#thought the debate was an opportunity to campaign

[colddeadfingerpeeler]

He SAID that.

[bbyhellfire]

curiosity gets the best of eddie when he finds your hitachi (18+ only)

perv!eddie munson x fem!reader, eddie has a bilbo baggins 'why shouldn't i?' moment, male masturbation, prostate stimulation, imaginary bj and p in v, unrequited love, he's gross and pathetic and lovesick (don't use your friend's sex toys w/o their permission), no beta this is not that serious

Eddie could qualify for the Olympics with the amount of hoops he’s jumping through.

He gets it. Laying naked in your friend’s bed as you debate whether or not to use their sex toy is not a good look. But it’s not like that, okay? 

Listen.

First of all, he did not break in. He’s staying at your apartment to watch your cat while you’re out of town. Him lounging in your bed isn’t weird, it's expected.

He wasn’t snooping, either. He was searching. After spending the day hunched over a Ford Taurus, his aching back was demanding he find that bottle of ibuprofen you kept on your nightstand. And when it wasn't in its usual spot, the only logical next step was for Eddie to check your nightstand's drawer. And he did find the ibuprofen, thank you very much. He just also found something else. 

It was hard not to notice. Not just because Hitachi wands are bulky, but because it was sitting right there in the open. No clothes or knick-knacks to hide it, just...there. And he knows what it is. He's seen enough porn to know when he's face to face with a Hitachi.

See? He's not some creep who can't control his crush. He wasn't looking for your sex toy, it found him.

And he tried to forget about it. Really. Slammed the drawer closed so so quickly he almost smashed his fingers. He even took a long, ice cold shower to keep himself from chubbing up. Thought about anything and everything except for his recent discovery– car transmissions, his next DnD campaign, Wrestlemania, Wayne's mug collection, anything to get his mind off of you. Which is easier said than done when he’s using your soap to scrub away the car grime and shame.

It's no wonder his cock remains semi-hard for the rest of the evening. He discovered his crush’s vibrator. Who moves on from that? Like, are you really pining over your friend if you aren't hyperfixating on their sex toy?

Besides, Eddie is a naturally curious person. He’s seen his fair share of porn and all the actors seem to have a grand ol’ time when there's a Hitachi between their legs. He wouldn’t mind trying one himself, but they’re expensive. Sure, he’s got a stable job at Thacher Tire, but he’s not in a tax bracket where he can drop $100 on casual curiosity. 

But now…

It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, he reasons, thumb ghosting over the power button in debate. That logic is how he ends up in his current position – naked in your bed with his cock resting against his tummy as he inspects your wand.

It’s heavier than he imagined, the noticeable weight only rivaled by the angel on his shoulder yelling at him to put it back. But it's your toy. He's had a crush on your longer than he'd like to admit. And no matter how many times Steve pushes him to ask you out, he's certain you don't feel the same. You're just friends, and this might be his only opportunity to know you on a more intimate level.

A fucked up, kinda gross and intrusive opportunity, but still. Beggars can't be choosers.

And right now, Eddie can't help thinking how it's oh so very interesting that you left your wand out in the first place. You knew he’d be staying at your place, sleeping in your bed. There was a chance he’d stumble across it. You could have made an effort to hide it, but you didn't. You left it there for anyone to see, for Eddie to see. 

Did you want him to find it? Did you want him to think of you using it?

Because if that was your plan, it's sure as hell working. His last functioning brain cell work to conjure up various images of you laid out in the very spot he is now in, pleasuring yourself until your whole body shakes and your thighs are drenched.

Wait, could you squirt?

The women in porn usually squirt. Even the men come so hard it hits the ceiling. He shifts in your bed, imaging the pretty green sheets beneath him soaked with your juices as he brings the wand closer to his face.

The buttons are a little faded and there are some tiny scratches, but no major signs of use. The wand is clean, and obviously cared for. Which now has Eddie thinking how long you've had it. How often do you use it? Enough to make the plastic smell like you? He wonders…

Smashing his nose against the plastic, he inhales until his lungs balloon out. The smell of plastic hit him first, following by a muted scent that tickles his nostrils. Natural musk and sweat.

Jesus H. Christ, he is smelling you. 

He can’t bite back the low rumble from escaping, groaning as if he's being tortured. His cock twitches against his tummy, a fat pearl of precum budding at the tip. There’s no turning back now. Not when he kitten licks the bulbous head picturing your cunt in its place. He thinks of how good you'd taste, how wet and shiny you'd be as he dips into your hole.

Fuck it. It’s a one time thing. You won’t be home for another two days. The only potential witness to his debauchery is your cat, and they’re too distracted with a catnip toy in your living room.

“No one will know, they won’t,” He tells himself, taking one final sniff before grabbing a hold of his cock. He might not be able to step foot into your bedroom ever again, and there's a chance he won't be able to look you in the eyes, but, hey, that’s a problem for future Eddie.

It takes him a second to find a comfortable position, eventually settling to hold the wand perpendicular to his cock as he leans back against the headboard.

Just once to know what it feels like, he thinks. There is about a centimeter of space between the wand and his cock, but it's still close enough to make his breath hitch when he pushes down on the power button.

“Fuck!”

His stomach seizes, muscles tightening so violently he all but sits up. Jerking the wand away from him, he tries to compose himself as the toy makes his entire arm shake. It’s embarrassingly loud even on the lowest setting, but holy shit is it powerful. It hadn’t even touched him, but Eddie still shook in shocked bliss. He and an ex occasionally messed around with a mini pocket vibrator, but this. This is otherworldly.

And perhaps now would be a good place to stop. He's tried it, knows it could raise the dead. Pack it in, Munson. Put it back where you found it. Right?

Right.

Except his lack of self-control has doubled in size and devoured the last crumb of common sense he possessed. He's already started, might as well finish. He's already corrupted your friendship, at least let him get an orgasm out of it.

This time he lets the wand kiss his cock to send brutal ripples across his throbbing erection. With motorized tremors traveling all the way down to his balls, he imagines you on your knees, working his pants and boxers down so you could take out his cock. You bring him towards your mouth, stopping mere centimeters away, much like he had done with the wand. Your hot breath is fanning out against the underside of his cock as you say, “You have such a pretty cock, Eddie. Can I kiss it?”

“Y–yeah. Go on, sweetheart.”

As Imaginary You kisses the tip, he pulls the wand back just enough to dull the pulsing. He pretends the sensation is your mouth, kissing all the way around his tip. Down and around until your lips shine with his precum.

His groans are barely audible above the loud buzzing. He keeps his cock still, letting the wand trace the path of a particularly thick vein as he pretends it's your tongue. He imagines stroking the back of your head, coaxing you to take him into your mouth.

“Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock. D'you know that?” 

You move your head in a disjointed nod, tears puddling in the corners of your eyes as the warmth of your mouth envelopes him. His fist tightens around his cock at the thought of you moaning with your mouth stuffed of him.

“Go on, you can take a little more.” 

It's not the vibrator that is shooting sparks of arousal through his cock, it's you and your moans. He ruminates on his fantasy, imagines you kissing and sucking like he's your favorite flavor of ice cream. Slowly moving the wand up and down until he’s built up the courage to take the wand lower.

The closer he gets to his balls, the more his cock leaks until it looks like he dumped on a bottle of lube on his crotch. He thinks of you grinding against the floor, his cock thrusting in and out of your mouth, until the vibrating head is nestled in the space between his cock and his balls. In his mind, you match his desperation by grinding against his boot, shining it with your slick.

Eddie teeters on the edge of release, panting like he’s run a marathon, his cock now an angry shade of purple. He's not gonna last for long. A fucking toy has reduced him to a virgin whose just watched Fast Times at Ridgemont High for the first time.

Shit. Now he's thinking about tits.

Your tits. He's never seen them, but he does remember all those hot, summer days spent cooling off at Lover's Lake. He can work with that. If there is anything DnD and tonight have proven, it's that he’s got a damn good imagination.

His broken whimpers match the way his thoughts slowly break off into disconnected clips as he hurtles himself closer to release. Your boobs cushioning his face. Him sucking bruises into your skin. Him notching himself at your entrance. You squirming so much he has to hold your hips down.

“Come on, Eddie. Need it, need you. I’ve been good.”

He’s drooling at the thought of your pussy, pulsing and warm and so fucking inviting as he sinks into your heat. You’re moaning too, whining his name as if you crave him as much as he craves you.

“Ohmygod, I feel you. Feel so good.”

“There you go, taking me so good. Wanted this for so long you don’t even know.”

The loud buzzing eggs him on, making his hips buck with little grace. He's not doing it for the extra stimulation, but as a visceral response to the heightened passion of the moment. It's everything working in tandem – the wand, his fantasies, and the piece of him that wishes this could become a reality. He can’t sit still, not when pleasure is this good.

The waves of dizzying pleasure carry him closer to oblivion, just a bit more and he'll be there.

Eddie's next move is consequential. Letting go of his cock, he moves to cups his heavy balls, tugging them up just enough to push the wand head into the space below his balls. The noise he makes is wild, animalistic in the way his vocal cords constrict, as the fierce vibrations spread all the way to his asshole. The feeling sinks into his flesh, radiating through his taint to shale his prostate.

He recalls every instance when you called his name, the soundtrack to his fantasy. He feels the phantom pressure of your heels digging into his lower back. You keep him locked in place, as if he would have left you.

"Eddie, please! Come inside me. W–want your cum."

He does his best to imagine what it would be like to pump you full, to feel you pulse around him, to smell his cologne mix with your sweat, to see his release dripping out of you. He needs it, needs you. The hand holding the wand went numb ages ago, but he still manages to extend a finger to turn up the intensity.

From there, it's a combustion of stars. Groaning, body shaking with little remorse, Eddie spills his seed in thick ropes. He's levitating off the bed, he has to be with how intense this orgasm is. All he can do to soothe himself is call your name until he is reduced to the cum covering his abdomen.

He can't remember when or how he turned off the wand, but it’s now on the floor. Quietude falls over your tiny apartment, and somehow it's more deafening than the motorized buzzing. It hits him like a heavy gust of wind, blowing in a profound sense of shame for what he just did.

Fuck. Did he…? Did that actually happen?

“Oh God,” He groans. Yeah, he really did that. His embarrassment is hot like fire and as rough as brimstone. He knows he needs to clean up and hide the evidence of his perversion, but he lays paralyzed at the inevitable consequences of his actions. Eddie is a mess, both physically and mentally.

Messy Munson, that's his new name.

Or maybe it's not that bad, he thinks. Maybe it just seems like that. He dares himself to look down at his spent cock and–

Jesus H. Christ, he didn't know one person could produce that much cum.

His abdomen is flooded, there is cum pooled in his belly button, and the thatch of pubic hair is glued together from his seed. And of course, it couldn't just stay in it's place, it's had to drip down to soil your sheets.

Throwing his head back into your pillow, he shuts his eyes as if the sight pains him. He did this and he's got to fix it. There is absolutely no way that you can find out about this. As he stands on shaky, Bambi legs, he starts a mental checklist:

Take another shower

Wash your sheets

Resist the urge to do it again

Clean your wand and place it back exactly as it was

Forget about your Hitachi (like, actually forget this time)

Figure out how to act like nothing ever happened

Do NOT do it again

divider by @/strangergraphics

[deebris]

Seems like destiny

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader

Synopsis: After spending years in the bone marrow donation system, encouraged by the army, Simon was finally notified that they had found a match. He just didn't expect to find out that he would be donating it to his own son, who he had with his teenage love and never knew.

Warnings: Family problems, panic attacks, teenage pregnancy, swearing, mention of diseases such as leukemia, murder, archaic ideas, anguish.

Word count: 3.5 k

Any questions or errors, please let me know.

Simon always remembers how the army encouraged soldiers to be blood donors. There was a great concern within about it, as it was one of the ways the government found to help hospitals and people who depend on transfusions to survive.

Then campaigns for bone marrow donation began, but it was so rare to find someone compatible that after 6 years on the waiting list, Simon thought he would never find someone who would need him. But that changed two months ago when he received a call from the institute informing him that he should go there immediately.

He underwent more medical exams than he had ever done, and although he was a tough guy, he couldn't deny the pain he felt in the weeks following the procedure. Among so many people dying in beds waiting to find a donor, someone could finally heal because of him. It made Simon feel good about himself, as good as he hadn't felt in a long time. That had been one of the reasons why he joined the army: to help people.

Now he could only hope that whoever he donated to would improve. He found himself during the day thinking about it, wondering if in a few years it would affect him as much as it does now. It's not very fresh in his memory, but Simon is able to superficially remember the day he registered on the bone marrow donor list. He had been in the army for a short time, still a soldier, and "Ghost" didn't even exist yet.

He thought this would be put aside. He didn't understand if he would need to donate more often, not really knowing the process deeply. That's why when he received another call from the same institute, he thought there had been some mistake, or that they would need more, but the reason for the contact surprised him.

The recipient's caregiver wanted to meet him and was willing to break the standard anonymity by revealing their identity. Accepting the offer would mean that he would also need to disclose his personal information, which is why he hesitated so much. But as he constantly replayed the woman's words in his head, he grew restless.

"The caregiver wants to meet you," that's what she said. Could the recipient be a child? Or perhaps an elderly person? Or maybe someone who was already so ill that they could barely decide for themselves. He shouldn't have any information about this person, even something as empty as what that lady had let slip.

"You should accept. Everyone would like to have the opportunity to personally thank the person who saved their life," were the words of his Captain, John "Price." And it had been the push that Simon needed to agree to the idea.

Now, standing in front of the hospital room door, Ghost debated with himself whether he should open it. Just a few meters away was the little boy who had been haunting his mind for the past few days. And how did he know it was a boy? He had been directed to the children's oncology ward when he arrived at the reception minutes ago, as soon as he was cleared by the unit director, who already knew about the situation and the breach of anonymity.

Furthermore, the clipboard with the patient's information on the door also made it clear that it was a boy. The name "Lucas" was printed on the paper, accompanied by a surname that was familiar to him. There weren't many people in the UK with that name, which caught his attention.

All that separated him from the family was that door, dividing the cold hospital corridor from the room he could only hope would be less disheartening and empty. He didn't know if he would find a smile on the other side, or if he would be met with the sad gaze of the child's mother.

