’t be brought back.

This is, of course, nonsense. It’s a bunch of made-up rules to justify white supremacy. There’s only so long fascists can insist, “If we don’t strike first, they’re going to kill us all,” before people start to notice that the race war they’ve been promising for a century doesn’t seem to be happening. So, then, the terms have to be updated: Now the existential threat is a generational project. Now Black people even existing near white people is the race war. They’re literally going to fuck us out of existence.

And, because whiteness is made up, it can be endlessly redefined. A tension inherent to fascism is that rather a lot of people are required to bring it into existence, but, by design, only a small number of people will run it once it exists. So, commonly, the definition of “us” is broadened while building coalitions, and gets progressively narrower the more fascist society becomes.

White fascists in the US and Europe go back and forth on whether or not Jewish people get to be white. For a while it was kiiiind of a soft yes, and now it’s tipping the other way as they gain influence. Ethnic groups formerly considered non-white, like Italians and the Irish, became white when white culture feared marginalized immigrants might ally with slaves in revolt.

Bigotry is intersectional; there aren’t a lot of single-issue bigots, people who hate Mexicans but fight for everyone else’s rights. People generally don't apply this hierarchical thinking to just one aspect of their lives. So - commonly - racism is comorbid with anti-Semitism is comorbid with misogyny is comorbid with transphobia is comorbid with homophobia is comorbid with religious intolerance. I mean, just listen to a Klansman talk about Catholics sometime, or, better yet, don’t. Any marginalized group may be inducted into the tribe to consolidate against a common enemy, but, should that enemy be defeated, the inductees become the new enemy.

We can see the history of social progress in the US as successively disenfranchised groups demanding and, sometimes, gaining their rights one by one, with reactionaries trying to beat back the tide. Transphobia is recently rampant in fascist circles and conservative politics because, with the legalization of same-sex marriage, the battle against homosexuality is thought to be lost - or, at least, at a ceasefire. This gives some cause to welcome gay transphobes into the ranks. But, should they seize enough power to strip what few protections trans people have gained recently, and the alliance is no longer useful, their gaze refocuses, and it’s last hired, first fired for the homosexuals. And then the African-Americans, and then the women, and on and on, stripping rights from social groups in the order opposite to which they were gained, like the plot of Final Destination 2.

IV. Goals

You might be thinking the endgame here is a nice, homogenous group of white men to sit at the top of the pyramid, and the white fascists would be thinking the same. But, in reality, there is no endgame. It’s not like, if the fascists get their ethnostate, they’re just gonna call it a day. It’s the flaw in obsessing over racial purity: Whiteness is defined by what it’s not. If it isn’t contrasted with something else, it ceases to be an identity. So, if the whites kick all the non-whites out of their country, suddenly the Irish and Italians aren’t white anymore. And then maybe the albinos, or the brunettes, or the Virginians, it doesn’t matter, the rules are made up. One way or another, the pyramid grows thinner.

The authoritarian mindset is one that just likes stripping rights from people. Leave authoritarians no one to strip rights from and they start stripping them from each other. (And yes, that’s what the research says.) The other outlet for this restless energy is war, invasion, colonization: Deport all the Mexicans and then follow them into Mexico. Go seeking an Other to define yourself against.

You’ve maybe noticed that these three drives - the seeking out of conflict, the need to subjugate more and more people, and the shrinking of one’s base of power - is not a recipe for success. Most hierarchical systems seek equilibrium, finding the point where the masses are just happy enough that they don’t disembowel you. But the trajectory of fascism is to make enemies, cast out allies, narrow the gene pool, and stuff your ill-gotten wealth into the military until you’re fully stocked with the kinds of weapons that ensure mutual destruction.

I’m not the first to say: white fascism is a suicide cult.

