#to be fair this is not my first community rodeo

[syncope-syndrome]

This is why I lowkey don't like the word "caretaker", or at least don't like how it's used as a catch-all, because the term implies a level of responsibility and familiarity that so many of these prompts don't... have room for? My point of view might also be skewered because of personal reasons, but, to me, Bob from Accounting hauling the hero over to his cubicle to stem the bleeding is not a caretaker in the way a bodyguard would be. Most of the people who are labeled as caretakers are only caretakers situationally, or are people forced to be caretakers in dire situations, so of course they have lives and other responsibilities outside of that, and of course they're not experts. Caretaking is a job and it's an exhausting one at that, and getting frustrated, tired, busy with other things, or not having the skills to match the job pushed upon you does not automatically make you "bad".

I would really like us to think critically about the implications of our collective idea of the "bad caretaker" trope, especially in regard to recent trends in whumpee tropes.

99.9% of the time, a "bad caretaker" is someone who is either untrained, unprepared, temperamental, impatient, or just disinclined to walk the whumpee through every step of non-whumped life like a golden retriever mama dog with a new puppy. In other words, a "bad caretaker" is someone who makes mistakes or has a life outside caretaking or is otherwise not a bottomless well of sympathy and patience.

Rarely have I seen a truly bad caretaker. Someone who is manipulative. Someone who exploits the whumpee's trauma behaviors rather than holding their hand and gently coddling them. Someone who acts maliciously in a way that puts their needs above the whumpees rather than in accidentally or just occasionally.

I'm not arguing that stuff like pouring antiseptic over an open wound is good caretaking. It's not. And it's little to negative help, so it definitely fits into that category, and I personally live for that shit. My issue is not that "bad" is applied to the untrained or unprepared. My issue is that that's all it's applied to. My issue is that we need to diversify the trope so it doesn't get skewed.

[spnbabe67]

Make My World Go Black

Kinktober Day 4: Friends to Lovers (T.O.)

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, Drinking, Soft and Slow sex

Summary: While visiting Loretta's hometown, the newest Tornado Wrangler gets a request to come pick Tyler up. The problem? Boone has the hotel key.

Word Count: 2962

Authors Note: Title and fic based on the song "Black" by Dierks Bently. (And yes, I know the character in the GIF isn't Tyler Owens, I couldn't find one that matched what I had in mind)

The last thing Loretta expected when Boone texted her was a request to pick up Tyler from the local bar. Sure, The Tornado Wranglers were in her turf, back home in North Texas, but usually it was Boone or even Lilly’s job to nurse their leader back to soberness. She had just crawled into bed, the time nearing 11, when her phone started blowing up with texts from her coworkers. At first she’d tried to ignore it, eyelids heavy from a long day of driving, but after the 5th text she’d relented, squinting at the bright screen. Most of Boone’s text was incoherent, the videographer clearly had a couple drinks himself, but through his copious amounts of spelling errors and incoherent sentence structure she gathered his message: come get Tyler.

So, Loretta pulled on a pair of jeans and a hoodie and pointed the headlights of her two-door Chevy towards the bar Boone had managed to type clearly. Loretta knew the bar well, a little hole in the wall downtown. She wasn’t surprised Tyler chose this place out of the list she’d given him to celebrate a successful season. They’d raised a significant amount for the communities they visited throughout the last couple months, and as an end of season celebration Tyler suggested they come visit Loretta’s hometown. She was the newest member of the group, having joined towards the end of last season when The Tornado Wranglers were chasing an EF4 in the Panhandle and came across Loretta who was competing at the local rodeo. She’d always had an interest in inclement weather growing up in the southern portion of Tornado Alley she’d seen her fair share of tornados, seen the devastation they left in their wake. Here she was, a little over a year later, picking up her boss who she’d had a crush on since he swaggered up to her at the bar after she’d finished competing. 

“Hey Doll.” Tyler gave her a lopsided grin under the brim of his white cowboy hat as Loretta approached him.

Boone or whoever had sat him down on a bench outside the bar, thumping base still audible through the walls. The air was tinged with the smell of cigarette smoke and grilling meat; it was a familiar and comforting aroma.

“Hey yourself, Cowboy.” Loretta quipped, ready to mockingly scold Tyler for getting drunk but it died on her tongue as he pushed himself up from the bench with ease, no sign of alcohol impairment. When she had read Boone’s text, she’d assumed his request to come get Ty;er was urgent, that Tyler was drunk. But here he stood, not drunk at all, buzzed if anything. 

“Thanks for comin’ to pick me up. Boone and the others are drunk off their asses with no intentions of leaving any time soon. We all carpooled and Lilly refuses to let anyone drive her car, so.” Tyler trailed off, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Loretta tried not to linger on how stupidly hot the motion was, eyes bouncing back up to his face from where they’d trailed down to his biceps that were outlined by his white t-shirt.

Loretta gave Tyler a half smile, nodding her head back to where her truck was parked. “Come on Cowboy, let's get you back. You drove more than I did today and I’m exhausted.”

Tyler huffed a laugh. “Me too.”

She let Tyler follow her as she hopped into the driver seat, cranking the key until her engine sputtered to life. “Alright, where did you guys hole up?”

Loretta looked over at Tyler as he whispered a curse under his breath, patting his pockets. “They only gave us one key and Boone has it.” 

He’d taken his hat off, ever the gentlemen, resting it on the dash. His sandy blonde hair was all mussed up, flat against his skull in some places and sticking out like a rooster's crown. His skin was tanned from years in the sun and it looked so damn smooth.

“I’ve got room.”

Tyler looked over at her, eyebrows raised and a half grin on his face. “Really? You got a spare room?”

Loretta tilted her head back and forth, bracing an arm over the back of the passenger seat as she backed out of the parking spot. “Eh, not exactly. But I have a queen sized bed and sleep like the dead.” She shrugged her shoulders as she drove them down the singular main drag through her small town. “Not like you have any other choice.”

“I can crash in my truck. Really Lor I don’t wanna impose on you.” Tyler tried to reason, sinking down lower in the passenger seat and Loretta had to force herself to keep her eyes on the road rather than watch as Tyler set his legs wider.

“It’s not imposing if I proposed the idea in the first place. So shut it and just let me take you home.” Loretta paused, feeling her cheeks go warm as she dragged a hand down her face to hide her sheepish smile. “That came out wrong.”

Tyler chuckled at her from the passenger seat, grinning at her. “Yes ma’am.”

“Fuck off.” Loretta jested, playfully shoving Tylers shoulder.

She ran a hand through her brown hair, tucking a couple errant strands behind her ear, trying to convince herself that the blush that still clung to her cheeks was because of her embarrassing statement and not because Tyler Owens was sitting in her truck and they were driving to her house. This felt right. The sky was full of stars, her house was far enough out in the country the light pollution was nearly nonexistent. With nothing but rows and rows of corn and soybeans with the occasional break for pastures for cows or horses, including the one that belonged to her acreage of land. The gravel kicked up around the wheels of her truck as she pulled down her driveway leading up to her raised ranch. 

“Well, this is me.” Loretta unbuckled her seatbelt, gesturing for Tyler to follow her. 

“It’s” She heard Tyler contemplate from behind her as she unlocked the front door. “Not gonna lie, it’s exactly what I was expecting.”

Loretta furrowed her brows as she let him into her house. “Is that supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing?”

Tyler stuttered, running a hand over his head. “Good! Good! It’s a good thing I promise.”

Loretta giggled as she guided him upstairs. “I’m just fucking with you.” She stopped at the hall closet, pulling out a towel and a washcloth and holding them out to him. “Bathroom is the last door on the right, I’ll go grab you some clothes.”

“Thanks Doll.” 

Loretta held her breath as Tyler took the linens from her, tucking them under his arm before leaning in. It was everything she could do to not let her eyes flutter closed as Tyler's face got closer to hers, the heat of him leaking onto her. Loretta felt Tyler’s lips brush her cheek and immediately her chest tightened, that feeling of longing flooding her brain and heart. As brief as the kiss was, him pulling away was quicker, punctuated by that heartbreakingly sweet smile only a country raised boy could pull off. 

Loretta internally sighed, returning his grin with a toothless one of her own, patting his back. “Go get cleaned up Cowboy.”

Once Tyler snicked the bathroom door shut, Loretta retreated to her own bedroom, rifling through her dresser drawers. She knew her brother kept a spare pair of clothes in there somewhere for whenever he came to visit. There! She pulled a pair of boxers and another t-shirt from the back of her bottom drawer that seemed to be the right size.

“Just me.” Loretta knocked a couple times on the bathroom door before cracking the door open. The shower was running, the water hot enough to steam up the bathroom. “I found a pair of boxers and a shirt you can borrow for the night.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” Tyler said from behind the other side of the opaque shower curtain. 

Loretta hummed a response, fleeing the bathroom in the most nonchalant fashion she could manage, closing the door behind her. She let out a sigh, shaking her head trying to get rid of the images of Tyler naked not 5 feet from her separated only by the door and the shower curtain. He is probably soaking wet, lathered up with soap. No! Loretta went back to her own room, changing out of her sweatshirt and peeling off her jeans, changing them for a pair of sleep shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt from her alma mater. 

She turned the lamp on the bedside table on crawling under the covers, picking up the book she’d been meaning to finish, needing something to distract her from her less than pure road her thoughts her headed down. Absolutely not! He is your best fucking friend, your coworker! You fucking him would just make everything worse. 

Loretta’s eyes snapped up from the book cradled in her lap when she heard the bathroom door creak open and Tylers footfalls bring him into her room. She felt her mouth go dry at the sight of Tyler, dressed in just boxers and a shirt in her doorway. Sure, Loretta had seen him as well as the other Tornado Wranglers in various stages of undress. Chasing twisters required a level of get-up-and-go that didn’t leave time to worry about modesty. But it was the fact that he was here, in her room, about to sleep in her bed, that had her wanting to know just how good his muscled body would feel under her hands, against her body.

“Feel better?” Loretta managed to say, dipping her gaze back to her book to keep from ogling the man.

Tyler hummed somewhere from her right as she felt the bed dip under his weight as he climbed in beside her. “Nothing like a hot shower at the end of the day.”

It was Loretta’s turn to hum a noncommittal response, not trusting her mouth to filter the thoughts circling in her brain.

Tyler must have taken her minimal response as her being upset because his hand landed on her arm, causing her to flinch. “Lor, you okay? I can sleep on the floor, or on the couch.”

Instantly Loretta felt guilty, setting her book back on the nightstand.”No, no, no. Sorry, I’m just super tired. And don’t be spewing that bullshit. I’m not about to let you sleep on the couch let alone my floor.”

Tyler raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Loretta crinkled her nose at him,offering him a soft smile. She reached over, turning out the light with a quiet click, flooding the room into darkness save for the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains. She let out a sigh as she settled on her side facing Tyler, watching him do the same. Despite her bed being a modest Queen,Tyler was nearly chest to chest with her.

Loretta was glad the room was dark because she was sure her face was flushed red. The way the moonlight glanced off his face made her think Tyler looked like an actor in a black and white film, all James Dean with a titch of Marlon Brando.

“Hey Lor?”

“Hmm?”

Loretta could sense Tylers hesitation, the apprehension of her reaction to whatever he wanted to say. She felt him shift his arm like he was gonna reach out and touch her but the sensation of his hand against her arm never came, much to Loretta’s disappointment.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

Loretta blinked, then blinked again, trying to process what Tyler just said. She huffed a laugh, thinking Tyler was joking. “You sure you didn’t have anything to drink Ty?” 

“Yeah, I am.” There was no mistaking the seriousness in his voice, no mistaking the way he was looking at her. “‘Cause I wanted to be completely sober when I did this.”

It was like Tyler was in slow motion, the way he carefully brought his hand up to cup Loretta’s face, thumb stroking the line of her jaw as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Fireworks erupted in her belly at the feeling of finally having his mouth on hers after months and months of hopelessly pining. Well, not really hopeless now is it? Because here he was, deepening the kiss as she willingly opened her mouth to him. Part of her had a hard time believing this was real, that maybe this was just a dream. A really good, really real feeling dream. But the other part was hyper aware of the fact that one of Tyler's bare thighs had slid between her own, the hand not brushed against her cheek had slid to her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

Loretta felt like she was on cloud nine, a high not even Boone’s weed could touch. She threaded her fingers through his hair, whimpering as Tyler’s tongue swept into her mouth. His thigh was solid muscle between her legs, rubbing up against the ache that had slowly started to grow there. Loretta let out a small moan as Tyler’s hand slipped down to palm her ass, rocking her onto his thigh. Loretta moaned Tyler’s name as his lips made a hot trail of sloppy kisses down her jaw to her neck. 

“I know, Baby, I know.” Tyler murmured against her neck, his hands sliding under her long sleeve shirt, thumbs stroking the planes of her belly. “Let me make this feel good.”

Loretta arched her back, helping Tyler slip her shirt off before his hand pressed against her stomach, laying her flat on her back. She whimpered as the cold air hit her bare chest, her nipples hardening. The cold was short lived as Tyler's hot mouth closed around the right one, his hand kneading the other, pulling a gasp from her lips. Her hand shot to his head, holding his face to her chest. She arched her back, chasing the feeling of his tongue circling around the sensitive bud, his left hand tweaking and pinching the other, every action had wetness pooling in her shorts. 

Tyler pulled off of her breasts, a line of saliva connected her nipple to his lips as he kissed his way back up her body until his lips met hers again more heated this time. Loretta slid her hands under Tyler's shirt, pulling it up and off, letting her explore the soft ridges of his abdomen. As Tyler rolled them over back onto their sides, Loretta became aware of something hard poking against her lower stomach. A very large, hard something. Everything in her became focused on the fact that Tyler’s hands had slipped back down to her hips, pushing her shorts down. Loretta reached out, slipping her hand down Tyler’s boxers causing him to curse under his breath.