This woman had contacted him through a letter. On that day, he hadn't yet notified the institute that he was willing to speak with her, so the letter came anonymously since nothing had been filed. He read what she had to say, revealing some things, such as the fact that she was a single mother and was extremely grateful to God for sending him to save her son. Some paragraphs were difficult to read, where she recounted how she had lost hope before.

The little comfort he found in that text was when she talked about the boy. In those passages, her handwriting was less shaky, and he was sure she was happier when she wrote those parts of the letter. He knew that this had been her attempt to persuade him to come meet her, but without her knowing, he had already decided. Simon kept the piece of paper with him and reread it in his spare moments.

That stirred his emotions. He thought he had managed to harden his heart after everything he had been through, but he was wrong. Deep down in his soul, he was more emotional than he let on to others. He hoped that "Soap" would never find out, or he would be eternally tormented.

"Damn," he muttered softly, snapping back to reality. Simon began to bitterly regret agreeing to this. He should have declined and moved on. He could leave, but he was already here, so he mustered up the courage to knock on the wood.

He considered himself presentable in the civilian clothes he wore, accustomed to the heavy military equipment he carried all day at the base, and also missing the mask covering his face. Simon adjusted the collar of his dress shirt, as a way to occupy his sweaty hands, more nervous about the approaching footsteps he heard than his appearance.

Before the door opened, he had already told himself he would remain silent and wait for the boy's mother to start the conversation. If she asked who he was, he would state his name and explain why was there. But as the woman inside was revealed to him, he fell silent not because he had decided to, but because he was speechless. Suddenly, those seconds he spent admiring the child's surname on the door seemed like a scene from a comedy movie to him. How ironic it is considering he was just thinking about you moments ago and, like magic, you appeared?

It seemed like you took a few extra seconds to recognize him, and he doesn't judge you for that. Although you have changed and are now an adult woman, with a more mature face and body, he had changed much more since he was a teenager. Back when you two were in school, he was shorter and thinner, and he didn't have any of the scars on his face.

But it wasn't just that which changed in him. You stared in complete shock at how different the demeanor of the guy you were in love with was. He was more serious, more intimidating, very different from his brother, Thomas, whom you had seen years ago, just a few days before he was brutally murdered along with his wife and child.

Your legs went weak, and your eyes burned with tears threatening to overflow. You wanted so desperately to say something, but nothing could come out of your mouth. Was this real, after all? You withdrew your hand from the doorknob, not realizing you had been gripping it tightly until now, and sat in the nearest chair to avoid collapsing to the ground.

Your blood pressure had surely dropped, as you were sweating cold and seeing black spots. What were the chances, after so many years and after everything you had been through, of finally finding him just when you weren't even trying anymore?

Your memories since you found out you were pregnant began to flood back. You vividly remember your father's reaction when he found out you were having a baby; what he said when found out that the neighbor's son, Simon, was the father of the child; how you struggled to escape him after he took you away to another state, to cover up the shame of having a "prostitute" as a daughter.

You never managed to tell Simon, and when you returned to that town, the town where you two met, he was no longer there. You didn't have a penny in your pocket and only survived that week because of Tommy's help. He gave you a bed to sleep in, food, and clothes, both for you and his nephew. You remembered the perplexed expression he had when analyzed Lucas's appearance, it was impossible to deny that he was a Riley.

It was because of him that you found out Simon was in the army and that he hadn't come home in months.

You never managed to thank him properly. Just two days after showing up there, Tommy handed you half of the money he had in a bank deposit. He told you that a good part of that money belonged to Simon, and therefore, it belonged to your son too. You rented a hotel room so as not to continue bothering his wife, especially since she now had to cook and clean for five people.

You left for the hotel with the promise to reward him someday and continued making visits while anxiously tried to contact his brother on his phone, but Simon never answered. You didn't have a cell phone and couldn't spend the money Tommy gave you so lightly, deciding to prioritize your son's needs.

Several voicemails were recorded, but there was never a response. You felt angry at Simon. You screamed into your pillow, frustrated for not being answered and repeating to yourself how stupid he was. But the possibility that maybe he was dead haunted you. Tommy had told you how complex his work in the army was, that it was more dangerous than usual.

You always feared what you would find when you saw him again. He could have a wife, a beautiful house, and everything you ever wanted to have with him one day but couldn't. He could have children, children who had the opportunity to grow up with him, unlike Lucas. And then when you found out that no, none of that had happened, a kind of happiness flooded your chest, even though nothing in the world guaranteed that he would want anything with you again. The last time you had anything, you two were barely adults, until one day you left without saying anything. You thought he hated you.

That lasted until one time, when you went to Tommy's house, there was nothing there but blood. You still remember how scared you were when you found the broken door and called the police, who surrounded the scene of the violent crime that had just happened. You waited so long, but so long for Simon to show up. What kind of person doesn't attend their own brother's funeral? That's when you decided to forget him and threw away the phone number you had written down.

Some more time later, when Lucas had just turned 7 years old, your life was turning upside down again. It all started with symptoms of a common virus. He had fevers, weakness, and got tired very easily. Then he started losing weight and getting pale. Many pediatricians said it could be anemia or hepatitis, but more symptoms kept emerging. Joint pains came, as did swellings, and after a year of medical investigation, the diagnosis came: leukemia.

You entered a state of denial. Was there something wrong with his diet? Or his lifestyle? It could be genetic, but there were no cases of cancer in your family. Maybe the Rileys had some?

Since that day, your life has never been the same. With each passing month, your son only got worse. You would give all your savings, live on the streets, or even rob a bank if it meant seeing your baby well again. Fortunately, the government offered treatment for free, but some medicines needed to be acquired more urgently than the hospital could provide, and medicines for such treatment were not cheap at all.

The only thing that could cure your boy was the marrow from a compatible donor. You prayed so much that you could save him, but when the tests were done, it was impossible. If no one in the family could donate, it was almost a death sentence. Your last hope was your father. You hoped to never have to see him again, let alone tell him where you had run away to, but now you were no longer the same foolish young girl who depended on his money.

Despite everything, you knew he loved his grandson, and a single phone call was enough to make him come running. In recent years, he had been worried about the two of you, not knowing where you had gone. He never had the courage to admit he was wrong, and apologizing was never his strong point, but he regrets every day what he did. That day he didn't know how to react. He wanted to kill Simon, the brat who got his only daughter pregnant, just as he was afraid you would become a joke in neighborhood for having such a young son. He only managed to think about leaving to avoid a disaster, never asking what you wanted or how you felt.

For the first time, when he saw you so tired and alone, he held his tongue to not say anything that could ruin everything. Instead, he hugged you tightly, and you were so craving someone's company that you curled up in his arms just like when you were a little girl. He was a grumpy and archaic man, someone who made many mistakes, who still makes them, but he still has humanity within him.

Unfortunately, he was not a match either.

You stopped daydreaming, and you didn't realize how bad you were until you saw an adult Simon crouched in front of you, shouting in the hallway for a doctor, but you tried to silence him by grabbing the nails on his rolled-up shirt sleeve, catching his attention. The last thing you want is for the doctors responsible for your son's health to be alarmed, thinking he's worsened. These professionals worked as hard for him as you did. Simon seemed to understand and went to close the door to prevent curious eyes from appearing.

Simon looked at you with sadness, and it crushed your heart. He was afraid you wouldn't be able to breathe properly again; he knew you were desperately begging for air, but couldn't draw it in. He hesitated to touch you, but gave in to the desire and placed both hands on your cheeks. He was incredulous. It was really you, the girl he loved most in his entire life, more than he thought he was capable of loving another woman. Simon had imagined so many times meeting you again, and he had so many doubts.

"Calm down," he repeated in a whisper, locking his eyes onto yours. He knew panic attacks; he had experienced them himself several times. "I know. I know, dear. It's a lot to process."

"You…" your voice tried to come out amidst desperate breaths, while also trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands grabbed both of his wrists, and your thumb smoothed over the skin, feeling his heartbeat. "It's you who…?"

"Yes. Yes, it's me, the donor," he quickly confirmed, even before you could finish the question. "Don't speak. Breathe."

You were managing to calm down and think more rationally. Understanding hit you like a bucket of cold water, and your embrace made the big burly man he had become freeze. The feeling was so strange. Of course, among so many people, the only one who could save your little son would be his own father. The person with whom he shared half of his genes.

"He's yours, Si," your voice sounded like a spell in his ear, the old nickname sending shivers down his spine. Your tone was so gentle that he barely understood the meaning of the phrase. But soon he felt his lips quivering, recounting the events of the past few months and how unbelievable this would sound if he told this story to someone. "I swear he's yours," you repeated as if that made it easier to assimilate.

The content of that letter invaded his mind again and again. He felt horrible.

Simon pulled you closer to him, your bodies almost merging. You were still beautiful, even in your disheveled state, betraying exhaustion. And even after so much time, it was as if nothing had changed between the two of you. He knew there was a small body behind him, sleeping peacefully in the bed, but he didn't dare to look. He could hear the sound of the machines, and then it all came crashing down on his shoulders at once: he had a son with you. By his calculations, the boy should be 9 years old. Wow! He hadn't seen you in over a decade.

"I have so many questions," he confessed with a choked voice, and you don't remember ever seeing him cry before when you were younger.

"I searched for you so much. I called so many times," the last thing you wanted was to make him feel guilty, but hearing that, he felt like he should have kept searching for you too. As soon as you left, he went asking where your father had gone. He worried and tried to find out something, until enlisted in the army, and then all he did from then on was just think about you; never seeking; never trying in any way to find you again because it seemed easier to accept that you had left forever.

You tried to distance yourself, even though you hated it, to look at his face one more time. Simon allowed you to run your fingers over his features until your eyes landed on your son behind him. He knew where your gaze had gone, but he didn't follow it. And of course, you would understand what was happening.

"Look at him," you pleaded with tenderness, but he shook his head while rubbing his eyes, as if they hurt. "You're hurting me doing this, Simon."

The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was rejecting the boy, so he stood up, fighting the weakness in his legs and slowly approaching the bed. The child's face was turned exactly in his direction, as if anticipating he would be there, but his eyes were closed, and his breathing was peaceful. It was only then that Simon realized how he was hyperventilating until he felt your hand gently pushing him closer.

His heart hammered in his chest, overwhelmed by anxiety and fear, as he watched his pale and still son. Each step was a journey through an ocean of uncertainty, each breath an effort to maintain composure in the face of the storm raging within him.

As he leaned over the fragile and inert body of the boy, a wave of emotions engulfed him. His broken heart cried out to stop the affliction that plagued his son, that beloved being he barely knew.

Tears blurred his vision as he stroked Lucas's hand, so small and vulnerable compared to his, so similar to yours. Each touch was a silent promise to stand by him in every moment, even in the darkest and most painful.

He found himself whispering words of comfort, as if each sentence could ignite a spark of life in his son's dormant soul. He pleaded to the heavens, to the stars, to any higher power that could hear, for a miracle, for a chance to see those childish eyes shine for the first time in his life. He was an identical copy of Simon at that age, and it made him wonder if the color of his irises was also the same, the same shade of brown. A sudden curiosity arose: what was his voice like? Would it sound like yours, so gentle and reassuring, or could it somehow sound like his?

There, in that moment, time seemed to freeze, the whole world disappearing. It was as if he were dreaming. There was no way all of this could be true, someone must be playing a prank on him. He wanted to look at your face again, to smell you while he ran his hands through your hair to make sure it was really you, flesh and blood. "He's going to be okay," he poured out the words, even though he knew the danger in promising that, and you dove into them, knowing you didn't have to face everything alone anymore.

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Las Vegas & Cleveland (2/?)

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 4k Summary: Three months has raced by since you agreed to join the campaign team of Rogers for America as Steve runs for President of the United States of America. You've settled in and are starting to hit your stride campaigning, but what the state of affairs for your marriage?

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series

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[SEPTEMBER 2 - Las Vegas, Nevada]

“Mrs. Rogers!” “Mrs. Rogers!”

You exchange a brief look with your assistant Sophia. She nods to wordlessly confirm that you have a few moments and should engage with the press. Taking a deep breath, you turn and approach the bank of reporters waiting and eager to regale you with questions.

There are a few familiar faces who’ve been consistently covering the Rogers for America campaign, some of them even assigned specifically to report on you - mostly friends, but some that could be categorized in the foe column.

“Mrs. Rogers, you and your husband are in the same city for the first time in eighteen days.” This is one of the faces you aren’t familiar with in the gaggle of press. “Are you looking forward to being reunited as you support him in the first presidential debate tonight?”

Eighteen days… You hadn’t realized it had been that long, but you’ve become a trained professional when appearing in public now, and you don’t let your face betray any shock or unease.

“Yes, we’re eager to spend time together.” Consummate professional that you’ve become, you do play into showing a little bit of surprise. “Has it been eighteen days? Who’s been tracking this? Clearly we need you on our campaign team!”

It garners some good-natured laughs from the group.

“Mrs. Rogers, you and Steve had to cancel the traditional honeymoon, has it put a strain on your marriage, and will you be taking a honeymoon any time soon?”

“Oh, Ben, are you saying this isn’t a honeymoon? I thought all newlyweds took a five-month long zig-zagging trek all across America to kick off their marriage!”

A few more laughs.

“Steve is serious about this campaign, and we both knew the sacrifices we would be making along the way. Our time together is very limited, but I can tell you, without question, that Steve will be as dedicated to his roles and responsibilities as President as you have seen him be to this campaign. One thing we speak about frequently when we do have time together are the incredible people we’re meeting as we travel from state to state and get to talk with you, see what your life looks like in each new place.” This is true. It’s become one of the unspoken safe topics you can bring up at the drop of a hat with each other. “We’re getting the opportunity to experience first-hand that although we’re all so different, there’s so much that unites us as Americans, shoulder to shoulder, regardless of the part of the country we live in.”

“Thank you, everyone,” Sophia steps up and cuts in. “I’m sure we’ll see you all tonight at the debate. A reminder that the Rogers for America campaign will hold a brief press conference ten minutes after the debate concludes. For now, you have to let me get Mrs. Rogers in the car and on the way to the university or we’re not going to beat traffic - and neither will any of you.”

