#to be told emphatically it's a joke!

[kaurwreck]

the vast majority of jokes that y'all insist are jokes are evidently jokes. but they're the same joke, scraped from surface impressions and regurgitated iteratively. there's humor beneath the outermost layer, too, and you're allowed to be clever, it's not illegal.

[moonstruckme]

hi i love your blog! could you write poly!marauders where james is away on a business trip and everyone is moping because they miss him

Hi, I love you! Thanks for requesting :)

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 864 words

You feel a bit guilty resting your head on Sirius' shoulder while longing for another. But you reason that it’s not so bad if the one you’re longing for is Sirius’ boyfriend, too. And you like to think that if it were James’ warm, cushiony shoulder you were leaning against, you’d be missing Sirius instead. 

“How was everyone’s day?” you ask. 

Remus turns to give you a peculiar look. “It was fine. We talked about this already, didn’t we?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I just feel like we’re not usually so quiet during the commercial breaks.” 

“Our yapper’s gone,” Sirius says, sulkily. 

“James does usually start the conversation,” admits Remus. “But we don’t need him to talk. Right?” 

“Right.” You nod, sitting up with what you hope looks like conviction. “Sirius, you can yap just as well as James can.” 

“Yeah, but I need him to get me going.” Your boyfriend sighs heavily. “He’d probably ask something like ‘If we were all in a circus, what would our roles be?’ and I can’t come up with shit like that.”

“No, that’s great!” You try to sound peppy. “Um, okay. Sirius would probably be a trapeze artist, right?” 

Remus nods. “And I could see you being a tightrope walker.” 

You both look to Sirius for his analysis, but he looks unimpressed. Still, he plays along. “Rem would be one of those blokes who eat fire, likely.” 

“Yeah,” you laugh. 

See, you can have fun! This is fun, right? But then your film comes back on, and you all lapse into silence again. 

“James would’ve never let us watch this,” you say after a few minutes. “He’d have made us pick a comedy or something.” 

“And he would’ve been right,” Sirius agrees. “This is fucking bleak.” 

“It’s not so bad,” Remus says, making you and Sirius exchange a look. For as much as James loves Remus, he’s most often the victim of his film vetoes. Remus’ taste is bleak. 

It’s another few minutes before an actress on-screen says a line, and Remus clears his throat awkwardly. 

“That’s what she said.” 

You and Sirius look at him with a mixture of befuddlement and alarm. 

“What?” He shifts in his seat. “I’m trying to fill a gap.” 

Sirius appears scandalized. “James’ jokes are far more advanced than that.” 

“He said ‘that’s what she said’ just last week.” 

“Yes, but in a completely different context!” 

“We could call him,” you point out. 

Remus’ expression creases longingly. “No, he’s been in meetings all day. I’m sure he’ll want to rest.” 

But Sirius clicks the speaker button on his phone, letting the dial tone play aloud. Remus looks almost relieved. 

James picks up on the third ring. “Hello?” 

“Hi,” you all say loudly, voices each trying to be heard over the others. 

“We need you to come home,” Sirius whines. 

“What?” James sounds closer to the speaker now, like he’s holding the phone tight to his face. “Is everything okay?” 

“Don’t say that,” Remus hisses at Sirius. “Everything’s fine, Jamie.” 

“We just miss you,” you clarify. 

“Oh.” The relief is obvious in your boyfriend’s voice, and you notice your other two boyfriends smiling fondly at the sound of it. You think your own expression probably looks just about as humiliatingly smitten. “Awe. I miss you guys, too. Like crazy, you have no idea.” 

“I think we have some.” Sirius raises a brow at the phone. “Rem just tried to make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke.” 

A sharp cough crackles through the speaker. “Did he? How did it go?” 

“Poorly.” 

“Ah, well.” You can practically feel the warmth of James’ smile from hundreds of miles away. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll work on it when I get back.” 

“I’d rather not do it again, actually,” Remus grumbles. 

“How was your day?” You lean on Sirius’ shoulder again, getting close to the phone like James is contained within it. 

“Boring,” he says emphatically. “I got told off by some old woman for tapping my pen on my pad too loudly while someone was giving a presentation. The hotel they’ve put us up in isn’t bad, though. Free breakfast in the morning to get us energized for another day or torment.” 

“Ooh, could you see if they have those little blueberry muffins?” Sirius asks. “And if they do, wrap me up a few to bring home with you.”

“Sirius,” Remus chides. 

“I’ll check,” James agrees easily. “Rem, do you want some chocolate ones if they have those?” 

If James could see the way your boyfriend flushes pink, he’d be grinning ear to ear. “Yes, please,” Remus replies. 

“Brilliant. And for you, lovie?” 

“I’ll just mooch off of Sirius’ blueberry ones.” You snicker when Sirius gasps, sneaking a hand around your waist to pinch at your middle. 

“Oh, perfect,” says James. “I’ll make sure to grab a few less, then, so you can really fight over them.”

“Prick,” Sirius accuses. 

“Love you, too. So, how was everyone else’s day?” 

You catch yourself smiling a second before seeing a similarly contented expression reflected on Sirius’ face. Remus moves from his armchair to the couch, and you all lean into the phone as you tell him. 

[onthemerits]

denial - 246 words - daily microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse

"--is a river in Egypt," Peter joked, eyeing James and Regulus where they sat on the other side of the pool.

They weren't doing anything, strictly speaking, just sitting up on the chaise lounge chairs, facing each other.

As Sirius watched, James leaned forward, hands on his knees.

And Regulus didn't lean away. He just narrowed his eyes and gestured emphatically with his hands.

"It is a bit odd," Remus conceded.

Peter shot a mischievous look at Sirius.

"I wonder if they know they're flirting--"

"They're not flirting," Sirius snapped. "They're arguing."

As if to prove his point, Regulus stood up and stormed off without so much as a backward glance.

Sirius shot Peter a told-you-so look.

"Reg!" James called. After a moment of apparent indecision, he jogged after Regulus.

Sirius looked down, his face twisted in annoyance. What the hell was James doing calling Regulus "Reg"?

And if James didn't quite manage to get all the way out of sight before catching Regulus by the waist and pulling him in... and if Remus and Peter watched, wide-eyed, as Regulus turned with a glare and wrapped his arms around James' neck... and if James and Regulus kissed right there, just barely still visible to the three boys by the pool... well that was no one's business but their own.

It certainly wasn't Sirius', Remus and Peter seemed to agree with just a shared look. He could live in denial for a little while longer.

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I had an idea for a request! I was thinking about reader with a really low sex drive and maybe one day she starts to get a little worried and insecure about it and one of the boys just reassures her that he doesn’t care about it<3 idk if that made sense but write for whatever boy you want to I don’t have a preference love you 😚

How Remus, James and Sirius would comfort you when you worry your low libido is a problem. fem, 2.2k

❥ Remus 

Remus sits with his legs crossed in the corner of the settee, a book open on his thigh, though his attention has been caught and kept by the TV. 

You think some grovelling may be in order after last night. Quiet, you round the settee and climb onto the seat next to his, body turned away from the TV, arm creeping onto his thigh. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi.” 

He encourages you closer, leaning back to give you room to lie on him. His right arm does most of the work to keep you up, sandwiching you to his chest, an almost not quite hug. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“How do you know something is wrong?” 

He taps your back with his fingers, looking up at the ceiling with a sarcastic smile. “What could it be?” 

The hints of green in his irises are more pronounced when he’s sitting in the sun like this, rays cutting in through the window, turning his pale skin slightly tanned and his hair a warmer chestnut colour that curls behind his ears. The scar on his lip relaxes as his joking smile fades to a proper one, a lovey-dovey type that melts you. It’s nice to be looked at so nicely, like just the sight of you inspires happiness. 

You shift off of your legs, deciding you might as well lay flat with your head in his lap instead. He lets you sink down. His hand takes up station near your cheek, the back of his curled fingers brushing the skin just shy of your eye. 

“This is nice,” he whispers. 

“I have to say sorry,” you whisper back, drawing shapes into his t-shirt, the soft muscle of his stomach pillowy to poke. 

Remus nods emphatically. “Yes, you didn’t come and see me as soon as you woke up. I heard you on your phone in bed. That’s not very nice, is it, depriving me of your company?” 

You shake your head into his thigh, a slow, guilty movement. “No, about last night.” 

“What about last night?” 

Last night, Remus had given you a very slow kiss. He’d been half asleep and you’d been more so, but it was a lovely kiss and his hand had been rubbing sweet half circles into your hip, but it still made you feel awful when he asked if he could touch you and you’d told him you were too tired, even if he didn’t mind. He’d just kissed your cheek and snuggled into you like a life-sized teddy bear. He never takes your rejection as an insult. 

“You… you wanted to fuck and I didn’t, I’m sorry. I feel like every time you ask lately I say no.” 

Remus frowns at you. Deep frown, eyebrows pinching and brown eyes bordering sullen. His fingers uncurl over your cheek and cover your ear as he cups your face. “I don’t want you to be sorry. The reason I ask is so you can say no, you can always say no.” 

“I kiss you, and I wind you up, and then I can’t–”

“Which I enjoy. You don’t have to worry about that.” He leans down to kiss you but doesn’t fully get there, your noses touching, and then he’s leaning away again. “Please don’t say sorry. You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

“I know that. I’m not trying to make you into the bad guy.” 

Remus taps your nose with his and leans in again. “I know you’re not. You aren’t one either. Sex is just another fun thing to do, okay? If you don’t want to, that shouldn’t bother me, and it doesn’t. I promise.” 

You curl your arms around his neck. He lifts his head, subsequently lifting you as he moves, his arm curling behind your back for a hug. 

“Sometimes I want more of you than you want to give,” he says, “but it’s just because I love you, not because I need it. Don’t be silly, dove. Don’t say sorry.” 

He presses the heel of his palm to your back and begins the heavy pressure of a back rub. You won’t say sorry if he doesn’t want you to. You shouldn’t anyways. But he’s your boyfriend and you love him, so his being accepting of it is a relief. 

Like he can read your mind, he says, “You never have to say sorry for this.” 

“I know.” You lift your chin. “Kiss?” 

Remus kisses you quickly before tucking you into his neck for a long hug. 

❥ James

“You’re beautiful.” 

You’re boiling. James doesn’t notice, kissing and kissing and kissing, your neck flushed with his touch and his murmured compliment. “James.” 

He tilts his head, weaving in on the other side of your neck to give it the same loving treatment. “Pretty doesn’t cover it,” he says in a rush, his teeth scratching dully up to your jaw, his kissing like nips without any pain behind them as he reaches your cheek. 

You catch his face in your hands and push him away gently. It’s so hot in here you can’t breathe, and you’re not in the mood for any further action. It’s funny. You adore his kisses and James is undeniably a good fuck, but your libido is low no matter how pretty your boyfriend is, or how pretty he finds you. You’d always wondered if that meant there was something wrong with you. 

James doesn’t seem to think so. 

“Sorry,” he says, beaming, “that’s enough, right?” 

You feel a weird sharp stab in your chest. “Sorry?” 

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” James sits up where he’d been lying on top of you, having manoeuvred such a position in the midst of all his warm kisses. He sits back on his calves, kneeling in the space between your legs, a hand falling instead to your knee. “It’s fucking hot in here, isn’t it?” 

“Sorry.” 

“Did you make it hot?” 

You look at your hand on your chest. He’s noticed you don’t want to take it any further, you hardly ever do. You knew he’d see that eventually. You have the libido of a panda, where James is an athletic young man who loves you. 

“No, I mean. I’m sorry, because I never want to when you want to.” 

