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southerngothicchic · 21 days

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Do You Think I'm a Nasty Girl

Hi! So this is my attempt at getting back into the groove of writing again, and what better way than with a lovers to enemies to lovers again fic?

On a summer night in '84, while your parents are away, you decide to test out their new hot tub and wind up getting an unexpected visit from your annoyingly hot neighbor.

After setting up your radio with your favorite mix tape, you slip out of a dainty, pink kimono, revealing a low-cut black bathing suit. It's cut high, on the sides, showing off more skin than you would ever dare to at the local pool. It was your latest scandalous mall purchase, and you knew your parents would freak if they saw you wearing it. Luckily, you had the house and hot tub to yourself for the weekend and could wear or do whatever you wanted.

You press play, on the tape deck, before easing into the warm water. You wince a little, and check the temperature gage, on the side, worrying you had it set too high. It was previously set at 104 degrees and you immediately lower it to 100. You then sit on the edge of the tub, waiting for the water to cool slightly. Turning your head, your eyes scan the empty backyard as an odd feeling comes over you, making you wonder if you're truly alone.

Shaking your head, you tell yourself to stop being so paranoid before lowering yourself into the water.

The whirring of the jets almost drowns out your music, so you scramble over to the side and lean over to adjust the volume.

Laura Branigan's Self Control fills the night air as you settle back into your spot, nestling your head against the plush headrest behind you. A sigh of relaxation then leaves your lips as you close your eyes, enjoying the warmth of the swirling water.

You drift into a sort of meditative state, as all the sounds around you fade into a low hum. You're so completely absorbed in your own world that you're oblivious to the sound of someone entering your backyard.

The usually distinct creaking of the wooden gate doesn't reach your ears, as it's slowly opened then quickly shut.

Careful footfalls on the manicured grass also go unnoticed as the visitor walks up to the back patio. They stand, in front of you, smirk on their lips as they admire the serene state you're in. They debate whether or not they should disturb you but ultimately decide to make their presence known.

"And here I thought you were having a party and didn't invite me..." they say, causing your eyes to instantly open.

"What the fuck, Harrington?" You ask, with a glare, trying to keep your composure, as your heart feels like it's going to pound right out of your chest. "How'd you get back here?"

"The gate was unlocked," he casually replies, gesturing to it with his thumb. "And like I said, I thought there was a party, given the music and all."

Rolling your eyes, you sit up slightly and lean over to turn down the music.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it's just me," you remark, glancing up at him.

"Who said I was disappointed?" He smiles, his eyes meeting yours before traveling lower to your partially obscured cleavage.

"This song's a bit scandalous for you, don't you think?" He then asks, with one hand resting on his hip, while the other points to your radio.

You haven't been paying attention to the song that's playing, and when you realize it's Nasty Girl by Vanity 6, you sigh dramatically.

"Are you, of all people, offended by it?" You challenge, getting up to move closer to him.

He scoffs. "Of course not, but I didn't think you listened to stuff like this."

"Why? Because it's too risqué? Too obscene?"

You lean over the edge of the tub while he opens his mouth ready to respond. The sight of your glistening body causes him to freeze up.

"Kinda, yeah..." he mumbles, while you lean back into the water.

"I guess there's a lot you still don't know about me," you say with a smile.

He licks his lips before taking a step closer. "Why don't we fix that? Can I join you, or is this just a party for one?"

Deciding to up the brattiness, you roll your eyes and sigh.

"I guess you can, as long as you keep your opinions on my taste in music to yourself."

A grin spreads across his lips. "I can do that."

He then kicks off his Nikes before pulling his white t-shirt over his head. You watch a little too intently as he peels off his tight Levi's, leaving a pair of tiny green shorts underneath.

He sits on the edge of the tub before swinging his legs around and lowering himself into the water.

"Ooh, this is nice," he breathes, as he sits across from you. "I wish my parents would get one of these."

"You should tell Daddy you want one. I know the girls would love it," you snark as he shakes his head.

"Is that all you think of me?" He asks, defeatedly.

"You've never given me the opportunity to have a different perception of you," you explain, averting your eyes from his.

He sighs. "I know, but I'm not that guy anymore. At least, I'm trying not to be."

"And you expect me to just take that at face value?" You counter, unable to keep the hostility out of your voice.

"I guess not..." he begins, as he shifts in his seat.

Your eyes widen as he moves to sit next to you. He's suddenly so close, with his thigh pressing against yours as he reaches up to cup your cheek.

His gaze cuts through the steamy air as he leans in, so close the tip of his nose grazes yours as he finally continues, "I'll have to prove it to you, then."

You're struggling to speak, let alone breathe, as it's all too much. His thumb gently caresses your skin as he waits for some sarcastic retort that never comes.

Your mind's then flooded with memories of the first time he held you like this, the first time you felt his breath on your skin, of so many firsts, its overwhelming.

You manage to whisper his name, causing him to whisper yours in return.

"You can pretend to hate me all you want, but I know you missed this," he breathes, as he ghosts his lips over yours.

You resist the urge to lift your arms out of the water and wrap them around him.

"You're already off to a rough start, Harrington," you reply, relishing in his annoyance at your continued use of his last name.

"But am I wrong? Don't you miss me at least a little bit?" He asks, brushing his lips against yours, teasingly.

You sigh as you feel yourself weakening for him all over again. You wish more than anything that you could hate him, but no matter how much you want to, you just... can't. It's what lured you into his bed, his backseat, anywhere he could get his hands on you.

He made you feel so pretty and wanted and possibly loved... until someone else caught his eye. He'd then treat you as an afterthought, especially at school, practically staring you down as you walked by, with his arm around another girl.

That's the closest you got to hating him, and for the rest of the school year, you believed you did. You tried everything you could to make yourself forget the smug allure of Steve Harrington.

And it worked, until tonight.

Your hand grips the slippery bench underneath you, as he nuzzles his nose against yours, content with teasing you all night, if he has to, just to finally hear what he wants.

"Yes," you quietly reply, your voice barely audible over the sound of water swirling around your bodies. "I missed you."

He pulls away, only to look into your eyes, and smiles.

"I missed you, too, honey."

You immediately bristle at his pet name, as all your hurt feelings come rushing back.

"Don't..." you warn, raising your hand and pressing it against his chest, stopping him as he goes to lean in again. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"I do, though," he quickly defends, placing his hand over yours. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you and how I'm so stupid to have lost what we had."

"Really?" You ask, allowing yourself to gaze into his eyes.

"Yeah," he nods. "You're the last person I ever wanted to hurt and I'm sorry for being such a dumbass."

His apology makes you crack a smile and he thinks you've never looked prettier.

"It was always you," he breathily continues as you cradle his face. "I'm just sorry it took me so long to realize it."

"I just... don't want you to ever hate me..." he quietly admits, as you slowly pull him towards you.

"I could never hate you," you softly reassure, right before your lips touch.

"Promise?" He whispers, almost muffled, against your lips.

"I promise."

You each then melt into an overdue kiss. His perfect nose presses against your cheek while your fingers curl in the ends of his damp hair.

"Fuck, honey, I've missed you so much," he breathes, between kisses.

You sigh his name, needing to feel more of him. You break the kiss, leaving him dazed and panting, while you carefully maneuver yourself onto his lap. Your knees press against the hard plastic of the bench underneath him, but you don't mind how it feels when Steve's hands are immediately on your hips, helping to guide your movements.

You lean in to kiss him again, and he's already moaning into your mouth with every grind of your hips. You smile, against his cheek, as you press kisses across it, kissing your way to his jawline.

You feel his wet fingertips glide up your back before his nails dig into your skin when he feels you lightly nibble on his neck.

"Did you miss this too, Stevie?" You coo, glancing up at him.

He nods before his eyes roll back from another grind of your hips.

"No one else ever really took the time to find out what you liked, did they? So many selfish lovers... though I thought that's what you wanted?" You ask, your voice sickeningly sweet.

He groans when he feels your lips at his ear.

"Someone as selfish as you," you whisper, before softly biting his earlobe.

You feel him shudder underneath you, so painfully hard and desperate for either some friction or release.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?" He then shakily asks, as you pull away to look into his eyes.

You shift slightly, freeing up both hands so you can place them on each side of his pretty face. You lean in again, lips just close enough to tease when you reply, "Nope."

"I'm sorry, honey, alright? I'll apologize all night if I have to..." he rasps, sounding as if he's on the verge of tears.

"I just might make you," you smile, enjoying your newfound power over Steve Harrington.

"Let me make it up to you," he pleads, lowering his hands back down to your hips. "I'll spend the night with you... the whole weekend if that's what it takes for you to forgive me."

"You really care about me that much?" You ask, combing your fingers through his hair.

He nods. "Let's go inside and I'll show you just how much."

You're both then scrambling into your house. Little droplets of water fall from your bodies as you hurry up the stairs. The towels around your shoulders doing little to prevent water from dripping everywhere.

The house is also quite chilly, as you had the A/C cranked up all day, so you're shivering as you enter your bedroom. You stand next to your bed, clutching your towel around you, while Steve stands in front of you. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you to him.

"Oh no, honey, are you cold?" He asks, cupping your cheek, with his other hand.

You nod, timidly, your earlier attitude seemingly nonexistent.

"I'll have to warm you up then," he replies, before pressing his lips to yours.

He pushes your towel from your shoulders, and it joins his on the floor. You whimper into the kiss when you feel his large palm flat against your back before his hand ventures lower. He gives your ass a good squeeze, earning another whimper from you.

You then feel him grinning as his hands continue to roam your body.

"You're so fuckin' sexy in this, it's driving me crazy," he breathes, after temporarily breaking the kiss. "I kinda want you to leave it on while I fuck you..."

You sigh his name before pulling him into another kiss. It's messy and desperate as you lay back on your bed, with him on top of you.

He nestles himself perfectly between your legs, and now it's his turn to tease you. He grinds himself against you, the thin material you're both wearing making it more tortuous until you feel him move the crotch of your bathing suit to the side.

You're already squirming under him as you raise your hips, chasing the movement of his fingers.

He's smiling again, unable to hide how smug he feels as he just glides his fingers over you.

"Not so tough now, are you?" He purrs, against your cheek, while your hands are already twisting in his hair.

You try to speak, but he stops you.

"Its okay. I deserved it, and like I said, I'm gonna spend all night making it up to you."

He presses a couple wet kisses to your cheek, before slipping two of his long fingers inside you. You're already moaning at the stretch and the way he's suckling on your neck.

"Shit, honey, you're tighter than I remember..." he pants, sounding as ragged as you feel. "Guess no one else fucked you like I did, huh?"

You shake your head. "N-No, just you, Steve..." Your voice trails off into a series of moans as he adds another finger.

"Didn't think so," he says, glancing up at you.

"Look at me, honey," he softly commands, and once you open your eyes you see how he's gazing at you with complete adoration.

"So fuckin' pretty," he breathes, before crashing his lips to yours.

Your nails claw at his biceps as he mouths at your jaw. He buries his face in your neck, then flicks his tongue over a newly formed hickie. He plans to leave several more all over your body, wanting to cover you in little reminders that you're his girl again, and always will be.

You moan his name, your hand gripping his wrist when you feel the familiar waves of pleasure building.

"This is all for you, honey, remember?" He reminds, breathless. "I have to earn your forgiveness, even if it takes all night..."

You throw your head back, against your pretty, pink pillow as the most intense orgasm you've ever had washes over you.

Steve's lips are at your ear, talking you through it, praising you for how good you are for him.

His words have you biting your lip and squirming all over again. You gaze at him dreamily as he places his fingers between his lips. A soft moan escapes him as he tastes you.

"Just as sweet as I remember," he grins, before you grab his smug face and pull him in for a kiss.

You're moaning for him all over again when you taste yourself on his tongue.

"So, how am I doing so far? Want me to still spend the night?" He quietly asks, still breathless.

"What do you think, Harrington?" You snarkily reply, running your fingers through his tousled hair, before pulling slightly.

With a groan, he kisses you again, knowing you're both in for a long night.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader

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224bbaker · 24 days

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An update and a thank you from 224B Baker Street!

Hello again, detectives!

While the crowdfund for season 2 of Fawx & Stallion technically wrapped up a few days ago, we thought it would be good to take a day or two to regroup, take a nap, and think of a few words to express our thanks. This being May 4th, the day in 1891 that Sherlock Holmes fell to his (alleged) death at Reichenbach Falls, it seemed strangely fitting to say a few words about the story of the detectives across the street and slightly to the left on the day Holmes ever so temporarily bowed out of his own story.

