fine if no one else is going to make this joke them i will

Unpopular Voltron opinion, with meta to back it up.

I don’t think the big Keith and Lance scene in episode 6 was meant to be seen as having gone well, or for things to be getting back on track in regards to Lance’s doubts. I’m actually pretty sure the conversation unintentionally made things with Lance even worse.

Just because Keith and Lance shared a scene alone together, without any fighting or outward disagreements, does NOT mean it went well. I know everyone who is a Klance shipper wants that to be the case, but the whole “5 feet apart” jokes and logic with their ship shouldn’t suddenly change the emotional tone that is ACTUALLY present here.

Do not get me wrong, it is clear that both of them wanted this talk to go well without any confrontation, and to talk with a level head and with honesty. They have both grown as people to realize this. It doesn’t mean there wasn’t a major miscommunication here. 

Lets go through this moment by moment, shall we?

Keep reading

He Thought He Could Intimidate Me Into Sacrificing a Stranger

I’d been bar-hopping with several friends, and they’d headed home, leaving me in the last bar. As I was getting ready to leave, I saw a guy come in and make his way through the bar, just surveying the scene. There had been a table of college girls toward the back, and I realized that all of them had left except for one girl who was obviously intoxicated. I was in my mid-twenties at the time, and the guy was probably the same or a little older, but the drunk girl was obviously a second year student, maybe even underaged. While I watched, the guy sat down at her table and attempted to talk to her. She was so drunk she could hardly interact with him. I went over to the bartender and asked if he knew where the girl’s friends had gone, and he shrugged, saying that they’d left earlier. While I was standing there talking to him, the strange man got the college girl on her feet, half carrying her, and started toward the door.

Me being me, I intercepted the guy, and asked him if he knew the girl. He insisted that he did, but refused to tell me her name. Then he produced a first name but no last name. Her purse was hanging on her outside arm, just a wristlet around her wrist and I snatched it off her arm, and pulled out her college ID and it was a totally different name than the one the guy had given me. Now that I had the girl’s purse, he started to get angry, but he couldn’t tell me where she lived, or anything else about her. He kept insisting that he was just going to give her a ride home, and I kept refusing to let them leave. The entire time, the bartender just watched, like he didn’t know what to do.

Finally, the guy let go of the girl and kind of shoved her toward me (she could barely stand on her own) and then he starts telling me that I should mind my own business, and that I’ve got some nerve insinuating that he was anything but a good samaritan trying to make sure a drunk girl got home safely. I informed him that I was going to call a cab for the girl, and he asked me if I was going to call one for myself, because it was late, and “not very safe for single girls with bad attitudes to walk anywhere alone” I have never been easily intimidated by anyone, and I’ve grown up working on farms and training horses, so physically I’m very fit and strong even though I’m only 5'5. I told him I’d never met anyone I couldn’t handle yet, but that he was welcome to step up and try me. He blew me off and left the bar in a huff.

I called a cab. The bartender asked who was paying for it, and I told him I would if the bar wouldn’t, and then wondered what it would do for their reputation if people found out this was how they treated college girls in a college town. After that, the bartender offered to pay for the cab. I called numbers in the girl’s phone (she just sat there in a drunk stupor) until I got ahold of her roommate (who hadn’t gone out that night) and explained what had happened. The roommate gave me their address and told me that she was going to go out front and wait for the cab. When the cab got to the bar, I told the driver where to go, and that I had his cab number, and the girl’s roommate was waiting for him, and that if anything went wrong, it was going to be his ass. He was dubious, but left with the girl, and within 15 minutes the girl’s roommate texted me on my phone and told me that she’d gotten her friend and everything was fine.

Then I started to walk to my car, which was a few blocks away. And there was the guy from the bar, actually waiting around to try and scare me. He honestly thought, after all of that, and even after I made it clear that I wasn’t afraid of him, that he could intimidate me. He started to cross the street my way, saying that I should have taken him seriously when he warned me about how it wasn’t safe to walk  alone and that I’d better be prepared to make up for getting in his way earlier. I thought he might attack me, but instead of backing off, I headed right for him, reiterating that I’d be happy to take him on if he wasn’t afraid of getting his ass kicked by a woman. I was honestly ready to fight him, but he abruptly backpedaled calling me a “crazy bitch” and saying that I “needed to learn how to take a joke” and then he left, yelling back over his shoulder that “There aren’t nosy bitches in every bar, but there are plenty of drunk ones in this town.” I’ve never seen him in the decade since, but I never go out that I don’t think about that asshole, and wonder how many girls he’s carted off from bars and raped or assaulted.

Did you ever have a genuine psychic/medium experience?

Although many readings can be attributed to cold readings or sheer coincidence sometimes it’s uncanny how accurate psychics/mediums can be. Here’s a collection of supposedly genuine experiences from threads. If you have an experience feel free to tag me @sixpenceee!

by reddit user Jinuxxx

I never believe in palm /card readings. I don’t actually believe in it nowadays. BUT when I was in 9th grade, my friend took me with her to a fortune teller so she can have her future read. Surprisingly she mentioned about her love dilemma, a blonde guy and dark haired guy. She was completely convinced about her reading powers while I was meh… We’re teenagers, it’s natural we’ll find ourselves in situations like this. And then she predicted the scores she’ll get at the exams when you finish high school (in our country there are some mandatory subjects for the exams, thus multiple numbers) she guessed that right. If I think really hard about probabilities and stuff I can find a logic explanation to that as well. 

by reddit user GoobyBear22

About 5 years ago I saw a psychic that a family friend had told me was the real deal. I went in skeptical and came out a believer.

She used tarot cards and knew things that could have been lucky guesses, like that I had just bought a house and was renovating it, but she also knew specific things that no one else could have known.

The most amazing part of the whole thing was that she knew that I had some complications with my hormones and had a surgery in the past that would make getting pregnant very difficult, but she told me Despite all this, I would have a baby later in life. Toward the end of the reading she hands me the tarot cards and tells me to shuffle them. Then tells me to ask three questions in my mind one at a time. I decided to really test her authenticity so the first question I decided to ask was am I going to have children, and halfway through laying the five cards down, she stops and looks at me and scolds me saying “I already told you that you were going to have one child!” hah this is when I knew.

by reddit user wobblerss

This was before I was born. My mom had a neighbor who was a grandpa who could see the future. He told my mom that my sister would be really sick when she became a preteen and not to worry because she’d be okay. When my sister was a preteen she was diagnosed with cancer and after a year and a half she was perfectly fine. My mom was pregnant with me when she met him again and he told her that I would be a c-section baby. My mom already knew this and said she had scheduled the c-section already since I was breach but he was adamant that she would have me on a certain day and that the c-section wouldn’t go on the planned day. I was born on the exact day he predicted.

Nothing too crazy but the fact that he knew that my sister would be sick and would be okay is crazy to me. He also didn’t want any money and approached my mom and asked if he could do a reading for her.

Keep reading

Rivals? || Peter Parker Imagine

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 2238 words

Request by anon: hi, can you please do a peter parker x reader imagine where the reader is tony starks daughter or something and she and peter hate each other but they low key have sexual tension or something like that? and the imagine ends with them kissing or something? idk sorry if that didn’t make sense

No spoilers homie

Originally posted by peterbparkerr


Y/N Stark always wanted a normal life. She hated being known as Iron Man’s ​daughter. She hated not being a normal teenager. For her entire life, she was home schooled,being taught from the best in New York. So of course, she wanted to go to a high school, to have the experience of hating her teachers and falling in love.

The first day of freshmen year was strange at Midtown High, most people didn’t know who she was until she told them her name. Rumors had been going around about the infamous Y/N Stark was attending Midtown, but nobody thought of it to be true.

Teachers would kiss up to her, not wanting to face the wrath of her father, Tony Stark. Everyone wanted to be her friend by the Friday of her first week in high school, everyone but one person, Peter Parker. He hated how she got treated like royalty by the teacher and the students, especially Flash, who did anything to get her attention. He hated how her grades were as good as his. The whole school knew about their rivalry quickly into freshmen year.

After Peter got bitten by the radioactive spider that gave him his powers, he knew he had to do something with his ability. Like his Uncle said, “With great power comes great responsibility.” This only convinced him more that he should be out there, protecting the people of New York. He was also happy that he finally got something that Y/N didn’t have.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world. When she was around him, he was captivated by her beauty. They would share glances in the hallway but would both quickly look away from embarrassment.

Y/N didn’t hate him, she tried to be nice to him. She didn’t like how her dad gave Peter all of his attention, but she understood it was for a good reason. The two teens were always battling for first place for everything such as science fairs and debates. They were always neck and neck, him beating her as much as she did him. But, she thought it was cute when Peter did little things like tap his fingertips on his desk when he was nervous or whenever he spoke, she was drawn to his lips. She thought Peter was cute in general.

Most people saw his ‘hatred’ for her as love masked with hate. Everyone thought that by the end of high school the two would be dating. Peter’s friends tried convincing him to talk to her, nicely, but he wouldn’t. Y/N’s friends tried to get the two smartest kids at Midtown High together, but it just failed.

“Hey Dad?” Y/N asked while she sat at the dinner table alone with her father. He looked up from his food, “Hmm?” He mumbled back to her, with food in his mouth.

“Can I go to a-a party tonight?” She questioned, playing with the food on her fork.

“Where is it?” Tony asked, stuffing food into his mouth. Y/N looked up at him, “Queens. In the suburbs. A lot of my friends are going.” She added.

Tony nodded his head, “Fine you can go.” Y/N looked at her dad, eyes wide. “Really?” She exclaimed.

“Yes. But no drinking,” He stated, pointing his finger at her but paused, “Okay. Minimal drinking.”

Y/N smiled widely, nodding her head muttering, “Yeah, yeah of course. Thank you.” She ran up to Tony and hugged him.

She left her chair and went to hug him. “Let me take you.” He said as he hugged her back. Y/N pulled away furrowed her eyebrows, slightly confused at the man, “Why?” Usually if Y/N had somewhere to be, Tony made someone else take her so the act was strange.

Tony smirked, “Come on, you’d be the coolest person there because I have sweet cars.” Y/N nodded her head, agreeing with him. “Okay, well I’m gonna go get ready.” She beamed, running up the stairs.


Tony pulled up to you’re friends house, music blaring and red solo cups already littering the ground. He looked at Y/N, wondering where all the time went. “Ugh, you’re growing up, guess it had to happen sooner or later,” He joked, making Y/N giggle.

“I’m gonna go, I’ll call you when it’s over, or text you if I’m staying the night, alright?” She asked, exiting the car. Some of the teens who were standing outside or just got dropped off were staring in shock. Tony Stark just dropped his teenage daughter off at a party in a, most likely, a very expensive car.

Y/N slammed the door shut, “Bye Dad!” She waved with a smile, waiting for him to drive away.Tony smiled at his daughter, bidding his farewell before speeding away.

“God, she irritates me. She would obviously have her rich daddy drive her here in a cool ass car just to make herself look good.” Peter groaned as he went inside with Ned.

“Or maybe he wanted to take his daughter to a high school party?” Ned suggested, realizing that the statement didn’t make much sense. The boys walked over to the drink table. Booze, booze, booze. Whatever. Peter soon found the fridge and got water, in a red cup so people wouldn’t call him so prude.

Y/N had found a couple of her friends to hang out with. They were already buzzed, she wanted to stay sober just to make sure her friends got home safely.

Halfway through the party, Flash, the host, shouted, “Yo, if anyone wants to play seven minutes in heaven, bring your ass over here!”

About half a dozen people followed him. Everyone at the party was either too drunk to car about his statement or didn’t want to play the game where they were locked in a closet with a stranger. “Come on, let’s go.” One of her friends exclaimed.

“Yeah let’s go.” Herr other friend yelled.

“Um, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She shouted over the loud music. Her friends rolled their eyes and grabbed either of her arms, dragging her in Flash’s direction. The group of people who wanted to play were already there, sitting in a circle, around a bottle that was resting on a table. She looked at the faces of all the people, and was met with the grimace of Peter Parker.

Her friends found an open spot in the circle so naturally, Y/N sat with them, sitting diagonally across from Peter. “You all should know how the game works. But, to those of you who don’t [cough] Peter Parker [cough].” Flash boomed, making his friends laugh. Y/N felt bad for him, he didn’t deserve to be treated badly. No one does.

“Whoever wants to start, will spin the bottle. Whoever the bottle lands on, you have to go into that closet,” He said, pointing to a closet nearby, “for seven minutes with that person. You can do whatever you want in there cause it’ll be locked. After seven minutes I’ll open the door and yeah. Start the process over again with the person next to you. So, who’s first?”

It was about 4 rounds into the game, and Y/N was getting bored. But she was glad she didn’t have to go in yet. After a pair came out of the closet, with lipstick smeared all over their faces it was Peter’s turn. “Be cool about it, there are a lot of hot girls in this circle man.” Ned whispered when Peter spun the bottle. Peter nodded his head, agreeing with his friend.

The bottle spun slower and slower, Peter’s hands were starting to get clammy. The bottle stopped and he looked up from the green glass. The person sitting in front of it was none other than Y/N Stark. All the teenagers froze, shocked at what had happened. “I-I gotta go,” Peter mutter, standing up from his seat on one of the couches.

“Na-na-na-na no,” Peter felt a hand on his shoulder, turning to see Flash, “You’re gonna go into that closet with your best friend Y/N.” Flash finished sarcastically, pulling Peter over to Y/N, before grabbing her arm and pushing them into the closet. Flash slammed the door closed, making the two flinch.

“Seven minutes starts now,” Flash shouted from behind the door, before walking away towards the group of teens.

It was quiet for about thirty seconds, the two both scared of talking to the other. There was enough space in the closet to leave you both a couple inches apart, but only a couple inches. “Um, I’m sorry you had to do this,” Y/N apologized sympathetically, “I should’ve never come to this stupid party.” She muttered the last part, shaking her head. Peter stayed silent, holding one arm with the other.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Y/N asked, desperate to know.

Peter sighed, “I-I don’t hate you. It’s just,” he paused, not knowing what to say, “I was so used to being the smartest kid in class and suddenly you show up, beating me in nearly everything. I guess I was just, jealous of what you had.” He admitted honestly, slightly frustrated. Looking down in between the two to look at his shoes. “You have everything in the world. You have a lot of money, a rich dad, and a bunch of friends.You’re fucking perfect. I don’t have anything like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N apologized again, feeling bad for him. She started playing with her thumbs, “But, I’m not perfect, I hated what I had. My rich dad gives you more attention now than he gives me because of the whole, superhero thing.” She whispered the last part, not knowing if anyone was listening, “My friends only want to be friends with me because of my name and the money I have. It sucks, ya know?” Y/N finished, a few tears leaking from her eyes.

“I, I didn’t know you felt that way,” He said, regretting the way he has treated this girl for the past couple of years. He moved forward, closing the space between them, moving his hands to cup her cheeks, brushing away her tears with his thumbs.

“You didn’t deserve the way I treated you. I didn’t know what things were like for you. I am so sorry I was so rude to you.” He apologized, leaning his forehead against hers. Y/N reached up and placed her hands on his shoulders, squeezing reassuringly.

“You didn’t know, it’s alright.” She whispered, her breath fanning against his cheeks, and a small, understanding smile on her lips.

“But it’s not alright,” Peter murmured, rubbing one of his thumbs on her cheek. Y/N closed her eyes for a second, “If you kiss me, I’ll forgive you.” He looked at her slightly shocked. But he closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly to the right before leaning in and capturing her lips with his. She closed her eyes once again, putting her arms around his neck and her hands into his hair.

His lips were soft, and hers tasted like candy. Her nose brushed against his cheek, but the act went unnoticed. She started playing with his hair, twirling it around her fingers.

Unbeknownst to Peter and Y/N, Flash shouted that the seven minutes were up. He moved towards the wooden door, not hearing anything coming from the other side due to the loud music. He went to unlock the door. When it opened, he froze. “Holy shit!” Flash shouted making the two kissing immediately pull apart, out of breath.

Peter had a blush rising on his face, mimicking Y/N’s. Most of the people who were playing were curious at what was happening, a crowd forming around the door. “They were just making out!” Flash shouted with a smirk on his lips, making the blush on Peter and Y/N’s face deepen.