Your serious tone surprises him. “Baby, what the fuck are you talking about?” he asks. “I am so lost.” 

“Just– Most of the time when you try to sleep with me I turn you down. You know already.” 

“Baby, that doesn’t matter.” He leans in again, only to hold your wrists, two big hands curled around your arms to stop your fidgeting. Two pet names in quick succession is unlike him, and it relaxes you before he’s begun to explain. “It doesn’t matter at all. Just makes it better when we do manage to want it at the same time.” 

You grimace. “Are you sure?” 

“You want me to be honest?” 

You’re not sure. “Yeah. Please be honest.” 

“Sometimes we kiss and you know I want you,” his eyes dart down, prompting a surprised laugh from you, and an easy chuckle from him in return, “and it’s frustrating, but it’s not ‘cos of you. I can go shower and sort myself out and it’s not the same as being with you, but it’s not your fault. It’s just a reaction.” 

“But I feel bad for making you deal with it yourself.” 

“What are you supposed to do? You can’t force yourself if you’re not in the mood. That’s the last thing I want you to do. I’d rather have it fall off.” 

You laugh again. James’ smile is glowing, and warm as he presses it to your wrist in a chaste kiss. “We can do other things. If you feel that badly about it, you can give me a scalp massage, please. You shouldn’t feel badly about it, but still. If you’re okay with it, I’d love one.” 

He presses his cheek to your chest in want of your hand. 

You press your fingertips to his hairline and weave your fingers into the roots of his soft hair, shaking them, nails scratching lightly at his scalp like you know he likes. “How’s that?” you ask. 

“Better than sex.” He is unmistakably sincere. 

❥ Sirius 

“Did you lock the door?” 

Sirius hums. 

“Close the kitchen window?” 

“I did,” he says, waving your hand gently where he’s holding it between you both. You lay straight in bed with the duvet up to your chests and the TV playing one of his favourite movies. 

“Okay. Did you take your medication?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. Everything’s done. You can relax.” 

You pick your book up and open it to the first page. You’ve been meaning to read this one for a while, you’re happy to get the time, but you’re feeling queasy about something. 

Sirius is a loud guy. He loves the glitz and glamour of life, he likes to go out, play fast and hard, he’s electric most of the time. He can be quiet, too, like you tend to be, but you’re worried that you’re another night closer to him deciding he’s bored. It’s been weeks since you went anywhere, and you haven’t fucked in almost as long. 

“Can I have this?” he asks, pulling your hand to his lips. 

You smile as he kisses your knuckles, barely there presses of his lips to your skin that linger. 

“You haven’t turned a page yet.” 

“It’s hard to start,” you tell him. 

“What’s it about? Fantasy?” 

“No, just a romance, I think.” 

“I like your romances. You read the complicated ones with the good love, like ours.” 

It’s a very nice thing to say, even if you’re not sure how he knows what romance you’re reading. He enjoys listening to you talk about books when they’re done, so perhaps the details have sunk in.

You let the book flop to the side and curl up around your joined hands. “I love you,” you say. 

He curls into you in return, “You should. That was a good line,” he says teasingly. “I love you too, my girl.” He speaks it with a quiet, gentle cadence that suits him and the pet name well. “Lift your head. Wanna see you.” 

You angle your face up to give him a view of the half that isn’t hidden by the sheets. “I’m so boring.” 

“Says who?” 

“Everybody, probably. All we do is watch TV and sleep.” 

“Good thing I love both of those things.” He wraps an arm around you, palm to your shoulder. “And it’s not true. We went to the cafe yesterday after work. On the weekend, we’re going to the cinema. Why, do you want to do more?” 

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Siri. Aren’t you bored?” 

He stares at you. Long, non-judgmental looking, his dark lashes kissing in the corners as his gaze wanders down to your neck. “Is this about something else?” 

“No.” 

His mouth turns sympathetic, a wobbly frown. “Are you sure, lovely? You can talk to me.” 

You weigh each word as you say it, determined not to embarrass yourself, “I’m worried that I don’t make your life very interesting. We don’t go out much, we don’t drink, and I never…” 

You turn your face down, your forehead to his chest. Sirius hums unhappily and encourages your head back to see you again almost immediately. “You never what?” he asks. 

“Never mind.” 

“No, please. Tell me, Y/N. You can tell me anything, I won’t care.” He’s getting so serious about it and it’s making it even more embarrassing than before, but you don’t want him to worry. You spit it out. 

“I don’t put out. We hardly ever have sex.” 

“Does that upset you?” he asks. 

“Well. It upsets me if it upsets you.” 

“It doesn’t.” His hand cups your cheek, his forehead drops down to yours. “It doesn’t upset me. Did I make you think that?” 

“You’re just so cool and I’m your loser.”

He laughs happily. “You’re my loser,” he agrees. 

“The last couple of times I’ve said no. I guess I just worry you want more than I’m giving out, so. I don’t want you to wish we were having more sex, but I can’t make myself want it more.” 

“I see.” 

You listen to him breathing, the warmth of his exhale like a kiss all its own as it fans over your mouth.

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “Can I tell you what I think?” You nod, and he continues, “I only want to have sex with you, that’s one of the consequences of being in love. It’s a good one. So if you don’t wanna have sex, it’s safe to say I don’t want to either. Okay? Love you just as much with or without it.” 

Unlike him and not to be this tender. You bite the inside of your lip.

“Promise?” you ask. 

“I promise.” 

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

yeehaw

how spencer convinces reader to stay in rather than go out

MDNI | suggestive fluff!

word count: 1217

warnings & tags & stuff: fem!reader, def some nsfw descriptions of spence, all around suggestiveness, fade to black

author's note: second piece of writing yayy!!! this was originally gonna be smut but i got scared lol. anyway please lemme know your thoughts im DYING to improve. sooo yes i hope you have a wonderful day and here this is ig! 😚

Sitting alone in your room, you tugged on a pair of never-before worn cowboy boots. They were most definitely not broken in, and you knew you were in for an uncomfortable night of baby blisters on the bottoms of your feet. However, life is full of compromises, and these were too cute to pass on.

Especially for a night of line dancing with your boyfriend’s coworkers. Who knew that FBI agents got down like that?

You stand and plug in your earbuds, choosing to absolutely blast ‘Fearless (Taylor’s Version)’ by Taylor Swift. Also known as the only tolerable country music.

Dancing out to the kitchen, you wrap your arms around your lovely boyfriend who was preparing a cup of tea, absolutely not dressed for a night of country conviviality. Spencer looks you up and down, a teasing smile playing on his face.

“Hey cowgirl,” he says, gently removing your earbuds. “Penelope has been texting me on average every 10 minutes about how excited she is for tonight. I hope you’re ready.”

“Oh god,” you laugh. “I wish you were coming too.”

“I know. But that sounds awful,” he says in his matter-of-fact way. “Hey, I do have something for you,” he mentions. You look up at him, and he runs quickly upstairs to grab his bag. He comes down and brandishes his very own cowboy hat. “From the times Penelope didn’t have you to drag along with her and I was her chosen victim.”

“For me?” You ask excitedly. He puts it on you. Although it’s a little big, it 100% completes the look. You look up at him. “Think I would make a good cowgirl?” He peers down at you, trying to tell if you’re joking.

“No,” He goes the serious route and you furrow your brow at him. “You hate the dirt. And the heat,” he explains, emphatically defending himself.

“I guess you’re right. I don’t really do well with horses either,” you murmur.

“You do make a cute cowgirl for the night though, even if it’s not your true calling.” He ruffles your hat.

“Yeah?” You smile. “It’s not too much with both the boots and the hat?”

Spencer blinks.

“Have you met Penelope? She always has a lot going on. More than this.”

You giggle.

“They’ll all adore you, JJ, Emily,” he reassures, stroking the side of your waist.

You had known Penelope for a few months, ever since you started dating Spencer. But you had yet to meet the rest of the girls on his team. You were definitely excited, they seemed really cool. But you were definitely also nervous.

Spencer, jarring you from your thoughts, whips out his very outdated phone that he somehow still manages to operate, and opens the camera.

“Smile.” You do so, showing off all your teeth. You move to look at the picture, and Spencer tilts the screen toward you. “See? Adorable.”

You stand on your tippy toes for a kiss, and he complies quickly. A little too quickly to not have any meaning behind it. Your eyes flit down, and you notice a slight bulge in Spencer’s pants that wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

You raised your eyebrows and looked up at him. “Can I convince you to stay?” He whispers, half smiling. You tilt your head.

“Maybe” you say shyly.

“What if I told you that the chances are slim to none that you are actually going to line dance tonight? Penelope and JJ always end up sitting at the bar, and Emily always gives up half a song in and joins them. Without fail,” he says. You purse your lips, heart beating a little faster for whatever reason.

“That could still be fun,” you reason.

“Not in those shoes,” he says, rubbing your hip softly. “I know they must hurt; they’re brand new and you’re already shifting your weight between your feet much too frequently.”

You look down at your feet. He was not lying. “You’re too observant. This is why you basically always have your way with me.” You exhale.

“By caring about you? I could keep going. I know that you hate country music. And no, Taylor Swift does not count. She’s an outlier. And she was born in Pennsylvania. That’s barely real country music. You’d be miserable all night.”

“Yes, you would know about ‘real’ country music, Mr. Las Vegas,” you counter.

“That would be Dr. Vegas to you,” he quips, bending down once again and giving you a kiss. You reciprocate, kissing the corner of his mouth. “What if I told you I really wanted you to stay? Bad?”

“Bad? I guess I’ll stay, if it’s bad. But you have to be the one to text Penelope,” you say begrudgingly. As if you weren’t as releived as can be. And as if Spencer didn’t know that.

He smiles and allows his arms to wrap around your waist. Spencer’s kisses become slower, you could feel every aspect of them. His lips, of course, but also his stubble. The air being pushed out of his nose. The hand swiping it’s typical resting spot, your cheek. His tongue delicately tracing your mouth. It all feels so calculated for you, so measured.

And you, on the other hand, are a mess, trying to keep up. Your heart is pounding and you’re sure your face is noticeably hot. And by the time Spencer leads you to your room and sits you down on the bed, its temperature has only increased.

You kick off your boots. He sits next to you, his hands holding your waist, ever so firm. He brings them up, thumbing the inside hem of your tank top.

“All good?” He checks.

“Yeah,” you say, head spinning with all the good chemicals.

“Deep breaths for me, okay? Gotta keep your blood flowing appropriately,” he reminds you, leaning back and taking you in. “Pretty girl.” You blush and his hands move to your lower back over your tank top, delicately brushing over in a way that gives you goose bumps. You shiver.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You’re sensitive in your lower back. God, there’s still so much more to learn about you.” He breathes out.

“Good. I was scared you’d get bored, with your perfect memory and all,” you joke.

“Bored? The human brain is limitless. Your brain is limitless. I wanna know everything I possibly can that goes on up there. Everything that makes it feel good. It’s the least boring thing I can think of.” You blush and look down.

You lean in for another kiss, this time to his jawline and neck. Your hands slide up his stomach under his shirt a little and and you look up to him.

“Okay?” This time you ask.

Spencer nods. “Okay.” Your hands trace up under his own shirt, and you immediately lean in to kiss him, holding his chin.

All of a sudden he’s everywhere. Even sitting next to you, he manages to take over every ounce of your body. He’s kissing your mouth and forehead and cheeks, one hand is holding your face, and the other is mapping your stomach.

“Can we try something new then? If we wanna do and learn everything?” You whisper. One quick tête-à-tête later, you’re sitting on his lap, shifting your hips softly as he held your waist for you.

“I guess I was wrong. You’re gonna be an amazing cowgirl.”