He reached down himself, shimmying out of his boxers until they were naked. Loretta kissed Tyler deeply as he ran the fat head of his cock through her soaked folds, hiking her top leg high on his hip. 

“Fuck, baby you’re so wet for me.” Tyler muttered against her mouth between kisses, rutting himself against her until the head caught on her core.

Loretta’s mouth fell open as the head of Tyler’s cock slid into her, Tyler hissing through his teeth at how tight she gripped him. His fingers dug into the plush of her ass and thigh, holding her leg up so that he could slot his hips between her legs. Loretta let out a keening moan as Tyler slid in and in and in, filling her until she wasn’t sure she could take it anymore from the amount of arousal coiling in her stomach. She gripped his bicep as Tyler settled into an easy pace, short and slow thrusts that had her moaning breathily every time his hips slapped against her own. 

“Takin’ me so good. Feel so good, Baby. Been wanting to do this for so long.” Tyler mumbled praises against her mouth as he fucked into her, his fat cock brushing against that sensitive spot deep inside her.

“Tyler.” She moaned feeling her climax starting to build

“I know, Baby. Me too. Let me feel cum for me, Doll.”

Tyler kept fucking into her at the same pace, slipping a hand between them to rub small circles on her clit. The sensation of his calloused thumb against her clit sent her over the edge, her pussy walls clamping down on him as her orgasm crashed over her in waves of euphoria. Tyler’s own thrusts became uneven and sloppy as he came, burying himself inside her as his cum spurted deep into her pussy. 

Loretta let out a shaky breath, smiling as she lazily kissed Tyler. Tyler gently shifted his hips, letting his softening cock slide out of Loretta with a low groan. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing his cheekbone as she pulled away from him enough to admire his face. 

“Been wanting to do that for a while, huh?” She teased.

“Mm.” Tyler hummed, pressing a kiss to Loretta’s shoulder. “Ever since I saw you after that rodeo last year. Just never knew you felt the same.”

Loretta huffed a laugh, stroking her fingers through his hair. “What about your saying.”

“My saying?” Tyler looked up at her from kissing her collarbone. 

“If you feel it?” Loretta grinned, watching Tyler’s confused expression morph into a grin of his own.

“Chase it.”

[beatrixstonehill2]

"I'm a bit nervous but still pretty excited. My parents always raised me to believe it's a woman's job to please her man no matter what. If your bf is into big tits, you better grow bigger boobs or get the biggest implants you can stuff into them! Is he into fat girls? You better pile on all the weight you can for him. My friend Marcy dated a guy who was really turned on by girls with no arms or legs. She didn't hesitate for a minute to pop into the nearest surgeon and ask to have her limbs removed, despite being a gymnastics coach. I always admired any girl with that level of dedication and would feel like a failure as a woman if I couldn't reach the same standard.....

So, when I met Josh four months ago, and on our first date he confided he had a fetish for girls who get so pregnant they pop, my heart skipped a beat! Maybe..... this was like my ultimate test to prove how devoted I am to pleasing men and being a proper, good girl? I consulted with my parents and they were shocked I even thought the need to get their blessing. Sure enough a day later and my bf tells my doctor to put me on Femruptarin. My doctor looked very pleased about this, telling him he was a very lucky man, and to expect me to blow up in seven to eight months and enjoy the show. That he better flaunt me and show me off the whole time I'm pregnant. He promised he would, and that this isn't his first rodeo with bursting a girl by a long shot. I'm his tenth..... The whole time my bf and doctor never addressed me directly or asked my permission. I was perfectly womanly, acted on as an object for others' pleasure and nothing more. Like how Marcy existed to become her bf's limbless, breeder sex slave I exist to burst like a balloon for Josh.

I'm technically only about three and a half months pregnant and look at the size of me! I'm as big as a house. My womb is stuffed to the bursting point already and I'm tiny compared to how big I'll be by the time I fulfill my womanly duties for Josh and pop. True to his word, Josh trots me around town dressed in ludicrously skimpy clothes, showing me off, offering my body to men, since my body is technically his to give out! He makes me perform the wildest sex acts in public and I have to admit it is a lot of fun, and I do climax quite a lot before the crowds of people that gather, but my pleasure is not what's important..... Even if it is amazing to be sprawled out naked before a huge crowd, serving five cocks at once, my puffy, swollen pussy brutalized so utterly I squirt like a fire hydrant across the paved walkways of the local park. I love to be ravaged and fucked so savagely by random men, it's so very thrilling, I feel blessed to become Josh's girlfriend, even if it'll only last another five or six months if we're lucky.

Then I'll put on my best show yet for my community, and pop in front of them all, my uterus at last tearing and giving way as I shower my offering of twenty-some kids before my watchful audience. Free gifts for them to raise into the future devoted girlfriends and wives of our fair town..... It's so fulfilling to serve such an incredible man like Josh and be given the opportunity to be used as the community's personal receptacle for pent up sexual aggression. I hope Josh's next girlfriend is just as eager to burst for him, and he gets to indulge his fantasies with many, many more girls after her! Bursting is such a true sign of devotion that I'm positively blessed to be given the chance to give my body to do it for a guy!"

[animehouse-moe]

Women In Anime

I came across this tweet a few days back, and did give it a response on Twitter back then, but I keep thinking about it, so I wanted to bring a longer discussion here.

I think hating that anime ends up a male dominated industry is totally fair, I think that hating that men end up bringing a lot of negative stereotypes and tropes and whatnot is valid.

There's a mountain of problems with men in the industry, and just the industry in general. But there's also a problem with the awareness of the NA community. Scrolling about the quote tweets and replies, it's probably one in ten responses at best, that show an opening that's actually from a woman.

Hate like this ends up performative, and targeted at the most negative aspects, rather than being used as a tool to shine a light on the people that deserve it. Directionless and generalized points like this do nothing, and in the end can actually take away from uplifting the voices and talents that they should be.

So, I wanted to bring a list of ten women in anime that have worked on openings over the years.

Karneval OP - Satou Akira

Openings that really cut deep into the core of a series can be a little hard to come by sometimes. I think a lot of openings get suckered into "looking cool" and tend to neglect their creative ability to depict something deeper within. Satou Akira falls into no such trap with Karneval, providing an incredibly strong opening that consistently relays several themes to the viewers through its visuals of things like, well, carnivals, for one. Also included is clock faces, butterflies, gears, and a few other pieces. It's really great work, so it's a shame that they haven't returned to the role since then.

They have, however, been in some pretty impressive roles elsewhere. For example, their biggest role was boarding for the second Fate/Grand Order Camelot movie. Important to note that it's the second movie, and not the first, as the second movie is considerably better.

Akira is still only reaching the tip of the iceberg though, as they recently were the lead director on Ao Ashi, and are being tapped for the Kinnukuman anime in 2024. They certainly have a good relationship with Production I.G, so I'm really hopeful to continue to see them on future projects with the studio.

Skip and Loafer OP - Deai Kotomi

Yeah, it hurts my soul to have different embeds, but I've had to source some of these OPs as they don't exist on YouTube.

Anyways, Deai Kotomi definitely had her limelight moment this year with Skip and Loafer and it's very fun and energetic opening. It's a great reflection of the characters and story, which really highlights Kotomi's understanding and ability to work with the content of the series. She did an absolutely wonderful job leading the production of Skip and Loafer, but I think a lot of people don't know about her history and connection. I mean, the reason she's following up Akira and Karneval is because Kotomi actually did the ending for Karneval! Really cool little piece to learn.

Make no mistake though, this isn't Kotomi's first rodeo, it's just the one she's most known for. But man, does she have a good history. Starting off with assistant direction credits for Kids on the Slope and the first season of Silver Spoon, she then moves on to helm the follow up season of Silver Spoon, and take over for Natsume's Book of Friends.

Though with the new season of Natsume's Book of Friends I'm a little sad to see Kotomi relieved of the role as the Chief Director for the series, Hideki Itou, steps into the role. Still have high hopes, but was looking forward to more Kotomi. Just means I need to wait and see where she ends up next, and I highly doubt it'll take too long for her to appear once more.

Sk8 The Infinity OP - Hiroko Utsumi

Speaking of people that I can't wait to see more of Hiroko Utsumi. I'm sure everyone that's seen it is a fan of Sk8 The Infinity and its opening, and there's not really a better person to handle the opening that Utsumi herself. After all, she's the original creator for the series.

But let's rewind a little before I get ahead of myself. Utsumi has probably one of the most prestigious careers on this list. Utsumi originally started with KyoAni, working her way up from second key animation to first key animation, to episode direction and storyboarding, finally making their directorial debut with Free! back in 2013, quickly following it up with the sequel.

Interestingly enough though, Utsumi then goes silent for 2 years before re-appearing outside of KyoAni, doing some storyboarding work with Bones and Mappa, leading into the next crazy piece of her story: the lead director of Banana Fish. Then of course it's to Sk8 The Infinity, and now she has Bucchigiri?! on the horizon, as well as a continuation of Sk8 The Infinity.

Talk about a career with no misses. Even better is that with her new works, we'll almost certainly be getting more of her expert openings, as with every series she's directed, she's also done the openings. So really, lots and lots to look forward to with Utsumi.

Arakawa Under The Bridge OP - Yamamoto Sayo

I know, not the opening that most would pick, but I wanted to be ✨Different✨. Everybody surely knows Yamamoto Sayo from Yuuri!! on Ice, but I just wanted to show off a bit more of a her range with an opening like this one. Clearly, she's a very talented woman, and the industry recognizes that with her work as she's done quite a few openings, especially with Mappa as of late.

These are all of her openings (and some endings), in order of appearance: Rozen Maiden Traumend, Michiko and Hacchin, Arakawa Under The Bridge S1 & S2, Hanamaru Kindergarten (ED), Attack on Titan S1 (ED), Space Dandy S1 (ED), Yuri On Ice, Kakegurui, and Rage of Bahamut: Virgin Soul.

Quite the list, to be sure. I just wish they did more direction work, as they've been stuck at Mappa for the Yuuri!! on Ice movie. Hopefully that'll come out some day and Sayo will be free of that hell, but all we can do is sit and wait.

Kaguya-Sama: Love is War - Ultra Romantic OP - Eiko Hirayama

I mean, it's Kaguya-Sama, do I really need to say more? Great effort, and great direction from Hirayama here to really cap off the best season of the series. But did you know that she also did the work for the first opening of Love is War?

Hirayama is probably the most curious staff member on this list though. They do have a good few credits for various openings, but by and large they're all special or visual effects credits. For example, they most recently did the visual effects in the opening for the Nier anime, and they also did the same for 2 of the Vivy openings.

I think it's really interesting to see someone like Hirayama step out of their comfort zone to do something like an opening, because you can absolutely feel their experience shape the opening.

Here, let me add a little breakdown of the opening for Kaguya S3. If you pay close attention to the opening, you'll realize that there's not a crazy amount of animation. Rather, there's a lot of camera and 3 dimensional movement, and a lot of interesting composition. I mean, just look at the sequence of Kaguya running, it's a compositor's dream as they shift through all sorts of different visuals and styles.

And I just think that's really cool. Sure, Hirayama isn't a thoroughbred director like the others on this list, but I think their storied experience with composition gives them an angle in this opening that a lot of others just wouldn't find.

Heike Monogatari OP - Naoko Yamada

Naoko, alongside her work with Heike Monogatari, will always have a special place in my heart. Much like Utsumi, Naoko started her career with KyoAni. However, she was a part of the studio for longer, and because of that, was present during the arson attack on the studio in 2019.

This opening, and really the entirety of this story, hits really close to home with its ideas of the loss of family and suffering through a cycle of violence, and she does a beautiful job of juxtaposing that idea against the pieces that Biwa fondly remembers of those around her. It's very, very strong work from Naoko that feels almost like a rebirth as her first major work following the arson attack.

Regardless of what she went through at the end, her time with KyoAni was incredibly impressive. I'm not sure how many will know her name from it, but she was the director behind the incredible success of K-On!. Similarly, she also worked on Tamako Market and the follow up movie. She's an incredibly talented woman, and has continually put her best foot forward with everything she's done, so I'm really hopeful to see her continue that hot streak with wherever she goes next.

Naruto Shippuden OP20 - Chiaki Kon

Had to bring a bit more of a classic pick out, no? Chiaki Kon is certainly not a staff member that tends to really be seen as someone popular, if that makes sense. They're rather light in terms of individual expression, so having a stronger opening like this that hones in on individual character arcs while relating them to larger interactions within the world is really great to see.

Though that's not to say that Chiaki tends to get lost as a staff member, but that I think her work is very subtle. For example, she directed the recent (and popular) Sacrificial Princess anime, which is one of J.C Staff's top 3 anime in the last 5 years. It undoubtedly has Chiaki to thank for a lot of that, where she's kept a reasonable distance on the project while still providing a lot of her overarching vision to it.

But man, has she been active lately. While she does do lead direction, she's insanely present as an episode director and storyboarder, getting anywere from 6 to even 12 or more episodes boarded and/or directed in a year. Odds are if you watch any amount of anime, you've seen an episode done by Chiaki Kon.

Given OP - Hikaru Yamaguchi

Maybe a bit of an odd choice, but I feel like that makes it all the better to give them some spotlight. Not everyone is going to be a "knock it out of the park anime rockstar", and that's perfectly fine. Though I might still argue that Yamaguchi fits that bill. It's just that they're not as productive as others on this list.

After all, they did the OP for Given and directed the series (as well as the movie), and it's a very good show. It's interesting though how long it took her to get another lead direction role. There was 3 years between the Given movie, and the Osomatusu-San movie that she directed in 2023. And you might be thinking, "well hey, what about smaller roles to fill the gap?". Nope, not really any of that.

There was a 2 year gap between the Given movie and her next staff position. Though I mean, it's a pretty damn cool one. She did the storyboard for episode 3 of Bleach: Thousand Year Blood War. For those that don't know, that's the episode of Ichigo vs Quilge Opie (which was very cool, by the way).

