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dontjudgemeimawriter · 2 years ago

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Mika & Terran argument

I haven't shared an excerpt in a while and I got a good amount done last week.

I'm not sure how much context to give. Reminder of the basic premise that Terran faked Raymond' death and never told Mika, Raymond's twin sister, that he was alive. That's all come out now, and Terran has to face to consequences of keeping it from her. Terran at one point in the scene gives a recap of the preceding events.

Scene under the cut

Syndicate Taglist (ask to be +/-):

@puzzleddragon02 @sleepy-night-child @drippingmoon @thegreatobsesso @athenswrites @charlesjosephwrites @wildswrites @thelaughingstag @cljordan-imperium

When I headed to the hotel, bag of Mika’s things over my shoulder and the folder and birth certificates tucked in the pocket of my jacket, I traveled through back alleys. Staying out of the more public areas may not have actually been safer, but it felt it. I knew when someone was following me through the messy side streets more than I did on the busy main streets.

I paused when I saw Mika.

I’d been coming to see both of them, but I’d expected them to be in the room. Mika was sitting on the steps of an abandoned shop that shared an employee parking lot with the Veranda. She hadn’t seen me yet. She was wearing the same jacket she had on yesterday and her hair was in a braid swung over her shoulder. A gray cat was nuzzling its face into her hand, and I could see the edge of a smile.

My presence would ruin that smile.

But it seemed stupid to sneak past her, and we were otherwise fairly alone. So I approached her, keeping a few feet back before announcing myself.

“Mika.”

Her head snapped towards me, the sudden movement making the cat back away. The hint of a smile left and turned back into the hatred she always shot at me. Without speaking to me, she turned back into the cat. “Yes, that’s right. Run away, you know when someone’s dangerous, don’t you?” she said.

I hoisted the bag off my arm. “I have your things. Clothes. Toothbrush. Pajamas. That facial stuff in the bathroom.” I trailed off.

“Well, I’m not keeping it out here, am I?” she said, not accepting the bag, so I put it back over my shoulder.

I didn’t know what to say. “Where’s Raymond?”

She turned back to look at me. Her eyes narrowed. “Oh really? You’re asking me now? How the tables have turned. Shall I lie and say he’s—“ Her own emotions cut her off, not able to say it even to accuse me. I watched as she swallowed hard, knowing what it felt like. She crossed her arms. “Abigail called.”

“Shit,” I muttered. I knew he’d agreed to do whatever and help them find the trove, but so soon?

Mika didn’t say anything, just stared in angry silence.

I wanted him here. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted him to tell me why Zachary was wrong. And I was still so tired. I’d noticed my body aching on the walk over here.

“You know what? Give me the bag. Thanks a lot, and fuck off.” Mika said. She stood up and held out her hand for it.

I was really tired of her being mad at me. “I’m sorry, should I not have saved your brother?” I snapped. I swung the bag off my shoulder and let it fall to the ground between us. “Before you were mad at me because I did. Now you’re mad that I didn’t, make up your mind.” I could feel myself saying stupid, hurtful things, adding fuel.

“Oh, this is just my wildest dream, isn’t it? That the one person I attempted to trust has been keeping this from me—“

“Oh and it took you how long to extend the slightest olive branch?”

“You should have told me. You should have told me day of, I deserved to know.”

“Mika, do you really not get our situation? I know you know it. I know you know that this is all fucking life or death, you recognized that we’re both terrified. You think I kept this from you for fun, to watch you squirm? I kept it from you to protect him.”

“Because I’m a danger? You think I would put him in danger?”

I balled my fists, holding them at my sides. “You did exactly that, Mika!”

“Oh this whole Judge situation? You think I want him being used like this?” She looked me over. She took a step down the stairs she’d been sitting on and shook her head. “He’s doing this for you. He’s being an idiot.”

“I’m sorry, who was tied to a chair and who was willingly handing over the trove? Do you know how mad Zachary would be if he found out about that? Do you know realize that that’s why the Judge wants Raymond?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Mika, you handed it over to them! That didn’t look coerced to me.”

“No. That’s on you.” She insisted.

And this was ridiculous. Maybe I’d starting saying things to be hurtful and angry, but that was so blatantly false. “Let me recap for you. I sneak into their room to free Jodi, who was your freind. I get caught, tied up, and paralyzed. You walk in on your own volition and hand over tot he judge a whisper full of information, which Raymond is forced to interpret in exchange for my life. Please explain to me how this is on me.”

I can see tears in Mika’s eyes, and for a moment I think it’s because I’m right. But she shakes her head again. Stubborn as always.

“Terran, why do you think I was doing that?” She asked, this time her voice cracking a little instead of pure anger. “You think I thought it’d be fun to betray Zachary? You think I thought Oh, I sure hate working for him, how about I got help out the guy in charge instead? You gave me no other choice. You made it so I was alone, just like I had been ever since you took him from me. Don’t deny that—even if you didn’t kill him, you took him from me. Why do you think I reached out? And you pushed me away again. That was supposed to give me freedom. You think I would have put Raymond in danger if I’d known?” She turned away to hide wiping an eye with her sleeve. “And what, I’m supposed to trust you now? What else would you keep from me?”

I couldn’t find a reply to that. Her words sunk in. I remembered how she’d tried to reach out, to help me find Jodi only for me to push her away… to avoid her running into Raymond. And maybe I’d been wrong this whole time. She could keep a secret. Maybe I should have told her.

I’d never cared until now how much she hated me. She was hating me for something I didn’t do, so I never took it personally. Never even really cared, for a long time, it wasn’t very important what she thought. But now she was hating me for exactly what I had done. And the hurt that Raymond’s death had caused her… that I’d caused her… that didn’t just go away with his return to her life.

I dropped focus. “I’m sorry,” I said. I avoided meeting her eyes, just started at the ground. “You’re right. I should have told you. I should have told you a long time ago. I should have trusted you and not pushed you away.” I sat down on the stoop. “When I did that, when I saved him, it was the first good thing I ever did. I wanted to protect him, but I was also protecting myself. It was easier to keep you in the dark.” I fiddled with the zipper of my jacket. She didn’t say anything. I found myself continuing talking. “You and Raymond were so good at knowing what the right thing to do is. I watch you do all this and see how much you hate it, because you know it’s wrong. But I’ve only known that based on you guys’s example.”

The cat Mika had been petting, that had disappeared at some point, suddenly jumped up next to me. It curled next to me, a small warm body against my leg.

Mika let out a sigh. “Just don’t keep anymore secrets,” she said.

I reached over to the cat, running my hands cautiously over its body. I know they sometimes bite without warning, but the cat just lifted its had and looked at me.

I wasn’t sure if that meant we were okay, apology accepted. I glanced at her, but her expression was unreadable, as she just stared at the cat. At least he wasn’t angry or crying. “Zachary and I burned your house down,” I said. I looked back at the cat, which had relaxed again. I stroked its forehead. So soft.

“I figured he had,” she said, taking it much better than I’d thought she would. “He’s burned you before, too, hasn’t he?”

She’d asked me that back then, in the bathroom, when I’d helped her.

The memories twisted in my gut, but I kept stroking the cat and it was easier to say. “Yes. Before you and Raymond arrived, it was pretty common. But it was to teach me.”

Mika sat down next to me. She reached over and pet the cat under its chin, and it leaned its head towards her. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s okay,” I brushed it off instinctually.

“Yes, burn a child to teach him a lesson, that’s totally fine and normal.”

“To teach me to be an assassin. To survive,” I argued.

“Fine,” she said. Then, she added, “You look like crap, you know.”

I managed a small smile at that. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep very well.”

“And poured energy into him yesterday,” she added. I’d forgotten about that. “Of course you’re drained.” A pause. “Did you come here just to bring my stuff or did you want him for some reason?”

“I wanted to bring your stuff” I said. But now that I was trying to be honest, I added, “And I didn’t really want to just stay at home.”

“Now there’s a sentiment I can get behind,” she said.

The cat decided it was bored of us and stood, walked behind Mika, and then let away.

“I found something else,” I said, remembering what was in my jacket pocket. I reached in and pulled out both things. The birth certificate I handed over first. “From your old house,” I explained. “I thought you might need it if you do manage to leave.”

Hint of a grin. “Thanks,” she said. She read it over, then folded along the seams and stuck it in the bag of her things.

“I also found this,” I said, taking out the folder. I tilted it towards her.

“What is it?” She asked, but she opened the envelope, and I waited for her to discover it herself. “A journal?”

“Your mom’s.” Suddenly I was afraid I’d lost something by giving it to her— what if she didn’t want me to read it? “I haven’t read it. But I think there’s stuff about my parents in there, too.”

She stroked a hand over the book. “Let’s go inside,” she said. “We can look through them together.”

Thank god. It was just as good as saying she forgave me. I gave her a smile— I think a real smile, for the first time with her— and stood, following her into the Veranda.