Last Monday, we crossed 100% of our goal. And on Thursday, we ended our campaign with 104% of our goal. We are beyond honored and completely grateful to everyone who donated, shared, sent along encouraging words, recommended, baked, drew, wrote, all of it, in support of us bringing more of this show into the world.

Everyone working to create this show has made art at some point that feels like it went out into the void--something they felt deeply, sacrificed for, put small, weird, jagged, still-beating parts of themselves into day after day, and then never knew if the thing those parts of themselves funneled into actually reached another human. Much less another human who saw themselves in it. We've been quite honest about the fact that our characters are very much an exploration of that feeling, of wanting to be seen, wanting the things we've done to be seen, to matter to someone.

We could write a million words, fifty seasons of audio drama, and never truly be able to put into words how grateful we are to you for reaching back to the art we create and telling it "I see this. I felt it. I love it. I want more."

Creating art is so hard. Most things are hard, but art is Hard, especially as the world and the algorithm and the AI and the Content creeps in and shuts off means of doing the personal, weird, silly, risky little things with any sort of official funding. It's why we funded season one ourselves, because we thought it was worth it. It means more than the world to know you thought so too.

And now, with all of that self-indulgence done: a practical update on NEXT STEPS!

MAY 2024:

We'll spend this next month prepping crowdfund rewards--writing thank you notes, getting extra supplies of stickers (they were VERY popular), etc! We expect those rewards to go out mid-Summer. The annotated Scandal in Bohemia will go out to our $30+ donors later this month via email. Also, if you pledged at $250 or up (THANK YOU again), we will be reaching out to secure details of your perks (start thinking of what mystery you'd like us to solve!). If you are expecting an email and do not receive one by the end of the month, please check your spam folder and if nothing is there, reach out to us via IGG!

We are also in the process or pre-production currently! This season will have a cast of roughly 22 voice actors, so we're taking the full month to get our recording plan. We'll also spend the month refining scripts, doing rehearsals, working with our composer on some original pieces (perhaps some violin) and giving our fantastic sound designer, Sarah, time to do the prep work she needs, and laying the groundwork for what is looking to be a very full summer of production! We look forward to updating you as the season progresses!

Again, thank you. Thank you. This second season is, aptly, a bit of an inverse of our first season. It's about the weight of expectation. How to operate in the world when you go from unknown to known. Invisible to spectacular. Alone to loved. It's also about a murder at a theme park but that's a bit less relevant to the emotional core of what I'm driving at here. But actually, fuck it, I guess it's still relevant, because we've always been excited about the weighty and the silly all the same.

So again, and not for the last time: #ForAmbrosius

-Lauren, Ian, and the whole Fawx & Stallion Team

#fawx & stallion #224bbaker #for ambrosius #s2 #crowdfund

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helix-studios117 · 1 month

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Halo Reloaded: Greased Lightnin'

The UNSC's recreation dome on this particular evening looked more like a makeshift stage straight out of a high school prom, complete with awkward decorations and an air of charged anticipation. Under the domed ceiling, mimicking a twilight sky, a tarp stretched over supply crates formed a primitive stage. It was here that John-117, alongside Fred-104, Jerome-092, and Kurt-051, planned to redefine Spartan coordination with a twist nobody saw coming.

“Okay, team,” Kurt's voice broke through the quiet as he adjusted a faux leather jacket that looked like it had seen better decades. He flashed a grin that was part challenge, part dare. “Remember, it’s not just about the steps. It’s about the soul. Let’s crank up the charm and dial down the doom.”

Fred, checking his reflection in a handheld mirror, meticulously styled his hair into a gravity-defying pompadour. “Charm’s fine,” he quipped, “but let’s not spin out on those dance moves, eh? And Jerome, for goodness' sake, keep those hip thrusts PG-13. We’re here to entertain, not scandalize.”

Jerome, ever the laid-back counter to Fred’s meticulousness, just shrugged, stretching his neck from side to side. “Fred, when you've got it, flaunt it. And trust me, I’ve got it,” he shot back, a smirk playing on his lips.

The gathering crowd was a mix of Marines and Spartans, the air buzzing with both skepticism and a poorly masked thrill.

Among them, Linda-058 leaned casually against a structural beam, her arms crossed but her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Next to her, Kelly-087 practically vibrated with excitement, her laughter clear and contagious as she leaned in to whisper to Linda.

“Fifty credits says John can’t make it through without cracking up,” Kelly wagered with a mischievous grin.

“You’re on,” Linda replied, her smile sly. “But you're about to lose some hard-earned cash. He’s been in front of the mirror all week, perfecting that Travolta swagger.”

As the first chords of “Greased Lightnin’” ripped through the speakers, John took center stage. His voice was unexpectedly melodic, and his demeanor utterly transformed from the stoic Spartan leader to a showman with a flair for the dramatic.

“Why this car is automatic. It’s systematic. It’s hyyyyydromatic. Why, it's Greased Lightnin’!”

John’s transformation was astonishing. He embodied John Travolta’s exaggerated swagger, complete with swiveling hips and flailing arms that were both utterly ridiculous and strangely captivating.

Fred, Kurt, and Jerome slid in with military precision, their dance moves so sharply executed they were comically mechanical. They were like well-oiled parts of some ludicrous, Spartan-sized jukebox machine, each spin and hand jive hilariously overdone.

The Spartans delivered each line with an over-the-top gusto that turned the classic tune into a parody of itself. “You know that ain’t no shit, we’ll be gettin’ lots of tit!” John sang out, leaning heavily into the campy lyrics, his face split by a grin so wide it threatened to split his head.

Fred took up the next verse with a voice that was a deep rumble, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “With new pistons, plugs, and shocks, I can get off my rocks,” he declared, voice booming over the crowd’s burgeoning laughter.

Kurt was up next, channeling an inner rock star that no one, including himself, likely knew existed. “You know that I ain't braggin’, she's a real pussy wagon!” he crooned, punctuating the air with a fist pump that drew whistles and whoops from their audience.

As the song neared its end, the Spartans struck their final pose—John with a comically serious pout and a Travolta-esque finger pointed skyward. The crowd erupted, their applause and laughter echoing off the dome’s walls, a resounding approval of the Spartans’ unexpected comedic chops.

Kelly jogged up to the stage, still laughing, to hand over the credits to Linda. “Best money I’ve ever lost,” she conceded, shaking her head in delight.

Linda just continued to smile, her eyes softening as she watched John hop down from the stage, his comrades slapping him on the back with grins as wide as their leader’s. “Who knew?” she said, the pride evident in her voice, mixed with a touch of relief.

“Certainly not me,” Kelly agreed, “But damn, was it good.”

#halo #halo fanfic #halo fanfiction #john 117 #master chief #master chief fanfic #master chief fanfiction #halo au #halo headcanon #halo reloaded #ultimate halo #helix studios117

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queenaryastark · 1 year

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The chivalric gesture of naming someone queen of love and beauty is not inherently romantic. Chivalry in real life and in the books, with a few exceptions, is performative and political. Behold, all canon examples of QOLAB:

Princess Daenerys Targaryen (daughter of Jaehaerys and Alysanne) was crowned by Simon Dondarrion in the tourney in 55 AC. Since Daenerys was born in 53 AC, and the gesture earned the knight a positive response from the common people as well as the toddler's mother, that suggests that Simon wasn't pursuing a romantic relationship with a baby. He crowned the baby to gain political favor from her parents and to gain a good reputation.

Queen Alysanne Targaryen was crowned by Ryam Redwyne 58 AC. Since Alysanne was married to the reigning king, this must have created a scandal, right? Wrong. There is no suggestion of Alysanne having an affair with anyone, certainly not Ryam. He crowned her to gain royal favor.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen was crowned with the victor's laurel for a melee by Criston Cole in 104 AC when he was 23 and she was 7 years old. Criston is filth, but was he really publicly establishing a romance with a seven year old princess? Why wasn't he sent away or killed after this romantic gesture? Because it wasn't romantic. He was trying to improve his station by making a chivalrous gesture toward the king's daughter. Sure, the child developed a crush on him, but this wasn't publicly seen as an issue at the time.

Queen Naerys Targaryen was crowned by Prince Aemon. This dynamic is given similarities to the Arthurian romance between Guinevere and Lancelot within the popular culture Westerosi songs and stories. But, TWOIAF makes it clear that the historical Naerys sees normal relationships between siblings to be platonic. She even asks her husband-brother to stop forcing her to have sex with him now that they have an heir, saying they should live as brother and sister ... meaning no sex. So why would the brother she has a positive relationship with have romantic designs on her? The truth is, the crowning wasn't romantic. Aemon was honoring his sister.

The daughter of Lord Ashford from The Hedge Knight began a tourney as the reigning QOLAB with two of her brothers as well as three other men defending her title. If this is romantic, that means she was romantically involved with five men, including two of her brothers. This is clearly just a role in the game of chivalry. A Targaryen prince is even honored by being named one of her champions despite no connection between him and her being noted.

Princess Rhaella Targaryen was crowned by Ser Bonifer Hasty. OK, this was clearly romantic. The very first romantic example available.

The daughter of Lord Walter Whent and Lady Shella Whent started the tourney as the reigning queen. Her champions were her brothers and her celibate uncle. No romance noted.

Lyanna Stark was crowned by Rhaegar Targaryen. Was this romantic? There's no evidence they knew each other before or spent significant time together during the tourney. She was hanging out with her siblings, protecting Howland, and secretly competing in the tourney while Rhaegar was surrounded by his friends and allies, trying to overthrow his father, and competing in the jousts. Where was the time? But here's a passage from TWOIAF detailing how those present found this to be political:

Lynesse Hightower was crowned by Jorah Mormont as the second example of this being a romantic gesture.

So of the eight known QOLAB and the one recipient of the champion's laurel, only two (2) examples were overtly romantic. Crowning someone or standing as their champion isn't a huge romantic gesture. It's certainly not something that is going to harm an uncrowned woman's social status. Elia's position as Rhaegar’s wife and the presumed future queen consort of Westeros wasn't threatened by her not receiving an empty chivalrous gesture. Even if it had been romantic, it would be damaging to Lyanna's social standing, not Elia's since Elia is married to the crown prince while any other person can only be his paramour.

This whole idea is just as unfounded as Jon being a threat to his legitimate siblings. The facts of the series simply don't support it. He would be treated as inferior to them and have fewer opportunities because he is illegitimate. And this isn't about defending Rhaegar, who I am not a fan of lol

#elia martell #lyanna stark #rhaegar targaryen #alysanne targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #asoiaf

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the-fiction-witch · 4 months

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Hi, I absolutely adore your writing! do you happen to have a list of all your finished books on wattpad? I really want to go though all of them

Hi!

I do not have a list but I am happy to make one for you, so here is a list of all the 'Story' books if anyone would like a list of the imagine books I will do one too but this is just the long-form stories.

The Witchs Wand

The Bride In Black - TBS

The Lady in Blue - TBS

Mummy - TMR Newt

Mrs Dawkins - TAD Jack Dawkins

Breed - TBS

Seventeen - TMR Newt

Debut - TBS

Producer - TMR Newt

Dungeon Master - TBS

Werido's - TQG Benny Watts

Blu - TMR Newt

Scandal - TBS

IVY - TQG Benny Watts

The Hotel Job - TBS

The Forgotten Girl - TMR Newt

Love Angel X - TQG Benny Watts

The Spoils of War - TBS

Love Potion No.9 - TMR Newt

The Husband - TBS

The Return Of the Sword - TLL Romulus

Black and Red - TBS

GIRLS! - TQG Various

Submission - TBS

Monster In The Mirror - TBS

A Queens Gambit Christmas - TQG Various

Perv - TBS

Harroways School - TBS

Last - G Whitey Winn

Trapped Together - TBS

Dirty Boy - G Whitey Winn

Love Starved - TMR Newt

Glader Royale - TMR Newt

104 days of Self Isolation - TBS

Control - TQG Benny Watts

Take My hand - TBS

The missing Royals - TMR Newt

Welcome to Hell - TBS

Rocket Science - TMR Newt

The Other Harmon - TQG Benny Watts

Princess of The Sea - TMR Newt

The Game - TQG Benny Watts

His Protector and His Killer - TBS

The American and The Russian - TQG Benny Watts

The Human Queen - TBS

My Admirer x - TBS

Professor I broke Reality - TBS / Whitey / Benny

Attention - GOT Various

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rosesinspirationandreference · 1 year

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1. Sabotage 2. Sacrament 3. Sacred 4. Sacrifice 5. Sacrilege 6. Sadness 7. Safe 8. Safeguard 9. Sailor 10. Saltwater