Yamaguchi is certainly an interesting staff member in that regard, as she doesn't have many projects she's worked on, but they've almost all been very big name ones. Certainly has me curious to see what she'll manage to appear on next.

Dance Dance Danseur OP - Sarisa Kawamura

If you thought Kawaguchi was an odd pick, wait until you hear about Kawamura. This is the second ever credit for her that I've been able to track down. The other comes from VFX assistant role on the Undead Girl Murder farce ending. So you can imagine my surprise considering the insane quality and creativity displayed with this opening that she boarded for.

I mean, when I first watched it when the anime aired, I was stunned. Absolutely incredible work with the first person perspective and the ideas with all the reflections and the wild expressiveness of the characters. Seriously, this was a shoe-in for opening of the year back in 2022, and I'd still say one of the standouts in this decade for sure.

I just, really, really hope that we'll see Kawamura board something else soon, because I absolutely need more of her incredible vision.

And that's the end of the 10 women, that I chose to use for this list. Seriously, there's a mountain of them that have done all sorts of other openings, or endings, and an unimaginable amount that have done creative work outside of those things.

I wouldn't say I'm disappointed that nobody talks about anime staff (in general, really, but also more specifically women), but a lot of people just don't have the interest in looking this stuff up. I really, really wish that streaming services would start translating credits to make it easier for people to get a grasp of who it is that's working on their favorite series, but we can't always rely on companies to do things like that.

Thankfully, the community out there is really, really dedicated so you can find staff credits on websites like MAL, Anilist, Anidb, and even Anime News Network. Sure, it takes a little bit of time to go and find those credits, but I think it's really valuable time that's well spent. You're bringing more awareness and understanding into the hobby and community, and that can change the trajectory of it in really wonderful ways.

Highlighting the works of women in anime is just one way of doing that. It inspires people in the community, it makes people aware of the idea of who is making their favorite works, that women are a central and pivotal part of the industry.

I really hope that people found out something cool with this list, and I really do encourage everyone to do a bit of digging into their favorite series to find out the names behind them. I mean, we all know who directs a movie or TV series over here, and we certainly know all about the actors and whatnot, so I'd love to see people bring that same understanding to anime.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: Din introduces someone new to Ann

A/N: Hello lovelies,

I apologize for the late posting, last night I was so super exhausted I couldn't stay away and then today I was feeling so off. I think it was the weather, and although it was quite a migraine, it felt like the beginnings of one, so I slept most of the day.

Anyway, this is the last chapter for The Crestworld Part.

This series will be going on a mini hiatus while I work on content. So please bear with.

Love oo

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warnings: Brief anxiety, communication (so lovely), mutual understanding, flirting, intimidation, fluff, jealousy, annoyance, slight anger. If I miss any warnings, please let me know.

AO3 Link |   Words: 1,306 |   Previous -> Next

Main Master List   |  Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

THE CRESTWORLD

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ann sat there blinking as she looked at Din, “Don’t look so shocked, you should’ve known I would’ve figured it out eventually, after all I’m sure Cobb couldn’t help himself, and told you I used to work for the army.” She simply nodded in the affirmative, “So let’s just say it’s not my first rodeo dealing with pseudonyms. My life was very different before Grogu came into it. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there.”

I wasn’t sure what shocked me more, the fact he knew my name wasn’t my real name, the fact he didn’t kick me out, demanding to know more, or even asking whether or not he and Grogu were in danger.

I took in a shaky breath and nodded, “Thank you for understanding.” My hands felt heavy and numb, I wanted him to know I would never endanger either him or Grogu, I’d die before that happened. I couldn’t with anymore blood on my hands, “Din, please know I’ll never put your family in danger. If … at any point I think you or Grogu will be in danger, I’ll leave. I’ll protect both of you.”

Din tilted his head and let out a sigh, squeezing her shoulder, “Listen, we’ll cross that bridge when and if we come to it. However, I appreciate you answering, even when you didn’t have to; and don’t worry about protecting us. I’m sure I can protect all three of us if the time comes.”

“I won’t put you in that situation, Din. I don’t think I could live with myself if I did. Anyways, it’s not like I answered a whole lot, but it only seemed fair, since you did open up about Camilla.”

“One hand washes the other, right?” He smirked, before turning his gaze towards Boba’s house, he noticed Boba was standing in the doorway of his home, “Come on, let’s have you meet one of the grumpiest ranchers around.”

I looked from Din to the rather handsome older man standing in his doorway, “Grumpier than you?”

“More or less.” Din chuckled as he stepped out of the truck, keeping an eye on Ann as she stepped out of the truck. He had a newfound respect for the woman who fought to get away from her bad situation, trying to find normalcy by escaping to the backwoods of Aq Vetina. 

“Boba” he nodded towards the older man as he approached, Ann stood beside him. He kept an eye on her to make sure she wasn’t feeling uncomfortable, if there was one man he could trust Ann with, it was Boba. “This is Ann, my new farmhand. Ann, Boba Fett, Daimyo of Tatooine.” 

Boba walked slowly down the stairs to meet them. His steps were heavy, the clink of his spurs echoing with each step, he wore all black as he stood before them. Even though Boba was six feet tall, his presence made him seem like a towering giant.  His piercing eyes were made all the more intimidating as the brim of his cowboy hat dropped a shadow over his face. 

“Tatooine?” I whispered.

“His ranch” Din motioned with his head over his shoulder.

“Ahhh … Daimyo?”

“Means Great Lord”

“Does that mean I have to bow?”

“You could” Boba answered as a smile rested on his lips, disarming those piercing eyes that saw more than he would ever reveal, “however, I would never expect such a beautiful woman such as yourself, to bow for me.” He offered his hand, “You can just call me Boba, mesh’la.” He gently took her hand, winking before he bowed, bringing his lips to her skin, placing the softest and gentlest kiss on her knuckles. 

“Thank you” I smiled as I felt my face heat up from the attention, I cleared my throat as I gently pulled my hand away, despite how I enjoyed his warm calloused hands “may I ask, why Daimyo?”

“You can thank Fennec and this one here” Boba motioned towards Din, “for that, it started off as a joke one night, and soon became my title. Djarin, what can I do for you?”

“I came to pick up my payment from helping you, remember”

“How could I forget?” Boba smirked and motioned for the two to follow him.

As we walked through Boba’s ranch, I noticed a few things, first his place was a lot bigger than Din’s. Second, there were at least twelve different farmhands working at different tasks. I could see from just the quick glances I took, I tried to see the differences between the two ranches when a small bark pulled my attention. Inside one of the stalls in the barn were tiny beautiful Strill pups, “Oh my goodness, they are so sweet” I kneeled down to look at their sleeping forms. There were about seven pups, four had grey-ish coats, and the other three had gold-ish coats, with hints of white breaking through. “Where are their parents?”

“Their mom is currently wandering the perimeter of the ranch, while the father is probably off in the woods somewhere looking after its own litter.”

I turned to look at Boba who ended up kneeling beside me, “Woods? Own litter?”

“Strills are known to have hermaphroditic reproduction, they can equally sire and bear offspring with a second strill” Din answered.

“For a while,” Boba beamed like a proud father, “I noticed she’d been taking off at night, always returning home with no issues, but this time when she came back she was pregnant. Guess she just wanted to see the sights of what the world had to offer” Boba chuckled, “sort of like a wayward child, coming back to ask for dad’s help when they get knocked up.” His eyes held a tremendous amount of kindness and concern as he looked upon the pups, “Which ones did you want to take with you, Djarin?”

“You’ve seen them and gotten to know them more than I have, who do you recommend?”

Boba stood opening the fence, motioning for me to follow him, as we stepped in the pups stirred and began to move about. Watching them as they unfolded their six legs, their tiny noses appearing, each of them had the most incredibly happy eyes I’ve ever seen on an animal. Most shuffled around Boba’s feet, but two in particular, came and plopped themselves at my feet, sitting watching me. One was grey-ish with white and tiny flecks of gold hair throughout, the other was gold-ish with flecks of grey.

“It appears the two have decided for us,” he chuckled, “Annie, Djarin, meet your two new guard dogs, Dral and Mir.” Boba’s hand instinctively rested against Ann’s lower back, he leaned in, whispering in her ear as a smile graced his lips, “Clearly they have great taste, sitting at the feet of one of the most beautiful women around.”

Somehow those words coming from Boba’s lips didn’t feel cringy or overstepping, maybe it was his charming personality, or his brilliantly wonderful smile, but either way, it made my face feel heated, I couldn’t help the coquettish smile that appeared on my lips, “You’re quite the charmer, someone mentioned you were one of the grumpiest ranchers around, but truthfully after meeting you, I think they were just jealous of how charming you really are.”

“Don’t worry, little one,” he shifted his hand away from her back and tilted her head a little to look into her eyes, “I’m like fine wine, the longer you get to know me the better I get.”

Din’s eyes locked with the man who was a few years older than him, as Boba gave him a wink. For some reason it made him angry watching the interaction between Ann and Boba, he felt his body tense, his jaw clench, and even his hands tightened into a fist at Boba’s flirting. 

AO3 Link |   Words: 1,306 |   Previous -> Next

Main Master List   |  Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

@littlemisspascal @sprout-fics @liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24 @spicymcnuggies @lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @tortor-mcgee @sarcasmismyonlydefense24 @chiyo13

[beyondspock]

Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy) Comes to Waco, October 02, 1967 (1) von The Texas Collection, Baylor University On October 2, 1967, Leonard Nimoy, or Mr. Spock as he was known in the hit television show, Star Trek, came to Waco, Texas, to participate in that city's annual Heart of Texas Fair and Rodeo. Upon his arrival at the Waco Municipal Airport, he was greeted by dozens of enthusiastic fans. A reporter and a photographer for Baylor University's campus newspaper, "The Baylor Lariat," were there to document his arrival for their next issue. (...)  Below is the entire story that ran in "The Baylor Lariat" on October 04, 1967, reporting on the event:

 "Leonard Nimoy Plays Role Seriously By ROWLAND STITELER Lariat Staff Writer, The Baylor Lariat (Waco, Texas), Vol. 69, No. 20, Wednesday, October 04, 1967: There were 300 screaming children at the Waco Municipal Airport Monday night. Red- coated Jaycees tried to keep the crowd back as reporters and camera-men to get near the star. In the midst of all the chaos, Leonard Nimoy stepped off of the plane. The crowd had come to see Mr. Spock. There were children with posters and balloons that read. “Welcome Mr. Spock.” In their black tennis shoes and Levi’s, they crowded around him, trying to get his autograph, trying to touch him and just trying to see him. Through this ordeal, Leonard Nimoy kept smiling and waving at his fans. When the noise finally quieted down to a muted roar, Nimoy spoke. “I’ve never been met by a crowd like this before,” he said. “I am really overwhelmed.” If Nimoy had anything else to say to the crowd, he didn’t get a chance. The crowd redoubled its efforts at pushing and screaming and Nimoy and his human escort struggled their way to a waiting car. Somehow, no one was trampled. A few of the smaller children were seen taking refuge in the airport phone booths during the height of the stampede. Nimoy taken away from the crowds and into the security of a waiting motel suite. There he spoke with Heart O’ Texas Fair and Rodeo Smile Girls and members of the press. Nimoy was asked if it wasn’t a little hard, to keep smiling all the time under the pressure of a mob of screaming fans. “I really haven’t had much experience with the type of situation we had at the airport,” he said. “Actually, I like it.” “I had heard all kinds of stories about mobs of fans tearing stars’ clothes and mobbing them,” Nimoy said. “It hasn’t been like that." “I have developed an attitude that it’s a very genuine type of expression. I don’t mind it at all. I’m really deeply touched by it all.” Though Nimoy is a spaceman on television's “Star Trek,” he won't feel out of place in the HOT Rodeo. “I’ve appeared at the State Fair of California in Sacramento,” he said, “but this is my first rodeo. I was doing western before anyone ever heard of ‘Star Trek,’ though.” “I've done anywhere from 50 to 60 westerns, so I think I’ll feel right at home.” Nimoy was asked how he felt about doing television games and series like “Star Trek” as opposed to doing the “serious theater”. “I am a serious actor,” he said. “I do Mr. Spock with the same amount of seriousness I would put forth in any other part.” “Spock is a warm, intelligent, sophisticated character. I try to play him that way.” Image from the BU Records: Marketing and Communications: Baylor Photography collection BU/382, negative Black-E-141_2, The Texas Collection, Baylor University. Rights: Some rights reserved. E-mail txcoll@baylor.edu for information. Visit www.baylor.edu/lib/texas/ for more information about our collections.

For more pictures from the event plese go to: texascollectionbaylor

[xtruss]

Meet a New Generation of Black American ‘Cowboys’

With these images, photographer Kennedi Carter smashes an age-old stereotype: Cowboys aren’t all white men on horses, battling Indigenous people.

— Story and Photographs By Kennedi Carter | July 18, 2023

Doniyel Hooker bought her horse, Chance, in 2018. Whenever possible, Hooker, a math and science teacher, brings Chance to her elementary school to provide new experiences for her students. She’s ridden Chance on trails and even through the French Quarter of New Orleans.

The first time I saw a Black horseman, I was maybe six years old. I’m 24 now, grew up in the suburbs of Durham, North Carolina, but my mother’s family is from Dallas, and we’d drive back to visit. I remember this as one of those things where you’re chilling in the back seat, you see something crazy, your head does a complete 180. Cowboys! The white-man-on-a-horse archetype; battles with Indigenous people: That’s what I was most familiar with, from going to the movies with my grandfathers. So about five years ago, as I began to photograph on film, I thought it would be very interesting to turn that cowboy narrative inside out a bit. It’s always important to expand the narrow confines of what we perceive to be American culture, and how we as Black people sit inside it.