#syndicate #syndicate excerpt #my writing #terran #mika #by the way this does reference some other scene I've shared #so if you haven't read them check out '1 character protects of cares for another' and 'Mika & Terran's truce' in my pinned post

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tilynation · 3 years ago

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THE LILY/TILY TRIP TO NASHVILLE IN JUNE 2016

Given the 4th of July holiday, I decided to look at the 4th of July before the Tily Autumn to see if anything happened that year. Thinking that Lily didn’t go to the Taymerica party/PR fest, I looked at the few weeks prior and found some interesting things, namely Lily making a trip to Nashville while Taylor was there.

Let’s look at the timeline for the last two weeks of June 2016 and the important events leading up to them:

2/11/16 - Kanye reignites the feud by performing “Famous” with the negative Taylor lyrics.

2/28/16 - Tily attend the Vanity Fair Oscar Party then both spend a lot of time in LA through April, including both being at Coachella. For more on how the Vanity Fair party might be the setting for “Gorgeous,” see here.

6/1/16 - the media announces that Taylor and Calvin broke up. Soon after, Taylor announces that she wrote “This is What You Came For,” the Calvin song with Rihanna. Calvin’s fans start calling Taylor a snake on social media.

6/8/16 - E!News reports that Taylor is based in Nashville now after the Tayvin split.

6/15/16 - Hiddleswift is papped in Rhode Island before Taylor goes back to Nashville.

6/16/16 - Kim K. is on the cover of GQ and says that Taylor knew about the “Famous” lyrics. Kim reveals that she has footage of the phone conversation and later reveals the footage.

6/19/16 - Lily does a few snapchats about going to Nashville. She takes along bff Joan who also snapchats and posts about the trip.

Lily’s trip to Nashville - here’s the interesting parts about the trip:

* Joan tagged Taylor in a video that Lily filmed of Joan singing “Wildest Dreams.”

* While there was a photoshoot that took place in which Joan tagged the clothing line Free People, it was a small photoshoot and didn’t lead to any ads or articles. Nothing comes up for either Lily or Joan related to Free People for this time period except a small mention in Free People’s blog three months later just stating that Lily and Joan took the trip and to check out a YouTube video of them on the trip. Said video was subsequently made private. When and why the video was made private remains a mystery.

6/21/16 - Hiddleswift is papped at Selena’s concert in Nashville and out to dinner.

6/24/16 - Kanye releases the “Famous” music video.

Week of June 24 - both Tily girls head to London at the same time. Lily is spotted at the Glastonbury festival with Cara and Suki. Taylor is papped walking with Tom and his mom.

So why did Lily hustle out to Nashville in June 2016? Lily and Joan were both top models in 2016. It seems unlikely they would do a photoshoot for Free People that would get scrapped. From reading the small mention of the trip on Free People’s blog and considering the context noted above, it looks like Lily wanted to go to Nashville while Taylor was there, took Joan along, and told Free People about it (said they would wear FP clothes on the trip and film themselves wearing the clothes per the blog) so Lily would have a work reason for the trip.

The timing of Lily’s Nashville trip is interesting because this may be the first or one of the first instances of Lily making the effort to be there for Taylor when shit is happening to her in the media (cue the rescue sirens from “Renegade”). And if sparks did fly at some point for Tily earlier in 2016, it seems like Lily was going to make the effort to see if it could become something more after Tayvin broke up. Which given the Tily Autumn that would happen a few months later, seems like it worked.

TILY MASTERPOST INDEX

#tily #lily donaldson #gaylor #gaylor swift #wildest dreams #nashville #2016 #tily masterpost

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retrievablememories · 4 years ago

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how’s this? | johnny (m)

title: how’s this? pairing: johnny x reader genre: non!idol au, smut request: “Can you please write a smut scenario with Johnny where Y/N and him are best friends and he comes in her apartment unannounced to find Y/N in lingerie in the mirror. Unbothered she asks him what he thinks.” word count: 3.6k warnings: kinda-but-not-really voyeurism?, oral sex (69), dirty talk, a lil angst? a/n: the title is from the hyuna song, although the song itself doesn’t really relate. i don’t feel as confident about this fic compared to my others tbh, but... 🤕

Johnny is your best friend. There’s little you don’t know about each other, few things you haven’t done together—well, at least on a platonic level. You might’ve kissed each other once or twice, when you were younger and still trying to figure out the opposite gender, but little more than that has happened between you.

You’re endlessly grateful that he can be someone so reliable, someone who guards all of your secrets and bad moments like they were his own and knows you inside and out.

His place in your life earned him the honorary perk of getting a key to your apartment when you first moved in, so he could drop by whenever he needed to, or whenever you felt like having him. He’s used it on more than one occasion, but he tries not to encroach upon your space too often, knowing you like time to yourself, too.

You are Johnny’s best friend. He values your friendship among some of his closest relationships, and there’s rarely a day when you don’t cross his mind. He appreciates your humor, your personality, and your support of even his wildest endeavors, fueled by the idea of you two always being there for each other.

For Johnny, your closeness makes it a little harder for him to come to grips with the fact that he likes you much, much more than friends are supposed to. He’s not quite sure when the scales tipped this way, unable to pinpoint a specific moment in time when the lines blurred, but part of him hopes that this is the one thing he can keep from you. He’s convinced that you see him practically like a brother and nothing more, and although there have been many times when he wanted to confess, he’d rather not jeopardize your relationship over his feelings.

Even if that means he has to spend many of his nights fucking his hand and pretending its you, or writing new songs and realizing all the lyrics are about you.

It’s hard not to think about you this way—and it’s especially difficult whenever he, Jaehyun, and Mark debut a new song at the cafe where they do regular performances. You’re always at the front, watching him and his bandmates with admiration and cheering them on with your other friends. For just a few hours, he can allow himself to believe that your smile is only for him.

Your apartment key comes in handy on one miserable day when Johnny is locked out of his place and it’s pouring down rain. Of course this happens the one time he forgets to check the forecast and leaves without an umbrella.

Your apartment is the closest to where he lives, close enough to walk to—run, in this weather—so he heads there without a second thought. After dealing with shitty customers at work and now this, he’s not in the mood to talk with his prickly landlord about his key; that will have to wait until tomorrow. He holds his bag over his head as he makes his way to your place, wondering if he should text you first. His phone is liable to get drowned as soon as he pulls it out, though, so he reasons that he has enough time before you get home from work to let you know he’s come by.

He’s relieved when he reaches your apartment building a few minutes later, soggy and cold, and he spends a few moments wringing himself out as best as he can before heading up the stairs.

Johnny takes the stairs two at a time until he reaches your floor, and soon enough he’s standing in front of your door. He slips his key into the lock and walks in, a pleasant shiver going down his spine from the warmth of your apartment.

He’s surprised when he hears music coming from your room. It’s loud enough that you likely can’t hear him, because you usually would’ve appeared at the sound of the door opening if you weren’t already in the front room.

Maybe he isn’t thinking entirely straight today—the earlier events did do a number on his composure. Any other time he would’ve made himself known before walking into your bedroom, but he makes a beeline for the door after dropping his things to the floor. You’ll probably fuss at him for the mess later, but he’ll make it up to you somehow.

Johnny pops into the doorway, already feeling less stressed out by the idea of seeing you. “Whassup bestie—” He’s stopped in his tracks by the sight of you standing in your full length mirror.

You’re wearing a black lingerie set, one with more lace than he knows what to do with. Something warm settles in his stomach as his eyes drink in your body, exploring every line and curve in a way that he hasn’t quite allowed himself to before. He’s seen you in bathing suits before, but in this entirely new context, something about the way the material hugs your body makes his blood rush south.

You quickly notice him standing there, though you don’t react with shock or even annoyance like he expected.

You and Johnny stare at each other for a few long seconds. He grips the doorknob as if he means to close the door, or maybe he just needs something to keep himself upright. His mouth hangs half-open from the words he meant to stay that promptly died on his lips. You smile coolly, finally breaking the tension, and his cock twitches at the sight of you grinning at him like that while wearing your pretty lingerie.

In hindsight, he’s surprised this situation hasn’t happened sooner.

“What do you think?” you ask, speaking a little louder to be heard over the music. You turn back to the mirror to give yourself another once-over. “It’s new. I bought it not too long ago, but this is my first time trying it on.”

“I…” Johnny knows the tips of his ears and his face must be red by now. “It looks great on you, really, um...really sexy.”

You smirk. “Good to know.” You turn away from him to shut off the speaker, and even with the music still on, you can hear his sharp intake of breath when his gaze falls to your ass. With the music now off, you casually walk over to where he stands. By now, you’ve given him a full show, and he has just enough shame left to pretend like he wasn’t staring.

“You’re soaking wet,” you say, furrowing your eyebrows at the state of his clothes and hair. You peel Johnny’s jacket apart to expose more of his shirt, which sticks to him and outlines his abs as clear as day. “You should take a shower before you get sick or something.”