11. Salvage 12. Salvation 13. Sanctuary 14. Sand 15. Sanity 16. Sapphire 17. Sarcasm 18. Satellite 19. Satisfaction 20. Saturday 21. Savage 22. Save 23. Saviour 24. Scalding 25. Scale 26. Scandalous 27. Scare 28. Scarlet 29. Scarred 30. Scattered 31. Scenery 32. Scent 33. Scholar 34. School 35. Science 36. Scrapbook 37. Scratch 38. Scream 39. Scribe 40. Scrolls 41. Sculptor 42. Scythe 43. Sea 44. Seance 45. Search 46. Seashells 47. Seatbelts 48. Seclusion 49. Second 50. Secret 51. Security 52. Seduce 53. Seeds 54. Seeking 55. Selfish 56. Senile 57. Sensational 58. Senseless 59. Sentences 60. Sentimental 61. Separate 62. Serendipity 63. Serpent 64. Servant 65. Shackle 66. Shadow 67. Shallow 68. Shame 69. Shameless 70. Shampoo 71. Shards 72. Share 73. Shatter 74. Shaving 75. Sheet 76. Shelter 77. Shenanigans 78. Shield 79. Shifting 80. Shine 81. Shirt 82. Shock 83. Shooting 84. Short 85. Shoulder 86. Shower 87. Shrieks 88. Shrine 89. Shrouded 90. Shuffle 91. Shy 92. Sibling 93. Sick 94. Sight 95. Sightseeing 96. Signal 97. Signed 98. Silence 99. Silhouette 100. Silk 101. Silver 102. Similarities 103. Simplicity 104. Sincere 105. Sinful 106. Sing 107. Singularity 108. Sinister 109. Sinking 110. Size 111. Skeleton 112. Sketch 113. Skies 114. Skiing 115. Skipping 116. Slapped 117. Slave 118. Slaying 119. Sleepless 120. Sleepover 121. Slice 122. Slick 123. Slide 124. Slipping 125. Slither 126. Sloppy 127. Slow 128. Small 129. Smile 130. Smirk 131. Smitten 132. Smoke 133. Smooth 134. Smudge 135. Snacks 136. Snapped 137. Snapshot 138. Snared 139. Snarling 140. Sneak 141. Snow 142. Snowblind 143. Snowbound 144. Snuggle 145. Soaked 146. Soap 147. Soar 148. Society 149. Soft 150. Solace 151. Solar 152. Soldiers 153. Solemn 154. Solitaire 155. Solitude 156. Solution 157. Somebody 158. Someday 159. Somewhere 160. Sonnets 161. Soothing 162. Sorcerer 163. Sorrow 164. Sorry 165. Soul 166. Soulmate 167. Sound 168. Sourpuss 169. Souvenir 170. Space 171. Spark 172. Sparkle 173. Speak 174. Special 175. Specialists 176. Spectator 177. Speechless 178. Speed 179. Spellbound 180. Spending 181. Sphinx 182. Spice 183. Spies 184. Spiral 185. Spirit 186. Split 187. Spoils 188. Spontaneous 189. Spooky 190. Spooning 191. Spotlight 192. Spring 193. Spying 194. Square 195. Squeak 196. Squeezed 197. Stab 198. Stability 199. Stage 200. Stagnant 201. Stained 202. Stairway 203. Stakeout 204. Stalemate 205. Stalker 206. Stamina 207. Stance 208. Stand 209. Standard 210. Star 211. Star-crossed 212. Stargazing 213. Starting 214. Startled 215. Starve 216. Static 217. Stay 218. Steady 219. Steal 220. Stealth 221. Steel 222. Stereotypes 223. Stickers 224. Stigmatize 225. Stitches 226. Stoic 227. Stole 228. Stone 229. Stop 230. Storm 231. Stranded 232. Strange 233. Strawberries 234. Stray 235. Street 236. Strength 237. Stress 238. Stretching 239. Stricken 240. Strictly 241. Strike 242. Strings 243. Striving 244. Strolling 245. Struggle 246. Stubble 247. Stubborn 248. Stuck 249. Students 250. Study 251. Stupid 252. Subconscious 253. Subdued 254. Subject 255. Subliminal 256. Submerge 257. Submission 258. Substitute 259. Subtle 260. Subway 261. Success 262. Succumb 263. Suddenly 264. Suffer 265. Suggestive 266. Summer 267. Summon 268. Sunbathing 269. Sunbeams 270. Sunburn 271. Sunflower 272. Sunkissed 273. Sunlight 274. Sunrise 275. Superficial 276. Superhero 277. Superiority 278. Supernatural 279. Supernova 280. Superstition 281. Support 282. Surface 283. Surprise 284. Surrender 285. Surveillance 286. Survival 287. Swagger 288. Swamp 289. Swapped 290. Sway 291. Sweat 292. Sweet 293. Swimming 294. Switchblade 295. Sword 296. Sworn 297. Symbol 298. Sympathy 299. Synchronicity 300. Synergy

#prompt list #writing prompt list #prompts #writing prompt #writing prompts #story prompts #story prompt #writing inspiration #writing #writblr #writblur

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kudosmyhero · 6 months

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Daredevil (vol. 1) #104: Prey of the Hunter!

Read Date: March 27, 2023 Cover Date: October 1973 ● Writer: Steve Gerber ● Penciler: Don Heck ● Inker: Sal Trapani ● Colorist: Petra Goldberg ● Letterer: Charlotte Jetter ● Editor: Roy Thomas ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● Matthew, stop working out with your glasses on ● ok, so some dude has controlled the Dark Messiah, Angar the Screamer, Ramrod, and now Kraven the Hunter. who are you??

● Sal Trapani’s inking is a little heavy at times for my preference ● Woman, to Tasha: “So you live alone—with two men?” / Tasha: “On separate floors, deary. Does that scandalize you, or just make you jealous?”

● 👏👏👏

Synopsis: Daredevil and Black Widow are in an training session talking about their personal matters, and how as Matthew Murdock, he hasn't met Kerwin J. Broderick, the head of Broderick, Sloan, & Murdock, and how Matt has yet to meet him since being employed there. After their session together, they meet with Ivan who brings them their mail. Inside they find an invitation to a cocktail party being held by Kerwin J. Broderick himself, who is anxious to meet Matt Murdock.

Meanwhile, the mastermind behind San Francisco's crime rackets has hired Kraven the Hunter in order to defeat or kill Daredevil. When the man offers Kraven the money, the hunter refuses telling him he only works for the thrill of the hunt.

Later that date, Matthew Murdock arrives on the job at Broderick, Sloan & Murdock to learn that his partner Jason Sloan has gotten him an postponement of trail on the Research Centre vandals that he is representing. Murdock is furious because he has no intention to change his plea because he has enough evidence to find them innocent. This causes turbulence between Jason and Matt, and makes him wonder about the ethics of his employer since the orders came from Broderick.

Returning home, Matt finds that the mansion has been attacked and Ivan bound up. Untying Natasha's bodyguard he learns that Natasha has been kidnapped by Kraven the Hunter who has demanded at Daredevil meet him at the San Francisco Zoo. Arriving there Daredevil is instantly attacked by Kraven. As the Man Without Fear manages to hold his own, he demands that Kraven show him where Natasha is. When Kraven finally does, he does so with dramatic flair: He has Natasha tied to the ground in the elephants pen and has blown a horn sending the gigantic beasts into a frenzy. Daredevil breaks off the first to rescue Natasha allowing Kraven to escape and begin plotting the next phase of his attack on Daredevil.

Six days alter, Matt and Natasha head over to Broderick's mansion for the cocktail party and meet Broderick for the first time. The party is dull and Matt and Natasha cause some controversy among the elite that are there. Just then Kraven the Hunter bursts through the window. While Natasha keeps him busy, Matt slips away in order to change into Daredevil. The two heroes have the upper hand fighting Kraven in closed quarters, forcing the criminal to take the battle outside.

There Kraven gets the advantage, knocking out Black Widow with a tranquilizer dart and then knocking Daredevil unconscious. With the Man Without Fear knocked out, Kraven lifts the hero over his head, poised to throw him off a cliff into the rocky waters below.

(https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Daredevil_Vol_1_104)

Fan Art: Kraven the Hunter by RoyK93

Accompanying Podcast: ● Josh and Jamie Do Daredevil - episode 16

#marvel #marvel comics #my marvel read #podcast recommendation #podcast - josh and jamie do daredevil #comics #comic books #daredevil #matt murdock #fan art #fanart

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usafphantom2 · 1 year

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CENTURY HUNTING: Lockheed F-104 Starfighter

Giordani By Giordani 08/19/2017 - 19:03 in History, Military

An F-104 Starfighter armed with two Sidewinder AIM-9J missiles. Starfighter had a very short career with USAF. (Photo: 69th Tactical Fighter Squadron Training)

The so-called Century Series of jet fighters covered six models operated by the USAF with the military designations from F-100 to F-106. They stood out during the 50s and 60s.

F-104 #4The small Lockheed F-104 Starfighter represents the most used and probably best known aircraft model of the "Century" series. He was still in service in the mid-1980s, working in air forces around the world, although his days were already numbered as an operational fighter.

Designed initially for daytime hunting functions, the prototype first flew on February 7, 1954. Like many other devices of the same time, they faced numerous problems in their initial phase. On one occasion, no less than 52 Starfighters were in tests. After overcoming the difficulties, the F-104A entered service in the 83rd Interception Fighter Squadron in January 1958, but, as early as April, it had to remain on the ground due to a series of accidents related to the impeller.

One of the largest operators of the F-104 was Germany. (Photo: Berrety)

German Air Force F-104 fighters lined up on the runway. The Luftwaffe was one of the largest operators of this beautiful jet.

For pilot training, Lockheed developed the TF-104G, biplace version. I didn't have the internal rotating cannon. (Photo: Belgian Air Force)

Reequipped with the 179-GE-3B engine, some problems were solved, but, in view of its short range and poor safety, it ceased to be among the U.S. frontline planes in 1960 and many of its remnants passed to the National Guard. The first multi-use model, the F-104C, served in the TAC (Tactical Air Command) for many

XF-104

F-104The number of F-104C aircraft manufactured did not exceed 77, becoming the last Starfighter that the American Air Force used in its operations. Some fought in Southeast Asia, although with a smaller turnout. The production of the F-104B and F-104D models, biplace versions of the F-104A and F-104C, respectively, reached the number of 47 devices manufactured.

F-104 in beautiful aerial outlet. (Photo: richard ferriere)

The definitive Starfighter, the F-104G, consisted of a multi-use device with a radar system optimized for both air-to-air and air-surface missions. The development of this variant began in 1958. Then, members of NATO, Canada and Japan imported them. He would become one of the most important fighters of the 1960s and the center of a scandal involving bribery in the 1970s.

The Starfighter fought in Vietnam between 1965 and 1967. Your combat record is not good at all: Seven lost aircraft, one shot down by a MiG and no enemies shot down. (Photo: 916th Starfighter)

F-104 #2The biplace model for training, known as "TF-104G" (CF-104D in Canada), had a partial firepower. Two other variants for training were essentially based on the F-104D: the F-104DJ, from Japan, and the F-104F, from West Germany. There is also the RF-104G, the recognition version of the F-

A beautiful image of three F-104 fighters of the Italian Air Force, the last country to remove the aircraft from operation, in 2004. (Photo: Katsuhiko Tokunaga)

F-104 #5

Lockheed F-104G Starfighter

9b05f31c3b33e785c29fe8ff61c1d36cType: Single-place multiple-job hunting.

Propulsion: A General Electric J79-GE-l1A turbojet of 4,536 kg of dry thrust and 7,167 kg with post-burner.

Performance: Maximum speed, 2,092 km/h at 12,190 m; Initial climb ratio, 12,495 m/min; Service ceiling, 16,765 m; Tactical radius, 1,110 km; Range, 3,200 km with maximum external fuel load.

Weights: Empty, 6,388 km; Maximum takeoff, 13,054 kg

Dimensions: Wingspan, 6.68 m; Length, 16.69 m; Height, 4.11 m; Wing area, 18.22 m2.

Armament: A 20 mm M61A1 Vulcan rotary cannon with multiple barrels and two AAM AIM 9 Sidewinder at the wing tips (or under the fuselage), plus 1,814 kg of external load.

F-104 #6

SOURCE: War Machines #35

EDITOR'S NOTE: For many, the best of all was the F-104S. The Germans lost almost half of their Starfighters in accidents. The plane became known by the nickname "Witman of widows"...

EDITOR'S NOTE2: The fear that the pilot, when ejecting, would be hit by the drift after the ejection was such that in the end the device ended up with a singular seat that ejected down, which proved deadly at low altitudes.

