#which is. admittedly. a very high goal

[ectoplasmer]

aghgdfhhf i love my boyfriends,,,, i love them so much,,, gdhdjfdcfjfv

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

if I've learned anything from grad school it's to check your sources, and this has proven invaluable in the dozens of instances when I've had an MBA-type try to tell me something about finances or leadership. Case in point:

Firefox serves me clickbaity articles through Pocket, which is fine because I like Firefox. But sometimes an article makes me curious. I'm pretty anal about my finances, and I wondered if this article was, as I suspected, total horseshit, or could potentially benefit me and help me get my spending under control. So let's check the article in question.

It mostly seems like common sense. "...track expenses and income for at least a month before setting a budget...How much money do I have or earn? How much do I want to save?" Basic shit like that. But then I get to this section:

This sounds fucking made up to me. And thankfully, they've provided a source to their claim that "research has repeatedly shown" that writing things down changes behavior. First mistake. What research is this?

Forbes, naturally, my #1 source for absolute dogshit fart-sniffing financial schlock. Forbes is the type of website that guy from high school who constantly posts on linkedin trawls daily for little articles like this that make him feel better about refusing to pay for a decent package for his employees' healthcare (I'm from the United States, a barbaric, conflict-ridden country in the throes of civil unrest, so obsessed with violence that its warlords prioritize weapons over universal medical coverage. I digress). Forbes constantly posts shit like this, and I constantly spend my time at leadership seminars debunking poor consultants who get paid to read these claims credulously. Look at this highlighted text. Does it make sense to you that simply writing your financial goals down would result in a 10x increase in your income? Because if it does, let me make you an offer on this sick ass bridge.

Thankfully, Forbes also makes the mistake of citing their sources. Let's check to see where this hyperlink goes:

SidSavara. I've never heard of this site, but the About section tells me that Sid is "a technology leader who empowers teams to grow into their best selves. He is a life-long learner enjoys developing software, leading teams in delivering mission critical projects, playing guitar and watching football and basketball."

That doesn't mean anything. What are his LinkedIn credentials? With the caveat that anyone can lie on Linkedin, Mr. Savara appears to be a Software Engineer. Which is fine! I'm glad software engineers exist! But Sid's got nothing in his professional history which suggests he knows shit about finance. So I'm already pretty skeptical of his website, which is increasingly looking like a personal fart-huffing blog.

The article itself repeats the credulous claim made in the Forbes story earlier, but this time, provides no link for the 3% story. Mr. Savara is smarter than his colleages at Forbes, it's much wiser to just make shit up.

HOWEVER. I am not the first person to have followed this rabbit hole. Because at the very top of this article, there is a disclaimer.

Uh oh!

Sid's been called out before, and in the follow up to this article, he reveals the truth.

You can guess where this is going.

So to go back to the VERY beginning of this post, both Pocket/Good Housekeeping and Forbes failed to do even the most basic of research, taking the wild claim that writing down your budget may increase your income by 10x on good faith and the word of a(n admittedly honest about his shortcomings) software engineer.

Why did I spend 30 minutes to make a tumblr post about this? Mostly to show off how smart I am, but also to remind folks of just how flimsy any claim on the internet can be. Click those links, follow those sources, and when the sources stop linking, ask why.

[girlgenius1111]

might just love you 'til the end

post... that match. a bit of angst, mostly fluff. alexia is not pleased after her performance against chelsea. you aren't quite sure what she needs from you. you decide to give her space, but that isn't really what she needs. alexia tells you... eventually.

-------

It was a long day, a tiring and difficult match, and Alexia probably would have resorted to one of her coping mechanisms, if she hadn’t missed that last shot on goal. It seemed to take something out of her, and even from your place sitting on the bench, you could see how angry she was acting. Underneath that, though, you could tell that she was really just disappointed in herself. 

Watching her blink back tears as she made her way around the pitch was almost too much for you. You wanted nothing more than to grab her hand, pull her into the tunnel, and hug her until she wasn’t sad anymore. You knew better than to try to comfort her now, though. Alexia hated nothing more than seeming weak, especially in front of the team. Anything she needed or wanted from you would have to wait until you both got home. And even then, you weren’t sure what to expect. Sometimes she’d just shut down after a bad game, go to sleep, and wake up with a new passion the next morning. Sometimes she’d shut down, but her fury at herself would linger for days. Very rarely did she talk about it. Only when she really reached her breaking point, which was admittedly a lot harder to reach than other people’s were, would she let you make her feel better.  

It wasn’t necessarily a healthy array of options that she normally went with, but you couldn’t argue that it didn’t work. It worked for Alexia, and that was what was important. Even if giving her space until she asked for something else hurt, you knew it was what she needed. 

She acted pretty much how you expected her to as you both made your way into the locker room and headed for the showers. The blonde gave you nothing more than a high five and a weak smile, before she launched herself into her post match routine. You did the same, icing various parts of your body that hurt after a rather physical game. You kept your eyes on your girlfriend, though, watching the hollow way she brushed through her hair and the mechanical way she laced up her shoes. You were done before her, sitting in your locker looking at your phone, trying to figure out how bad the social media situation was going to be for her, when her white nikes appeared in front of you. You looked up at her with a smile, though it fell slightly when you took in the completely emotionless look on her face. She’d shut down, then, like you’d expected her to. You knew it was coming, but it didn’t make it easier that she wouldn’t let you help.

“¿Lista?” She asked roughly, not meeting your eyes. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” You replied, getting to your feet, grabbing your bag, and giving Mapi a reassuring look from where she sat waiting for Ingrid to be ready to go. You knew your girlfriend’s best friend worried about her, and that she had tried to talk to her after the match, but it hadn’t really gone anywhere. You were surprised when, as soon as you were out of the locker room and had walked a ways down the hall, Alexia dropped her bag to the ground and pulled you into a tight hug. 

You returned the hug, sighing into her shoulder, feeling her bury her face in your slightly damp hair. The hug was for you, you could tell. To make you feel better, even when Alexia wouldn’t allow you to do anything to make her feel better. She held herself a bit tensely, and when she pulled away, her eyes searched yours, her worry clear on her face. 

“Te amo,” she whispered, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. “I am proud of you, always.” 

“I love you, Ale,” you replied, a thousand more words on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to tell her you were proud of her, too, that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t need to deal with today all by herself, but you knew she wouldn’t accept it right now. Instead, you grabbed her hand in yours and squeezed tightly. 

The captain kept her hand in yours as you both walked to her car, and though you expected her to pull away from the contact, you were glad that she was letting herself have something to make herself feel better. The car ride home was silent, and you predicted the rest of the night to be the same.

------

You knew to let Alexia deal with it how she dealt with it, but you did put your foot down on a couple things. When she headed right for the couch, going to put the match replay on the TV and take notes, you shook your head, taking the remote out of her hand. 

“Not tonight. It won’t make you feel better.” 

“I have to watch,” she argued, but you cut her off. 

“You can watch tomorrow. Tonight we are going to watch a movie, order dinner, and go to bed early.” 

“Amor,” Alexia sighed, her brow furrowed, no doubt thinking about how she could convince you to let her do this. 

You switched tactics, knowing there was one sure way to get your girlfriend to agree with you. “Please? For me? I don’t want to watch that again right now.” 

The blonde softened, nodding her head at you. Satisfied, you flopped down on the couch next to her, grabbing her arm and draping it over your shoulder. 

Alexia smiled despite herself, leaving a soft kiss on the top of your head. She was still practically silent as you picked out a movie, but she pulled you close to her, slipping her hand up the front of your shirt and  running her thumb back and forth across your skin. 

Even if she was only letting this happen because she thought she was comforting you, it was still better than nothing. Better than the rare occasions that she’d sleep on the couch, almost as a punishment for herself when she didn’t perform the way she thought she should’ve. The blonde had gotten better since getting together with you, mostly because you pointed out the inconsistencies in how she treated you after a rough game, and how she treated herself. Some rough days sent her spiraling back to her bad habits, though, and you were glad you could pull her away from those, at least for today.

-------

“Cariño,” Alexia whispered, jostling you slightly. “Let’s go to bed, vale?” 

“Hmm?” You mumbled, barely opening your eyes. “‘M not asleep.” 

“Oh, sure. You are just watching the movie with your eyes closed?” 

“Sí,” you sighed, turning against her slightly until your head was laid on her chest. It vibrated under you as she laughed, and the sound woke you a bit more, glad to hear something even remotely joyful come out of your girlfriend’s mouth. 

“Venga, amor, it is time for bed.” She insisted, gently sitting up and easing you into an upright position. You pouted at her, wishing the smile on her face would reach her eyes. When it didn’t, you rose from the couch, grabbing Alexia’s hand, and pulling her towards the bedroom. 

You both made quick work of your nighttime routines, and you were glad to slide into the bed, undeniably exhausted from the physically and emotionally draining day. Alexia slipped in next to you, though she didn’t really get comfortable; she remained halfway sat up, staring at the ceiling above her. You tucked yourself into her side, burrowing under the covers until you were surrounded by soft fabric and Alexia’s sweatshirt. She seemed wide awake, and you laced your fingers with her, rubbing your thumb comfortingly along the back. 

“Sleep, baby. You need rest. Everything will feel better in the morning.” Alexia nodded mechanically, giving you a half smile that you didn’t buy for a second, before her eyes fluttered shut. “I love you. You’re my favorite person.” You whispered. 

She opened her eyes again at your words, softening slightly. She turned on her side and pulled you into her chest, wrapping you up tightly in her arms. “Te amo, mi niña, eres perfecta.” She whispered. 

-------

You fell asleep easily. Alexia, evidently, had not. You realized this when you rolled over in the middle of the night, seeking out your girlfriend to curl up against, and only felt cold sheets next to you. 

It woke you up, and you opened your eyes, in your sleepy haze worried Alexia had gotten sick or something. You looked around the room, and towards the bathroom, but no lights were on. You sat up in the bed, forcing yourself to wake up more. Once you had thought about it for a minute, you had a sneaking suspicion about where your girlfriend had disappeared to in the middle of the night. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, checking Alexia’s location, and sure enough, her little profile picture was at a park a few blocks away. It had a football pitch, and Alexia sometimes slipped away there when she wanted to clear her head, but not deal with seeing people she knew at the Barça training ground. 

You dragged yourself out of bed, even though you had half a mind to call Ale’s mom and get Eli to deal with her, knowing she could scold her daughter much more effectively than you could. It was the middle of the night, though, and you knew that Alexia may need a softer approach. You weren’t really sure what headspace she’d be in when you found her, and it was at this thought that you began to move faster, pulling on joggers and a shirt, and rushing down the stairs. You could visualize what she’d be doing, taking shot after shot on goal, but you couldn’t figure out how she’d be acting. Upset, or sad, or angry, or still completely blank. You grabbed your car keys, not really wanting to waste a second longer than possible by walking to where Alexia was, although it wasn’t far. 

