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gold-rhine · 1 year

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Sub! Thoma x Dom! Gn Reader

Warnings: nsfw, minors please get out, edging, praise kink, service play, slight degradation, chastity cage, overstim, vibrator, oral (reader receiving), ruined orgasms. Fluff. Yes, I said fluff, and I mean it.

Wordcount: 4k

A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned. as always, filth is under the cut, don’t worry. If you’re a worldbuilding purist and vibrator bothers you, pretend it’s from Fountaine. If they already have cameras, they can manage vibrators.

Thoma is just great. He would almost be too sweet if he didn’t have another side as a problem-solving fixer or didn’t have a spine.

And he does have a spine, unarguably, he threw a spear at the face of his country’s god during her one-hit kill boob-nuke move. So when he submits to you, you know he’s doing it by choice and not because he’s a pushover, which makes it even better.

Like Diluc, he's a dedicated pyro workaholic who will not take care of his own needs or pleasure unless he’s literally forced to, but unlike Mond’s Batman, Thoma is not on 27 layers of dissociation and is actually aware of what he wants.

It’s not that he couldn’t be smth more ambitious than a housekeeper, it’s that the combination of mild OCD and people-pleasing motivation make both housekeeping and being a fixer a very rewarding occupations for him, and why be ashamed of something that makes you happy.

Thoma’s natural impulse when he sees something wrong or out of order is to fix it, and the scale doesn’t really matter - from spilled coffee, to trade deal disputes, to tyrannical government decree. And because of his indifference to the scale, he doesn’t turn this world-bettering into a grand mission or an isolating burden of responsibility, unlike SOME people, and therefore manages to have one of the healthiest mentalities out of all genshin workaholics.

His biggest turn-on is bringing pleasure to the partner and he will always put others' satisfaction above his own, which is why he can top if that’s the best way to please his lover, but his ideal role is a service sub.

with proper encouragement, he’ll be very open and needy, but also bashful enough to be fun to tease when you want to. Literally best of both worlds.

You might not appreciate Thoma or not find him interesting compared to other, loudly flashy characters, everyone has a right to have no taste.

He might be ready for almost anything to please you after you’ve already made him yours, but he has his quiet dignity. He will not be advertising if you don’t notice first.

He’s a bite of a fresh green apple, warm from being left in the summer sun, a tangible pleasure to sink your teeth in, with just enough tanginess to offset the sweetness. A breathy laugh, ruffled sunset-gold hair, agile body, always in motion, green-grass bright eyes, a late spring on the cusp of turning to summer, warm and sunny, but not yet stifling hot. Golden time, all yours to claim, but very easy to miss if inattentive.

Has a praise kink, obviously, but whatever he does for you, he will never ask for the compliments himself. He can be easily persuaded to beg, but not for praise - he needs to be complimented not because he asked you to, but because he’s earned it.

Also likes degradation at the same time. In the hangout event he was like “Nooo, traveler, don’t stop these authorative men from openly disparaging me, I don’t mind. Despite the fact that I have more than enough influence as both Ritou fixer and closest confidant of the Kamisato clan siblings to put an end to it myself. It just doesn’t bother me haha.”

Yeah okay, sure, whatever you say, babe.

Has a highkey oral fixation. Not only the balls-eating idle animation. But also completely unprompted, out of nowhere basically railroaded his friends into doing a weird “game” where you have to guess the unknown weird foods just by taste and texture. Brought the weirdest foods and tasted them the most for no reason until he’s literally got sick. Like, you didn’t have to go this hard, king, your friends were just sitting there confused anyway, it wasn’t even a competition.

Later brings up said event as a fun time that he’d like to repeat

Yeah okay, SURE, whatever you say, babe.

Someone please fuck this man on the mouth with a variety of differently shaped and textured dildoes to satisfy his need for interesting mouthfeels and save him from another indigestion.

Thoma’s biggest insecurity is belonging. Caught between two heritages, disconnected from Mondstadt, but always seen as an outsider in Inazuma. He found his place in the Yashiro commission, and he threw himself fully into his work for this sense of belonging, but secretly and, as he thinks, selfishly, Thoma yearns for someone to want him just for himself, not for his skills. And not just to want him, to claim him, own him fully, without stipulations, to reward or punish him as you see fit, but to know that he’s completely, undoubtedly, unquestionably yours.