EDITOR'S NOTE3: Legend has it that the personnel in the maintenance cut themselves on the very sharp edge of attack of the wings. If it's true, I don't know, but I only know that it was a remarkable feat of engineering the construction of the wings. To increase the lift, the flaps had "venezianas" at the top and air bled from the engine was ejected there, increasing the air flow and consequently, the lift.

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Tags: Century FightersLockheed F-104 Starfighter

Giordani

Graduated in Business Administration, he is also an Aircraft Mechanic, but does not exercise the profession. Simply in love with aviation. You know in depth the history of military aviation and how much it has influenced world geopolitics. "If you do not know the Past, you will never be able to understand the Future"

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IMAGES: Starfighter 'Black Beauty' returns to flying

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bobcatmoran · 1 year

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A bit behind on this, but I'm going to do something a little off-the-wall with Les Mis Letters, namely, keeping track of which parts of Takahiro Arai's excellent and startlingly complete Les Mis manga adaptation (now available in an official English translation!) correspond with which chapters!

The preface (in a greatly abridged form, translated as "So long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, books like this cannot be useless" over imagery of young Jean Valjean walking down a road in Faverolles) takes the first 2 pages of the manga. The manga then follows young Valjean (in scenes we will get later on!), up until Chapter 2, which starts on page 93 of Volume 1 of the manga.

Chapter 1.1.1, "M. Myriel," roughly corresponds with pages 93-96 of the manga, as Myriel and Baptistine arrive in Digne and meets Mme Magloire, who brings them to the Bishop's Palace (soon to be vacated).

Chapter 1.1.2, "M. Myriel Becomes M. Bienvenu," corresponds with pages 97-104 and 107, where Myriel swaps the hospital for his "oversized" house, and allots his entire budget to help others, much to Magloire's dismay.

Chapter 1.1.3, today's chapter of "A Hard Bishorpric for a Good Bishop," includes this paragraph, illustrated and abridged since, as the saying goes, an image is worth 1000 words, on pages 105-106, and a bit on page 108:

One day he arrived at Senez, which is an ancient episcopal city. He was mounted on an ass. His purse, which was very dry at that moment, did not permit him any other equipage. The mayor of the town came to receive him at the gate of the town, and watched him dismount from his ass, with scandalized eyes. Some of the citizens were laughing around him. “Monsieur the Mayor,” said the Bishop, “and Messieurs Citizens, I perceive that I shock you. You think it very arrogant in a poor priest to ride an animal which was used by Jesus Christ. I have done so from necessity, I assure you, and not from vanity.”

Gosh, I love Myriel's level of sass. Like, I know the stereotype of The Classics is that they are staid and stodgy and dull, but Les Mis is surprisingly funny in places!

#les miserables #les mis letters

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barricadas · 10 months

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7000+ people marched today in defense of culture as STOP, a collective working space in Porto, serving 500 artists, was evicted on the 18th of July.

Official news media (and police) reported 1.5 thousand people, but the organization believes we were somewhere between 5 to 7 thousand people on the street.

Audio: Report from the eviction day

The chaos erupted earlier this week, when a police opperation reminiscent of the ones for the "war on drugs", a much larger and deadly matter, with 200+ "opperations" in the last months, with heavily armed gendarme, represses the neighbouhoods of the city.

Audio: Report from the night of the protest, where tensions were high with police. I was clearly very excited so take this as a #sci-fi novel! :)

At 22:30, the police wanted to re-open the street. Clearly, people were in the street, so the police sent 8 motorcicles and then a city "trash cleaner" truck came. The people were calm, but said clearly that in a way, they didnt like it. Reminiscent of struggles of the city, were people chanted "O Porto é nosso" , "A cidade é nossa" The city is ours, and will be until we die.

This forced eviction "despejo", of Centro Comercial Stop, has sent shockwaves across the region. due to media coverage, the city hall is backing up, while experimenting new forms of social control.

Meanwhile, the city is in a war like state.

People writing: "The City is Ours on the walls"

About a few papers on fire at the police headquarters:

(this part is more emotional than trustable, but it was fun!)

As to anything that may be reported as fire, there was no fire, the firefighters went to an air-conditioner and applied a red can of firestopper for 7 seconds, clearly having fun, while onlookers cheered. then the hole commitive left. the police seemed "not aware" of the situation at all.

Very important to note that no apparent motive has been given as to why any of these public "agencies" have behaved like this...

The firefighters were put by polititians on high alert, on a meeting that happened precisely during the protest, because of STOP's "fire risk". but in the end, they went at midnight in a huge and first reponse operation, to the police station instead...

The police station ( which had a small fire going in their balcony, a couple papers were apparently thrown) but the motive for such a large intervention is that the city hall, in trying to deviate our capacity to see that they are in fact, doing these actions, like selling the whole neighbourhood, in a "contest" of "ideas" and accepting a poor idea, out of only three(!)?(!) put the firefighters on extremely high alert, on that same day. Because for years they say that STOP is prone to fire, and they want to "avoid a catastrophe".

So it was really fun when three huge fire trucks and several ambulances were coming to raid the police station!

As to why it is happening, it's being called speculation, traffic in nfluence, and lots of money. artists are the tip of the iceberg, in what may well become a huge scandall in the city.

The plans are public, they want to sell the neighbourhood for €45M+, an architecture project has been approved. Now they axpected the artists to just accept being kicked out, but the fight has just started.

Already a series of scandals has been erupting, with the president of one of the artists association being called out for selling the artists to power. Its all part of a larger scheme to make the huge multimillion euro project happen, and kick out the punks...

firefighters at the police station after large demo against the closure of STOP

police send a trash collecting truck to disperse the crowd, workers celebrate with protesters

22h30 arrives. the road was blocked several times

police busy dispersing the crowd at 20:30

#altpt

#indymediapt

#STOP

cant credit the authors, dont remember who

you can follow

@ stopmanifesta

#STOP #PORTO #CCSTOP #INDYMEDIA #ALTPT #PTREVOLUTIONTV

The menifesto from the artists:

https://ptrevolutiontv.coletivos.org/10323

#stop #ccstop #porto #portugal #culture

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h0unds-of-h3ll · 1 year

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I posted 115 times in 2022

That's 105 more posts than 2021!

104 posts created (90%)

11 posts reblogged (10%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@foxilayde

@inklore

@plumforpersephone

@headfullofpresley

@h0unds-of-h3ll

I tagged 109 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#xreader - 49 posts

#asks are always appreciated - 46 posts

#inbox is always open - 41 posts

#h0unds of h3ll responds - 39 posts

#fanfic - 25 posts

#send me asks - 25 posts

#smut - 22 posts

#oscar issac x reader - 20 posts

#elvis presley x reader - 18 posts

#oscar issac hernandez estrada - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 39 characters

#the unbearable weight of massive talent

My Top Posts in 2022:

Golden

Javi’s been gone from you for business. When he comes home, he makes it up to you the only way he knows how.

Javi Gutierrez x reader smut.

Word count: 6k

Viewers beware you're in for a scare with the: angst, fluff, smut, drug use, alcohol consumption, a few little spanks, unprotected sex, nipple play, edging, biting, bruising, fingering, almost blowjob, spitting, inappropriate use of travel vodka, eating out, smoking, shotgunning, recorded sex, sugar daddy themes, boat sex, exhibition, the term *daddy*, language & explicit themes, age gap, jealousy.

A/n: I couldn't resist writing something about him, sorry not sorry. Very minimal Spanish, I took two courses in High school so, apologies for miscommunications!!

He’s been away on a business trip for a week and a half. 10.5 days, 252 hours, and 15120 minutes. Not that you were counting. He lied. He said- promised even, that he wouldn’t be gone longer than four days. You became discouraged when the week rolled into another. This has been the longest he's been away from you. His promises left his tongue, with none of them being true. You have loved Javi ever since you’ve met him. But if you would’ve told your younger self that he would mean so much to you, you would’ve laughed. Here you are sitting on one of Javi’s lavish balconies staring off into the sunset. You’re dressed in one of his blouses, the smell of him barely lingers. The extravagant cologne that you were pretty sure was older than you barely hung on. You wanted to cry.

It was heartbreaking to be so far away from someone who makes you feel alive. You scroll through the many messages shared with him. Trying to reminisce about the feeling during that time. His “I love you” “I miss you” “Mi Princesa” makes your heart twist. Your stomach tears at the more- scandalous texts. Pictures are exchanged, scantily clothed, not clothed at all. Words in his mother’s tongue make your skin set on fire. And then nothing at all. You’ve reached the beginning. You deflated against the wooden chair. Thinking about throwing away your phone seemed like a great idea. Javi would buy you a newer one without questioning you. It was so uniquely him, his love language. He would walk in, and your face would be stoic, but he would know.