It only took a few minutes to arrive, and you pulled into the parking lot with your attention completely fixed on the figure across the park, running down the pitch with a ball at her feet. As you got closer, you took in how exhausted Alexia looked, as if she’d been at this for hours.

“Ale?” You called, finally arriving at the pitch and trying to get your girlfriend’s attention from the sidelines. She didn’t look over at you, too caught up in her own thoughts, trying to angle her shot in just right. 

You moved closer, and finally she saw you, just out of the corner of her eye. She stopped what she was doing, turning to face you. “Amor?” She questioned. “What are you doing here?” 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her question. “Really? You’re asking me what I’m doing here?” Your girlfriend had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “It’s the middle of the night, Alexia. What are you doing?”

“I could not fall asleep.” Alexia told you, walking over to you, her ball abandoned behind her. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” You asked, brushing a few pieces of flyaway hair off her forehead. She melted into your touch, her body slouching down towards you, giving you even more of an idea of how exhausted she was. 

“I wanted you to rest.” She said quietly, and it was a perfectly believable explanation, but for some reason you had a feeling that there was more to it than that. You fixed her with a look, raising one eyebrow. The blonde sighed again, grabbing your hand in hers. “Can we go home?” 

“Only if you promise to talk to me when we get there. Otherwise I’ll make you stand in goal while I shoot.” You teased, happy to see a small smile on your girlfriend’s completely drained face. 

“Promise.” She said, giving your hand a squeeze as you both began to walk towards the park exit. 

-------

You sent Alexia to shower upon arriving home, sitting on the couch until she was done, absolutely sure that if you got back in bed, you’d instantly fall back asleep. Alexia very timidly walked out of the bathroom 20 minutes later, all bundled up in a sweatshirt and sweatpants even though it was rather warm out. 

Alexia looked weirdly nervous as she sat down next to you, her eyes everywhere but on yours. She reached for your hand very hesitantly, relaxing slightly when you intertwined your fingers with hers easily. 

“What’s wrong, Ale?” You asked. 

“I am sorry about today. Really sorry, amor.” 

You opened your mouth, prepared to tell her that you forgave her for sneaking away in the middle of the night instead of waking you up, but you stopped when you looked at her closer, and found tears in her eyes. Something about the way she’d phrased it, too, that she was sorry about ‘today,’ didn’t sit right with you. 

“What are you sorry about?” You asked, frowning when Alexia chewed on her lower lip instead of answering. 

“I disappointed you today.” She said finally. 

“Alexia,” you rushed to contradict her, but she cut you off. 

“No, I know I did. I am sorry, I will do better, mi amor, I promise.” 

“Love, you did not disappoint me.” You insisted, cradling your girlfriend’s cheek and wiping away a stray tear. She shrugged, like she didn’t believe you. “You could never disappoint me, Alexia, especially not by missing a shot. Why do you think that?” 

Her eyes flicked up to yours, finding only sincerity there, as she took a deep breath, and spoke. “I told you I was proud of you.” Alexia mumbled, her cheeks flushing. “You did not say it back. And you normally give me a hug after matches in the locker room, but you did not, not until I hugged you.” 

You were sure you felt your heart crack in two. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” You said, reaching to pull her into a hug. She shrugged out of your grasp, though, and you were furious with yourself in that moment. 

“You do not need to be sorry, I understand.” She said, albeit rather miserably, looking so angry and upset with herself, when she really should have been directing that at you. 

“No, Alexia, look at me.” You insisted, gently tilting her head to look at you. She was barely holding back tears, her lip wavering sadly. “Oh, my love. I didn’t say it back because I didn’t think you’d want to hear it. You never listen after rough games, I was trying to let you have your feelings for the night, and then try to make you feel better tomorrow. I didn’t think you’d want comfort, Alexia, not today. I am so proud of you, Alexia. Every day, I am proud of you, especially today. You did everything you could do, I know that. It just wasn’t our day. Estoy tan orgullosa de ti.” You emphasized. 

Alexia nodded slowly, but you could tell she didn’t fully believe you. 

“Would you ever be disappointed with me for missing a shot?” You asked, slightly amused when the blonde whipped her head up to look at you, a frown set on her features. 

“No. Never.” Alexia said quickly, appalled at even the idea.

You smiled at her sadly. “Can you not imagine that I feel the same way about you, Ale? That I love you just as much as you love me? 

Your girlfriend swallowed roughly, reaching to pull you into her lap, and into a hug. You let her manhandle you the way she wanted, wrapping your arms around her and kissing the side of her head repeatedly once she grabbed on to you. 

“It is hard to believe sometimes. It is… too good to be true. That you love me like I love you. I do not always feel like I deserve it. Especially when I am grumpy all day after we lose, and I sneak out of our bed, and make you come find me in the middle of the night.” Alexia said, her voice dripping with insecurity. 

You pulled back just slightly, pressing your forehead to Alexia’s, threading your fingers through her hair. “You always deserve it. Always, Alexia. And I would get out of bed in the middle of the night to come find you every day if you needed me too. I’d get on a plane in the middle of the night and fly halfway across the world to find you, if that’s what you needed.” You whispered, leaning forward to press your lips to Alexia’s. 

She kissed you back, hard, trying to tell you how much everything you’d said meant to her. 

“I’d rather not, but I’d do it.” You mumbled against her mouth, feeling her smile against your own lips. 

“Okay.” She said finally, and it was clear to you that she believed you a bit more now, and that she’d believe you even more tomorrow. “I will keep my fleeing of the country to a minimum.” 

You laughed. “Good. Because I want to go to bed.” 

Alexia nodded enthusiastically, rising up off the couch with you held securely in her arms. “Me too.” 

She carried you towards the bedroom, already physically more relaxed than she’d been all day. 

“If you set an alarm for the morning, I will make you sleep at the park tomorrow night.” You told her, letting out a rather undignified squeak when she gently threw you down on the bed. 

She smiled at you mischievously, her bad day completely forgotten. How could she think about her performance when you were so perfect, and so pretty, and she was so tired.

“No alarm.” She promised, turning her light off and collapsing onto the bed next to you. It had been a mistake, not waking you up before. Because when you pulled her into you and began to scratch lightly at her back, she went completely limp, and she knew you were all she needed to fall asleep. Alexia didn’t need to practice her shots until her legs were numb. She just needed to lay her head on your chest and hear your heartbeat in her ear, and she’d remember that everything would be okay. 

------

hope you enjoyed :)

[embrosegraves]

ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕋𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤

(request) Fernando Alonso x Fem!Reader x Carlos Sainz Jr "What are you doing?" "Giving you affection." "Disgusting...do it more"

Warnings: None I think?? I did most of the Spanish translations all by myself!

You lived with the goal of trying and experiencing as many new things as possible. Which is how you found yourself in a triad relationship with the only two Spanish drivers on the Formula One grid. You never thought that you’d ever get into a situation like this. At first when both drivers approached you and made their intentions known, admittedly you had taken a while to think about it. You had weighed the pros and cons, thought for hours on end and even questioned how you used to identify with relationships before eventually accepting their advancements. 

It was a new thing for you. You had only ever been in a monogamous relationship before meeting the two Spaniards. Thankfully, the relationship was also a new experience for Carlos and Fernando. You remember asking them if they were in this relationship as each other’s boyfriend or just as your boyfriend, which had made them think a fair bit about what they wanted. Eventually they figured out that there was no harm in being each other’s boyfriend as well.

Growing up, your parents showed you plenty of affection and love. However that had mostly been verbal praise or a high-five. The only time either of your parents had given you a hug was when you were upset. They usually didn’t give you hugs or kisses unless for special occasions and as you grew older those rare affections became even more sparse. So it startled you every time Carlos would come up and kiss you randomly or when Fernando would tuck you under his arm as you walked beside him. 

One night, early on in the relationship, you had been prepping some veggies for dinner when the front door had opened. You listened as two sets of footsteps entered the house and knew that both Carlos and Fernando had finally finished their duties for the day. Finishing the veggies you moved to put the kettle on so that you could make yourself a tea. 

“¿Té o café?” You called out to them, grateful for having learnt some Spanish in school. They both walked into the kitchen, Carlos grabbing two plastic cups while Fernando went to the fridge to grab the jug of cold water. [Tea or coffee?]

“Ninguno para mi gracias.” Carlos said. [None for me, thanks.]

“Fern? ¿Cualquier cosa por ti?” [Anything for you?]

“Un café sería estupendo.” Fernando replied as he set the jug of water in front of Carlos before going around and placing a kiss on your cheek. Your whole body froze the moment you felt Fernando’s lips make contact with your cheek. [A coffee would be great.]

Seeing you react that way made Fernando chuckle. In turn, his chuckles made Carlos look over to the both of you. He saw how you weren’t moving and how Fernando was now leaning on the counter next to you. It didn’t take him very long to figure out what had occurred. Carlos hesitated for barely a second before he convinced himself that it was the only logical thing to do. 

You could feel how close Fernando was leaning towards you. You could hear him chuckling. You were acutely aware of the skin on skin contact he was maintaining, his hand resting on the small of your back underneath the oversized shirt you were wearing. You almost jumped when you felt Carlos come and take the coffee mugs from your hands and place them on the counter. You knew he made damn sure that his hands brushed yours as he did so. 

Once Carlos had made sure the mugs were safely away from the counter edge, he grabbed your hips and turned you so that you were facing him. His hands made their way up your body, lovingly caressing every curve and dip in their path, until finally they came to rest on either side of your face. Fernando had caught on pretty quickly, if the way he pressed his body to your back said anything. With Carlos in front of you, gently caressing your face, and Fernando behind you rubbing soothing circles on your hips and love handles, you were absolutely sure that you were as red as the Ferrari that Carlos drove. 

You tried to open your mouth so that you could speak, but before you could even think of the words you wanted to say, Carlos had dipped his head and gently pressed his lips to yours. Apparently Fernando didn’t want to be left out of the kissing because no sooner had Carlos lent in, Fernando attached his own lips to the junction between your shoulder and neck. 

“Wha- What are you both doing?” You managed to breathe out between kisses. The onslaught of touch was almost overwhelming. 

“You looked like you needed some affection, Querida.” Carlos whispered, his hot breath danced across your ear. 

“Would you like us to stop?” Fernando had barely lifted his lips from your shoulder, but you heard him anyway. 

“Yes- No- I-” You were conflicted. On the one hand, you were nowhere near used to the amount of love they were showing. On the other hand, however, Fernando and Carlos made you feel like you were dreaming.

“It’s alright, Amor. We can slow down.” Fernando had finally lifted his head, only to rest his chin on the top of your head. “We go at your pace, Dulce Niña.” [Sweet Girl]

“I need a little space, please.” You managed to whisper. The moment they loosened their grip on you, you moved to the corner closest to where they were. You wanted to be in your own space but you didn’t want to be far from them, in case they felt offended or guilty. 