“Alright Parker!” Someone in the crowd of people yelled, making Y/N stifle a laugh. Peter glared at her playfully. The crowd of people began to fade away, Flash telling the two to get out of the closet for the next round of people to go in.

Peter and Y/N walked to a place in the house where there wasn’t a herd of people. “So, do you want to go to the movies with me sometime?” Peter stammered, nervous about what her answer might be. Y/N smiled, “I would love too, Peter. Now, go enjoy the rest of the party. I have to go deal with my drunk friends.” She chuckled starting to back away. 

Peter nodded his head understandingly, “I’ll text you then. Yeah?” 

Y/N tilted her heard to the side slightly. “You better. You don’t want to make a Stark angry.” She said with a chuckle, walking back towards her friends.

Peter fist bumped the air, before whispering to himself, “I have a date….. awesome.”

Part Two

You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt

Masterlist linked in bio


If there’s one thing Y/n can’t stand, it’s pity. Which is unfortunate for her, considering that’s all she’s been receiving ever since Harry had broken up with her.

Between her family, her friends, and long-known acquaintances, the pity was never ending. The looks people gave her whenever she occupied a room made her sick to her stomach. Nobody looked at her the way they used to as if their perception of her has been altered from a beautiful, humble woman to a broken heart on legs.

Talking to people didn’t help much, either, considering their irrational fear that one harsh tone could wreck what’s left of her. To those, her identity and name have seemed to be forgotten, only to be replaced by “the girl left with a broken heart, who’s heart has failed to mend.”

It’s all a myth, really—a myth that hasn’t been confirmed or denied within the past four months. Y/n provided no reassurance for anybody, nor did she show any improvement since their break up. But she did try her best. Her attempts to answer the question, “how have you been, you know, since the breakup and all?” with an “I’ve been okay” filled with lies didn’t go unnoticed, however, proved to be unsuccessful.

And the pity only got worse when Harry got a new girlfriend.

It was plastered everywhere, the rumors that Harry’s new girlfriend stayed at his hotel in Los Angeles and traveled with him back to London. They disclosed that her name was Jessica, who works as a travel blogger.

She was beautiful, too. More beautiful than she wanted her to be, as selfish as it was. She was the perfect image for him, especially at the height of his career.

Y/n’s heart hit rock bottom that day. Every unblemished part of it became a ruin, a shattered piece of what was once so full and whole.

Y/n hadn’t expected it, not this fast, at least. When Harry initiated the breakup, he told her that it wasn’t the end of their relationship. He had promised her that with the right amount of distance, all the problems they’ve had in their relationship would be fixed entirely.

She believed him, too. That with maybe some time apart, their bitterness towards each other would decease, and all that would remain would be the overwhelming needs for one another.

She should have never been so gullible. After they broke up, they never spoke to each other again. All their ties had been cut, leaving them both hanging in completely separate lives. Y/n never got over him. How could she? They were soulmates, they were each other’s everything. No matter what came at them, they always found a way back to one another.

But Harry’s fame started skyrocketing, leaving Y/n on the ground with no way to reach him anymore. She should have known he’d find someone else—someone more worthy of his time. She just didn’t want to believe it and didn’t want to believe that it had happened so soon.

“How are you feeling?” Gabby asks, reaching over the wooden table so that her fingers can rest on top of Y/n’s hand; a small gesture that Gabby has been giving Y/n nearly every day for the past four months.

Y/n wishes she found it as comfortable as it intended to be, however she can’t help feeling worse whenever Gabby did so. The gesture undoubtedly derives from the pity Gabby has had toward her ever since the breakup. Everything was because of pity.

She looks down at her cold, untouched hot chocolate as she swirls the straw along the brim, resisting to roll her eyes as it’s the only question everybody has seemed to ask her recently.

“The usual,” she shrugs, “nothing’s really changed.”

Gabby gives her a half smile before returning to her tea. The cafe is only occupied by the both of them, considering it’s 7 in the morning on a Sunday. But after everything that’s happened, Y/n’s sleep schedule has been slacking and Gabby wanted nothing more than to be there for Y/n whenever she had the chance.

“Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Gabby asks. “It’s on me if you want anything.”

Y/n shrugs again, a faint yawn falling from her mouth as she shakes her head.

“No, I’m okay. I think I’ll make some waffles when I get home. But I’ll need to stop at the grocery store before I leave. Ran out of milk and flour the other day.”

“We could stop by now if you’d like. I’m getting quite full, anyways.”

“Yeah, sure” Y/n nods, “sounds fine.”


The entrance doors chime when Y/n and Gabby enter the grocery store, barely any people filling the aisles at such hours. Neither of them speak much before they go their separate ways, grabbing all the necessary ingredients Y/n needs for when she gets home.

When she finds flour on one of the bottom shelves, Y/n bends down to grab the cheapest one she could find. In all honesty, she didn’t have a lot of money to spend since she took some time off of work for “mental health reasons,” and she wanted nothing more than to go back home and spend the rest of her day in bed.

When she stands back up from her squatting position, her body rams into somebody else’s, making everything they both were carrying fall onto the floor.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” Y/n gasps, scrambling to pick up the ingredients that have fallen from the girl’s arms.

When Y/n stands back up to return her fallen items, it was as if every nightmare Y/n has ever had was standing right in front of her.

She’d recognize her face anywhere. It haunted her everywhere she went; mocking her and destroying every last bit of her wellbeing. Her face is unforgettable, having been ingrained into her head for so long now. She’s exactly how she is in her pictures, except she’s so much more beautiful in person.

It’s when Y/n’s eyes drift down to the shirt she’s wearing that takes the breath right from her lungs.

The word Lover printed inside of a red heart, the end of it hidden by the pocket right on her chest. It looked so unfamiliar on her—so unfamiliar that tears started piling in her eyes and her lips began to quiver.

That shirt was theirs. That shirt belonged to Y/n and Harry.

Lover.

It was a nickname Y/n always gave Harry. She would have normally settled for “babe” or “baby” like she did with her previous boyfriends, but “lover” came so naturally to her. It exemplified just how unique and rare their relationship was, too.

Harry had never been called that before, but there was something about it that felt so right. The first time she called him that, he blushed like no other. His cheeks and heart felt so warm, and Y/n wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. But no matter how much she joked about how much he blushed that night, it only made her call him that more.

And the more she said it, the more she realized that there was no other name to describe him.

She gave him the shirt for their first anniversary. She was insecure about it, considering it was the only gift she purchased him that year and wasn’t nearly as expensive as all the gifts Harry had given her. But after all the flowers she received had died months later, after all the chocolate he bought her had been eaten in two nights, after all the in-home spa treatments had been used by the both of them progressively throughout the months, and after all the sex they shared died down by the next morning, the only gift that remained so dearly to their hearts was that goddamn shirt.

The shirt became sentimental to their relationship and was almost used as a keepsake between the two of them. The mornings after making love, Y/n found herself slipping it on before rolling out of bed to make breakfast. Harry fell in love with her tendency to do so and always made sure she knew just how much he loved her for it.

This is my favorite look on you, he’d always say, where the shirt hung loosely from her frame and her skin scattered with the marks from his tongue.

Harry wore the shirt as a tradition, most commonly on their anniversaries or on any specific date that held such significance to their relationship. And every time Y/n saw him wearing it, she found it irresistible to kiss the heart designed right upon his chest.

My lover, she’d say, looks so perfect on you.

She never imagined anybody else in it. Even after they had broken up, she never thought the shirt would be passed down to later relationships Harry had with other women. When she moved out, he kept insisting that she should be the one to take it.


He looked down at the shirt all crinkled in his hands, the last compromise they had to make before Y/n officially moved out of their home. Her suitcases were packed neatly by the front door, the darkened sky from the storm waiting to approach making the house feel colder than it already had turned.

Y/n’s body was slumped against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes red with inevitable tears as they were forced to face the harsh reality of what was to come.

After three years of a relationship neither of them expected to end, Harry had insisted that they take a break from each other. With his career coming to its peak and Y/n spending most of her time in the office, their relationship was going through a rough patch that lasted far too long.

“You paid for this, you know,” Harry whispered, obstructing the silence that seemed to make the air around them thicker and harder to breathe, “this is yours, always has been.”

Y/n shook her head, a few loose tears falling from her face as she did so. In all honesty, she didn’t want to be reminded of it after this. It’s held so much meaning between the two of them throughout a majority of their years being together that she couldn’t stomach the thought of looking at it in her selection of wardrobe. Not when Harry won’t be by her side, not when Harry won’t be apart of her life anymore.

She placed her hand on top of his softly, stroking the knuckles of his clenched fingers with her thumb.

“It was ours. But when it comes down to it, I bought it for you. It was a gift, you should keep it.”

Harry clenched his fingers harsher against the fabric, his quivered lips attempting a small smile as he lifted it to his chest. His thumb traced the heart above the pocket, watching as one of his tears soak into the material.

“It looks better on you anyways.” Y/n tried to laugh through the silent cries, but neither of them had the heart to make light of the situation they were facing.

Harry’s eyes narrowed down at her while a small sigh fell from his lips.

“You know I’d never wear this again, right? Not until we find our way back to each other.”

Y/n’s shaken hands wiped the tears from her cheeks, her lips pursed together to ensure her broken sobs wouldn’t surface until she was alone in her car.

“Yeah, until we find our way back.”

She stood on her toes to reach his cheek, where she tentatively placed a kiss on the flushed skin.

“You’ll always be my lover.”


But looking back at it now, she wouldn’t be standing in the middle of a grocery store, crying pathetically in front of a complete stranger if she had just taken the damn thing.

How could he do this to me?

“Babe, are these eggs alr—“

Harry’s words get caught in his throat when he sees Y/n standing in front of Jessica with tears streaming down her face and cries shaking her body.

At first, his instinct is to reach his hand out to her. But as his eyes follow her tearful gaze to Jessica’s shirt, which is far too large for her frame, but still being worn on her body, the realization hits him that it’s probably the last thing she would want.

He flutters his eyes shut as an unbearable feeling starts to rise in his stomach. This is the most unfortunate time to see Y/n again, and he can’t imagine how much hatred flowing through Y/n’s system as he stands there, cowardly silenced.

Not a word comes out of his mouth. Not even a pathetic stutter of her name, or even a lift of his lips to greet her in the most minimal of ways.

The only thought swirling through Y/n’s mind is how could you not say anything to me? After everything you did, after what I’m witnessing now, how is there not one word to say?

He watches as pain settles in her eyes as she looks at him. It’s as if she’s begging for an explanation, or even an apology he doesn’t really mean. She’s just looking for something, and knowing that she’s not getting anything is taking all the remaining life out of her.  

But he has so much to say. There are so many apologies, so many thoughts all scrambling in his head that everything becomes incoherent. He wants to tell her how sorry he is, and how hard it is to live with himself after all that he’s done to her. He wants to tell her that he never gave her that fucking shirt, that Jessica found it in one of his drawers and put it on while he was still sleeping from the night before. He wants to tell her that it isn’t what it looks like, that it isn’t what everybody thinks this is. But his throat tightens and his tongue suddenly becomes numb, completely preventing him from saying all the things he wishes to say.

“Y/n, is everything alr—”

Gabby halts when she discovers Y/n’s crying body being watched by the very two people that broke her heart. She’s breaking, so evidently breaking and neither one of them are doing anything about it.

“I w—want to go home.” Y/n’s voice cracks, face twisting as Harry still doesn’t find anything to say to her. “Let’s just go home.”

If Gabby hadn’t witnessed her best friend go through so much pain within the last four months, she would have been able to contain all the rage she’s held toward Harry. But something inside of her snaps when she sees the shirt Jessica’s wearing.

“No!” Gabby spits.

Before anybody sees it happening, Gabby slams her fists against Harry’s chest. Jessica begins to scream while Y/n jumps in an attempt to remove Gabby’s wild arms away from him.

Harry doesn’t do anything to defend himself, though, as he allows her to keep swinging her arms at him. All he can think about it how much he deserves it—how much he deserves all of what’s coming at him.

“You’re such a fucking jerk, Harry!” Gabby roars. “You ruined her! Who the fuck do you think you are?!“

“Gab, stop.” Y/n mumbles, finally able to capture her arms.

Gabby squirms as she tries to escape Y/n’s harsh hold on her, but against Y/n’s anger mixed with all her overwhelming emotions, there is no match.

Y/n starts to push Gabby toward the doors, and it takes every bit of strength left in her to not turn around to look at him one last time. 

“You’re her biggest mistake! I hope you know that!”

Guys My Age (1)

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Words: 2554

Warnings: Lap dancing. ANGST.

Summary: You’re playing truth or dare with the Avengers when Nat asks you when the last time you got laid was  and Sam dares you to pick a song that perfectly grasps why you haven’t had sex in so long.

A/N: Thanks for the anon who recommended this song. I thank the heavens I found it because it’s so fucking relevant. I can’t seem to write smut without just a tinsy bit of a plot. But here you go.

Permanent tag list: @meganlane84

Part 2 Part 3

Originally posted by haidaspicciare

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Destiel, Bi!Dean and preparing the audience for a “shocker”.

I just did a re-watch of 12x10 and it really got me thinking again about Benjamin and Cas’s talk in the car with the boys about Benjamin and his female vessel.

At the time the episode aired, I think I was so excited about the prospect of Cas being in a female vessel, and how this could potentially shift a heteronormative audiences perception of Dean and Cas that I didn’t realise just what else they were trying to do.

This is about reassurance.

This is the conversation that was had in the car:

CAS: Benjamin is always very careful. Long ago, he found a powerfully devout vessel in Madrid, and her faith, it… she gave him everything – her trust and her body.

DEAN: Wait. So Benjamin’s a woman?

CAS: Benjamin is an angel. His vessel is a woman. But it – it’s – it’s more than that. She’s not just his vessel.

Just this small exchange is important as exposition for the audience. It is about preparing the audience for what is coming up. The idea that Cas was also once ‘a woman’. Which, okay, no he wasn’t a woman, he just had a female vessel, but imagine how that would have gone down had this exchange not taken place? Imagine how a general audience would have reacted to Cas and his female vessel had Benjamin just been another angel in a male vessel?

Probably a lot like the way Dean acted here, with confusion.

By giving us the Benjamin character and this particular scene as well, the writer has successfully prepared the audience for Cas in his female vessel. Preventing raised eyebrows and confusion because the audience will remember this conversation and apply it to Cas.

“Castiel is an angel, his vessel WAS a woman. His vessel is now a man, Cas is still a dude and it’s not weird. Cool beans.”

(when I think of a general audience watching SPN lets just say that I certainly don’t think of the fandom or tumblr. I think of my brother and that is something I won’t get into here. Heteronormative doesn’t even begin to cover it.)

The fact is, making one of your three main lead male characters a woman for an episode is a weird thing to do, the kind of thing that would probably make some audience members uncomfortable. So adding in this exposition, this reassurance, removes that level of discomfort, it gets them used to the idea first, like a buffer.

See for a show like SPN, whilst its always been a bit weird with its story lines, it’s never been all that progressive. As much as we would all like to wish that all SPN viewers were like us – liberal forward thinking people who are willing and eager for TV to break a few taboos – the chances are that is very much not the case. Its an old show, it has an established audience (apparently a bipartisan audience amazingly) and therefore breaking boundaries the way more modern shows have (such as American Gods, How to Get Away with Murder and Orange is the New Black) just isn’t really in the cards. Those shows established the taboo stories, the queer main characters, the representation, from the start. They built their audience on those foundations. SPN can’t do that without isolating part of its audience – unless it thinks very carefully as to how it may present such notions.

I hope I am explaining this in a way that makes sense. See this is of course about Bi!Dean and Destiel (as if anything on my blog WASN’T about those topics). Because here’s the thing. On any other, newer show, for Dean to come out as bisexual, for two male lead characters to enter into a homosexual relationship, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Those shows could build their audience around those concepts, because they would be ingrained into the show from the start.