Johnny is a little bewildered at the unaffected way you speak to him after being walked in on while wearing nothing but a few scraps of fabric. “I-it’s not like I brought any other clothes,” he says, willing himself to look in your eyes and not at your breasts as he speaks.

“Then I’ll put these in the dryer and you can wear them again later,” you say it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “But seriously, get undressed…” You trace your finger against the collar of his shirt, and that one motion has his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to swallow. “...you’re dripping all over my floor.”

Johnny can only nod at your instruction. Light flirting is nothing new for either of you, but this situation feels charged in a way he hasn’t experienced with you before. He dares to wonder if you could maybe feel something for him too; and does that mean he failed at hiding his own feelings like he thought he could? His mind grows a little hazy at the idea of this going somewhere further, though he isn’t sure if he should hope for that much yet.

“Seriously, go, Johnny. You look like a drenched cat.” You push him gently in the direction of your bathroom, and he finally trudges down the hall with his head spinning.

Johnny leans his head against the tile wall of the shower, enveloped by the citrusy smell of your body wash. He turns the knob a little closer to the cold setting and closes his eyes, letting the water rush across his body. He’ll warm himself up under the hot water later, but right now he needs to take care of the problem throbbing between his legs. He can’t quite bring himself to masturbate in your bathroom with you only feet away in the apartment, so he settles for the classic cold shower until he can regain his thoughts.

Sighing, he pushes his fingers through his hair and thinks back to all the times he could’ve admitted his feelings but didn’t. “...Shit. I’m an idiot.”

Johnny walks back into your room with a towel around his waist. You’re leisurely lying on the bed scrolling through your phone, still wearing your two-piece set. He has a good view of your ass in this position, and he groans inwardly as he feels his dick trying to come back to life. Maybe he should’ve jerked off in the shower after all. You sit up when you hear him step into the room, throwing your phone on the bed beside you.

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” he says, though he doesn’t feel like it. His clothes aren’t done drying yet, and he didn’t think far enough ahead to consider that he’d be wandering around in nothing but a towel until then, but it’s too late to change that. He sits on the edge of the bed. “Look...are you...up to something?”

“Up to what, Jonathan?” You like calling him this when you want to tease him a little, though it takes much more than that to ever truly upset him. He isn’t quite sure how to frame his question now that he’s said it. Wearing that lingerie probably isn’t the best answer, because you’d been doing that before he ever entered your apartment. But the fact that you haven’t put anything else on yet has the wheels in his mind turning.

“Like, do you…are you...” He wiggles his eyebrows and glances over your body, trying to play it off like he’s joking, but you aren’t buying whatever he’s trying to sell. The usual finesse he has when flirting has vacated the premises.

“I know you’re not losing it over some underwear, Johnny.” You say this, but your eyes signal that you already know how he feels about it. “It’s not that different from our trips to the beach.”

“Come on. The beach is way different from this, Y/N.”

“Then tell me what’s different.”

“The difference is that I want to fuck you.” It slips out before he can really think it through, but it’s too late to snatch the words back now. He worries if he’s toed too far across the line. “Um, I mean—if you want? I don’t want to make shit weird—”

You crowd in behind Johnny, pressing your breasts against his back and resting your chin on his shoulder. You know you’ve got a better handle on the situation than him right now, but you also hope he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your body. He seems stuck between wanting to lean into you further and stay stock-still. “Is that your big secret, Johnny Suh? You want to fuck me? You should’ve just said so. It’s not weird.”

You haven’t reacted in any of the ways he thought you would tonight, and it makes him think maybe he’s fallen off on being able to read you. Before he can respond, your lips are on his. He’s almost surprised with himself at how immediately he responds to your kiss, prying your lips apart so he can slide his tongue into your mouth. He lets some of his self control slip, his cock swelling under his towel as he tastes the inside of your mouth and grips your chin.

You make light work of Johnny’s towel, slipping it away from his body and gripping his half-hard dick in your hand. He groans into your mouth when you do this, and his first reaction is to push up into the circle of your first, wanting that friction on his skin. Your hand and his hips move in sync as you pump his shaft and he seeks more of your touch, moaning at the way your fingers spread his precum over his dick.

You break the kiss to move from behind him, settle at his side, and push against his chest. Realizing you want him to lie down, he does so, his reddish hair fanning out across your comforter. He almost shoots right back up when you lean down with his cock in your hand and draw your tongue across the tip of it, lapping up the beads of precum threatening to drip down. “Fuck, Y/N…” Your tongue passes his slit over and over again and he has to grip your thigh to ground himself, wanting nothing more than to make you deepthroat him until he comes in your mouth.

Your ass is facing him in this position, and no sooner than the idea comes in his head does he grasp your hips and maneuver you until you’re hovering above his face. You make a noise around his dick, letting him slip from your mouth before asking, “What are you doing?”

“...Returning the favor. Have you never 69’d before?”

“N-no, but…” Your thoughts trail away when he pulls your lacy panties to the side and exposes your pussy to the warm air of your room. You try to brace yourself for the sensation of his tongue on you, but instead he strokes his fingers across your outer lips, spreading you open for him. You stop your movements on his dick in response, your face burning with heat. “T-this is so—are you just gonna stare at it all night!?”

“Lower your hips more,” he says, and you do so, and you moan out loud at the first swipe of his tongue against your pussy, slow and wet. You take his shaft in your mouth again, reaching to fondle his balls as he circles his tongue over your clit.

Johnny slowly rocks his hips up, letting you find a good rhythm as you suck his dick. You are wet and warm and perfect on his tongue, and he presses your body closer so he can taste more of what you have to offer. He quickly adds his middle and index finger into the mix, searching the depths of your pussy, his cock twitching in your mouth whenever you whine or push your hips into his face just right.

It becomes a little harder to focus on pleasuring you as he nears his end, with your lips around his shaft so tight and wet and your hands squeezing him in a firm grip. “I’m gonna come,” he mumbles against your thigh, his mouth slick with your essence. That motivates you to keep working him over until his stomach tenses and his cum spurts across your tongue, thick ropes of it painting your mouth white. Some of it drips onto your hands, and you lick this up, too.

Johnny trembles and groans from the aftershocks of his orgasm, but he pulls your hips closer and continues eating you out and pushing his fingers into you until you shout and grind against his mouth, trying to ride the wave of ecstasy without tipping over. Even after you’ve already come, he sucks your clit so fiercely that you have to pinch his thigh and beg him to let up. He only lets you go after he’s pulled another gush of wetness out of you.

You assume Johnny would be in need of a break, but instead he slides you off of him and hurriedly pulls your panties down, his dick still stiff. He runs a hand across your chest and up to your neck, admiring the way the lingerie looks against your skin before undoing your bra. He wraps his lips around your nipple, teasing it into a hard peak.

“You’re still hard,” you say, though it’s more of a statement than a question, and you’re not really sure whether you’re talking to him or yourself.

“You make me this way.” He cups your other breast and lightly pinches your nipple as he says this, and for the first time tonight you feel truly flustered at how he looks at you as he makes that claim. “Do you have any condoms?”

“...The nightstand.” You watch as he rolls over to find a condom and tears it open, sliding the rubber onto his dick. He settles himself between your legs, his tip bumping into your entrance and making you sigh at the pleasure running through you.

“Are you ready?” he asks, grasping your hip with one hand and his length with the other. You nod, and he carefully sinks himself into your heat, a moan falling from his lips at how incredible you feel around him. How many times has he imagined this? The fantasies never quite measure up to the real thing.

A dozen emotions run through him—satisfaction at finally being inside you, a sense of affection that he’s trying not to think too deeply about, and genuine amazement at how you can look so pretty under him, shining with sweat and stuffed with his dick. For a split second he wonders if you two should really be doing this, about what your friendship will look like on the other side of this, but he decides not to dwell on it further when you grip his ass and push him deeper into you. “You’re really greedy,” he says half-jokingly as he pulls out and thrusts back into you.

“Then fill me up so I won’t be, Johnny.” You hold his face and close the distance between your mouths.

The room is thick with the sounds of each other’s moans and the slap of skin against skin. Johnny’s mouth hardly leaves your body, his tongue sliding across your neck and collarbones and back down to your breasts again. You hold onto him tightly as you match his thrusts, your bodies moving together at an even pace.

He grinds his hips into you so he can watch and feel you shudder as he does so, captivated at how he can get your body to react to him. He dips his head so he can kiss you again, like there aren’t enough kisses in the world for him to be truly satisfied, and you let him fuck you with his mouth and his dick as you draw your nails across his back.

Each time he circles his hips it stimulates your clit and brings you closer to orgasm, and he adds his fingers to the mix to speed along your release, wanting to experience you gushing and tightening around him. He is so intoxicated from the reality of what’s happening that the connection between his mind and mouth is becoming fuzzier, and he’s almost afraid of what he’ll say if he takes his lips away from you now.

Johnny’s pleasuring so many different parts of your body that it makes you unable to hold on any longer, and you come with your toes curling and back arching, fucking yourself onto his length with the last remnants of energy you have. You eventually slump against the bed, still reeling as he keeps stroking into you in search of his own end.