You took a few moments to yourself, thinking over how to explain to them just how unused to affection you were. It wasn’t their fault that they grew up in a culture where casual displays of affection between lovers was so common. Just like it wasn’t your fault that you grew up never witnessing or experiencing casual affection at all. Part of your mind was going insane, telling you that they would think differently of you for not having the same experience. No matter what you told yourself, you just couldn’t get rid of that nagging little voice. 

“Are you alright, Mi Amor?” Carlos looked at you with worry. He thought what they did was a harmless bit of fun. He wasn’t expecting you to act as you had. Fernando wasn’t any better. He looked just as worried, though slightly more concerned. 

“I’m okay.” You said, taking a deep breath. “I just- I need to get used to it.” 

“Used to what?” Fernando spoke softly, as if trying his best to not spook you. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at them. “The affection.” 

Your voice was so quiet you honestly didn’t expect for either of them to hear you. You almost wished they didn’t, but luck was not on your side. 

“What do you mean you’re not used to affection?” Again, Fernando spoke. Holding his arm out slightly as if to stop Carlos from moving towards you. You were thankful that he did so because you weren’t sure you could handle being surrounded by a pair of arms at the moment. 

“I never got a lot growing up and the only boyfriend I ever had didn’t last long enough to get more physically affectionate.” You whispered.

“Does it make you uncomfortable when we kiss you?” Carlos looked almost like a wounded puppy. He never ever wanted for you to be uncomfortable in this relationship. If you said the word, he would happily never kiss you again. Okay maybe not ‘happily’ but he would do it nonetheless. 

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, Carlitos. I’m just not used to getting kisses all the time. I think I just need to ease myself into it.” 

By now you had moved to sit on the floor. It was always something you did when your feelings or thoughts got too overwhelming for you. Just sitting on the floor was already making you feel better. It didn’t take very long at all for both Fernando and Carlos to also sit down on the floor. They didn’t want to push you to talk about something that you were potentially very private about. If you wanted to tell them, then you would do it when you were ready. 

The three of you had sat on the floor for the rest of the night, quietly talking to each other about how to go forward. You told them as best you could about how the amount of romantic affection made you feel. Carlos had suggested dealing with it by pretending to be teenagers in their first relationship as a joke, but Fernando had decided that it was the best way to go about navigating the new influx of affection. 

As childish as the idea was, you were grateful that they wanted to help you overcome the unfamiliarity that you had receiving affection. You loved that they were determined to make sure you were comfortable in the relationship. 

You were broken out of your reminiscing when you felt kisses on both your cheeks. 

“Where is your mind today, Hermosa?” Carlos’ voice came from your left. 

“Must be somewhere special if she didn’t hear us walk into the kitchen.” To your right was Fernando, with a cheeky grin on his face. 

You turned around so that you could look at the two of them. “I was thinking about when we were sitting on the floor a few years ago. Talking about being teenagers in love.” 

Both of your boys were smiling at you. Carlos was holding your hand and Fernando had a hand on yours and Carlos’ waists. 

“We’ve come so far, no?” Carlos said softly. “We have grown in ourselves and our relationship. We’re no longer teenagers anymore.” 

Fernando pinched Carlos’ waist gently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m still a teenager, Corazón.” 

“Alright you two,” you laughed. “wash your hands. You’re gonna help me with dinner.”

They both saluted you and spoke in almost perfect unison. “¡Sí Señorita!”

I feel so bad for how long this took me to write lmao but at the same time, I'm glad I took as long as I did because I'm finally happy enough with it to post

likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[malk1ns]

october 9 2024 v rangers, 6-0 loss

Geno’s uncharacteristically quiet on the bus to the hotel in Detroit.

Sid locks his phone and glances to his right. The street lamps cast eerie shadows over Geno’s face as he looks out the window, making his features look harsh, almost haggard. His mouth is in a tight moue, lips pressed together in displeasure.

Sid frowns.

Normally, Geno’s animated after games, even bad losses—he’ll talk shit about their opponent, sometimes even their own teammates depending on what went down in the game, and Sid always gets a perverse enjoyment out of snickering along with Geno’s jokes, adding in his own admittedly mean-spirited commentary to egg him on. After all, if you can’t be unkind and petty in the privacy of your own relationship, whispered together in their cozy little seat in the back of the bus, where can you?

And yeah, tonight’s game was worse than most. Worse even than the own-goal game from last season, probably, because as much as that was personally embarrassing for Geno, and caused a rift between him and Kris for almost two weeks before Sid told them to cut the shit and figure it out, this was a team embarrassment, them failing to produce even as much as one singular goal in front of their fans after making them sit through a long stressful summer, and Geno has always worn team losses worse than his own individual mishaps, felt more responsibility towards the fans than his own reputation.

Still, though.

Sid lets the silence settle, unlocking his phone again and scrolling his Instagram feed without actually seeing anything. Seguin sends him four snaps in a row, which Sid clears away with an irritated huff that’s more performative than anything; even that doesn’t draw Geno from whatever sulk he’s sunk himself into.

When they get to the hotel, Sid walks Geno to the elevator bank and plants him there with their suitcases, collecting their keys and spending a few minutes with the rest of the guys, murmuring encouragement and doling out pats on the shoulder. He takes a little extra time with Rutger, who looks a little shell-shocked, but the kid is still riding the high of his first NHL game despite its outcome, so it’s not long before Sid manages to extricate himself.

Geno’s waiting where Sid left him, slouched against the wall with his arms crossed. He barely makes eye contact with Sid, bats his hands away when Sid tries to grab at his suitcase and hoists them both up himself.

Sid lets him, ushers him into the elevator with a hand on the small of his back. When he turns around to look at the lobby as the door slides shut, he catches Kris’s eye from where he’s holding the rest of the guys back and nods once in gratitude.

There’s very little in his life that Sid prioritizes over his captaincy of this team. It’s a privilege and an honor to lead the Pittsburgh Penguins every year, and not one Sid takes lightly. Geno is one of those things, always has been and always will be.

Geno dumps their bags in the corner when they get to the room and lowers himself onto the bed with a sigh.

Sid lets him stew for a few more minutes, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it in the closet, loosening his tie and sliding his belt off as he listens to Geno mutter to himself. 

Once he’s down to his boxer-briefs and undershirt, he turns around.

Geno’s shoulders are hunched and he’s picking at his cuticles. He looks small. When Sid crosses the room and stops in front of him, he barely even looks up.

“Sorry,” he says, and Sid shakes his head even though Geno can’t see him.

“First game, bud,” Sid says, thumbing over Geno’s lower lip, dragging it down to expose his teeth. Geno lets him, maybe even pouts out a little bit more, flickers his tongue out over the tip of Sid’s thumb. Sid digs the digit into Geno’s lower teeth. “Couldn’t matter less. Wouldn’t matter if it was the 82nd game, either. That’s not why we’re here anymore, yeah?”

“Don’t like it,” Geno mumbles around Sid’s thumb. “Bad tonight.”

“It wasn’t our best,” Sid agrees, pulling his hand back and ignoring the frisson of heat Geno’s protest kindles in his stomach. It’s late, they played tonight and play again tomorrow, and they’re not as young as they were—sleep is more important. He can take Geno up on that tomorrow, when they’re home and away from prying ears from the adjoining rooms. “But that’s okay. Eighty-one more chances to prove them wrong, eh? And if we don’t…” Sid shrugs, thinking back to their conversations over the summer, Geno stretched out in the sun and pretending to sound understanding as he talked about maybe you’re want to go play for cup team a few years, it’s fine.

Geno’s a bad liar, always has been. Sid had appreciated the effort, though, even if it was never a question, not for him—it was nice to know that Geno would have bucked up and done his best, played the supportive partner and guided the Penguins while Sid was gone, if Sid had wanted to finish his career elsewhere.

“I know,” Geno sighs, leaning forward and resting his head on Sid’s stomach. His breath is warm and humid through the thin cotton, and Sid drops his palm on the back of Geno’s neck. “Still don’t like.”

“We have to do things we don’t like sometimes to get the results we want,” Sid intones, putting enough Boston into his voice to make Geno huff out a laugh into Sid’s shirt. “Hey, let’s get to bed.”

When Geno trails after him into the bathroom, he still looks tired, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes look like he’s been smiling.

[tethered-heartstrings]

Something i could never understand is...why do people want Jack to die???

Jack is an obstacle plenty of times and is sort of flippant about Will's state of mind in the beginning, but in all fairness he was trying to stop a MURDERER and I could see how he would value saving lives over Will's health. (Not saying it was right of him, but I get it. And Alana does rightfully chew him out to a point.)

Its clear he just assumes that Will not wanting to be involved im the mass murders is a natrual response to seeing all of that stuff, Jack has no idea that Will and Hannibal are having murder husband fantasy dates until the later seasons. Which in all fairness, he has a right to be concerned about lol

People villainize Jack for a lot of reasons, and only want to see the bad in him. People hate him because he's a cop (okay, so is Will, and everyone else on the team for that matter but only seems to apply to Jack?), because he didn't take care of Will's mental instability/deterioration (as if Will isn't a grown man who should/could stand up for himself and admit to Jack when he isn't doing well), because he was "too dumb to see Will was Very Obviously Ill" (as if we the audience don't get special privileges on what happens behind closed doors and Jack is just supposed to read minds), because he was a criminal investigator "too dumb to not see it was Hannibal all along" (as if Hannibal didn't manipulate literally everyone in his vicinity to make himself look normal and stable and safe and trustworthy), because he "doesn't care about Will" (as if this wasn't literal manipulation Hannibal whispered to Will during his mental breakdown to drive a wedge between him and Jack), because he isn't perfect and he isn't allowed to be flawed, and tbh a big factor of it is racism. and many more reasons.

Of course Jack has flaws, that's what being a human being is. Everyone on the show has faults, but people focus and amplify only the characters they don't like. Hannibal, and to be honest Will also, are literally right there in the same frame and are horrible people, who have done so much worse than Jack. But people don't want to be critical of their faves. Hannibal fans often also have like, main character specific lens so only their favorites are talked about highly and everyone else is dragged through the mud (Jack, Alana, even Abigail) and are not allowed to be seen as a multifaceted character. (admittedly, the women on the show are very poorly written which can contribute to this for the female characters of the show but I digress)

Jack genuinely wants to do something good, he wants to save lives, and he wants to so badly he can get horseblinders on and focus too much on the end goal and not on the path itself. That isn't evil though. He does care about Will, and in a very dad-like way he wants what is best for him but it isn't entirely through Will's lens ir his best interest. He trusted that Will would talk to him, and Will didn't. Like sure he hinted the job wasn't good for him and it was affecting him but that isn't specifically saying "hey Jack, I have headaches that won't go away, I can't sleep, I am sleepwalking, I am losing time, I am scared. Help me." Yeah, looking at horribly mutilated bodies all day isn't good for anyone. He tried to get Will genuine help, by setting him up with a well-renowned psychiatrist per someone else's recommendation. He tried, but Hannibal didn't do his job. He lied to Jack saying Will was fine, rubberstamped him sane. What is Jack supposed to do? Call him a liar? A well respected professional in the field? Be real. And to your point, again, Will never said how bad he actually was, so it makes sense Jack is doing his job and prioritizing saving lives.