[escapisttt]

a lot of this was supposed to be posted for redacted kinktober but. college got in the way. i’m ovulating let me have this. it’s very long OOPS WHO LET ME OUT OF MY CAGE.

NSFW LMAO

lasko has a puppy kink. he likes being told he’s a good boy and craves to be of service to dear. would do anything to please them and do it well; it’s what turns him on the most. leash and collar. god, he’d lick the fucking dirt from their shoes if it made them smile down at him. yeah perhaps him and ash could bond over this. the difference between them though is that during those moments, lasko will never goof off or make jokes meanwhile ash is a bit of a brat. lasko would never disobey dear, but ash likes to push baabe’s buttons so that they “force” him into submission.

milo uses “good girl/good boy/good pet” hnnnngghh. as well as “pretty girl/pretty boy/pretty thing” oh my god. he’s so good at praise.

milo is usually pretty physically rough with it, going fast and deep, but you wouldn’t know that if you were just listening to his voice. sometimes while he’s absolutely fucking sweetheart’s brains out, he’s right in their ear speaking so softly and encouragingly with soooo much praise. “that’s right baby, ‘m i doin’ it right?” when he KNOWS he’s doing it right, he just wants to hear their confirmation. “yeah, lemme touch you, you like that? tell me you like that.” he looooves making sweetheart tell him how they’re feeling, and when they inevitably confirm that it feels good, he nods and doubles down. he craves good feedback, it’s his praise kink. “awwww i know it feels good baby, ‘m gonna make it feel even better.” it’s not condescending, it’s confidence. he knows what he’s good at, and he wants to get better. he’s a huge pleaser.

this is self indulgent if you aren’t into daddy kinks don’t read this one lmao. but daddy milo is soooo real to me. “was that too much? aw ‘m sorry baby, daddy’ll make it feel better. shh shh it’s okay, daddy’s sorry…” OUUUGGHHHH. “daddy wants what you want baby, tell‘im what you want. c’mon, be good and use your words, daddy wants to hear you,” i can’t do this anymore RELEASEEE MEEEEEEE. milo does it tastefully okay he’s not one of the weird ones TRUST ME.

milo who subs occasionally. to put a number on it, about 10% of the time. it may not be his natural default, but when the time is right, it’s so right. it happens one of two ways: either milo had a really rough, tiring day and needs to be coaxed into being cared for, or his sweetheart had been relentlessly teasing him. he’s such a brat at first, rejecting every dominant advance from sweetheart with a performative cocky demeanor, but it breaks down quickly enough when they touch him in the right places.

porter is such a masochist, but not in a traditionally submissive way. god, he loves when treasure slaps his face, yanks his hair, and scratches his back deeply on purpose. he likes being choked a little sometimes as well. but when all of these things are enacted on him, he smiles. he’s got a cocky grin and he’s nodding emphatically, his hips pistoning, almost twitching, even if he’s not inside of treasure. he’s groaning and his eyes are rolling back, but he’s not submitting. he’s daring them to do more, knowing that the only one whose limits being tested are theirs: how much are they able to take of porter when he’s losing himself to the pain? the more intense the pain, the harder he fucks treasure. basically porter is saying without saying, “the more you hurt me, the more i’ll pleasure you.” treasure essentially controls their own pleasure through him; if they want him to go faster, they dig their nails into his back or his scalp or his hips. and as soon as they let go, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and eases back down to a slower pace. and porter knows what they’re doing. he likes it. he likes that they have that level of control over him, but he’s absolutely not a whimpering mess like lasko.

david does not like using toys or bondage material. that’s his job. he’s very animalistic in the sense that he does not want anything, even objects, interfering with his time with his mate. he’s the type to get jealous of a vibrator or any sex toy. not because he’s worried about it doing a better job than him, but because it was the thing pleasuring his mate and not him. if his angel is in the mood, he wants to know so he can take care of it. an unspoken rule in the shaw house is that neither of them are allowed to touch themselves. david sticks to this rule through and through, but if angel is caught in the action, the punishment is pretty intense, meaning overstimulation. david is usually quite rough and is already a lot to take even when he’s going slow, so him when he’s angry can be… a lot. he’s got angel on their tummy in the prone bone position and is absolutely laying into them, growling in their ear with genuine irritation. “you should’ve told me… why didn’t you tell me? is this not cutting it for you? you had enough of this cock? i thought you liked it. thought you liked being full of me, not a piece of fucking plastic.” yeah he’s angy. and he’s not being mean to them, he just wants to prove to them and remind them how good he makes them feel. they shouldn’t want anything else. and when angel does it because they think david is too busy for them? yeah he would stay up during all hours of the night to prove them wrong. “how do you think like that, hm? you think i’d put work above this? god angel, i do everything to come home to you, give my time to you. you don’t get that? let me keep showin’ you….”

azmidi who literally nuts on a lot of phone call role plays with sweetie (it’s canon yall hear the way his breath shakes all the time). just hearing their pretty voice, god he feels his pants getting tighter (if he wears those lol). he demands they tell him about their day even though they know he knows exactly how their day went. it feeds into that delicious fear of stalking, the idea that their every movement is being tracked and scrutinized and constantly mulled over. he wants to listen to them talk while he palms himself, nodding along with their version of events, happy that they’re being obedient and not lying to him. he doesn’t have to take himself out of his pants, though he likes to most times. he can come without that, just dry humping into his hand and pressing the phone to his ear, letting out the occasional moan. he knows sweetie can hear him, and if they show signs of getting flustered, it only makes him harder. “you know what you’re doing to me, right? you—you know… oh god…. hey, don’t stop. don’t stop talking. you’ve been doing such a good job, sweetie. let me hear you.”

william “eye contact” solaire. hngggnhnnhg. let’s imagine he’s got a long term partner, right? he is suuuuuuch a gentle lover. he’s not about rough sex very much, he’s too sophisticated lol. no, the actual reason he isn’t too keen on rough sex is because to him, his lover is a deity; an angel that walks the earth, the image of divine perfection. he isn’t going to treat them like a ragdoll, he worships the air they breathe for gods sake. he doesn’t see himself nearly worthy enough to be their companion, their equal. he gives them everything and then apologizes because it just isn’t enough. when he gave them their crown? “i hope you like it. the jewels are the finest i could find of course, for you. i—i perhaps could have gotten larger ones… i apologize. oh, but the weight may be a bit much for your neck… oh dear.” yeah this man is rich but he fucking won’t be if his partner doesn’t stop him from spoiling them. but i’m ranting, this is supposed to be about sex lmfao please ask me to make a post ab william i will do it so fast. this aspect of himself shows especially when he and his partner are intimate. he’s on his knees a lot of the time, staring up at his lover with worshipful reverence. he pleads in his soft spoken voice, his eyes fluttering shut as they put their hand on his cheek. “my love, what would you have me do for you? ask me anything.” and he means anything.

[sanguineterrain]

hii this is my first time requesting sth so i hope its okay. what about spencer dating a reader who is asexual or takes a long time to be comfortable with intimacy but people are always asking if he’s getting any and reader feels like she isn’t enough

if not that’s totally fine thank u anyways

(this isn’t self indulgent wdym)

Thanks for requesting lovely. you are definitely not alone in feeling this way 🩷

fem!reader. you feel insecure after derek makes a harmless joke about how often you and spencer meet for lunch

****

Spencer forgets to eat lunch.

It's just a fact. He doesn't always forget, but he forgets enough for you to meet him for lunch when you can or shoot him a reminder text.

Today, you have a day off, so you decide to visit. Spencer tells you he'll meet you at the entrance so you don't have to go through security and get a visitor's badge. You think it's a little ridiculous that you have to do that every time, but according to Spencer, it doesn't take much time at all for people to become a danger to others and themselves.

Not that I think you would do that! he's always quick to add. You adore him.

He gets off the elevator with Agent Morgan. You watch as they approach and Morgan sees you, then claps Spencer's shoulder.

"Oh, so this is where you disappear to for lunch," he says, wrinkling Spencer's shirt. You can tell Spencer notices right away and is mildly annoyed. He shrugs his friend off.

"What're you talking about?" Spencer asks, pursing his lips.

Agent Morgan grins. "How many lunches out do you need, Reid? Seems like you're always forgetting food. 'S not like you."

Spencer looks at him, brows furrowed. "I need one a day, according to the general medical opinion. And my lunch breaks aren't that long."

You suddenly feel queasy.

"Uh-huh." Agent Morgan just grins that sly grin. "Don't be too long. Have fun, you kids."

You walk out. Agent Morgan goes the opposite direction of where you parked your car. Spencer's warm hand squeezes your arm affectionately.

"Hi," he says. "I actually brought lunch today, I just wanted to eat with you, so I lied and told everyone that I don't have lunch so we can be alone."

"Sweet of you." You voice is thin.

"Are you okay?"

You try to keep walking, but hello! Behavior analyst boyfriend alert. Spencer gently tugs you to stop and face him.

"What's wrong?" he asks, forehead crinkled in concern. "Your voice has a tremor."

"Did you tell Agent Morgan that we have sex during your lunch breaks?" you ask, folding your arms.

"What? No, I don't—no!"

"Because I know I've been making you wait, Spencer, and I know I keep saying I'll be ready at some point, but it's really shitty if you're telling people that I stop by just to give you head in your car or something."

Spencer's mouth opens and closes a couple of times in genuine, horrified shock, like when he'd found you hunched over the toilet in pain months ago during a bad stomach flu, and you realize then that you're way off the mark.

How could you think that? Of course Spencer wouldn't do that to you.

"Spencer, I'm—"

"I would never say or imply that. I don't even—I'm not mad or resentful of the fact that we haven't had sex, okay? I wouldn't care if you never wanted to have sex. I don't date you because I'm hoping to 'hit it and quit it.'"

You both cringe at his choice of words. Spencer sighs. "Okay, never using that phrase again. But it's true. I'm not waiting you out, and I'm definitely not talking about us having or not having sex to anyone at work." He shudders. "My living nightmare."

"I'm sorry. You're right, you wouldn't say that. I know you wouldn't. You wouldn't tell people even if we were having sex."

Spencer shakes his head emphatically. "Of course not."

Of course not.

"Then why did Agent Morgan imply that we were leaving to do it on your lunch break?" you ask unhappily.

"He was implying that we were sneaking off to have sex?" Spencer asks. "Are you sure?"

You frown. "Yeah, Spencer. He was teasing you about taking long lunches and always going out with me because..."

He nods in understanding. "Oh. That's... weird. Okay. I'll tell him not to say that stuff. I'll say that it bothers me."

You rub your arms self-consciously and turn your body away from Spencer. "It's not that weird for him to think, though. I do stop by a lot. And you're a young guy. Other guys your age probably visit their girlfriends during lunch and do that."

Spencer raises his eyebrows. "That seems excessive. And risky. And highly unsanitary. And uncomfortable. And—"

"Okay." You laugh a little. "I get it, Spencer. You're not like other guys."

"Story of my life."

"I guess I'm not really like other girls either," you say. "Having sex on your lunch break is probably more normal than dating for six months and never having sex."

Spencer frowns. "There's no such thing as normal. There's socially accepted behavior and opinion and laws and a bunch of made up crap that a lot of people are too afraid to challenge. I'm about the furthest from normal that you can get."

Your mouth flattens. "You're not bad, though."

"Exactly!" Spencer kisses your cheek, startling you. He doesn't often initiate kisses, preferring to show affection in his own way. You don't mind when he does kiss you though.

"Exactly," he says. "And neither are you. I doubt that how you feel about sex is so unusual. But even if it was, it wouldn't make a difference to me. It's how you feel, and I respect it. If I had a problem with it, we wouldn't be dating."