It comes soon after when you pull him by the nape of his neck and nibble and suck your way up to his ear, tugging on his piercing and whispering about how you want him to come for you. His pace becomes more erratic as he digs into you and feels his balls drawing up with his impending orgasm.

“I love...l-love your pussy,” he gasps into your neck. He is dangerously close to spilling his real emotions, but he cleans it up at the last second, unsure if this is just a platonic fuck to you or if you’d want more. He doesn’t want to ruin what you have by trying to find out, and the electricity traveling up his spine is rendering him too distracted to think over it anyway.

You continue clinging to him as Johnny bucks into you and empties his load into the condom, and you coax along his climax by squeezing your walls around him. He eventually pulls away after regaining his strength, panting and oversensitive from your actions.

“You like me,” is the first thing you say.

There’s no point in denying it now, and he can only sigh and scratch his head. “...Yeah. Actually, I’ve kinda liked you for years, so I think it’s safe to say it counts as ‘love’ now.”

You sit up, and Johnny distracts himself with tying the condom off and throwing it away, too nervous to sit still for your reaction. “But, I understand if you don’t feel the same way, I mean we’ve just been friends this whole time anyway, we can just—”

You bring your hands to Johnny’s face and cup his cheeks. “Sometimes you are really oblivious…” You lean closer to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “How could I not love you? You’re the most important person in my life.”

He pauses as if he doesn’t have a clue what you just said, then his eyes widen. You laugh at his comical expression. “You’re sure? Like, this wasn’t just a pity fuck because you felt sorry for me or something—”

“Never that.” And then you kiss him again, your lips lingering together for longer this time as his body relaxes into yours.

#johnny smut #nct 127 smut #nct smut #ambw smut #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #ambw scenarios #ambw fic #ambw imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fic #nct johnny

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feathered-serpents · 3 years ago

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like the terms are so weird and mean literally anything, i once heard in marvel fandom context the terms were anti tony and pro tony and in star wars the terms were used as simply ship wars but in the context that most people use it that ive heard its more like pro shipper = someone who ships ped0 and or !ncest and anti is someone who like,, thinks you know

EDIT: forgot to add in this other ask

Yeah so like. My stance on shipping and fanfiction is very, very much "don't like don't read" I think that ultimately banning gross things doesn't prevent those gross things it just makes it so they aren't tagged appropriately and then no one wins. Basically, I'm very very chill when it comes to fanwork but obviously, I have my limits, the stuff you listed as well as RPF, non-con, underage etc. are all very hard "nos" for me but even then, my course of action is to block the person posting it and move on like. What else are you gonna do

But even having that stance, which I thought was the "pro-ship" stance at one point could get me labeled an "anti" by some of these people because I do not actively defend its existence cause "pro-shippers" don't get to "pick and choose" what they defend which is. Fucking wild

This is only tangentially related but I wanna talk about my experience with these terms because dear god (read more cause it got long) (warning: I discuss the BNHA fandom)

Hilariously, I considered myself a "pro-shipper" because I shipped Kacchako when I was in the BNHA fandom back in 2017-2018 which if you don't know what that is, is shipping the lead's love interest, Ochako Uraraka, with his rival instead of him, Katsuki Bakugou. It was and honestly still is a very cute ship in my eyes and I loved it mostly cause it would mean Uraraka would move on from Deku which signaled she would get any character development at all but that's not the rant we're going on today

Basically "antis" in this fandom didn't like this ship because they preferred Bakugou to be shipped with his best friend Kirishima (Kiribaku) a ship I also liked (I shipped p much everything when I was in that fandom) however they wouldn't just say "Oh, I don't like that ship, I prefer this one" no why would that happen. They would go on huge harassment campaigns against anyone who liked Kacchako claiming it was abusive mostly, I think there were other arguments but that was the main one, you also saw "homophobic" thrown around because of course

They’d also point at how these two characters only had like two interactions in canon and yeah that one's just true. I can't justify that one. This was all just us making up a dynamic that straight up didn't exist, and that was honestly the appeal

Anyways, things came to a head when I saw someone post a literal Kacchako hate pride flag in the ship's tag. Like, a pride flag for hating a ship, the stripes had meaning and everything, which I found to be very disrespectful and just...stupid. So after that, I decided that "antis" sucked, and since I wasn't an "anti" I was a "pro-shipper" ...listen I was 19 at this time and going through some stuff. (I also organized a Kacchako fandom event in my spite! I used to be the kind of person who organizes fandom events, horrifying)

And this did happen! This all was very real stuff! I remember one of these dudes "infiltrating a Kacchako server" (actually how it was phrased) lying about their age to gain access to the NSFW channel, and then doxxing everyone in it by posting their discord information into the world. Like. This shit got REAL. (I happened to not be in that server so this didn't affect me, even so, fucked up)

However, I would learn via my brief stint on exclusively twitter while I was pretending to flee Tumblr after the Nipple Ban in 2018 that "pro-shippers" weren't much better in terms of harassment, and would just pick fights with these "antis" for basically no reason?? They doxxed people too, they sent death threats too. But the antis would do the exact same thing and it was just this never-ending game of both of them actively seeking out content they claimed to hate just to get mad at OP over it. Both claiming to be against harassment while harassing pretty much everyone. It was then I also learned that pro-shipping included the gross stuff like inc*st and p*dophilia ships and I did not want to be part of a group that would endorse that. I distanced myself from "pro-shippers" and the BNHA fandom in general and floated around until I dug myself a niche in the podcast space. The TMA fandom isn't perfect but it is waayyyy nicer than that whole thing

But I still, overall, keep that "don't like don't read" mentality that would label me a "pro-shipper" by the "antis" but since that mentality has limits, label me an "anti" by the "pro-shippers" I exist in limbo. I just pay taxes. Idk man, it's the wildest shit

#personal #long post #discourse #????

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sincerelyreidburke · 4 years ago

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A fic for day 2!

The 25 days of Kiersey continue! This is Thanksgiving-focused, but I wanted to get this one early in the countdown before Thanksgiving was too distant of an event. I’m counting this as a winter holiday.

For context, if you want or need it, here is a ficlet that will function as a faraway prequel to the events of the following fic.

In the summer between his sophomore and junior year, Quinn tours with a fictional production of a real Broadway show, Deaf West's Spring Awakening. I recently watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and decided that Quinn Cooper needed to be in on that action. Here's what happened as a result.

Heaven forgive me, for it is LONG under that cut! I saw the opportunity for Quindo fluff in New York City, and I ran with it, my friends. Featuring Quinn’s tour friend Kyra (in person, finally!), some stereotypical NYC tourism shit, and, of course, the actual Thanksgiving festivities.

///

Playbill.com

November 1st

Summer Cast of Deaf West’s Spring Awakening To Perform At Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade

Tuesday

Kiersey, NH

Technically, the official start of Quinn’s Thanksgiving break occurs at 1:15 on Tuesday, when his last class lets out. Walking across campus after he leaves the sciences building is, to be sure, a very freeing experience. But it’s not until he’s by the door at the house on Beech Street, with a packed bag over his shoulder and a train ticket in his pocket, that it truly feels like his break is beginning.

“I can’t believe you two are ditching out on Shaley Thanksgiving,” Ben tells him, shaking his head and mock-scowling, as he takes the keys to his Prius off a hook by the door. “After all I’ve done for you?”

Quinn smiles brightly, and offers Ben nothing but a shrug. “I’m sorry, Ben,” he hums, “but I’ll be thinking of you in spirit.”

“Wow, that’s so nice of you, Mini.” Ben puts a hand to his heart, with all the snark in the world still in his eyes. “It’s almost for a moment like you’re not ditching to go to the big city.”

Quinn hums contemplatively, then glances at the time on his phone. “Sebastián,” he calls, and hopes his voice travels up the stairs. “We’ve got to go! The train’s in twenty minutes!”

“Twenty-four,” corrects Remy, as he walks to the door to join them with his own bag in tow. “You’ve got time, Q.”

Quinn knows he does have time, but as they say in the theater, on time is ten minutes early. He smiles at Remy anyway, and sighs. “I suppose we do, don’t we?”

Remy shrugs. “The train station is, like, two seconds away.”

This is also true.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Ben,” he adds, while they’re waiting. “Goodness knows I’m grateful for your mother’s hospitality.”

“It’s okay.” Ben smirks. “On the bright side, this year you won’t have to deal with her being weird.”

Mrs. Shaley does say odd things, most of them thinly veiled discomfort about his existence as an openly gay man (Quinn, you are just so stylish! It must just be natural for you people), but Quinn is still grateful that she had him to her house last year all the same.

Remy, who is going home with Ben again this year for the brief break, looks to him now, and asks, “Will we see you on TV?”

Quinn smiles— he can’t help it— and dusts off his knit scarf where it’s wound around his neck. “I certainly hope you will,” he replies. “So long as the parade is on, I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“That’s awesome,” Remy says, with a smile of his own, and Ben adds, “I can’t wait to live-Tweet it and say I know you.”