Then Sophia ushers you away, and you slip into the vehicle waiting for you both.

“Good answers,” she says, as the driver pulls away. “You’re really becoming comfortable fielding their questions and directing their energy where we want to see it go.”

You smile at Sophia's praise. She’s genuine but very no-nonsense, so she doesn’t throw out compliments to placate you or anyone else. It’s one of the reasons you promoted her to your assistant. "Thanks. I do feel like I'm starting to get the hang of it. Though I have to admit, I was a bit thrown by that '18 days' comment."

Sophia nods sympathetically. "I know. It's been a whirlwind, but you're doing great. The public loves you, and your approval ratings are holding steady."

You lean back in your seat, letting out a small sigh. "Approval ratings. Sometimes I still can't believe this is my life now."

As the car weaves through traffic, your mind drifts back to the past few months. The whirlwind wedding, the campaign launch, the endless string of rallies, interviews, and public appearances. You've barely had a moment to catch your breath, let alone get to know your husband.

Steve. Your husband.

In name and public persona only, it seems. The campaign trails that are being charted and continually adjusted for you, Steve, the VP nominee, and his wife, have all four of you covering as much ground as possible, and there’s rarely any overlap, but it does seem like you’re rarely with the Mr. to your Mrs. It makes things simultaneously more and less complicated. More complicated because the lack of time together means it’s more awkward that you’re still basically acquaintances but have to look the part of happy newlyweds. Less complicated because at least you’re not messing with any deep or complex feelings.

"Mrs. Rogers?" Sophia's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "We're almost there. Are you ready?"

You straighten up, smoothing down the front of your outfit. "As ready as I'm going to be. What's on the agenda before the debate?"

Sophia consults her tablet. "You have a meet and greet with the VP and a group of the local campaign volunteers. Steve should be arriving about forty-five minutes before the debate starts. Twenty minutes before the debate, you all have a brief prep session with the communications team - updates on the developments over the day and reviewing the message for tonight."

You nod, trying to ignore the small flutter in your stomach at the mention of Steve's name. It's ridiculous, you tell yourself. You're married to the man, for goodness sake. And you both know it’s a marriage for the stability of this campaign and the future presidency.

The car pulls up to the Thomas & Mack Center at the University of Nevada, and you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the chaos that awaits. As you step out, you're immediately greeted by flashing cameras and shouts from the crowd. You smile and wave, but don't stop to answer any questions as you make your way inside, following someone from the debate logistics team to get to the staging and holding area.

Backstage is a flurry of activity. Campaign staffers rush back and forth, last-minute preparations are being made, and there's an electric tension in the air. Your eyes scan the room, looking for one person in particular.

And then you see him. Steve is standing off to the side, deep in conversation with one of the communications strategists. Even after all these months, the sight of him still takes your breath away. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and undeniably handsome in his perfectly tailored navy suit. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he listens intently to the woman in front of him.

As if sensing your presence, Steve looks up, his eyes meeting yours across the room. His face softens slightly, and he excuses himself from the conversation, making his way over to you.

"Hey," he says softly as he approaches, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. It's for show, you know, it’s important that even your own campaign staff thinks this marriage is more than surface level, and you stifle the small thrill that runs through you at the gesture. It’s only a gesture.

"Hi," you reply, managing to offer up an encouraging smile. "How are you feeling? Ready for tonight?"

Steve nods, his expression determined. "As ready as I'll ever be. We still have a long weeks ahead, but I think we're in a good position - and that’s what they keep saying across the team at this point."

You nod, studying his face. Despite his confident words, you can see the tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows. You've learned to read these subtle signs over the past few months, even with your limited time together.

"You've got this, Steve," you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. The gesture feels both natural and strange - you're still navigating the boundaries of your unique relationship. "Just remember why you're doing this. Speak from the heart, like you always do."

Steve's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see a flash of vulnerability there. "Thank you," he says, his voice low. "I -”

But before he can say the rest of what he was going to, Sophia approaches, tablet in hand. "Mrs. Rogers, we need to go to the reception with the volunteers from the local campaign team."

[SEPTEMBER 7 - Cleveland, Ohio]

The campaign strategy meeting is in full swing, the air thick with tension and the buzz of caffeine-fueled ideas. You're seated at a long table in a nondescript hotel conference room, surrounded by a sea of laptops, notepads, and half-empty coffee cups. The walls are covered with maps, poll numbers, and hastily scribbled strategies.

Steve sits at the head of the table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listens to the latest polling data. You're positioned a few seats away, close enough to appear united, but not his most trusted. Sam, Bucky, the VP nominee Young and his assistant, the campaign press secretary, the communications director, all sit closer to or directly across from Steve, at the heart of the table. But you are closer than the finance director, legal advisor, speech writers, and the policy directors.

You're seated next Sam on your left with Sophia on your right, taking notes and pulling up memos on her laptop.

Steve is leaning forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listens to the campaign manager, Jake Thompson, deliver his latest assessment.

Jake, a seasoned political operative with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense attitude, stands at the head of the table, remote control in hand as he flips through a report on polling and focus groups that have been conducted over the past two weeks with Gen Z in urban, suburban, and rural pockets of the country.

"As you can see," Jake says, his voice carrying a mix of concern and determination, "this is where we’re making progress. Enough of them are tired of the rhetoric that’s been recycled all their lives, problems that never seem to be resolved because they’re too useful as campaign issues. That’s why an independent candidate is beginning to look a lot more appealing.”

Jake clicks to the next slide, which shows a breakdown of key issues that resonated most with young voters. "Climate change, affordable education, and social justice are their top priorities. They appreciate your strong stance on these issues, Steve, but they're still skeptical about whether you can actually deliver real change."

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "So how do we bridge that gap? How do we convince them that we're not just another set of empty promises?"

You lean forward slightly, your mind racing with ideas. This is an area where you feel you can contribute significantly, given your background in non-profit work and your ability to connect with younger generations.

"If I may," you begin, and all eyes turn to you. You feel a flutter of nervousness but push through it. "I think we need to focus on concrete, actionable plans. Not just broad strokes, but specific steps we'll take in the first 100 days. I think it would speak to Millennials as well.”

Jake nods appreciatively at your suggestion. "Mrs. Rogers, did you hack into my laptop sometime in the last 24 hours?” He’s not smiling - he never outright smiles - but he has a proud glint in his eyes as he looks at you. “What you’re suggesting is exactly in line with what I wanted to bring to the table today. We need to show them we're not just talking the talk, we’re ready to his the ground running when they put us in the White House."

Steve nods, his eyes meeting yours with interest. "Go on," he encourages.

You take a deep breath, feeling more confident. "We should consider hosting a series of town halls specifically targeting young voters. Not just to talk at them, but to listen. Let them voice their concerns directly and then demonstrate how our policies address those issues. We could even live-stream these events, make them interactive."

Jake looks intrigued. "That should work. It plays into our strengths - Steve's authenticity and your ability to connect with younger demographics."

"We could also leverage social media more effectively," you continue, warming to your topic. "Not just posting sound bites, but creating engaging content that breaks down complex issues in accessible ways. Maybe even collaborate with some respected influencers who align with our values."

Steve leans back in his chair, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I like it. What else?”

Elsa, communications director jumps in, "These are excellent strategies we can absolutely put into play, but we're still facing challenges with this demographic. Many of them feel disconnected from the political process entirely. They see you, Steve, as part of an older generation that doesn't understand their issues."

You watch Steve's reaction carefully. His jaw tightens slightly, but he nods, absorbing the information.

"What do you suggest?" Steve asks, his voice calm but tinged with frustration.

Elsa hesitates for a moment before responding. "We need to make you more relatable to younger voters. Show them that despite your... unique background, you understand and care about the issues that matter to them."

"And how do we do that?" Steve presses.

Jake glances your way before answering. "We think Mrs. Rogers could play a key role here."

You straighten in your seat, suddenly very alert. "Me?" you ask, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice.

“Yes,” he confirms. “We have a problem and an opportunity that’s developing. That 18 days comment last week heated things up again with the public perception and scrutiny of your marriage. You handled it exactly as you should have, Mrs. Rogers,” he assures you, “that’s not our concern. But now that someone has brought up numbers for days apart, it’s becoming part of the narrative, and we already had to tame concerns over your sudden nuptials, we don’t want the state of your marriage to be the focus again.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that Steve isn’t thrilled about this either.

“But the opportunity here,” Elsa jumps back in, “is that we can put that to rest and capitalize on what we’re beginning to see as the Mrs. Rogers effect on the campaign trail. Her approval ratings were never bad, but they keep climbing. The public still wonders if Steve is a politician, if he’s ready to be the next President, but they already see a politician’s wife in you, Mrs. Rogers.”

You feel a mix of pride and unease at Elsa's words. On one hand, it's gratifying to know your efforts are making a positive impact. On the other, you can't help but feel like you're being used as a prop.

Even though that is what you are at the most elementary level.

"What exactly are you proposing?" Steve asks, his tone careful but with an edge to it.

Jake leans forward, his expression earnest. "We want to increase the number of joint appearances you two make. Show the public that you're a united front, a team. Town halls, rallies, even some more casual, candid moments. Show the public that you're a team, that you support each other. It'll help soften Steve's image and make him more relatable to younger voters."

You glance at Steve, trying to gauge his reaction. His face is impassive, but there is a slight tension in his jaw.

You can see Steve is uncomfortable with the idea, but he's considering it carefully. You decide to speak up.

"I appreciate the strategy, but I have some concerns," you say. "We don't want to come across as inauthentic or like we're using our relationship as a political tool. That could backfire, especially with younger voters who are already skeptical of politicians and doing things for clout."

Jake nods, "You're right to be cautious. We're not suggesting anything overly staged or fake. Just more opportunities for the public to see you two together, interacting naturally."

Steve finally speaks up. "I agree with my wife," he says, and you feel a small, unexpected thrill at hearing him refer to you that way, even though you know it's just part of this gig. "We need to be careful about how we approach this. I don't want to exploit our relationship. But let’s make it work."

Jake wraps up the meeting quickly at that point, instructing his staff to update each candidate’s logistics team over the updated schedule that will play to the ‘Rogers & Rogers Strategy,’ and putting the policy advisors and communications team to work on implementing your suggestions into the direction they were going to propose. As every minute of the campaign season is instrumental, nearly everyone clears out of the room at that point.

You’re at the elevator in the lobby when you realize you left your jacket in the hotel conference room. Sophia says they can have an aide bring it up to your room, but you insist you’d like to stretch your legs a little more before heading up to sleep. As you head back down the hall, you’re relieved to see the door is still open, and you pick up your step. But then you come to an abrupt halt when you hear voices and your name drifts out into the hallway in a conversation between Steve, Sam, and Bucky.

“I don’t like it.”

“What a surprise! The anit-social, bionic man with a staring problem doesn’t like the idea of pal-ing around with the new Mrs. Rogers! Man, I know you only recently started to like me, but can you get on board with her.”

“Who says I like you?” he counters.

“Ha ha,” Sam retorts dryly. “You should be so lucky that next time we put you up for president so we could canvas the country for a girl who could put up with you and all your bullshit.”

Steve chuckles - something you realize you’ve rarely heard him do.

“But it’s you I’m surprised by, Steve,” Sam continues. “Why are you still holding this girl at arms’ length?”

Steve heaves a heavy sigh, and you can just imagine him putting his hands on his hips.

“You don’t even know, do you?” Sam presses him, his tone incredulous.

You hold your breath, straining to hear Steve's response. There's a long pause before he speaks.

"It's not that simple, Sam," Steve says, his voice low and weary. "This whole situation... it's complicated."

"Complicated how?" Sam presses. "She's smart, she's kind, she's dedicated to the cause. And let's be real, she's not hard on the eyes either. What's holding you back?"

You feel your cheeks flush at Sam's words, a mix of embarrassment and curiosity coursing through you.

"It's not about her," Steve says firmly. "She's... she's great. Better than I could have hoped for, honestly. But this whole arrangement, it just feels..."

"Fake?" Bucky offers, his voice gruff.

"No," Steve says quickly. "Not fake. Just... I don't know. Forced. This whole situation - it's not the same as the tour for war bonds back in ‘43, but it’s still a production. I never imagined being in a situation like this again."

"None of us imagined this, Steve," Bucky chimes in, his tone softer than before.

Steve sighs again. “And I know it’s another thing I’ve chosen that neither of you signed up for, and I appreciate you being here by my side.”

"And she's here now, too,” Sam circles back to you, “and she's trying. You can't keep pushing her away."

"I'm not pushing her away," Steve protests, but it sounds weak even to your ears.

"Really?" Sam challenges. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're doing enough to conveniently keep your distance. She's your wife, Steve. On paper, sure, but she's also becoming a real partner in this campaign. You've seen how she handles herself out there."

You lean against the wall, your heart racing as you listen to the conversation. You know you shouldn't be eavesdropping, but you can't bring yourself to walk away, not when - even if you’re not involved - someone is finally talking about the state of your marriage.

"I know," Steve says, his voice tinged with frustration. "I see it. She's incredible out there. The way she connects with people, the way she articulates our message, she’s all in and she's a natural."

"So what's the problem?" Sam presses.

"If I let her in and this doesn't work out..."

"You mean the campaign?" Sam asks.

"No," Steve says.

And then - because of course it’s that exact moment - a door just a bit further down the opens, and you have to pretend you were not just standing in the hallway eavesdropping on anyone, and you abandon jacket retrieval and pretend you were on your way to the hotel bar to catch a quick nightcap with some of the staffers.

[SEPTEMBER 8 - Airspace over Ohio]

The next morning, it’s wheels up at 7am for the presidential candidate campaign plane, and you’re on it. You’re being sent with Steve to Wisconsin.

As the plane climbs to cruising altitude, you stifle a yawn and make your way to the "war room" - a section of the campaign plane that serves as a mobile strategy center and occasional dining area. The smell of coffee and pastries wafts through the air, a tempting lure after the early morning rush.