Jack also didn't want to believe Will was guilty. The evidence was piled so high against him they eclipsed the sun. Jack is smart, his entire job is finding evidence to lead to a conclusion. He can't just suddenly turn a blind eye because it's Will. Jack was willing to risk his career to help him, a career that took decades and immense hard work to achieve. He then trusted Will and Will betrayed him. He wanted to trust in him until the very end. People get mad at Jack for not trusting Will but then call him dumb for trusting him later like lol what the fuck do you want?

Jack also knows when he messed up. He lives with the guilt of Miriam going missing forever, he knows he fucked up and makes it a point not to make that mistake again. He isn't careless. He cares for the people he works with. You could see it in his face how devastated he was when Beverly died, when Will was arrested. Even thinking about Miriam. There is a tenderness in him being the one to take off Will's mask and straight jacket, as an act of humanizing Will and saying "I trust you".

Jack is also a good husband who loved his wife. Yes, his job kept him away from home a lot, but Bella isn't dumb and she knew what his job entailed. He took care of her as best as he could. He wanted to do anything to support her after her cancer diagnosis, he was always in her corner. Of course he wanted her to do chemotherapy, of course he didn't want her to die. He didn't want to lose the love of his life and traverse the world alone, his most trusted and longtime support system gone. He broke the law to smoke weed with her and join her, and be a part of her care and comfort. And in the end, he did the hardest thing by letting her go so she wasn't in pain anymore. It wasn't passive, it wasn't that she died and he just watched. He pushed the plunger to give her peace. He is a human being capable of compassion and love and care.

People forget we have the audience view, so we see Hannibal being manipulative and murdering, and we see Will wake up from nightmares covered in sweat and sleepwalking. But the characters in the show aren't us! They only see what is in front of them or told to them. And they act like if they weren't in the same shoes they wouldn't do the exact same stuff.

To put it shortly, Jack is a complex and flawed character, as is literally everyone on the show and people in real life. He genuinely tries his best and wants to do good things in the world. He is sooo far from the worst character on the show (I argue he might be the most morally stable and centered) but is made out to be the worst person ever, when he isn't. He doesn't deserve to die, and he doesn't deserve to be murdered. He deserves a nice, peaceful, retirement (or vacation, not sure he could stay away tbh especially now that Bella has died) and to be left the fuck alone.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Role call. Who on Tumblr was politically active during the Free Tibet years?

I'm going to establish this post as an anchor space to have a conversation about the Lessons we learned from Free Tibet and how we may or may not be effectively applying those lessons to our work around Free Palestine as a current socio-political banner.

If you were alive, aware, and involved during Free Tibet's groundswell into and out of the public eye, your stories, reflections, and thoughts are welcome. This goes doubly for perspectives within the movement such as the experience of seeking and obtaining allyship/solidarity from the international community as some living in or with family in Tibet, ground work in organizing the dustribution of funds, resources, or resistance, publicity and public awareness/consciousness, etc.

I'll start. I was (admittedly) young when this was happening, but already had been engaged and involved for a year or two in politics more broadly. I had been working with the UUA youth programming on a variety of community initiatives when a delegate of ministers traveled to meet with the Dalai Lama and several Tibetan activist communities both in their home mountains and abroad in exile. They've done this quite a few times over the years, before and since this particular delegation. One of the ministers who worked with us attended. He was gone for 18months sabbatical/spiritual and social development work on the trip, and when he came back, he led the district's interfaith activist groups through dozens of trainings and salon conversations to help us understand what he'd learned and what he wanted US to learn.

He came away with [and invited us to come away with] a few major foundations

1) any act of imperialism or colonization is a cause for profound and expansive grief. In fact the grief itself was part of the point because until we see the suffering of every person on earth as a violation of and offense to the humanity of EVERY person on earth, we will struggle to hold ourselves accountable for our own complicity.

2) complicity can be coerced, and that is always the accountability of the coercive authority structure, not the accountability of the individuals being coerced. This is not mutually exclusive with the need to repair the harm done to a community following coerced complicity as a form of reintegration into the healing process of a fractured social order.

3) we needed to operate with two paths of possibility - diasporic and indigenous. Ultimately, the preservation of a people, their culture, their humanity, their communities, is a complex one with very few guarantees. Every effort should be made to answer the intracommunal calls to action that are being made so as to ensure that on the micro/mezzo level (individuals, families, and small regional communities in particular) people are able to self-direct towards a diasporic-mobile preservation path or an indigenous-remaining preservation path as best suits their needs in the moment, and that a diasporic-return path is being established and maintained as effectively as possible (erosion of this path should be considered a warning sign of high risk actions being taken against the indigenous-remaining [coerced/autonomous] population). The goal, this minister explained, was always to preserve access to autonomy on both the individual and communal level, and that sometimes this would look like things we didn't understand or didn't want to understand as victory. As long as it came with the community in need at the helm, it was our job to wrestle with that possibility proactively rather than risk imposing our own needs-assessment on them. [Disclaimer: this came in the wake of concerns around the possible death of the Dalai Lama's reincarnation and heir being selected/identified by an imperial assembly rather than by the existing Tibetan process of identification, and specifically in the wake of the Dalai Lama's statements that all, even his own role, must one day end which had incited many difficult conversations around the world]

4) resistance was both an imperative and an active tense verb, meaning that any of us engaged in resistance needed to be in real conversation with others about it or we were NOT in fact resisting anything

5) slogans are catchy, but they can't be all you have. It is too easy to say the same words as others while acting against them, both intentionally and unintentionally.

I really was present in the tail end of this work's public prominence, and while I have done my best to stay aware since my initial exposure, I lack some of the necessary current reflections on the experience from various people and perspectives. Others who were engaged and involved, especially if it has remained in your primary focus of activism, what were your lessons so to speak and how have you grown or developed your approaches in response?

[suzukiblu]

comfort w tim please? (i just want some fluff dkjshekdb 😂)

Well, this excerpt isn't Tim comfort, but hopefully counts for Tim fluff?

Context: pre-identity reveal/identity porn/idiots to lovers TimKon.

"Sounds like supervillain talk, dude," Kon says. Tim resolves to dial back on that at this point in his career. He's laying groundwork, yes, but subtlety is still the wiser course of action.

"You say that like you've never socialized with a supervillain before," he says dryly.

"Well, usually ones who wear a bit less," Kon replies, grinning wickedly at him.

"So you're telling me I should invest in a crop top before I try to take over the world and remake it in my own image?" Tim asks still more dryly as he raises an eyebrow at him with a little smirk, and Kon laughs and steps in a little closer, giving him a not very subtle up-and-down with his eyes.

"Only if you're trying to recruit me for your evil plans," he says, grin turning sharp. Tim wants to lick his teeth. "So I dunno, what are your feelings on Daisy Dukes?"

"I'm going to be honest, I'm not actually that much of an exhibitionist so at this point we're just describing my ideal costume updates for you," Tim informs him.

"Oh yeah?" Kon asks with another laugh even as he visibly preens at the suggestion. Tim is all for that, personally. Both the preening and the theoretical updates, in fact. And, a little more weirdly, just the idea of having anything to do with what Kon might ever decide to wear.

Yeah, that's probably a later thought, Tim decides. Like, a private-time kind of later thought.

"You're solar-powered, aren't you?" he says reasonably. "Showing a bit more skin can't hurt."

"I wonder if Superman would buy that excuse," Kon says musingly.

"Power Girl exists," Tim says still more reasonably. "And Supergirl wears a miniskirt, last I checked."

"Valid," Kon says, putting on a mock-thoughtful expression and tapping the side of his jaw. "Maybe I'll put in some cutouts and go for a lower neckline, tell the big guy he's making the rest of us look like prudes. What do you think, bikini or high-cut bottoms?"

"I don't know the difference," Tim lies, desperately trying not to overheat and die at that question and every single accompanying mental image that his useless brain has so helpfully decided to supply. "You'll have to provide examples."

"Will I now," Kon says, grinning all over again and pointedly cocking a hip. "What, pretty boy, you want a fashion show?"

"Well I did want to be a photographer when I was a kid," Tim says, although it was definitely never that kind of photography he had in mind. Kon laughs again and shifts in even closer, though, so it's worth it. Tim is mortified, but also undeniably into just . . . all of this, really, just everything about this conversation. Robin can't flirt with Superboy, but, well . . .

He's taking advantage a little, he can admit, but it's still just . . . nice.

He's wanted to flirt with Kon for way too long, at this point. Indulging in a little bit of it isn't the worst thing he could do.

And again, it's Kon, so it's not like it's serious or anything. The guy won't even remember this conversation tomorrow, much less anything about Tim Drake.

. . . admittedly that'd be counterproductive to Tim's long-term goals here, but still. He's willing to take his time on this. There's a plan. It has steps. Layers. Processes.

"I like you, man," Kon says with a wider grin, which is in absolutely no way whatsoever in the plan. "You're funny."

It occurs to Tim, almost disbelievingly, that he might've . . . made a good impression on Kon? Somehow?

Well that's weird.

[heliza24]

In which I try to figure out Armand:

My brain has been ticking away thinking about Armand ever since episode 2.1. I have been fascinated and irritated by Armand in the off-season, so to speak, because I love Daniel and relate to him so much, and I know Armand is going to be very important to him. But we were given so little of Armand last season it has just felt impossible to get a grip on what his deal is. I am admittedly not a book reader, but I also feel like these feelings are still justified because the show version of Armand is so different than the book, in circumstance at least. So he’s the character I’m most interested in this season.

We still didn’t get a lot of him in ep 1, but I’ve been thinking about him and synthesizing some of the stuff that people have been saying about him in interviews, especially about his relationship to control. I’m specifically thinking about Hannah describing him as “Louis’s creature” and saying that he’ll do whatever Louis wants, and that this is part of their sexual dynamic as well. I think this makes sense with what we’ve seen in the trailers; it seems like Louis is the more sexually dominant one between them. So Armand is happy to be more of a sub in the bedroom and in their original flirtations. Maybe in their earlier dynamic as a couple too, we’ll have to see. Meanwhile, he’s in the background, arranging scenery, pulling strings, trying to do everything he can to hold onto Louis and keep him at least passingly happy. This, by the way, perfectly meshes with his role as director at the theatre. Never in the limelight, but always in control. (The stage management school of sexuality, if you will.). I think that emphasis on control probably becomes more pronounced as the years go on, and Louis is sitting in his grief for Claudia and more of their initial spark dies. But it also perfectly explains the Rashid act. Armand is comfortable playing a servant role. He’s comfortable observing from just off stage. He’s comfortable doing those things if it means ultimately having a better grasp on the way the scene unfolds.