The history of fascism is one of atrocity followed by failure followed by disgrace, so modern fascists operate in a cycle of constant reinvention as they try to distance themselves from movements that came before. The ideology doesn’t change, but the rhetoric does, primarily by stealing rhetoric from the Left, because it’s, flatly, more popular. White nationalists calling themselves “identitarians” is an appropriation of progressive identity politics. The rhetoric of “white power” is an intentional bastardization of Black power movements. Even the Nazis, while installing a dictatorship, knew to call themselves socialists, and, despite German antifascism being formed predominantly by socialists and the first death camp being originally built to throw communists in, some people still believe this?

This appropriation of rhetoric is how each generation of fascists rebrands itself. “We’re not like those fascists who got hanged for what they did; we’re young, hip, and successful! Come back, baby, it’ll be different this time.”

V. The Administration

So, with all this explanation of what fascists believe and how they operate, I hope it’s clear that there is no workable definition of fascism that does not include the Alt-Right. They are, to the letter, a white fascist movement. That’s neither a diss nor an exaggeration, it’s a simple statement of fact.

So, then, to ask the trickier question: “Is the current administration fascist?” And, well, that depends on where you draw the line between “fascist” and “opportunist.”

Consider the evidence: The administration has staffed multiple fascist figureheads. It’s repeated a number of fascist slogans. It employs a nationalist thinking in which the nation should always get more out of any deal than the other participants. It holds the hierarchical belief that the President need not follow the same laws as the citizens. It relies on fear and demonization of a racial Other and portrays their mere presence in society as an invasion. It permits and makes justifications for violence against dissenters. It threatens to strip rights from opponents and members of the press. It relies on nostalgia for a mythologized past to sell a narrative of cultural rebirth. And its followers are intersectionally bigoted against women, the poor, Muslims, Black people, trans people, and queer people.

The only hesitance I feel around saying “this is fascism” centers around intent. How much of what they do and say do they believe in, and how much is just riding a wave of fascist sympathy to fuel a narcissistic lust for power and ram through policies that make them rich? But, ultimately, while there is some tactical value in this distinction - you have to deal with an opportunist differently from a true believer - in most contexts, the difference doesn’t matter.

Many will just tell you, “The correct term for ‘Nazi sympathizer’ is ‘Nazi,’” but if you won’t take that leap, consider this: Even if they have no particular plan or aptitude for creating a fascist government, any body in power that uses fascist rhetoric, lays the groundwork for future fascism, and empowers fascist movements needs to be at least viewed through the lens of fascism. Whether or not they’re fascists in their hearts is a question for historians. Whatever they are, they are, some percentage of the time, doing fascism. And, for our purposes, that's all we need to know.

#video essay #the alt-right playbook #alt-right

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kerfufflewatch · 6 years ago

Text

ah, what’s better than writing siblings being incredibly awkward (and also Lucio’s there)

(with a hint of Gencio)

(which is why Lucio’s there)

52.) Accidentally Witnessed kiss +

67.) When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More

Genji is in the med bay past visiting hours because he likes it to be empty when he needs his care, because no matter how comfortable he is now with his body, he still feels vulnerable when he has to have someone start pulling bits of metal off. It's simply easier to limit the number of people examining his body, and that is easier done after hours. He’s not sure why the figure sneaking through the window is in the med bay, however.

The healthcare-slash-maintenance portion of his visit is over, but Genji had found an excuse to linger in helping Lúcio gather supplies from the back room. Genji had been a little reluctant, at first, to let anyone other than Angela work with him, but Angela’s so busy nowadays with the care needs of an entire team. Besides, Lúcio had proven himself to a quick study--and rather pleasant company, if Genji’s being truthful. Genji squints into the darkened bay, which is unlit except for the light slanting through the closed office blinds nearby, and finally recognizes the darkened silhouette as Hanzo.

Hanzo, who is quietly, carefully, pulling up a chair next to the bed where McCree lay.

“What in the hell,” Genji says aloud, unthinking. Lúcio immediately snaps his head up and follows Genji’s gaze around the corner.