By looking at you, he knew everything. He read you better than yourself, the way he ravaged you the same. Maybe that’s it. Spending meaningless encounters with younger counterparts never made you feel the way he does. Makes you feel as cherished and wanted as he does. All you can wish is for him to come home. His big brown dopey eyes, messy curls, broad shoulders, and too warm aura haunts you. Along with his scraggly facial hair. The scratches and burns. The moans that come deep inside you when his mouth travels your skin. You close your eyes, you can feel your thighs dampen. Your palm vibrates furiously, ringing his tone, showing his name. Suddenly, life doesn’t feel as bad anymore.

~~~

Your stomach is full and heavy. Your wishes have been answered. Javi made his arrival shortly after that call. After having the best sex in your life, he grabbed your hand and ran to the nearest restaurant. Soon after, the greatest idea popped into his thick skull. Which led you here; on his boat and clad with the most lavish swimsuit known to man. It barely covered anything. It held jewels that glistened in the sun. You were unsure when he first offered it to you. His encouragement and eager words made you slip it on.

In a certain move, your nipple could pop out from the top. The bottoms were almost comical. The small stretch of fabric laid itself between your cheeks and high on your hips. Your core's soft lips were threatening to peek out. But the way Javi looked at you. The way his eyes darkened with lust. When he lifted his sunglasses from his eyes to fully look at you without the tint, it made it worthwhile. You’ve tried to deny his gifts for how expensive they are. In return, he would pout, asking why you didn’t like it.

Which was completely untrue, but in his head, that’s the only reason you deny such a thing. You’re slightly still resentful over his absence, but you try not to fret when you have him. Your heart hammers in your chest. You’re not sure if it’s the drugs, the alcohol, or just him that does it. You welcome it anyway. You sink into him, your head on his barren, wide thigh. The top half of your body is in his lap. Your head is ever so close to his speedo-covered cock.

His paunchy stomach rubs against the temple of your head. The ends of his beige button-up touch your face when he breathes. You’re sprawled out in the little booth for him. You almost drool over him every time you look at him. He was just that erotic. If you were to think about it, his collarbones could get you off. Tingles run down your spine.

The leather seat of his boat sticks to you. He draws a puff of smoke from the blunt. The green embers fall off the long cigarette. He’s careful to tap the debris off the side of the boat. His chest stills as he holds the venom in his lungs. You stare up at him in awe. His eyes are hidden by some name-brand sunglasses. His hair is slicked back from his previous swim. Droplets roll down his skin and bead down his stomach. The sliver of his button-up is easily the hottest thing ever. It’s a hint, just a glimmer of him. You breathe shallowly, the sight burns you inexplicably. He tilts his head to the orangery sky. His plump lips part and smoke billows from him. It’s beautiful, everything about it. Him, the clouds he makes, but mostly him. Something romantic and slow plays on the system you had to set up.

Even if you dated such a luxurious older man, it had some costs to it. You’re not saying that it's a bad thing in the slightest, it’s just adding something to him. You can’t explain it, you just have to be there to understand. He taught you the words to this song. You squirm on him, you know all the words. He does too, the song was hot and loud, to say the least. It represents him perfectly. His stomach jiggles softly as he smiles. Those perfect fucking white teeth peek underneath the hair on his face. His elbow rests on the side of the boat as he drags another draw from the drug. His hand nearest to you falls from the top of the seat to the expense of your tummy.

He fended off any insecurity you had, the way you felt about your body was quickly ridden with the way he devoted love to it. If jealousy were to spout its ugly head over the women he did business with, he’d quickly whisk you away to remind you who he belongs to. His long fingers spread across to cover more skin. His hand is warm, and the touch nearly pulls you out of your body. You want more- need more. He leans down to your face, flicking the but of the cigarette into the water below. His face is close to yours. His long nose brushes against yours. The hand on your stomach rises and you rub your thighs together.

Your doe eyes can see the reflection in the glasses. You look so little and a mess. Your hair is knotted, and your skin is crimson from the sun and the drugs. You can’t think coherently, his head tilts. You close your eyes, lips parting for him. You think he’s going to kiss you, make out with you even. The warm and strong-smelling smoke makes its way from his mouth and over to yours. You breathe the drug in, the spark in your lungs ignites and God it feels good.

He leans back when he’s done. He seems smug about the way he’s teased you. One of his eyebrows perked up. His age shows when the lines on his forehead are shown. You don’t know what it is about him being older, maybe it’s the taboo but it’s simply sex embodied. His fingers draw meaningless shapes around your naval. His cheeks are flushed and you can barely make it out on his dark skin but you see it. His head tilts like a puppy as he looks down at you.

“So eager for me, Princesa.”

His hand trails lower, flattening your abdomen. Your breath hitches, as his extensive finger dips into the band of your panty. He smirks, loving how greedy you are for him. He wants to frame the image he sees. Such a good girl for him.

“Have I have not fulfilled you?”

Your lips fall as his hand grows deeper, closer to your sensitive bud. You clench your thighs harder together.

“I- please.”

You give up knowing if you tried to speak, it would make your desperation known. The boat sways along the wakes of water. His tongue licks his bottom lip, his other hand coming to push fallen hairs off your forehead. You’re just so pretty like this for him. He knows that you’re younger than most women he’s been with. Something about the way you’re always inviting him into you, up to all his adventures, has him going. He’s been told he’s too much, too excited over life. You’ve only encouraged it.

And that alone makes him feel hopelessly in love. He’s absolutely torn from being away from you. Hates absolutely despises it. But he'd rather have you in his satin sheets than in a sketchy life-threatening hotel with him. He’s thought about going cold turkey and running away with you, but he knows Lucas would find him. He cherishes these moments with you, where he can get away from it all and just enjoy you. Well, he thought. The intercom's sound turns to static, and a ringing of a phone somewhere in the boat buzzes. Great.

He gives you a look mixed between a pout and an apology. You don’t know what you feel, but anger and sorrow are prominent. His hand lifts from you. He sags into the corner of the booth. You get off him walking to the bow of the boat. You wrap your arms around yourself. He promised once again that he wouldn’t let work invade tonight. You feel lied to and stupid. Gabriela’s stern voice comes through. Something involving the whereabouts of Nic.

You watch with clouded eyes how the sunbeams off the water. It’s entrancing, the particles moving back and forth and the colors combining to become one. You understand that you shouldn’t be upset with him, but you are. It’s almost as of late that he’s been consumed with work. It was fun, the money, and drugs, but you’d rather have him than anything.

You were confident in your relationship with him. He’s told you he’s loved you while sheathed deep inside you. Worshiped you even, but sometimes like these, you felt like you didn’t matter to him. Tears brimmed your eyes. Even in Spain’s heat, you felt cold, too exposed. Your arms leave you and wrap around the glass. You lean on it, your current anchor. Suddenly you wished to be back in your- Javi’s room buried underneath thick blankets. It heightened your senses by the tainted blood running through you. You can feel him before he even touches you. His arms wrap around your midsection and his face is shoved into the side of your neck. He rubs his scruff on your skin.

His lips press deep, wet kisses along the length of your neck. You try to stay angry, but you can’t. His nose digs into the meat of your neck as his teeth nip the sensitive spot behind your ear and you break. Your arms fall to lace over his. Your small fingers dip in the junctions of his big ones. Your body shudders on him, the material of his shirt on your back raises goosebumps. He groans into your ear, holding you tighter to him. He sways his lips, almost in a slow form of dance. He closes his eyes, breathing you in. Fuck, you smell good. The most potent thing he’s ever smelt. It’s slightly hidden from the smell of drugs but all of a sudden he’s a bloodhound. You could be miles away and he could find you. He doesn’t care if you’re mad at him or if you fight. He’ll always make it up to you in more ways than one. Always being drawn back to you. He doesn’t speak for a few minutes, just burning this moment in his brain. It’s peaceful. His strong jaw lies on your shoulder. His lips brush against your ear when he does speak.

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617 notes - Posted May 4, 2022

Sandman

Steven meets you and it changes his life forever, it changes yours too.

Virgin! Steven Grant x reader x Marc Spector smut.

Word count: 23k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: Tooth rotting fluff, Steven is a creep low-key, smut, noncon, angst, daydreams, mental illness, limited knowledge of DID, language, explicit themes, a hellish slow burn, bad puns, self deprecation, making out, praising, clothed grinding, rough smut, tender loving, dirty talk, fingering, belt spankings, somnophilia, blow jobs, overstimulation, creampies, dumbification, teasing, eating out, choking, hair pullling, kidnapping, breeding kink, hint of anal, bondage, spitting, manhandling, restraints, HIS DAMN CHAIN, innocence kink/corruption kink? dark themes, scratching, sexual innuendos, taboo, manipulation, domestic violence, stalking, murder, ed, and many more things that could be triggering!

A/n: I am absolutely sorry for being away but you get this masterpiece in return! This is the longest fucking filthy thing I’ve ever written, I love Steven what can I say. This is loosely based around ep 1 of Moon Knight. To sum this up I’m just so desperate for Oscar and decided to share it with you. So, enjoy!

The glare of the golden beams impelled him just right in his spectacle-covered eyes. He checks the analog clock jostled far enough under the mountain of books to see he was late once again. Getting lost in the far-distanced world of Egypt. He sighs, rubbing his temples with his right hand and his left holding his glasses by a leg. They were tipping over the book he was reading. Not only that, but he grumbles something out under his breath, tucking his library card to hold his place in the book as he shoves it into his satchel. He gets up from the wobbly chair and over to Gus. He pauses before he gives the fish its food. Wondered if Gus had his own thoughts, his own feelings. Now Steven understood that the misconception of fish was highly falsified.

Maybe that’s why he adored the small chromatic thing. It, too, could understand the complications of being…misconstrued. Especially one with only one fin. How hellish of a world Gus must live in. He stared at the small tank. Perhaps he should get another one. Gus hadn’t been eating for quite a while. Could he be stressed? Could fish even get stressed? He didn’t know he grabbed the cylinder from the same table Gus was on and took the lid off and sprinkled the disgusting flakes over the brim of Gus’ ocean.

He’d rather you to not ask how he found out the flakes were disgusting. He planned to pop in by the fish store after work if he had time and, by the looks of it he didn’t have any at all. He pursed his lips together in thought. Such a small creature was his only friend. It was sad, sure, although Steven enjoyed his own company. Even if it was a bit lonely, then again, he had Gus. He waved at the tank before wishing Gus a good day. He liked to think that Gus waved back to him.

He locked his door and broke into a not-so-subtle sprint towards the elevator. The doors enclosed before him. He watched in horror, wishing for his feet to not slow down. He felt as if his ankles were being sunken into quicksand with each step into the gray carpet of the corridor. The weight became unbearable. He was about halfway before he accepted his fate. He shouted out for whoever was in there to stop the door for him. (He didn’t take in the fact that he rarely has ever seen someone using the lift.)

He pushed forward. He could feel the heat from the failed wiring touch his skin. Burning him with energy. He was sort of taken aback when he watched a small hand dart out, almost being sandwiched between the giant metal doors. His shoulders deflated, and he smiled a lopsided grin, relieved to know he wouldn’t be set back an hour or two by taking the stairs.

Although he was star-struck as the doors opened to reveal one of the most stupefying people he ever laid his eyes on. A soft smile was gifted to him. The sight was a blessing as well. A woman with soft eyes admired him from afar. He didn’t think that of himself. Someone admires him. It was laughable, but the way the woman was had his stomach twisting a certain way. A way that he'd only felt once or twice in his life. A way that made his mouth gape open like Gus’. He just gawked at the woman. She was as stunning or more stunning than Hathor. He didn’t have a single thought in his brain. It was like witnessing a great disaster occur. He wants to run and hide, but he simply cannot look away. Everything about the woman was perfect. The way her hair fell from her head. Her lips were painted a deep red. Her sundress fell about an inch-no-an inch and a half below her knee. It was such a beautiful color that complimented her skin and her lips. Oh, so delicately he could study her forever. He wondered where she was going dressed so nicely, and if he would see her again.

Seconds turned into ticking minutes as he stood there. He probably looked like a creep. Goggling at a woman with no dignity. He wouldn’t have noticed the lift was moving if she hadn’t said anything. Her voice, don’t let him get started. It sounded like the most delicate piece of music he’s ever heard. He shuffles into the corner with a slight blush burning his tanned cheeks. His hands grip his satchel with such a serious grasp that his knuckles started to turn white. He was nervous, to say the least. The way her perfume, which smelled like roses, wafted into his nose, made him hysterical. He fell in love with the scent right then and there. She must have been new. There was no other way he wouldn’t have noticed her before. She was so unique, such a refresher, to have something new come into his mundane life. He was nearly choking on air like a fish out of water. His eyes stared forward as a soldier would in the field.

He closed his eyes tightly, wishing the feeling of uneasiness to flee. He takes several, several, deep breaths in. He feels like he’s going to faint. He couldn’t just leave this moment without knowing who this mysterious woman was. So he decides to have small talk. Shit. The worst decision of his life. He has nothing to talk about. Until his monkey cymbal led brain scrambles to one thing in particular. The reason he got here was that she held the door open with such generosity. Most people wouldn’t go out of their way for him in the slightest. She was just different. He wanted to be someone else, so he mustered all that, pushed down courage, and acted like someone else.

“I-I- t-thanks for holding the doors.”

He wants to bash his head into the metal container. He feels slightly at ease. He didn’t completely fuck everything up. Although he feels warmth crawl up his spine and onto his neck. He’s sweating bullets. Was it always this hot in the lift? He looks like he’s in one of Egypt’s deserts by the way he looks absolutely exhausted. Thick droplets of sweat raced down his neck, his veins being highlighted with such urgency by them. Dark purple ones stretch down his collarbone and down in between his clavicles. The dainty gold chain was smothered by the rain of them. He curses himself when his dark gaze hovers over to her, picking at a sticker left by some juvenile on the wall. He wants to cry.

He wrings the strap of the satchel as he devises a plan. He worked so hard the first time in attempting to speak with her just to be shut down? Classic. His brain goes into a convulsion. He wants to know her name. But how is he supposed to get it when he can’t even speak to her? His anxiety hits an all-time high as the numbers illuminated in a dark red decrease. He had about a floor left to make his move, or he’d never see you again. He almost outright has a heart attack by the way his heart thrums against his chest. Then everything holds to a halt and time stops. She turns with the loveliest smile he’s ever witnessed, and she turns with her hand out.

“I’m Y/n. Y/n L/n.”

Your accent isn’t like the people he hears every day. It’s eager and bold. His hand that’s not taken by the strap shakes when he takes yours. He almost punches himself as he realizes his hand is most likely clammy from his dilemma. He hopes you don't notice, what would you make of him from it. Although every thought in his head leaves once more. Shit. Yours is so much more delicate, softer, smaller. His brain can’t even track what’s happening, as he just gawks at the exchange of touch. The doors chime open, and he realizes he has to say something-anything.

“S-Steven.”

Your hand falls to your waist. He points to the hand that once held yours to himself as he said his name, pointing his index to his chest. Like a preschooler figuring out how to introduce themselves for the first time. You smile at him, beaming with pearly whites underneath the red. He takes notice of the way your nose scrunches when you smile. Hell, the action is like the sun hitting him. You nod your head in accord.

“I hope I see you around, Steven.”

You grasp his forearm, the one that was holding the strap and squeeze slightly as a farewell and whisk it away. The smell of you leaving the lift, he wanted to bottle it and keep it. The image of your sundress bouncing with every step was burned into his mind.

~~~

Steven rushes through the enormous doors and stretches his legs as much as he can in quick strides. His broad hands gripping the strap unyielding. He curses under his breath, his eyes wildly flashing amongst artifacts and mummies. He was scanning the room for Apep (for Donna.) Strands of dark curls soaked into his forehead as he shuffles past people. Polite inquisitions were spat from his tongue. He swore it fell on deaf ears as he fled. His feet shuffled against the tile, sounding his presence.