For Supernatural, that sadly isn’t the case. SPN didn’t clearly establish Dean as Bisexual early on, and Destiel isn’t canon, it has always been the subject to interpretation with just enough ‘no homo’ so that anyone who chooses not to see it doesn’t have to (again, excluding 12x19 but we’ll get there)

One of the biggest hurdles to getting bi!dean and canon destiel, is for the SPN creators to overcome this fear that half their audience would reject them if they actually went there. It would be seen as coming ‘out of the blue’ and all those heteronormative people would raise their eyebrows and moan and be utterly confused by it.

That’s why Supernatural needs the buffers. It needs the gradual exposition, the subtle desensitisation of a general audience to anything even mildly “progressive”. If Supernatural wasn’t putting these buffers in place already, I would think we would have a problem. I would be much more apprehensive at even the idea that destiel could be a thing that is actually happening.

What is so fantastic, is that just like in 12x10 with the fem!Cas buffer that was Benjamin, we have already been getting buffers all throughout the last few seasons.

Here are some of my favourites:

  • Jesse x Cesar – 11x19 – These guys are my absolute favourite, they were created specifically to show the audience that you can be a gay man and also a macho man. That gay men aren’t stereotypes, that hunters can be gay and settle down and especially that gay romance doesn’t change the theme of the story. The big take away from this episode is that it shows the general audience that men like Dean Winchester can be gay/bisexual.
  • Hannah – 10x17 – This was a real eye opener for any Cas x Hannah shippers. Because Cas didn’t treat Hannah any different, and he had exactly the same warmth and affection for Hannah in her male vessel that he did in her female vessel. Basically this was a nice punch in the face for any homophobes watching. SPN doesn’t care about your heteronormative ships. You wanna ship Hannah x Cas? Fine! But Hannah’s in a dudes body now and guess what? Cas doesn’t care! How do you feel about THAT?
  • God is Bisexual – 11x20 – This was just a nice big fuck you to homophobes everywhere. Don’t like queer characters? This is NOT the show for you! Because in our world even GOD is queer! Yay for LGBT representation! It works as a buffer because once again it is sending a message to the general audience that this is the kind of thing you can expect on our show. We are changed now.
  • Dean rides Larry – 12x11 – Okay so maybe it’s not an obvious buffer, but it is kind of a subliminal message so I’m counting it. Dean riding that damn bull was the most sexual scene we have had on this show in seasons (and no that god awful thing that happened in 12x02 doesn’t count – nor does the same god awful thing from 12x08). The jokes alone, the sexual innuendos. This entire episode is loaded with subliminal messages basically screaming at the general audience to maybe just consider the fact that Dean likes guys.
  • 12x06/12x20 – Max Banes – like Jesse and Cesar Max works as a buffer because he is another way to get the general audience used to the idea that characters that are similar to Dean Winchester can be queer and it’s no big deal. Max is badass, funny, smart and charming and also 100% canonically queer (whether gay or bi we know textually that he is totally into dudes). Sam and Dean don’t bat an eyelid at his sexuality, so neither should the audience. It is just one part of his character and certainly not what his story is all about. Max is proof that you can have a queer character who is a badass and a hunter whose story is basically nothing to do with their sexuality. Their sexuality just happens to be a part of who they are.
  • And finally – Destiel – season 12 – I’m making this its own buffer because honestly? There is no way to view Dean and Cas’s relationship as non-romantic at this point. I think that the writers have slowly been turning up the dial on Destiel probably since 11x18. 12x19 really drummed it in for us though. The angel/human love themes of 12x10, the textual “I love you” in 12x12, the MIXTAPE and everything else about 12x19. This is all preparation. It is indeed a build up to a reveal. Destiel is it’s own buffer and even if people do still accuse it of ‘coming out of nowhere’ once it goes canon, all the writers have to do is gesture at season 12 and the fucking mixtape scene and say to those people “in what universe does the gifting of a mixtape between people who are not explicitly related NOT have romantic connotations?” Only a fool would argue with that if they had any knowledge of pop culture history. Sorry, but that’s the truth.

Anyway, that’s my thoughts on that. A show with a long established audience about to make a move that could potentially appear (but not really) out of left field would need to build up that move through a series of well thought out buffers, symbols, themes and subliminal messages before actually making it.

Like how Benjamin was the writers way of normalising Cas’s female vessel, the past two seasons have been a journey to normalise bi!dean and destiel in preparation for making both of these things explicitly canon. Yes we still have a way to go - it still needs to be stated explicitly in the text that Dean is into guys, in love with Cas bla bla bla, but we are getting there.

In summary. Destiel is endgame. Dean is bisexual. The general audience better learn to throw their heteronormative goggles in the bin because this is the state of this show right now, and it is good. 

Skyline {IV}

Originally posted by tomhollandisdaddy

Warnings: None

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word count: 4k

A/N: Guys, from the bottom of my heart, I want to thank you all (all 900 of you [!!!!!!]) for all the kindness and support I’ve received for this story.  You guys are so great, and I love each and every one of you.  Thank you for all that you’ve done, and will hopefully continue to do, as there will be a skyline pt. 5!!!!

{part I} {part II} {part III}

Three days.  You were kept in the hospital for three days. Three days of IV’s, probing, blood pressure being taken, bad hospital beds, worse hospital food, and no access to news about whether or not Spider-Man made it out of the collapsed bank.

At first, you didn’t even remember the bank hold up.  You had woken up after passing out from a concussion and blood loss in a white hospital room, beeping all around you.  Fear had raced down your spine; was there an accident?  Why was there an IV in your arm?  What had happened?  It wasn’t until you saw the dirt covered, tear streaked face of Alex sitting in the chair next to your bed that it all came back to you.

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Laps and Naps

Originally posted by ohh-bloodyhell

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x female!Reader - Cast x female!Reader

Request: So my idea was a fic with seb and reader on the set of Infinity War. Reader likes taking naps on the casts laps, and after a while seb notices that she’s never napped on his lap and gets a bit jealous. A few cast members notice his crush on the reader and one day reader finds seb and the rest of the cast sitting together and goes straight for his lap. The whole cast looks up in awe and snap multiple pictures and seb is all flustered and blushy. You can change it up if it didn’t make sense lol ☺️ (-anon)

Warnings: none, really!! just pretty fluffy stuff

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: it’s been such a weird week, and i really hope today will be good. but i’ve been havin’ a pretty bad mental-problems sort of day streak, so any memes sent to me are and will be greatly appreciated !!


“Y/N,” a distant, low voice sneaks through your sleepy mind. “C’mon, Y/N, I have to be in the suit in five minutes.”

The groggy veil of sleep slowly lifts off of your as you begin to wake-up. You could feel a heavy hand beginning to gently shake your shoulder.

“But I was so comfy,” your tired voice grumbles.

“I know,” Chris’s soothing voice drifts through the room. “But you’ve been sleeping on me for almost an hour, and I really have to get ready.”

Fine,” you groan, lazily pushing yourself up into a sitting position, snuggling into the corner of the couch as you pry open your heavy eyelids. “But you should know, that was a good nap.”

You blink away the sleep from your vision and look around the room, your gaze locking on Anthony.

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Snacks and Roses || Peter Parker Imagine

Paring: Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 1607

Request: nah homie

A/N: i didn’t proof read it, I’m sorry. And sorry if you’re allergic to roses

Originally posted by fuckyeahtonystark

Y/N sat with Liz in the lunchroom , hearing their friends talking about Spider-Man once again. “He brings hope to the city. It’s like, we know that someone is looking out for us.” One of them said. Y/N thought about all the things the man has done for the city. I wonder if his life is good, if he’s happy in his real life, Y/N thought.

The topic was quickly changed when an announcement for Homecoming was made over the blaring intercom. “Students, don’t forget to buy your tickets for Homecoming next Friday.” The voice boomed, making all of the students start talking about the event.

Liz turned to Y/N, “So,” she said taking a bite from her food, “who are you going to the dance with?” All of their friends tuned in to what the two girls were saying.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. She wanted to go with Peter Parker, the smartest kid at Midtown High, if she went in the first place. Homecoming is going to be crowded and loud, with a bunch of annoying kids. Y/N didn’t want that. “I don’t think I’m going, actually. I’m probably gonna spend my night watching TV or something.” Y/N said, shaking her head like it was nothing.

“But Y/N,” one of her friends said enthusiastically, “You have to go! Peter is probably going, you should too!” She nodded her head behind Y/N. Y/N looked behind her to see Peter and Ned eating their lunch a few tables away. But he’s going to be dancing and hanging out with a girl that isn’t me, she thought.

Y/N smiled, “As much as I would love to go with him, it’s not gonna happen. He’s probably taking a super pretty girl with him and he’ll have a blast. Just,” she trailed off, starting to get quieter,“just not with me.” Y/N sighed, slumping her shoulders. Liz looked over at her giving her a sympathetic smile. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. It would be nice if you went though.”

Y/N returned the smile, “Thanks for understanding Liz.” Liz nodded her head, “Anytime.” She gave her attention back to her friends to hear the rest of their thoughts.

Peter Parker sat a few tables away, having the same conversation that Y/N was having. “Are you going to ask her to Homecoming?” Ned asked Peter looked at his friend as if he was crazy. “W-What? No. Never. I can barely form a sentence around her, let alone ask her out.” Peter said as he gazed down at his lap. He looked back up to her, admiring her from behind. Y/N turned around and Peter quickly looked away and muttered “Oh God.”

Ned looked confused at the teenager. Peter’s face was beet red, “I think she saw me. Oh God,oh God, she saw me staring at her man.”

Ned looked over at the girl who was now facing her friends talking. “I don’t think she did. Just breathe, she probably didn’t see. I mean you turned your head so fast that you might have whiplash.” He chuckled. Peter sighed, “Maybe you’re right.”

“Right about what?” Michelle asked as she reached the table with the two boys.

“Well, I asked Peter if he was asking Y/N to the dance and he started staring at her. She turned around and might’ve caught him.” Ned explained to the Michelle as she sat down. Peter hit Ned’s shoulder with the back of his hand, “Dude. Seriously?”

“What?” Ned asked, completely clueless at Peter’s new beacon of embarrassment. Before their bickering cold continue, Michelle started talking. “Actually, while I was walking over here, I heard that she wasn’t going. And I might’ve heard,” she stated trying to be dramatic, “that she was super bummed out that you were probably going with a different girl that isn’t her.”

Peter sat shocked. “You’re lying.” He said. There is no way that the girl he has had a crush on for years, is into him. Him of all people.

“I wouldn’t lie about true love, Parker.” Michelle replied, kind of mockingly.

“How are you going to ask her?” Ned asked. Peter was messing with the cuffs of her sleeves. “I-I don’t think I will.”

Ned looked shocked. “You have to. You finally have a chance to be with her.” Peter looked around, “I’m too scared. Besides, she said she didn’t want to go and I respect that.”

“Your loss,” Michelle said opening one of her books.

It was the Friday night of Homecoming and Y/N sat on her couch surrounded by her fluffy blankets, with a show paused on the TV screen and a water bottle in hand. She was on her phone talking to Liz, giving some advice for her outfit. “Should I wear the silver earrings I got for my birthday?” Liz asked. “Yeah, they match your dress very well.” Y/N replied, taking a sip of her drink.

“Y/N are you sure you don’t want to go? I might have an extra dress.” Liz asked, she didn’t want her friend to be alone while everyone else was having a blast.

“Yeah I’m sure. I’m fine with my TV shows and blankets. Go have fun!” Y/N stated, assuring the girl that everything would be fine. “You sure?” Liz asked, wanting to make sure her friend was okay.

“100%.” Y/N replied with a smile on her fave that she knew Liz couldn’t see. “Alright, I have to go. My date is here. If you need anything call me.” Liz said, while Y/N heard shuffling in the background. “See you later Ms. Allen.” Y/N said chuckling to herself. “You too.”

Y/N sat on the cuddled into her blankets as she clicked play on her TV remote. As soon as the show started, there was knock on the front door. Y/N was confused, was it Liz? She got up to answer the door.

Y/N opened the door, do just her body was seen. She was greeted with the smiling yet nervous face of Peter Parker, holding a bouquet of red roses with a backpack on his back and a couple grocery bags filled with chips, candy and other snacks. Y/N stood in front of him, lips parted slightly.

“P-Peter. What are you doing here?” She asked with wide eyes. Peter glanced down at his old shoes. “I heard that you were, uh,” he looked back up at her, “I heard you were spending the night in on-on Homecoming so, I wanted to join you. If that’s okay.” He stammered biting his bottom lip.

Y/N smiled widely, opening the door all the way. “Come on in.” If it was anyone else at the door, she would’ve probably made up an excuse. But it wasn’t anyone else, it was her crush. Peter smiled back. He walked through the door, waiting for her to indicate where he could go.

Y/N shut the door and moved to face him. Peter looked at the flowers in his hand, “These are f-for you.” He handed you the flowers.

The girl smiled, “Thanks Pete.” She called me Pete, was all he could think about as Y/N went to put the flowers in a vase. She quickly came back after putting the vase in a good spot.

“You can sit down Peter.” Y/N said as he followed her to the couch.

“Seems like you were having a real party, huh?” Peter said sarcastically with a small smile on his lips, seeing the TV and her blankets. “What gave it away?” Y/N replied back with the same amount of sarcasm.

“I brought food.” Peter emptied out the two grocery bags with the snacks onto the couch between the two of them. Y/N smiled. Tonight was going to be fun.

Peter turned and looked at the clock to see it was one in the morning. All night was spent with him and Y/N getting to know each other,cracking jokes, and watching bad late night TV shows. It was like they had known each other for their entire lives. She fell asleep a while ago, her head resting on Peter’s chest, with a blanket wrapped securely around the pair. He sat there, playing with her hair, glad that he skipped Homecoming. Peter sighed contently, looking back up at the TV which now had the news on. A robbery at fifth and third. “Shit,” he muttered, moving Y/N off of his chest and onto the couch.

He dashed out her front door with only his backpack in hand, with his Spider-Man suit inside.

Y/N woke up 10 the next morning still on the couch, with all the snacks from last night littering the floor. It was fun hanging out with Peter. She was kind of happy that she didn’t spend Homecoming alone. She searched for her phone to check the time. Once she found the device she saw a text from Peter.

Hey, sorry I had to leave. My Aunt called me and said that I had to go back home. Maybe we can do this again sometime at my place?

Y/N smiled at the text. Maybe I can get the guy of my dreams, she thought as she typed a reply.

Yeah, that’d be awesome.

anonymous asked:

The LI's watching a drunken Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor talk endlessly to the other tavern-goers about how much they absolutely adore their lover; how wonderful and perfect they are, how incredibly blessed they are to have them. When a patron gets annoyed/bored and walks away, they just start all over with another patron.

Alistair: He’s extremely uncomfortable with the whole thing. He lets them run through two people before he drags them off to bed. “No, no. You’re embarrassing me! And you’re drunk. Just get some rest. It’s fine.”

Zevran: He’s sitting right next to the Warden the whole time, talking over them about how wonderful they are. He thinks it’s a great joke and tries to say increasingly outrageous things, hoping that the Warden will rise to the challenge, just to see the patrons’ faces.

Leliana: She thinks it’s sweet, and she’s just drunk enough to watch it all play out with a dreamy smile. For hours. Until the Warden passes out midsentence. That’s okay, though. It was lovely.

Morrigan: She claps her hand over the Warden’s mouth the moment it becomes clear that they have no intention of stopping. She’s not going to allow that. Random people in a tavern don’t deserve the Warden’s attention. And she really doesn’t want every random person in a tavern to know all that.

Fenris: He freezes up for a while, unable to figure out what to do as Hawke just babbles away to anyone who will listen about how amazing he is and how much they love him. When Hawke moves on to a fourth patron to slur at he finally manages to go over to them and get them into bed. “I love you, too, Hawke,” he says softly once they’re snoring away in bed. He wouldn’t admit it, but it was actually really nice to hear all that.

Isabela: She laughs and creates a stage out of a table and a couple of chairs and sits Hawke in the center of attention. “Yes, love, tell everyone how great I am!” She’s watching the whole thing with a grin. She loves it.

Anders: He’s pretty uncomfortable with it, but it takes him a little while to figure out what to do. In the end, Hawke rambles away to two people before he collects them and takes them home. “I love you, too, Hawke, but the tavern really isn’t the place for that.”