He sighs into his hand. “Oh, Benjamin.” He’s about to call for Sebastián again— he did have the class that released the latest of all of them, so it makes sense he’s the last to be ready, but then again, he should have just packed last night— but before he can call him, the floor shakes with the unmistakable rhythm of him bounding down the stairs, and in another second, he’s joined them by the door.

“Sorry, baby.” With his backpack over his shoulder, Sebastián looks handsome enough that Quinn is willing to forget his previous punctuality stress. “I’m ready now.” He’s in his nice winter jacket, with the red scarf and matching hat, and he looks every bit prepared for the November streets of New York.

“Good,” Quinn says, simply, and fixes the way his scarf tucks into his jacket before he turns to nod at Ben. “We’re ready when you are, mister taxi service.”

“You’re an asshole,” Ben replies, “and let’s get outta here.”

The train station is only a three-minute drive from campus, and Ben and Remy drop them off there, with their own long drive to Providence awaiting them as they pull out of sight. Quinn feels as if he’s buzzing with adrenaline, with the excitement of the five days that lie ahead of them. Thanksgiving break may not be long, and in past years, it hasn’t been very eventful for him— freshman year, he stayed on campus, and last year at Ben’s house was nice but not particularly crazy— but this year is a whole new story.

This year, he gets a Thanksgiving break straight out of his wildest, most wonderful daydreams.

“Are you excited, cariño?” Sebastián asks him, as they’re waiting on the platform for the train, bundled up with their bags in the cold. Quinn feels like they’re at the start of a wonderful holiday movie.

“Of course I am.” He winds his arm up in his and remarks, “In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was quite this excited.”

Sebastián smiles. Under his knit cap, his curls are just a little windblown. Quinn has never seen a more handsome sight. “I’m excited for you,” he says, and kisses his forehead, and this is going to be the greatest school break ever.

Wednesday

New York, NY

On their first full day in New York, Quinn has rehearsals. This makes sense, because the whole reason they’re in New York in the first place is so that Quinn can perform. Nando doesn’t even have enough words for how proud he is of him, and the performance hasn’t even happened yet.

Quinn is up bright and early Wednesday morning. He’s headed to the hotel convention center downstairs, where he’s meeting up with his castmates from over the summer for the first time since he left tour in August. Nando rolls over in bed— it’s still dark out— and smiles when he feels him a kiss to his cheek on his way out. He reaches out of the covers and feels around until he can grab Quinn’s hand in the dark.

He squeezes it, three times— their wordless way to say I love you. Quinn returns the three squeezes, kisses the back of his hand, and then turns to go, a silhouette in rehearsal clothes as he leaves.

The bed feels empty without him afterwards, but it’s still dark outside the windows of the room, so Nando falls asleep for another little while and dreams of

When he wakes again, he has an interesting situation on his hands: time to himself, in the middle of New York City. He’s never been here before, but he’s fully prepared to become a huge tourist so he can visit some of the food spots he follows on Instagram.

At a respectable hour, he gets up, gets dressed, and does just that in Quinn’s absence. A few very successful dessert-for-breakfast experiences later, he heads back to the hotel to FaceTime Mama and his sisters.

“Can we watch him on TV?” Gabi asks.

“Is he gonna be on one of the floats?” adds Rosa.

“Well, not exactly on a float,” Nando tells them, “but yeah, you can watch him on TV! I don’t know when he’s on, but he’ll know, so I’ll text you guys later.”

“Wish him luck for us,” Mama says, with a warm smile, and Nando smiles, too. It’s not that often you spend Thanksgiving in New York, when your family is thousands of miles away and your friends hundreds, but it’s also not often that your boyfriend, the love of your life, your favorite person in the entire world, is performing at the Thanksgiving Day Parade, so. Y’know.

Nando didn’t know it was possible to be this cheeky with pride.

At noon, he goes downstairs to pick Quinn up from rehearsal. He’ll have a busy Thursday, what with the parade and everything, but for the rest of the day, their time is entirely theirs.

It’s kind of easy to tell where the cast people are coming from, because one of Nando’s various acquired skills from the course the two years so far of this relationship is being able to spot Deaf people in public. It’s really not hard. Just watch for flying hands!

That’s how he spots Quinn— leaving the convention area, among his fellow Deaf West people, or— Kyra, actually, to be more specific. Nando hasn’t seen Kyra in months, since July, actually, when he met her on their Phoenix Spring Awakening tour stop. Her hair is different— in space buns instead of her afro— and she’s wearing a bright orange sweater, which, if her Instagram is accurate, is right in line with her sunshine aesthetic. She was amazing on tour; she’s such a talented person.

She walks side by side with Quinn, and they’re moving kind of slowly because they’re turned halfway toward each other to talk. Their hands move a mile a minute, and Nando knows a good amount of sign, but can’t keep up with this rapid conversation.

Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to. Quinn and Kyra seem to see him at the same time— and Kyra signs something he does understand, with this huge, bright smile. Literally, her sign means cactus and S, but Nando knows that’s just his sign name.

He waves across the lobby, then signs back to her— sunshine and K, for Kyra, and she lights up even more. She runs the rest of the way over, and Quinn goes after her.

How are you? he asks, and Kyra looks so excited that she almost jumps up and down.

They get to hold a small conversation in sign, and Nando loves catching up with Kyra but sort of loves even more how Quinn smiles as he watches them talk, like he’s glad they’re interacting, and it’s just— it’s wholesome. It’s great. Kyra is great, and he’s just so happy for Quinn that he gets to see her and all his tour friends again. He was sad to part with them at the end of the summer.

Kyra’s mom is in the city with her, so they part ways when she arrives; Quinn has another brief and very fast sign conversation with her as she’s leaving. Nando figures it’s probably just ‘see you tomorrow,’ but you never know.

“Baby,” he whispers, leaning down to him as they start side-by-side toward the elevator, “you have to hear about the churro I found this morning.”

Quinn laughs, and looks up to him, winding his arm in his elbow. Nando thinks they were meant to fit together this way. It’s so natural, and so easy. “I would love to hear about that.”

“I took pictures and everything,” he says, then pauses to press the button and hail the elevator. He looks to him again to add, “But also, how was rehearsal? Can I take you out to lunch?”

“Out to lunch?” Quinn swoons. “You must be trying to get in my good graces.”

He pretends to pout. “Am I not already in your good graces?”

Quinn swats at his chest. “Oh, don’t be a drama queen.”

He kind of wants to point out that Quinn, rather than he, is the one who just got out of several hours of pro theatre rehearsal— but he guesses that would be telling him what he already knows. Instead, he grins and shrugs, then kisses his forehead. The elevator dings upon arrival. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, and they have a very good afternoon.

Thursday

It’s absolutely frigid outside, and it’s six in the morning, and Quinn is having the time of his life.

He’s huddled on a couch with his castmates, in a trailer, waiting for the day to begin— though he supposes it’s already started, given his five o’clock wake-up call. He thought the tour was exciting, and truly, it was, but this is a whole other excitement entirely— being in New York, with so many performers all in one small place, knowing what lies in store for his day.

Life, he thinks, is maybe a dream come true right now. From coming here with Sebastián to getting to perform, there are so many things he’s grateful for, so many experiences he feels so lucky to have. This is no exception, as he sits in the trailer, with space heaters warming his feet and cast friends on either side. It’s like being back on tour, except this time, it’s one time only. He has to make it count.

And… yes. Quinn is decided. He is going to be completely obnoxious on Instagram today. To start it out, he nudges Kyra, who sits directly next to him, and opens the front camera on his phone.

Kyra lights up for the camera— she truly is the human embodiment of the sun, and Quinn is honestly a little jealous of how good and put-together she already looks at six in the morning. She’s wearing yellow earmuffs that sort of match the gold rims on her glasses, and she hooks an arm around his neck to lean into the picture. Her cheek is warm against his, and he laughs. On his other side, their friend Minji pushes into the camera, too, and flashes a heart at the camera with her thumb and pointer picture together.

Are you posting that? Minji asks, once he’s snapped the selfie.

He puts his phone down and grins. Obviously, I’m posting it.

He’s hunting for stickers to put it on his story when it becomes something of a ‘thing’— the various other friends and castmates around him realize he’s taking pictures, and then, right as he gets the selfie up on his story with a little turkey sticker, everyone is clustering for another.

Group shot!

Let us be on your Instagram!

Yeah, we need a reunion picture.

Hang on, he tells them, and laughs, then climbs up onto the edge of the couch. He faces them to add, I’m not tall enough for that, and while they laugh at his height’s expense, he rolls his eyes and opens his camera again.

Smile! he signs into the camera, and then clicks the button a few times so he’ll have options to choose from. This one should be a post, not a story, he decides. He thinks there are enough cast members in it to maybe send it to production staff. Not to pat himself on the back or anything. Really, he just wants to document these moments with his friends, while they’re all still in one place again.