You glance down the block, at the building entrance. "But people might talk."

"Derek wouldn't," Spencer says firmly. "He jokes, but he would respect this if I told him to."

"It's not him, Spence, it's just..." You shake your head. "I've hit a stumbling block with every guy I've dated because they thought I was a prude, a tease, frigid. One guy said I needed shock therapy."

"I don't think that," he says softly. "I don't think any terrible things about you for feeling this way."

"No? You haven't tried to profile me based on my aversion to intimacy?"

Spencer's face scrunches with sadness. "No. You're my girlfriend, not a suspect. This isn't something I have to diagnose. I love you. I like spending time with you. Please don't think that I don't have the capacity to know what I want in a relationship. You don't have to be suspicious of me. I have nothing to hide about how I feel."

"People might think something's wrong with you for dating me," you say.

Spencer shrugs. "So what? People already think something's wrong with me. Doesn't mean they're right. I currently hold the record for the longest relationship in the BAU, besides Hotch. I'm the winner."

You sigh. Everything you throw at Spencer about how he should run while he can, he has a response for.

You might just give up and keep on letting him love you without any strings attached.

"Have I convinced you?" he asks. "I'm really good at debating."

"No kidding," you say. "I'm surprised you didn't become a lawyer."

"Hotch says there's still time." Spencer smiles. "Wanna go to that Thai place three blocks from here?"

Spencer loves the Thai place. It's one of his safe restaurants. You like it too, mostly because of how much Spencer likes it. And you trust his recommendations. He always checks the health inspection grade before eating somewhere.

"Don't you have lunch?"

"I have a peanut butter sandwich in my desk and I'll probably stay late. It'll keep."

"Okay." You lean in and kiss Spencer. He responds immediately, stroking your cheek with his thumb. The tenderness overwhelms you.

"You're really nice," you whisper.

"You deserve a nice boyfriend," he says. "And Chicken Satay. I'll get you both."

You link your arm with his as you begin to walk.

"Is six months really the record?"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it."

[thebroccolination]

“IF NO ONE ACCEPTS YOU, YOU HAVE ME”

Lately I’ve seen the narrative around Krist shifting from “he’s homophobic” to “he was homophobic, but he got better :)” so!

Let’s go back to a moment in 2017 during a ceremony where Krist and Singto accepted an award from the Thai branch of the gay magazine Attitude (now defunct). That’s the magazine that published this photoshoot:

[Attitude, 2018, promoting SOTUS S] (they also did one in 2016 for SOTUS)

Krist said that a friend of his once came out to his parents, and the parents wouldn’t accept him, so Krist told his friend, “It’s okay. If no one accepts you, you have me, and I accept you for who you are.”

So, yes, Krist was hotheaded when people kept harassing him about his sexuality, but can anyone truly blame him? No one looks at all the times he answered politely. Just the one time he broke. [EDIT: I just spoke with someone who was there when the infamous IG story was posted, and they said: “Krist's tone and demeanour when he emphatically said "no" was like, y'know, still friendly. It's like when friends tease you relentlessly and you say ‘no’ more forcefully to get them to stop?” And that actually was my first impression of it back in 2020—a joke that landed badly. And it lines up with his first apology: that he felt badly because his answer was taken out of context.]

There are people today who film these guys at the urinal. Who treat them like property because of money and time spent on them. Who hire trucks to drive around their company building making demands. And it’s 2024. GMMTV has legal teams on this stuff now. But you and I can’t imagine what kind of invasiveness Krist and Singto went through in 2016 as one of the first pairs in the BL industry to gain overnight fame and rabid, unprecedented focus from millions. Of course he snapped. It’s widely known that fans and reporters target Krist over Singto to get information even today because Singto never gives anyone the satisfaction of a reaction, but Krist is a people-pleaser and truly struggles with saying no to people. He’s always been the emotional one, the one who overthinks, the one desperate to make people happy. And when fans wanted to force KristSingto to publicly say that they were secretly dating, fans thought they could get Krist to break first, and they were right. (Personally, I always thought the Instagram story was an exaggerated joke that was a barely veiled “drop it.” EDIT: I’m glad at least one person who was there at the time can corroborate this.)

Then interfans came along, marked him as an easy target, and maliciously miscast him as a bigot to wave after wave of new interfans who never bothered to research further after a random person on the internet told them he’s a homophobe.

Krist asked his parents for their blessing to audition for SOTUS when he was still a teenager. He was afraid of what they’d think, but because his parents are lovely people, they supported him. And they still do. Krist’s father has a running joke that he’ll let Krist marry Singto if Singto brings a durian for the dowry.

I never included Singto in my clarification thread because I knew how quickly people would dismiss anything with Singto as conniving, tricksy fanservice. But you really don’t know anything about Krist until you see him with people he considers his safe spaces. That includes people like Mike. Like Gawin. Godji. Oat. These people who love him because he’s earned it.

I know I talk about this a lot. But I won’t ignore it when people try to twist his character, especially with I see them making assumptions about the premise of Ex-Morning. All I believe is that he was angry and afraid and overwhelmed. Then he reacted, apologized, and learned how to handle the fame and the invasiveness better.

Please stop trying to claw marrow out of a past mirage.

[brights-place]

Hi! First time requesting anything but sorry if it’s bad but, Can you do Queen barb x fem! Reader that loves heavy metal? You don’t have to do This if you don’t wanna :)

Barb X METAL! S/O

Pairings: Barb X Reader

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: As an Goth metal head I spent most of my time focusing on this request cause I am INVESTED in Metal genre dude I think I’m going deaf though! I'm adding headcannons of my metal head goth trolls ideas! (*´∀｀*)

- Barb was pulled in by your appearance you looked like an rock troll... but weren't exactly an rock troll - She was interested in your small bat wings that were placed on your back like how the classical trolls had wings - You were gorgeous in her eyes as she went towards you smirking - she asked you about yourself and noticing you weren't around here you told her you were an heavy metal troll which she grinned at - She knew about the heavy metal genre but she couldn't help but adore the sparkle in your eyes when she asked about your genre - You explained that heavy metal is traditionally characterized by loud distorted guitars, emphatic rhythms, dense bass-and-drum sound and vigorous vocals. - She smiled knowing that it had same attributions like Rock music as you continued on that heavy metal subgenres variously emphasize, alter or omit one or more of these attributes. - She soon walked around with you as she showed you around Volcano Rock city while she asked more questions about your genre and would do the rock n roll symbol with you whenever you put your hand up to do it when you talked about metal music saying that it Rocked - She loved how you complimented her style aswell as she did the same to you but she held an deep blush on her cheeks staring at you - She loved to touch your bat wings which you always laughed at but sometimes warn her not to touch the inner parts really close to your back since you said it was sensitive - She asks you various questions while you ask the same thing towards her as well - loves when you do her makeup while she does the same for you but you tell her it's more hardcore looking which makes her confused but she does her best - You two grew close after awhile you becoming an iconic duo and whenever you were visiting Barb and you would play your guitars together while riff played the drums loudly - You would have jam sessions - She would tell you to introduce her to some Metal music and her jaw dropped when seeing you head bang while listening to Twisted sister - You would always flirt whenever and she would always touch your wings and you would touch her ears that she was insecure about due to one of them having abit of it tared off - You both have your own album of music together as you smiled together singing loudly as she sang loudly strumming her guitar as you did the same

- Riff would point out barb was crushing on you once you left and she would try to deny it but she'd turn around and be like "Holy shit I like them!"

- She loves how you kissed her face and kissed her ear that was cut off telling her she was beautiful when she was crying - You would be with her or would visit which became normal with all rock trolls knowing who you were and wouldn't talk bad about you since one rock troll was heard talking bad about you as an joke and had barb close to using her chainsaw on him - She introduces Debbie to you and it's so CUTE! how you cry instantly and hug Debbie saying how adorable she is unlike the pop trolls who first saw Debbie

- She loves how her dad became best friends with you so fast and ends up with you painting her fathers nails black as you ranted to him about the dumbest things and she could feel her heart throb - You two would be doing your daily jam session with playing your guitars back to back as you sang your songs before you turn face to face both of you soon singing softly in your pod leaning forward heads touching before you end up kissing - Her hands on your waist as you put your guitar on the side and have an hand in her hair making out before pulling away the two of you pausing staring at eachother before laughing as you went back to kissing her with an big smile as she giggled abit

- You two became official after the kiss and went on dates together you two would now be seen with barb having an hand on your waist or holding your hand mostly on your waist while she glares down trolls who would try to speak up about it

- You two would be jamming out together once more at volcano rock city as she told her dad about you two now dating as he smiles nodding telling her she did amazing and would have an good partner which was you

- You would hug him crying "Thank you king Thrash" as he hugs you back "Call me dad..." as you turn to barb who looked away sniffling trying not to cry

- You and barb would be having an picnic in an empty flower field as you played your guitars together as she smirked turning towards you "(Name)" You would giggle "Barb"

- You put your guitar to the side as she did the same before tackling you to the picnic blanket pinning you against it and peppering your face to kisses as you blush before returning the small kisses as you cuddle and laugh together

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Beast

Day 29- part 2. Doe x Halsin. Inspired by @starrforge!

She was diminutive in his arms, cradled against his muscular chest. He reclined against her couch, looking at once at home and comically too big for the modest space.

'People told me to stay away from you,' she said.

'Oh?' His voice held mild interest, but something in the air between them changed; a spark in his eye, perhaps. Something wild. 'And why might that be, my heart?'

'I think they just wanted you for themselves,' she said. 'Though I suspect something else.'

His hand tightened on her waist. 'Tell me your theories. I'm fascinated to know.'

'I reckon you're something of a beast, really. It's always the gentle ones you have to watch out for. And you're so big...'

His eyes flashed. 'You're toying with me, precious heart. That is... unwise.'

'Oh yeah?' She smirked. 'And why's that...?'

'Because I am,' he growled. With a cold jolt, she noticed for the first time how his teeth were too sharp, his nails a little too pointed as they dug into her soft skin, his eyes a little too hungry...

'You wouldn't hurt me though,' she said.

'No.' His voice was emphatic. 'No, never. But I can always spare a little punishment. There are consequences to goading the bear, Doe.'

'Okay, but consider,' she said, scrambling hurriedly off his chest and to her feet, 'that I was just kidding?'

'I wasn't,' he said smirking. 'Alright then, little one. Say you're joking. I know you're the curious sort. Surely you want to know...'

Shit. Got me there.

'...Maybe.'

'Alright. Then come here.'

She bit her lip. He planted his feet on the floor, rose and took a prowling step forward.

Fuck he's hot. And huge. And hot. Fuck.

'Losing your nerve, little bunny?'

'No.' A flare of indignation rose in her, her dark eyes defiant. 'I can take you.'

I shouldn't have said that.

'Hah! I'm sure you can. But you'll need to prove it, I fear.' He took another step. His frame was enormous in her pokey living room, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. His hands were open, extended towards her. No threat, but a thrill.

'I think I want you to fuck me stupid,' she said. Gasping, she clapped her hands over her mouth. 'Oh gods. That should have stayed a thought. Shit, sorry. Fuck.'

He laughed, shook the whole room with it, fixed her with an amused look. 'I'm willing if you are.'

'You- what?'

'If you want to cross the line of friendship, I admit I'm only too willing.'

Precious heart really should have been a clue.

'Oh.'

'C'mere to me.'

A trap. A trap! 'No. You first.'

'Well, if you want to play...' Halsin caught her around the waist, lifting her off her feet. 'I hope you're prepared.'

'Not remotely,' she squeaked.