Merrill: She’s vibrating with both anxiety and happiness as Hawke tells anyone who will listen how much they love her. She bounces up and down in place, hands pressed to her mouth and eyes wide as she listens. Finally, she throws her arms around Hawke. “Oh, Hawke, I love you, too!” she tell them, her face buried in their shoulder. No one has ever cherished her the way Hawke does, and she loves it.

Cullen: The second he hears that the Inquisitor is in the Herald’s Rest talking about their relationship, he goes to collect them. He’s the Commander and they’re the Inquisitor, and that sort of behavior really should be allowed in public. His entire upper body is beet red when he collects his drunken lover, but he keeps his spine straight as he send them to bed.

Josephine: She’s blushing and lets it go on just a little longer than she really should just so she can hear it, then takes her lover to bed. With a glass of water right beside them, she tucks them in and kisses them goodnight, secretly pleased with what happened.

Cassandra: She smacks the Inquisitor to get them to stop, then takes them someplace quiet and private and lets them ramble about how much they love her. She wants to hear it, but she doesn’t want anyone else to hear it.

Iron Bull: He thinks it’s great fun! He keeps the Inquisitor’s cup full and lets them talk until they’re hoarse. The Chargers tease him mercilessly, but it’s all worth it!

Blackwall: “Now, my lady, that’s really improper,” he tries to say, but the Inquisitor just talks louder. After a while, he just scoops them up and sends them to bed. It’s sweet, but he’s not comfortable with it.

Sera: It’s great! Well, she knew it all already, but to hear Inky just keep talking is great! She’ll correct them sometimes or add things. And she makes sure the drinks keep coming!

Solas: He wasn’t in the tavern when it was happening, but hears the next morning that his vhenan was drunk and talking non-stop about how much they love him. He says nothing about it, not to anyone. When he sees the Inquisitor, hungover and sheepish, he kisses them lightly and makes a hangover cure, but otherwise doesn’t comment. He can’t deny, privately to himself, that he finds it oddly compelling.

Dorian: He’s right next to his amatus, and just drunk enough to let it go on without comment, his chest bowed out with pride. They laugh about it the next morning, both hungover with their limbs tangled together in the sheets.

Wrong

Originally posted by lumos025

Summary: Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung bullied you in high school and by some sick joke the universe was playing on you, 2 years later Jungkook was attending the same University as you. Even sicker joke was being stuck with him doing a project on ‘Sex in Cinema’ for a whole semester. Go figure.

Words: 8083

Warnings: Smut, a lot of dirty talk holy shit (I can’t help it), oral, masturbation, overstimulation.

2 years earlier:

You walked down the road, almost around midnight, trying to get home as fast as possible the chilly rainy weather. Not to mention the truck that was trailing behind you and the screams and shouts of “wait up thunder thighs!” and “stop running away like a little bitch!” coming from the 3 boys who occupied it. Wrapping your arms around yourself to feel just an ounce of warmth, you willed yourself to ignore these bastards and walk faster. ‘I’m almost home, I’m almost home’ repeating it like a mantra in your head. Really, it was a stupid idea to think that you could enjoy a last high school party with your friends who were the complete opposite of you. After all, when the three most popular boys of the school were determined to make your life a living hell, why would anyone else want to treat you different in this extremely cliché scenario. It was hard to pinpoint what exactly was it about you that made them hate you so much.

From the time that you can remember, and you remembered a lot, Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook had always despised you. It’s like they couldn’t stand your existence. When you would be at the library helping out by staying late, they would wait after school, yes they would go out of their way to stay at school longer, to make sure that your walk home was as stressful as possible. Making fun of pretty much anything and everything you did was a normal occurrence. You had just learned to live with it, but not today.

You suddenly started to slow your pace. They are cowards, you thought. What can they possibly do? Always taunting, always calling names, always making you feel shit about anything you took interest in. But they were all talk, right? You thought, huffing out. People like them walk in groups because they can’t actually do anything alone. You don’t know what came over you, but you suddenly stopped and turned around slowly. The truck that the boys were trailing behind you also slowed and stopped a few meters away.

The one driving was Jimin, while Taehyung sat beside him and Jungkook stood, head poking out of the truck’s opening in the ceiling. You stood defiantly, shaking from the growing rain, your hair soaked and hands tightly by your side. Silently daring them to charge the truck towards you. ‘They won’t do it, they’re cowards’ you thought, your confidence growing slowly. You couldn’t tell where this adrenaline rush had come from to give you such courage to finally stand your ground, just a few weeks away from graduation. You could see Taehyung’s cunning, and terrifyingly psychotic grin widening as he relentlessly whispered in Jimin’s ear, whose grip on the wheel was tightening as he looked you right in the eyes. Jungkook was laughing. He apparently found the situation so amusing, that you decided now to grow a spine and challenge them. Suddenly, the sound of the engine revving was as loud as the rain.

It all went pretty much downhill from there. The last thing you remembered was your too loud heartbeat, the bright flash from the truck and Jungkook’s face suddenly forming a horrified expression as if he wasn’t just laughing at you.

Present day:

You weren’t looking for him specifically among the crowd flooding into the lecture hall. But something did happen inside you when you spotted him. A kind of lightness, or a lifting of some heavy part of yourself. Everything was settling into a nice, normal routine. You were going about your daily lives in an ordinary manner, and you were doing it completely separately.

He sat in the fourth row, and you sat at the back. Only now there was no rising sense of dread. You didn’t keep your hand to yourself when the lecturer asked a question. You answered, without the background sound of someone snickering. And even when it felt as though he was looking at you, when you snuck a glance at him you only ever saw the back of his head.

He bent low over his notes, and his head occasionally lifted a little as he really listened to whatever the lecturer was saying. Once or twice you actually caught him nodding, or doing a little staggered-looking half laugh over some ridiculous concept. As if he loved it all now.

He loved it so much he was sometimes at the lectures early. You would come in with Y/B/F, still giggling over something ridiculous, and get the faint prickle that told you he was already there. Only now when it happened it didn’t make you want to cover yourself up, or run and hide. There was nothing to hide from. Everything was going to be super cool and totally fine from here on in. Or it would have been, if it were not for the group project. The one that you were so excited for that you didn’t process it when your lecturer started reading out the names. You would be working with Y/B/F—that was a given. You were going to watch ridiculously filthy movies together and laugh about bobbing butts and ogle Ewan McGregor’s penis.

And then you heard his name.

Followed by yours.

Distantly, like in a dream of being in class.

“Miss Y/L/N, do you have a problem with that assignment?”

Everyone was looking at you now. No—not just looking. Examining, as though You had become a new and baffling species. The girl who was not excited about the idea of spending a whole semester with Jungkook. The creature who seemed horrified at the prospect of working with him. It made it difficult to do anything at all, even with Y/B/F urging you to say yes, yes I do have a fucking problem. Though you still didn’t expect the shake of your head to happen. Just one little accidental shake of your head and that was it. Your lecturer moved on to his next victim, leaving you in something You once had a nightmare about in ninth grade. Working with Jungkook. On a semester-long project.

About sex in cinema.

“Don’t worry, we can fix this. Just go to his office and talk to him privately about it. He would have to be Satan himself to not understand,” You heard Y/B/F whisper. But the words seemed even further away than you name had when your lecturer read it out.

“Right. Right. Yeah. You’re right.”

“I can come with you if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. That’s fine.”

“Are you sure? You look like you’ve been punched. In the face. With a small nuclear blast.”

“I’m sure,” You said, but soon came to regret that firmness in your voice. The steady nod that told Y/B/F it was okay for you to go in a different direction once you were outside. It only meant that you were on your own when you got to the tiny hallway outside your lecturer’s door.

And saw that Jungkook was already waiting. Of course he was—he probably had the same concerns as you. No matter how sorry he was or what he thought of being in the red and being wrong, he would never want to work in close quarters with you for the entire semester. In fact, him being sorry likely made the situation seem worse to him. Most likely he had calculated all the awkward conversations you guys would have to have and how far apart he would have to stand to keep you comfortable, and found it as unbearable as you did.

Even though his expression seemed to say something else.

Oh god. His expression was saying something else.

Then he held up his hands, as though to calm you.

And you knew.

“All right, Y/N, I know that you’re probably thinking it’s way better if you do this project with that gal pal of yours, but wait, okay? I got reasons why this is gonna be fine.”

“Is that seriously why you’re here? To stop me asking to switch us?”

“Well…no. Not stop you exactly. Stop is a really strong word.”

“While I’m glad you’ve learned that—” You said, your voice briefly catching when you saw his wince. He winced, your mind hissed, before you forced yourself to finish. “I still think it covers what’s happening here.”

“I just wanted to talk to you about it for a second. Just, like, hear me out.”

“I want to. I really do. But come on. You know I wasn’t born yesterday. This has all the hallmarks of some kind of trap or prank or joke at my expense.”

“How could it possibly be a trap or prank? He put people together based on…I don’t even know what he put people together based on. But it couldn’t have had anything to do with me.”

You searched his face, looking for the lie. Waiting for him to show some hint of bullshit, beneath those too-kind eyes and his spread hands and the obvious logic of what he was saying.

Only there was nothing, nothing, nothing.

And it made no difference at all.

“Okay, I buy that. I do. Yet the fact still remains: I cannot do a project with you. Ever. You have to know that doing anything like that is completely impossible for me. Right?”

“I was just thinking that maybe…maybe you could give it a chance. You know, now that we’re on speaking terms and everything is almost cool between us.”

“You think everything is cool between us?”

“Well, maybe not cool exactly. More like…okay.”

“Still need to dial it back a notch, chief.”

“Reasonable? Not bad? Kind of semi decent?”

“That last one is getting close.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging.

Relenting, you thought. He’s actually relenting.

“Fine, we are a fucking disaster.”

“Now you’re getting the idea,” You said.

“But I figure we can work on it.”

“By doing a project on sex in the cinema together?”

“Well,” he said. “When you put it like that it sounds dumb.”

“There’s no other way to put it! That is literally what you’re suggesting.”

“Yeah, I get that. I just…want to not get that. I want it to be easier or better or just not the way this is.”

“That could have been my daily prayer in high school, Jungkook.”

He didn’t react the way you expected to, with more weird arguing.

He just closed his eyes.

He closed them like someone had just told him his family had been in a fatal accident.

“I wish I could go back and start over again. More than wish—I would give everything I have to start over again. The wrestling, this scholarship, every party I ever went to and every fun thing I ever did. And you can choose to not believe me about that, but—”

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

“I’m as surprised as you are, but yeah.”

“Then why does this have to be such a big deal?”

You thought of Y/B/F saying attempted murder.

“Y/N that is fucking attempted murder. Babe, you don’t have to feel bad about anything you put him through now. His friends and him included, ran you over with a fucking truck. How much physio and other therapy sessions did you have to go through because of them, huh?”

The terror that used to flood you when he walked down the hall.

That ever-present sensation of a grille barrelling into your body.

“Because understanding that someone is truly sorry and wanting to spend huge amounts of time with them are two different things. I might see that you mean this, and know rationally that I can almost sort of trust you. Maybe I even want it to be that easy, too. But your face is the one I had nightmares about for two years. Your smile doesn’t seem happy to me. I associate it with cruelty.”

You shook your head. Glanced away from him so you didn’t have to see the defeated look on his face.

“It’s hard for me to look at you, Jungkook, no matter how much I appreciate what you’ve done here.”

“That was a really well-thought-out and logically sound speech.”

“I know it was. I’m pretty proud.”

“And I have no argument against it.”

“You don’t need one. What you’ve done here…” You gritted your teeth hard and looked at the ceiling. But this time it didn’t stop the tears. They were already welling up by the time You explained the rest to him.

“It means a lot. And a million men would never have done the same, I can promise you. I don’t have any messages from Jimin on my phone. Taehyung isn’t going to call anytime soon. It’s just you, a rare fantasy in the middle of all this dismal reality.”

He turned around when you were done. All the way around—and then his arms went up to cover his head and you understood. What you said had affected him, strongly. Maybe more than his words had affected you. It took him twice as long to get it together, and even after he had he couldn’t quite look at you. He just kept staring at the wall and clenching his jaw.

And saying things. Oh yeah, he said things, in a strained, shaky voice.

“I meant what I said, you know. That you are the very best.”

“I know. That’s why I’m going to ask you not to say it again.”

“I can’t stop. I have the opposite of whatever idiocy infected me in high school.”

“What, like insane-need-to-compliment fever?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he said.

“Well it has taken a raging hold of you, let me tell you.”

“I know it seriously cannot be stopped.”

“I think you have a terminal case.”

“Not a bad way to go, if you ask me,” he said, so soft and sincere it took all your strength to stop yourself smiling in response. You could feel your lips trembling. Your cheeks ached with the effort of pinning them down, yet still You knew you were failing. You could see it in his satisfied expression.

And hear it in his words.

“That’s better. Seeing you look happy.”

“I am happy,” You said, then added without thinking: “Are you?”

Of course you didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a polite habit, based on interactions with people other than Jungkook. People who had actual problems, who lived troubled lives, who might answer with a god no. Jungkook would never need to answer with a god no. His life was full of endless possibilities and unfettered glory. He could snap his fingers and have a thousand people follow him to the ends of the earth.

He even looked that way, in the dim light of the narrow hallway between these offices.His hair was the colour of dark chocolate. Every item of clothing suited him perfectly, from the rich grey-blue of his V-neck to the jeans he’d tucked into his timberlands. He exuded cool from every pore; he could have stepped off the cover of a magazine. Yet all you could see was his face as it slowly sagged. It was like watching someone cut the strings that had held a mask in place—a mask you hadn’t known he was wearing. You thought that smiling golden god who had tormented you was the real him, but for a second you couldn’t be sure. Just for one heart-rattling second, and then the door to the office opened and that glimpse of something else was gone—so fast You would imagine later that it had never existed. It was just a trick of the light.

Better to focus on the real and the now.

“What can I do for you two today?” Professor asked.

Then you took a breath and answered.

“Nothing,” You said.

A few weeks later:

After that day, you didn’t know how or why you suddenly decided to give working with him a try, but so far, it was going…. okay. You two met up at the library, took your notes, glancing at each other once in a while, mostly Jungkook, asking each other questions relevant to your awkward topic given the situation and that was that. He made jokes sometimes that managed to get out a few carefree laughs out of you as well. It was all… comfortable. Nothing that you had expected. That is why, you decided, it was time to move on to watching actual movies for references, in your project.

It was nearly one in the morning, on a Wednesday night when you went to get him as your friend was out and that was the only time Jungkook was free after wrestling practice. Everyone was in bed, and it gave an eerie feeling to your journey back to your dorm.

As did his silence.

He was always talking—You realized that then. Sometimes he practically kept up a running commentary on everything and anything, yet here he was as quiet as stone. And it wasn’t because he was exerting himself. He didn’t breathe hard once the whole time. He could have been carrying a backpack full of air. But the idea of mental trouble lingered. When you tilted your head a little, you could practically hear his mind going over and over things, in a way that just wasn’t like him. He was easy-going. Happy-go-lucky. He never worried about things the way you did.

Until now.

“Jungkook, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You just seem a little…”

Like an ominous statue of yourself.

“I was just thinking what movie we should watch.”

“Oh. Oh. You mean…right now?” You asked.

“Well, that’s what you came to get me for.”

“That’s true, I did come and get you for that.”

“Unless you don’t want me in your room so late.”

“No, no why would I…no, that’s cool.”

“You’re in the Jubilee Building, right?”

You had the strongest urge to ask him how he knew. But that seemed just as weird as objecting to him being in your room.

“Yeah. You just go past the science block and then—”

“Right, right, right I got it, I got it. The statue of Heo Nanseolheon is outside it, yeah?”

“That’s the one. Then it’s the third floor. Don’t worry though, there’s an elevator.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“Do you wanna let me unlock the door?” you asked standing behind him when you both reached your dorm.

“Oh shit, yeah. Yeah, go ahead,” he said moving his bulky body out of the way as you slid past him to unlock the door. Everything had returned to the way it should be now between you and Jungkook.

Except for the sexy movie you were now going to watch.

Alone. Together. On your bed. In the middle of the night.