His deep brown eyes searched for the tarnished gift shop. Once they fell on the store, his chest deflated and his strides slowed. Another day at the shop, he guessed, it wasn’t to him. He had met you. He smiled softly to himself at the memory of you. Beautiful, polite you. He bowed his head, walking into the store. His hopes lifted as only a few people were cast aimlessly throughout the small store. He whisked behind the desk as a ghost would behind a bannister. Maybe he was a ghost inside a world full of boisterous living. He shook his head as he crouched down, his hands pulling the strap over his head and into the cubby. He felt vulnerable in some capacity without it- his security blanket. His fingers pinched the metal rectangle and pulled the pin through his jacket. He would lose his own head if it wasn’t attached. He smirked at the ridiculous insinuation.

~~~

Hours turned into endless amounts of swiping, inputting numbers, and ‘thanks come again’ with a smile that he didn’t mean. Every single thought revolved around you. You ate him up inside and the only thing he said was his name. The way you spoke the syllables on your sweet tongue made the collar of his shirt tight. He wrings it free with his index. He loved the way your shoulders connected to your neck, your jawline in the perfect symmetry of your body. You held both masculine and feminine energy balanced with a twinge of something he couldn’t place. You were just uniquely..you. He pondered about whether you knew how to dance to the slow music he likes.

If you like singing while you cook. If you liked guys like him. His cheeks were painted with a dusty rose color. He grinned with ease. You made him feel that life wasn’t all that terrible. All throughout the day, you occupied his mind. Scenarios and what if’s danced inside his mind. He was intrigued by their different sensations. The sun’s once bright stature turned into a burnt orange cascading throughout the windows of the museum. All he knew was that his shift was almost over. He could go through the pet shop and do miscellaneous hobbies he indulged in. Well, that was before an eager man in what Steven presumed to be late forties waltzed up with an item. A pyramid, Steven’s scanned thousands of them before. What was different was the knob’s accusation of small talk.

“You know aliens built tha pyramids?”

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897 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

Top girl

Blue has taken a liking to you. Little did you know it would turn into an obsession.

Blue Jones x shy! reader smut.

Word count: 13k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with: heavy angst, heavy smut, rough smut, coercion, sexual assault, dark themes, mentions of prostitution, cockwarming, degrading, a bit of exhibition, spanking, language & explicit themes, abuse of power, thigh riding, doggy, hitting, talk of abuse, kinda fluffy, innocence kink, threats, unprotected sex, cuninglingus, praising, alcohol, stuff being broken, yelling, smoking, masochism, collars, clothed grinding, groping, masturbation, use of dildo, orgasm control, mutual masturbation.

A/n: I am 1000% not sorry for this filthy thing. My baby, easily my favorite fic of mine. You’re called mouse a lot in this fyi. Also Ezra from Prospect is in this. Can be an au?

You watch them twirl and stretch in various ways. Girls in corsets, faux silk dance around you. Your beige skirt and worn shirt puts you to shame. You didn’t arrive with much of anything, just the clothes on your back. It’s only been half a day, but from what you’ve seen was enough. You were instantly walked into this orchestrated business and given orders to just watch. You didn’t speak and nodded when spoken to. Eyes glossed over with a hazy hue. You’ve grown familiar with the nicknames to keep their identity hidden. The Doctor and the doll were the only people who had shown you kindness. You’re new here, your head tilted to the wood floor.

Reluctant, even excited deep down. It’s new and the first day of the rest of your life. A melody booms from the make shift speaker. A routine you don’t know, but the girls do it with perfection. Observe and execute is the order you remember for verbatim. The Doctor’s words run through your head. The brief interview and briefing of rules, given with a flick of a hand. A sharp hit of her cane. Your position was to be a fly on the wall and nothing more. You’ve grown nauseous from knowing there was someone higher. The Doctor referred to him as Mr. Pleasant. The mention of a meeting with him ran your blood cold. Goosebumps rising on your flesh. God, you were in for it. Just the whisper of his name has you shivering.

Even through her rough demeanor, you can see that the Doctor truly cared about her performers. Sharp barks turn into a gradual push. Praises spew from her painted lips after the group finally gets the difficult quotidian. As you watch these masters perform, you almost hide. You’re cowering under the intimidating demonstration. You try to swallow but you get choked up. The small room almost shifts as you grow ‌disoriented. A gentle palm touching your back makes your head jerk.

The older girl that you now are fond of smiles at you. She knows how you feel, how tamed you are. She was in your place at one point. That time felt like decades ago. She grieved over finding someone like her, someone so innocent. She’s determined to console you, to preserve you. You know little, since you’ve only spent a few hours here. But you can get a decent idea of how this place works. Her hair is messy and damp with sweat. White strands carelessly thrown into the ties on the sides of her head. She looks rough, yet like an angel. She’s been working to her breaking point, but she’s still going. A couple of other girls, she has mentioned, have been worked to the bone. She points them out, and it’s only a shell of the person who they once were. A sickly feeling grows in your stomach. You admire her ambition. Most of the other girls have given up on the act. It’s sad, but the truth. She runs her long fingernails along the length of your arm.

“Are you okay?”

Her heavenly voice calmly coos. You nod, never looking into her eyes. She frowns before casting a knowing look. The nervousness twists in your stomach and you want to cry. You’re scared of what’s to come. The men- beasts, who you’re going to serve, horrifies you. You’ve watched the way they eat the girls here. It’s only time before it’s your turn. How the hosts' dark eyes linger on you. The burn, all of it stabs at your gut, then blossoms into a desperate warmth. Your cheeks grow rosy. Baby pins it on the anxiety and she takes your hand in hers.

“Let’s get out of here.”

She knows there are few places to go, but anywhere then here will suffice. She tugs on your hand and before you know it, you’re leaving out those enormous doors. With dirty glares thrown your way. She’s tugging you too hard for you to care. You feel heavy, your knees wobbly on thick heels and filled with adrenaline, curious about the beginning.

~~~

Your hasty getaway has cut off. A staff member whisking you away and the pale girl giving you a sorrowful look. She’s spilled everything she knows to you. The deaths, the corruption and greed. It was the failure of the past. The renewal of the updated version. You feel like a criminal who just committed a scandal. The guilt plugs up your throat. A single look in your direction makes you feel immense ‌shame. Your mouth will open and you’ll speak on command. You don’t know how you’re going to last with this crucial idea. You don’t think you’ll last very long at all. You don’t need to list all the reasons you think you’ll fail. The biggest one was that you had a poker face in a window. It’s seen through ‌blatantly. Your heels make you cringe when you near a metal door.

“Get the food then serve it to Boss. Wait until further demand.”

The man in white says lazily behind you before leaving. You lick your lips before picking up the courage to push the cold door open. You’re met with a barely sanitized kitchen. Leaks and hisses of gas are spewed throughout the room. A large man with a clever in hand, takes quick notice of the new meat entering his space. He likes the way your chin is jutted deep into your chest, how small you try to make yourself. He raises his hand and sticks the metal into the side of a cutting board. He pivots and grabs a dirty rag, wiping the grime off his fat fingers. Your eyes flick across, taking everything to memory. You have a funny feeling you’ll be in here more than you wish. You feel his beady eyes stare holes into your skin. It makes you shrink if that was possible. He leans on the back of the sink.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Like he cares, his voice is groggy filled with mucus. You ghost an expression. He carelessly takes it. You don’t respond and irritation runs up his red face.

“I don’t think you’ll last long here.”

He rounds the corner to walk to you. The potent smell of meat and his body odor make you gag. Your cheeks puff and he reaches his hand out to touch you. The pudgy fingers come to your cheek. You feel tears brim your eyes, his breath fanning over your face. The putrid smell will haunt you.

“Boss likes his girls feisty.”

His large hand cups your cheek. He jerks your head up to look at him. He tilts your face, examining you. Picking your features apart, making a note of the things he likes and doesn’t. The large man's face is only a few inches from yours.

“But what do I know? He might like the change.”

His lips curl into a smile. He’s taunting you, seeing how he can shape you into being complacent. The cook isn’t a nice man, but he wasn’t as bad as the boss. If you’re getting scared of this, then you have another thing coming. Water boils in the distance with a high scream. He breaks from you; he goes back behind the make table. The standard food is being brought out by him. He slides it over to where you stand. Your head bowed. You hadn’t moved an inch during this entire encounter.

“Better get going, little girl. Boss doesn’t have much patience.”

~~~

The plate weighs heavily on your small hands. The clicking sound of your heels hits your ears with every step. A ticking bomb setting off your destination. The establishment was large, yeah, but it was easily memorable. Everything was labeled with ‘staff’ or ‘restricted’ so you made your way past those. It’s eerily quiet. Not a sound is made other than your shoes. Not a single ounce of chitter chatter, just you. You supposed it was evening because of his dinner, so why was it so quiet? It made your skin crawl and your head dizzy.

The blood pours out of the slab of meat on the porcelain. If you stared at it long enough, you could feel the biles in your stomach form. You look side to side looking for any hint of where you should deliver this to. You nearly trip when you find the gold plaque reading ‘mr. pleasant.’ Your heart rate picks up and you suddenly can’t breathe. You swallow thickly, maneuvering the chilling plate between your ribs and wrist as you pull your hand to rap three consecutive knocks.

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1,084 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

Lover’s exchange

After submitting your final. Jonathan’s more than intrigued as to where the inspiration comes from.

Jonathan Levy x reader smut.

Word count: 8k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: fluff, smut, rough smut, VERY EXPLICIT, age gap, fingering, blow jobs, eating out, unprotected sex, gagging, anal play, ass eating, overstimulation, coercion, consenting adults, power control, breeding kink, recorded masturbation, explicit language & themes, dark themes, drinking, smoking, rough smut, hair pulling, scratching, Jonathan is not as innocent as he seems, teasing, porn? Porn, teacher x student, somnophilia, implied face sitting, sensory deprivation kinda.

A/n: I literally took the idea of him being a professor and fucking ran full throttle with it. Can be an au! I guess. Head empty just him. Just a disclaimer that I’m not in college and nor have any idea what consists there. I apologize for any misconstrued ideologies! Most is written in the 3rd pov.

“A passionate encounter, one that has never been replicated since. That is what I want you to write about.”

He rolls the sleeves of his cardigan up to his elbows. The few students scattered throughout the small auditorium. He knows they’re not listening, but he continues nonetheless.

“It can be with a spouse, a stranger, anything really. I’m giving you the freedom to express a feeling only you have felt so incomparable to anyone else.”

The electronic bell he’s grown to despise rattles. His students billow out into the side door, to their next seminar. He plops into the wheely chair with a long elongated sigh. He hopes it came across well, the prompt of their final. A feeling twists in his gut, not even half listening to him. He wants to help them prosper. He’s a lenient professor, one of the most laid back on the board. But there’s only so much he can brush past. Late work that’s a month overdue, students pleading for him to turn an F into a B- is exhausting. He takes his glasses off, hanging his head into his palms. He’s trying desperately to wipe away the misery that's clinging to his features. The soft sounds of shoes patting the ground. The loud chit-chat of the pupils communicating through the corridor. He fails to hear you sneak up on him.

“Professor?”

His head whips upwards to the chirp of your elegant voice. Your hands tied around your school bag. A gentle smile creasing your cheeks. Hair flowing like a drape of a veil. Easy going on his aging eyes. His brain inputs into hyper drive, admiring you. You’re the only student who cares about their work. Who asked questions, who listened intently to the subject he taught. He’s taken a kindness to you that he has given no one else. Rounding up those fives into one hundred.

Giving you that plus you didn’t need, but makes your transcript look more polished. You never spoke to him about subjects outside of education. But you always came to him to broaden your knowledge to keep your work proficient. You’re smart and charming. Pulchritudinous even. (A word that he came across in your work that means beautiful.) He feels immense guilt. Pushing his blurred gaze to the side of his desk. More suitable for the atmosphere. He shouldn’t think of you in such a way. He can’t help it now matter how hard he tries.

“Yes? What is it?”

His voice is short and snappy. Cutting the rope that he’s tethered to. He punches himself for how your smile drops to a vacant expression.

“I was wondering how uhm,”

You pause. Brows knitted on your smooth forehead. You look for the words that aren’t immature in the phrasing.

“How much vulgar use you would allow.”

There's that sheepish smile again. He chokes on his saliva, blind eyes widening. The long curve of his nose is where he pushes his glasses back. He sees your unmasked beauty, and he’s sputtering. An unknown speech impediment develops as he racks his dumbfound skull for an answer. He loses the suaveness of a preceptor and the eager man he truly is comes to play.

“I-, as long as it’s a salient contribution to the plot. As much as you’re comfortable with, I suppose.”

He applauds himself for coming off the slightest bit as composed. What do you mean by vulgar? Maybe you wanted to include paraphernalia or explicit language. But what if- you wouldn't, you are too put together to even indulge. But what if? You nod swiftly. Brightness swims in your eyes.

“Thank you, pedagogue.”

Your idyllic body pivots walking through the big twin doors. He lets out a heavy heave exit his lungs, one that he didn’t realize he was holding. He leans down, pressing his febrile forehead onto his desk. He’s stupefied by the title. Pedagogue, really? He praised himself for being benevolent and you thought that he was austere? A new, fresh hoard of scholars enter his domain. He groans, wanting to bash his cranium into the wood. He doesn’t know how to feel. But the only thing he can think about while teaching his course is feeding you grapes in a lavish room in Israel.