'I can stop if-'

'No, don't you dare. Consider this enthusiastic consent.'

'Hmmm.' He brought her to him, kissed her soundly and pulled back to watch her heave in air. 'Beautiful thing.' He set her down. 'Hands and knees in front of the mirror, love.'

She obeyed wordlessly. Thought about how anyone else would've gotten a snarky quip. He all but tore the clothes off her and she yelped in surprise, hands curling into the rug. And then he was naked too, advancing in the mirror. He grabbed her hip in one hand, pulled her head back to kiss her with the other, his too-sharp teeth dragging on her bottom lip. His hand stroked her flank, grabbed her other hip, and then he was easing into her, swallowing her whimpers as he stretched her deliciously-

'Fuck-' she gasped, grinding back against him, watching him in the mirror. He engulfed her in his bulk, his chest pressed to her back, drove into her none too gently- wild, this one.

Feral.

He wound her hair in his fist, fucked into her with such strength she almost buckled; he held her up, a hand splayed across her ample stomach, sliding down to roll his fingers gently on her clit, sending her crashing into orgasm- she screamed his name and he growled in approval, biting down on her shoulder as he chased his own release. He held her in his teeth, his hips snapping forward. The roar that ripped from him made her shiver as he came, sucking bruising marks into her neck as he filled her, watched with animal satisfaction as her eyes closed briefly in bliss, pulling out slowly. He shot her a wicked look, gathered the spill of his release from her thighs, pushed past her lips and over her tongue.

'Suck.'

She groaned around his fingers, tasting him. She found herself lifted into his arms, once again cradled against his chest.

'Holy shit,' she said. 'That-'

'Was simply a prelude,' he said, growling against her neck.

Tags:

@bluerosetarot @dansnotavampire @further-than-forever

@forget-me-maybe @poetryvampire @sasha199 @wandawillow

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard

@crimson-and-lavender @reeseykins @medra-gonbites

@roguishcat @weaverofnetheril @galedekarioswifey @hyperfixationstation128 @12thhouse-sun

@astarryvamp @feedthepheasants @dabigstinky @dreamingofthewild @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

@femmefuck @spooky-lil-bee

[theproblemwithstardust]

Last Line Challenge

so i owe everyone in the world a last line (it's been uhhhh a month since the last one i did). thank you to @lizardberries, @loverboy-havocboy, @aerjnn, @greenharrow,

@probadbatch, @omaano, @cacodaemonia, and @just-here-with-my-thoughts for tagging me! I think it's probably been long enough for most of you to say uno-reverse! XD

My actual last line is: “What happened last night?”

And a fairly long excerpt from this fic below the cut:

Reaching out to smooth the crease away, Echo freezes, staring at his scomp.

“Echo?” Crosshair wraps an arm around his waist, keeping him steady.

But Echo is too occupied with turning his arm, trying to remember what his missing hand looked like.

“Did’ya know I used to be right handed?”

He also had a tattoo. A terrible, shaky outline of a tooka that Fives did with a needle and some ink.

Echo misses it. The tooka and his other arm. And spending time with Fives.

“Kriff,” Crosshair says, emphatically. “How much have you had to drink?”

Echo thinks about it. “A lot,” he decides.

“Right.” Crosshair tightens his grip on Echo’s waist and leads him back toward the party. “We’re going to find Hunter.”

At the center of the clearing, Wrecker is holding court. He’s surrounded by Wookiees, laughing along with a joke that Echo doesn’t understand.

Maybe he just doesn’t speak Shyriiwook.

“If you do, you never told me,” Crosshair says, and when Echo looks up at him, he’s smiling faintly.

Ah. Oops. Echo’s been narrating his inside thoughts on the outside again. Fives used to give him so much shit for doing that.

He leans more of his weight against Crosshair. “Sorry.” Though he’s not entirely sure what for.

“No need for that,” Crosshair reassures him. “You’re much easier to wrangle than Wrecker. The last time he got really drunk, he tried taping a grenade to a blaster.”

Echo blinks. “What?”

“Mhmm,” Crosshair steers him out of the path of another group of Wookiees, “and Tech once disassembled the Marauder’s hyperdrive and reassembled it backwards because he thought it would make time travel possible.”

“What?” Echo repeats. Actually neither thing surprises him, when he stops to think of his new squad mates.

Crosshair snorts. “Like I said. You have nothing to apologize for.”

[carriedawatermelon]

Ronancetober, day four. In which Robin is herself, Nancy is, too, and they are very much not sisters. Feat. Boston marriages, Robin karaoke, queer community, and dildos as doorstops.

(T/soft M for discussions and implications here but nothing actually explicit.)

prompt: historical or mythical

Nancy sneaks in toward the end of Robin’s lecture, finding a spot in the back row of the auditorium when someone steps out to use the restroom. Robin’s beside the lectern, gesturing emphatically at the image on the screen, the light of the slide projector catching briefly on her fingers when she steps toward the front of the stage. 

It’s one of Nancy’s favorite things, to see her like this, confident and excited and moving, always, legs taking her across the space available to her and body leaning while her hands work. She’d been told to rein it in for her dissertation defense, and she had, but now, tenure track and published in multiple prestigious journals and popular with the students, she does as she pleases, mostly. 

She wears what she pleases, too. Today it’s an oversized tweed jacket and navy pants, a white button-down underneath. It’s been almost fifteen years since Nancy met her in Starcourt, throwing fireworks and telling wildly inappropriate stories in her Scoops Ahoy uniform, and a lot has changed, but her fondness for jewelry hasn’t, a silver chain on her neck and several silver rings on her fingers, flashing as she dips in and out of the lights. Her oxfords have seen better days, scuffed and creased, but Robin’s always been hard on her shoes, tripping and stomping and once upon a time, doodling. 

As Nancy leans forward in her chair, Robin clicks to a new slide and says, like the audience is in on the joke, “Now I know this looks exactly the same…” A triumphant grin flits across her face at the laugh she gets, and Nancy grins with her, proud. 

Nancy waits after the lecture, a small line of people forming to speak to Robin. She watches from a distance as they interact, grateful that the lighting in the room lets her stare without Robin catching on. She’s easy, confident, hands just as busy, occasionally running through the mop of hair on her head or shifting to rest in her pockets where Nancy knows she keeps a few coins to flip between her fingers. The people talking to her are, for the most part, women—students who nod and nod as Robin talks, a few colleagues Nancy recognizes who must say nice things, based on the way Robin’s hands go to her pockets. Her special interest is the translation of women from the Greek classics, the subject of the lecture, and she’s so passionate about it, so thoughtful and creative and invested. 

She looks like she’s exactly where she belongs. 

As the last person shakes Robin’s hand, she walks down the aisle.

“Have time for one more question, Professor?”

“Nance!” Robin drops the bag she’d been packing and moves forward to hug her, pressing warm lips to her cheek. Nancy sneaks her arms under her blazer and holds her close for a second. “What’re you doing here?”

“Interview canceled and I thought I’d come see my very favorite Classics Professor give a talk.”

“I’m sorry Professor Dennis isn’t on the schedule for the day. I’ll tell him you missed him.”

“Ha, ha,” she says with a kiss to Robin’s cheek. “Well I made reservations at that Italian place if you want to tell Professor Dennis to meet me there.”

“Nope!” She grins and grabs her bag. “I don’t, actually, thanks for asking. But I do want tiramisu.” 

-

Rosa’s fortieth is a blowout, a bar full of queers taking shots and whistling at drag queens, filling their tip buckets. The music is loud and the people are, too, in each other’s space laughing and drinking and dancing. It’s like they’re in college again, except a version that many of them never really got to experience, queer and unashamed. 

Robin and Nancy are in it like everyone, Nancy laughing as she licks salt from Robin’s neck and steals a lime from her mouth, blushing at the applause they get when she goes back for a kiss. They never stop touching, hands on waists or fingers linked, Robin holding Nancy from behind as they watch the show, kisses that are as close to thoughtless as they’ll ever be. 

When the stage clears and the bar shifts to karaoke, they settle at a high top in the back, Nancy’s hand wandering up Robin’s thigh and her lips wandering her neck. It’s rare enough, the freedom to do this without risking themselves, that Nancy wants to take full advantage, and she’s had enough tequila that she can without caring too much. These are their friends. This is their family. The most they get are teasing words and smirks, all undercut with obvious joy, with obvious solidarity—Look at you. I see you. I know who you are. I know who you are to each other.

After a few rounds, someone calls out Robin’s name, and then a chorus starts, and Robin goes, smiling, to the stage. She’s in black jeans and a black leather jacket open over a black t-shirt, her Docs beaten to hell. There’s lipstick on her cheek and down one side of her neck, and her hair’s even messier than usual from where Nancy’s run her hands through it. 

When she stands in front of the mic stand, drunk enough for her lips to pull into her cockiest smile, Nancy wants to get on her knees. 

She doesn’t, but she does bite her bottom lip so hard it hurts, and Robin’s smirk only grows. 

She sings Johnny Cash, I Walk the Line, catcalled the entire time by their rowdy friends. Nancy doesn’t mind, staying close enough that Robin can see her, winking occasionally in a way that makes Nancy weak, but far enough away that a line of people fills the space in front of her. It’s the attention she deserves, and it makes her heart settle, to see her getting it. 

Nancy worries every single time Robin travels alone, thinking about every gas station restroom and every sneering idiot at every roadside diner. She saw what it did to Robin, to have to choose between being comfortable in herself and being accepted by so many of her professors and peers and, later, colleagues. She’s chosen herself since she understood what that meant, brave and brilliant, and it has cost her but she hasn’t wavered. 

Now, the things that have put her at risk in the world in so many ways get her half-joking swoons and compliments low enough not to interrupt her but loud enough that Robin’s cheeks go a little pink and yep, someone’s bra, which makes Robin’s eyebrows climb to her forehead, lips twitching as she drawls the lyrics without pause. 

When she finishes, taking a bow and stepping into the crowd, her eyes are on Nancy, who pulls her into an absolutely filthy kiss. 

“Alright, Wheeler, we got it! She’s taken!”

“Damn right,” Nancy calls back, pulling away and letting her own cocky smile spread at the way Robin’s eyes flutter open slowly, her hands reaching for Nancy’s waist on instinct. 

“Yep,” Robin agrees, too soft for anyone but Nancy to hear, the next song already playing. Nancy turns them both to face the mic and leans back into Robin, who wraps her arms around her and whispers alternatingly vulgar and adoring things to her until Nancy drags her to the back hallway. 

-

“One of my students told me today that her great-grandmother’s sister was in a Boston marriage.”

Nancy’s fingers are drawing patterns on Robin’s bare stomach, her head resting on her chest. They’re naked and sated and too lazy to get up and turn the light off. 

“One of your queer kids?” She says, listening to Robin’s heart.

“Yeah.” 

This happens a lot, Robin being who she is, visible the way she is. Students find her and talk to her, and she listens, has pamphlets and referrals to a counselor in the student center she trusts for when she needs them. She supervises the gay and lesbian group on campus, brings Nancy to the holiday party. 

“She says she found letters, when she was in high school. Her grandmother had this whole trunk of stuff in her attic that nobody had ever bothered to go through, I guess, or they sure as shit would’ve burned these.”

“That bad?” By bad she means, of course, gay. 

“Apparently. To my student anyway. Her grandmother and mom talk about her Aunt Elizabeth and her best friend. They hadn’t seen the letters and Mia didn’t show them, but when she asked, they had these stories, talked all about how close they were.”

“Were they like sisters?” Nancy asks, in her best oblivious heterosexual voice. 

“They were,” Robin snorts. 

“How sweet.”