I’ve had a whirlpool of feelings, being a witness to these people. There’s a rich history of Black American cowboys, but for my work I’ve used the word “equestrian”—more inclusive now, I think. For a long time I observed from the ground, asking equestrians whether I could photograph them; I’d never ridden a horse myself until I climbed onto one while visiting trainer Silas Plummer outside New Orleans. Did I feel fully comfortable or at home? No. I thought a lot about not falling off. But in the Louisiana town where my grandfather was born, his sharecropper family didn’t have cars, so one assumes they were using horses or mules to get around. That was beautiful to circle back to, very ancestral.

And my biggest takeaway, working with all the equestrians, is just how alive they feel when they’re on a horse. There’s a freedom that comes from interacting with animals, with nature, with the land. This is what one form of that freedom looks like.

Horse trainer Silas Plummer holds Kash outside Child’s Arena stables in Bridge City, Louisiana. From wranglers to rodeo riders to jockeys, Black men and women have made their mark in many areas of horsemanship. In the United States, for example, an estimated one in four cowboys in the late 19th century was Black.

MaLana Lewis first rode a horse at age five during a camping trip. Her family later got her into barrel racing classes, and she has collected 24 first-place ribbons with her horse, Star. This photograph was taken in 2020, when Lewis was nine.

Left: Born to formerly enslaved parents in Texas, Bill Pickett became the best known Black rodeo star at the turn of the 20th century. He created the sport of bulldogging, or steer wrestling. Pickett performed around the world and was the first Black man inducted into the National Rodeo Hall of Fame. Courtesy North Fort Worth Historical Society

Right: After barrel racing as a teen, Esperanza Tervalon now trains with JaxieBaby in Bend, Oregon, to “go low and slow” in western pleasure riding competitions. The political consultant turns to horses to bring peace to her life. “I get centered. I always leave the barn feeling better than when I walked in.” Photograph By Kennedi Carter

In the early 1900s, Black communities held festivals and rodeos in cattle country across various southern states. Here a group of cowhands show off their steeds at the Negro State Fair on the Fannin County Fairgrounds north of Bonham, Texas, in 1911. The annual event involved four days of parades, music, and rodeos. Racers also competed for prizes of $2 to $50. Courtesy of Erwin E. Smith Collection of The Library of Congress On Deposit at Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas

Trigger was Vinsha Torain’s first horse, and the two have ridden together since the college student was 13. Torain helps run the family ranch, started by her grandfather, in Siler City, North Carolina, and also heads Torain Ranch’s riding club, composed mainly of Black women.

Left: Nat Love, also known as Deadwood Dick, was born into slavery on a Tennessee plantation in 1854. After the Civil War he moved west and spent 20 years driving cattle. He got his nickname in Deadwood, South Dakota, after beating out every other competitor in roping and shooting contests.

Right: Isom Dart, born into slavery as Ned Huddleston in 1849 in Arkansas, was killed in 1900 in Colorado by a bounty hunter. A jack of many trades, including cook, miner, stunt rider, and horse and cattle thief, he was, ironically, shot for suspected cattle rustling once he’d gone straight. Courtesy Denver Public Library, Western History Collection

Jamel Robinson puts a client’s horse through exercises on a trail in Siler City. He started riding when he was four and training horses when he was 17. Robinson plans to stay in the business, which he learned from his father. “Horses keep me in a good mind space,” he says.

[kayfabebabe]

Trans Headcanons - William Regal

When in doubt, make your favourite Trans! There’s no further explanation needed...

WARNINGS - Mention of unsafe medical practices. Reference to violence/fighting. Vague reference to transphobia. (I’m sorry if I’ve missed anything.) 

~ ~ ~ 

Childhood and Family Nothing is known for certain about William’s childhood. Throughout the years, he’s told varying versions of his early life to different people and he never told the same story twice: 

“My Mother was the bearded lady at the circus and my Father was one of the rodeo clowns.”

“I didn’t know my Mother. She left before I was born.”

“Oh, my parents were named ‘ Bonnie and Clyde’.”

The lack of truth in these tales are a purposeful choice by William to hide the relative bleakness of his childhood. The only member of his biological family that William ever spoke of kindly was his Grandmother. A gentle woman who, in his own words, knew that William was “William” before anyone else. They never spoke openly about it to each other, but her love for William was unconditional. 

Coming to Blackpool Whilst still a teenager, William left home and moved to Blackpool - the nearest large city - in hopes of quietly transitioning and being a part of a more accepting community. Something that was impossible to do in a remote village. Even with the relative anonymity that came from being new around town, William kept the truth of his identity closely guarded from anyone that he met. Too many school-yard brawls had taught him that people were more likely to be cruel towards anybody different to themselves. 

The first friend that William made in Blackpool was Robbie Brookside. Having lied about his age to the owner, William worked in the same bar collecting glasses and cleaning tables whilst Robbie was a part of the security team.Their friendship was quick to begin and easy.

A Different Day and Age It’s fair to say that Testosterone wasn’t easily acquired during the mid-1980’s so the majority of people, including William, had to illegally obtain it. Dimly lit alleys between buildings and the backroom of pubs became pseudo-pharmacies. There was a constant looming threat of being discovered by police or crossing the wrong person. To call it dangerous would be a vast understatement. This is, also, how William managed to have top-surgery at only 18-years old.

There are many details that’ve been lost through the passage of time or William simply doesn’t want to share about how exactly that happened so we’ll leave it there. 

Wrestling It was Robbie Brookside who initially got William interested in wrestling.  Despite his smaller build and even temper, Robbie knew how to physically protect himself and it fascinated William. On a rare weekend off, Robbie brought William along to a wrestling show and he immediately fell in love with it. 

Nobody, absolutely NOBODY, ever questioned whether William was a “real man” or not. The hard-hitting style of his wrestling added to his credibility and his reputation quickly grew, only to follow him when he crossed the Atlantic.

Confidants The only person that William told he was Trans when he initally came to America at 26 years old was Tony Schiavone. In a foreign land with no real understanding of how to procure anything through not-so official channels, he had to turn to somebody. And Mr Schiavone had taken an obvious liking to the taller man with the distinctive accent. Their friendship lasts to this very day. 

William was always extremely careful with who he divulges his personal information to, even as attitudes changed. It took him 5 years of knowing Bryan Danielson before he learnt the truth of his mentor. Danielson’s thoughts about the older man did not change. 

Jon Moxley found out by accident. He had been skulking around backstage of a FCW show and witnessed William take a vial of testosterone from his duffel bag. After a too-heated confrontation, William had no option than to explain everything to Mox. Again, Moxley’s thoughts about the older man did not change with this new information. 

Modern Day Time is a glorious thing. A bloody glorious thing. 

Acceptance has become more widespread throughout the world and, while William is still somewhat protective over his identity, he is more willing to share with those in the community. On more than one occasion, a young wrestler would confide in him about themselves and he’d feel the urge to tuck them under his wing. To protect them from the possible hate and misunderstanding that he had to face himself for so long. .

~ 

[wherewhereare]

Posted on 6 May 2019

Breaking Gwen’s picture and wiping Blake’s name kind of inline with throwing salad at stranger, poses with shady poster, not wanting to casually say Blake’s name, and hung up phone when Gwen’s name brought up, not to mention inner Blake’s circle calling her out. Compare to some random cheating post when his friends and acquaintances praising Blake’s character including ML herself, well until Blake dated Gwen and hell break loose.

From <https://wherewhereare.tumblr.com/>

capitulationismymiddlename answered:

Yeah, it’s not too dissimilar from other behaviours, which is why - whether it’s fair or not - most people would be more likely to believe those stories without the level of evidence they might require if it was another celebrity. 

And I mean, I can give them non-random people talking about the end of Blake and Miranda’s marriage if they REALLY want. I never bother to just put crap out there on social media, but a very recent thing they may want to look at: Preshias Harris talking the ACMs on a podcast named Y’All. Google her name, the fact that she’s spoken highly of Miranda in the past, and then enjoy the following (and yes, I’m including ALL the context so RFs can’t accuse me of picking and choosing my facts). Believe what you want to believe. *takes a deep breath* 😊

From <https://wherewhereare.tumblr.com/>

What did you think of that kind of heated or fun stuff that didn’t have to do with the awards show, per se? 

Well, um, I think Miranda should’ve left that at the backstage door. But Reba has always been open about women - cos she’s had to fight the good ol’ boys from the Rodeo circuit up, y'know. Reba speaks the truth, y'know, and I understand and I feel exactly the way she feels. On the other hand, your marriage comments about your ex-husband does not belong on an awards show. Has nothing to do with the women of country or the music community at all. And I saw the Twitter uproar about her getting her digs into Blake, and I thought that was just very distasteful. But I say it the way it is, you know. 

Well, since we’re talking about Miranda and Blake Shelton, if this public record and everybody should know this, let me know, otherwise I guess we’ll all stay in limbo but what - if there’s an official release of why they got divorced, what is that reason? 

Um, fifth amendment, please. 

Okay. Alright. 

I will tell ya, um, it wasn’t Blake’s fault. Because [can’t understand] somebody called me who works with somebody, okay, cos it was poor, poor pitiful me. I’m just gonna say it straight. Blake was not the cheater. Okay. He was the first time around. Cheated on his wife Katt. He’s apologized to her time and time again. But that made me very respectful of him. But yeah, your clothing don’t go in the front yard with your stuff if you’re on the right end of the stick, so to speak, and I’m - 

 Which is what - 

- And I’m gonna shut my mouth. 

That’s one of the reasons I asked the questions cos we wanna know what’s going on on Music Row, what’s really going on on Music Row. I bring the question up because if what you’re sayin’ is true, then why does she even keep this stuff up? It only makes her look m.

You know what, everybody on Music Row is askin’ that question. You know, her album Wings, y'know, that she came out with after the divorce - very respectful to it, one of my favorite albums ever from Miranda. So because I really tried to be neutral just because of the journalist and the things I do and being a writer and everything. But when I’m being neutral for you and then five years later, you pull [?] and turn it, stick it and twist type situation, even though it’s in a very subdued kind of way, it’s just poor taste. It’s just the way it is. And I think she knew it too. But once you get to the level she is, she can do anything she wants to. And the fans of both she and Blake - Twitter lit up, and Twitter it out or Instagram or whatever. So I think if you read the Instagram posts you’ll see that I’m probably with the other 90%. 

Well, okay, again, if you know anything about Miranda Lambert here in the last year or so, I mean, it’s not like she’s sitting around bored and lonely. She got married not long ago. I think she robbed the cradle, probably; her husband’s younger than she is and he’s a cop as well. So way to go, Miranda. So I don’t know. 

I just wish her happiness. I just hate it because it’s a very small five blocks here on Music Row, you know. So I just, I wish she would be the Miranda she was before the divorce - Cos we all have to live and work here. It’s uncomfortable for everybody involved if you’re making it uncomfortable, you know. I’m sure her new husband really - This, especially them being newlyweds, I would definitely have toned it down a little bit just out of respect for him. 

From <https://capitulationismymiddlename.tumblr.com/post/184687585269/breaking-gwens-picture-and-wiping-blakes-name

[alligatorjesie]

I was a little confused when I ran across this tweet so I did a little digging around because this is has a ripe scent of shit on it.

And found this:

Now I don't feel bad posting this with the username because this user got banned from twitter pretty close to the time period they posted this tweet.

I had to use the wayback machine to check the account but it looks like it was banned back in 2019 if I'm reading it correctly.

That in itself isn't hard. Shit, I got banned from twitter but it was because I kept telling nazis I love to fuck their mothers and enjoyed sending them furry porn. If they were going to act like giant cocks I just assumed they wanted to see them.

This one user made this horrible tweet, then pretty soon after gets banned from twitter and it doesn't look like they went back to the fandom after the fallout. I wont be posting a link to it to stop stupid fucks like ya'll from harassing the user further but I did find a secondary account from this user and I'm 98% sure it's them and after having gone through the account I can say with very little uncertainty that this user is no longer a reylo.

This isn't the first rodeo with this user though as simply typing in their unsername and 'drama' into google brings up a few interesting articles and them being an absolute fucking frothing cunt isn't new behavior. You see, the reylo fandom isn't very big and because of that we're pretty transparent on who is who in this space and is actually very good at self policing. People in the fandom who say shit like this get shoved out of it pretty fucking fast and I've been here for over 7 years so I've seen my fair share of shitty reylos getting told to fuck off.

Fuck me, I've told a few shitty reylos to fuck off.

I'm a furry first and foremost, I got no fucking bones against telling racist pieces of shit in my fandom to kindly dick off into the fifth level of hell as I ain't a fucking stranger to assholes in my fandom spaces and the importance of telling them to fucking leave.

So I'm fucking baffled how you take one tweet, from one user who has long since been removed from this fandom as this tweet was made back in 2019, 4 whole fucking years ago, and are using it as your one way ticket of proof that all reylos are racists?

You do understand the one person doing a bad thing in a fandom does not automatically mean the entire fandom is trash, right? Just because there is one child molester in the LGBQT communities Does Not Fucking Mean every one of it's members are now child molesters. That's not how the fucking works.

Just because there is one nazi in the furry fandom Does Not Fucking Mean the entire fandom are nazis. I fucking hate nazis and I love to tell them they're not fucking welcome in my fandom.

Just because there are

well

known

and

documented

racist

in the Star Wars fandom, Does Not Mean every Star Wars fan is a fucking racist you daffy fuck.

Just because one reylo says racist shit DOES NOT FUCKING MEAN all of them are racist for fuck's sake.

And by the looks of it, this cunt ain't even in this fucking fandom anymore.

So again, are you or are you not able to understand one user does not dictate the worth of an entire fucking fandom? We're not a fucking hive mind mate, we can't control what every person in this fucking fandom says, but we can and have reacted promptly in telling the shit ones to fucking leave.

Or are you going to continue acting like a fucking child @reylossaidwhat ?

This is your fucking choice. And if you're going to act like a fucking twat in this tag, well I'm going to have to ask you the same fucking thing I ask every festering twat who shows up here to do nothing but stir shit and that is to fucking leave.

[girldigital]

flowers drying

There are two types of plants: perennial and annual.