“What the hell,” he agrees mildly. “Isn’t that your brother? Did he come through the window?”

McCree had been asleep when they passed through earlier, but there’s some shifting of the shadowy lump in the bed now. The bedside lamp snaps on, casting bright light on both of their faces, and Genji can’t help grimacing.

McCree looks awful. Par for the course, all things considered, considering he had been thrown out of a second-story balcony earlier that day and tumbled ten feet across London cobblestone after taking a plasma round to the ribs. He would live, and really had not come all that close to death in the first place, but his injuries were severe enough to worry. Despite Angela’s healing, the right side of his face is still a gruesome canvas of red and purple bruises under scabbing abrasions, and squares of gauze peek out from under his hospital shirt.

Genji glances at Lúcio, who gives him a helpless shrug back. They should reveal themselves and put away their supplies, but whatever moment it is that requires Hanzo to sneak into the bay at night--for McCree, of all people--is a moment that feels too delicate to interrupt.

“Not that I’m complainin’, but what are you doin here so late?” McCree asks, asking the question on everyone’s minds.

“I . . . wanted to see that you were well,” Hanzo says slowly, addressing his folded hands in his lap. “The debriefing took too long, and I was unable to get here before the med bay was closed for the night.”

McCree laughs quietly, weak with exhaustion. “You coulda come by tomorrow,” he says. “I’m not goin’ anywhere for a couple days. Doctor’s orders.”

Hanzo smiles, but it is a bit forced. He asks just how McCree was injured--he was far away when the incident occurred, sniping from a rooftop--and as they talk, Genji feels a deep, growing sense of suspicion.

“So, uh,” Lúcio says awkwardly, quietly. He shifts the box in his hands. “Are they a thing? I didn’t think they were.”

Genji shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I would have known.”

He’s joked, of course, that Hanzo clearly had some deep-seated romantic feelings for McCree that he was too stubborn to even notice, let alone act upon, but he never had anything concrete. This could just be the standard Hanzo level of melodrama while he visits a friend, but Genji isn’t so certain.

That’s not even getting started on McCree’s “is he serious or not” flirting for the past eight months.

“Huh.” Lúcio shifts again. It’s clear he’s uncomfortable, not just tired of the weight in his arms. “I mean, I don’t know your brother all that well, but that seems like a thing.”

“I mean, you are not wrong.”

Lúcio laughs a little, prompting Genji to look back at him. “Sorry,” Lúcio says, “it’s just--it’s really hard to imagine Hanzo being into anyone.”

“No, I don’t blame you,” Genji says. “Even when we were young, he was not very interested in others. I only know of a couple people he showed interest in at all.”

“Now that sounds right.” Lúcio leans around Genji to sneak a better peek at the scene, then back again quickly before he can be caught. It’s decidedly unstealthy, but Genji finds it amusing nonetheless.

“Though to be honest,” he adds after a moment, “I did not expect this out of McCree, either.”

“Really? Don’t get me wrong, he’s cool and all, but there also isn’t a person on this team he hasn’t flirted with.”

Genji laughs quietly. “That is true,” he says. “But he’s . . . He has his own demons. Everyone here does. He’s been very careful, compared to when I knew him when Overwatch was still official.” McCree is still far friendlier than Hanzo and one of the more sociable members of the team overall, but Genji knows the difference. The McCree of ten years ago drank a lot less whiskey, faked a lot fewer smiles, spent so many fewer days locked in his dorm claiming a bad night.

The Recall has been good for them both, he thinks.

“Yeah,” Lúcio says after a moment. “I guess that’s true. He hasn’t told me much, but I get some of it. Guess it’s--”

“Because you were being a fool!” Hanzo snaps suddenly, startling them out of their conversation. They both look back simultaneously to find Hanzo glaring at McCree, leaning forward as though trying to threaten the bedridden man.