For his part I think Louis is probably drawn to the way Armand seamlessly irons out the bumps in his life. The penthouse is a cage, but Louis is his own jailer; Armand isn’t the one keeping him there. There’s probably an interesting comparison to be made against Lestat here. Lestat revels in melodrama and high emotions, while Armand is intent on maintaining a facade of calm stability. It makes sense to me that Louis would have leaned into this facade, even if he knew it was partially a falsehood, after losing Claudia. I think this is true even around Claudia’s death. It was easier for Louis to forget and forgive whatever part Armand played in it, and allow Real Rashid to hide those diary pages away, than to really reckon with Claudia’s death.

I think Louis requested the interview as part of his general goal to narrativize and soften his own memories and grief, and Armand acquiesced in order to keep Louis. The original goal of the interview was for Louis to convince himself he really had killed Lestat, literally and maybe emotionally too. I think it’s possible that Lestat is back in the picture somehow and the interview is Louis’s last ditch effort to convince himself not to return to his maker. But then of course the whole thing goes off the rails and Louis ends up facing down his true memories for the first time in years. It makes sense that when put in an uncomfortable situation- watching Louis talk about Lestat- Armand would default to his old role of manipulating things from the wings of the metaphorical penthouse stage. Him stepping into the interview is a big departure from that, and shows how effectively Daniel has rattled him.

So how this plays against Daniel is interesting. Armand is putting on a big show about how he and Louis were able to manipulate Daniel in San Francisco. But I wonder how true that ever really was. I imagine even in San Francisco, Daniel represented a completely opposite dynamic to Armand’s relationship with Louis, which would have hooked Armand’s attention. If Louis appeared in control on the surface, but relied on Armand’s ability to arrange the periphery of his life, Daniel would have appeared to be easily (and perhaps happily) dominated, but resistant to Armand’s larger attempts to control his life. Obviously I don’t know exactly how they’ll play out a 1970s devil’s minion scenario. But I imagine that Daniel’s addiction, and Armand’s misguided attempts to protect him from it, will play a role in whatever kind of break up and memory erasure ensues. Whether it was the addiction or his personality or something else, there was some element of Daniel that was too wild for Armand to tame. He threw him back into the pond, all memories of being snared on the fishing line erased. And it’s entirely possible that Armand feels this loss of control very deeply. As heartbreak and loss, but also as a scary moment when his grip on the love that he needs in his life faltered. It’s possible that the break up with Daniel made him even more determined to control outcomes with Louis. And it’s also possible that the pain that he felt when he originally lost Daniel is causing him to revise and edit his own memories of his relationship with Daniel. If Daniel broke Armand’s heart, it would be a lot easier to remember him as a silly boy Armand manipulated in tandem with Louis than someone Armand actually found fascinating. Admitting otherwise means admitting his own weakness. So memory becomes the monster, again, even if you are the one controlling the vampire amnesia.

For what it’s worth, I currently think that Louis doesn’t know about Armand’s past with Daniel. I don’t think Louis would be as vulnerable with Daniel if he knew. And that would point to Armand once again subtly manipulating and managing Louis, completely hiding his connection to this mortal from him.

Regardless, I don’t doubt that Daniel was less fearsome in San Francisco than he is now in Dubai. (The show’s insistence that an elderly disabled man is just as powerful in his own way as an immortal vampire is perfection, and it makes me want to kiss all the writers on the mouth). He’s even less controllable by Armand than he once was (if he ever was), and he’s intent on finding out Armand’s truth, and the truth of their connection. I was really struck by Assad saying in an interview that the thing that Armand wants most is acceptance. He craves love and acceptance, but is terrified to show his real self and be vulnerable. Thats why he’s continuing to play stage manager to Louis’s love. But Daniel is coming for his true self in Dubai whether Armand wants it or not. And I imagine that is both extremely confronting but also ultimately attractive to Armand.

I deeply hope we get to see Daniel crack Armand’s sense of control. I hope we get to see Armand being vulnerable to Daniel and Daniel being receptive to that. I also hope we get to see Daniel facing down Armand as the source of his trauma (because being stalked, bitten, and then having your memories forcibly repressed is trauma, even if Daniel was attracted to Armand through it). I hope we get to see the way that trauma and fear and desire and love intermingle. And I also hope that when Daniel breaks Armand’s sense of control and sees his true self, he still likes what he sees. Because I would like Armand to get that acceptance from someone, even when his worst tendencies are laid bare.

(Oh, and while I’m making predictions- I’m not worried about 70s Devils Minion not happening, or them interacting in the 70s but it not turning into some form of romance. There is simply no better way to add stakes to the Dubai iterations of the characters than to give them this hidden history, and Rolin has talked extensively about needing to bring Daniel into the story in a personal way and crank up the conflict happening in Dubai. The penthouse is no longer just a framing device, but a site of active conflict and growth, and the only way you do that is exploring past and future DM dynamics. In ep 1 it’s still mainly acting as a frame, but I’m really excited to see its importance grow over the season).

Armand is such an intriguing mystery, but if I’m right about some of this stuff I actually relate quite strongly to him too. (I am reminded of a Brennan Lee Mulligan quote, where he describes characters you love/play as being garages attached to your actual personality of a house, and sometimes some piece of writing or improv shoots a sniper rifle perfectly through the garage door into the house and hits you in the heart)

@bluedalahorse warned me that this is how you really get stuck on a ship, when you see pieces of yourself in both characters, and I do fear that she is right.

So we’re really in it now, is what I’m saying. Send me your Armand thoughts, I want all of them. I will be counting down the days until episode 5 and obsessing until it airs. I’ll check back in on this meta later, I guess, to see how correct or incorrect I was.

[akutasoda]

Helloo! Can I request kurapika, Feitan and chrollo angst hcs with a reader who’s a traitor? Like they were only with them to gather information and potentially kill them

snakes and spiders

synopsis - they never thought that someone could betray them like this

includes - kurapika, chrollo, feitan

warnings - gn!reader, angst, mentions of blood/murder, wc - 898

kurapika ★↷

↪the phantom troupe weren't entirely unwise to the fact that someone from the kurta clan had slipped the net. originally they did think nothing of it but when someone that fits a similar description surfaces in the hunter exams, they became suspicious.

↪they knew that if he was a survivor, he probably would have clue on who belonged to the troupe and so they hired an outsider. you're job was simple - gain kurapika's trust to keep an eye on him and if he got too close to the truth, kill him.

↪you figured that the best starting point was to join the hunter exams and build from there. you quickly gained the trust of a few of his associates and eventually they introduced you to your target who was none the wiser to your intentions.

↪you managed to build up a friendship with kurapika that extended outside of the hunter exams. you kept in contact and eventually he started telling you about his goals and what kind of missions he was heading on - all of which was swiftly delivered back to your employer.

↪however you weren't made aware of the fact that two of kurapika's companions, gon and killua, had seen you with chrollo. it was an oversight that you ignored but now kurapika knew. no amount of excuses could get you out of the situation and so you owned up.

↪kurapika was absolutely shattered. he would never of guessed someone as genuine as you would turn out to be a big lie, to his sworn enemy no less. he could never forgive you and he now lumped you in the same category as the phatom troupe themselves.

chrollo lucifer ★↷

↪chrollo took great pride in the fact that the phantom troupe was as successful as it was. he would never admit it but he did view them as somewhat of a family and therefore he would ensure they were safe.

↪so when a stranger shows direct interest in joining, he becomes suspicious. admittedly he was impressed with the skillset you possessed and could agree that it would benefit the troupe substantially but he needed to know you wouldn't betray the troupe.

↪you knew very well that chrollo was searching for a sign that you weren't right for the troupe but you would make sure he wouldn't find one. afterall, how else could you get close enough to kill him? eventually and very begrudgingly, you had been accepted into the phantom troupe.

↪it took a long time for the other spiders to even begin accepting the idea that you could be trusted. missions and meetings with other spiders became crucial in gaining enough trust that they would stop suspecting you for having other intentions.

↪and no matter how long it took, you pressed on long enough to the point that chrollo willingly started accepting you as a proper member to the troupe. even longer for him to value you the same as the rest of the spiders but once he got there, he realised how valuable and loyal you were to the group.

↪or atleast he thought so. he thought he'd be angry, furious even but even now as your knife became plunged deep into his chest he could only feel overwhelmed by sadness and hurt.

feitan portor ★↷

↪the phantom troupe had quite the high bounty over their head when it came to people looking for contracts and such. obviously, the more physical infiltration missiond became higher payed but you settled for a lower information retrieval job.

↪squeezing information out of a the leader himself certainly would be a tricky mission and so you opted your sights onto a different member of the troupe, specifically feitan. the de facto leader in the absence of their main leader.

↪it was still quite the challenge but much more manageable than chrollo. although maybe it did look a bit suspicious when the brand new member to the troupe actrd much more friendly to feitan than the rest from the get go.

↪you knew very well that it would take a long time to gain the trust of anyone, let alone enough for them to start talking about the information you needed to complete your missions. so you were prepared to play the long game and do so by any means necessary.

↪feitan himself was normally quite reserved unless needed not but after a very long time, you managed to get him to be slightly more friendly toward you than the restt of the spiders were. he was rather suspicious of you for quite a while but eventually that would start to dissipate.

↪in it's olace, he would start to trust you more and more - evident by the fact that he became more willing to go on missions with you and the fact that he became quite a bit more talkative than usual.

↪feitan had begun to see you as more of a friend than a coworker, very quickly however it seemed like his trust became misplaced. nobody could tell but he was absolutely seething and he swore that when the troupe caught you, you would suffer more pain than he had ever inflicted in anyone yet.

[tropes-and-tales]

Bound to You: Prologue

Poe Dameron x F!Reader

WC:  2012

Other Pieces:  This is part of a larger miniseries that can be found here.

CW:  Arranged marriage trope.

Poe Dameron rose quickly through the ranks of the Resistance.  General Leia Organa trusted him, and more to the point, he always got results.  Always.

Rare intel into the First Order’s movements?  Recruiting missions to convince disgruntled members of the New Republic to join the Resistance?  Errands to build relationships with allies in the Outer Rim?  Poe did it all with his own unique panache and ineffable charm.  Being a handsome bastard with an appealing smile didn’t hurt. 

Sometimes, admittedly, his charm failed him and he found himself in…uncomfortable situations. 

Like now.

Leia had dispatched him to a planet in the Core, a technological powerhouse that built state-of-the-art spaceships.  The goal was to get a deal for new crafts.  The problem was that the Resistance had little money (read:  no money) and even fewer prospects for more.  This planet, however, seemed to prefer the benevolent neglect of the New Republic over the authoritative grip of the First Order, and they had suffered under the Empire, so there was hope that a deal could be made.

Poe’s tricky situation came from two obvious facts.  First, the planet was run by a King and his attendant family – a very rich, very powerful man.  His wealth lay in his shipbuilding facilities – the technological know-how, the expertise of his engineers, the pride in superb craftmanship that left nothing unattended.  His wealth also lay in his vast progeny:  he had three wives and, well, countless sons and daughters.