~~~

A week and a half later, Jonathan is sprawled out on his couch. A wine glass in hand, shitty cable on demand playing some nonsense. A pair of grey joggers low on his hips, a dark earthy tone sweater on shoulders. All wrapped together with a thin white chain with the Star of David draped on his sternum. He doesn’t really know why he wears it anymore. He doesn’t feel like he treasures his faith, cast from the religion. He doesn’t hold the practice to his heart. Especially not after the occurrences with Mira. The exact reason he sits alone in this big empty house.

Longing for Daughter’s presence. A distant glow of his laptop on the coffee table in front of him, pleading for him to do something, anything. His heart torn from the absent wishes of wanting his life to be different. Filled with artificial happiness. Loneliness puts him in a corner with no escape. He’s grown accustomed to the feeling, throughout his failed marriage, he knows it all too well. Ridden by the pain of it, something unfamiliar takes its place. Something stronger than isolation. Desolation. He’s felt like this for so long that he’d forgotten that there are other emotions. Like jouissance, similar to having a penchant for something. To have it for you. He knows deep down that it’s wrong.

Fuck he knows, he does and it will kill him. Shouldn't think of his student in such a desirous manner. But he can’t stop. Ever since you walked yourself into his class, he hadn’t gotten you out of his head. Daydreams he's living in with you. Different past lives he could’ve had with you. Every waking moment you’ve plagued him. Every off hand hungry exchange with Mira, he imagines you. He can’t get away from you. A deep breath emits from him. He scratches his forehead, lost in the thought of you. His laptop pings with a buzz. It seems that the universe has answered his prayers. He straightens his posture, setting the glass on the table before pulling the computer on his lap.

He adjusts his glasses; the glow glares off the glass spheres. His house is pitch black other than the distant television and the radiance in front of his face. He sets it flat on his lap, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. He uses the track pad and finds his notifications. You. You’ve sent him something, your email in his inbox. A pdf. Your semester final. You work his schedule like clockwork. It wasn’t due for another week and yet you’ve already finished. He’s already gotten a few messages from other disciples needing the date pushed back, but you’ve completed it. His heart soars, resembling something along the lines of being proud? No, appreciative. He remembers the words you spoke to him the day he gave the prompt. Vulgar.

How lovely you looked that day, but in his opinion you always looked like that. Somehow you looked even better that day. Chipper and gleaming like a morning dew. The cursor hovers over the link. He clicks, opening the document. The black words on a white sheet were gifted to him. Your introduction and citations at the top corner. The title in the middle. Lover’s exchange. He scrolls to the first paragraph, with a heavy heart and high hopes he begins.

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1,647 notes - Posted May 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Helping hand

The biggest name in Hawkins visits you. The bully, but before you can refuse. He meets you with a proposal: help him and he’ll help you.

Steve Harrington x reader smut.

Word count: 5k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: choking *slightly, degrade and praise, talk of harassment, unprotected sex, p in v, making out, groping, manhandling, hair pulling, hickeys, scratching, explicit language & themes, finger sucking, talk of jealousy & masturbation, secret pining, enemies to lovers? Descriptions of pus, blood and bruises *see gif below, parents in the other room.

A/n: nothing. Look at him, read the filth I wrote for this goon. He’s hurt AND wAnTiNg. What a dream come true. Not really set in a specfic season sooo. This is so cheesy oh my god.

Brown boxes are scattered in your room. Some filled to the brim with memorabilia, others with clothes. The one you’re currently packing, a collection of your work. Academic medals, shoved into the bottom. It’s bittersweet having to leave for college. To become a scholar to better yourself. To get an education for a career. Your parents were more excited than you were. You were mourning over lost memories. The pictures you forced Jonathan to take. The clubs you were in with the introvert. You thought his strike against Polaroids was a bit odd, so you had to get creative in other ways. Such as sneaking, quick photos of him and Nancy. They were cute, even with the unrequited thing they’re going through. Your heart weighs heavy in your chest. Digging through the piles. As you dig, you find an old essay. One that you did for Steve Harrington. You smile. It’s funny, really the strange deal you used to have with the king. You made pretty good money from it. A’s were $100, Bs $50. Test scores were doubled. The dirty hassle lasted all throughout senior year.

It’s amazing how neither of you got caught. Now and then you’d slip up and add a word Steve most definitely didn’t know. Or some punctuation. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t know the difference between a semicolon and a colon. The most bewildering thing being that you actually got to know the person behind the hair. He was an idiot, but a charming one. You got to understand him better as you tried to tutor him. Always after school at your place, four on the dot. (It was the only window of time for your parents, both at work and school ending.) But it didn’t matter, he rarely showed. Always saying something came up.

Or when the times he showed, he was always nervous and unconcerned with the work you tried to teach. It was useless trying to teach a dog who’s too stubborn for his own good. The tricks he didn’t understand. Which leads you to do his work. You reminisces the times he would flash a sharp smile when you popped a joke. The flutter of your heart as he looked at you. The demeaning look he had when he actually tried. Shivers run up your spine as you trace your thumb over forged words. Lost in the mirage of what your life would be like if you acted on your feelings. The rattle on your window spooks you, you jump to your feet. Scurrying over to the window, your heart thumps against the cage of your chest. Trying to pump out of the flesh and bones. It’s the middle of the night, and the only light you have is the soft glow of what’s in your room. But you can make it out. Who it was. Him. The legend of your dreams. His face is casted over with dark shadows. His hair in clumps, facing every which way. It wasn’t normal for him to look so disheveled. He’s slumped over, a hand pressed to the side of your parents house. His other pushed against the side of his torso. You purse your lips together, thinking of every possibility. Your window was incredibly small, although you knew it was possible to escape through it. However, Steve was bigger than you.

Broader even so you scrambled for a better plan. You couldn’t just waltz in a foreign boy into the house. Your parents would lock you up like Rapunzel if they found out. The gentle buzz of the living room tv is a reminder that they’re home. “Date night” resolved to a movie marathon on the couch. They weren’t talking so you assumed that they were passed out. But what if they weren’t. You paced by the window. You step on your tiptoes to peer through the small rectangle. With a deep breath you unscrew the window, propping it open. The cool Night’s air prickling your skin. The air is still as humid as ever. You’re beyond confused as to why he’s here. But the urge to help clouds your judgement. Did you summon him here? It wouldn’t surprise you if you did. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing that’s happened here. As you stare down at him, he runs a shaky hand through the thick strands of his hair. A dark jacket matched with a light shirt is drenched in what you assume is blood. His or someone else’s you didn’t know. He looks to the side, wiping his cheek on his shoulder.

”What're you doing here?”

You whisper as loud as you can. Careful to not waken your parents. Even though you're grown, you’re still terrified of them. He blinks dumbly at you. Those puppy dog eyes, bruised and busted open. It pains you to see him so broken. He looks to the ground, not able to look at you.

“I-“

He pauses. Tears burn the backs of his eyes. Remembering the night's events has scarred him worse than it ever has. He’s honestly shocked he’s hobbled all the way to your house, but here he stands. Wobbling to the side and discombobulated. He chews on the inside of his cheek.

“I need your help.”

~~~

It’s astonishing how he managed to fit through the window. With your “help” you tug on his hand, pulling him through. He’s tripping over your night table. He staggers a couple of steps before crouching. He cups his hands around his shin and groans. A pained wince going across his face. Now you can examine his wounds. It’s almost sickly, the long deep gashes on his temples. The short ones across his jaw and lips. One of his eyes has a big welt near the lid, it drips fresh blood into the cornea, blinding him. His skin was filled with grime and dried blood. Your heart floods with sorrow. Even if he was an ass to you, he didn’t deserve this. His head falls back on the edge of your bed. He whines high in his throat, almost a moan. You panic, placing your finger over your lips and shushing him. He’s too loud. He’s going to get you caught. With a boy in your room. Without a doubt, your parents would murder you and bury you under the house. His head whips to you. Eye(s) throwing daggers.

“Did you just shush me?”

Fuck. Why does his voice sound so good? It’s groggy and feels like drinking Coca Cola. Butterflies form in your stomach. You push your chin into your chest and nod. Not wanting to say much else, knowing that if you do you’d expose yourself. Your eyes fall to his once white shoes. His jeans rolled up twice around his ankles. The material tattered at the end. He notices that you’ve shrunken into yourself. He feels at home. Not seeing you for months, but you haven’t changed a bit. It’s a relief to not see something defiled. He huffs, chest being stabbed with every breath. It’s quiet other than his fragile breathing. You’re as quiet as a mouse. Just observing him, trying to figure out how to fix the issue. To make him feel better. The room holds still, almost like time has frozen in place. With Steve. The idiot decides to break the trance. Turning around to attempt to lift himself off the floor. The springs of your bed croak as he uses it for support. You quickly come to his aid. Your hands come to his shoulders, helping him stand.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

You murmur, pulling him to his feet. His jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth together. Restraining himself to not just scream in agony. His feet shuffle as you push him to the chair by your desk. He falls with a choked gasp. His hand goes back to his waist, pushing. You wonder if there’s a nasty bruise forming, or worse, if he broke his ribs. Your blood runs cold. Steve looks to the side. Above your desk was a mirror, one he wished he hadn’t seen. His eyes flicker over his face. He doesn’t recognize himself. Gashes littered across his face that it hides his true form. Why does he feel so ugly, like he’s a monster? He wants to cry. You chew on your lip as you rack your brain for answers. Among the conspiracies, you can’t find a definite answer. His clothes are drenched with crimson and brown. You can’t see the major wound that’s causing such damage. The only way to find out was to get him to shed the top layers. You blush before you pull on the lapels of his jacket. The bastard smirks. The tear in his bottom lip stretching.

“Trying to get me out of my clothes, already? I mean, I’m all for it, but I think foreplay is pretty hot.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Stomach flipping at his jest. Steve wants to sleep with you? Is that what he was insinuating? It’s comical how outrageous it was. He didn’t even bat an eye at you walking by you in the halls, and now he wants you? It made little sense. You shoved your foolishness deep down. Remembering that you’re simply here to help, not to make matters worse. You shake your head.

“I’m trying to see where you’re bleeding.”

He nods briefly, face falling to complete stoicism. He leans forward, peeling off his jacket. His hands were shakier than when he was outside. Was he nervous? You put it that he was in shock. Your eyebrows knit together as you see him fully. Dark pools are scattered everywhere, not just one definite spot. His hand falls back to his side.

“I can tell you one thing sweetheart, I don’t think there’s a place I’m not bleeding.”

He smiles, blood clotting around his teeth. He’s stupid, such a fuck boy with no shame. You should’ve known that’s all that he wanted from you. There’s no right for your thighs to dampen and your pussy to flutter at the pet name. His dark eyes roam over your body. Loose tee and baggy shorts, hiding the curves he knows you have. You look at ease, well before he interrupted. He likes the look of it. He wonders why he never paid you any attention. Such a sweet thing that he never gave the time to. He feels like a dork about it. But with the way you’re looking at him reminds him of his mother. Hands on hips, and face cut to stone. Your face mixed with a scowl and utmost concern. As he breathes, he can feel that broken rib poke into his palm. One thing is for sure, is that this is going to be a night he’ll never forget.

~~~

About every medical bandage in your premise was on Steve. After you had cleaned him up with a warm rag. And after a thousand more sexual innuendos, he looks better, to say the least. Instead of cuts, his skin was now littered with bandaids. Two gauze rolls are wrapped around his waist. (The stupid bastard wouldn’t admit to it hurting, so you had to push a finger there. You seethed the moan and the way it made you feel after.)

He breathed shallowly, each breath felt like his lungs were being punctured. But you were more curious, scattered on his bare chest, that trailed down his stomach and under the waist of his blue jeans. When did that happen? Numerous times at his basketball practices did he took his shirt off. But when did he become so masculine? It was impossible for you to place your finger on it. You tried your hardest to not gawk. You dabbed the now cold rag on his most likely broken knuckles.

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1,700 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

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#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #fanfic writing #thank you #I’ll write more #H0unds-of-h3ll

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souslelys · 2 years

Photo

[ FIC ] ‘104′ - ignoct, explicit

🍆 Written by starrynoctsky

🍆 4500 words (new)

🍆 Time travel, foursome (32+30+22+20), double penetration, multiple orgasms, creampie, hints of selfcest, verse 2

EXCERPT:

Noctis doubts Umbra had delivered this time traveller for the sole purpose of joining their bed, but the man refused to answer their questions.