Sophia’s intern had already supplied you with your go-to morning drink, but you grab a plate and fill it with some fruit, cheese, bacon, and a surprisingly and delightfully warm croissant. The plane's engines hum steadily as you settle into one of the seats at the table. The early morning sunlight streams through the small windows, casting a warm glow over the polished wood table. You've barely slept, your mind still reeling from the conversation you overheard last night.

You pull out your tablet, intending to review the day's revised schedule, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Steve's words. The weight of them sits heavy in your chest, a mix of disappointment and something else you can't quite name.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't notice someone approaching until they clear their throat. You look up, expecting to see Sophia or maybe one of the campaign staffers. Instead, you find yourself faced with Bucky Barnes.

"Morning," he says, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. "Mind if I join you?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off balance. In all the months of campaigning, you've barely exchanged more than a few pleasantries.

"Of course," you say, gesturing to the seat across from you.

Bucky nods and takes a seat, setting down his own plate of food. There's an awkward silence as he settles in, and you can't help but study him. His hair is short again - the style he’d adopted when he was pardoned not long after the Snap. He's dressed casually in jeans and a dark henley. Despite his relaxed appearance, there's an undeniable intensity about him, a coiled energy that seems barely contained.

"So," Bucky says, breaking the silence. "Wisconsin."

You nod, grateful for the opening. "Yes, big day ahead. Are you joining us for the rally?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I’ll be backstage, but no."

Another silence falls between you, but it feels almost companionable, and the two of you enjoy your breakfast. Usually people try to fill any potentially silent moment around you these days, and so the reprieve itself is nice, but it doesn’t last long. Soon you’re joined by some of the staff - some seeking breakfast, some looking for you or for Bucky. And so the next wave of action for the day begins.

next part: HOUSTON

I KNOW! WE JUMPED FROM THE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING TO THE BEGINNING OF SEPTEMBER! But that's by design.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[marisatomay]

So I do GOTV canvassing during major election cycles for a lot of reasons but a big one is for my own sanity—it’s an opportunity to talk to my community and see what the vibe is going into an election which is a great marker for how people feel about Life in general. So I’ve been doing that for the last few days and today I finally came across a Republican counterpart:

He was about my age but he didn’t have a clipboard or his phone out with a list of houses he was hitting like me he just seemed to be wandering aimlessly in his very bold Susan B Anthony Pro Life Foundation shirt and some flyers like he was just waiting to find someone to talk to instead of doing actual canvassing.

After passing him multiple times on this afternoon’s route he finally came up to us (my brother and me) and asked who we were with and then asked what drew us to the Ds. I said something vague about policy because I was trying to be pleasant but he insisted on knowing The One Thing that had us (me) out canvassing for the Dems and it occurred to me that he had a very Ben Shapiro-ish look on his face. He wanted to debate me. Not my brother who was standing next to me and giving him perturbed look. Me.

So I told him flat out: Abortion. And suddenly it was like a record scratch in his brain. All of the prep for the upcoming debate he wanted to have that everything about his body language was choreographing was gone. Like that one answer hadn’t occurred to him at all.

He stuttered through something like “oh that’s my issue but the other side ahah” before walking away. I was pleasant for the whole interaction but I was firm in my answer. It was weird, though. You work for a “pro life” organization but you can’t pivot when someone says they aren’t? Or was it that I actually said the word instead of dancing around it using euphemisms due to shame? I’m not ashamed. I am pro abortion.

Anyway that was the only republican canvasser I’ve seen out this whole time and he wasn’t even affiliated with the Trump campaign, or any campaign, and seemed very aimless. And I live in a former (as recently as 2016) Republican stronghold within the Philly suburbs. If the Rs want to win Pennsylvania again they needed to regain ground here. If they have, I’m not seeing it. And their ground game certainly isn’t the reason behind it.

One more thing because this shouldn’t matter but it does: this guy had at least 6 inches on me. I’m 5’2” and femme presenting. I look younger than I am especially when I’m not wearing make up like I was this afternoon. For the whole interaction he technically addressed both of us but it was clear that he was talking to me rather than my brick shithouse brother who was standing next to me. He thought I could be intimidated. He picked wrong.

[adorethedistance]

TKE House - Frat!Trevor Zegras x Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, PDA, drinking

Words: 2095

Summary: Trevor refuses to leave you alone until you attend a party at his frat, and the night takes an unexpected turn.

A/n: I wrote this months ago and never typed it up until now but I’m excited to see what y’all think of this. I’m debating doing a prt two or just doing a bunch of random parts in the same universe. I’m leaning towards option two so we’ll see how it goes ig.

“You know, you’re allowed to have fun once in a while?”

“You know you’re allowed to leave me alone?” I retort voice laced with venom and eyes full of irritation. Trevor just smiles brighter than before and keeps towering over me in arrogance.

I will never be outgoing again. On the first day of class, I decided there would be no more anti-social Y/n. As a result. I decided I would give my number to someone to ensure I had a study buddy and a friend in each of my classes. And it worked, for the most part, I’m three for four. The problem is one of them was not who I thought he would be. I was under the impression that Trevor was studious. Why else would he have sat next to me in the second row of the lecture hall? I was not under the impression that he would be a spoiled little trust fund fuckboy from TKE whose only objective, apparently, is to bother me every opportunity he got. His current campaign is to get me to go to the TKE party tonight at his frat. Why exactly I don’t know.

“The theme is whiteout so come dressed in all white.”

“Isn’t every frat party a ‘white’ out party?” I ask, facetiously.

“Ha. Ha. Just come, please?”

“Why do you want me there so bad?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“Please? Y/n?” I let out a deep sigh and then glance up to meet his inquisitive eyes.

“I guess I could stop by for a drink.”

“YES,” Trevor howls, clenching his hands in celebration.

“I don’t even own anything white.”

“You don’t have to! I do.” He��s… gloating. He then breaks the eye contact we’d been holding for too long. Before I can process what’s happening, he slips off the white TKE hoodie he was wearing and hands it to me.

“What?”

“Take it.”

“What?”

“Take the jacket.”

“No.”

“You said you didn’t own anything white.”

“I’m not wearing that,” I defensively cross my arms over my chest, wanting to cover up and hide from Trevor’s field of vision entirely.

“Well, you have three options. You can find time in your ‘busy’ day drive to Target, change into something else I have when you get to the party, OR you can take the hoodie from me now,” Trevor quirks a brow and bites back a smile. He’s got me cornered and he knows it. Annoyed, I take the hoodie and turn it right side out, and oh my god of course his name is on the back. I let out a snort of displeasure at the fact that I’ll basically be branded at this party.

“I’m wearing it inside out,” I deadpan. He laughs and shakes his head, his loose, golden curls fluttering in the sunlight. I can feel my expression soften at the sight in front of me.

“Y/n?”

“Huh? What?”

“I asked if you wanted any specific drinks tonight?”

I hesitate a moment. I usually drink mixed drinks but that’s a bad idea and also way too pretentious for a frat party. Besides, I don’t need Trevor handling my drink. What do frat houses usually have anyway? Beer and white claws? No thank you.

“Uhh. I don’t know- something flavored? And without bubbles.”

“Flavored and without bubbles…” he repeats, thinking hard. “Flavored and without- Okay, got it.” His enthusiasm makes me jump as if he’s just popped a balloon in my face. “Teek house at eight. I’ll see you there!”

“Mhm,” I barely affirm.

___________________________

Approaching the TKE house has my gut screaming at me to go home and don’t look back, but the logical part of me points out that Trevor would undoubtedly badger me for it for the rest of my life. Whatever. I only have to stay an hour and then I can go back home and lose his number.

In the entryway, there are two guys hassling a third guy because he isn’t wearing a red wristband. The taller of the two asks a pair of girls who they know in TKE and she replies cooly, “Trevor.” and they let her in. I cautiously go to enter but the boys stop me first.

“Who do you know in Teek?”

“Trevor…” I don’t know if it was my tone of voice or the fact that I was within earshot of the other girl, but the two of them look at each other and then skeptically back at me.

“What’s his last name?”

“What? I don’t know.”

“Yeah, sorry but you don’t have a wristband.” I’m at a loss for what to do. Right as I’m about to give up hope, Trevor appears in the doorway. He looks out onto the lawn that’s littered with drunk girls and their frustrated boyfriends, scanning the scene and looking directly over my head. I never thought I’d be relieved to see him.

“Sonny, can you-”

“Trevor!” I yell and he looks around confused, trying to locate the source before his eyes meet mine. His face lights up when he sees me.

“Hey!” I sigh and smile. A small smile, but a smile. “She’s with me, dude.” Sonny nods and gestures me inside before blocking the doorway again to keep out uninvited couples.

“You, m’lady, are fashionably late. It is nine already!”

“Did you just say ‘m’lady’?”

“So what if I did?” Trevor’s question goes unanswered as I take in the scenery. Sorority girls and frat brothers of little variety are packed into the space as 24K Magic by Bruno Mars blasts through the two five-foot speakers posted in the corners of the room.

“Ayo, Z!” Someone shouts over the music at which Trevor turns to the voice before his face lights up again. Trevor dabs up his friend before loudly discussing how they ‘haven’t partied together in a while’ and how ‘“Z” needs to visit “K Sig” sometime’. I stand awkwardly behind Trevor as he chats, oblivious to what’s happening until he says my name.

“This is Y/n. Y/n, this is Jack.” I smile politely, debating if I should shake his hand but quickly discard the idea.

“She the one you were telling me about the other day?” Jack asks as if I’m not standing right here. Trevor nods and Jack smiles mischievously.

“I’ll come find you later but right now I gotta get this little lady a drink.”

“Alright. Nice meeting you, Y/n!”

“You too!” I shout though I don’t actually mean it.

“Who was that?”

“Jack and I are friends from high school. He pledged K Sig though so now we just see each other a few times a week,” Trevor explains over the music as he leads me to a boarded-off area. The board looks like it’s a thin slat of wood chips spray painted with the TKE lettering. The surface is littered with sharpie graffiti of mostly poorly drawn penises or hearts with initials inside of them. On the center edge, there’s a combination lock hanging on a poorly-assembled latch hinge. The crack between the board and the threshold reveals a kitchen that would most definitely not pass a health inspection.

“Z!” A raven-haired boy cheers as we enter the space. He’s fixed between the legs of a lanky brunette who is seated on the countertop. She smiles excitedly when she sees me and pushes the dark-haired boy out of her way to come over and greet me. Trevor slips around me making his way over to the fridge.

“Thank god, someone who does not use a 3-in-1 shampoo! I’m Val but everyone just calls me Venus.” She offers me her hand to shake and I accept.

“You didn’t shake my hand when we met!” Trevor playfully complains as he approaches me again.

“Cry about it,” she bites back with no hesitation, “Ignore them.”

“I’m Y/n.”

“Y/n, cute. Is this your first time partying at Teek?” I nod heavily, exhaling a sigh,

“That obvious?”

“A little, but no big deal.” Trevor holds up a bottle that reads ‘Smirnoff ice pink lemonade and I can’t help but smile.

“Flavored and without bubbles,” he recites before handing it over. I nod gratefully and proceed to embarrass myself in front of everyone as I can’t uncap the bottle. “You need some help there?” I give it one last go before dropping my arm defeatedly and handing him back the bottle. He uncaps it with impressive ease and I reply with a quiet,

“Thank you.” As I begin to sip the drink, Val, who had just watched the entire interaction, speaks.

“So, how long have you been dating?” I nearly choke on the sip I’d just taken. Val’s eyes widen and she looks at me with concern. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I just- we’re just friends- classmates.”

“Oh.” Val’s brow furrows. She looks as if my presence suddenly doesn’t make sense. And maybe she’s right. Maybe it doesn’t make sense why I’m here. “My bad, I had just assumed that you- because he…”

“Y/n’s an art major,” Trevor interjects to get me out from under the spotlight a little.

“Oh cool! I’m in film studies and Jamie- that’s Jamie by the way,” she gestures to the dark-haired boy who was standing between her knees earlier. “Jamie is environmental studies. And I assume you’re aware Trevor is in business administration.”

“Painfully aware,” I mutter.

“Hey!” Everyone, including Trevor, laughs.

“You’re basically the business major stereotype to a T. The only thing you’re missing is the trust fun.” I eye Trevor as I continue to deviously sip my drink. He freezes for a moment. Busted. Val laughs and I groan.

“At least my parents aren’t faculty!” He jeers at Val.

“Oh, you wanna go after me, huh?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You really wanna play this game?”

“Yeah!” At the height of their bickering, Val turns to me and points at Trevor.

“Can I expose this motherfucker?”

“Expose time!” Jamie drunkenly shouts, mimicking the airhorn sound at Trevor.

“This dude is the BIGGEST simp on the planet.”

“Oh really? That’s it? I had faith in you, Venus.”

“Oh, I’m not done,” she turns to me, “did he tell you he went to three different stores to find those?” She gestures to the drink in my hand.

“The other stores didn’t have them. So what?” He plays it cool. Val gives him a look that shows she’s not backing down.

“When he got back from class today he was so giggly and excited that you took his sweatshirt.”

“No, I was not!”

“Yes, you were!”

“I wasn’t!”

“Jamie?” Jamie pauses for a second, debating which stance to take.

“...He was blushing.” The room erupts in chaos.

“HAH!” Val yells.

“Fuck you, Jimmy. You’re a little snake.”

“I’m sorry, dude but you were.” Val and Trevor continue to playfully bicker but I begin to zone out. Trevor had been excited to do those things for me? Don’t fall for it. I refuse to be another notch on his belt. For all I know, he does this with every girl he brings back here. God, I feel weird just thinking about it.

“Y/n?”

“Huh?”

“Has he taken you onto the balcony yet?” I shake my head no, confused as to what the balcony refers to.

“What is she talking about?” I ask Trevor, quietly.

“Trevor, why don’t you take your lovely guest up to the balcony so she can see the view?”

“The view of campus?”

“Not exactly. You’ll see.” Trevor offers me his hand and I hesitantly accepted. He leads me out of an exterior-facing kitchen door that has the decorative window covered by a “no entrance” paper sign. Without dropping my hand, he leads me around the corner to a wood lattice that looks ready to collapse.

“No fucking way,” I exclaim looking at the fixture in anxiety.

“Come on, you’ll be fine.”