I've known all of my close friends for 5-15 years. People I love tremendously, and who, despite all the years that have gone by, I've never had any conflicts with, with very few exceptions.

I’ve only fallen out with one person over the past decade, and he was an emotionally manipulative psychopath - I think that's fair.

Other than that, I've had a bit of a fight with J, in 2009 or 2010? We were 13 I think. It was also due to this crazy and racist white girl. My most shameful moment, but it's been resolved and we've remained best friends for over a decade after that.

Then, there's M, my heart. Sometimes I wonder if she was my one true love. A relationship so intense and so true for what felt like forever despite truly only being a few years. We both had to drift away from each other, but it wasn't after we gave it our best shot. I've never been more honest with someone, and I don't think she has either. I sometimes think about how she let me read scanned journal entries of hers, and how much that represents, especially coming from someone as private and reserved as she is. Despite our never-ending e-letters, we ultimately had to go our separate ways. I still believe it was never more than a conflict born out of love. The willingness to hear each other and respond truthfully was so inspiring and heartwarming, I wish everyone's communication skills and emotional maturity were at this level.

These are the only "fights" I've had with friends for as far as my memory spans.

Now, why have I experienced so much frustration in the span of six months? Why am I getting riled up in ways I otherwise never experience? When is the last time I’ve raised my voice at someone who wasn’t one of my parents?

My friendships bring me peace, yet this one, I seek peace from.

Blaming it all on a relationship is easy but holds no weight when this isn’t my first rodeo. Sometimes, things are personal, and that’s okay, even if it might be harder to swallow.

I was once asked for friend advice and I said: If I have a friend behave this way, then they simply are not my friend. I think we could have remained friends were the circumstances different, but we were forced into each other’s lives in a way that wouldn’t have happened had we stayed back home. Ultimately, I think that forced proximity is what led to that relationship’s demise.

There are two types of plants: perennial and annual - I think this one was meant to be annual all along.

[bike42]

August 3-7, 2023 Montana for Calvin's Wedding

We left home in the early hours of August 3rd – heading North at first, then West back to Montana – this time a road trip!  We met our friend, Trapper in Maple Grove for lunch.  It had been way too long, and the hours flew by as we caught up.  When I first met JT, he and Trapper were like “brothers from different mothers,” with their own code language and lots of shared history. 

From there, we continued North to Moorhead/Fargo – where we joined brother-in-law Matt for dinner at their house.  My sister had already ventured west with my parents in their VW camper (a different kind of adventure!).  We had a nice dinner, visited with her cat, and enjoyed the evening in their serene backyard oasis.  My brother and two of his daughters (Emma and Georgia) were coming for the night and to transport Matt to MT, but they arrived much later in the evening, and we stayed in a hotel so didn’t see them until we arrived at camp in MT on Saturday.

We drove through the rain, took a few stops in Bismark, Medora and Circle MT.  Once again, we were revisiting memories of our 2012 bike adventure!  We made several stops in Bismark (TJMaxx, Dollar Store, Walmart) in search of cowbells for Jeff’s 29029 volunteer gig but came up short.  The drive from Circle was new territory for us, a two-lane road across the desolate prairie and ranch land of Montana.  Much of the road was under construction and but traffic was light, and it didn’t slow us down much.  With the rain and the mud though, we had a mud-encrusted Audi!

We arrived at our hotel in Grand Falls and found the Montana State Fair happening across the street!  We quickly checked in, then walked over to the fair.  We caught the last half of the rodeo – calf roping, young women riding horses very fast in the barrel races, and the bull riding at the end.  It was all so foreign tome, but I loved the energy of seeing it in person!  It was the second to last day of the fair, so most of the animals in the display barns had been taken home, I was disappointed about that!   But the art and flower arrangement displays were still there so we enjoyed that.

The next morning, we had some time, so we visited the Lewis and Clark Exhibition Center.  It was cool to imagine what the Missouri River looked like in those days!  There was a cool exhibit showing how they devised an 11-day portage around the 5 falls – imagine!!  We also enjoyed talking to an older gentleman that had many period guns and other weapons on display – his private collection.

The rain continued as we drove to Seely Lake (as did the muddy construction).  We grabbed hot drinks at the local coffee shop and then headed around the lake to “Camp Paxson,” our home for the next three nights (an old boy scout camp that’s now part of the National Forest and run by a non-profit).  I felt bad for Calvin and McKinley about the weather, but everyone in attendance was of the “make the best of it” mindset.  We got settled in our rustic cabin – I thought they’d be smaller (not sure why I thought that), and was surprised to find JT and I were sharing a cabin with mom & dad, and San & Matt.  A close family affair!

Saturday night was informal with a lasagna dinner, lots of wine, and Sandra and Matt led campfire stories and songs.  They were dressed in scouting attire, and it was a really fun night!

Sunday morning it was still raining.  Calvin and his friends had erected a tent with a stage and dance floor.  It was dry but sandy in there – we cleaned it up and Sandra led about 10 of us through a morning yoga session.  Then breakfast in the lodge, and free time for hiking, napping, or hanging out until the afternoon wedding.  Jeff and I hiked about 4 miles through a beautiful hemlock forest – incredibly open without much understory.

There was a rush to get ready in the communal bathrooms before the wedding – a different kind of experience.  Most found with the rain and humidity, it was senseless to try to do anything with one’s hair!! 

Like a miracle, the sun came out just before the outdoor wedding and it was a beautiful afternoon and evening.  A thoroughly enjoyable occasion – great band, good dinner, and fun celebration with family.  There were some “wedding crashers” at the end of the night – apparently, they got away with one of the beer barrels.

Monday morning was quieter.  Sandra and Amy and I still did yoga, we had a leisurely breakfast (my dad and my brother made Huckleberry pancakes).  A larger group of us hiked to a nearby waterfall, and then the folks that were left had salads and leftover lasagna for dinner.  Matt, San, JT and I played a fun game of croquet – obstacles like pinecones and tree roots!  Early to bed for me – big week coming up!

[hahahahahangst]

Anna's twenty years old (Be The Young 36)

TW: [suicidal thoughts, self h*rm, violence, s*xual assault]

Other tags: [sister fic, canon-level violence, dean is an asshole, angst]

All chapter titles are song titles, some of them translated from Italian songs. We start from the first season and make out way through the series. I will occasionally break canon✨ .

Summary: Emily Reed, born and raised in Portland, is preparing her admission papers for Stanford, medical school. Little does she know, her life is about to change forever.

"After reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. [...] He’s your real father."

A/N:  Dean and Emily can’t catch a break

MASTERLIST

Anna's twenty years old

You’re special, you’re better than the rest You need to have a better job than mom and dad She grew up with the hope of changing a sad reality Anna is twenty years old and she’s on the doorstep of adulthood But Anna is unhappy, nothing changed and it’s all here

“Dean, are you ready?” Emily called out. The door bell rang and she opened the door. “Oh, hi Ellen!” The woman entered the house. 

“Where’s little John?” She asked, smiling. 

“He’s in the playpen- Ellen, thank you for coming in this soon, I’m so sorry I gave you little notice.” 

“Oh, no worries, honey, it’s always a pleasure to take care of my grandson!” The woman walked to the playpen and took out John. Emily’s heart filled with joy. She really loved her son. She was extremely lucky to have Dean’s family step in and help after John’s father died. She had given up on John calling Dean “uncle.”, and just accepted that he would call him “dad”. Explanations were due when he was older. 

“Oh, hi mom.” Smiled Dean, seeing Ellen. “Are you ready, Em? We need to go.” 

Emily got her bag from the couch. “Yeah- So, remember, John eats at 12. Everything is prepped and ready in the fridge, you just need to warm it.” She explained. “Temp is 90 degress, not more or he will burn himself-” 

“Okay-”

“If you need anything and I'm not answering my phone, there’s a binder on the counter.”

“Emily, I’ll be okay. This is not my first rodeo. Come on now, you’ll be late.” Ellen smiled. 

Emily said goodbye to John and sprinted down the stairs with Dean. They entered their car and Emily drove them to work. “You know…“ She said, parking the car in front of the office. “You could drive one of these days.” 

“Nah, I feel safer if you do it.” 

Emily shrugged and entered the building. Dean took the elevator to his office and Emily joined her colleagues in the communal office. She worked as a tech support operator. When she entered the cubicle containing her desk, she was immediately distracted by Sam’s tall figure towering in front of her. “Hey bestie.” He smiled. “Coffee break?”

Emily giggled. “We literally just got here.” She stood up. “But who am I to deny you some of God's nectar?” They started working towards the break area. “Should we also ask Jessica?” Sam looked away. “I was expecting more enthusiasm- wait!” Emily dramatically stopped in the middle of the office. “Did she turn you down?” Sam smiled and nodded. 

“Aw, that’s awkward.” Said Emily, pretending to be sad. “Let me fix it.” She skipped towards Jessica’s desk.

“No, wait-”

“Hey Jess!” Said Emily, entering the girl’s cubicle. “Wanna get some coffee?” 

“Can’t. Working.” She answered, stressed.

Emily, confused, asked again. “Come on, just five minutes. We’re paid by the hour, you know.” 

“I said I can’t!” Jessica repeated, nervously glancing at her. 

“Oof.” Said Emily, going back to Sam. “What did you do to her? You stalked her or something?” 

“What?!” Sam seemed outraged. “Of course not!” 

“Well, she sure is stressed.” Sam and Emily headed to the coffee station. “Alright, spit it out: what did you dream about last night? I’m looking to update my Tumblr profile with a new chapter.” 

“Dude, you gotta stop writing short stories about my dreams.” 

“Why? I told you, if we ever get famous, I’ll give you your fair 50%.” 

“It’s not about that, just-”

“Shhh, I don’t care! Just tell me what you dreamed about.” She sat on the counter and poured herself some coffee. Sam exhaled, surrendering to his will. 

“I dreamt of me and you, fighting a demon named Alastair.” 

“Ooooh, that’s fun. I can already see it: Sam and Emily, besties fighting supernatural crime, from spring in all bookshops!” 

“You’re out of your mind.” Laughed Sam, sipping his coffee.

“No, no my friend: you’re just not dreaming big enough!” 

They got back to their desk. Emily entered a call. “Sandover tech, this is Emily, how may I help you?” She asked, with her work voice, at least twice as high as her regular voice. 

The person on the other side, an old man, seemed upset. “Uh, actually, could you transfer me to a man? I need someone who knows his tech.” 

“Of course.” Said Emily, with a disappointed sigh. “Give me one second.” After muting her microphone, she stood up and leaned in Sam’s area. “Can I transfer a dick to you?” He shrugged. She was about to sit back down, when she noticed Jessica was on the verge of crying. She quickly transferred the call. 

“Sandover tech, this is Sam, how may I help you?” Said Sam voice. 

“Jessica, what’s going on?” Asked Emily, walking around the corner. 

“All my work, it’s gone! The stupid computer is frozen!” She said, nervously typing something on the keyboard. 

“Yeah, they’re crap! But it’s okay, it happens. Did you backup?” 

“No, I- I didn’t!” Jessica grew more and more nervous. 

“Jess, it’s okay. It’s not like nobody cares about our performances here.” 

Crying, Jessica ignored her words and kept desperately trying to get her files back. 

Seven hours later, she said goodbye to Sam and left the office. She met with Dean in the parking lot. 

“‘Sup?” He entered the car. 

“Nothing much, Jessica turned down Sam.” 

“Who are they?” 

“What do you mean? Dean, I talk about them all the time!”

“Never heard of them.”

“Sam is literally my childhood best friend, how have you not heard about him?”

“Ahh, that Sam!”

“Yeah, that Sam. What are you thinking about all day that you can’t remember one three letter name?” 

“I don’t know, this guy doesn’t seem important in my life. I just purge myself of this info.” 

Emily shook her head and started driving. Once home, she went straight to John. 

“Hey honey!” The toddler called her and raised his arms. 

“Up! Up!” He asked, smiling. 

“Is your stomach nice and full?” She asked, taking him up. “Nana had you play a lot?” 

“I was pwince and I saved her fwom monsters!” He said, proud. 

The night went on as usual, and everyone was soon in their beds. 

“Dean, are you ready?” Emily asked again the following morning. The bell rang and she opened the door. Ellen entered the house. 

“Where’s little John?” She asked, smiling. 

“He’s in the playpen.” The woman walked to the playpen and took out John.

“Oh, hi mom.” Smiled Dean, seeing Ellen. “Are you ready, Em? We need to go.” 

Emily got her bag from the couch. “Yeah- So, remember, John eats at 12. Everything is prepped and ready in the fridge, you just need to warm it.” She explained. “Temp is 90 degress, not more or he will burn himself-” 

“Okay-”

“If you need anything and I'm not answering my phone, there’s a binder on the counter.”

“Emily, I’ll be okay. Come on now, you’ll be late.” Ellen smiled. 

Emily said goodbye to John and sprinted down the stairs with Dean. They entered their car and Emily drove them to work. 

Everything was exactly as the previous day, but once they approached the building, something felt off. There were police cars and ambulances around, as well as a good amount of people nervously chatting in front of the door. Emily separated from Dean to join Sam, whom she had noticed, crying, a little bit away from the rest of the employees. 

“Sam, what’s going on?” 

���They found a corpse in the break room.” He said, sniffing. 

“What?” 

“I said, they found a corpse! In the break room!” 

“Yeah, I- Alright, Sam, calm down!” She took his head into her hands. “Explain to me. What happened?” 

“I don’t know, I-” Sam sobbed. 

At that moment, just when Emily was about to ask him whose corpse they found, the body was rolled out. She would recognize Jessica’s hair from miles away. And there they were, coming out of the white sheet they had laid on her. Emily looked at Sam, who was quickly descending into sobs. 

“Hey, come here.” She whispered, hugging him. “I'm sorry, I know. I know.” 