There have been many times when they’ve been mistaken for relatives or close friends, almost never able to correct any of those mistakes safely. It makes Nancy want to set fire to something every single time. 

“I hope I would’ve been lucky enough to be in a Boston marriage with you. The very un-sisterly kind.”

“Our queer great-great niece would find our love letters in a trunk. Maybe a picture. Holly’s kids and grandkids could hang it on the wall and talk about our close friendship.”

“I think I’d look good as a dandy.”

“Oh, you absolutely would.”

“‘Robin was very practical. She wore pants!’”

“What were Victorian strap-ons like, do you think?”

Robin groans. “Oh god, I don’t want someone finding our strap in a trunk.”

Laughing, Nancy turns up to kiss her chin. “No, no, we’d obviously make a plan. The other best friends would take care of it. But if someone did find it, they’d explain it away. A cleaning accessory.”

“A hat display.”

“A door stop.”

“A badly made rolling pin,” Robin stutters, laughing at herself. 

“Oh my god,” but she’s giggling, not trying to hide it. “A dildo, but one they used exclusively to prepare themselves for the husbands they were looking for. Together, of course. Like best friends. For practice.”

“For practice,” Robin wheezes, shaking Nancy’s body with her laughter. “Of course. They fucked platonically. Like,” she can barely get it out. “Like sisters.”

They’re still giggling a minute later, Robin pressing her lips to the top of Nancy’s head. 

“I don’t want anyone to assume us away,” she says, voice softer. Her fingers link with Nancy’s and she brings them to her lips. “I don’t want anyone to erase this.”

There are pictures—Nancy laughing in Robin’s lap, Robin’s arms tight around her waist and her eyes full of love; Robin kissing her cheek at a birthday party, bodies pressed close; a particularly beautiful shot of them dancing at Max’s wedding. There are letters—pages and pages from the months they spent apart when Robin was researching abroad in grad school and when Nancy’s been on assignment, nothing remotely platonic about any of them. And there are their friends, a whole community of people who know them, who’ve spoken about them and taken other pictures, the same way Nancy and Robin have for them. 

“Even if they wanted to,” she whispers into Robin’s skin as she presses herself up, moving until she’s looking down at pools of blue, “there will always be a Mia. There will always be people who know.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She tastes like Nancy, still, and Nancy licks at her bottom lip before settling back on her sternum, Robin’s fingers moving across her back. 

[deathmybride]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ midnight at noonday | dead poets society (part 3) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

ship: Surprise! x fem!OC

warnings: still none

summary: Clare gets to know Charlie.

word count: 3124

a/n: Tragically, I forgot to cross-post this chapter when I was doing them all before. Hope you guys enjoy.

taglist: @toobraindeadtofunction

“So,” Charlie broke the silence as we passed a group of younger boys playing knucklebones in the dirt under one of the oak trees. “You got your extracurriculars yet?”

“Yeah.” I unlinked our arms as we came up to the building’s entrance, casting a glance around for any teachers. “Soccer, rowing, and Nolan said he’d have the caterers teach me some home ec too, even though they don’t do that for boys.” I sighed. “I don’t mind it, really. I like cooking and folding laundry fine, but it kind of seems a little, um…”

“Misogynist?” Charlie offered.

“Yeah!” I nodded enthusiastically. “I was scared to say it.”

“Hey, don’t be.” He gave me an emphatic look. “This whole place is backwards. I’m surprised they let you in at all.”

“Me too, but it was the only way they could get my father to teach. We’re kind of a package deal.”

“I see. Still, it must have been a tough sell. You must have enough merit of your own to convince Nolan to change his ways.”

“I suppose I do.” I flushed under his praise. “I mean, my grades are up to standard and, uh… Well, I suppose I’m a good debater when I have my head screwed on. I had to vouch for myself on the phone to him before he let me in. Y’know there’s something about that man that makes me want to stand up for myself.”

“Would that be his face like a smacked ass, or the whole correctional officer bit?”

“Both, probably.” I said with a giggle. “I managed to convince him to let me into the debate club too.”

“Debate club?” Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Impressive. How’d you swing that?”

“Well, I debated him. I told him I imagine a number of the boys in the club would go on to careers in politics, so if any of them wanted to run for president or something, it would be very important to understand the female perspective in order to win women’s votes.”

“No time like the present, right?”

“Exactly.” I nodded. “I said that the earlier you start gathering information, the easier it will be to campaign later. And then I made a joke about helping them to better understand their future wives, and that really tickled him.”

“Did he give you any push back?”

“Of course. He said I’d have an unfair advantage ‘cause my femininity would fluster my opponents; and also that my admittance to the club would ‘undermine the long cultivated identity that has been a constant since the club’s inception.’” I slipped into a half-hearted impression of the stuffy old man. “So I said if I ever argued against the club’s values, surely the members coming together to defend them would only strengthen their resolve; and that I would wear my ugliest, lumpiest jumper when I’m on the soap box.”

“I bet he saw the funny side of that.” He said sardonically.

“He did! He actually laughed, can you believe it? He said I have ‘moxie.’”

“Weird.” He frowned, but there was real admiration in the look he shot me.

“You’re telling me.” I laughed to cover my blush. “The funny thing is, I don’t really care about debating. I really wanted a spot on the school paper, but he said it would be inappropriate for a new transfer student to be involved in something so front-facing; especially one who’s already drummed up some controversy.”

“Damn. Try him again next semester, huh? I’m on the paper, I can vouch for you.”

“That’s so kind! Thank you, Charlie.”

“Any time.” He said as we rounded the corner to the east wing stairwell. “Hey, did you say you’re doing rowing?”

“And soccer.”

“Bit of a sportswoman, huh? Very nice.”

“You don’t have to butter me up, I’ll still help you with English.” I threw him a smirk.

“Ugh!” He threw his hand up in phoney indignation. “I’d never use flattery to get what I want! But, seriously, I think it’s cool you’re athletic. You can sit by me at rowing, if you want.”

“Sure. I’ve never done it before, so I hope I’m not too much of a hindrance.”

“You’ll pick it up fast. It’s easy once your muscles get used to it. You better pray you’re on my soccer team, though, kid. I’m the best goalie that ever lived.”

“Sure you are.” I rolled my eyes playfully. “I’ve never played that either. I hope I learn quickly.”

“It’s not so bad. What did you do for sports at Chelsea?”

“I did tennis and track. We had soccer and cricket teams too, but that was never my thing. You ever played tennis?”

“No, never.”

“That’s a shame! It’s so much fun.” I sighed dolefully. “I still have my gear, and I’m hoping to find a partner.”

“I could try.” He offered. “I don’t know how good I’ll be.”

“That’s sweet of you.” I gave his arm a light squeeze. “If I find somewhere to play, I’ll let you know.”

“Sure. Look, we’re nearly there.”

“Oh, so we are.”

Sure enough, we had arrived at the familiar stairway that led right up to my room. I was astonished that not only had he kept me entertained all the way from the west wing to here, but he had kept me talking through our entire walk. After the horror of this morning, I thought I would be buried deep in my shell forever. I felt a warm rush of gratitude for the boy with the permanent smirk. Though he liked to mask it with a clownish attitude, I could see that he really cared about people.

“I can take it from here, thanks Charlie.”

“No problem. Hey, do you have your own bathroom, or are you slumming it with us?”

“No, I have my own.” I laughed. “Well, it’s Dad’s- I mean Mr Keating’s too.”

“Ugh! Privileged.”

“I know!” I blushed, embarrassed at the faculty’s special treatment. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, can…” I hesitated. “Can I sit with you guys?”

“Of course!” He touched my arm reassuringly. “I’ll save you a seat.”

“Thanks. See you then.”

“Bye, Skipper!” He was gone before I could reprimand him.

Feeling a spark of annoyance- more so at my father than Charlie- I scaled the last flight of stairs and came up to my bedroom. It was a surprising relief to be alone, and I realised my ears were ringing from the constant noise of three hundred teenage boys nattering and play-fighting from class to class. I rubbed my temples, feeling around for tension, heaved a sigh, and dragged my feet over to my suitcases. It felt like such an effort to dig around and find my toiletries, and by the time I found them I had to fight against the urge to curl up on the floor and go to sleep. Instead, I hauled myself to my feet and had a quick look around my room. It was much better than the boys’ dorms; there was more space, with a bigger bed and wardrobe, a bigger desk with more drawer space, and a small table with one of those new fangled electric tea kettles. I felt like the Queen of Sheba, though I doubted she would be so ashamed of her luxuries. I let out a sigh, then made my way to the bathroom to scrub off the day with soaps and potions.

I had just finished putting my hair up in Spoolies and was about to put on some dinner clothes when I heard a rapping at my door. I hurriedly pulled a bathrobe over my pajamas and went over to investigate. To my dismay, there was no peephole, so I had no clue as to who I was opening the door to. In a slight panic, and not wanting to sound rude, I opened the door straight up without asking who was there. Thank the lord it was just Dad. He was smiling softly and held a bundle of cattails in a tall crystal vase.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He stepped in and kissed my cheek. “I thought you could do with some colour in here, but for the life of me, I couldn’t find any foxgloves. I nearly had an impromptu scuba session getting these.”

“Thank you.” He strode past me and placed them on the windowsill by my desk. “I love cattails.”

“Yes, you do.” He agreed with a playful smile. “You bit one when you were two and got a mouthful of seeds.”

“So I’ve heard.” It was one of his favourite stories from my early childhood.

“So. Clare. I thought you might like to join me for dinner in my room tonight for a little recconassance. How about it?”

I hesitated. I would be so grateful to have some quiet time before study group tonight, but Charlie had already saved me a spot at his table and I desperately wanted to see Neil again. I supposed I would see him while we studied, but there would be little time for talking. I suppose I left it too long to reply, as Dad shook his head and laughed.

“You don’t have to say yes.”

“No, no I’d like to. I just-” I sighed in agitation. “I don’t like that I have privileges that the boys don’t have.”

“Hm.” He looked thoughtful. “Well… Sure, you have a few luxuries not afforded to the rest of the student body, but you have plenty of extra restrictions too. I think it all evens out in the end.”

“I suppose you’re right.” I let out the tension in my shoulders. “I’ll eat with you, but I need to go a little before eight so I can meet up with my study group.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “I’m proud to see you taking your school work seriously, but try not to let it rule your world.”

“I think I might have to if I’m going to stay here.” I wiped my eyelids, fatigue weighing heavy on them. “I have to at least stay on top of things, until I get a feel for how much I have to do.”

“Mm, you are right.” Dad sighed, shaking his head. “I only wish you had more time to do what you’re truly passionate about.”

“Who knows? Maybe I have an untapped passion for Latin.”

“Well, you can’t have inherited it from me.” He ambled to the door. “Come on, dinner’s getting cold.”

It seemed Dad had hustled an extra portion of the teacher’s meal for me. Waiting at the small dining table in his room was a tray with a glass cloche over it, covering two steaming bowls of carbonara. With a pang of guilt, I noted that it was much nicer than the prison food I had heard some of the boys describing earlier that day. I sat down while Dad stepped aside to select a record to put on the turntable.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” He smiled. “I can’t guarantee all your meals will be as nice as this one. Hell-ton hash is a necessary rite of passage.”

“Surely it’s not that bad.” I tried my best to sound optimistic, but the day was so long and I was so tired, and with a stack of work to do for every class, I truly felt like the entire school had been designed to torture me. Why would the food be any different?

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m not.” I let my hand rest on my cheek and gazed longingly at the meal, only just realising how starved I was.

“Go on, dig in.” Dad insisted, picking out a Chopin piano record, probably for my benefit.