“Trevor I- what am I supposed to do with my drink?” I ask, thinking I had found a good point that would delay the possibility of climbing.

“I’ll help you.” Before I can protest, he grabs the drink from my hand and monkeys his way up the structure. At the top, he swings over a railing and lands with a smile. Showing off, he then squats down to look at me through the broken bars of the railing, taking a cocky swig of my drink as the finishing touch.

“You’re crazy.”

“Come on, I’ve got you.”

“...Okay,” I begin cautiously climbing the lattice. “If I fall, I’m using your trust fund for my copay.” He laughs delightfully and I’m relaxed enough to laugh at my own joke. When I reach the top, Trevor extends his hand to help guide me over the railing. I grab his forearm as he moves to hoist me over the banister. I falter a bit once standing and Trevor reaches a hand around my back to steady me. The feeling of his hands on my back lights my nerves on fire and my breathing slows. “Thanks.” I squirm out of his touch, feeling uncomfortable from my own enjoyment. I miss the warmth of his hand on my back the instant I do.

“Is this where you take all your hoes when you invite them to parties?”

“You think I have hoes?”

“Well, don’t you?” I ask, thinking back to the two girls using his name for entrance to the party.

“Next question.” I snort an arrogant laugh before looking away from Trevor. The view of the neighborhood is actually really pretty up here. I walk to the perimeter to rest my hips against the balcony railing.

“Thanks for going to three different stores for me,” I speak up to try and ease the nervous tension I feel.

“How’d I do?” Trevor asks, moving closer to join me against the railing. He’s leaned against it, strong arms crossed comfortably over his chest, facing away from the view but turning his head to look at me.

“Very flavored and very bubble-less.”

‘Yeah, Ices are always a safe choice.”

“Maybe before you contaminated it.”

“What?!”

“You put your mouth on it and now every time I want a drink I have to remember that.”

“That’s okay. I’d rather put my mouth somewhere else.” He mumbles the last part. Surprised at his candor I tear my gaze away from the pretty view and meet his stare. His blue eyes are sparkling in the moonlight and I feel myself subconsciously gravitate towards him just to get a better look. Trevor searches my face for any uncertainty and when he doesn’t find it, he dips his head toward me and kisses me gently, but only for a moment. When he pulls away, his eyes flick open to search my face once more, and rather than saying whatever was on my mind, I kiss him hard and fast, tangling my hands in his wind-swept hair. He grabs my hips to pull me closer, our bodies molding into one right where we stand. Trevor deepens the kiss and I drop my hands from his hair to drape my arms over his shoulders.

“WOOOO YEAH!” Trevor and I instantly break the kiss to see Jamie and Val peering around the corner of the house. Jamie’s too drunk to listen to Val’s shushing him. I don’t drop my arms from Trevor’s shoulders and instead, pull him closer so I can hide my face in his chest.

“Come on, dude!” Trevor yells back frustratedly.

“Sorry, we were just curious if y’all were actually gonna do it!” Val calls up to us.

“You got your answer, didn’t you?” Trevor replies before turning his attention back to me, “Where were we?”

***

[do-you-ship-this-taz-ship]

this only kinda fits the blog theme i apologize, but i have thoughts on which set of the players PCs would function the best as a polycule and you asked for asks. (I am including all the main campaigns and very inconsistently some liveshow/smaller arc PCs if I feel like it.)

I think Justin's characters wouldn't have a lot in common, so that's a major hurdle. Duck and Taako might hook up, or Taako and Sebastian, and maybe Amber and Godwin, but besides them, it's hard to really pair anyone up. Maybe Pepsi Liberty and Opera Man, but it would have to be exclusively while Opera Man is in Opera Man form. And no one would want to fuck Augustus. (He would be into Godwin but it's unreciprocated). Bad polycule. There's no poly here.

Travis's characters would be better! I think Aubrey and Devo would clash a lot initially, but eventually they'd get along pretty well, I could see them dating. Aubrey is into Magnus this is fact, he is canonically her favorite podcast character and I know firsthand that means she would fuck him if given the opportunity. It's debatable if he would reciprocate, I can't decide -- the age gap might make him uncomfortable, but he definitely likes her, at least platonically, they're friends. Magnus Beef and Mutt would def get along. Maybe Shoots also. So at the very least we have one triad+ and one couple, maybe with a connection between them. Decent polycule!

Clint's characters would get along super well I think. Zoox and Argo would be significantly younger than the others, and I don't think either of them would really be into the old guys, but they'd be friends, and maybe they could get together. And by maybe I mean definitely for the purposes of this thought experiment. And then all the old dudes (Merle, Ned, debatably Thacker, Emerich, Phileaux, possibly Benny Gene) are together in whatever combination (Merle/Ned and Thacker/Emerich for sure, and I think Merle might find Phileaux annoying but he'd still hatefuck him) Old man yaoi polycule with two younger guys sitting it out. Pretty good!

Griffin has less characters, which is both an advantage and not. Fitzroy isn't fucking anyone (might be romancing someone, not that theres anyone for him to romance), but Errol Indrid and Montrose could for sure have something. Dell Kraven might be able to get in on that triad, it's debatable. And 48… dunno their pronouns theyre just a cube. Yeah I don't think they're into romance or sex or any sort of human relationship including friendship. 48 and Fitzroy hang out and Fitzroy tries to start up a conversation but 48 always brings it back to Tim McGraw who does not exist in Fitzroy's universe and it's a bad scene. Okay overall, but not great.

So in conclusion Clint's PCs win, Travis's get second place, then Griffin's, with Justin's coming dead last.

This was such a fun read even if I don't know a lot of the characters!! Thank you for sending it :) i'm glad to hear it confirmed, as i suspected, that clint makes the most fuckable PCs 🤍

What do you guys think?

[mariacallous]

my theory for why House and some Senate Democrats are shitting the bed with "replace Biden" is that they resented him for hopping into the crowded 2020 campaign and "stealing" the spotlight from one of them, or who they thought was a rising star in the party. They kept their mouths shut in 2020, but with the debate, they smelled blood in the water and saw it as an opportunity to do what they wanted to do with Biden all along, throw him out and replace him with someone handpicked by the party.

The funny part is that it actually seems like the DNC is listening to the will of the people and letting delegates vote, as opposed to the narrative that the DNC is full of party elites handpicking other elites

The polling is showing a lot of Senate Dems, even/especially in battleground states doing well, often outperforming Biden, and the chances of that kind of vote splitting on a large scale are minimal.

[markerofthemidnight]

🏳️‍🌈 as many as you want.

🏳‍🌈 do you have any headcanons (lgbt, race, neuro, etc) that are important to you?

Oh, shit! No specific fandom in mind or anything?! HOLY SHIT YOU BET I’M GONNA MAKE THE MOST OF THIS!

(warning: rant incoming (under cut))

Hatchetfield (specifically The Lords in Black)

I’ve already talked about my headcanons for their sexualities on a different ask, so let me just run through any specific mental stuff I think they may have…

Tinky definitely has ADHD or something similar, Pokey probably has some kind of antisocial disorder which is why he’s… Like That™️, and maybe autism too (noise sensitivity). I’ve also called Wiggly a narcissist a few times, and while I stand by the fact that that could be the case, I don’t want to make a statement like that about a disorder that I don’t know all too well.

They all go by he/it mainly. They’re fine with any pronouns, though.

Project: Eden’s Garden

I’m not going to give any disorder to Tozu because I think it’s much more fitting for him to just be… straight-up insane rather than having any undiagnosed mental thingy (though ADHD is a possibility, short attention span and all.) He’s definitely somewhere in the ace spectrum, if you ask me! I’d personally like to say panromantic and asexual. And obviously, his race is British.

Mara is also somewhere on the ace spectrum, though I haven’t decided where. I’m not sure what kind of mental illness she might have, though probably something trauma-related like PTSD knowing the kind of story the devs will probably give her.

Other than that, lemme run through the students really quick… Eva is also also somewhere on the ace spectrum, Eloise has an inferiority complex, Damon has DEFINITELY had some very non-straight thoughts that he’s in denial about… oh, and Kai goes by he/they, though wether that’s just for the clout or if they’re genuinely genderqueer is up for debate!

Chonny Jash (GOD it’s been a while since I mentioned that name huh?)

You will pry my headcanon that the Headspace is just the result of a really weird plural disorder from my cold, dead hands. Other than that, Heart and Mind are both autistic, just in different ways (Heart has sensory problems, Mind is antisocial with a tendency to take everything literally, and both have special interests). Soul definitely has something too, but I’m not sure what.

They’re all gay as shit, but to different extents (Soul is straight up homosexual, Heart is pan with a preference for men, and Mind is grey-homoromantic aseuxal).

Finally, they all grew up in Australia but moved to the states at some point in their life (hence their accents. Their old one comes back sometimes depending on their emotions.)

Dreams of an Insomniac

Alex is gay. So gay. I don’t know why they just give off those vibes.

Dr Lankmann is aro/ace, and doesn’t understand people who feel any kind of attraction at all. As in, some of his closest followers have had to talk him out of dissecting the brains of allo people multiple times.

We already know that all Veldigun are aro/ace, and mainly go by he/it pronouns, but if I were to add to that: The Flock goes by they/it, and Simon goes by he/they and is only referred to as “it” by those who don’t trust him.

And, while you’ve given me the opportunity… eh, why the hell not? SNG&D HEADCANONS LETS GOOOOOO (spoilers ahead but honestly I don’t think you care)

SNG&D

(JJ and Ricky are from SpiffyNeedleGeeks’ now-cancelled Curse of Strahd campaign, and played by Lettersent (or Dion, he’s fine with either))

First off, they’re both aro/ace. Like, SO aro/ace. These are children we’re talking about, after all.

We already know they have OSDD canonically, but a very specific headcanon I’ve had for a long time is that they’re also autistic! Mainly because generally their vibes remind me of my own autistic ass, but also because LOOK AT THEM. LOOK AT JJ’S BLANK FUCKING AUTISM CREATURE STARE.

JJ’s autism manifests mainly in the way he acts. Again, the blank stare he canonically does 99% of the time, his tendency to stay futher away from the group (especially before he really learns to trust the rest of the party), the sort of silent nervousness he has around strangers contrasted by the rabid little bastard he becomes when he’s around people he dislikes (in a different way to Ricky taking control) all give me a lot of autistic vibes.

Ricky, however, is a bit harder to categorise. Mainly because most of these are just my headcanons, but… eh. I like to think that he’s, to an extent, a bit noise-sensitive (part of the reason why he doesn’t like social situations besides just being terrible at them), we already know he’s touch-averse canonically, and he’s got a big aversion to certain tastes and textures (though that’s less due to the autism and more due to the fact that he’d literally never eaten before in his life until like a week ago).

This also adds a much funnier layer to why he’s so overprotective of JJ. It’s not just because, y’know, he was born specifically to protect him, but also because it’s literally his special interest. Whenever someone asks him something about him, it probably takes all the strength he has to resist the urge to ramble for hours.

Aside from that, the brothers also both gained PTSD from everything they’ve been through. While I’m fairly sure it’s canon that Ricky has PTSD from their death, I like the idea that JJ has some too that he more or less got over in the years between their death and meeting the party. (The sight of a Displacer Beast still puts him on edge, though.)

…Sorry, I just- I had to get that off my chest.

I could talk about my headcanons for some of their other characters more, but I think I’ve been ranting on too much (besides, it’s mainly JJ and Ricky I have headcanons for anyways, as they are by far my favourites).

[twelvebooksstuff]

Jurassic Park Daily: Chapter-Malcolm

Here’s some thoughts on the most recent chapter!

This is one of our last character introductions, and honestly, it’s a pretty fun one! We have finally met the mathematician we’ve heard about in previous chapters, and who we’ve already read the work of at the start of each iteration (and see his models/drawings, too).

While he’s clearly intelligent and passionate, he also thinks he’s the funniest and most attractive person in the room which is kind of a bizarre/unique characterization. Whether or not the other characters agree with Malcolm’s self assessment is up for debate.

I must admit that I both admire Gennaro for his ability to ask great questions and actually listen to answers, it’s also find it funny that he didn’t read the report from Malcolm beforehand. He just went with inviting him and asked questions later, which isn’t necessarily a bad strategy per se but it’s funny to think about.

I enjoy Book!Malcolm, and so while his spiels might get long I am still very engaged! And while it’s edgy I do actually like the the lines ““But you must admit, these are nontrivial issues. We live in a world of frightful givens. It is given that you will behave like this, given that you will care about that. No one thinks about the givens. Isn’t it amazing? In the information society, nobody thinks. We expected to banish paper, but we actually banished thought.”” It would be even easier for Malcolm to defend the unknown as opportunity, possibility and excitement, and defend his point that way. But he doesn’t, he instead goes for the equal but opposite “the givens are what is really scary, because people often don’t question them” which is just as much of a powerful statement while also bringing an unconventional perspective. Definitely sets him up well!

And honestly I think it is so crazy this quote was written before social media. Like, it feels so applicable to the misinformation and disinformation campaigns, and the relentless ads, we’ve seen on social media that I would have though that’s what it was referring to if I didn’t know better LOL

Onw final thing I’ll say is his line at the end of “Jurassic Park is an accident waiting to happen” feels so obvious it’s almost an understatement. Like, you don’t need mathematical models to know that (although it doesn’t hurt) this park is a safety issue problem that’s just layers of safety issues one on top of another. But it also makes Malcolm relatable since the reader has begun to see this already.

And, tragically, NOT all of the characters in the story see this seemingly obvious outcome coming.

[missglittersmiles]

Noble To The Core

Descendants × Fem! Reader Summary: y/n didn't fit the mold that was given to her as a villain kid. She liked bright colors, cute things, and was hopeless romantic. Though the worst thing was that she was hopeful. The isle squashed anything hopeful and good, yet it didn't squash y/n. It was very close to until hope came to her in the form of a letter. She would be one of the lucky 5 to leave the horrid isle.

•| ⊱ Prologue ⊰ |•

The Eviction of Vices was a campaign against depraved individuals who were labeled villains. It was the King of Auradon who had convinced the other kingdoms to put their past discretions aside to focus on the real problem. His passionate speeches ignited a fire. He spearheaded the campaign and is very proud of being able to instigate a better tomorrow.