Emily and Sam took the day off. She drove him back to his place and made him some dinner. She looked at him sob and wince and he reminded her of the day she found out John’s father, Daniel, died. She sat there, on the same exact couch, screaming. She could not understand why the universe would do something that bad to someone as nice and loving as Daniel. She could only imagine Sam was feeling the same. She made him some pre-cooked ramen and served it to him. He set it down on the coffee table. 

“Come on, Sam, you have to eat.” He looked at her. 

“Emily, did I do this?” He pleaded. 

“No, Sammy, of course you didn’t.” She dried his face with her hand. “You heard what the boss said, right? She already had problems on her own. It’s not your fault.”

“You don’t know that!”

“You’re right, we don’t, but- Take a deep breath, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.” She hugged him. “One breath at the time, okay?” 

The following day, Emily picked Sam at home to bring him to work. He insisted on getting back to normal as soon as possible: there had been gossip in the workplace saying the company was firing employees who underperformed. So, he walked into work as normal as he could. 

Emily started working and answered a couple of calls. Then, she stood up and leaned into Sam’s cubicle. “Coffee break?” 

“No, sorry. I’ve got work.” 

“Come on, don’t be stupid. You need a break.” 

“I said no.” 

“Sam, come on. You’re not gonna get fired over a coffee break.” 

Sam ignored her and kept working. Emily, upset, sat back down. Twenty minutes later, she left the building to go have lunch. As she grabbed her pizza off the counter, her phone rang, showing Dean’s name. 

“Ya?” She said, already chewing. 

“Emily, you need to come back, now.” 

“Why? I’m not even halfway through the break!” She lamented. 

“Emily, this is serious. It’s… It’s Sam.” Through the phone, Emily heard the distinct sound of an ambulance. 

“Dean, what happened?” 

“I can’t talk about it on the phone. I need you to come back.” Dean closed the communication. Emily started walking back towards the office. 

As she approached the building, it became more clear, something bad had happened. Police and paramedics flooded the place and the employers were extremely nervous. Someone was even crying, sitting in the back of an ambulance. Dean stopped Emily from entering the building. “Dean, what happened?!” 

“There was an accident-”

“What does accident mean?!” 

“Sam, he-” 

“Dean, just tell me what happened.” 

“You need to calm down, Emily, please…“ Dean tried to calm her down and drag her away from the door. Emily violently pushed him away. 

“WHAT HAPPENED?!” She yelled. 

“Sam killed himself.” 

“He- WHAT?!” 

Emily hid herself in Dean’s office. She sat on the chair, crying. “Why does everyone I love die, Dean?” She asked. He shook his head. “What did I ever do to deserve this?!” 

She dried her face and noticed Dean wasn’t paying attention to her words anymore, instead, he was looking at the screen in front of him. “What the fuck is more interesting that me, losing another person I cared about?!” She asked, angry. 

“You like mistery, right?” He turned the screen towards her. “Check this out. Both Sam and Jessica received the same email, asking them to report to HR in room 1444.”

“Yeah, they did not work well, Dean, would you listen to me? My best friend is dead, damn it!”

“No, no, you’re not getting the point. HR is at floor 7. Room 1444 would be floor 14.” 

“There’s a typo, yeah, okay, the company doesn’t make mistakes? The company doesn’t care about anything, Dean. There’s people killing themselves and they force us to keep working! Who the fuck does that?”

“Emily.” He sighed. “You’re not listening.” 

“Of course, but you listen so well, right?! You didn’t even know who Sam was-”

“EMILY!” He raised his voice, rolling his eyes. “Should we go check out what’s in room 1444?” He pointed to the door. 

Emily stared at Dean for a second, processing everything. She had been there for almost 5 years and HR had never been on floor 14. Someone would have cared to change the template in 5 years of HR people coming and going, right? 

So, what was in the room?

“Let’s go.” Emily hastily stood up, drying her face. 

“Now, that’s the Detective Emily I grew up with.” Dean smiled. “Dying to solve some mysteries.” 

“Do not-” She scowled. 

“Sorry, I heard it. You’re right.” 

They headed to the 14th floor. Nobody was in it: it actually looked like it was abandoned and never renovated, like the rest of the building had. 

Immediately out of the elevator, they heard someone screaming from inside room 1444. Instinctively, Emily ran towards the door and tried to open it. When it failed, she kicked it down.

“Where did you learn that?” Asked Dean as they entered the room. 

“I don’t know.” She said, frantically looking for the source of the sound. As she turned a corner behind some cabinets, she found Al, a guy she knew worked with her but never really spoke to, trapped under a bookshelf which seemingly came down. She didn’t have the time to ask him what happened that both her and Dean were thrown away by an invisible force. She fell on a pile of computers and got hurt. She saw Dean also struggling to stand up, and tried to use another computer as a ledge, but it also fell. Then, she looked in front of her, where an old man, dressed as if he came from another century, was standing over Al, electrical sparkles coming out of his hands. Dean, across the room, managed to stand up and tried to hit the man with a tool, making him disappear into thin air. 

“Dean, listen- My best friend just died. I have known him since we were kids. I am not going ghost hunting after the guy who founded the company.” She stood up from Dean’s desk. 

“Come on, wouldn’t taking revenge make you feel better? You always said you felt like you were supposed to be doing something else, right? This might be it.” 

“Absolutely not! Listen, I just want to go home, get drunk and go to sleep.” 

“Get drunk? Since when you drink alcohol?” 

Emily thought about it. He was right, she had not touched alcohol since Daniel had died. “Right… I don’t know, it was- it was a lapsus.” 

“Listen, you don’t want to come, maybe I’ll go alone.” 

“What if you’re hurt? Come on, be serious.” 

“Hey! We have all the info we need. We watched all those ghostfacers tutorials.” 

“Dean, do you really believe in two nerds who live out of their mother’s basements?

“Do you want people to keep dying?” 

Emily groaned. “I hate how you always manage to convince me with words. I hate you.” 

“I love you too, little bitch.” He smiled, smug. 

They prepared the tools they needed. Salt, iron, a lighter. They headed for room 1444 to find something that could have the ghost’s DNA on it. They looked and looked, but didn’t find anything. 

“I give up.” Said Emily, about two hours later, putting down the last piece of paper she had checked. “This is not a good idea.” 

“Wait, I just remembered something.” Dean dragged her out of the room and towards the stairs. They ran down to the 7th floor, where HR had created and pinned up an exhibition with the history of the company. “Here.” He pointed to a pair of old gloves which once were of mr. Sandover, the founder of the company and ghost currently haunting the building.

“You think these were really worn by him? I always thought it was creepy.” 

“Worth a try.” Shrugged Dean. Using the iron bar he had brought, he broke the glass protecting the gloves. Immediately, the same invisible force from earlier, had them flying separate ways. The ghost of mr. Sandover attacked Dean and Emily had to struggle by herself to stand back up. However, she ran towards the gloves and managed to burn them.

They went back to Dean’s office. “You know what?” Giggled Dean. “This was fun.” 

“Fun? Are you completely out of your mind?” 

“We should keep doing this, you know?” 

“Alright, you’re completely crazy.” Concluded Emily. “Dean, I have a son. He calls you daddy.” 

“Yeah, he can come with!” 

“And do what? Growing up in motel rooms and eating saturated fats from Biggersons?” 

“Well-” 

“Did it occur to you when you adopted John that signing those papers came with responsibilities? Now you want to go be a ghost hunter?” 

“You seem upset, I-”

“And also- You hate working out. Do you realize how much we had to run today? Up and down stairs, running for our lives? You know who would have been good at this? Sam. But Sam’s dead.” 

“Would you-”

“The fact alone that you would propose something like that, without spending one single second thinking about it… It makes me wonder if maybe I should not have let you back in my life after Daniel died.” 

Dean blinked, shocked. “Really?” He asked. “Is that how you feel?” 

“Fuck you is how I feel. My best friend killed himself today and all you can think about is ghost hunting!” 

Emily stormed off the room and went back home.

The following morning she woke up in an old, crappy motel. That’s when she saw Ramiel, staring at her from the other side of the room. 

“Damn it, Ramiel! What did I say about watching me sleep?” She moaned, throwing a pillow at him. He easily caught it and calmly returned it to her bed. “Wait, what- that wasn’t a regular dream, was it? It had angel of the lord written all over it.” 

“You’re right. It wasn’t a regular dream. Dean is still in it.” He pointed to her brother, still peacefully sleeping on the other half of the bed. 

“What was all that for?” 

“I am not the one in charge of your dreams, but-” Ramiel exhaled. “What I think my superiors are trying to communicate to your brother is that this is your destiny. One way or the other, you’re always gonna end up hunting.”  “You’re full of crap.” She scoffed. “You can make us dream as much as you want, Ramiel. But we know we can choose our own path.”

[generallybrontidefeelings]

Stressed

Rating: NC-17

A/N: Brought to you by this post. I'm tired and sleepy and don't want to make any decisions. The degree is an actual MS you can get from American University in DC. U of Tennessee’s anthropology dept. hosts what’s called a body farm. It's a lab for forensic pathology students. Do NOT I repeat DO NOT look up pictures.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader, Marcus Pike x you

Summary: Marcus Pike is an associate faculty member at your forensics college. You ask him to be your second reader for your thesis, even though you have a huge crush on him. Nothing is better than something, right? By the time you pass your exam, you're so pent up you could scream.

Warnings: cadaver talk, pining, age difference, some power dynamics?, annoying college talk, sex, dirty talk, a God awful metaphor curtesy of Blanche Devereaux, 39

“Take a deep breath.”

You huff in a small shallow breath. Then let it out, and take in a longer, fuller one.

“Now let it out.” You let your cheeks puff up as cool air streams past your lips. “You’ve made huge improvements, and you’ve studied hard. The paper exam will be easy, and the oral will be a cinch.”

You gulp. “I know. It’s just...pre-show jitters, you know?”

He gives you a full smile, and flips the document shut. You hand him the binder clip, accidentally brushing his fingers when you do.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

You swallow, fiddling with your paper edge. God you feel like a twelve year old. You're fucking twenty-seven and about to apply for the FBI, why are you such a sap? He’s not available. Not even remotely. He will be gone in a year, back to the Bureau. There is no reason to nurse a crush. And you curse yourself for asking a man you’re attracted to - you, idiot, idiot! - to spend more time with you. Even if it is reading your dull chapter.

"No, I have everything I need, thanks."

"Then scoot. I have to read like...thirty pages of Tanner's chapter before he gets here."

You pull your bag to your shoulder. "you're not going to get that far," you scoff. The tensing in your shoulders relaxes a little when you stand to leave.

"We'll see," he says. He opens the door of his office for you. You glance back once more, and he's still in the doorway watching you go. "See you tomorrow."

"See you." Your mind swirls back and forth between thoughts of Mr. Pike, your thesis, Pike, your oral defence, your paper exam in two days, Marcus crossing his ankles in his reading chair. And you walk. Straight ahead, not looking back. But when you get to the door handle you turn around. And he's still there. Watching.

You've never been so stressed in your life.

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

You met Marcus Pike on a muggy afternoon in August deep in the heart of Tennessee. The air warped off the pavement as you drove together to the School of Anthropology to visit your cadaver lying relaxed and prostrate in the middle of a fenced field. The air is already warm, then lightning flashes in the clouds to your right, and plopping rain drops scatter across the lawn, and dampens A-0017’s second hand suit. His raisinette hands lie against the grass almost like he’s communing with the earth. You watched the water hit his face, and permanently closed eyelids, and shaved head.

You had no business being so fidgety while kneeling next to a cadaver. Agent Marcus Pike and the facility director chat a couple feet away, leaving you to your business with A-0017. Pike had never been to the school’s mysterious forensics lab, even though he had plenty of time to when he was earning his own masters. That’s what he said in his email to you three weeks earlier. He’d heard a first-year student was running a fibrous material experiment and asked to tag along. And you said yes. Why not? He was faculty. It wasn’t unheard of. His email was so polite too, letting you know if you weren’t comfortable he understood. Pike. The name rattled a memory somewhere. So you emailed him back, and the next morning he sent you his itinerary: he would meet you in Tennessee. He’d even pay for the rental car.

You sent your advisor a quick text to ask if he was ‘crazy.’ She’d sent back the laughing emoji. No, she said, Marcus Pike isn’t a crazy. You’ll like him.

You did like him. He was waiting for you at the Hertz desk, and heat licked up your skin when you realized - he was striking. He was the type of man you’d make eyes at in a bar without any hope of even getting a number. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he had a softness brought on by a light scruff that didn’t hide his dimples. You barely registered that he was apologizing for not getting to introduce himself before flying out, but promised he was who he said he was. Even pulled out his credentials.

“Bureau?” you said to his badge. “I thought you were an associate professor?” You want to smack yourself.

Oh, “I am,” he replied. He dug in his wallet and pulled out a campus ID that matched yours. “I’m taking an interim year. I thought teaching would be a nice way to ease into DC life.”

Now he was here, sweating under the storm clouds while watching you unbutton A-0017’s shirt, and half listening to the director tell him all about how they kept the lawn looking green despite, ahem, fluids. You sternly told A-0017 to be on their best behavior while you pulled their shirt back to examine some fiber swatches stapled to his rubbery chest.

On the flight back Pike asked you all about your thesis plans. You stuttered as you began. He waited, patient. You were writing on how the FBI could contribute to cultural repatriation efforts internationally by returning art pieces. Do you know what it could do to boost scholarly opportunities? The doors it could open! Why put it in cold storage when it could revitalize movements? Art breathes, after all. You were exhausted by the time the plane landed. Both from answering questions, and from keeping a steadily building tension under wraps. You hoped he didn’t notice how you crossed your legs.

“I’d love to read it.” He handed your backpack down from the overhead bin.

“Maybe you should be my second reader.” You got serious when his face perked up. “I still need one.”

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That was nine months ago.

Your exams are in a week, and instead of thinking about preparing, all you can think of is that once everything is turned in, you probably won’t see Marcus again. He’s been your anchor these last months, and you’ve gotten used to his solid presence and encouraging platitudes. You cup your hot cheeks because it’s a dirty thought.