Oh, you know what we should do? he says to Kyra, as he’s sitting down on the arm of the couch. A before and after picture, with costumes.

Kyra grins, and she nods. They did posts like that several times, over tour— a picture before you get costumed, and then the same picture but after you’re ready to go onstage. We should make a TikTok, Kyra says.

He laughs. Oh, goodness, he says, but he knows he’ll probably wind up doing just that. He has a feeling his social media will be quite alive and well by the end of the day today.

He wants to hold every part of this day in his memory, so he’ll never forget what this feels like.

It’s been three months since Quinn got to be Moritz Stiefel.

Though it took a lot out of him this summer, it’s a role he’s missed sorely, and he doesn’t usually get to go back to playing characters whose shows have come to a close for him. He supposes today is a bit of an exception, and, to be sure, he’s been excited for today since the very moment he learned this performance would be happening— but it’s not real, exactly, until he sees himself in a mirror, in costume.

He knows this version of himself, though he hasn’t seen it in awhile. His hair is mussed up, and the school uniform costume fits just as it’s supposed to, with a crooked tie and a tall pair of socks. He isn’t mic’d yet— that’s a step they’ll reach later this morning, with the sound technicians at the parade, and his hearing aids have been out for several hours; they’re tucked into his jacket pocket right now.

The mirror in the trailer is small, and he smiles at himself in it. He always likes this part, performing— when he gets to see himself as the character he’s going to be. Today, it’ll only be for five minutes— but five minutes of glory, on television, with his friends from the summer, and so they’re bound to be some of the most exhilarating five minutes of his life.

He doesn’t want to get a big head, but the fact that so many people will be watching… that’s a lot to take in. On the street, in person, Sebastián will be watching, too, and that’s something he’s very mindful of.

Kyra is putting flowers into her hair, at the small mirror next to him. He grabs his phone to wave it at her, and she grins, then signs for him to wait one second, so he does.

Just like old times, she says, when she’s done, and then lets him take their picture in the mirror. He sends it off to Sebastián first, then puts it on his steadily growing Instagram story.

It is just like old times. Quinn doesn’t want the day to be over, and it’s barely begun.

Of all the places he’s performed, Quinn has to say that the streets of New York City rank high.

The morning is a blur— move from place to place, let people tell you where to be, get briefed by tech people who know a lot more about what’s going on than he does. Comply, because that’s what you do. Warm up your voice. Take so many pictures that your phone starts to yell at you that it’s running out of storage.

From a distance, spot someone who looks an awful lot like your boyfriend on the side of the street. You can tell it’s him, because you knit that red scarf for him two Christmases ago. It’s his color, undoubtedly. Kyra signs his name at him from afar, but he doesn’t see either of you. Until you go on.

You get a little nervous, but you don’t have time to be nervous, because you’re on the move and you’re waiting to perform, and then— you blink, a rush of adrenaline, and it’s over.

And you just did what actors all over the country dream of doing.

There aren’t words for that in English or in sign.

Friday

On Friday morning, when Quinn wakes up, it’s snowing.

He doesn’t realize it at first. He’s tucked beneath Sebastián in their hotel bed, waking from a sleep so deep and welcome it felt truly heavenly, buried between covers and warm weight. He opens his eyes to gentle, natural light in the room, a sure sign they slept in, and he blinks a few times before he realizes what he’s seeing in the nearby window.

Snow. So much snow, and falling fast. Goodness, it’s beautiful. The view isn’t bad, either; Manhattan is a sea of buildings, and this snapshot of glass is only a glance. The snow is so peaceful, coupled with the thought that they have nowhere to go, nowhere to be. After the dream come true that was yesterday— the parade, the performance, getting dinner with Sebastián and Kyra at some diner with no other patrons in the middle of the Thanksgiving afternoon— he could use to rest and reflect.

Quinn knows it’s cliché, but he truly does love this city.

He threads his fingers into Sebastián’s curls, and pulls his head close to his chest, and rests in bed while he watches the snow come down.

Some time later, when Sebastián has woken, he gets to spend a lazy, snowy morning in bed, and between gentle kisses, he tells him there’s nowhere else he would rather be.

Saturday

“Can you keep up, baby?”

Nando knows a retort is coming before it even does, but he still grins when Quinn pipes up, from a few feet behind him, “Oh, you just mind your business, Sebastián; I am fine.”

As if to prove it, he closes the small space between them and skates up by his side. Nando knows that getting out on the ice and immediately taunting him was not practical, but it was entertaining, and he likes that Quinn’s cheeks are flushing now. He holds out his elbow, like a peace offering, and Quinn wraps his gloved hand up in it.

“You wanna take a winter stroll?” Nando asks him, with a wink down in his direction.

“This is hardly a stroll,” Quinn replies, in that know-it-all voice that drives Nando crazy in the best way possible. “It’s more of a glide,” he adds, and with that, they start skating along.

“That’s fair,” Nando replies, and tips his head up to take in the view.

He couldn’t spend any weekend even slightly related to the holiday season in New York City without going ice skating under the huge tree. Because first of all, it’s in every New York Christmas movie ever, and second, one of his and Quinn’s first dates was skating, and third, he fricking loves to skate, and fourth, this is his life, so there.

“This is breathtaking,” Quinn remarks, and that’s an understatement. There are enough lights on the tree to probably show up from space, and Nando has learned over the past few days how huge this city actually is, but being right here in the middle of everything just reinforces that truth. They skate along in the throngs of other people, which is part of the tourist experience, and honestly just makes it even better. Nando has seen this on TV so many times. He can’t believe he’s actually here. Pretty much everything about this weekend has been like some kind of dream situation where crazy things you imagine actually come true.

And speaking of dreams. He looks down to Quinn, and it’s, like, okay— cheesy, but the lights are all reflecting in his eyes, and he’s bundled in his scarf and peacoat, and he’s the prettiest thing Nando has ever seen. Including the giant tree. Including everything.

Quinn catches him looking. Of course he does. He smiles, rosy-cheeked and windblown, and hums, “What?”

“I love you,” Nando replies, and kisses him right in the middle of everything.

Quinn laughs out of the kiss. He stays tight on his arm, and somehow, they keep skating without falling. Nando thanks his hockey side for that.

“I love you, too,” Quinn replies, and his voice could block out all the noise of the whole city.

They’re the center of the world.

Sunday

Kiersey, NH

The whole way home to Kiersey, Quinn sleeps on Sebastián’s shoulder.

It’s unintentional, but peaceful all the same, dreams full of memories of the weekend. He gets into his seat at Grand Central Station, slumps against him, and wakes to his gentle nudging hours later, so they can change trains in Boston. The next ride is shorter, but he rests again anyways, and the gray November day is dimming outside the train windows when he opens his eyes at the Kiersey station.

They walk back to campus— it isn’t far. Sebastián is holding both of their bags, and Quinn is holding nothing but his arm. It’s chilly, but bundled up, it isn’t so bad. With this boy, Quinn is so very warm. By the time they round the corner onto Beech Street, lines of student houses with warm windows stretching down either side of the familiar road, the sun has gone down.

On the front steps, Quinn pulls his hands out and looks up to him. He hasn’t had his hearing aids on in over twenty-four hours, and it’s been the most liberating and lovely experience. Before they re-enter the chaos of the hockey house and he’ll have to put them in again, he wants to sign him one last thing.

Thank you for joining me, he says, once he has his gaze. I love you so much.

Sebastián smiles. He puts the bags down by the door, rests both hands on his shoulders, and kisses him gently. No wintry breeze could stop the warmth in Quinn’s chest.

When he’s pulled back, Sebastián replies, I’d join you anywhere. I love you, too.

Quinn beams at him, and with one more shared, quiet moment, Sebastián picks up the bags, and Quinn leans into the front door and pushes it open. Hey, people! he reads on Sebastián’s lips, no doubt a loud exclamation, as they cross the threshold together. We’re home!

Home, indeed. Quinn closes the door behind them, and the warm, familiar, slightly chaotic embrace of Beech Street welcomes them back.

#25 days of kiersey #quinn theatre hours #mini quinny #nandoooooooo #quindo #quinn and dwsa #that should be a tag on this blog #my writing #ficlet #nah this is a straight up fic #whatever #uhhh #what else #kiersey college #crickets #mel writes

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eunych-born-eunych · 7 years ago

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tell us more about witchcraft tumblr

oh boy. follow @alkaloidwitch for my unironic witchcraft opinions. I’m a witch! and a materialist with a background in empiricism/scientism, also a materialist in the marxist dialectical sense! you can be all of those things at the cost of your popularity among idealist witches, non-witch materialists, and most of all:

Normies.

my materialism and my witchcraft both grow out of madness; human beings are computers complex enough to perceive things that are not real. For things I know to be real, there is materialism; for things I know to be chimerical, there is witchcraft. as the chaos magicians, wankers that they are, put it: belief is a tool. believing something now may serve a purpose, even if you do not intend to continue believing it later. Playing make-believe with my literal demons now will help me try to make sense of the material world better later.