The second fact of Poe’s tricky situation was that this planet, this king, his multitude of children and wives – the entire populace, in fact – was ruled by a very stringent, very precise set of rules.  There were rules for everything:  how to shake a hand (hand-on-forearm for no more than five seconds), how to sip the strong tea they served (from a lacquered cup, but only after the host sips theirs first), how to open negotiations (after precisely one lap around the King’s pleasure gardens and after saying, three times, that General Organa sends her well-wishes and highest regards).  How long to hold eye contact, how to smile, which color shirt to wear to signal certain feelings in certain situations.

Poe would have likely always ended up messing up the negotiations.  There was no way for a single person outside of that culture to learn all of their fussy, particular little rules.  Of course, Leia had tried to send C-3PO along – the droid had tried to explain all those rules - and Poe had waved her off. 

“How hard can it be?” he had said, flashing her a cocky grin.

How hard was it?  Well, it happened like a slow-motion explosion.  First, Poe had held on a beat too long with the opening handshake.  Then he glanced away while the King’s advisor was giving him an exhaustive tour of the King’s sculpture garden.

The worst, though, was when Poe inadvertently insulted the King’s second wife.  He wasn’t even sure how it happened – there was a huge dinner, and he used the wrong fork at the wrong time, wore the wrong shirt and looked her in the eye too long, and it devolved into Poe being tersely removed to sparser quarters which, it turned out, was just a prison.

And then, there was a trial (of sorts) which just involved the King’s advisors and astrologers and high priests, who all consulted their histories and star charts and rule books.  Poe would have laughed at how ridiculous it all was, except the guards who held him carried top-of-the-line blasters along with wicked-looking scythes, so he wisely kept his laughing to himself and tried to look contrite, though he wasn’t sure where contrite looks ranked with the King.

At last, it was decided (though Poe would never quite be sure if it was due to a historical precedent or some alignment of this system’s dual stars) that Poe would be released and gifted a cruiser, along with a promise of twenty premium gunships. 

The cruiser was a wedding gift. 

For Poe.

“The laws of our people demand an allyship in blood,” declared one high priest, and Poe’s heart clenched at his implied sacrifice.  Then, the priest added, “so you shall marry one of the King’s daughters.”

So the sacrifice wasn’t implied after all.  Poe was to be sacrificed on the altar of matrimony.  His heart seized up even more, but….a cruiser and twenty gunships?  The Resistance desperately needed it, and he could always get a marriage dissolution afterwards.

The slow-motion explosion continued, and if Poe thought he’d at least get to pick his wife (the King had eleven daughters), he was sadly mistaken.  Not that it mattered:  the women of the royal court (and many of the men) were bound to the strict dress codes of their strange laws.  Long hair bound and woven into intricate designs.  Long, enameled fingernails.  Faces and hands painted in delicate filigrees of designs.  Dresses with so many layers that the person’s original shape was lost.  It made the Queen of Naboo look like a fishmonger on Quila.

The day of the wedding, Poe found himself sick to his stomach.  He’d been given his own clothes back to him, clean and pressed, and his fingers shook as he buttoned his shirt.  He raked his fingers through his curls and tried to size himself up in the mirror in his room.  He looked wan underneath his tan.  Like a man on the way to his own execution.

Him, married.  He’d had plenty of casual flings, a few girlfriends, but nothing even veered close to long-term dating or marriage.  He was too devoted to the cause of eradicating the First Order from the galaxy, and that’s what he told himself he was doing now:  securing those ships, building an alliance for more.  He gave himself a nod in the mirror, as if to reassure himself. 

All that opulence and elaborate court gesturing, and the guards led him not to a large ballroom or hall, as Poe expected.  Instead, he found himself in a small antechamber with only a few people present:  an advisor, a high priest and priestess. 

And a young woman.  Poe’s intended.

You stood placidly a bit apart from the others, and though you weren’t as elaborately done up as others Poe had seen at court, you were still hidden under layers of paint and brocaded cloth.  Your hands were folded in front of yourself and that probably meant something in your culture, but you kept your eyes carefully fixed on the floor in front of you.

“Is this it?” Poe asked, incredulous.  He couldn’t quite believe that a wedding would have less pomp than the palace’s afternoon ceremony for tea and biscuits.  He glanced over at you, and you seemed to cringe at his words.

“She is the third daughter of the third wife,” the advisor said dismissively.  “The occasion of her marriage does not warrant more than this.”

So that was the other side of the equation, Poe realized.  A cruiser and some gun-ships to offload an unwanted daughter.  He tried to look at you a closer, but you seemed to sense his gaze and shrank even more from it.

The occasion of your marriage amounted to a few muttered words by both the high priest and priestess, and then first you and then Poe signed an official looking document on thick, heavy paper.  The advisor folded it carefully, then tied it with a white ribbon, then handed it to Poe.

That was it.

No exchanged vows or promises of love.  No rings placed on fingers or hands bounds together while prayed over.  Not even any eye contact – every time Poe glanced over at you, your eyes were focused elsewhere.

And afterwards?  There was no celebration.  Not even a goodbye from your parents or any of your multitude of siblings – you and Poe were both ushered away from the palace and onto the promised cruiser.  The craft that Poe had arrived on was safely stowed on said cruiser, along with your dowry (some jewelry, some personal effects, and enough gowns to outfit the entire fleet of pilots in the Resistance).

After you were cleared to take off, Poe did just that.  He marveled at how well the ship handled, and he practically twitched in anticipation for those gun-ships.  Leia would be so happy.  If Poe returned with a wife in tow, well…that was the price to pay.  He could take care of that situation later.

He set the coordinates for D’Qar and felt the ship ease into hyperspace so smoothly he almost missed the streaks of lights that flew past.  He was only two days away from being home.  No, not just he anymore.  You and he. 

Poe stood up from his pilot’s seat and stretched.  He felt the weight of the past few days slide off of his shoulders, and he felt like he could sleep until the ship exited hyperspace.  But there was a new weight laying on him, and he left the cockpit now to go face it.

You were still sitting in the galley, exactly where he had left you to take off.  You gifted him with the barest glance before you returned your eyes to the floor. 

You were, like everyone else in your court, off-putting.  A human with no shape under the leagues of fabric encasing you.  A person with a face so painted that there was no room for expression.  And, possibly, a person who didn’t talk.

“I’m Poe,” he said slowly and loudly, and he kicked himself internally at how the bark of his voice echoed off the shiny new walls of the space craft. 

He swore he saw the corner of your painted lips twitch – a smile maybe? – but your face resumed its placid surface before you murmured quietly that yes, you knew his name.  Of course - he had signed it beside yours on the marriage contract.

“Do you have a name?” he asked, a little gentler.  “Or are you just numbered off by birth order?”

That did bring a smile to your face, and you lifted your eyes to meet his gaze for a brief second before returning to watch the space on the floor between you and him.  You told him your name in your quiet voice.  “Or you could call me number eight, if you prefer,” you added with a hint of a smile in your words.

The eighth child.  Third daughter of a third wife.  Poe had no idea what you really looked like, and more to the point, what you liked.  What you didn’t like.  What you’d think of D’Qar and its rough-and-tumble, scrappy quarters.  What you’d think of the people in the Resistance.  How much you’d stick out in your elaborate gear, how the hems of your sharply pleated skirt would be muddied within seconds of walking through the forest. 

Poe could have sat beside you and tried to get to know you.  There was some time, after all, and you likely hadn’t asked for marriage any more than he had.  But he was keen to get ahold of Leia and report his success, and he wanted to discuss his next mission, which they had already talked about beforehand – finding her brother, Luke Skywalker.  Apparently there was someone on Jakku who had a map, and that mission pushed every other thought out of his mind until Poe quite forgot about you. 

So when you landed on D’Qar, Poe sprinted ahead of you to find BB-8 and Leia, leaving you behind to fend for yourself. 

As you descended the craft, you watched the retreating back of your erstwhile husband.  Poe Dameron left you behind.  Other women of your court might throw a pretty tantrum or pout winsomely, but you were the third daughter of the third wife.  You didn’t rage or pout.  You were used to being left behind and forgotten.

So you did what you did best:  you squared your shoulders, steeled your spine, and prepared yourself for a new life in this strange world. 

As Poe Dameron’s wife.

[vechter]

do u have any fics addressing dick’s trauma?? specifically like maybe discussing his SA with the titans or bruce? or bludhaven blowing up? just like having ppl he can talk to for once? kind of in a cycle of learning more abt him! tysmm if u answer!

hi anon

your continental divides by isawet, reisling: it's one of the first dc fics i read and it set the bar way too high- probably one of the best dick grayson fics out there. directly addresses the whole catalina event (although blüdhaven hasn't been blown up in it). it's beautifully written and shows dick's connections, both to the bats and the titans. but my favourite thing about it is that it doesn't take away dick's agency. in a lot of the fics i've seen, it's always something leading to dick being forced to reveal what happened or people finding out and confronting dick about it.

The Center Cannot Hold by Kieron_ODuibhir: one shot that only vaguely alludes to SA but it does focus a fair bit on dick and the various instances in his life where he's had his agency taken away. tim and bruce are around and even though, no one explicitly talks about anything too heavy, there's a wonderful level of comfort.

When it Rains by vellaphoria: dick and tim centric, with an initial appearance by cass. set in the red robin era. their relationship hasn't fully healed yet but the love is still there! it builds off of the whole league of assassins arc and tim's own experience with attempted SA.

Bet Your Bottom Dollar by husborth: dick and bruce!!! bruce's love and concern for dick and his well-being are like a laser in their intensity and the author really captures that. unfortunately, while the writing and character arcs are excellent, it does stick with morrison's version of talia and damian's subsequent conception which is um... not my cup of tea. but the comfort element is great.

goal-oriented mindset by BeatriceEagle: okay, this is a conversation between catalina and dick after everything. it's catalina's pov and focuses on restorative justice. this one might not for everyone but devin grayson's portrayal of catalina was so deeply warped by racism and misogyny; dc has a long standing habit of caricaturising women of colour. and while i completely understand being furious and wanting revenge from a rapist in universe, the place where catalina was written as one feels wrong when you consider the ramifications and reasons for/of it out of universe. dick's character, in this, feels very authentic.

sorry, these are all i got. i can't think of any about blüdhaven being blown up- most fics just pretend it didn't happen? i guess it's because they brought the city back in n52.

also, none of the other fics i've read (admittedly, there are very few with the titans) about miriam/liu/catalina have felt authentic to any of the characters, especially dick. and too many of the ones with the bats are about jason wanting to kill her or all of the bats acting in a way that's... out of character. but if anyone else has any recs, please drop them in the comments!!

[your-divine-ribs]

Smile for the Camera

Words: 3.5k

You’re too shy to make a sex tape with your bf Van // he has an alternative idea // SMUT ♥️

CATB Imagines Main Masterlist

The first time Van brings up recording the two of you having sex your immediate reaction is to laugh out loud, incredulous. You're ridiculously critical of photos and you can't even stand hearing the sound of your own voice played back to you, so the thought of capturing actual video footage of you both stark-bollock naked in the throes of passion makes your blood run cold.