He lets you work in his office for a couple hours a week every week. The crammed little space is tight quarters, but he makes room for your laptop anyway. Sometimes you worked together heads bent for full time. Sometimes he read pages from your thesis, and you help him grade some papers from his first-year art history course. And sometimes you drink three pm coffee together and don’t work at all. It’s your favorite time of the week. The glow his praise gives you is embarrassing. And he’s an easy companion - nope, colleague. Your heart beats and your mouth waters every time you’re fifteen feet from his office door. The cold door knob jolts you took. You harbor a secret. Keep it warm in your belly. It swirls hungrily deep in you.

But now it’s a problem. You’re so distracted. Every time you leave his office, you’re tense from want. Your body is already over-caffeinated and achy from sitting in hard library chairs so long. But you keep going. Every time an anxious heat lights up the alarms in your head your instinct is to ask him what to do. You have to rest your hands in your head and remind yourself: he isn’t your babysitter, he’s a grown man who doesn’t have boundless time to tell you what to do. You have to figure it out yourself. Even if you really just want him to tell you what this or that section needs, is the title here misleading, is it lunch time, do you think the tone here is condescending?

What do you think? What do you want it to look like?

You think you want to grab his dumb button down collars and bite his lip. You want it to look flushed and tousled and desperate. You want to ride him in his reading chair with the door locked. It just isn’t fair.

The night before your first exam you take z-quil, drink lavender tea, and read a chapter of your favorite book to relax. Your phone buzzes at nine. It’s Marcus: good luck! You’re going to do great! Well. Better take some more Z-quill now that your heart is palpitating.

You pass both tests in excellent standing - MS in International Relations: complete. Pike attends the oral exam. Your skin goes hot when he smiles at you when the committee declares you exceed expectations. He invites you for a celebratory drink in the next couple days, which means you have two days to sternly wrangle your crush back into the dirty corner she came from.

You fail miserably.

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“Look,” he says, setting his beer down on the glass bar counter. “I know it’s not my business, but you still look stressed out. Are your grades bothering you?”

The rim of your gin and tonic is wet with condensation from where your finger circles it. “No, they’re great.”

He bumps your shoulder with his. “Then what’s the damage? You’re jumpier than a…” he trails off thinking a good metaphor. He squints at you a little.

“A virgin at a prison rodeo?” you supply. He inhales sharply, eyes wide. “You can laugh.”

“I didn’t know you watched ‘The Golden Girls,” he says. His tone is admiring. “I was going to say jumpier than a graduate student giving their defense.” You purse your lips when he raises his eyebrows at you. “Can I help at all?”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he takes another sip of his beer. The soft orange lights in the bar spill around his jaw and throat, they flicker in his irises. His face in three quarter profile is august. You’re utterly exhausted from the polite ‘student mentor’ dance you’ve had to do for months while keeping your desire at bay. And more than that, you didn’t want to answer. You wanted to show him and let him decide. The sultry washboard and piano music give you that last boost.

You make sure he’s watching you, then you slowly reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist.

Then you wait.

Marcus pauses from lifting his beer bottle, eyes glued to your hand on his wrist. It’s petite against him. He stares at your baby blue fingernails pairing beautifully with his Stirling watch - and he feels himself harden.

All the skin on your body stands at attention when he meets your eyes. Everything in them tells you he wants you just as bad. There’s a hesitant curve above his eyebrow though. You get it. You were his student - he’s such a sweet man he wouldn’t even dream of using a power dynamic like that to get laid. Your breath comes in short heaves.

“The semester ended thirty-six minutes ago,” you say over the music. He takes a deep breath. You aren’t his student anymore. Not according to the school, anyway.

You want him to decide. If he doesn’t, you’ll go home and fall apart under your fingertips thinking about how hot it would have been to lift your dress and sit on his cock while wearing your thigh highs.

“Do you want to leave?” You nod, resisting the urge to bite your lip.

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Marcus’s apartment is homey. Streetlights flood the floor of the living room through the street facing windows. You turn this way and that to inspect the dark areas that look like bookshelves while he hangs up your coat. You squeeze your hands at your sides, because this is happening. You’re in his house. The hardwood floor is cold under your stocking feet.

You jump when he puts his hands on your shoulders from behind you, holding you a mere inch from his body. You bite your lip when his nose bumps into the back of your head.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You already asked me that,” you reply, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. You want so badly to tell him to tell you what to do. That you don’t want to make any decisions. Brain is worn out. That you want to please him, and not think. Oh, to be a freshmen simply sponging up information.

“I know,” he slides his hands to your biceps and turns you around. “I can check in again, can’t I? He cups your face when you nod. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” you have to stop yourself from saying something incriminating, like mister Pike, or sir, or professor.

You clutch the front of his button down to anchor yourself when his lips brush yours. His mouth is soft. It coaxes you to open so he can dive into you, his tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you respond by pressing into him. You stay pliant under him, letting him lead. Your legs feel on the verge of collapse when you break away. You can’t stand it anymore.

“I want to suck your cock.”

Both of you freeze. For a second you wonder if you’ve given him a heart attack. But you watched his thighs on the car ride back and couldn’t stop thinking about kneeling between them. Your mouth waters. Marcus can’t breathe. He’s straining against his zipper. After your declaration he wants it too.

“Okay, honey,” he breathes. He brushes your ear with his thumb. “If that’s what you want, we’ll do that.”

He tries to draw you backward toward his room where he can turn on a lamp and properly pay tribute to your body, but you pull him back. You tug him to his mid-century armchair - he has the twin to it in his office. His mouth goes dry. You have to know. He looks into your face, and from the way you’ve averted your eyes, you know.

“Please?” you say. It sounds like a sob.

From this close you can smell the vanilla and bergamot of his soap. He sits, waiting for you. When you don’t move he holds his hand out for you to take.

“Come here, honey,” he draws you close. The top of your dress swings a little and he groans when he sees the break of your dress to what he thought were tights. Marcus studies your face in the second hand street light - your mouth parted, your eyes blown wide. Your hand in his is hot. “Hey, if this is overwhelming, or not what you want-”

“It is,” you correct him.

“Tell me what’s wrong then,” he requests. You feel pained. If you don’t say it now you never will.

“Tell me what to do.” Your head aches from the stress of carrying it for so long. “I’ve had to make my own decisions for months, and I don’t want to anymore. Just - for five minutes-” you bring your hands to your cheeks and press them against your hot skin. You watch as he realizes what you want. He nods in slow motion.

“Okay,” he says. “Kneel for me.” He gets even harder when you sink to your knees. Your hands rest in your lap. Waiting. He can’t believe this is happening. Thank goodness he’s going back to the Bureau in three months. He couldn’t face the other faculty - fuck, your advisor - after this. Leaning forward he cups your chin and kisses you. You squeeze your thighs together. He kisses your ear and says lowly, “take my cock out, honey. I want you to suck me off.”

When you take him in your mouth as far as you can, you look into his face. His mouth has fallen open. His ears have turned red from flushing. It’s indescribable. It makes your mouth water further around his hard length. It’s heavy on your tongue. You move up and down his shaft leisurely, trying to savor it. Letting saliva run down onto his skin as your tongue works the spongy head. You reach up to work the base with your hand when he tells you ‘no’.

“Just your mouth.” Fuck. You moan around him as a ripple pulls from deep in your core. The vibrations of you moaning make him jolt and heave. For a few moments he apologies while you breathe deeply, then resume. You take a mouthful of him. It’s feasting. It’s mindless.

His fingers brush the side of your face, and tenderly cups the back of your head. You want to make him understand this is what you want. So you slide down as far as you can comfortably, and wait. Swallowing thickly around his length

“Fuck, honey,” he groans. He gets it, taking both hands and moving your head the pace he wants. You can tell he hasn’t been asked for this often. Maybe ever. You close your eyes and just feel. His cock filling your mouth. Aches forming around your jaw. Tears leaking out of your eyes from your concentration. Your pussy wetting through your underwear. Marcus pulling your hair. You swallow hard, then he stops. And pushes you off.

You whine in protest.

“I hear you, honey,” he says softly. His voice is hoarse. “Another time. I want you to unwind right now.” Your pussy clenches.

He takes you back to his bedroom and helps you undress. He lifts your dress over your head, and kneels to help you out of your thigh highs. One day, if you’ll let him, he’ll fuck you with them on, but he likes to see all of a woman the first time he does anything to her. He kisses the bit of skin above the waistband of your panties before standing to kiss your lips. Your help him push them down your hips until they fall to your ankles. The soft gasp he lets out at the sight of your underwear and bare body is nothing short of gluttonous.

“Lay down.”

He strips while you watch. He does it without taking his eyes off of you. There’s hunger in them. This man has an appetite, you know it. The fabric rustles pleasantly between the sound of both of you breathing. Far away, ambulance sirens blare in another neighborhood, but here in his apartment the wet sound of cars passing in the rainy street are the closest accompaniment.

“I want to touch you here,” he tells you, palming your sex and making you squeak. It’s so forward.

“Do it,” you breathe, and part your legs further for him. He leans in and kisses your temple, murmuring ‘good girl’ and you swear you could black out.

You’re already so wet when his fingers part your folds to greet the new territory. “Did sucking my cock get you wet?” He sounds amazed. He tastes one fingertip before putting it back to tease your folds. “I wonder how wet you would be just holding it in your mouth while you read.”

“Oh-” a ripple works down your spine. He smirks. The tip of his finger brushes just inside your lips to tease your entrance.

“I’m going to put my fingers in you. You,” he pauses to kiss your cheek, “relax. You earned it.” He rubs his nose up and down yours, and you nudge him back just as he slips one long finger into you. You’re glad he’s being sweet like this. It’s the perfect blend of firmness and care. You want him to dominate you one someday, maybe, but right here and now, the combination of his low voice and steady fingers is ideal. Marcus kisses your cheek and mouth as he works his finger in and out of you. It’s thick and reaches further than you ever could. You spread your legs even further to tell him, more.

Without removing his hand he moves down your body to lick your clit. He sucks and flicks it as he coaxes more wetness out of your leaking cunt. Carefully he pulls the finger out and presses his wet hand to the inside of your thigh to keep you open. He laps into you, covering the muscles with lubricant because you’re going to need it. You see his face just as he decides you’re ready; it’s contemplative, like he’s concentrating. Then he slides two fingers deep into you.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so fucking good,” your voice crescendos. You reach for his shoulder as he comes up to lie beside you. His skin is warm under your palm. You buck your hips looking for something else, seeking, wanting-

“Stay still.” You still immediately. “Just feel it, baby. I want you to be ready for me.” You know what he means. His cock is thick and smearing against your hip. He was big in your mouth, he’s going to be big while pushing into you. His fingers keep moving while he kisses the tips of your nipples. When he takes one between his teeth and tugs you break. Your mouth opens, and your legs clamp reflexively around his wrist. Your pussy gushes around his fingers - you can feel it. You can feel how his movements change from a drag as a slide. He keeps pumping. He doesn’t give up until he’s sure you’ve felt every aftershock. He’d love to take his time and work a third in one day - if he can - but tonight, he wants to move on. After you swallowed his cock in his sitting room chair he’s been thinking of rewarding you.

You feel him slip his fingers out, and roll away to the nightstand. He looks back at you, and his eyes soften a little before he asks, “do you want me to use a condom?”

“No,” you say and reach for his bicep to pull him back toward you. He comes willingly. “I have an IUD. And I’m clean.” He smiles, flinging the packet over his shoulder. It makes you giggle, but it sounds hysterical to your ears. You watch him reach down and pump his cock with the hand that was just inside you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Look at me,” he orders. Your eyes snap open. Marcus crashes his lips on yours. The hand not dripping from your cunt cups the back of your head. “I want to see your eyes while I fuck you.”

His blunt head breaks into you, you lose all thought. He sinks further in, until you’re squirming on his length because he’s stretching you. You suck air in and will your body will stay still like he suggested for his fingers. You look into Marcus’s eyes the whole time, trying to tell him how good he feels. You can’t make the words leave your throat. He pulls your head to him, kisses your mouth until you compose yourself and lie still. Then he gets to work. The breadth of him stills you anew. For the first time in months you fully relax, hardly making a sound as he thrusts steadily. You stare into Marcus’s eyes while your mouth falls open as he slides into you, and listen to the wet sounds of your pussy and the bed frame creaking.

Then he starts talking.

“Do you know how good you look in those blue trousers? I want to grab your ass every time you wear them,” he rumbles. His pace picks up a hair, and he feels harder in you somehow. He drops to his forearm. “I love watching it when you walk out of my office.” You knew it. “And that damn cardigan you never wear a shirt under? Those buttons slip right open, don’t they?” He punctuates it with a deep thrust that makes you squeak. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Wear it over for dinner. I’ll bite your tits through it.”

He fucks into you harder, sending shivers up your spine with every thrust. It moves you up the bed until you have to reach a hand up and press back against the headboard. You clutch him with the other, looping around his shoulder to feel the muscles in his arms pull and tug as he moves in you, working you up to another release Soon enough, the coil in your belly tightens and he reaches to worry your clit with deft fingers. His eyes never leave you. You think this man could make the hardest fuck feel like making love.

“I need more,” you tell him. You’re too embarrassed to ask for what you want. A tear leaks out of your eye because his thickness is so good, but you want something else too. You always underestimate him. He grins because he knows - he’s a detective. He figured it out. He leans down to rest his forehead on your temple.

“You’re doing so well,” he says. You arch up into him, your breasts brush his chest. “Your wet pussy is so sweet. It’s taking me so well. Are you gonna be respectful? Gonna listen?” You have to hold your breath as your hips tense. “Be good and come on my cock.” Oh fuck. “Say it.”

Your voice is wet with joy. “Yes, sir.”

“Such a good girl.”