I started eating before he sat down, and neither of us said grace. Of the four pillars, tradition was the one that fell most by the wayside in our household. The pasta was the most divine thing I had ever tasted, and it took a lot of effort not to wolf it all down straight away. The piano filled the air with delicate swelling sounds. Chopin would always be my favourite.

“So, how was your day?” I asked before he had a chance to start a round of twenty questions.

“Excellent.” He responded, pouring us both a glass of cloudy apple juice. “Every one of my classes contain students of great merit. I can see poets everywhere! But I see real brilliance brewing in your class. There’s a spark there that I can’t quite place.”

Neil. I thought. From the brief interaction I had had with him, I saw his friends treat him with reverence; even Charlie- the social dynamo that he was- seemed to look at him with respect. Neil’s very presence must have stirred up inspiration in his peers.

“I agree.” I smiled. “I think even the quiet ones will surprise you.”

“Yes, indeed. Though, I quite like that Dalton boy, loud-mouthed as he may be. He reminds me so much of myself at that age. Eager to entertain.”

“Charlie’s lovely.” I swirled some pasta around my fork, reminiscing our earlier conversation. “A boy was giving me a little trouble earlier today, and he saved me.”

“What kind of trouble?” Dad paused, fork raised, his face suddenly grave.

“Nothing serious.” I said quickly. “He wanted me to join his study group, and said something insulting about one of the boys in my group when he found out I already had one.

“Oh. How unpleasant.” He relaxed and took his bite of pasta.

“Mhm. I stood up for him, though.”

“You always were one to do that.” He smiled proudly.

“I suppose I am. I had a disagreement with Overstreet before class when he threw a paper ball at that boy who sneezes a lot.”

“Spencer Poindexter.”

“Poindexter?!”

“Yes, you heard right. You won’t forget that one in a hurry, will you?”

“No. Poor guy.” I shook my head, feeling a rush of empathy for the kid. He must have had a terrible time growing up. “That reminds me, though-” I pinched the bridge of my nose in embarrassment. “I forgot Todd Anderson’s name earlier. Called him ‘Tom.’ It was terrible, he went bright red… looked like he was malfunctioning. He’d only just been introduced too! Oh, gosh, it was so bad!”

“That’s not that bad.” Dad chuckled. “You’ll worry yourself to death if you let yourself get hung up on a little thing like that.”

“I suppose it could have happened to anyone…” I mumbled, face hot with remembered embarrassment.

“Exactly. Anderson seems like a forgiving kind, anyway. You’ll make amends in time.”

“Yes, I hope so.” It would be so awkward to spend time with Neil if his roommate hates me.

We ate in silence for a while. I soaked up the piano melodies like gravy into bread, letting them draw my mind away to ballroom scenes of slow dancing with Neil at a senior prom we’d never have. I was just scraping up the last bits of bacon and was about to dig into my creme brulee when Dad spoke up again.

“So, about this crush we were discussing earlier…”

“Oh, stop!” I exclaimed in hushed tones, as if Neil might have had his ear pressed up to the door. “Forget I said anything.”

“Now, Clare, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” He soothed.

“There’s everything to be embarrassed about!” I let my fork clatter into my bowl. “I’ve barely said a word to him! I shouldn’t even be feeling like this, anyway. It’s against school rules. Rules that you are supposed to enforce, by the way.”

“I am aware of that. And, as such, if I catch you fooling around, officially I should report you. So it’s of the utmost importance that you don’t give me or any of the staff any reason to suspect a thing.”

“There’s not going to be any fooling around!” I took out my agitation on the crispy top of the creme brulee and shoved a spoonful into my mouth.

“Well, you say that now.” He ran his spoon along the top of his dessert, taking great pleasure in the scraping sound, then struck it once with the back of the spoon, creating a satisfying crack. “Anyway, a clandestine love affair is a good thing at this age. It’ll build character and fuel your poetry. You’ll write the best poems of your life before you’re twenty-five.”

“Mmph!” I buried my face in my hands.

“Who is it?”

“Who is it?” I looked up in horror.

“Yeah.” He rested his cheek on his hand like a gossiping schoolkid. “Tell me.”

I looked at him long and hard, searching his eyes for a glimpse of just what he planned to do with this information. Turning up nothing, I said the only thing I could think of.

“Absolutely not. You’ll have to guess.”

“Guess?”

“Yes, go on. You got three strikes, then you can’t ask me again for a week.”

“Okay, okay.” He thought for a moment. “The obvious guess would be Dalton.”

I hesitated.

“Well, no… Charlie is really wonderful, but, well… it’s not him. It might be simpler if it was him. I mean, at least I’ve had a proper conversation with him, and he makes me laugh, and he seems… Well, maybe the flirting is compulsive.”

“Hm, not Charlie. There goes my one informed guess. Meeks?”

“No. He’s lovely, but no.”

He looked out the window and thought for a moment.

“Anderson?”

I hesitated again, though this time I couldn’t put my finger on why.

“No, not Anderson.”

“Darn. Y’know, if you told me, I might be able to help.”

“Help how?”

“I could reassign seats, pair you two up for assignments… recommend him love poetry.”

“No! No, thank you.” I said hurriedly, getting to my feet. “I think I’ll handle this just fine on my own. Now, I really should go and meet Neil. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Neil!” Oh no. “Neil Perry! The one who sits in front of the Pitts boy, with the big brown eyes. I thought of him straight away, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name!”

“It’s not him.”

“Oh, yes it is.” He grinned, absolutely cheesed. “I can tell by the panic in your eyes. Not to worry, Clare, my lips are sealed and I will take no action without your go-ahead.”

“It’s not!”

“Okay, sweetheart.” He said unconvincingly, got up and kissed me on the cheek, and handed me the rest of my creme brulee. “Take this to your room, you can eat it later. Though, I’m sure you’ll get enough sugar to last you elsewhere. Now, go have fun.”

“It’s. Not. Him.” I said emphatically before giving him a quick hug. “Good night.”

[sameschmidtdiffname]

feeling a bit weird asking this request since i haven't actually seen anyone write such a thing, but i'd like to ask for something about the parent figure!mike (NOT SMUT OFC), maybe something he's the reader's father or brother or something, if it's not something you could write just ignore !!! (i'm also not a native speaker so i apologize if it sounds impolite i always have this problem :/)

Girl have you read my fics?? Do NAWT come on here talking about feeling weird for a request when I have written shit that's sending me to super hell with Jensen Ackles or whoever played the angel guy from Supernatural. (I hope that joke made sense, I'm not in that fandom </3)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this!! Fresh off the press for you pookie <3 (BTW, your English js great and you weren't demanding at all!! Seriously, don't feel bad 😊)

Same Shit, Different Schmidt

Dad! Mike & Gender Neutral! Reader

(This gif always sends me, I'm sorry)

Summery: You are a stubborn ass and Mike is not here to put up with that shit. Where'd you get this attitude, anyways? Is it so hard to just listen?

Tags: No use of Y/N, Reader is Mike's child, this is lowkey a sequel to 'What's One More?' but that is absolutely not required to read this, sickness, reader almost passes out, slight angst, Mike takes care of reader, Mike has a come to Jesus moment, mentions of arguing, injury, underage drinking, Abby and Mike go at it at one point, just a cute lil drabble :)

Notes: it feels illegal to post something so short. Is this allowed?? Anyways, this was so cute to write! Definitely a new approach. I hope you guys like this! Thanks for the request anon, I always love getting them 💗

▪︎◇{��♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

"I'm fine," you groaned emphatically, trying to to rise from the bed, musty from your body's sweat during the night.

"You are not fine, do not bullshit me," Mike scolded. His hands pressed you back onto the bed, his scowl growing as he feels your temperature through your moist shirt. "When did this start?"

"I told mom my throat hurt last night and she gave me some ibuprofen. It's seriously just a cold," you said, trying one more time to rise from the bed.

"You always get a sore throat before you get sick, have since you were a kid. When did the fever start?" His hand feels freezing against your clammy forehead, making you shy away to avoid the chills that threaten you.

"Not hot."

"You want me to call your mom so you can gaslight her, too?" His tone is firm and threatening. "Is there something you're trying to get away with here or...?"

"I have tech tonight for my show, I can't miss," you finally admit. You open your mouth to continue, but Mike quickly cuts you off.

"No. Out of the question," he said.

"Dad, I'll get in trouble-"

"You will get everyone else sick and then what? I said no," he said firmly. But when he sees the way you sink into the bed, eyes sad and finally accepting the situation, he thinks of your mother acting in a similar manner or Abby when she was your age with the same attitude. It makes him relent, pressing his lips tight together. "What do you need me to do?" He asked, voice softer as he strokes your cheek. Your eyes brighten for a moment, a smile breaking out. "You're not going, I'm just asking what I could do to help."

You sink into the bed once more, crossing your arms.

"My director is gonna hate me," you mumble.

"I will deal with her, or she will deal with me. I promise you one's better than the other," he said. At that you crack a smile, finally looking at him.

"Mom's not gonna be pleased either," you said.

"Mom's not gonna let you go either," he said. "I'm getting the thermometer and then I'm moving you to the living room so I can watch you better. You get control of the TV as your consolation prize."

You twirl your finger in the air, rolling your eyes as emit a mocking 'yay,' glaring at him as he shoots the same glare down at you, walking out of the room and slipping his phone out of his pocket to call your mother.

"How upset are they?" She asked on the other side of the phone. He could hear the office chatter going on around her as he searched through the cabinets for the supplements they kept in stock.

"They're not thrilled. Not planning my death yet, but it's coming," Mike huffed. "Is it elderberry that helps with sore throats?"

"Elderberry makes it worse after you get sick, helps before. Don't give them that," she said. There's a slight pause before she adds "You realize this attitude is inherited?"

"Oh," he groaned, sucking on his teeth. "I wasn't gonna throw you under the bus like that."

"I helped raise Abby, do not pin this on me," she laughed.

"I don't deny sickness," Mike said.

"I can name five seperate instances where you did," she countered. Mike froze for a moment, trying to remember. "Just go easy on them. Remember you're dealing with your kid."

"And yours," he countered.

"Supposedly," she teased.

"I'm pretty sure that was you I knocked up."

"But are you sure?"

"Well, there was that one time with your mom."

She laughed. "Have them text me when they can. I'll deal with director, she knows me better."

"Thanks. She terrifies me. Kinda get why they don't wanna miss," Mike admitted. With a quick laugh and a quicker goodbye, Mike clicks off the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He gathered the vitamins in a small cup, grabbed the other needed items and made his way back to the room that used to house his little sister.

"Okay, Mom's dealing with director and is willing to grab dinner of your choice if you'll-" Mike trails off at the sight of your empty bed, worry prickling through and tainting the annoyance rising in his chest. He calls your name, turning to look for you before his ears tune in on the shower running in the bathroom. He sighs, placing the items on your bedside table and making his way to the living room. All is well until about ten minutes after the water shuts off, when he heard a small but sure 'thud' ring from the room.

"Honey?" He called. Nothing.

He rises from his chair, his mind trying to remind himself to stay calm and not jump to its automatic thoughts of harm and anxiety as he walked quickly to the door.

"If you don't answer I'm coming in," he warned. The quiet groan on the otherside is all he needed to quickly open the unlocked door, trying not to panic as he catches sight of you curled up on the floor with your head between your knees.

"I'm fine," you said quietly. "Got dizzy." Your clothes are thrown on haphazardly and it's clear how disoriented you are. Your hair doesn't even look properly washed.

Mike's arms are comforting, familiar and protective as he carefully lifts you up, taking you to the couch as though you weigh nothing to him. When his mind is racing like this, you may as well not.