The thing is, Van's a natural performer. You swear he was born to do it. As soon as he's up on stage and has all eyes on him he comes alive. And even though he'll sometimes appear a little awkward in front of cameras for interviews he's quite happy to be the centre of attention and he's definitely not shy. Not like you. In fact he's a bloody exhibitionist and has bags of confidence... and he'll get his kit off at the drop of a hat.

He's also very persuasive...

Just two weeks after he initially broaches the subject of making a sex tape with you, Mary and Bernie drop off several large cardboard boxes full of Van's childhood possessions, products of their attic clear-out. Van's happy to seal the boxes up straight away and put them in the garage but you're loathe to add to all the junk already stacked in there and besides, you're curious.

"Come on, don't be lazy, we may as well sort through them now. We can probably chuck most of it, it's probably all junk anyway." You lift back the cardboard flap of one of the boxes to peer inside, grimacing when you catch sight of a pair of battered old football boots that look like they've been worn into the ground. "Yuck, you can sort this one. I don't wanna be poking around in your stinky old shoes."

"That's a little piece of history right there babe," Van says as he delves into the box and holds the boots up proudly. "Won me very first footy tournament at John Bright's with these. I were 'man of the match' for the final, scored five goals! I remember it now, my PE teacher was dead proud of me. He was the only teacher at school who didn't have me pegged as a drop-out."

You scrunch up your nose as he waves the boots in your face. "Yeah, well you're not keeping them, history or not. They've been sitting around in your mum's loft for over fifteen years and we're trying to de-clutter remember?"

Van ignores you, his eyes lighting up as he drops the boots on to the floor, his attention taken by something else in the recesses of the huge box.

"Here's the medal!" He cries out, holding up a shiny gold disc on a length of blue ribbon, his face glowing with boyish excitement. "Ahh man I miss those days, played every day after school until band practice took over. I was really good ya know, reckon I might've got scouted by United if I'd've carried on."

You resist rolling your eyes, giggling at his enthusiasm, admiring the youthful exuberance the memories are invoking in him. He always looks so cute when he's like this. You spot the curve of a football peeking out from another box and you lunge for it, tossing it over to Van. "Heads up!"

He looks shocked but reacts quickly, stretching up to head the ball. He catches it on its descent, dropping it down to his feet, kicking it up to pass it between each foot with some fancy footwork which is, admittedly, quite impressive.

"Hey look at that love, I've still got it!"

"Very impressive, maybe you did go into the wrong career!" You chuckle.

"You can laugh! Reckon I would've definitely been a footballer if I didn't go into music. That's what I always used to say, right from when I were this high." He grins, a hand held up to his chest to demonstrate.

You recall a daft conversation the two of you had a few weeks back when you were reminiscing about your teenage aspirations and you can't resist teasing your boyfriend. "Oh really? Didn't you also say you wanted to be a pornstar?"

Van’s smile widens at this as he shoots you a cheeky wink. "Yeah well... you gotta go where ya talents lie, eh? What d'ya reckon? Dontcha think I'd be a natural?" He wiggles his hips suggestively, thrusting his pelvis forward.

You're both laughing then and you reach for a dog-eared teddy bear, launching it at Van's head. He ducks just in time.

“What was that for?"

"You're such a twat!" You laugh, shaking your head.

The afternoon stretches on and by the time you're down to the last box you're a little dusty and dishevelled but having a great time uncovering memories from Van's past, from well-worn and much-loved baby toys to embarrassing family photos to poems he'd composed for first loves in the back of school exercise books.

"I'll go and make us a cuppa," you offer and Van nods as he opens up the last box, but the immediate frown on his face makes you pause. "What is it?"

"Ahh nothing, just think me mam's given us the wrong box. This looks like all her old stuff." He reaches in and pulls out a handful of paper-back books which he quickly drops back in and you turn to make for the kitchen but then Van calls your name, stopping you in your tracks.

You whirl around quickly to see him holding up a small silvery coloured item and you narrow your eyes, trying to discern what it is but then the penny drops and you groan out loud, your hands automatically flying up to cover your face. It's an old-fashioned camcorder.

"You're not filming me are you?" You whine, hiding behind your hands. "You'd better not be recording. Put it away!"

Van chooses not to listen to your pleading, just moving closer, big shit-eating grin on his face. "C'mon love, smile for the camera. Don't hide that pretty face from me!"

"Seriously Van, I really hate being filmed, you know I do!"

He carries on advancing on you, undeterred, smiling at the image displayed on the small fold out screen whilst you peek at him from between your fingers. "Don't be mardy, c'mon. It’s only a bit of fun... and it's for our eyes only."

Maybe you are overreacting. You lower your hands to reveal a fake glare, hands on your hips. "It had better be, I look like a total mess right now."

"No ya don't," he's quick to reply, eyes leaving the screen to properly look at you. "You look gorgeous like usual... stunning. You always take my breath away."

You giggle shyly at his compliment, your cheeks warming automatically. Even though you and Van have been together for years he still evokes this reaction in you, immediately taking you back to when he pursued you doggedly for a first date for weeks. You'd thought he was all talk back then, a proper player. You thought he just turned on the charm for effect, not really meaning it, but when he finally wore you down and you accepted his invitation to a pint in your local you realised that this was just his way. He wore his heart on his sleeve and he made no apologies for that. You loved him for it.

"That's it, just keep smiling like that... beautiful," he urges, eyes glowing with fondness and adoration, his free hand gesticulating like he's directing you.

"This is so embarrassing!" You laugh, hands instinctively reaching up to brush through your hair self-consciously. "What is it with having a camera shoved in your face that makes you forget how to function normally?"

"You get used to it," he tells you. "You just need to be confident." He chuckles cheekily. "C'mon, work it baby!"

You're really laughing now and you decide to let lose and have some fun. Like he says it's for your eyes only... and you don't even have to watch the video back. You catch your bottom lip in your teeth, fixing Van with your best sultry gaze, flicking your hair back over your shoulder. "How's this?"

"Gorgeous," he murmurs, seemingly mesmerised. "You gonna put on a show for me love?"

Your gut clenches at his words, a mixture of excitement and unexpected arousal. When he looks at you in that way with all that hunger it does something to you, it makes you eager to please. You let your eyes drop to the camera lens, hands moving down your body to cup your breasts, brushing lightly over your curves. Your nipples peak under the flimsy material of your t-shirt, the contact making you squirm.

"Fuck Y/N... you're so hot," Van whispers reverently, his mouth slightly agape. You watch as his tongue flicks out to moisten his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. His fingers flex on the screen as he angles it further down your body, taking all of you in. "Don't stop."

So you don't. Spurred on by the heady atmosphere that's descended on the room and the gleam of hunger in his eyes you let your hands travel further, gliding down over your hips as you sway them invitingly. Back up to grip the hem of your t-shirt as you raise it slowly, a teasing pace which Van follows with eager eyes. You can't believe what you're doing, playing up to the camera, half of you urging to let yourself go whilst the other half is still cringing. You just need to clear your mind, cast off your inhibitions along with your t-shirt, immerse yourself in the moment... but you can’t.

"Shit, sorry, I just can't do it," you mutter, letting your shirt fall back down to cover your hips, your cheeks glowing hotly. "I know you've been wanting to do something like this for ages but I just can't let myself go. 'M too bloody embarrassed. It's knowing the camera's there that does it."

You curse yourself internally, the embers of excitement swiftly extinguished as you see a flicker of disappoint cloud your boyfriend's features, but in typical Van style it doesn't linger. If you'd have blinked you'd have missed it.

"It's okay love, don't worry." He steps forwards until he's standing right in front of you. "I was only mucking around. Don't want you to do anything ya don't feel comfortable doing... but... hold on… I've just had an idea..." He pauses, a hopeful look in his eyes as he holds the camera out to you.

"What?" You ask cautiously, taking the camera. You know that look, you've seen it a million times before. Van usually wears it when he's trying to persuade you so do something that you're not sure of, but he just said...

"Just wanna try something, that's all," he says, interrupting your thoughts. "You trust me, don’t ya? Think you might like it..."

"Should I trust you?" You ask with a smirk. You're intrigued as he walks you back slowly until you feel the sofa hit the back of your legs. You'll be annoyed if Van wants to keep pushing his silly fantasy even though he knows you're not fully on board but it's really not like him to coerce you, and the fact that you're now holding the camera and therefore in control reassures you somewhat.

"Uh-huh," he murmurs, hands on your shoulders as he applies just enough pressure to show you that he wants you to sit. You comply, heart picking up a pace as you watch him sink down on to his knees on the floor, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Just sit back and relax," he smiles, hands brushing upwards along your outer thighs until he reaches your hips. "I know ya don't like the idea of being filmed, so why don't you film me instead?"

His hands slide inwards as he talks, fingers working on the button fly of your jeans, deftly unfastening them before you can even fully grasp on to what he's saying.

"But what do you... oh... oh right..." your brain finally catches up as Van starts tugging your jeans down your hips, your lacy underwear coming down with them.

They're at mid-thigh when he stops, looking up at you with those pretty blue eyes, full of hope again. "That's if ya want to..."

Shit, he has you wrapped around his little finger, he really does. Your gaze sinks down to his lips, those full pretty pink lips that are responsible for the most wickedly sinful things, and you find your resolve crumbling. If you're filming him from up here then you won't actually be on camera... well, part of you will be, but not your face. You're burning up at the thought of the parts of you that will be displayed, chanting a prayer of silent relief that you shaved your bikini line just that morning.

"I can't believe the shit you talk me into McCann," you grumble even though you're smiling, heart fluttering with excitement as you press 'record' and angle the little viewing screen downwards to watch Van settling in between your spread thighs, looking up at you like the frustratingly tempting devil that he is.

"Sorry baby," he purrs in that sweetly seductive drawl he uses when he's just about to fucking defile you. "I'll make it up to you... promise."

He's loving this, in his element under the camera's watchful gaze, looking up at you through the lens as he dips his head and licks a slow, ticklish stripe up your inner thigh.

"Shit," you breathe, every muscle in your body tensing in anticipation. You feel like you're watching a porno but the fact that it's Van down there and you're experiencing the sensations first hand just heightens everything.

He spends some time on your inner thighs... too long in your opinion... not that you're going to complain. He knows your body so well, how every calculated kiss will make you shiver, how every sharp nip of his teeth will make you hiss. You can already see the hickeys forming, small purplish bruises blooming like pretty violet flowers on your skin.

"Van," you breathe softly, your hips starting to shift impatiently as he gets closer to where you need him to be.

"What's up babe, d'ya want me to kiss ya here, hmm?" His breath fans over your burning skin, making you shudder.

You can barely get your words out, mumbling a quick "mhmmm" before a shaky whimper bubbles up from your throat, drenched in desperation. Fire rages in your cheeks as you realise how every little sound will likely be caught on film at this close range. That doesn't put you off though... it actually fires you up.

"Here?" He smirks up at the camera knowingly, lips just barely brushing your heat before he pulls away.