Sparks lick up your back and through your cunt, forcing Marcus deeper into when you lift your lips. He slows to let you enjoy all your release. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips. Then when he hears your content sigh, he buries his face in your neck and chases his own release. He comes with an accompanying rumble from deep in his chest. You moan in return and lift your lips to catch him as he slumps, barely holding his weight off of you.

Water runs in the washroom as you tug the sheets back. The light clicks off, and Marcus appears with a washcloth. His dimple appears when you lean back and let him clean your tender flesh. He sits on the edge of the bed next to your hips, running his knuckles on the soft side of your breast.

“Stay the night,” says. “I’ll cook you breakfast.”

“Hm,” you say, mock contemplative. You run your fingers down his chest. He preens under the affection. “I will. I feel really good.” Your cheeks tingle at the admission. He smiles wide and bright.

He comes back from putting the cloth in the hamper. You roll so he can run his hands the length of your side

“Thank you,” you murmur. He lifts his face from where he’s been peppering your waist with kisses. His brow is furrowed in amused confusion. “For being good to me. For caring about what happened to me.” You’ll tell him the horror stories your friends have from their college another time.

He sighs and cups your cheek. “I like doing it. You’re bright. Supporting you is a privilege. Especially when I know that brain is going to put us all to shame one day.” You could cry.

“I’ve liked you since the body farm,” you admit. He wrinkles his nose. “I know. Not very romantic.”

“I liked you since you thought my campus ID was more official than my FBI badge.”

“I didn’t think that!”

“Get some sleep,” he says. A wicked glint comes to his eye. “I am going to wear you out before lunch.” You wiggle to get comfortable in the sheets and he curls over your back to hold you to his chest.

Orange light peeks through the gap in his blackout drapes. You eye him over your shoulder then settle into the pillow. All the tension in your shoulders is gone.

part 2

[iamnathannah]

Expanding on this, Barbie meets Gloria on accident as they try to beat the Norwegian guy to the chocolate muffins, Barbie gets there first and when she first lays on Gloria, she falls at first sight. Along with the muffin. Into Gloria's hand below. She expects Gloria to run away with glee.

"Hey, technically a tie. Not the whole thing, but we can grab a tie and split it?"

Barbie doesn't get the taste of the whole muffin here, but she'll certainly get it in her near future.

She's already fucked and when Gloria unconsciously flexes her forearm bringing the sinful chocolate charge of the day delicacy up to her lovely chest perkily contained within a turquoise Nike sports under a loose hoodie , she smoothly switches to a false flirting mode, where she's onto the smaller woman, but begins her own slide-in with a genuine tone of friendship.

"Only if you tell me how you got here so fast." "Heptathlete. Disciplined in all sports." "Ahh, you seemed tracky. Pole vault myself." Gloria laughs as she grabs a plate and plastic cutlery to split the muffin. "So you must consider me no challenge to jump..." she chuckles, sniffing the treat as she puts it on the plate. "...over." "Have to change my whole strategy to get over you, shorty." Barbie examined her clothes further, noting the turquoise circular crest on her tank above her bra, featuring a dual stripes with five stars in the middle and the Olympic logo. "You talk very weirdly American for a...gotta be a Central American country, they love their blues." "Pretty close, Honduras. Well, a representative though birthright as I was born there, but just so my grandparents could be there for it, otherwise I'm a San Fernando gal, Arcata specifically." They continue down the line, grabbing some hot eggs and sausage and plating them on their trays. "The red and white is too obvious." Barbie shook her head in the negative, to the Honduramerican's astonishment. "Would you actually believe Australian Canadian?" "Dios mio, no." Gloria winced. "Your dad did the most Australian thing! The 'shrimp' thing!"

"My grandma Ruth got through to the parents and had the most deadpan sense of humor, just the best gal, she's hangin' in there in Gold Coast; I hail Canberra-side. Moved to a little speck of a town on Lake Erie called Willows Point, found my talent while I was in Simcoe when I was in high school, and here we are. I'm in TO now though. Parents were from Glasgow and Edinburgh, so I'm technically a true 'Scanaussie'." "I'm into rare and one of a kind." Her voice let out a sexy crackle as she considered the blonde in front of her. "We could talk about my own heritage but I've got that on YouTube. Literally. 24 minutes I got out of it, and that's why the COH reached out to me after it hit the 5k view mark." "Look at us, all interested in each other." Barbie shoots off an easy laugh, playing with her hair idly and nervously.

"By the closing ceremonies I could make you my Bonnie Gal Shiela." "The Games have quite a way to go, so I'd like to see you try?" "Game on, baby." The doe-eyed brunette felt warm, but also a sudden charge of competition as she felt Barbie's hip brush slightly against hers in line. "In the Olympic spirit, I play fair though." "Lucky the IOC doesn't sanction certain activities." "Definitly don't need any enhancements here, I'm all-natural." Barbie sighed, wearily. "Eat first, darling. Can't compete on an empty stomach."

"Eyes up here then." Gloria flustered, surprised that she was getting any attention from her belly. "Though that little left freck–" "Esperada! Can I join you?" Gloria's longtime friend and fellow competitor, a Dominican woman named Rae, was known in the long jump community as El Presidente for being the respected elder of the women's side, with this being her last rodeo with the Olympics after winning two in previous Games, with Gloria hoping to medal or honor her personal Paris Geller by winning their last hep together and beating Rae for the first and last time.

"Always a space for more, though sorry, the muffins are claimed, we're splitting this one." "'S'okay," Rae shot back sitting at the table and smoothly placing her tray down, festooned in the green and gold of her nation. "Whose Rachel McAdam's sis here? Really giving the Canucks good rep here?" Barbie, still wanting to talk to Gloria, focused on her new tablemate. "Barbie Holden, pole vault." She eased into comfortable conversation with the two women platonically, but she definitely knew her new Honduran Honeybee would get right back in the match soon enough for her.

I gotta stop watching the Olympics because now I have a heptathlete Gloria/pole vaulter Barbie story floating around in my head. 😂

(Gloria uses her birthright to represent Honduras and Barbie is Canadian because I love the online joke that most bi YouTube women are assumed to be from Canada even if they've never been near the 49th parallel)

ETA - Uh yeah...example of said hotness mentioned in tags below (and she's in pink which like gahhhh!) And the article it was taken for.

[everybodyscupoftea]

just the plug?

college jj x reader

someone requested part 2 of the plug, which i honestly hadn’t considered. it took me a while to get this up because i wanted to do it justice, but here it is. wanted to get undertones of what can go wrong when ~love languages~ don’t match :)

warnings: per usual cursing, lil bit of angst

You thought, after your talk at the coffee shop, that the two of you were on the same page, but JJ’s actions left you feeling a little uncertain. It was almost like he was content to just not talk about it anymore, and you were left wondering if you had misread the whole situation after all.

The two of you still hung out all the time, keeping all your plans and previous routines. JJ started paying for the food more, and he always cleaned up the kitchen when the two of you finished, but he never brought up the relationship status.

You’d seen his past relationships, how he’d slept around in his younger years, and you didn’t want to judge based on that, he was older, but what else where you supposed to base his actions off of. Kie tried to repeatedly reassure you that JJ really liked you, but how were you supposed to know for sure if he never said anything.

One afternoon, you were studying in the coffee shop before your night shift. Grad level accounting was kicking your ass, and the closing shift always left you way too drained to give it the level of focus it required. You sipped at the latte your coworker made for you and highlighted a particularly important formula in the textbook.

Your phone lit up next to you, and you glanced over to see a text from JJ just as the screen went dark again. He’d texted asking if you’d had any lunch yet. Which, thinking back, no. Before you could respond he sent another text guessing no and promised to bring you some food.

A few minutes later, he pushed the door open, holding a bag of takeout from your favorite bagel shop down the street. Plopping down across from you, he smiled, taking his hat off to mess with his hair a few seconds before putting it back on.

“My hero,” you told him, reaching for the bag.

JJ laughed, “Yeah, well, can’t let you waste away, you’re too important.”

You smiled, “Important, huh?”

“Couldn’t survive without my plug for a few more months at least.”

And that brought you right back down to earth. You took a bite of the bagel and responded, a bit bitterly, “Right, my sole purpose in your life.”

“That’s right,” he affirmed, leaning back in the chair.

That’s why you were confused. He did so many nice things for you, but it was like the dynamic never changed. You’d never held hands past that first night, hell the closest you’d been to him was an occasional hug because, ‘I’m not much of a hugger, bro’.

You decided to just spare your feelings and change the subject, “You got any big plans tonight?”

“Picked up Ethan’s shift, so we’re closing together.”

Perking up, you eagerly asked, “Movie night after?”

He sighed, picking at the wrapper his bagel had been in, “I wish, but I gotta meet with my bio partner tonight for our project. I normally wouldn’t have picked up the shift but I saw no one else had volunteered and I know how much stress you’re under, so I didn’t want you to have to close alone.”

“Oh, um, honestly it’s fine. You can go meet her; I know how extensive the project is. I’m pretty much done with my work anyway and it won’t be my first rodeo closing alone.”

JJ sat up straighter, “You sure?”

With a shaky smile and a nod, you responded, “Yeah, totally. I’ll text you later?”

“For sure, thanks, bud,” JJ stood and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before walking out of the shop, already texting his partner. You pressed your hand against your chest as a cold feeling overtook and squeezed.

The next night was your actual closing shift with JJ and he was late. You were tapping your foot in annoyance as he came running in, 30 minutes past the shift start, hastily tying his apron.

He bent over a little to catch his breath, “Fuck, my bad. Totally lost track of time.”

“All good,” you told him, not liking that it had become your go-to response for him as of late.

JJ looked around, “Looks like we aren’t too busy though, that’s good.”

“Well, we aren’t now, but I had a rush for about 10 minutes earlier.”

He did at least look like he felt bad, “Sorry, finishing touches on the project.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you said, tiredly.

“Would you feel better if I handled most of the closing duties and you could leave 30 minutes early?”

“Believe it or not, J, I enjoy our closing shifts together, so no, it will not. We’re still on for tonight, right?”

He looked a little hurt and confused, “Yeah, I, uh, did I do something wrong?”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a few seconds, “No, everything’s fine.”

“Right, you keep saying that, but I feel like that’s a lie.”

With a shrug, you responded, “Feel whatever you want, but I’m telling you it’s all good.”

The shift was a little awkward and tense afterward. He kept asking if you were okay and your answers were getting shorter and shorter until you finally snapped, “Fuck’s sake, Maybank, can’t you just take my word for it.”

He held his hands up, looking hurt, “I’m gonna go start dishes.”

You sighed again, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. How did the two of you get there? Lack of communication maybe. You’d had two tests that week and you were exhausted. JJ was supposed to be a safe place for you to feel accepted and to feel relief, but lately it felt like he wasn’t as close. It was as if you could feel him slipping through your fingertips the closer it got to his 21st birthday.

By the end of the shift you just wanted to curl up in bed and not think about it anymore. You debated canceling to just sleep, but less time with JJ was actually the opposite of what you wanted. True to his word, he’d done most of the duties. He grabbed your hand on your way out, swinging them between you, reminding you eerily of the first time. This time though, it hurt.

JJ didn’t stop at the po-boy place, and he didn’t stop at the pizza place you sometimes switched it up with. He whistled softly and the two of you walked all the way to your apartment without getting any food at all. You unlocked your door, assuming he just wanted to order something, and got a huge whiff of something.

You turned to look at him and he was smiling widely, “I know you just took your last accounting test before finals, so I wanted to do something nice for you.”

JJ led you to the kitchen, and there he had a crockpot of what looked like roast cooking. You were honestly touched and with a smile, asked, “So was this your project finishing touches?”

“Yep.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I think you’re doing great, and I know this semester has been hard. I wanted to do something nice.”

When he hugged you, you melted into his embrace, not realizing how much you just wanted a fucking hug. Honestly, him initiating it without prompting was enough for you to look past the lack of conversation as of late.

JJ told you to go take your shoes off and get comfy, that he’d fix up plates for the two of you, so you did. Changing out of your jeans into sweats felt great, and when you got back, JJ had set the table and put both of your plates on it.

The two of you sat down and he joked, “Sorry there’s no wine, still not 21 and I couldn’t ask my plug, that would ruin the surprise.”

“Please, don’t ruin the moment with plug jokes.”

He looked confused, “Wait, I thought you liked plug jokes.”

“Plug jokes were funny until they started making me feel like that’s all I am to you.”

“All you are to me? I thought…I thought we were together?”

You couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh, “Since when? When did we have that conversation?”

“It was implied, right? Like when we started hanging out more and I started paying, that’s boyfriend shit.”

You weren’t even sure where to start with that. JJ was looking at you expectantly, “Sir, I need verbal confirmation. Not just this implied, unstated stuff. How the fuck was I supposed to know that was your intent until you tell me.”

He paused for a minute, “I suppose that’s true.”

You waited for him to continue, and he just took a bite of rice and gravy. When he glanced up at you, you gave him a look, “So, are we still not gonna have the conversation?”

“Was that not it?”

“Oh my fuck, JJ.”

He laughed, “Okay, to get this straight, I thought I was your boyfriend, but you didn’t know that. Now you’re upset, even though I’ve been wining and dining you the whole time.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“So are we on the same page, that I’ve been trying to communicate through my actions?”

You nodded reluctantly, “Yes, that’s clear now, but I still need words.”

“And I can do that, babe.”

The cold that had taken root in your chest these last few weeks suddenly warmed and you smiled, “Thank you, now was that so hard?”

JJ laughed, “I guess not. I was just, scared, I guess. I didn’t want to put a label on it too fast and put you off. Plus, you weren’t talking about it either.”

“Okay, that’s fair. I just felt like you only saw me as your plug, you kept making those stupid jokes. And you never really touched me.”

“I was trying to give you personal space! I know you aren’t the touchiest person.”

“That’s never been a problem with you,” you admitted to him with a small smile.

He looked pleased and immediately stood, pulling you into a tight hug, “I’ll try to be better.”

“So will I,” you told him, punctuating it with a kiss.