It's been almost two decades since then. The world isn't a peaceful paradise by any means, but compared to what it was like before the Eviction of Vices it might as well be. This was an age of contentment and healing.

So it was ironic that Ben, Prince of Auradon, wanted to give the villains' next kin a chance to be free. The king would be very against the idea naturally. How could he, with a sound mind, let juveniles that are no doubt influenced by their parents prowl the land? Who says that they won't act on the villainess behavior that was ingrained into them?

Ben wouldn't give up even after his father's vocal denial. He couldn't let the children of villains be denied opportunities for a better life and everyone knows the island isn't a thriving place to be. It was not only unfair but cruel to have the children pay for the sins of their parents.

Surprisingly or maybe not, Ben's mother was very supportive of the idea. And very proud that her son was displaying such empathy for those who might not receive any. It was a trait most forgot about when thinking of a good leader.

They'd work together on how the program would look and what would be the most beneficial approach. His mother organized most of not everything while Ben looked into the residents of the Isle. In his mind, he believed that going big or going home would be the best way to show that this wasn't just an ignorant dream. That someone from the island can live alongside others. That evil isn't born from nothing.

He needed to invite ones that are associated with the most notorious villains.

When he handed the files of who he believed to be the best candidates to his mother, she raised an eyebrow. She thought that he'd pick out some tamer people. Not Maleficent's daughter or the son of Jafar. Not only was this controversial, any topic of taking or putting someone on the island was taboo, but taking out people who are associated with highly known villains would lead to trouble. The other kingdoms would be outraged and victims of the villains would be offended. It just wasn't a good idea.

Yet Ben wouldn't compromise. The controversy was going to bring more eyes to the idea of reforming the people of the island. It would cost a lot, but this was worth it. Giving others a chance was worth it.

Long-winded discussions that turned into debates would go on for months between the family. Until one day the king yielded. Five invitations would be handed out.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Name: y/n, m/n, Vainira

Sex: F Age: 16

Eyes: [eye color] Hair: [hair color]

Skin: [skin tone]

Family: She is the middle child and only daughter of Codrin the 3rd and Penelope. The oldest's name is Nikola and the youngest's name is Kronid.

°˖✧ BONUS INFO ✧˖°

❥Has a natural talent for fencing. It's debatable if she inherited it from her dad or because her Ex trained her a little.

❥Since she's not very villain-like, she's not very popular amongst her peers. She has various nicknames regarding her "goodness".

❥She is an artist. As in she doesn't like being called an artist. Peers see her falling into the stereotype of being eccentric and being too sensitive.

Love Interests and their relationship with y/n before the story…

『　Carlos　』

They've always been good friends. Maybe not bound to each other by the hip, but they were close enough for most to mislabel them as a couple until she started dating Hook. Wasn't as upset by her being with one of Uma's lackeys just that she started orbiting Hook. They're just close friends who like to hold each other's hands, that's all.

『　Evie　』

They talked and hung out before, but not that close. Though whenever y/n complained about not knowing what to draw, Evie always offered to be her muse. Every time y/n declined the offer Evie rolled her eyes while saying something snarky. She'd never admit that it hurts when y/n rejects her as a model.

『　Harry　』

They were such a cute couple. Both of their families approve of their relationship to an extent, but he puts Uma and her group above their relationship. They'd never fought before, but he believed that she needed to cool off and she'd come crawling back sooner or later. Imagine his surprise when he learns she was one of the kids invited to go to Auradon and that she actually went.

『　Mal　』

She doesn't like y/n that much and ignores her. There was something about her attitude or rather lack thereof one that Mal hated. Not only that she mingled with Shrimpy's gang and even dated the lackeys. Gross. Even after she stopped hanging out with them, Mal still doesn't like her. y/n was more of Carlos' friend and everyone's doormat anyways.

『　???　』

They haven't met yet.

『　¿¿¿　』

They haven't met yet.

Next Chapter

I might add more to the love interests. Have thought of adding Ben/Audrey/Uma, though I'm not sure. If anyone asks for them to be added or any other charters, I'll consider it. I haven't watched the movies since it first came out, so I'm going off memory. Though just writing scene to scene with some varying differences is boring. There will be OC as love Interests. Before reading the next chapter I'd like to mention that there will be mature language and violence.

Noble To The Core Masterlist

[firsttarotreader]

Ted Garcia - 5 of Wands

The next character in our series “Pedro’s Characters as Tarot Cards” is Ted Garcia, From Eddington. Ted represents the 5 of Wands.

5 of Wands is a card of conflict, rivalry, competition and clashes of ego. It’s about fighting and competing and going into some kind of battle. A person with this energy is very competitive and dynamic and embodies the spirit of conflict. They might be seen engaging in challenges and competitions where they will be pit against rivals and trying to prove their mettle and also their merit to be where they are. They will be argumentative, ready to jump into action and with an expressive and animated demeanor, showing their drive and ambition to fight. It’s a fiery and dramatic energy that wants to stand out.

Ted Garcia is the Mayor of Eddington and he wants to be re-elected. He gets into a battle with Sheriff Joe Cross for power in the city when the latter decides to run for Mayor in the election and is at the center of the Red vs Blue debate. Ted gets angry when he realizes he is not running unopposed as he thought he would and his rivalry with the conservative Sheriff is a focus point of his character. He is well-off, with a big house and suspected of being corrupt. The battle is intense with Joe accusing Ted of using the pandemic restrictions to destroy businesses and also of raping his former girlfriend. Ted’s campaign defines him as being “committed to innovation, growth and progress”, and he wants to embrace new technologies and foster local talents to make the community thrive in new opportunities and advancement. In a heated competition and battle for power, Ted is our 5 of Wands.

[findingnemosworld]

𝐧𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐚 𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐚 - 𝐱𝐚𝐛𝐢 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐨

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: just so you know, I am going to hell for this but YOLO baby!!!

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: xabi has been managing the bayer leverkusen squad for nearly seven months now, and within that time, he finds himself drawn to the club's photographer, camila mernes.

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱𝐚𝐛𝐢 𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐚 ( 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐢, 𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 )

Camila had grown accustomed to running away, at first it made sense; she'd spent her entire life in Spain, built a career there despite some still labeling her as a 'nepo baby' and still; she'd found herself entangled with someone she shouldn't have which ultimately lead her to choose Bavaria as her next residence.

Working as a photographer for Bayern Munich was nothing short of two things - a learning experience and an experience she wished she did not have to endure; the coaching staff were kind, the other employees were kind and most of all the players were kind; most especially, their goalkeeper and captain Manuel Neuer who had taken it upon himself to help Camila with everything she needed.

Yet he couldn't protect her from what is to come.

She'd found herself entangled in the same web, only this time; it was far worse, instead of getting involved with a single player, she'd gotten involved with a player who'd been cheating on his partner behind his back, tricking her for nearly a year until she discovered his truth through an online photo, suffice to say that was more than enough for the young photographer to uproot once again, for the third time in a row; this time choosing Leverkusen as her residence.

She received an offer from the sporting director of the club Bayer Leverkusen, and almost instantly slipped into her role rather easily, she was quiet; she kept to herself and rarely spoke unless it was absolutely necessary for her - only focusing on her work which had definitely impressed the management, so much so that she was given the opportunity of being on the sidelines to capture photos of the matches in action, and before she knew it - a year had passed of peace and serenity.

Or so she thought.

The club hired none other than the legendary fromer Liverpool, Real Madrid and Bayern player as well as World Cup winner Xabi Alonso to be their new manager after an unfortunate spell of looses which had hurt their campaign and nearly cost them their spot on the table, however with Xabi's arrival came a newfound sense of hope that had shone on a light in the club, the energy had shifted both on the pitch and during training, hell, it had even affected Camila in a positive way as she'd been debating on leaving photography once and for all, to return to Spain; yet his presence served as a motivator for her to stay.

You see, before Camila became a photographer; she'd been training in the Athletic Club's youth academy and had participated in several matches before an unfortunate injury on her twentieth birthday had killed her chance of becoming a football player - and thanks to therapy, she found herself again; this time as a photographer, the person had inspired her to play before was none other than Xabi, and while she never admitted it out loud, she'd always harbored a stupid schoolgirl kind of crush on him which made her even more recluse than she already is, she did not think anyone would notice; but boy was she mistaken.

Because he noticed her ...

Xabi had escaped the clutches of yet another failed relationship in Spain once he agreed to come here, it was the perfect stepping stone should he ever receive an offer from any of his former clubs as expected; it's just a coaching job, he's here to help the younger generation shine and uplift a team that had struggled for a while, and yet the minute his eyes landed on her, it was as if someone had stripped him of the air that he breathed.

He'd learned of her through Simon who told him what he knew, that she used to work for Bayern and that according to her, she came here to start fresh - that alone, had peaked his curiosity so much so that he spent one night searching her name online to see several articles hailing her photography skills, and one article detailing the nasty injury she had picked up which ended her career, and the more he dove deep into the old videos of her playing.

The more he developed an unexplainable fascination with her, that only seemed to grow as the weeks passed until it developed into an obsession.

__

Camila was never a suspicious person by default, especially since within the realm of her workspace; she'd maintained a well rounded distance from everyone there, only conversing if she absolutely needed to - and yet, the minute she walked in this morning, her gaze lands on the items neatly placed on her office; the items in question being, a cup of coffee, a box of what she assumed to be some sort of dessert, but the one thing that caught her attention was a small folded paper, she places her bag down and walks up to the table to grab the paper, she unfolds it to see a handwritten note.

𝙖 𝙩𝒓𝙚𝒂𝙩 𝙩𝒉𝙖𝒕 𝒎𝙖𝒕𝙘𝒉𝙚𝒔 𝙮𝒐𝙪𝒓 𝒔𝙬𝒆𝙚𝒕𝙣𝒆𝙨𝒔

She frowns in confusion, who could possibly send it? - she barely spoke to anyone outside of work; deciding not to dwell on it, she sits down to start working; and while she did so, she opened the dessert box and was stunned to see a neatly sliced piece of red velvet cake which was her favorite dessert, " This is weird " she murmurs to her self.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door which caused her to look up, her eyes locking with Simon who greets her with a broad smile. " Guten Morgen Camila "

" Guten Morgen " Camila smiles back.

" You're here early " Simon said.

" I had some left over photo sets that needed to be done " Camila states, " Erm Simon, did you put this here? " she gestures to the items.

Simon casts a look at what she was gesturing to then shakes his head. " No, why do you ask? "

Camila shakes her head, opting not to make a big deal out of what could just be a kind gesture from someone. " It's nothing, probably someone's attempt at befriending me "

" Well, training is in an hour so I'll see you out on the pitch " Simon said, before he stood up and left her office.

Camila was left with her thoughts, who could know such an intimate detail; it's not like she went about and shared it to everyone she met, her co-workers while kind and very friendly were respectful of her distance, she didn't even have them on her social media accounts, so who could it possibly be?

The thoughts were pushed back that day in favor of work, she'd gotten the job done - all while she was blissfully unaware of the fact that her reclusiveness, and lack of conversing were enough to capture the attention of the last person she could possibly expect.

That one minor incident became a recurring event, every morning she finds the same exact items with a different note written each single time.

𝙮𝒐𝙪 𝙙𝒆𝙨𝒆𝙧𝒗𝙚 𝙣𝒐𝙩𝒉𝙞𝒏𝙜 𝙗𝒖𝙩 𝙝𝒂𝙥𝒑𝙞𝒏𝙚𝒔𝙨

𝒚𝙤𝒖𝙧 𝙨𝒎𝙞𝒍𝙚 𝙡𝒊𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 𝒖𝙥 𝙢𝒚 𝙙𝒂𝙮

𝒅𝙤 𝙣𝒐𝙩 𝙡𝒆𝙩 𝙮𝒐𝙪𝒓 𝒑𝙖𝒔𝙩 𝙗𝒓𝙞𝒏𝙜 𝙮𝒐𝙪 𝙙𝒐𝙬𝒏, 𝙮𝒐𝙪'𝙧𝒆 𝒂 𝒓𝙖𝒚 𝒐𝙛 𝒔𝙪𝒏𝙨𝒉𝙞𝒏𝙚 𝙩𝒐 𝒔𝙤𝒎𝙚𝒐𝙣𝒆 𝒐𝙪𝒕 𝒕𝙝𝒆𝙧𝒆

It would get deeper each time, as if the person behind all of these notes were alluding to something - and she had yet to narrow down exactly who it was, up until one night; as she was working on editing the last set of photos to send to the social media team, she finally registered that the sky had darkened as she sent in the last set - she packs her items to head out.

Once she makes it out to the parking lot, she makes a beeline to her car; carefully looking around her surroundings until she finally got to her car, just as she entered her car; she pushes the key in and twists it, frowning when the engine wasn't working as she knew it would, she tried another time, and another and another until a groan of frustration escaped her lips. " This stupid piece of junk " she exclaimed, a bit too loud to no one in particular.

" Camila! "

The sudden smooth and accented voice calling her name caused her to squeal the jump before she turned around to come face to face with Xabi, she placed a hand on her chest to calm her wild heartbeat and mutters. " Mister Alonso, you scared me "

" I'm sorry about that " Xabi begins with an apologetic smile, " I was finishing up some work and I stepped out to head to my car; that's when I saw you "

Camila blinks then nods with a faint smile across her lips, " I see .. well as you can see " she gestures to her car and a dry chuckle escapes her lips, " I'm a sentimental person, I should get a new car but because it's a gift from a friend, I can't seem to find it in me to get rid of it, I'm attached "

Xabi nods, mirroring her smile. " We all have things we become attached to " he states, " or people " he adds silently.

" Pardon? " Camila asks.

" Nothing " Xabi shakes his head before gesturing to his car which was five cars down from hers, " If you'd like, I can drive you home "

Camila's mouth forms in the shape of an "O", the mere action had drawn his attention to her lips before he quickly looks back up in her eyes. " I don't want to trouble you, I was going to stop at a supermarket and pick up a few things for dinner "

" Well, we can shop together " Xabi shrugs nonchalantly, " or ... I can treat you for a traditional Basque meal "

Camila pressed her lips to hold back a smile, " Mister Alonso? " She asks with a confused smile, " Are you asking me out on a date? "

In that moment; Xabi couldn't have been more thankful for the fact that it was dark as he masked his embarrassment with a chuckle, " If it makes you feel uncomfortable, we don't have to, it doesn't even count as a date but rather an olive branch from one northern Spaniard to another "

" An olive branch " Camila repeats with a giggle.