“C’mon now,” McCree says, unfazed. Somehow, he looks like he’s smiling in the face in the face of Hanzo’s anger. “Wasn’t nothin’ I don’t do on a regular basis.”

“You were hurt because you were not paying attention,” Hanzo growls.

“I was payin’ plenty of attention. I knew the guy was there when he shot me. He just got the upper hand, which happens sometimes.”

Hanzo looks like he wants to yell again, but abruptly, the fight seems to drain out of him. He slouches in his seat with a heavy exhale. “I am sorry,” he says. “I did not come here to yell at you. I am well aware that you are more than capable of taking care of yourself.”

“What’s got you so bothered? This is hardly the first time I’ve gotten hurt. Sure it won’t be the last, either.”

Hanzo doesn’t answer for a long time, unmoving. Genji finds himself holding his breath. Hanzo lifts a hand, hesitates, starts to take it back, and ultimately rests it on the bed. It’s only by McCree’s reaction--suddenly staring down at the space in disbelief--that Genji realizes Hanzo must have taken his hand.

More words are spoken. Genji can’t hear, but he can guess well enough at the nature of them. “Wow I wish we’d gotten out of here like five seconds faster,” Lúcio says.

Hanzo looks down at their joined hands on the bed, then up again. Then he leans in suddenly, and Genji can’t quite contain the strangled noise he makes when he sees his brother kiss McCree.

“Holy shit,” Lúcio breathes beside him. Genji internally echoes the sentiment.

There is a moment where, despite Hanzo initiating a kiss, McCree does not respond, and Genji slowly tenses. This is Hanzo baring his soul, and his brother might be a grown adult and McCree one of his oldest friends, but if he has to witness McCree push Hanzo away when there is no good reason to do so--

But then McCree softens and kisses back, and Genji lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Genji tries to tear his eyes away, distinctly aware that he is watching his brother and his close friend in a deeply intimate moment, but he’s drawn back when Hanzo suddenly pulls away. “I am sorry,” he says, barely loud enough to be heard. “You are hurt, and this is . . . sudden. Are you certain you--”

“God, Hanzo, for once in your life just shut the fuck up,” McCree breathes before pulling Hanzo back in with a hand around his neck. Genji chokes on a poorly-suppressed laugh, and beside him, Lúcio snorts with amusement. They both look away, realizing they’ve spent too long watching what is happening, Genji in particular aware that he is watching his older brother engaged in a passionate kiss with their mutual friend and teammate.

But . . . awkward as it is, it’s nice to see Hanzo going for something, for once. Allowing himself to have something.

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to go on much longer than a few more seconds. He soon hears murmuring between the two of them, nothing that he can understand, followed by a chair scraping on the floor. A moment later, the window gently slides open and shut, and the med bay is entirely silent.

“Well then,” Lúcio says mildly. “We just watched McCree and your brother get together. That’s something.”

“It’s something,” Genji agrees.

Lúcio fidgets a little with the box he still folds, looking at the top. “It’s kinda sweet, though,” he says after a moment. “Awkward, but it’s nice that they got something like that, you know? In the middle of all this stuff that we do for Overwatch, that they managed to find something good.” He smiles up at Genji, and Genji’s heart does an odd little stutter at that.

Before he can decide what that means and what to do about it, they are interrupted by the sound of McCree loudly, intentionally, clearing his throat.

“I wasn’t asleep when you went by the first time,” he says. “And I ain’t seen you come out. So I highly recommend you finish your business and get on out of here before I change my mind and tell Hanzo you were there the whole damn time.”

#kerfuffle fic #kiss prompts #mchanzo #overwatch #the posting process for this fic:#''hey tumblr it's 9/16 do you think you could post this at 7pm tomorrow''#''sure thing kerfuffle!''#''excuse me tumblr it's now 9/17 at 7:11 pm why isn't this posted and why does it now say to post 9/18''#''because fuck you is why''

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