You let him pick the movie, thinking that would make things easier somehow. Nothing could be misconstrued, at least, that way. He wouldn’t think you meant anything by your choice, whatever it might be. But you forgot that he might mean something with his choice. You watched the heroine trying to clumsily pick up the hero at the start of White Palace, and cringed so hard it felt more like a cramp in your gut. Your cheeks grew hot, in a way that made you grateful for the dim light of your feeble bedside lamp.

Otherwise he would see your face go red and know you understood his point—despite the fact that his point was fucking nonsense.

“This is even less realistic than Dirty Dancing.”

“Really? You think so? Like, in what way?” You asked.

“It just seems like she keeps pushing and pushing. No woman would push a guy that good-looking if he didn’t seem into it. I can’t think of anything more embarrassing.”

You didn’t look at him, but knew he shrugged.

His arm rubbed against yours as he did it.

“Maybe she doesn’t care.”

“I guess not.”

“Maybe she knows he’s actually into it.”

“That could be one explanation.” Jungkook says, sighing.

“Plus she obviously gets exactly what she was looking for.” He adds.

Onscreen, Susan Sarandon was going down on James Spader.

Which to you didn’t seem to back up his point at all.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure she’s having a great time getting absolutely nothing out of this.”

“That’s what this looks like to you? Like she’s getting nothing out of this?”

“Well, in movies they make it look like she is. But I doubt she really would be.”

“You doubt that giving a guy a blow job could be enjoyable for a woman.”

You glanced at him then, just to see if his expression was as incredulous as his voice.

Then had to look back at the screen quickly. If anything, his expression was worse. He had one eyebrow raised, and there was almost no humour in his eyes. This was serious somehow. Much too serious.

“I don’t know. I mean it’s not really something you do for your own enjoyment. You do it for his.”

“So to you there’s nothing pleasurable about it. Nothing sexy about having a guy at your mercy. Begging you, moaning for you, trying not to push too deep when it gets too good.”

Your breath hitched.

“You do those things?”

The words came out too fast. Too disbelieving, too.

But You just couldn’t stop them. They ripped out of you before you had time to talk it over with you mind, all ragged around the edges and maybe a little breathless. Just enough that he likely heard it, and wondered why. You couldn’t tell him, however. You didn’t know yourself. You only knew that when he started talking again, you had the urge to put your fingers in your ears.

“Of course I do those things. Having your cock sucked is fucking amazing,” he said, which was absolutely fine.

But then he kept going.

He kept going.

“The heat and the slickness and her looking up at you as she works it with her hands and lips and tongue. Especially the tongue. The tongue is the best part. Watching it curl right around the—”

“Well, okay, it sounds cool when you put it that way.”

God your voice sounded loud. And too fast again, too. All your words practically jumbled together.

“I don’t know what other way it could possibly be.”

“How about hold still while I fuck your face? Some guy coming right in your eye? Losing a chunk of hair because he pulled too hard?”

“You’re not serious. Tell me honestly. None of that happened.”

Now his voice was bright with amusement. But it didn’t make you feel any better.

“All of that happened. To me. More than once.”

“Yeah but after…”

“After what?”

“After he came then he…”

He made a circle with his hand bobbing his head, as though you should know that one thing logically followed on from the other. It was all completely easy and obvious.

Instead of the hardest quiz you had ever had to get through. “Then he what? Gave me cab fare?”

“No. No. After that then this happens.”

You glanced at the thing he was pointing at.

Then had to look away again, quick. At your hands, at the bedspread.

At him, as he oh-so-slowly realized what your sudden awkwardness meant.

“This has never happened to you. Holy shit. You’ve never had a guy go down on you.”

“I have had a guy go down on me. I totally have.”

“Are you sure about that? You don’t look sure.”

“Well, maybe not like this.”

“There’s no other way to do it. This is actually the most basic, ordinary way to go about eating pussy.”

At those words, you could feel the fire burning on your cheeks and your breathing getting laboured. Jungkook really had no filter.

“Yeah, but this seems really exciting and sexy and hot.”

“Going down on a girl is really exciting and sexy and hot. Like I said about giving a guy head? Exactly the same principle. You get to see you writhe and shake and push herself against your mouth. Just like that, just like Sarandon is doing. Look at her. Look at her.”

“I am. I am looking,” You said, but You weren’t, not really.

You were thinking of the shiver that had gone through you when he said look, soft as butter and so oddly tender. And the way that he was looking himself, eyes almost far away.

Like he was seeing Sarandon, but putting someone else in her place.

“Think about how it must feel.”

“Yeah I can…I get that…”

“Think about his tongue slowly easing over her soft folds.”

“Is that…how…is that what you…” You said, breathlessly “Uh-huh.”

“And it works?”

You voice was a whisper now. But that was okay. His was, too. It was so low he had to lean close to ask you questions. He had to meet your gaze, and You had to meet his.

“What works?”

“It makes you…you know. Cum.”

“Oh yeah. But you gotta take your time.”

“I see. I guess that makes sense.” You were just babbling now, trying to keep up with him.

“Let it build, nice and slow. Start by just stroking her with your fingertips. Work her, you know, until her lips part. And then when she’s all open to you, you just trace the shape of her with your tongue. Lick and lick in these ever decreasing circles until you’re right…fucking…there.”

“Where? Where…where are you?”

You shouldn’t have asked. You knew you shouldn’t as soon as it was out. Your faces were too close together now, and his body seemed to be looming over yours. That was his shoulder, almost nudging your chin. And his thigh, pressing deep and hard into yours. His answer was never going to make any of this better.

Then it came, hotter than molten lava and twice as destructive.

“Her clit. Her slick, swollen clit.”

“I see. That makes sense,” You said, even though that wasn’t what you wanted to go with.

No, what you wanted to go with was more like oh my fucking God this can’t be reality.

“Then you just…stroke it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Until she’s mindless.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Doesn’t even know what she’s saying anymore, or doing. She might tell you to bite, to fuck her with your tongue and fingers, harder or faster or some word that doesn’t even make sense. Hips coming up to meet you, greedy for it, horny for it, so horny she barely notices that her hand is in your hair and she’s squeezing tight enough for it to sting, so close to coming that her whole body is shuddering and shivering and flushing that deep, good pink. Soon as you see it you just know she’s burning. That her clit is aching and throbbing and her pussy is all open and slippery, and one more second of this will make her come. She’s already coming, before you even know where you’re at. Hard, hard, hard, like she never has before.”

You were holding your breath by the time he was done. You practically had to—his face was so close now you could have blinked and brushed his cheek with your eyelashes. Every word he said seemed to stroke against your face, cool at first but then more heated. As though he was starting to boil alive inside, too. Certainly he looked that way. You have never seem him flushed like this, not even when he pushed himself during a match.

Not even when he was embarrassed.

Though you supposed that wasn’t a common occurrence. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed now, and he’d just said all those words. He said clit and pussy and slippery, as if that was just a normal way to talk to your friend. And he did it all without flinching, too. Without glancing away or putting some distance between you. In fact, those eyes of his—now heavy lidded and so soft focus—seemed intent on you more than they ever had been before. They skittered all over you face, searching for something you had no idea how to give.

You didn’t even know what the something was.

You only knew that it made you forget yourself, just as he had described.

It made you search his face back, marvelling over every brutish line and gentle curve. Those lips of his, as plump as a girl’s yet so masculine at the same time. Every inch of them gleaming, as if he’d slicked them with gloss in anticipation of a kiss. Though even in that moment you didn’t really believe you wanted that. Until he whispered, low and heavy against your own lips.

“You can, you know.”

“Can what?”

“Touch yourself.”

It jolted you, when he said it.

But not as much as realizing why he said it.

You followed his gaze down, and took in the unmistakable sight of your hand in your lap. Really, really high up in your lap. Almost between your legs, in fact—though that was fine, it was cool, it was okay. You stuttered ‘no, no I didn’t really want to do that’, but it didn’t matter.

Because his hand was actually between his legs.

“I do,” he said.

As the whole world as You knew it dissolved right in front of your eyes.

“You do?”

“Fuck, yes. I’m dying to.”

“Because of the film. Because of the movie.”

“Sure. We can say that, if you want.”

You closed your eyes. Swallowed thickly.

Wished hard that he hadn’t added that last part.

“If we could that would be awesome.”

“No problem. I mean it was probably inevitable that this would happen to us.”

“Probably, yeah. Almost definitely, in fact.”

“Just a natural response to a sexy movie.”

“Seems that way to me.”

“So you just slip your hand under your waistband, and I’ll slip my hand under mine,” he said, which was fine all on its own. The problem was that he then went ahead and did it. You tried not to look, but saw anyway. You saw the way he fumbled in his haste, as though all his talk was only calm on the surface. Underneath, something was paddling frantically. It was making his cheeks pink and his body all trembly.

And his dick hard. God, his cock was hard.

You could see that without even trying at all. The curving shape beneath his sweatpants was enormous and unmistakable, and even if it hadn’t been, his hand made it pretty clear. As You watched, he eased it over that solid length, before finally clasping it in a way that shoved the swollen head right up against the tented material. Now You could make out ruder details, like the thick ridge around the head, and the slit at the tip. Both pronounced, explicit, rude.

But that wasn’t what really got you.

It was the way he stopped to lick his palm, before shoving it

under his waistband.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, are you serious?”

“It’s cool. it’s fine. We don’t even have to look at each other.”

“No I guess not. I guess…I guess that I can just watch the screen.”

“We’re just two people getting off over a hot movie.”

“Exactly. Exactly.”

But that wasn’t strictly true. You weren’t getting off over the movie at all. Nothing was even happening anymore—it was just rich people looking down their noses and arguments over a Dust buster. If anything, it was vaguely depressing, rather than lust-inducing. Yet still You sat there, face burning, body tender and rigid all at the same time. Half of you stuffed so full of embarrassment and shock you sort of wanted to block everything out, the other half just shamelessly straining to hear every single tiny sound he made. Never daring to look, of course, but then…

You really didn’t need to.

He made so much noise that you could make out almost everything. Every little moan and gasp—and there were a lot of them, too. Lots of thick, guttural moans that started on an ah and ended with a kind of abrupt sigh, as though a knife had sliced through his throat before he could finish. So many soft mmms and gasps, like he honestly couldn’t get enough of whatever he was doing.

Though it was the whispers that hit you hardest. They got you right in the gut, low down and deep enough to ache. Oh yeah, he murmured, as though the hottest sex in the world was happening onscreen. As though they were fucking like animals, up and down and left and right. His tone even sounded sort of tremulous, and it got more intense as time went on. Soon he was panting, and rocking, and every now and then uttering something he was clearly imagining himself doing.

“Ah, yeah, suck my cock, just like that,” he said.

Then just to make it extra agonizing, he spat into his hand.

To make it extra slick, you thought, like someone’s mouth. Someone sucking him the way he’d described, slow and steady until he was actually shuddering, right here and now. The bed was moving, at least, and it wasn’t because he was working that cock hard. He wasn’t. He was going slow, so slow, squeezing and rolling rather than the short, fast kind of thing You’d always thought guys did. They almost never seemed to do anything else in porn…but then again they never did all this other stuff, too. You dared to turn you head a little more and saw to your astonishment that he had his hand pressed to his mouth. He was almost biting his fist, chest heaving, body shivering all over—but most important, eyes closed.

He couldn’t even see you looking. You were free to do as you pleased.Yet something held you back. You couldn’t seem to do more than peek out of the corner of you eye, and even that made you feel strange. You kept getting this clenching sensation—sort of like embarrassment or humiliation—and it got worse when his back arched. When he actually said out loud that he was almost there, that he was so close, that he was gonna come all over your duvet. I need something to do it on, he said, and even that had a shameful frisson of its own. You had a brief flash of him kneeling up and suddenly coming all over your face, or maybe pulling down that ridiculously large neck hole to expose your breasts.

Followed by an image of that thick white liquid coating you, striping you face, dripping off your tight little nipples. Him pushing his cock past your lips to finish off, groaning as he flooded your mouth.

And he would have flooded it, too. You glanced at him just in time to see him shove his sweatpants down, that big dick swelling under the pressure of his too-tight grip. Thick ribbons of come already hitting his bared belly, over and over until you were sure he must be done. He had to be, yet more kept flowing over his still-working fist. You watched it run down over his fingers in slippery trails before pooling in his lap.

Though none of it was what you kept seeing behind your eyes in the aftermath. Instead, you saw the way his face had looked as he shot his load. The open mouth, and the closed eyes, and most of all the strange, wrenching vulnerability that had covered him for a moment. No mischief, no macho bullshit—just a completely open and abandoned sort of ecstasy.

And all of it for you.

He knew you had watched him. He still knew now. You flicked your eyes back to the screen as he started to catch his breath, but the first thing he did was include you.

“Guess I kind of made a mess here,” he said, everything about his tone suggesting two conspirators, finishing off their evil deed. You even got up after he’d said it, to get him a tissue.

Though when You got back he’d pretty much taken care of most of it.

You stopped in the doorway to the bathroom at the sight: Him, casually licking his messy fingers.

It took you a good two minutes after that to go over to him, with your fistful of toilet paper. And when you did go, it was on very shaky legs. Your whole body felt shaky, in fact—though not in any way you’d experienced before. This was like being full to the brim with something burning hot, skin so close to ripping that it couldn’t keep still. Sometimes you thought you could see it shivering slightly under the strain, and every inch of it was tender, so tender. His leg brushed yours as you sat down, and it was agony. You even winced—then immediately regretted it.

He had been concentrating on clean-up. Now he looked up at you sharply.

And asked questions You were loathing to answer.

“Have you…not? I mean have you not—”

“I couldn’t. I’m sorry, I couldn’t.”

“God, you must be bursting.”

“Honestly, I’m fine.”

The problem was though; you didn’t seem fine.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. Your hands were fists on your thighs.

And of course he could see all of that.

“You look like you’re bursting.”

“Oh yeah? And what does bursting look like?”

“Your voice is shaking.”

“Is it?” You asked, voice so light it almost passed.

Almost, almost, almost.

“Your cheeks are flushed.”

“Are they?”

“And then there’s the fact that your nipples are like diamonds. Fuck, look how stiff they are. Isn’t that agonizing, having them like that? I bet your clit’s the same. Bet your pussy is so wet. So wet you’re making a mess of the nice, clean clothes.”

Your cheeks grew hotter and hotter as he whispered each word. By the time he was done they felt like they were going to melt right off you face. That tense, cringing feeling in your stomach was ten times worse, and that was before he got to the last point. The one about the clothes, and the mess, and oh god what if he was right? It felt as if he might be. You weren’t wearing any underwear, and everything was really slippery between your legs. You could feel it, every time You moved.

“Oh fuck, sorry, sorry I don’t…I hope…it’s just that—” You didn’t even know why you were apologizing

“Honey, you don’t need an explanation.”

His tone was like sinking into a warm bath—and the thumb you could feel stroking over you forearm only pulled you deeper down. He just did it so idly. So like he wasn’t touching you at all.

Before you knew it, you were up to your ears in liquid heat.

“Are you sure? Because it kind of feels like I do.”

“I’m sure. I mean, the movie was pretty intense.”

“Right, exactly. Super intense.”

“So why deny yourself?”

“I’m not…denying…anything.”

“I could leave, if you want.”

“No, god no,” You said, too fast and too fierce.v

Though it was only afterward that you realized how it sounded: Not like someone trying to say you didn’t want to masturbate. Like someone saying that you wanted him to stay.

And he took it that way, too.

“Or, you know. I could just…do it for you,” he said.

Then you just had to do your best not to go out of your mind.

You stopped herself from jumping up. Kept your hands from flailing.

Didn’t look at him, in case looking made you do something crazy.

“Oh my god. You can’t be serious. You can’t be serious.”

“Probably wouldn’t take a lot.”

“I always take a lot.”

“Even when you’re alone?”

“Especially when I’m alone.”

“Well, maybe we should see about that.”

Again, you had the urge to get up. Maybe you even would have, if it hadn’t been for the other things he was doing. The thumb stroking your arm was now the back of his hand, running the length of your arm over and over. And that was his breath against the curve of your throat, so close and warm he could have been kissing you there. It felt like kissing.

Only without the scariness of the real thing.