"Yeah, right there!" You blurt, resisting the urge to grab hold of his hair and buck your hips upwards, focusing instead on keeping your breathing steady, your palm feeling slick where you're gripping the camcorder. "Please..."

"Sweetheart, you don't need to beg."

His voice drips with honey just like the sweetness that's dripping between your thighs. You don't think you can take this teasing for another second but your prayers are answered as Van smiles up at the camera seductively before he buries his face between your legs and gets to work.

It's nothing short of heavenly. Your skin's littered with goosebumps, every little touch amplified, the tickle of his hair, the soft brush of his lips, the wet drag of his tongue as it pushes between your lips, parting your folds. When he flicks it over your clit for your first time you nearly hit the roof.

"That feel good?" He hums against your skin, circling your sweet spot with hot, wet strokes. You answer him with a ghastly moan that makes your skin crawl with humiliation but you can't help it, you're ready to fall apart on his tongue and he's only just getting started.

He can most likely tell you're already close by the trembling in your thighs and he immediately slows his pace to soft, teasing licks that have you whimpering, your body sinking further into the couch.

You can't take your eyes off the screen, your previous inhibitions swiftly falling away, the fact that you know that it's turning Van on so much just adding to your enjoyment. He's putting on the performance of his life down there, pulling all the tricks out of his arsenal, playing your body like a musical instrument that's singing sweetly for him with overwhelming pleasure. And far from it turning you off now, the thought that you're immortalising this moment in time just makes you even hotter.

"You taste so good... can't get enough of ya," he utters, pulling back so he can catch his breath, his fingers sliding through your folds, glistening with your wetness. He traces your entrance with a solitary finger before he pushes slowly inside, his lips returning to your clit to work their magic.

The sounds filling the room are filthy, your choked up moans, the wet sloppy sounds his tongue makes as he devours you, the lewd squelch of his finger pumping into you. You're so wet you can feel your slick dripping between your thighs and soaking into the fabric of the sofa. An errant thought flits through your mind about cleaning up the mess afterwards but it doesn't stick. You don't care. You're too far gone, surrendering to the bliss thrumming through your veins, fully submerged in it, drowning in it.

When you moan his name he gives it his all, his tongue flicking over your nub with perfect precision. A second finger slips inside to join the first and he thrusts them knuckle deep, curling them and twisting them to stroke your front wall in a way that makes you want to scream out loud.

"Oh my god..." you gasp. It makes your blood blaze, your back arching away from the chair as you push yourself further into his seeking mouth.

"C'mon baby, give it to me," he urges, groaning against your wetness, fingers pumping hard and fast and slick. "Come for me... I want it all."

You mewl as he pushes even deeper, fingers reaching a hidden spot that makes your body spasm. Your legs automatically go to clamp around his head but he shoots his hands out to push your thighs even further apart, opening you up for him.

You can barely catch your breath as you feel yourself unravelling, the very fabric of your being drenched in bliss, struggling to hold the camera steady as your whole body quakes. He purses his lips around your clit with a suckling motion and it's your final undoing.

"Ohhh FUCK!" You cry out as your climax tears through your body, an overwhelming rush of sensation that renders you senseless for a second, garbled profanities and whimpers falling from your lips. Van tenderly licks you through it, still not missing a beat, keyed up with determination to give you the best head of your life... either that or he's trying to kill you, you're not sure which. Your body goes taut and then suddenly slack, your head lolling back against the sofa as you gasp for breath and he finally breaks away, scattering a few soft kisses on your thighs as he draws back. He sits back on his haunches, slightly dazed but still grinning like the proverbial cat that got all the cream... and you guess he did... in more ways that one.

"Holy shit that was good," you pant, head falling forward, not even realising that you'd dropped the camcorder which lies discarded on the floor, temporarily forgotten.

"You... my love... are fucking unbelievable. Jesus, that was so hot!" He crawls up your body, planting kisses as he goes, your thighs, your hips, your belly as he rucks up your shirt, then your neck, your jaw and finally your lips where he kisses you deeply, the taste of you still on his tongue.

"Still can't believe we did that," you laugh softly as you break away and Van nuzzles into your neck, smiling against your skin. "I don't know if I'm gonna be able to watch it back though. Those sounds I was making..."

"That's the best bit!" Van interjects. "Don't think ya realise how hot yer sound when yer moaning and sighing and shit... almost had me coming in my pants I swear!"

You giggle at that, suddenly acutely aware that Van's not had his release yet, the hardness of his cock pressing into your thigh insistently where he's leaning over you. Your head swirls with thoughts, eager for more now you've broken the boundaries, wondering how far you dare take this, what other exhilarating fantasies you can unlock. You grab for the collar of his shirt, drawing him back to your lips, kissing him long and hard before you pull back, looking him boldly in the eye.

"You ready for round two?" You ask, loving the way his eyes widen with shock and excitement as his jaw falls slack. "’Cause I reckon the sequel might be even dirtier..."

[rongzhi]

June watches! Not a very movie-watchful month once again, but on the other hand, I'm most definitely on track for my goal of watching 365 movies this year (241 already out of the way), which is all that matters. Obviously.

Favorite New Movies watched: Andromeda Strain, Klute, Total Recall

Also Memorable: Boyz n the Hood, High Fidelity, [The hurricane Katrina part of Hurricane Season, which is a basketball movie so forgettable I am suddenly actually wondering if I actually watched the whole movie. Pretty sure I did, because I remember the credits rolling. But don't ask me what happened]

Least favorite: Willow (sorry if that movie was your childhood, although admittedly I quit trying to force myself to watch it some time around when Val Kilmer got dosed by the sex pollen or whatever it was while sneaking into the princess's tent. So I do need to finish the movie at some point.)

[aimportantdragoncollector]

Some mechanics and world-building for my werewolfverse too long to be included in And Then There Was One:

-The bite infects everyone with a magical passenger, the wolf. The wolf and human are both sharing the body but the wolf can override human actions when humans break the rules. Werewolves never kill fellow werewolves. The wolf finds harming people to be repugnant.

-Werewolves only kill humans in self-defense, either by accident or because they got cornered by too many humans to avoid non-lethal violence. (Admittedly, the humans would disagree with their definition of self-defense because from the human perspective it's not self-defense if the werewolf was trying to bite you first.) Werewolves prefer biting as a method to bring enemies down instead of killing them.

-One of the side effects of the werewolf bite is that in the period between bite and the first transformation, people regress and become docile/obedient around fully grown werewolves. This means that bite victims are extremely susceptible to brainwashing during the change. It's sort of like being erased down to a childlike level and then going through childhood again, with all the programming that society gives you in childhood about what is right/wrong/normal. And the new childhood overwrites the first one in terms of perceptions of normal. This creates the high rate of Transhuman Treachery.

-The brainwashing goes a level deeper because the wolves are influencing the minds of their hosts, and the wolves really really want to bite everyone and take over the world.

-If the biting victims are able to escape the pack before they transform, then they can avoid the brainwashing. However, they are still susceptible to the inner wolf's urge to bite people, which grows stronger the more they care about someone. The pack rejects the existence of strays and hunts them down. They have ways of forcing strays into the pack, but I won't discuss that in this post because of spoilers. There is only one werewolf pack and the pack wants to keep it that way.

-Werewolves can communicate telepathically and make decisions by group consensus. It's a direct democracy (aka policies are decided by majority vote, not legislators.) Pack leaders are not the people who make decisions, they are the people in charge of executing the will of the pack. Thus the werewolf concept of leadership is different and pack leaders will be seen fighting in the front lines instead of staying safe like human leaders.

-Unity is the big advantage of the werewolves. The werewolves don't have internal conflict like humans because goals get made as a pack, and even if some people disagree, once the pack has made a decision everyone sticks together.

-Werewolf society is very utopian. They are able to conquer human issues of poverty because everyone in werewolf society shares resources. The bite cures mental illness and addiction, thus eliminating some causes of poverty that humans find so difficult to overcome. Werewolves treat each other better, because they all have a sense that everyone is family. The urge to help each other also combats the "free rider" problem that human society has where one person just doesn't want to contribute.

-In rare cases, some humans are so vile and evil that the inner wolf rejects them. Then the bite causes them to sicken and die instead. I will note that this is not a moral judgement so much as a pragmatic one. If someone has committed horrible crimes in the past but can be made a productive member of werewolf society with some brainwashing and restraining rules, then they will survive the bite. But if someone has such a strong desire to harm others that the wolf would need to be in control all the time to stop them, then they are considered irredeemable.

-Historically there have been a lot of volunteers to become werewolves. It cures all illness! A society where everyone has an upper middle class lifestyle! Werewolves downplay the brainwashing aspect because they know that would scare people off, though some have noticed. At the start of Kazuo's story, the werewolves have taken over about half the world and have reached a tipping point where they know they are stronger than humanity and are revealing their claws.

[avastyetwats]

A Lover's Spar

Continued from here. @izzyeffinhands

Stede let out a high pitched yelp when Izzy lunged, prompting Stede to block the attack with his own cutlass. Then came the threat and Stede frowned while taking some steps back to put more distance between them, remaining on the alert. "You wouldn't." He huffed with a pout, not believing that he would actually hurt him. It was an empty threat, he was sure of it. Only meant to provoke Stede and get a rise out of him. Which, to be fair, was working. Especially when Izzy followed his threat up with another lunge and had Stede not been on the alert and dodged, he would've succeeded in running him through. He gasped. "You would." He understood why, though, but he was still being pouty about it. His husband almost hurt him! And he was grinning like he was amused! "You can't--ahh!" Another shriek when Izzy lunged forward again prompting Stede to knock it away with his cutlass while striking forward which was easily blocked. Now he was getting a little annoyed and it was fueling his determination and want to win.

So, he lunged and stabbed forward, but Izzy easily dodged by spinning on his good leg and followed it up with a fury of swift strikes which Stede was unsuccessful at blocking or dodging. His shirt paid the price for that. He felt the tip of Izzy's blade glide over his body with each strike followed by the feeling of cold air against now exposed skin, his shirt completely cut open which was very much deja vu from their first ever meeting. Why did Izzy love doing that so much!? It was something Stede always wanted to know because not only was it infuriating, it was admittedly very sexy. "Oh, Izzy!" Stede whined, pouting yet again. "Did you have to do that!? I really liked this shirt... it was one of my favorites." He frowned, standing there looking completely disheveled yet a little delicious with his chest now fully exposed. God, Izzy was so skilled with his blade and his admiration for his husband was made evident with that bulge between his legs. Funny how he was annoyed, sad, impressed and aroused all in one.

He looked down at his chest to survey the damage and then, without warning, he lunged forward and slashed at his leathers, intending to hit him. But because of all of the layers Izzy wore, Stede's sword wouldn't be able to cut through them all and into his body, but his goal was to land some hits on his husband and that's exactly what he was trying to do. Then, as another surprise, he reached for the small turquoise pouch attached to his hip, popped it open, grabbed some of it's contents and threw it right at Izzy's face, intending to temporarily blind him with his secret weapon: sand.