Xabi made a mental note of how soft her giggle was, similar to a melodious tone. " Sí, an olive branch "

" Ok, but um ... I don't want to um " Camila felt rather small under his soft his gaze especially since he towered over her. " I don't want this to affect the professional relationship between us "

" It won't " Xabi assures her with the same charming smile, " we're two adults who are spending time together in a country far away from their home "

That seemed enough for her to be convinced, " Alright, I'll come with you, but ... " she paused with a smile, " the meal better be good "

" It's a very special meal " Xabi grins and walks up close to her, " Let me help you "

They walk up together in his car, Camila remained silent while Xabi was thankful that his plan worked; there was only one step left, to work his charm further and ensure that she's fully in his trap.

They walk into his spacious two story house, neatly decorated with art pieces and accolades from his career - Camila looks around while Xabi placed her items nearby before walking up to her while she was looking over photographs from his career, " Something peaked your interest? " He asks, albeit aware of her fascination with football and the interesting tid bit she mentioned about him during an interview once.

Camila's cheeks flamed at the realization that he was within close proximity to her, " I'm impressed actually " she admits with a smile.

" Did you play? " Xabi asks, pretending to be clueless.

That seemed to elicit yet another giggle which made him smile and say, " Did I say something funny? "

" No, it's just .. " Camila laughs, " I had such big dreams of becoming a football player "

Xabi nods, " and what happened? "

" A very nasty injury, a lifetime of therapy and here I am " Camila said.

" Interesting " Xabi nods before he gestures to the kitchen, " Would you like to change before joining me in the kitchen? "

" I don't have a spare change of clothes " Camila states with a confused expression.

" Oh I know, I'll lend you some of mine, to be more comfortable " Xabi said.

" Are you sure? " Camila asks him.

" Why wouldn't I be sure? " Xabi smiles warmly, " come on, I'll lead you to my bedroom where you can change while I get a head start in the kitchen "

Normally, when one person is in such a situation; it should raise a bit of concern; yet Camila was in close proximity with someone she once idolized growing up, someone whom never displayed anything that could be accounted for as an uneasy or an uncomfortable action, she willingly follows him to his bedroom which was just as spacious with a kingsized bed, a large window overlooking a gorgeous view and a very large closet.

She awkwardly stands in the middle of his bedroom until he brings a pair of shorts and one of his old jerseys, " I hope you don't mind " Xabi states with a smile.

" Erm " Camila glances at the clothes in his hand, before smiling. " I don't mind at all "

Xabi beams, " good to hear, then I'll leave you to change; then you can join me "

He steps out of his bedroom, his mind already clouded by the images of Camila naked; in his arms as he ravishes her with all his might, that one thought was enough to send blood shooting straight down to make his jeans rather uncomfortable - he shakes his head, in order to focus on the devised plan.

_

Fifteen minutes later, Xabi looks up at the sound of small footsteps and his heart nearly leapt at the sight of Camila's petite form dressed in his jersey and his shorts. " They seem to fit " he comments with a jocular tone.

" Yeah " Camila gently lifts the shorts which loosened and were barely visible. due to how large the jersey was, she chuckles, " they do "

Xabi pours her a glass of wine, he hands her the glass before pouring himself a glass. " How long have you been working for Leverkusen? "

" A year and a half! I actually moved here after working for Bayern Munich " Camila explains, " It's been going well for me so far "

" That's good " Xabi nods, " You don't miss Spain at all? "

Camila shakes her head, " As strange as it sounds, I don't! Germany became my second home, I like it here, it's more comfortable in a weird sense " she chuckles.

" That's interesting, usually people become home sick but I never heard people wanting to be away from their home " Xabi said.

" That's cause you never met me, thirty one with the heart of a child that loves to wander " Camila said then took a sip of her wine before asking, " What about you? "

" What about me? " Xabi repeats her question with a charming tone.

" Why would you, a legend accept a job here? " Camila asks with genuine curiosity.

" Because, this is just the start of my career in managing, I want to gain experience and what better way to do that then come back to the country I retired in, like you; Germany is like a second home to me, so it wasn't hard to refuse an offer " Xabi shrugs, " besides, it was a perfect opportunity to escape my heartbreak "

The look across her face had affirmed his initial doubt over why she moved to Leverkusen. Camila murmurs, " Wow "

" Yeah, but I’m better now " Xabi smiles, much better. he thinks to himself.

" Lucky you " Camila mutters under her breath.

Xabi looks at her for a moment, " I take it we have something in common "

Camila looks up briefly before looking away and chuckling in response, " that obvious? "

" You’re not that hard to read querida " Xabi states with a gentle, grinning when he noticed her cheeks growing pink.

" There goes my attempts of being quite mysterious " Camila giggles.

" I think it’s quite adorable " Xabi remarks before he was interrupted by the sound of the oven. " Dinner’s ready! "

______

After having dinner, they move to the living room nursing yet another glass of wine and chatting over everything and nothing.

" Mister Alonso " Camila said.

" Come on Camila, call me Xabi, please " Xabi pleads with her.

" Xabi " Camila repeats, and as she looked at the tv for a moment; she failed to notice how he clenched his fist then unclenched it. " I have to ask, why did you invite me over? "

" I told you, I wanted to extend an olive branch, you seem to prefer solitude during work hours which honestly peaked my interest " Xabi explains.

" So you felt pity over me? " Camila deduced.

" Oh no " Xabi shakes his head as he clarifies further, " Heavens no, I actually felt curious as to why you liked being alone so much "

" I just don’t like talking " Camila shrugs.

" Is that why you didn’t answer most of my questions? " Xabi asks with a smirk, " or was it something else? "

" Well ... " Camila said, " It's a combination of many things "

" Such as ... " Xabi prompts her to continue.

" Erm ... " Camila hesitates, before being encouraged by the wine she was drinking. " I get shy around people I like "

Xabi's brows shot up, and a smile adorned his lips. " Oh really? "

" You're going to think it's stupid " Camila laughs before waving it off, " It is really stupid "

" I promise you querida, nothing you can say now will ever be considered stupid especially seeing as your work in the moment has honestly bewitched me " Xabi admits.

" Oh gosh " Camila mutters then covers her face with the wine glass.

" Come on " Xabi prompts her, shuffling closer until there was only a minuscule glimmer of space left between them, " Tell me "

" Ok " Camila nods, " Do you promise not to look at me differently? "

" You have my word " Xabi nods, struggling to conceal the fact that he already looks at her differently.

" When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a football player as I told you " Camila began, " And I worked so hard to train for that, I wanted to be a midfielder, and you know who inspired me? "

" Who? " Xabi asks, hesitantly swiping her hair away from her face before he smiled at her.

" You " Camila admits, with reddened cheeks before adding, " I had the biggest, biggest crush on you "

Xabi's lips curve into a grin, " Is that so? "

" Please don't make fun of me, I was young and they asked me; who's the player that inspired you the most? I said you because well, I never lie about my emotions, well used to " Camila murmurs.

Xabi repeats the same motion, this time; he runs his digits through her hair. " How do you feel about me now? "

Camila registers to the fact that his body was close to her, she nervously takes a big gulp of her wine glass before responding with a chuckle. " I admire you "

Xabi laughs, " just that ... " he whispers, instinctively leaning his face closer to hers.

" Well, I mean ... " Camila murmurs, " For all I know, you could have a girlfriend or are seeing someone - besides, its unprofessional for sure to be thinking of a co-worker or a superior in such way that I ca- " her words were interrupted the second she felt his lips on top of hers.

Xabi couldn't withhold his desires anymore, cradling her face with his hands to properly kiss her, he felt her still for a moment which caused him to pull back. " Camila, I'm sorry " he admits, " I don't know what came over me, it's just ... ever since I saw you, I was quite -um- fascinated by you, and if you want we can just forget this and I - "

She'd definitely fallen into the trap as it was now Camila that pulled Xabi close to kiss him before muttering, " Let's just .. " she murmurs against his lips, " Let's not talk "

Xabi resisted the urge to smirk, she'd fallen right where he wants her to fall; " Before we continue, I want to say one thing " he said, digits stroking the apples of her cheeks.

" What? " Camila whispers.

Xabi grins, hoisting the petite woman into his lap; he cradles her face once again in his hands and kisses her more passionately this time, he swipes his tongue across her lower lip which granted him access to her mouth, his tongue immediately colliding with hers. " Your lips are so soft " he murmurs eliciting a whimper from her which in turn caused him to groan, " katutxoa ( kitten ) "

Camila pulls back to catch her breath, " I ... " she was immediately silenced by his thumb stroking her lower lip.

" Don't think about anything " Xabi murmurs, leaning in to press a trail of soft kisses from her jaw down to her neck and on her shoulder, " Let make you feel good "

He hoists her up in his arms, wrapping them securely around her waist as they go up to his bedroom, they walk in towards the bed then he gently drops her on the bed, grinning when she sat up to undress herself, once they were fully bare to one another - he climbs up on top of her, capturing her lips in the sweetest most tender kiss which quickly became heated when her clothed breasts brushed against his chest, he skillfully unhooks her bra with one finger then loosens it to discard it somewhere across the room.

He takes a minute to drink in the sight of her, her hair splayed across the pillow; chest heaving with deep breaths, nipples hardening from the cold air, " jainkozko ikuspegia zara, nire katu gozoa ( you are a divine vision, my sweet kitten ) " he murmurs, burying his face in her neck to plant a plethora of kisses, he then descends downwards to tend to her breasts, one hand toys with one while his lips wrap around the other one - the sound of her moans encouraged him to dive further and come face to face with her clothed pussy.

" Please " Camila whimpers.

Xabi's lips curve into a wicked grin, he carefully slips the panties down, a half moan- half groan escapes his lips at the sight of her glistening pussy. " You're so wet " he whispers in awe. " You've been thinking about this, haven't you? "

Camila nods wordlessly, eliciting a smile from him as he presses soft kisses to her inner thighs, drawing out soft moans from her lips which transformed into a cry when he felt his tongue swipe up and down her pussy.

" And you taste even better " Xabi hums in satisfaction, keeping the same pace, darting his tongue up and down rapidly. " So good " he murmurs before finally wrapping his lips entirely around her swollen nub.

Camila grabs the bedsheet with both hands, knuckles turning white at the sheer amount of pleasure he was making her feel, edging her closer towards her first orgasm, " Fuck " she cries out, arching her back off of the bed, her eyes blurry with the intense pleasure coursing through her veins.

Xabi climbs back up with a satisfied smile, " You " he pressed a kiss to her abdomen, " Are " he presses a kiss to the valley of her breasts then grinned as he pecks her lips to allow her to taste herself on his lips, " Incredible "

" So are you " Camila giggles, grabbing his face with her hands to kiss him while one hand dives low to wrap itself around his cock causing him to hiss in her mouth.

" So impatient katutxoa " Xabi groans before teasing her with the tip of his cock which was quickly enveloped by her walls the moment he thrusts deep inside of her. " Fuck " he heaves out a deep breath, stilling for a moment to allow her to adjust to his size. " You were made for me katutxoa "

Somehow it felt like an eternity until he started to thrust in and out of her, Camila wrapped both her arms around his back; nails digging deep into his back. " Oh fuck " she cries out, lids fluttered shut tightly. " Fuck ... don't stop "

Xabi pressed soft kisses to her cheek, " I'm not stopping katutxoa " he cooed with a soft voice in her ear, " not until you're shaking yet again, look at you " he praises, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder then just behind her ear. " you're taking my cock so well "

" You feel so good " Camila moans, just he rests his forehead on hers.

" Yeah " Xabi nods with a soft smile, " Tell me katutxoa, tell me who's making you feel good "

" You are " Camila whimpers, eyes brimming with tears. " All you "

" Katutxoa " Xabi murmurs in her ear, thrusting in and out at a rapid speed. " nirea zara, nirea hartu, musu, ukitzeko eta plazer egiteko ( you're mine, all mine to take, to kiss, to touch and to pleasure ) "

That seemed to be the switch to have Camila chasing yet another high, her hands clung onto his back and a cry of pleasure erupts from her lips which was swallowed by his heated kiss, soon enough he had chased his own high before pulling himself away from her to head to his bathroom and set up a bath for the two of them.

And once Camila was able to compose herself, it finally dawned on her what she had just done, and a plethora of emotions coursed through her; however they were pushed away when Xabi reappeared and picked her up in his arms to enter the bathroom, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to not think of life, even for one night.

__

Two weeks later,

It happened again, Camila finds the exact same items placed neatly on her table; except this time - the folded paper said nothing but two words.

𝙣𝒊𝙧𝒆𝙖 𝙯𝒂𝙧𝒂

And just then, she realized exactly who the secret admirer was; but before she could utter something, a hand snaked its way around her waist a pair of lips found their way to her neck. " It was the only way katutxoa, it was the only way I can get you "

Before she could respond, she turns around to find that he already left - and is now left with the choice of either running away or accepting the jumbled mess of emotions she felt.

[old-school-butch]

whats ur opinion on blackout2024?? if ur not familiar with it i recommend looking into it, but if u are familiar, whats ur thoughts on it?

I wasn't familiar but checked it out. It combines bullying and slacktivism - everyone's favorite hobbies ig. As a general rule, it's dangerous to use social pressure to force people to express uninformed opinions because it creates huge opportunities to spread misinformation. It's really no different than Andrew Tate creating what amounts to a MLM scheme by using followers as bots to amplify his message. As foreign bots get shut down, these campaign use actual humans to take on bot-like behavior for the same ultimate effect: amplify the message. Clever, disruptive, and responsible for the spread of absolute nonsense.

The issue with these information wars is that democracies have no real counter for this attack on society and no way to respond. Russia and China are the best state entities with political interference capacity, but autocracies doesn't have free social media in their own countries so we can't, in turn, foment dissent and fragment their societies into screaming, extremist confusion. Democracy is very vulnerable to this attack and I actually just blame the social media companies for not throttling bot and mass campaign activities on their platforms. But of course, your attention is a commodity that earns their profits, so whatever outrages you gets more attention, so they're unwilling to turn off the taps.