All of this was without the scariness of the real thing. It was just a game, that was all—and one that you could win if you really put you mind to it. He thought he could get you so easily, but he was utterly and completely wrong. You were a rock, in the face of whatever he was going to do. You were impervious to the pleasure he seemed to think he was going to dole out, to the point where you almost laughed when he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of those too-big sweatpants.

It was weird. Slightly uncomfortable.

Not sexy in the least.

And then his fingertips just oh-so-lightly grazed the pouting lips of your swollen pussy, and things pretty much started to go downhill from there. The sensation it sent through you was just so intense, and over something so small. He hadn’t even slipped between them to your clit, or eased a finger into your slick little hole. In truth, you weren’t entirely sure he’d touched you at all.

Yet you still had to clench your jaw.

You had to tell herself that it was just the stuff that had happened before—the film and him coming and then licking his fingers like a satisfied cat. It wasn’t anything to do with this right now, with him touching you, with his skill. He wasn’t skilful at all. He was terrible. Awful.

he worst lover you had ever had.

You had no idea why your thighs were trembling. Or what made you moan when he finally, finally, finally eased his fingers into that slick slit, and then topped it off by telling you just what he found there.

“Ohhhh fuuuuck you are wet. You’re so wet. Jesus Christ, Y/N, how can you stand it? How can you sit still and quiet with those eyes closed when your pussy is like this? So slippery I can just glide all the way down and ease on in and oh man, oh man,” he said, and all You could do in response was shiver and make a number of embarrassing noises. First for his words, and then oh god then for the feel of him doing it.

He used two fingers—two of those long, thick fingers—yet somehow it didn’t hurt when he pushed into you. There was no fumbling or searching. Your body just seemed to open for him, as though they’d dated for years and he’d worked on you for hours. He knew exactly how to touch you there, and when he did you simply had to respond. Your gasp rung out in the small room.Though you vowed it would be the last one. That was it now—you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of anything else. Not even when he started working his fingers in and out, slow and steady and so unbelievably good. you kind of wanted to cry over the unfairness of it. Why was he the one who had to be so good at this? How did he know how to do it in this deliberate, teasing, tantalizing way?

Even watching him do it was exciting. You made the mistake of glancing down and all you could see was his hand rolling beneath the material, the waistband occasionally stretching to give you a glimpse of your glossy cunt, his gleaming fingers, the way you were spread around that thick intrusion…

Fuck.

You had to look at the screen just to stop yourself coming right then and there—though even those measures had an exciting quality of their own. James Spader was just doing something incredibly dull now, while you sat here watching through slitted eyelids, cheeks flushed and legs spread, as a man slowly fingered your slick, flushed pussy. Back and forth, back and forth, until you were so beside yourself you weren’t sure you even wanted to hold back your moans. You only knew that you were still trying, for reasons that seemed vague and far away now. It just doesn’t matter, your mind hissed, but you kept it up anyway. You held yourself more tightly and bit deep into your lip—deep enough that you tasted blood. And when he started to ease those fingers up, you shut your eyes tight. You thought of other things, more boring things: dry books and bird-watching. All to no avail. He made one circle around your clit.

Just one tiny, insignificant circle, and that was it. Your orgasm rolled up from that stiff little bud, in one all-consuming and all-powerful wave. It took away your control over your body—your toes curled tight and your back arched. But most important, it took away your control over your mouth. It let one little word slip out.

Though one little word was more than enough.

“Jungkook,” You said, and after that the game was pretty much up. That was gratitude in your voice and pleasure in the sigh behind it, and all wrapped in the neat little bow of his name. There was no more pretending that it wasn’t him who had made you feel this way, or suggesting that all of this was just a game.And he knew it immediately. He kept up the thrusts of his long, thick fingers, helping you prolong the feeling of your orgasm for as long as possible. And he didn’t stop there. Your face was starting to contort from the oversensitivity and it was obvious that Jungkook knew it too from the way he bit his lip and started to purposely move his fingers faster once again.

“Ahh! J-Jungkook… I can’t….” You moaned out, though this seemed to have no effect on him as he seemed determined to elicit another orgasm from you. His fingers scraping against your tightening walls as they fought to repeatedly slam back inside you. Your thighs were shaking, your eyes half lidded, leaning back on your hands as his worked between your legs. Suddenly you gripped Jungkook’s moving hand as you came dangerously close to letting go.

“That’s it, fuck, cum again for me Y/N. I need this. You need this” He almost sounded desperate and it made you want to sob because everything was so fucking hot.

With a cry of his name, you came undone again, your body almost curling in towards itself from the sensitivity.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” he said, as though you’d cried out the filthiest thing on the face of the earth. And, again, he didn’t stop there. You could hear him fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants already—though you tried to turn it into something else in your head. He was just pulling them up, you thought. They had slid down as he serviced you, that was all.

Only it wasn’t all.

When you made the mistake of glancing his way, you saw so much more than you were ready for. It was supposed to be over now, completely over, but he’d shoved everything down to mid-thigh and his cock was in his hand again and god god god why was it so arousing? You’d had cum twice already. He’d had one orgasm already, and now he was being so fucking filthy.

Yet somehow the filthiness only made it worse.

You came searingly close to telling him yes.

And go on.

And come all over me—just like you’d imagined.

For one wild second, it even seemed like he might. He was groaning and panting and he kept saying things, incredible things like “do you see what you do to me do you get how fucking horny you make me oh fuck just hearing you moan my name”. His hand was heavy on your shoulder, and you knew he was close. He was going to yank your top down any second now.

Any second, you thought.

Though you didn’t realize how much you wanted it until the first thick burst slid over his fist.

Didn’t know how little control you had over herself until he grunted your name and shuddered violently, that slick fluid easing over his still-pumping fist. After all, if you’d had any you would have stayed right where you were, content to just watch.Instead of leaning forward to take that heavy, swollen, slippery head in your mouth, to catch the last ribbons of his salt-sweet cum all over your eager tongue.

“Fucking fuck, Jagiya” Jungkook cursed loudly, watching you take the head of his cock in your mouth. He slid his hands in your hair, gripping it from the bottom of your skull gently, rocking your face back and forth, riding out the last of his high. You looked up at him, eye still glassed over, breathing hard and laboured and slid the head of him out of your mouth.

There was no doubt that Jungkook was shocked at your boldness but he seemed pleasantly surprised. His pupils blown out, lips swollen, skin gleaming. He truly was a work of art. The magnitude of what you two had done hit you hard. So, naturally, there was only one thing left to do in panic.

Kick him out.

“Jungkook…you need to leave”

A/N: So, Idk what happened but yeah hope you all enjoy. Not sure if I’ll make this a series since I’m bad at continuing ideas. I may stick to separate scenarios. I get bored easily. However, please feel free to check out my blog and send me ideas for new fics

Skewered

Summary: You’re a doctor for the avengers and when Bucky comes in with a hunk of metal in his side you find that it’s not his injury that’s making you sweat.

Warnings: Description of wounds/blood, Bucky being shameless

Note: I’m overwhelmed by the feedback I got on my last fic! You guys are great! So for my second fic I though I’d try out Bucky, again I’d love any constructive comments/criticism.


“Incoming! Incoming!” Odette, the surgical tech assigned to you rushes into the room.

“How many?” you ask, looking up from the table where you’ve laid out your tools.The tech flushes. You sigh. “What type of injuries?” 

“Uh-hm..” the tech stutters. You turn around so you can hide your eye roll. “Dr.Cho’s been called in..” Odette says. 

“Thank you, Odette” You say and head to the sink to scrub your hands again. You are a top scientist working for Fury, and besides having your degree in engineering you’re an MD who specializes in general surgery. So whenever the reinstated avengers go on mission you’re put on call, which basically consists of you waiting in the med bay in case anyone needs to be treated. Usually the injuries are minor, the team are unparalleled in what they do, and you just end up patching up deep scrapes or bullet grazes. Because of this and the fact you have daily work at the Avenger’s compound you’ve become very friendly with the team.

Your palms start to sweat. Today’s mission was supposed to be high risk and it’s a bad sign that Helen’s been called in. With you and one other doctor on call her and her technology are only called in for severe injuries. The door opens and a battered looking Steve supporting an even more battered looking Bucky walks in. Steve helps Bucky sit on the examination table.

“Any more injured?” You ask, pulling on gloves.

“Scrapes all around, except for Sam. He’s badly burned.” Steve blows air out of his mouth. You look at him, his brow is creased in worry. 

“How badly?” You look at Bucky, he has a chunk of what seems to be jagged metal in his side, about two inches thick, protruding several inches from his gear. It seems to be a simple extraction job.

“Badly. But Park’s seeing to him”  Samuel Park is the other doctor in the compound “Dr.Cho’s supposed to put him in the new Cradle.I hope she gets here soon.”

You walk to the table and pick up scissors and a knife. “Odette, You should go assist Dr.Park.” the tech nods, and scurries out the door. Steve goes to follow but looks back at Bucky.

“He’ll be fine, go,” You say, and with that Steve leaves.


You look at Bucky. His eyes are already trained on you. It reminds you of the time Steve came in for stitches. His forearm had been split open. Bucky leaned against the wall in the corner of the room, he remained silent but his eyes followed your every move. Even when you looked at him he didn’t break his gaze. You assumed he was just being protective over his best friend. Bucky hasn’t said more than two words to you in the time that you’ve known him. Even after he started opening up and joking around with the team he remained oddly silent around you. You assumed you annoyed him. He had no problem talking with the others and even flirting with the research techs. 

You step up to him and start cutting away his gear. ‘Oops probably should have asked before I started cutting off his clothes’.Heat flushes down your neck and you stop your actions.

“Sorry, do you mind  if I cut away your gear?” 

“ ‘S fine” he says, voice low. You look up and you swear there’s a hint of smile on his face. You nod and continue. He smells of something metallic mixed with blood and sweat and a hint of….cologne…? As you cut away more of his gear you catch more of it. You try not to think about it. He’s handsome, the type of handsome that makes people do a double take. You try to ignore the broadness of his shoulders as his gear falls away, leaving him in a damp wife-beater. 

“Ain’t even the first date and you’re already tryna get me outta my clothes.” He rasps, startling you. You stutter and stammer, before deciding not to respond.

“Okay,” you say, taking a breath. “I’m just going to  take a look at this” You step in between his legs and inspect the metal shard. It looks worse than what you first thought it was. The shard is about the size of your hand and sticks out right below his rib cage, there’s a possibility that it might have hit some organs. There’s no exit point. Your heart rate goes up. Can a super soldier die if his major organs fail before his body can repair them? 

You wheel over your table of tools. You wish you hadn’t sent away Odette.

“Can you lay down for me?,” You ask.

“Of course sugar.” He says, piercing you with his stare.

You take a deep breath, feeling flustered. Did this man want to die on the operating table?

You cut away his undershirt and prepare some local anesthesia.

“I’m going to try to numb the area, but I don’t know how well this will work. I’m sorry I don’t have anything else on hand.” You don’t even know if anesthesia would work on him.

“ ‘S alright, darling I’ve been through worse,” He says giving you a small smile. You feel your face fall as you think about how true his statement is. You numb him and take a deep breath.You move to start extracting the shard when his hand shoots out and grabs yours. You stop yourself from jumping.

“You know there is something that would make me feel better.” Bucky says, voice gravelly.

“Of course, what is it?” You place your tools back on the table. ‘Maybe a special painkiller?’ you think.

“A kiss,” Bucky’s face stretches into a wide smirk.

You splutter “James…!”

“Bucky.” he supplies, smirk not leaving his face.

“Bucky….I uh….I don’t think that would be necessary for minimizing your pain.”

Oh I beg to differ darlin’“ He says.

You clear your throat and start to grab your tools again. Bucky says your name, pleadingly.

“Come on, ya really gonna deny a dyin’ man his final wish.” You roll your eyes at his dramatic tone. You fix him with your gaze.

 “You’re not gonna die Bucky.” 

“Here I am,bleeding out on your table, and all I’m askin’ for is one little kiss. Just one little kiss, from the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye “….before she slices me open.”

You sigh. One thing you know about Bucky Barnes is that he’s stubborn as a bull. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, his stubble prickling you in a not unpleasant way.

For a moment Bucky just looks at you, it seems like he’s crawling underneath your skin with that stare. Then he groans “Really sugar? Ya gonna try and cheat a man with a chunk of metal in his side?”

“I-I, uh” You stammer

“You really are heartless.” He sighs dramatically, closing his eyes.

You war with yourself for a split second, before leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. As you start to pull away Bucky’s hand comes up and stops you, and he deepens the kiss. His lips are surprisingly soft, his stubble scratches your face deliciously. Remembering the fact that he has a piece of metal in his side, you slowly withdraw. Bucky tugs on your lip with his teeth as you do so, which makes you have to turn around in order to regain your composure. When you turn back around, Bucky’s face is split in an ear to ear grin.

“Alright beautiful, cut me open, I can now die a happy man.”

You swallow, “Shut up James,” you snap, hating how your voice shakes. You pick up your tools and start to remove the metal. It comes out surprisingly smoothly, except for the last few inches. As you pull them free, Bucky starts to bleed. Way too much. The end of the shard is jagged. You try to contain the blood. But there’s just so much, you call for assistance and try to repair the damage.

By the time you finish you’re covered in blood. “Bucky, Bucky can you hear me?” You say, stepping close and touching his face, he looks drawn, pale.

“His pulse is faint. But it’s there.” Odette says. You jump, you forgot she had come in.

“Alright,” you sigh, blowing hair back from your forehead. “Guess we’ll wait.”


Bucky’s moved to a different hospital bed in another one of the rooms, and fitted with IVs. Steve understandably freaks out, with two close friends gravely injured within 24 hours it’s no wonder. Sam’s healed now, resting. You tell Steve to do the same and sit in a chair in Bucky’s room. The others wander in and out of the room.You know with his regenerative properties he’ll recover, but when six hours pass you can’t help but worry. ‘Why hasn’t he woken up by now?’ .


You blink your eyes open as a sliver of sunlight passes across your face. You squint, looking at the clock on the wall: 7 am. Damn. You finished patching Bucky up at about 4 pm last night. You had fallen asleep in his room. ‘I’m terrible at keeping watch’ you scold yourself. ‘What if he had worsened during the night?’ You look over at Bucky, only to find him watching you. You jump.

“Man you need to stop doing that.” Your voice is thick with sleep. You lick your dry lips, feeling self conscious. Standing you hear your joints cracking as you walk over.

“How can I help it when you’re always lookin’ so gorgeous?” He smirks.

“Shut up,” You say, pulling back the covers and inspecting his wound. It looks nearly healed. “How do you feel?” you murmur.

“Alright,” He says wincing slightly as you put pressure on his wound. He sits up, and you try to ignore the way the muscles in his chest and stomach flex. “I’d feel better if you’d let me buy you dinner, though” He looks up at you through his lashes. You click your tongue.

“You really are shameless,”

“Come on, it’s the least I can do after bleedin’ all over ya.” You look down at yourself, your scrubs are crusted in dried blood. You start replacing the dressing on his wound.

“You say that to all the girls who stitch you up?” You quip, avoiding his gaze.

“Nope. But then again I don’t spend six months building up the courage to ask those girls out either.” You look at him for a long while,saying nothing, and notice how red starts to tinge his ears and creep up his neck.

“Alright,” You answer finally giving him a smirk of your own.

Bucky lets out a huge breath, and chuckles  “Damn sugar, you really know how to make a man sweat, don’t ya?”


Tags : @stephie-senpai

Where Every Brown Sugar Baby Should Look for Her Next Sugar Daddy and Why

The more the game changes, the more it stays the same.

     Best friend, my first disappointment with sugaring came when I realized that sugaring sites were not for me. When I joined Tumblr, I was surrounded by stories of women who signed up for Seeking Arrangement and within an hour found their inbox full of messages from men willing to hand them the world or at least a pair of So Kate’s on the first date. When I joined Tumblr, I thought that I was going to command large allowances just because I existed, not because I did any work. I learned otherwise.