Nothing about the future. Nothing about his injuries.

“Later,” Ignis vowed once the initial shock of his arrival passed. He hushed Noct, lowered Noctis’ guilty hands from his scarred face and kissed away the questions that sat heavily upon his tongue. He ignored his double’s scandalized protests and pressed his lips just below the red ribbon tied around Noctis’ finger.

“After all, it is our wedding night.”

Written for @ignoctnsfwzine with amazing art by @ammoniium!

📝 LINK TO FIC @ AO3

🎨 LINK TO FULL ART @ TWITTER

#ignoct #sous fics

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yunamaocaro · 1 year

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I posted 1,184 times in 2022

That's 582 more posts than 2021!

308 posts created (26%)

876 posts reblogged (74%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sashkin

@isuanti

@raininyourblackeyes

@swan-lutz

@beautifulstorms

I tagged 1,124 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#x - 104 posts

#yuzuru hanyu - 100 posts

#roc doping scandal - 64 posts

#beijing 2022 - 48 posts

#jun hwan cha - 38 posts

#sui/han - 38 posts

#mao asada - 36 posts

#figure skating - 32 posts

#kaori sakamoto - 27 posts

#yuna kim - 25 posts

Longest Tag: 67 characters

#❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

My Top Posts in 2022:

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584 notes - Posted July 31, 2022

i think no matter how you feel about yuzuru (or his fans lol) you have to agree that he is a legend in this sport and rightfully deserved all the wrs, the medals, and the praise. even a decade after his senior debut he continued to be the standard in terms of jump tech, skating skills, transitions and musicality. and with figure skating in the state it is now (no stsq in juniors, decreasing the pcs components from 5 to 3, just... everything going on with russia and usa) it seems impossible that another skater will be encouraged (by their coaches, their fed, the isu) to reach his level of mastery over fs

771 notes - Posted July 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

i think it's important to keep in mind that it's not just eteri it's every adult at sambo. it's not just sambo it's aop and all other schools in russia who teach quads to 12 year olds. its not even just russia abusing their athletes. they just did it FIRST and more proactively. usa was well on its way to do the same thing to alysa liu when she was just a 13 year old winning us nats. rika kihira was made to skate injured as a teenager by hamada and lambiel and as a result missed the olympics. there's levels of corruption and figure skating is corrupt at every single one. none of this would be happening if grown adults responsible for the livelihoods of CHILDREN (be they coaches, isu members or government officials) weren't willing to ignore all the abuses for their own gain.

1,154 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

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#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #my top posts being gifsets and hot takes is on brand lmao #also x is like my tag for my silly goofy posts so also on brand and then yuzuru and the doping scandal lmao

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hergan416 · 2 years

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Fucking making Dorian Gray about Yugioh because why the fuck not. It's my blog I do what I want. Welcome to tumblr dot com.

This is long as hell and kind of convoluted. Click read more if you want to hear my rambling thoughts about about queer coding, language, and censorship, within the context of comparing the classic work of late 1800s literature The Picture of Dorian Gray, a work credited with loosening the grip of the pervasive and stifling Victorian morals, written by Oscar Wilde, who was famously tried for gross indecency because he was gay and this was considered a threat to society, and the 4kids dub version of Yugioh, first aired on children's television networks in the early 00s over a century later, and famously censored to make regular facts of life, such as death, more terrifying in order to make the show "suitable for children" and "suitable for network TV."

Ok. So. It's chapter two. Dorian Gray has just objected to being called "boy," to which Lord Henry says something like "you know you want it."

Specifically on p. 104-105

"And I don't allow anyone to call me a silly boy." [...] "And you know you have been a little silly, Mr. Gray, and that you don't really mind being called a boy." "I should have minded very much this morning, Lord Henry." "Ah! this morning! You have lived since then."

The significance of this objection, according to the annotations, is that to call another man a "boy" "was frequently understood as a veiled announcement of homosexual or homosocial desire." (p 105) The annotations provide Lord Alfred Douglas' nickname "Bosie" as evidence. (Lord Alfred Douglas was Oscar Wilde's lover, and his father is the one who's charges eventually put Oscar Wilde in jail.)

Lord Henry is, quite frankly, being quite creepy here. "I don't want this." "Oh but you do." 🤮 [If I had a quarter for every time I had a conversation that went like that...]

Even before the 1891 book version, Lord Henry can't really be seen as a good influence on Dorian Gray. At best he is an amoral influence, as he's said himself, but it's quite clear from his own thoughts that he doesn't really believe that. (Earlier: "Lord Henry watched him[Dorian Gray], with his sad smile. He knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing." p. 97) He's been screwing with Dorian the whole time. And sure, there is language to assert that the ideas that Lord Henry espouses (which are many, and quite contradictory) merely awaken something already within Dorian Gray, it is still clear that Lord Henry is meaning to be manipulative.

This is further evidenced by annotation number 22 on page 97.

Lord Henry brings a combination of intellectual detachment and pleasure to the task of influencing Dorian that is positively Mephistophelian in its connotations. Later, he will refer to Dorian as his "own creation." Lord Henry knows that there are moral consequences to the advice he gives Dorian, but he finds "an exquisite pleasure in playing on the lad's unconscious egotism." There has been much critical speculation about what motivates the combination of pleasure and detachment -- about whether it is a sublimated expression of erotic desire, whether it has a purely philosophic or pedagogic basis, or whether it is a sign of Lord Henry's own moral corruption.

It is clear, however, from all the context of the annotations and the words on the page themselves, at least, that Lord Henry makes Dorian Gray uncomfortable, and likely made the audience uncomfortable as well.

Especially when the rationality for the discussion above harkens back to the Cleveland Street Scandal of 1889, which was still very much in the public consciousness. (Wilde's manuscript was published in Lippencott's magazine in July of 1890.) The link is to wikipedia, because I'm only going to allude to the social impact of the scandal here. Go ahead and read it if you want more information.

Anyway, this brings me to Yugioh, and the (Dub portrayal) of this man:

I'm going to have to take a few steps back because I want to talk about Pegasus as queer coded villain, because I think that flipping from the Cleveland Street Scandal to the character of Maximilian Pegasus is not super obvious.

Disclaimer, this is obviously all opinion. While I'm relying heavily on scholarly annotations regarding Dorian Gray, with Yugioh I can't even claim to have a very informed opinion outside of being in fandom and watching it with my eyes. Also, I lived during its historical context. But, I've never taken a media studies or GWSS class.

That being said... to me, Pegasus' queer coding all comes down to his voice and his vocal tics. Here:

To me, the more obvious way that Pegasus is queer coded is the sing-songy lilt in his voice, which is not dissimilar to the stereotypical valley girl speech that was often assigned to gay men by bullies at my school in popular culture at the time. This could be written off as an English language interpretation of a vocal tic... especially since he has a vocal tic in the original Japanese that would be hard to translate and also sounds sort of similar.

youtube

I do not know enough about Japanese culture to comment on whether this verbal tic from the original anime had any queer connotations whatsoever. I can't even say that the creative choices made by 4kids were a bad way to represent Pegasus' Japanese actor's voice in English, and I certainly can't speak to their intent regarding the perception of Pegasus' character. I can only say what connotations I as a viewer brought with me to this creative choice.

Regardless, Yugioh was being aired in the United States divorced from its original context, and heavily censored. So, if the audience has a connotation about the way Pegasus talks.... the audience has this connotation. The resources to look for why this choice might have been made weren't meant to be available to US viewers in the 00s. I had them right after my viewing because I didn't watch Yugioh until I was an adult, sometime around 2015.

Back to the lilt. Obviously Pegasus isn't meant to be gay in the "falls in love with other guys" sense. The story gives him a female love interest, who dies. This motivates him to get the Millennium Eye and "become evil" because it's a 00s era kid's show and we only get extremely cut and dry morality, so characters are usually either good or evil. (Please ignore Kaiba here, I understand he's allowed to toe the line of being antagonistic without being evil, but most other characters do not get this treatment.)

Instead, Pegasus is meant to come off as creepy towards the teens on the show. He's already doing a LOT of bad shit, like say kidnapping Yugi's Grandpa, kidnapping Mokuba, and holding Kaiba Corp hostage. But this needs to be hammed up even further.

This is where predatory stereotypes come in. Specifically, I want to connect Pegasus' verbal tic of calling Yugi "Yugi-boy" and Kaiba "Kaiba-boy" to the predatory stereotypes that began with the Cleveland Street Scandal.

Ok. See the connotations of the word "boy" in the 1890s above. Sure, it is less recognizable that this language is meant to imply homosexuality today, but Pegasus' words still come off predatory and creepy in a modern sense. Add in the already threatening visuals, and some creepy music, and you know this is a guy you want to stay away from.

When finding clips for the above video, I never heard him use this pattern of speech on Mokuba, an actual boy. He only uses the phrase on the teenagers who are defying his will. This honestly makes the choice in language more threatening to me, because it's not simply something he says of other people. It something he says to specific people at the very least as a way to unnerve them.

Even if the Cleveland Street Scandal wasn't something in the public consciousness a tad over a century later, the same "gay man after teen boys" stereotype still permeated media and culture.

This was an era where tragedies like Brokeback Mountain were considered revolutionary positive portrayals of gay people in media. If your audience was meant to feel sorry for or empathize with gay characters, you were doing good by them, no matter how much the character suffered. Obviously, to be gay was to suffer. That's what made Brokeback a good portrayal.

More commonly, however, queerness was the butt of a joke, and lumped in with jokes about Michael Jackson or Catholic priests and molestation (source, once again: school bullies). These were people you stayed away from. And I feel that 4kids was drawing on this stereotype in their portrayal of Pegasus.

Still with me? Cool.

At this point, I believe I've demonstrated why I see shared character traits between Pegasus and Lord Henry, that these traits are primarily things the audience would view as predatory, and that these traits would be seen as predatory for similar reasons.

Ok. So let's talk about censorship.

If you haven't been following these posts, and you've made it here, holy shit congratulations. Reward yourself. I'm verbose AF.

And, I'll note that I'm reading The Uncensored Picture of Dorian Gray, which is an annotated and illustrated edition of Oscar Wilde's typescript that he sent to Lippencott's magazine. I've mentioned Lippencott's already, in contrast to the 1981 book. Most people who read The Picture of Dorian Gray, read the 1891 book that Oscar WIlde re-worked after extreme negative backlash to the Lippencott's magazine version, both for its homosexual allusions, but also for the way that Dorian Gray treats women and for his promiscuous heterosexual life. Better modern printings of the novel will include both the Lippencott's version and the book, so that readers can see the differences. But it took until 2011 for Wilde's original typescript to be reprinted, which is what I've checked out from the library and have been reacting to. [Check out the "#liveblogging the uncensored picture of dorian gray" for my other posts.]

Anyway, the reason the typescript is important is because Lippencott's had already censored a fair amount of the manuscript, and Wilde would not have been able to review these changes before the magazine was published. Because of the magazine publishing culture at the time, it would have been highly unusually for a magazine to go back to the original author and get an ok to edit their work. So the typescript is the closest we have to a version of the novel that Wilde would have written and published were there no societal pressure whatsoever. It is, as the title claims, uncensored.

I assume my audience is more familiar with the history of 4kids as a company and its use of censorship to make foreign animation palatable to the post-9/11 US parent in the midst of what essentially amounted to a moral panic.

In spite of both media being censored in order to protect impressionable people (the cause of the uproar over the Lippencott's version, as well as the raison-d'etre for 4kids removing death, alcohol/drugs, foreign foods and foreign names from any anime they touched), both characters retain this malignant queerness in the final versions of their respective media.

The chapter that I'm reading right now only has one textual change listed. It is to make Basil seem less homoerotic, like most of the changes in the first chapter had been. Nothing was done between the parts of the typescript that I quoted and Lippencott's, nor Lippencott's and the 1891 book. From my understanding of the general and textual introductions, the 1891 book overall actually drew on Lord Henry more and is more explicit about his negative influence on Dorian Gray.

4Kids was famous for censorship, but seemingly went out of their way to make Pegasus a queer-coded villain, despite this explicitly not fitting with his redemption arc and backstory. While this could be a consequence of trying to translate a verbal tic, if this interpretation was considered problematic, it would not have made it past their censors. 4Kids historically chose censorship over accuracy with much smaller things.

youtube

While homosexuality was/is considered bad for society and bad for young people, portraying it was never "bad" if it was clear the media was treating the homosexual character as a "bad person." That didn't change for over 100 years.

#liveblogging the uncesnored picture of dorian gray #ygo #pegasus #homophobia #homophobia in media #censorship #4kids censorship #essentially an essay #long post #Youtube

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