And it is imaginative play, much as it is deadly serious; much of what we do in life is imaginative play of some kind. let’s pretend there’s a thing called money and let’s pretend it belongs to this specific kind of paper, these specific bits of metal. let’s pretend a corporation is a person. let’s pretend sex is simple; no, let’s pretend sex and gender are different; no, let’s pretend to stop believing in gender and start pretending to believe in ungendered sex.

materialism, again, is the resolution. imaginative play doesn’t have to be bad, but things that are only imaginary play by certain rules; we learn them as children. so when your imaginative play, witchcraft, seeps into your view of the world (as it must), other people calling themselves witches are sometimes going to believe or imagine mutually-contradicting things; the politest way to resolve an imaginary conflict is to come up with some imaginary solution, the more minimal the possible, and stop talking about that because it’s gonna harsh yr witchcraft to get snippy.

entirely different things happen when people come, materially, into conflict. and witch tumblr frustrates me a lot because my tacit acknowledgement that

“none of this is real like rocks are real, so when your imaginary collides with the material world, the material world is always going to trump. if it is materially bad, I don’t care that your imaginary justifies it, and if it is entirely immaterial there’s no point arguing about it”

…is not super popular with tumblr witches. there’s lots of, like, arguments and discourse and positivity posts about the wildest shit.

a three-screens-of-scroll witch tumblr textpost: positivity post for lazy witches! uwu // • positivity for lazy witches who [emoji-capped bullet points all the way down]me: it’s so inspiring that lazy witches can be positive despite the incredible scrutiny and terrible hardships the morning people witches subject them to, ⭐⭐⭐⭐🌟

so, like, I don’t have the same reaction to the idea of demon apologia that OP did. thinking highly of demons just isn’t that uncommon in my circles. to me, that post’s fucking ridiculous because why would you ever bother making it? if you wanna work with demons, do it, but like… other people don’t like demons, and make their own witchblr posts from that perspective, and you can resolve that conflict by just ignoring the imaginary content that is not meant for you.

a clarifying example is in order.

‘don’t use sigils you find on the internet, anyone can upload a curse and say it’s a different spell!!’

my guy. that is so far from being anybody’s real, substantive problem. you would never know unless they told you. their imaginary isn’t accessible to you and you can ignore it. if someone tells you they made a sigil you used to be a curse, and you feel like you have indeed been cursed, that’s still an event internal to you. and after all, someone could lie and tell you their beneficial sigil was actually a curse after you’ve already used it, just to fuck with you.

I can’t get this level of panicked about that level of made-up problem! if the idea of curses hidden in graphics created by random Internet denizens appealed to me, I’d engage with it on my own and not waste time trying to convince other people they should care about my niche paranoia.

the thing is, cultural appropriation is way less imaginary than witchcraft. there’s a real, economic impact to the mass-production in the West of symbols indigenous to ‘exotic’ colonies. there is a real dehumanization involved in treating someone’s proudest and most mundane garments, alike, as being a gaudy costume purchasable cheaply from any two-bit metaphysical store.

(privilege claim for the next bit: I’m a white, American settler-colonialist. that’s a me. I’m a that.)

and on the subject of metaphysical stores…

… run by white settler-colonialists who claim to have spirit animals and have no sense that there might be something inappropriate about shopping for toys in the cultures and religious practices of living indigenous populations whose homeland we are still occupying by force, whose access to their own cultural history we are still actively sabotaging, to sell bastardized sweatshop lookalikes whose significance is less than half-remembered and wholly stripped of context to other white settler-colonialists

there’s endless newb questions in this form:

Q: “can I use this color candle to mean this thing?”A: “I don’t care?”[a reblog insisting that actually they CAN’T use that color candle to mean this thing is the version that went viral]

, which indicates extreme hesitancy to break the rules of the imaginary.

on the other hand, witch tumblr is actively resistant to any demonstrable criticism. these same people fretting about candle colors also throw bizarre tantrums mocking the concept that they should stop cleansing with smoke from white sage, a critically endangered sacred herb that isn’t farmed, and how dare you say they shouldn’t call their white ass waving burning herbs in the air on occupied land ‘smudging’.

no-one cares if you think about the candle differently; stop asking for our input on that shit, because you don’t need it and we have better things to do. on the other hand, people very much do care if you engage in the alt religious scene’s rampant bigotry, but you don’t wanna listen to us on that. those priorities are fucked.

also witch communities have long, long memories, and some things happen again and again. a sampling:

the annoying

‘fluffy bunnies’ who read one barely-researched pop-Wicca text and are here to tell non-Wiccan witches what they’re doing wrong.

relatedly, ‘curse-shaming’, a practice in which even ‘respectable’ Wiccans participate, is genuinely aggravating if you’re at all into, like, historical witchcraft, because for a very long time (Wicca under that name had no public presence before 1954) there’s been not much more traditional for a witch than a curse.

arguments about “male witches” (that no-one acknowledges arose out of transmisogynistic practices in Dianic Wicca, and not really in reaction to men).

‘the Burning Times’ (not real, any historical events embarrassingly misrepresented).

“Easter is a pagan holiday;” relatedly, “Easter is Eostre is Ishtar”.

“Christmas is a pagan holiday.”

the ugly

an entire alt-history of Europe and European magical practice in which Jewish people play no perceptible part.

neo-Nazi physiognomies being passed around as “correspondence charts”.

every reputable resource on Norse mythology, Heathenry, or Asatru has an explicit public disavowal of Nazis, for very good reasons.

anti-Black propaganda, dated to the sixteenth century, about Afro-Carribbean syncretist esoteric/religious practices being repeated with all explicit reference to race left out on Tumbler Dot Com in 2017.

gentiles doing Kabbalah.

an all-white vision of the Hellenistic Mediterranean.

that one girl who stole black people’s bones from burst/eroded graves in a Louisiana graveyard and posted about it on Tumblr (one of witchblr’s few big mainstream crossover posts), leading to her arrest.

the (mostly) harmlessly bizarre

god-marriage

god-phones

what is a familiar really? (& relatedly: sex with spirits. EXTREMELY traditional, by the way),

etsy shops where you can buy custom spirits (NOT as in alcohol),

chemically-treated quartz named as if it was a real mineral,

“correspondence charts” broken alphabetically into individual readmore posts listing the magical properties of various objects (with a reblog later on in the chain complaining that people need to be more obsessed with pointless minutiae)

minors-only witchcraft discord server drama that you’re actively, unsuccessfully trying to avoid learning about

looking for witchcraft podcasts that aren’t run entirely by dudes

“my dog is horrifyingly sick, what spell should I cast?”//”GO TO THE VET”

a wealth of incredibly shitty and boring and unreadable esoteric PDFs by snake-oil salesmen

skyclad discourse

my tarot cards just read me for filth

thirty-year-old woman who should know better by now: christian witch is an oxymoron

christian witchblr: the Law of Attraction is just the prosperity gospel for Democrats

someone’s angry about the existence of secular witchcraft again

#madz #witchblr exposé #asks #j0ules

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wavemaker9 · 7 years ago

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what she says: I'm okay

what she means: I still can't fully process the Rapid Evening, an organization that, MIB-style, controls misuse of advanced tech in the story's sector of space and at one point just took an entire planet back to like old timey/steampunk era as punishment for their tech misusage because they are serious about this shit, recruiting a team consisting of: Mako Trig, a goofball with technopathic hacker powers, slightly blue skin, yellow hair, the attempt of a beard, a super luxurious hoverboard, and an aesthetic that's essentially pink grunge except when it’s at a formal event at which point think of the worst outfit you’ve ever seen and add a clear plastic t-shirt to it; some unclear number of other Mako Trigs, all slightly younger, without the beard or hoverboard, and each afraid of one different thing such as heights, snakes, and mirrors, except for the one who instead has three nipples; Larry, who is just a virtual version of Mako that's mirror flipped and his hair and shirt reversed colors; and Lazer Ted, who is just Riff Raff if Riff Raff had fancy hacker powers like Mako does, more lightup clothes including an LED grill, glasses that connect to a drone constantly filming him so you see an image of him on the glasses as you're talking to him, and about 15-30 more jobs including: (1) making music that ranges from a classical cover of All Star to a song with the lyrics “Don’t print a printer”, (2) drug dealing but it’s really just shit like Hi-C, and (3) “...ya’ll ever watch Buffy?” Like that sounds like the wildest thing on paper without context and honestly even in context my brain struggles in fully registering that they were probably one of the Rapid Evening's top teams for that shit. what a wild world we live in.

#ignore this #ez liveblogs fatt

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robinruns · 3 years ago

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Just a jumble of random thoughts

At therapy two weeks ago I was told to journal about two good memories with my Dad because I’d been focusing so hard on the negative. My therapist thought it was like a defense mechanism so I wouldn’t be sad. But the walls in my brain are up so much that I can’t even begin to think of much more than our trip to Colorado.