     My successes with sugaring came when I got very clear about what exactly it was that I was sugaring for. I realized that I couldn’t make myself care about designer goods. They’re pretty, and I loved looking at them on Instagram but dating a man so he could buy me luxury goods just did not seem like a lot of fun. But art supplies? Everything I needed to write a novel and maintain my blog? That sounded much more feasible. As soon as I committed to it, it happened. As soon as I got off the sugaring sites, it happened.  

     As an introvert, I did get off the sugaring sites, but it took me quite a while to get off the internet. I used Tinder to find the three gift daddies that I had. Last month, I went free styling for the first time.   

     There is a general horror around free styling that, trust me, I understand. If I didn’t have to leave my house, I wouldn’t. But I realized a few things. The sugar sites are not set up for you to succeed. We, as sugar babies, are the draw that is used to attract men with money and unrealistic dreams.  

     Do you want to have the perfect relationship? A young, beautiful, smart woman who will hang off your every word and, unlike escorts, will be with you and you alone for a fraction of the price that escorts are demanding? Sign up for a membership with our site at the low price of $39.99/month and become a sugar daddy tonight!

     While this might not be the exact language the sites are using, I guarantee if you go on any of the sugar sites you will see something similar being touted to men.  I also promise that the men that have the real potential to be amazing sugar daddies and give you things you didn’t believe that you could get aren’t on these sites.
     

     And, honey, maybe you haven’t noticed but online dating-sugar or vanilla- is not set up for black women to succeed. I’ll say it once more. You’re far more likely to find the man you’re looking for when you let go of the sugar sites.
So what happens next? Next, you change your mindset. There is one thing that needs adjustment, your attitude, in two different areas. The first is what a sugar daddy looks like. Maybe you don’t have this problem. But I do. I tend to find myself thinking that sugar daddies look a certain way. They’re white and in their 40’s-50’s. Most of them are married. But this isn’t what sugar daddies look like. They can be any age. They can be any race. They can be anywhere. When it’s time to free style, don’t think that if a Black man, an Asian man, a Martian, whatever, approaches you that because they don’t fit in with the idea of what you think an SD looks like you can’t pay any attention to them.

     There will be three types of men that you’ll meet when you go out: cheap men that would like your time and attention for free, men that will simply ask how much you want or make it known that they have no problem paying you, and men that are willing to spend money on you but need some type of connection with you first. Ugh, connection. Don’t you hate that word? Men should just hand us money because we asked for it right? We’re young, we’re beautiful, we’re smart. Just fork over the coins.

     But consider this. How often do you give money to complete strangers because they asked for it? How often have you walked up to an attractive or interesting looking person with $5 that you know you don’t need and said: “here this is for you just because you look cool or like you needed a little help”? Never right? If we were a society where that was the norm homelessness would not be an issue. No, we give our money to people we like, to people that have bettered our lives in some way, to people we trust. But, still. That word-connection. Months and months of dates. Maybe even putting out. That must be what I mean, right? Nope. Not what I mean at all. A connection can be made in 15 minutes or 15 months. It really just depends on how well your personality meshes with his.

     How do you tell these men apart? Let’s build a scenario, shall we? Let’s say you meet a man at a bar. You each talk a bit about who you are and what you do for a living. His job sounds promising. You don’t know exactly how much he makes but when you google it in the bathroom after touching up your lipstick you see that it’s an acceptable amount. He buys you a drink to continue the conversation you’ve already started, but when the night ends, he doesn’t pick up the tab you had started before he sat down. Splenda! Salt! That’s what Tumblr will tell you. I say wait. You spend some time texting. He says he wants to take you out. This is when we find out what kind of man he is by analyzing a few things:


  • Where does he want to meet? TGIFridays or one of the best restaurants/bars in the city. Look at where he wants to take you and why. If he asks you where you want to eat and then shoots it down because it’s overpriced or “just not his scene” you have two options: dig your heels in or run. My first meeting with Bentley took some time to plan because he shot down the restaurants that I chose as not being good enough for a first date. It was a good first sign. 
  • How and what do they order? We know what a man who doesn’t want to spend a lot of money looks like when he orders at a restaurant or bar. He asks if there are any discounts or deals. Asks what’s the best and cheapest drink or food item on the menu. Makes “jokes” about how expensive everything is. 
  • How do they look when you order? A man that asks if you want anything else after you’ve decided what you want is a keeper. A man that asks what you want scans the menu and then asks if you’re sure you want those things or if you’d be happy with something cheaper presents you with two options: to dig your heels in or run.
  • What are they talking to you about? A man that talks about sex as soon as he meets you only wants you for one thing and it ain’t playing cards. Now, if he’s willing to compensate you for that time in a way that you find acceptable, fine. Get your money girl. If you want a man that cares about you as an individual but he can’t stop talking about how well he’s doing on Viagra, you have two options. Dig in or run. I suggest you run, but this is your life, not mine
  • Do they listen when you speak? Do they remember what you said? I got my first laptop from a man who listened when I talked about wanting to write. I got my second laptop and art supplies from a man who listened to my business plan. If they can’t hear you, they can’t help you. 

     When the date is over, look at this man’s behavior. You’ll know if he’s the type of man that you can keep in your life. If he isn’t, let him go. LET HIM GO! Don’t, please friend, don’t hang on to a man because you don’t think that you’ll be able to get another. This game isn’t for the desperate that need quick cash because their life is falling apart. This is going to take time. You’ll find yourself getting dressed up and going out quite a few times before you find a man that you’re willing to stick with. If you understand this from the beginning, that reaching any goal is going to take time, you’ll be far less likely to fail.

     I’d like to give one piece of controversial advice. Do not ask for a gift or token or whatever you want to call it on the first date. Remember what we talked about earlier? About how we don’t give away our hard earned money to strangers or the undeserving? This applies here. And I know, I know. The posts of girls that say they asked for a gift and got one is so much more fun to read than what I’m saying, but here we are best friend, here we are.

     You do have one thing on your side. Men know that it is their responsibility to take care of the women in their lives. Vanilla men know this. They know. I’m going to say it one more time, best friend so it really sinks in. All men know that it is their responsibility to take care of the women in their lives. What’s more, they know that the younger and better looking a woman is, the more they will have to spend. Your job is not to convince a man to spend money on you. He already knows he should. Your job is to separate the men willing to spend from the men not willing to spend by opening up your mouth and talking about what you want. Talk about college and the class that you’re going to be taking, but god isn’t it crazy how expensive books are? Talk about how much you love to write, but your laptop broke. Talk about how you want to get into digital photography but don’t know what camera to get or if you can afford to buy one. Give it a couple weeks. The right man will show up with a laptop, or an iPad, or a book, or a camera or whatever it is you say you need. The wrong man won’t have made it past the first date.

Happy hunting, best friend.

Best friend, be honest, what did you think? Do you think you could ever get off the sugar sites? Go free styling? Do you think my approach makes any sense or is something that could work for you? Leave me a comment and let me know so we can talk about it.

the story of the underwear cockles op

y’all wanna hear the story of how @amazinmango and i got this photo op at phxcon this weekend?

PART ONE: BEFORE THE OP

so here’s the thing: n o n e of this was planned. it was amazing, hilarious, ridiculous kismet. 

mango’s had his birthday recently, and so i brought his birthday present with me to phxcon. part of the present was a pair of jensen’s underbears (i think the text i sent mango right after jib was, “we’re close enough that it’s not weird if i buy u underwear right????”) bc i thought that was hilarious from jib and mango is a huge jensen fan and dean!boy. so the original joke was just that mango could have the bear underwear. i also got him a second pair in orange, bc orange is his fav colour. this was as far as i thought this would go. 

so i get into phoenix thursday night and give mango his present. we didn’t know there were cockles photo ops until friday afternoon when we saw hard tickets for sale. i distinctly remember being bummed that my hometown con had cockles photo ops for sale online but phxcon, the one i was actually going to, did not. but obviously once i saw they were available, like. THERE WAS ONLY ONE CHOICE. so after deciding it was completely financially irresponsible when we have no money, i bought the op. 

i can’t remember when it occurred to us that we had both the underbears and a pair of lucky orange underwear for misha in our hotel room. we wanted to do something fun and funny for the op, and cracked ourselves up at the idea. but we were also aware that it could be, you know, kind of sort of maybe intensely uncomfortable to be like (a) i know what underwear u were wearing and (b) here i brought pairs of them for you to further laugh over. i have a T E R R I B L E akdslkjkas embarrassment squick, so we didn’t want to do anything that made us uncomfortable, and we definitely didn’t want to do anything that would make misha or jensen uncomfortable. we wanted them to have fun with us and play around with us. 

we ran our idea passed our roomie, who has some good con experience, to see if she thought it would fly or not. we agreed on judging our plan based on their mood on the day and asking them if they felt comfortable enough to do it was the best course of action, with a back-up plan ready to go immediately just in case, so j+m knew we were serious that they could totally pass on it if it was weird. CONSENT AND SAFE SPACE. we were hella concerned about this. 

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love letters ❥ peter parker

summary : peter, hopeless romantic that he is, has a cache of love letters, all addressed to you, hidden under his bed and expertly crafted. he never anticipated them being read, or the feelings he has for you being returned.

word count : 3.1k (holy fucking hell i’m sorry)

   Peter couldn’t help it, the way that he was. He was a romantic at a heart, though the awkwardness of him had a tendency to prevail rather than the confident, smooth talking, small part of him that had a desperate desire to reveal itself. Spider-man was as suave as a fifteen year old boy could be; Peter Parker was awkward, inept at participating in normal, human conversation and often incapable of forming coherent sentences more often than not. He wasn’t the best at talking to people besides Ned and Aunt May and- on occasion- Tony Stark. Especially not you. If there was one person that he turned into an absolute bumbling, ridiculous mess around, it was you. He loathed himself for it, sure that you thought that he was weird, annoying, the same way that anyone who didn’t know him assumed he was. 

   Ned, however, continuously insisted that you found Peter to be a sweetheart, like anyone who got to know him well enough did, and that you liked him very much- perhaps more than a friend, though Peter had immediately scoffed at the notion. It was out of the question, downright ludicrous. But, of course, Ned had implanted the idea in Peter’s head, and now the boy’s ever creative mind refused to stop constructing various scenarios in which you were Peter’s girlfriend and he was as happy as he had ever been. 

    While he had been a perfectly charming boyfriend in each and every one of those little dream sequences of his, he was hopelessly lost for words whenever you approached him, unable to even ask what class you had next, let alone reveal the pure adoration he had been holding on to ever since you had been placed beside him in Bio in your freshman year. You had always been the one to stick up for him and smile at him and treat him like a decent human being, and so of course he fell for you, and now he could barely look you in the eye without his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. So, he bottled his feelings and let them out in a way he had never known could help him.

    He wrote. 

    He wrote to you every single day and poured his heart out in every single letter and expressed every thought he knew, in his heart, he would never be able to say out loud. Writing what he felt was so much simpler than saying the words out loud. That was what he assumed, anyhow. He took his pen and placed it down on the paper, starting it the same way he always did. 

   Dear Y/N… As always, the words spilled over from his mind to the paper as if he wasn’t thinking, just writing and writing and writing until he had filled two pages without lifting his curly head from the paper once. When he finally finished, a yawn stretching across his mouth, he noticed Aunt May standing outside his door. He turned his chair around, raising his eyebrows at her. 

   “Writing to that pretty girl again?” She asked, hand on her hip but wearing a knowing, soft grin. Peter, not bothering to feign shock, nodded solemnly and placed his pen down the paper. “You should think about maybe, oh I don’t know, actually giving her one of the letters you’ve written?” 

    Adamantly, Peter shook his head. “May, I could never. You don’t get it.” He swiveled around in the chair, spinning it until he was dizzy. “These letters are embarrassing. They’re practically my whole heart and soul on a piece of paper. She’d scream and run away if she read how I felt about her.” He sighed, placing his elbow on the edge of the desk and resting his cheek in his hand. He stared up at his aunt, still craving her sage advice. May stared back at him thoughtfully. 

   “Well, in my personal experience,” she came over and gave Peter’s shoulder a squeeze, eyeing the letter that was signed with Peter’s name, “girls are suckers for love letters. And you Parker men write the best ones out there. Trust me.” 

   Peter bit his lip. “Yeah, sure, I’m not an awful writer. But, I still can’t give them to her. I just can’t.” Before she could say anything else, he was folding it up and placing it on top of the shelf on his desk next to his books for English. “Uncle Ben was different. He was charming. You know that.” 

    May smiled wistfully. “I do.” 

    “And that’s one thing that I didn’t get from him,” Peter finished, shrugging his shoulders as he stood up from his swivel chair. “It’s fine.” He waved it off. “I’m happy suffering in silence. I’m gonna go to bed. Big English project starts tomorrow. Love you,” he kissed May on the cheek as she left his bedroom, switching the light off in her departure. He stared at the wall once he was situated in bed, mulling the conversation over in his head. Maybe May’s right. Maybe telling Y/N wouldn’t be as bad as I’m thinking. Maybe I’m overreacting. Actually, never mind. She probably hates me. Ugh. Life sucks. 


    That morning, when he arrived in his English class, you were sitting in the seat that had been previously occupied by Ned pretty much every class since the beginning of the school year. Sucking in a breath, Peter took his first step into the classroom. He knew he was a little late to today’s lesson, but he hadn’t realized he was a full fifteen minutes behind schedule. Ned was in the back with Michelle, giving Peter an encouraging thumbs up when he noticed his best friend finally arrive on the scene. Peter gave him the finger. 

   “Mr. Parker, lovely for you to join us!” Ms. Matthews declared when he decided to shove himself through the door, his heart jackhammering away in his chest and making its way up to his throat. He kind of wanted to throw up. 

   “Um, yeah, well, you know, sleep and whatnot- overslept, haha,” he coughed out a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. The teacher nodded with faux sympathy, though he could tell she didn’t care that much for his explanation. “I’ll just, um, sit. Down.” 

    “Next to Y/N, please,” She instructed, waving her hand in your direction. “Since you were late and unable to choose your own partner, surprising since usually Ned is so eager to work with you, Y/N offered to be your partner.” The teacher gave you a fond smile, as every teacher did. “She can explain the details of the assignment.” 

    Peter gave her a stiff nod before sliding into his chair, and you noticed how rigid he was as he turned toward you with a slight frown. He seemed extremely upset to be working with you, but you wouldn’t let that get in the way. You liked Peter. Really, truly liked him. He was a sweetie whenever he actually talked to and different than the rest of the guys at Midtown. He was genuine.  

    Giving him your full attention, you beamed at him. “Hey, Peter,” you said cheerfully. He gave you a small smile in return, wringing his hands under the desk. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. Your own smile dropped, which he noticed immediately and felt awful about. “Sorry you didn’t get paired up with Ned,” you continued, taking your books out of your shoulder bag. “I know you would’ve preferred it that way-” 

    “No!” He interrupted quickly, practically slamming his hands down on the desk so hard you jumped in your seat, eyes wide. “Sorry, sorry, I just, um,” he laughed a little, his cheeks burning, “I’m, um, happy to have you as a partner. Really, I am,” he added as an afterthought, just to make sure you knew. 

   Your shoulders relaxed as you looked at him. “You’re not just saying that, right? You seem awfully stiff,” you teased, poking his uncomfortably positioned arm as you quirked a brow. 

    “Do I?” He was practically sweating. 

     “I was just joking, Pete. It’s cute, anyway.” Peter’s eyes, a shade of brown that you had come to think of as warm as honey, went wide and he gaped at you, but you pretended not to notice. “So, for the assignment we have to write a short story based on one of the assigned reading books this year.” 

   She called me cute

   “Shit… I think I forgot all of mine,” you were mumbling, your head practically stuck in your bag. “Did your bring yours, Peter?” 

   Oh my god, she thinks I’m cute. She thinks I’m cute. I’m going to faint

   You snapped your fingers in front of his cherry red face, trying not to appear as amused as you felt. He blinked owlishly, an apologetic half smile, half grimace on his face. He was cute most of the time, but especially when he smiled, even if it was only a forced, awkward one. “Do you have your books, Peter?” You repeated kindly. 

    “Um, sorry, I’ll check,” he answered, embarrassed about his utterly obvious staring that had just occurred. He rummaged around in his backpack before realizing he had forgotten them, as well. He popped back up, curls in disarray as his head brushed against the fabric of his bag. “I forgot them, sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. It was kind of adorable.