"What were you thinking?" He asked in a panicked voice. "I told you you weren't going."

"My director hates me and tech is like, our biggest practice. I can't miss," you insisted, barely able to stand the light shining through the open windows. The couch is cool against your skin, the old leather offering relief. Mike had brought it home a few years back, a surprise he'd found at a thrift store with your help. Still pricey but a Christmas gift for everyone in the house. Your mother shook her head as she finally agreed maybe the couch that was as old as her needed to be replaced.

"Your mom is dealing with her and she's gonna deal with you next if you don't listen to either of us," Mike said. He ran back to your room, collecting the items and returning to your side before you could even respond. "Can you just let us take care of you?"

Oh. Oh. Fine, okay. There it is. He hears it now, that point your mother had just been making.

As the thermometer takes longer than he'd like to beep, he sighs at the sight of you looking like death on the couch. "You get this attitude from me," he finally sighed. You raise your brow quizzically, waiting for him to continue. A soft noise emits from the device. Mike takes it from your mouth and scowls at the number that flashes back at him. He hands you a now room temperature cup of throat coat tea with three ibuprofen to help with the fever before he takes your hand.

"Did I tell you about the time your mother had to drag me to the emergency room for stitches on my forehead?" He asked, smiling. You snort, taking another sip of your drink. "It happened when you were little. I don't even think you were two. Abby was going out with this idiot and figured out how to take out the screen in her window so she could sneak out without any of us knowing. This girl was bad news, I mean-"

"Aunt Abby?" You asked.

"What? No. No, the girl she was going out with, Lisa Browning. Had her come home with a belly button piercing once, I wasn't happy about that. Anyways, Abby decided that she was going to this party one night and I'd found her bed empty halfway through the night while I was going to check on you. Well, I decided I was gonna wait for her in her room with the lights off until she got home. So I sat in front of her window and eventually got tired, so I shut my eyes. Figured it couldn't hurt. Took a couple hours, but eventually your mother woke up and my side of the bed was empty and she heard this loud as fuck noise from your aunts room. This is like four in the morning, mind you," he said. "So she jumped out of bed and heard your aunt yelling, saw some guy in dark clothes on the floor, open window and the lights are off, and she's still wiping sleep out of her eyes."

"Oh no," you groaned.

"Oh yes. Grabbed some metal Eiffel Tower thing on Abby's desk and just swung at my head. Hurt like a bitch," he laughed, you joining in as much as you could without hurting your throat. "It was a good hit. I think she realized it was me when I grabbed her ankle and hollered her name cause she stopped right after that. Wasn't too bad, but I wouldn't stop bleeding."

"So did Abby get in trouble?" You asked.

"Are you kidding? I was even more pissed, I chased her down the hallway after her girlfriend climbed in and fell on top of me. I was ready to kill her. Your mother had to drag me and her into the car, go back and grab you and deal with us screaming at each other all the way to the hospital. Not that I wanted to go, I was fine with just pressing a dishcloth to the thing and carrying on with my plan to rip my sister a new one. She had to threaten us both to actually get me inside, and I only conceded because I was too dizzy to object by that point. I think the nurses assumed she was insane. I mean, kid on her hip, dressed in pajamas with some drunk teenager bickering with a guy bleeding from his head at the crack of dawn. I'm surprised no one called the cops. They did have to almost seperate Abby and I, though. Which just upset me more."

"How did they get you to calm down?" You asked.

"Your mother handed you to me while she walked Abby to a bathroom so she could take a go at her. And you were all upset anyways because I wasn't paying attention to you and you didn't understand why the nurses were fuckin' with me or why I was upset. Once I had you in my arms I refocused, calmed down a good bit. Someone brought me a book to read you and we got to focus on that while they prepped me for stitches," he said the last part softly. "I was so glad when Abby got out of her teen rebellion phase."

"She ruined mine," you joked.

"Yeah. She used pretty much every trick in the book, so we were ready for you. Sorry," he said.

"It's fine, I don't like parties."

"I don't either."

Mike's phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it, typing a quick response before refocusing on you. "Your mother wants to know what you're thinking for dinner," he said.

"Chinese?" You asked.

"That comes from your mom's side," he smiled. "She'll be pleased."

¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

Short but sweet. This was a fun one :)

Taglist:

@jhutchissupercool @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support! <3

Masterlist

[aheartofdawn]

As Democrats struggle to come to terms with the results of this week’s election, some young women are looking abroad for inspiration. Women across social media have been exploring an idea called 4B, a protest movement in South Korea that calls for women to boycott men.“Now I am, how you say this, a ho, but I really want to get behind this 4B movement,” begins one TikToker, who goes on to say she approves of women withholding sex from men. “After this election — where women were pretty much told to their faces that no one gives a shit about them — don’t forget, ladies, we do have power. And you know the kind of power I’m talking about. Giving up our bodies to men is a choice. We don’t have to do this.”

The TikTok tag #4bmovement currently has thousands of posts with millions of views, and Google search interest in the term spiked after the election. Some of the social media posters are clearly joking out of a combination of rage, stress, and sadness — but others are more serious.“Once you can get out of your mind that you will not be missing out by engaging in this behavior, you will be better off,” one earnest TikToker says. “I encourage you to reclaim your power and have really honest conversations with yourself about whether being in a romantic relationship with men at this point in time is worth it.”

The tenets of 4B are extremely different from the kinds of feminism that tend to flourish in the US, where popular culture places a premium on choice and empowerment. Mainstream feminist campaigns here usually celebrate women’s ability to make their own decisions and do whatever makes them feel best as individuals.The point of 4B and Escape the Corset, however, is not to make women feel more fulfilled or more at home in their bodies. It is also not to put pressure on men as individuals to reform their ways. The point of 4B is to send a message about the structure of society — to say it’s not acceptable that you are valued only for your fertility and sexual appeal — and to ensure your independence.In an academic paper about the movement, author Hyejung Park translates a 2019 video from the South Korean activist group SOLOdarity: “It is true that tal-corset [Escape the Corset] comes with some inconveniences,” the activists allow. “When your hair is short, you might have to get a haircut more frequently, and you might need to buy a whole new wardrobe for tal-corset. Nevertheless, we practice tal-corset because it is not about being more comfortable. It is about not being a doll, a second-class citizen.”

The idea of refusing to wear skirts for the sake of your politics, even if you like them, is an attitude that has been out of favor in American feminism since the end of the second wave in the 1970s. Still, there is a discipline and a radicalism to this form of activism that you can easily understand feeling attractive for America’s angry young women in this moment. It supposes a world that so emphatically decenters men and their desires for women that men themselves disappear from a woman’s life. After the US elected a symbol of masculine aggression and violence to our highest office for the second time, a person can see the appeal.The idea of such severe and uncompromising protest also makes sense considering the reams of smirking rape jokes that the mere discussion of 4B online has provoked. Many American 4B TikToks have comments from men under them crowing, “Your body, my choice,” a refrain that young fans of far-right influencer Nick Fuentes have reportedly taken to parroting in schools.“[W]omen threatening sex strikes like LMAO as if you have a say,” a post from one X account with 122,000 followers went.

It’s worth remembering, though, that the divide between left and right in this country does not neatly map across gender divides. While we won’t know until later how the numbers break down, early exit polls say 45 percent of all women and 53 percent of white women voted for Trump. Trump surrounds himself with enabling women, and the likes of Marjorie Tyler Greene gleefully shriek misogyny across the floors of Congress.A possible lesson of the Women’s March era — that feminist reaction to the first Trump term — is this: Uniting in a large group as a pure expression of rage is not always sustainable. The Women’s March collapsed because of vicious infighting, which is traditionally what happens to large leftist groups in the US.Perhaps it’s time for American feminism to get specific and disciplined about its action points. 4B is specific and it is disciplined, which is part of what makes it difficult to translate out of its cultural context and into America. It is clear on its goals, which are to take personal autonomy through the force of one’s own denial, rather than to ask for it at the polls or in interpersonal relationships.A line of inquiry American feminists might take from 4B is this: What are you going to work toward? And what are you going to do to get there?

[astropookie]

I’m feeling like a fcking egoist so I’ll roast myself

I’m the best at it😄🥰

aspects of my birth chart I blame -don’t do that-

Picture from Pinterest

TW: it could turn deep

*basically aspects in my birth chart

Moon square Venus

I’m fucking rude. I always seem like Idgf. When I liked someone, unless I want them to know, in the past, they have told me that they haven’t had a clue I like them. It’s like I have a mask but really on the inside I’m sensitive and I’m scared of being hurt and not having the reaction I expect. Attachment issues. That’s the thing. I HAVE SUFFERED A LOT in past relationships, any type. Why? I’ve been too attached to the point I begged the other to stay or if don’t I…had a incomprensible fear OR I’ve been too cold and lost what could’ve been friends bc of my anxiety of being hurt/rejected/judge, etc. I HAVE SUCH A HUGE PROBLEM that’s not being able to show myself at the fullest or to struggle to be myself and i’ll adapt to what others would like. SCARED OF BEING JUDGE. I feel that I’m a burden, being me. Showing my real intentions and emotions to the ones I love the most. To be the cause of their problems. That’s my phobia -jk-.

Ascendant conjunction Neptune

As much as it costs me to mention it. Yes, neptune causes addiction or SPECIFICALLY and ORIGINALLY a necessity to escape, to avoid what’s in front of your eyes. The effect neptune gives is insane, the sensitivity someone with neptune energy is on another level. A level that make you wish to disappear or to go to another dimension. The need can’t be put in words. But oh darling, as much as you wish, you scream, you can’t go bc you’re sensitive and that makes you an emphatic. you feel what others feel: you can’t decide. How others would feel? So you hide it. You’re good at it or that’s what you think. “It’s for your own good and for the others, it’s the best”, that’s what you’d said.

Sun square Chiron

A truck hits you every time. Or -a example that’s more family friendly- when you start doing bars, at first you get blisters and it burns but you have to do the work anyways bc you’re not gonna wait an eternity so the blister can heal -another’s gonna appear in the process-: you kept going and finally your skin becomes indifferent to the rub between your hand and the bar. in other words, sun square chiron have passed and pass lessons that are really deep, specifically in the past by being invalidated for being them. They can feel insufficient and that you don’t have the right to be, to show your passions and expressive side (being creative and unique). They repressed you, they thought they had the right and you believed them. Honey, you become stronger each time. Your inner strength is incredible. Accepting yourself, being recognized by you is what matters and what’s going to make you reach your potential.

Lilith square Mars

AAAAAAAA THIS ASPECT. why do I have to have such a AAAAAA aspect? I HATE IT FUCK. You know how many times I’ve changed hobbies? How many times I’ve left a competition bc I was afraid of not winning? What if my full potential wasn’t what I expected? What if I wasn’t the best? If it was the case I preferred to leave, to die -how dramatic- instead of knowing I had competition and that I wasn’t the only one there that wanted to give her best. I changed hobbies every time bc I got bored: in reality I was afraid and stressed bc things didn’t go the way I wanted, I didn’t full my expectations and I was afraid of not doing it if I really tried. At the first try I expected to it to came out like I was an expert. I have to make a mistake, what I was most afraid of, to learn about it, to understand that I’m human. I HATE IT. That’s why I’m feeling like shit. The other day I exploded without of nowhere and a friend that I love obviously got offended and I tried to covered it by telling it was a joke -she still told me she didn’t like it- but then I apologized and cleared everything. Now, add those previous 3 aspects: I feel like fucking shit. -there are other things-.

incredibly, first time I don’t use emojis

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❀ Based on my personal experience and what I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

❀ English is not my first language.

❀ I’m not a profesional astrologer.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.