My cousin (his brother’s daughter) was getting married in Denver, where she’d moved a few years before. My mom was like “nope we aren’t going” because they had two dogs and she just doesn’t like going places anyway. My dad was like “mmm I think we should go” and asked me if I wanted to go. I was gonna be in my last semester of college, I had no Friday classes, so OBVIOUSLY I was down.

So we lied and didn’t tell my mom for the longest time, until he basically had to, idk why. But I was out and he called and was like “yea I told her and she’s PISSED.”

But we went anyways. It was my 2nd plane trip ever and it was a good flight out there. Madison to Denver is a really easy direct flight. We picked up my other cousin (the bride’s brother) at his gate, got our rental car, which ended up being MASSIVE and then went to the hotel where all the rest of our family was staying. I slept on the fold out couch because I was like “meh I’m young, my back can take it.”

The next day we went sight seeing with family, like at the Coors Brewery, and Red Rocks which was SO COOL. Like when there isn’t an event going on, you can just wander around the stage. It was amazing.

Anyways that evening was the wedding, it was pretty. Umm, Idk what else. The next day we flew back and that was it. Really short trip but really cool.

So there. I did half my therapy homework. I guess I have one more to think of before Thursday.

But while thinking about thinking about this assignment, I was kinda struck with the fact that I feel like I’ve put up a lot of these walls. I have a type of tea that when I smell it, I think of my Grandma’s house. But like, there’s no emotion tied to it, it’s just a fact. I dunno. The shit my brain chooses to retain is just so... weird. I always wonder if I did pry at it a bit, pick back the layers, what I’d discover about myself.

I know one thing I don’t let myself do is make too big of goals or dream about the future too much because I know I’ll end up disappointed. I thought about how I graduated 15 years a while ago and like if you told me to wildest dreams guess where I’d be, I’d say living some kind of fabulous life in a nice apartment in a city, maybe like Milwaukee of Chicago and I dunno, wildest dreams? Dating a member of Fall Out Boy or something? But instead I’m in a nowhere town, in a sad tiny apartment. This is why I don’t dream, it just makes me realize what I wanted isn’t anywhere near where I’m at. I give the life of my dreams to fictional characters.

Anyway.

Speaking of which, I wanna work on a story, but none of my requests are pulling me in, and neither are any of my newly organized wips.

I kinda wanna do a story based off what my life was like 2004-2006. A coming of age sorta thing. But of course I’d have to put it in the context of fanfic if I want anyone to read it.

I posted on my fanfic blog that I want to write more villains because I’m like afraid to write bad guys. I don’t know why. I just don’t wanna be mean?

Going back to the mental health side of things, I am afraid of the eclipse taking place on Thursday. It’s taking place in my 12th house, which is related to internal and my chiron is in there as well and yea. I have therapy right away at 8 AM, in person for the first time since February 2020, and I’m afraid of how that’s gonna go. I’m afraid of what will get dredged up.

I’m afraid I’m not a good enough friend but I never know what more to do or how to be better.

It’s pretty outside tonight.

I should go to bed. It’s not quite 8:30 but I’m not gonna get anything done any way except make myself more sad so 🤷🏻‍♀️

#personal

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dewhiteflowerme · 7 years ago

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Let's Talk Betrayal

Twice.

Twice the man I thought deep inside me was the love of my life betrayed me. The man i thought was/is my soulmate.

I don't know why I just said is as I am not there anymore.

I said it.

Why?

I don't know.

I like women.

No, i love woman.

I dislike penis'.

Yes, I really really don't like them. That is if they are in me or I have to put them in other places in my body where they can "fit".

I just don't like them.

I don't feel the purpose.

I don't get the enjoyment.

I watch them yes and certainly get turned on by them but I just don't want to physically see or touch them.

They're a fantasy if you must. A fantasy that I enjoy watching. A fantasy that I masturbate to. A fantasy. Something out of This world.

However, I sit here pondering about the biggest betrayal of my life coming from a man.

A man with a penis.

A man I just referred to as my soul mate.

A man who was considering marrying, having babies with, building a beautiful home with a great bar with.

A man who makes me forget that I dislike penis'.

A man that clearly made me over look the fact that if I married him he would want sex every other night.

Penertration.

Something that I don't like or enjoy.

The very sexual act that I find no pleasure in yet I'm a woman and “I'M SUPPOSED TO LIKE IT”.

This man that made me forget my love and want for boobs, vaginas and small soft pretty hands.

I overlooked all I this because I thought he was it when it came to love. He was it when it came to soul mates. The soul mates that they always speak of in films, theory books, lectures whatever. That soul mate that we all have on this earth.

THAT SOUL MATE.

Despite his disrespectful shenanigans towards me, in my heart I still thought he was it.

Please realize or recognize how I am now using the word thought. No slash something else. Just thought.

This is big.

It means I'm no longer there. It means I've, how do I put this, I've seen the light. I've seen the end of the dark horrifying tunnel. From the above putting down of words, I've seen the light.

I'm Free.

I'm Free to start looking.

Free to not being afraid to be approached.

Free from saying things like "my soul mate is still looking for me" Now I can actually believe this and start saying "I haven't found her. I'm still looking and waiting"

I'm Free!

This is good.

This is deep.

This is exciting.

This is going to get interesting and fun.

It's a beautiful feeling.

It's electrifying.

I'm wide open and I'm most definitely ready!

Did it take me having to be a fool and an idiot not only to myself but to family and close friends?

Yes it did.

It took the man with a penis to betray and disrespect me twice for me to attain this freedom.

The other day through another source I found out that this very man tends to raise his hand sometimes. He has a temper. He gets aggressive. When I heard this I was dumbfounded. Not in a million years did I think he would ever do that to me let alone anyone else.

In the odd 8 years i was with him i never ever thought he was that kind of a guy.

Not a single side of him ever showed me this.

That guy, the guy who uses his hands when they can't communicate or they don't want to communicate.

I've always known that he's useless at communicating and relenting how he feels but I always thought it was just with me. Never in my wildest thoughts did i equate this to raising his hand at someone.

Maybe!

Maybe, that's why he never communicated with me. Why he chose to rather make me look like an idiot staring at my phone all night for a response after sending essays and essays of questions and heart felt feelings. The bastard knew! He knew that he could possibly get out of hand or lose his mind and lay one on my pretty face.

He could never hit me though. His uncles are my uncles. My uncles are his uncles. His aunts and mother are my aunts and mother. My aunts and mother are his aunts and mother. Some of his closest friends are my friends. His fucken grandma is my grandma and my grandma is his grandma. He could never ever lay one on me because then they would know. They would all know his ways. His ugly trait that would discredit him and all that be is and has worked for.

No, he chose to rather let me go. He didn't choose to try and be with me so that He could become better, He chose to let me go and carry on with his ugly ways. Years later he sits with two kids each with their own mother.

He sits with two kids.

Not married.

Not settled.

Two small kids from two different woman. One being 22 years old with a baby that's not over two months mind you.

The very same 22 year old that I heard from a source was at the taxi rank going to look for work at a call center.

Pregnant at a taxi rank.

Work at a call center.

Yes.

Never mind that over the last year I have been chasing (literally) and asking him what him and I are. What i am to him. What I mean to him. Begging him to have a child with me or rather relaying my hopes and dreams of becoming a mother and wanting that sperm to come from him.

I trusted him.

Yes we were no longer an item but he was it. He was my first love, he was still my friend. I knew him. So it only made sense that he gives that one thing. That one true thing that i really need and want.

Need first.

I legit went on and on about this with him for a whole year.

Here it is - (Although I really did just want his sperm), being the girl that i am (written and i hope read sarcastically) I was unfortunately beginning to picture that life with him and his other kid.

His first kid. One which was a betrayal as well (to me) as he never told me of this also, i found out on the street from his cousin in passing. I was beginning to let that go and move on with life.

Because life is but a process?

A life WITH him.

I hate penis' remember but I was beginning to picture that life.

Imagine my horror now than when just last week I hear from my own mother that he has a "new" baby.

A baby.

All along I was the fool.

Not once did he mention this throughout the year.

There I was "chasing" him for something, for something he already had or something that was coming.

Even after seeing each other at a family event a week ago there was no apology, no explanation from him to me.

Did I really want one though? I don't know. For all know he just doesn't or never gave a shit about me.

The feelings were just not reciprocated.

The Good news though is that I'm free.

To think in High school after years of being together I once said to him - "we were never meant to be we just happened" - taken from Keri Hilson's Knock you Down.

When I said this I I thought it was romantic, poetic if you must.

He was angry after hearing this and I never understood why. Now though, I get it.

That line is not romantic at all. It's mean and in no way relates to people who are in love with each other.

Unbeknownst to me at the time we really weren't meant to be we really did just happen.

The line was correct in the context of the relationship at the time and through the 8 years with him.

I was a girl, he a boy.

Our families were close and it just made sense for us to have a relationship.

It made sense.

It just happened.

Well it's okay now.

I've seen the light.

I've let go.

I'm letting go.

It's okay.

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