I also see a lot of post-modernism used in the trans activist tactics being re-deployed in these campaigns, where words are redefined in order to spread maximum misunderstanding and confusion. Remember how the word 'woman' became a kind of feeling someone might have about dresses? The word 'occupation' is being used in this conflict in a similar way. 'End the occupation' sounds... well, good. Occupying something, implicitly not yours, seems like a bad thing. And most people assume that this phrase is a call to get Israeli troops out of Gaza. But there's a history in this term, that the state of Israel itself - sometimes called 'the Zionist entity' by hard liners - is occupying Arab land. The goal of Palestinian self-government isn't to have that governance over Gaza or the West Bank, but also Israeli territory itself, that they consider 'occupied' and should be return to them. Thus, Israeli towns are always called 'settlements' not 'towns' and 75 year old cities in Gaza will be called 'refugee camps' because Gaza is just where they are temporarily staying as refugees, their real home is inside Israel. You will see chants to 'end the occupation' in Gaza well before this war began, and despite Israel not actually occupying Gaza for 20 years, or even during the 19 year period while Egypt was occupying Gaza. Because 'the occupation' doesn't mean Gaza, it means Israel and refers to the belief that Israel itself is not a legitimate state.

What all this means is that people can, en masse, take up the call to 'end the occupation' and what Israelis will hear is a call for the destruction of the state of Israel. Same goes for 'river to the sea, Palestine will be free'. One side hears a call for freedom, the other side hears a call for Israel to be overrun and the genocide of its people.

As any radical feminist should know, when words and phrases are jumbled up like this, it makes clear communication difficult and thus understanding and compromise impossible, ESPECIALLY when you pour social pressure on people to jump into a debate with very little background information. And that's the point.

[deadpresidents]

Is there anyone who could have given Reagan a bigger challenge than Walter Mondale did in 1984?

If John Glenn had just hired the right people and put together a better campaign strategy (and maybe had a bit more political charisma), he could have absolutely been able to give Ronald Reagan a run for his money in 1984.

Reagan's whole political identity was that he was the most All-Americany All-American that ever stepped foot on the political scene and that he was going to fight Communism and make America that shining city on a hill. Imagine if he had to run against John Fucking Glenn -- a fighter pilot in World War II and Korea who literally fought Communists in real combat. Oh, and then he was one of the Mercury Seven and just so happened to be the first American astronaut to ever orbit the Earth. John Glenn wasn't just an astronaut -- he was the image that people had in their heads when they thought about what an astronaut was. He's still the definition of astronaut to most Americans. He was also buddies with JFK and RFK and when he retired from NASA -- again, he was a fucking ASTRONAUT, in case I didn't make that clear -- instead of moving to Florida and going golfing, he became a U.S. Senator. Not only should John Glenn have been able to out-All-American Ronald Reagan, but he should have been able to make Reagan seem like Leonid Brezhnev. I mean, just picture Reagan trying to get cute in a debate and making some sort of joke and then Glenn saying, "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly. My ears are still adjusting from when I was a fighter pilot who shot down three actual MiG-15s and then became a FUCKING ASTRONAUT WHO ORBITED THE EARTH."

But when Glenn did seek the Democratic nomination in 1984, he ran a really crappy campaign and somehow lost to Walter Mondale (who went on to lose 49 out of 50 states to Reagan in the general election). Glenn's campaign is one of the all-time missed opportunities. He was running for President just a few months after The Right Stuff came out and reminded Americans that Glenn was not only an astronaut but THE astronaut! His campaign should have held screenings of that movie in every early primary state and just had Glenn serving apple pie and Coca-Cola outside every theater while wearing his space suit and sitting in a fighter jet and reminding folks that Reagan's "combat" duties during World War II was making training films in Burbank.

I don't know who ran John Glenn's disastrous 1984 Presidential campaign, but it was political malpractice. Just answering this question makes me mad because it's so obvious that he was the PERFECT candidate to run against Ronald Reagan. HE WAS JOHN GLENN. He was such a legendary astronaut that, years later, when NASA wanted to send an old guy to space to study the effects of space flight on aging people, they sent him! He was almost 80 years old and passed the same physicals as young astronauts! How the hell did Glenn lose the Democratic nomination to Mondale? John Glenn lost to a guy named "Fritz"! I can't believe that John Glenn couldn't even beat the guy who got beat in 49 out of 50 states in 1984.

I can't believe how frustrated I am from answering this question and slowly realizing the sheer political malpractice of John Glenn's failed 1984 Presidential campaign.

[stardustandash]

Last of the Febuwhump fics is here! Prompt is Killing in Self-Defense. Pre-Jedi Fallen Order & kinda dark, I hope u like it!!

Words: 2000

Tags: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Emetophobia, Child Death

ao3 Link

Is It Justified?

The village is dusty, dirty, and silent. It feels lonely through the Force. Cal doesn’t like it. Every whisper of the wind, every creak of a door in its frame, puts Cal on edge. He drifts father and father behind his men. Twitch and Sunny are bickering back and forth in front, and Arson, Nix and Patch flanking them on parallel streets.  They were droid hunting after the big battle, or they were supposed to be. Cal suspected Master Tapal had assigned Cal and his squad this task since it was so far from the battlefield and gave them little opportunity to get into trouble. The village, though on a Separatist planet, had been abandoned before the battle started, and Cal didn’t know what use droids would have for it, aside from some cover. But it wasn’t as if they needed to stop for healing or rest. Any droids would be long gone back to the Separatist stronghold Master Tapal had gone to investigate.

Still, Cal can’t help but be on edge. There’s something he’s missing. His hand drifts towards the hilt of his lightsaber, the cool metal of the grip a comfort. At least he isn’t hanging off of Sunny’s arm on missions anymore. He’s twelve, almost thirteen. Too old to be scared by empty villages and the wind. Master Tapal had even said that he was thinking of letting him lead his squad on his own mission on the next campaign. If he got scared now, then he’d never get to prove himself.

The Force pulls at Cal. A stinging wrongness that adds to the unease. Neither Twitch or Sunny seem to feel the same as their blasters hang loose in their grips to the point that Cal should say something about attention or duty, but finds the words stuck in his throat and taken by the wind.

Cal feels the Force nudging him towards a narrow path between the houses. There’s something there. He glances ahead to Twitch and Sunny and debates whether he should say something. Even before the thought finishes forming his ears turn red with embarrassment. He can handle whatever it is. He has to. It’s probably just some kind of rodent or a pet left behind. He creeps towards the space, one hand on his lightsaber and halfway to unhooking it. There’s a small sound of something rustling or shifting and Cal swallows down his fear and jumps out of the space into the street beyond.

A girl stares back at him. She only comes up to his shoulder and her head is a mess of dirty blonde hair. A battered brown stuffed toy dangles from her hand, so ragged at this point Cal can’t tell what it is supposed to be. She looks up at him with fear in her eyes and Cal is so taken aback he almost ignores the warning in the Force.

The Force screams, and Cal turns with his lightsaber in hand to meet the threat. A man stands towering over him with a knife in hand. Cal doesn’t think, he just reacts. The green blade of his lightsaber appears on the other side of the man before Cal even realizes he’s run him through.

The girl screams. It’s wordless at first but it eventually forms into anword Cal can recognize: “Papa!”

Cal’s stomach drops. His lightsaber falls from his grasp. The man lets out one last, groaning breath as he collapses, still and unmoving.

The girl rushes to her father’s side with tears running down her face. Cal’s mind is both blank and chaotic. He steps forward, wanting to offer apologies or comfort or something to the girl. He’s so off guard he doesn’t see the glint of metal nor feel the warning through the Force. He only sees the girl’s face harden as she throws herself at him. She tackles him around the middle, and Cal is taken aback at the movement. She’s wrapped him in an odd sort of hug, except her fist is uncomfortably trapped between them. When she staggers back Cal can see the blood on her hands. Her father’s blood. Guilt settles uncomfortably in his stomach. He killed someone. He killed a girl’s father right in front of her. The guilt burns in his stomach. Cal presses a hand against it and tries to take a shaky step forward.

“I’m sorry,” says Cal, voice weak and wet. “I’m sorry.”

The girl raises her bloody fist and Cal sees the glint of metal. At the same time he becomes aware of the wetness on his fingers where they are pressed against his stomach. It takes his mind a minute to connect those two things. Cal’s knees go weak and he stumbles, not quite sure where he’s trying to go. It doesn’t matter, as he doesn’t get more than one shaky step before he’s falling to his hands and knees. Distantly he registers the sound of blaster fire and a soft thump just as his arms give out and he faceplants onto the dirt.

There’s the sound of duraplast boots running towards him and then there are hands flipping him over and Cal’s looking up at Sunny. His helmet is off, Commander Gamut would yell at him, but Cal is glad that can see Sunny’s face, even if it’s twisted in worry. The others stand around them with blasters ready. Arson has one hand on the side of his helmet and Cal can hear him faintly as he comms out.

“General, Commander Gamut. We have a situation in sector two-three-five. Commander Kestis is down, we need a medic immediately.”

Cal can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but he feels the clones around him tense.

“I don’t know if we have that kind of time, Sir,” says Arson in a tight voice.

“Don’t pay attention to them Cal, you’ll be fine,” says Sunny as he pats Cal’s face. “You didn’t get stabbed anywhere important, so you’ll last long enough to get medical attention.”

“Sunny, not helpful,” growls Twitch.

“What?”

Cal blinks. Sunny is getting a little blurry and his eyes slide past him as his neck goes limp. There are two unmoving lumps in his vision. One is small, with a smudge of blonde hair. The girl. Cal remembers the sound of blaster fire and a sick feeling rises in the back of his throat.

“Hey, hey, eyes on me, kid,” says Sunny. His hand cups Cal’s face and turns him away from the unmoving bodies.

“I got a stim,” offers Patch. “Won’t do much but it’ll keep him going until a medic can make it to us.”

“It won’t hurt,” says Nix.

There’s a pinch, then a cool sensation slides over Cal. Everything snaps into clarity and Cal’s thoughts start screaming as his stomach starts burning worse than anything he’s ever felt. He groans and tries to roll, but hands stop him. Twitch and Sunny are holding him, their hands burn against his cheeks and his stomach.

“Let me up,” Cal begs. “Let me up.”

“Not a chance, Commander,” says Twitch.

“The General and Gamut are on their way to our position,” adds Arson. “You just focus on staying alive for now.”

Cal feels the dampness in the corner of his eyes and tries to blink it away. His stomach is burning and all he wants is his room on the Brave, with his soft, non-regulation blanket and his stuffed tooka and the feeling of a thousand lives around him in the Force.

“Oh, you’re alright kid. Don’t worry. We’ll get you patched up in no time. And if not, well, it’s not like you’ll have to worry about it,” says Sunny as he thumbs a tear from Cal’s cheek.

“Not helping!” says a chorus of similar voices.

Cal almost smiles through the pain, but his eyes once again fall on the still bodies next to them. With the stim in his system Cal can see the blackened holes in the girl. Blaster bolts. They’d killed her. To save him, yes, but they killed her. Revulsion burns in his throat and his stomach heaves. Twitch barely manages to get Cal onto his side before he vomits up what rations he’d had for breakfast and a spattering of blood. He coughs, then gags again as the movement tears at the bloody hole in his stomach. Tears are streaming down his face in earnest now, whether from the pain or the sorrow at being the cause of two needless deaths, Cal can’t tell. The brief bout of clarity from the stim is wearing off and his thoughts are starting to go fuzzy around the edges again.

He can hear Twitch and Sunny murmuring platitudes to him but he can’t focus on the words. Everything is too much. Too loud, too painful, too sad. Even the hand rubbing his back feels like its grating his skin, yet he doesn’t want it to stop. The smell of bile burns in his nose from his own sick and Cal wiggles as far back as he can from it while trapped in place by the two clones.

Cal tries to collapse into himself, to try sinking into that meditative state where the world feels far away. What he probably does is pass out for a while as he comes back to reality with tears staining his face and a familiar comforting presence in the Force blocking out everything but the feeling of safety. Cal reaches out blindly until his hands feel the soft, worn fabric of Master Tapal’s robes and he clings to them with all the strength he has left. Master Tapal pulls him into his arms, and when Cal’s brain catches up to his body being maneuvered, he is held tight against his Master’s chest where he can hear his heartbeat and feel his Master’s support through the Force.

“It is faster if I take him to the medics than wait for them to arrive,” says Master Tapal. Cal feels the words rumbling through his chest rather than hearing them with his ears.

“Sir!” a chorus echoes around him.

Then they are moving. The motion doesn’t hurt or make Cal sick. Instead it soothes him like the rocking of a boat. He turns and tucks his head into Master Tapal’s chest. The guilt is still eating at his stomach, as if the knife pressed it into him and it’s spreading from the hole it left behind.

“Peace, Padawan,” Master Tapal murmurs.

“I killed them Master, and they didn’t have to die,” mumbles Cal. The words are no doubt muffled by the fact that Cal’s face is pressed into his Master’s robes and thick with emotion, but he knows Master Tapal understands anyway.

Master Tapal walks on silently for a minute. Cal frets internally in the silence. What if Master Tapal doesn’t want him anymore because of what he’s done. What if he’s done so much wrong he can’t be a Jedi anymore.

“They are dead because of you, yes,” says Master Tapal slowly. “They did not have to die, and their deaths are a tragedy. It is good that you feel this way. However, they attacked you, they hurt you. If it is a choice between you and them, I want you to pick you every time, Padawan. The only way to hold the line against the darkness is to be the line. If you die, the darkness wins.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I will give the same talk to your men as well. When you are better, we will also meditate on this topic.”

Cal nods against Master Tapal’s shoulder. The words haven’t done much to ease the sick feeling in his stomach, but he’s also too tired to focus much anymore. The arms holding him tighten around him and the swaying cadence of Master Tapal’s steps increases. He sinks into their warmth and the comfort offered. He doesn’t feel better about anything, but at least his Master is here, and Master Tapal always knows what to do.