   “You need to stop apologizing for everything, Pete,” you laughed. “It’s fine. We can get started after school. My place or yours?” You were already packing your things, and before he could think about what he was about to do, he said, “Mine.”   

    “Cool,” you grinned again, a grin that made him want to smile for the rest of his life. “Which one of is doing the writing? Or do you want to split it?” 

    “You’re a, um, fantastic writer,” he told you, having read your submissions to the school newspaper more times than he could count. “If you wanna take over, you can. I can edit and stuff.” 

    “Aw, I’m not that good,” you shook your head abashedly, looking down at your lap. “But thank you, Peter. I’m sure you’re great, too, though. Are you sure you don’t wanna write some of it?”

    “I’m not much of a writer.”


    So, you were in Peter Parker’s room. He was having his third heart attack of the day, and was incredibly grateful that he had managed to keep his wits about him for majority of the day. He had only tripped over his words five times, tripped literally twice, and dropped his Metro card once, but it was fine. You helped him back each time he fell with your usual grace, barely acknowledging his multiple social faux pas and only laughing once because he fell over a small dog- which even he would admit was pretty funny. 

   Still, his palms were sweaty around you and he didn’t know how he was going to survive working so close to you for the next week while the English assignment was occurring. He lead you into his apartment and you noticed that his hands were shaking slightly as he twisted the keys in the lock. You walked into the apartment, the first thing crossing your mind was how cozy and homelike it was. You liked it very much. 

   “It’s really cute in here,” you said, smiling around the room as Peter busied himself with a glass of water. He downed it quickly. “Where’s your aunt?” 

   “Work,” he replied, catching his breath after the gulping down of his water. “Here, let’s go to my room.” He placed his glass of water on the counter and motioned for you to follow him, opening the door to his room and wincing at the mess in there. “It’s a mess, sorry about that.”  

   You rolled your eyes at him playfully. “Didn’t I say stop apologizing?” You entered his room as if you had been there many times before, taking your shoes off and setting them by the door. You threw your bag on his bed and took a seat in his swivel chair, and he liked how natural it seemed for you to be in his room. He liked how comfortable you were, sitting there. Something about it made him happy. 

   “Yeah, my bad,” he shrugged. You tilted your head, pointing your finger at him while he raised his hands defensively. “It wasn’t technically an apology!” He took a step out of the room. He was finally being normal around you, he realized delightedly. He would still need more water, though. He could feel his mouth getting dry. “I’m gonna get more water. Want anything?” You shook your head, spinning around in the chair as he left. 

   Your eyes scanned over his desk, taking in every inch of Peter Parker’s life. He had bad books stacked everywhere, his desk was a mess, there were clothes thrown about the room. Star Wars posters, Avengers posters, notes scattered across the desk. You admired the artful messiness of it all. You leaned up to where his English books were, spotting the one you were most interested in and yanking it off the shelf. As you did, a folded piece of paper fluttered down off the shelf, just when Peter was walking back into the room. 

   “I thought you said you weren’t a writer, Pete,” you raised your eyebrows at him, holding the letter in your hand and waving it at him. 

   He almost threw up right there. “Um, I’m not, please give that back,” he reached for it, but you jumped out of the chair, raising the letter high in the air. “Y/N!” He whined, grabbing for it again. “C’mon, please,” he pleaded desperately, pouting at you with such intensity it almost made you want to give it to him. 

    “Can’t I just read a sentence, Peter?” You pushed out your bottom lip, batting your eyelashes at him. 

     He almost gave in. “No, Y/N. Seriously, give it back.” He sounded scared now, upset as well. You pursed your lips, handing it back to him. He was so anxious about you reading it that it dropped on the floor, opening far enough so that you could see your name scrawled across the top in Peter’s defining chicken scratch handwriting. 

    “That says my name, so now I have to read it.” You stood directly in front of Peter, hands pressed together in a pleading motion, the expression on your face so genuinely interested that he had to give it to you. He picked it back up with a lump in his throat and handed it over, scared as ever. But this was what May had advised. Maybe she’d be right. 

    “Dear Y/N,” you read aloud in a loud, terrible accent, glancing back up at Peter as you read the line after that. He was staring down at the floor, preparing himself for what you were going to say when you read the letter, read his heart. You sat in his chair, realizing it’d be better if you didn’t read it so publicly. He sat down on his bed, waiting. 

   Dear Y/N. This is maybe the tenth letter I’ve written to you, and each time I say the same thing, so if one day you are reading this in proper succession, I’m sorry for being so utterly repetitive. You’ll probably never read this, though. And that’s why it’s so easy for me to write. I think you’re the only person to ever truly be interested in me when I’m talking about science. Not even Ned has an attention span that long. But you do. And you don’t know how much I want to thank you for that. You make it really difficult to not like you, to not be in love with you. I think that’s what it is… love. And if I’m not in love with you yet, then I’m certainly falling for you. Who wouldn’t? You’re a wonderful person without trying, you’re a beautiful hurricane, a sunset on the horizon of my bleakest hours, and you make me feel as if I’ve been standing in the sunshine for my entire life. 

   You put the letter down, smoothing it over your lap. You didn’t need to read the rest. That was enough. Peter gazed at you now, the way you’ve yearned to be looked at before, and you shamed yourself for being so blind these past two years. He wasn’t simply just staring. He was looking. Admiring. You slid next to Peter, placing the letter behind you. He moved his hand, curling his fingers around yours tentative as ever. Your free hand grazed up the side of his face, toying with the hair on the back of his neck before resting on his cheek. He shut his eyes. When he opened them again, you were so close that he was able to count each individual eyelash that you had, every single fleck of pure beauty in your deep eyes. 

   “I like you very much, Peter Parker,” you murmured. He felt his heart soar, and then, he felt himself kiss you. It was an out of body experience. He was there, he was the one kissing you, the one who had initiated it, but it felt like he wasn’t. He was up in the clouds, too far lost in the way it felt to run his hands through your hair as he had always dreamed of to notice Aunt May sneaking past the door, overjoyed to see Peter finally with the girl he had been loving in silence for far too long. You pulled away from each other, eyes opening slowly and hesitantly and your lips practically still connected. 

   He wanted to tell her that he adored her, but Aunt May’s voice flowed from the kitchen too loud to overpower his thoughts. “You read her the letter, didn’t you? I told you it’d work! Worked for your Uncle Ben and I was right as I always am!”

   He jumped up from the bed, sticking his head out of the doorway and pressing his finger to his lips. “Maaaayyyy, you’re embarrassing me,” he whispered-yelled, practically whined. “You were right, okay? Thank you, let me go get a girlfriend now. The girlfriend.” She beamed at him, but no one’s smile could shine brighter than Peter’s. 

    He retreated back into the room, and you were clutching the letter in your hands. You looked up at him hopefully. “I was thinking that maybe you could read me the other nine letters. If you’re up for it.” 

    Peter couldn’t possibly say no, taking a page out of his Uncle Ben’s book the way he should have done in the first place as he found the hiding spot for the stack of letters he had been writing for the past few months, sliding them over to you and feeling confident for the first time in a long time.

I’ve seen a lot of ideas about humans being on alien ships, and most are like “because of [whatever reason], it would be good if ships had one human on board” and there are a lot of stories that say that there’s only one human on the alien ship. But I don’t think that’s a good idea?? A lot of people have a hard time being a foreign exchange student a country where they don’t speak the language; I don’t think most humans could handle being the only human on an alien ship???? For various reasons, like loneliness/medical issues/etc. Being on an alien ship sounds awesome, but they wouldn’t have any support.

Maybe aliens don’t understand THAT; “Despite being capable enough on their own, humans have to come in groups of 2+ for some reason.”

“Let the humans choose their own groups; their social systems are much more complex, and despite their famous ability to socialize with just about any other species, if two humans ‘don’t get along’, meaning that they cause each other to have unfavorable emotions and occasionally will not cooperate, the result is negative for both the humans and the crew that they reside in.”

Maybe something like this?

The first time humans and the recently-contacted alien species “X”, the first to form an alliance with humans, attempt to team up, everyone realizes that they need to learn more about each other. They decide that should should be a simple exchange of personnel; these crewmen would work simple jobs on each other’s ships and interact with the crew in order to learn more about each other and how to successfully communicate. Both humans and Xs desperately want this to succeed. But, hearing rumors of the humans’ prowess, the X want to minimize any possible casualties, so they suggest that they exchange just one person each at the start; one X heads to the human command ship, and one human heads to the X’s.

Everything begins successfully.

The X on board the human ship is a model worker. It observes, asks questions, and when it doesn’t understand something, many humans surround and brainstorm ideas on how to explain things to it. Throwing out ideas left and right “It’s a bit like seeing color, but it’s invisible, and through the nose-” “No you idiot, it’s like those feel-auras it was talking about, but the nose is the sensory organ for it-” and eventually the X understands. In turn, when contributing ideas not easily understood by humans, it finds that many take this as a challenge, and will not stop bothering the X until they are sure that they understand. But with or without the aid of its new crewmates, the X never seems distressed that it can’t understand or be understood by others.

The human crew quickly notices that the X has not contacted its main ship, or for that matter, anyone else.

“Have you tried talking to your ship?”

“There was no need to try, I already know it won’t work because of conflicting signals.”

“Well, did you need to? Talk to your friends or family or anything? I’m sure I can rig something up if you need to.”

“I have no need to communicate with anyone as of now. Any information that will eventually need to be communicated will be included in my report to the High Command.”

“No, but did you WANT to talk to anyone? Like your family or something, so they know you’re okay? And I mean, I’m sure you must want to talk about how weird we humans are and stuff, right?”

“My family will be notified of my status when I return to the High Command. And all data I gather on humans will be included in my report.”

The X, despite being so far away from home and surrounded by pushy humans, does not seem homesick or lonely at all.

On the X’s ship, the human is enthusiastic and excited to learn new things at first. After all, they’re learning about and interacting with ALIENS; it’s freaking awesome. But it doesn’t take too long for the novelty to wear off and the human to realize that they are truly alone. No one else speaks a human language, or is physically capable of doing so. While translation technology makes communication possible, linguistic differences make both exact or truly accurate translations impossible, so it’s not the same as being able to have a simple chat with friends. And chatting with friends doesn’t come easily; technology between the ships is not compatible, and any communication signals from the human’s own communication device are cancelled out by signals from the Xs’ ship.

The human becomes isolated from all other humans, on board a ship of 200 Xs.

Any difficulty communicating is eventually pushed aside and ignored but the Xs; if the human can’t communicate an idea, and the Xs don’t get it, what can they do? They do not need to understand the human or have the human understand them in order to do their jobs, so there is no point in trying. They understand that this project is important to the alliance, but do not understand how important communication is to humans.

The human has no help from others; several humans asking the same questions might get the idea that communicating certain ideas are important. But there is also no one who could understand them, no one to brainstorm ideas with:

“Now, how do we explain the concept of smell to a species from a planet where no organism has a nose?”

“Oh! My cousin was born without a sense of smell, and we sort of explained things like…”

Any problems communicating human ideas, or understanding X ideas, they face alone.

On that note, the human finds it difficult to to relate with any of the Xs. Xs can socialize fine between each other, but their standards for camaraderie is much different than that of humans. Humans are famous for their ability to empathize with any species, but it is not a two-way street, leaving the human caring about their new ship-mates with little care for themselves in return. They do not put more effort in helping the human understand, nor do they go out of their way to interact with the human outside of work situations. The human knows that it is not the fault of the Xs, that this is just the way Xs are, but they can’t help but begin to feel unappreciated, unwanted, and depressed.

Having long-since passed simple homesickness and culture shock, the human just wants desperately to talk to another human. It wouldn’t have to be anyone from the same country, or someone from the same field of work, or heck, even someone who spoke the same language. Even humans who can’t understand each other’s words can have get an idea from hand gestures, and historically, people who speak different languages that live in proximity to each other develop new dialects or learn to understand each others spoken language to communicate. Even with an age gap, they’ve lived during some of the same world events; they could find something to relate to each other. Another human would understand how strange X biology is compared to human biology, right? Another human could make jokes, laugh at the new, awesome, and weird things that they encounter. Another human could confirm that their feelings were real, right?

Humans are biologically engineered for socialization after all. Their species survived and evolved over hundreds of thousands of years because of their social nature. Xs understand this, and have heard that humans occasionally might have special needs like extraneous physical contact, but do not understand the implications. That this made humans biologically dependent on socialization for survival. That humans’ mental, emotional, and eventually even physical states can deteriorate without affection from friends and family.

And so the human gets ill.

Not quite used to human physicality in general or variation in physicality between individuals, and after hearing the legendary stories of humans surviving seemingly impossible situations, the Xs work their human crewmate hard. The human, already emotionally exhausted from isolation, easily gets physically exhausted. They contract an illness not unlike the common cold, though it couldn’t be given that their current location does not have any traces of the virus. With proper rest, and maybe more chances to chat with some friends back on the command ship, would help the human immensely. But the human, in their emotional and physical distress, can not communicate the idea that yes, humans can recover from illness like this without 5 different medicines. That talking to loved ones, or someone, anyone, would do more than just make them happy but give them the emotional will to make them physically well. There are no other humans around to explain human medical issues, or to provide a cool cloth for their fever, or to talk to while they’re sick in bed and unable to work, or…

The Xs change course and modify their signals in order to send a message to the human command ship and inform them that the human has fallen ill. Afraid of retaliation and wanting to ensure good faith, they request a strategy, asking what needs to be done in this situation. The human ship responds; the X on their ship has recently fallen ill as well. Xs do not have the hardy immune system that humans do, and while precautions were taken, it still caught a cold. The decision to return the crewmates to their home ships is made. The information that they managed to gather during their exchange this time will be used for a more successful future exchange and other interactions in the future.

The X suggests to their commanders more precautions regarding illnesses, and also advises any future volunteers to talk as much as possible to the other humans; they love interaction, learning, and teaching.

The human suggests that a special channel be created for easy communication, and makes only one demand; it doesn’t matter what the other species demands, don’t you dare let anyone go alone, ever again.

Submitted By: @bluemichikosan 

here are a bunch of AMAZING fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of august. I recommend that you read these great fics in september, if you haven’t already!! also check out the HL Summer Fic Exchange!

(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)


1. How Far We’ve Come 32k

“This is Harry Styles,” Chiron offers.

He’s beautiful. His eyes are a stunning green, the color of new foliage. The new kid’s limbs are long and lanky—he looks extremely uncomfortable and uncoordinated. Louis internally smirks to himself, guessing the kid probably won’t be too skilled with a sword, or a bow, or anything sharp, most likely. His hair falls to his shoulders in sets of loose, brown curls. The color is rich and luscious, resembling soil so much that it looks like flowers could sprout from his hairline at any moment. But Louis’ eyes are stuck on his soft looking lips, pink as flower petals and slightly parted as his eyes scan the horizon of the camp.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Harry.”

2. It’ll All Come Up Roses 4k *

Louis was leaning against the railing of the bridge, looking down at the water completely lost in thought when he heard someone approach the bridge from the side that he came from. Glancing up, he noticed Harry walking towards him, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, and seemingly lost in thought. Louis shifted his weight onto his other foot and stood up properly, watching quietly as Harry walked past him. Louis opened his mouth. He wanted to say something to Harry to break the silence, or at least to get him to notice him standing there against the bridge railing - but the words got stuck in Louis’ throat, and he snapped his mouth shut, going back to staring down at the water mindlessly instead. All the while, trying hopelessly to figure out what the fuck he’s doing with his life. Harry kept walking, and soon Louis was once again left alone to his thoughts.

Or the one where Louis really doesn’t hate his neighbor who keeps waking him up at the crack of dawn. Ft magic, Liam, Niall, and Zayn barely being mentioned, Harry and his fucking motorcycle, a date and a kiss.

3. Freeze This Moment in a Frame and Stay Like This 5k

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

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Little Things

MASTERLIST

A/N: This is my very bad attempt at something cute, but you know… Fluff isn’t my best. Also a bit different from what I’ve done in the past, so feedback would be great. I messed up the months, I’m aware. 

Word count: 3,365

Pickering, Canada
April 2024

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