His enjoyment of chastity cage stems from both of his main preferences, first, it’s a constant, tangible proof of belonging to you, more permanent than any mark on the skin could be. Second, it appeals to his cheeky part that enjoys the thrill of having a hidden side, like “oh, you think that i’m just a humble housekeeper, but I’m actually a resourceful influential fixer, but you’ll never know that :3”

He’s not clingy, but he blooms when given attention, like a sunflower quietly turning to the sun. He cherishes anything - from the smile and quick peck on the cheek, to slap on the ass or you dragging him into a broom closet and fucking him against the wall while he bites his handguard to stifle moans. The anticipation that you might ask for anything from him at any moment sparks deep in his belly like a small flickering candleflame.

Like any pyro, he loves a challenge, but because Thoma is like the farthest you can get from a brat, he doesn’t like challenging you, but enjoys endurance or patience tests, and the more he has to work for it, the sweeter the reward will feel.

If he’s only left one room to clean, you can order him to do it with a remotely controlled bullet vibrator in his ass and enjoy the show of him struggling to keep his composure and finish the job.

At first he tries really hard to pretend it’s not affecting him at all and go on as usual, but you notice his hitched, and then quickened breath, tensed body, his movements are stifled in comparison to his usual easy fluidity, he’s stealing quick glances at you from the half lowered eyelashes.

As it gets worse, you can see him breathing through the mouth, swallowing harshly, his hips twitching, so you ramp up the vibrator’s setting and he almost doubles over the table he was wiping, gasping from surprise. For some time, he struggles to get a hold of himself, his thighs shaking, fists clenching on the table’s surface, but then manages to get back to cleaning, his hands a little trembling, but still careful and melticiuos and you turn the intensity down. You don’t want this game to end too quickly.

Of course, you can cheat and tease him directly, starting from fleeting caresses, to stealing kisses and getting in his way and groping. He’s left with his clothing ruffled, shirt riding up from when you slid your hands under it, pants half-undone by you and hanging on hipbones. He blushes, but doesn’t fix his clothes, because you made a point of leaving them like that, and the way you watch him with obvious desire riles him up just as much as the bullet pulsing inside of him. It takes all of his willpower to not go to you, collapse at your feet and beg to touch him, fuck him, let him finish.

Finally, there’s only one bookshelf left to dust, and at this point Thoma is no longer even trying to keep up the pretenses, he’s squirming, letting out shaky gasps, lightheaded from mix of desire and ache in his aroused cock, cage feeling more and more painfully tight. He’s steeling himself, taking deep breaths, because by the archons, he’s not going to let some dusty wood planks get the best of him.

He’s so focused on his goal that he doesn’t notice how you approach him, until you hug him from behind, so he shudders, letting out a surprised gasp, and you chuckle.

“So, how is it going, baby?” you ask with an innocent tone, but your mouth is pressed to his ear, and you feel him shiver from your warm breath.

“Great,” he manages to start out with an upbeat tone and a smile, but then you start kissing his neck and sliding your hands under his shirt, and his voice gets wobbly. “I’m… ah, I’m… so close…” you find his nipples and they harden immediately under your touch, forcing a shaky, needy moan out of him before he can continue, “Almost done… just…mmmhm… just a bookshelf…” you twist his nipples and buck your hips against his ass, and he arches in your arms, “Oh, fuck, please!”

He’s too fucking delicious, so you turn him over and press him against the wall, claiming his mouth. He’s such a good kisser, even half out of breath and out of mind like this.

“No, I can’t let you fuck the bookshelf, babe,” you tease, smiling. “That would just be a mess.”

He starts rolling his eyes at your joke, but ends up with his throat arched, your lips trailing kisses under his jaw.

“Wait, I didn’t finish…”

You smirk and pull his pants down to the thighs in one abrupt motion. “Oh, you’re definitely going to finish.”

He blushes, but meets your eyes anxiously. “You mean, like that?..”

“Yeah, with your pretty cock still caged, darling.”

He blushes even more brightly and swallows hard, but doesn’t argue, doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask you to take it off, despite how uncomfortably tight it feels, despite knowing that coming like that won’t bring him pleasure or even relief, just frustration. It’s been a few days, and he wants to finally be allowed a real orgasm so badly, but he follows your order like a good, obedient boy that he is.

He lets the last dregs of his control go, because that’s how you want to see him, submits to your caresses, and the world drowns in a delirious, needy haze of desire. He hears his own filthy, shuddering moans without realizing it’s him making them, basks in how you rake your eyes over him in hunger, exposed, writhing against the wall under you, blushing cheeks and parted lips, shirt pulled up to the collarbones and pants pulled down to the thighs.

It’s worth the sweet, maddening torture of his aching dick and overstimmed, abused prostate for how you claim him, your hands and lips all over his body, your tongue sliding inside his mouth, it’s overwhelmingly too much and desperately not enough. He isn’t sure how much time has passed, every moment feels like stretched out, agonizing eternity, until he can’t take it anymore.

He comes with a half-choked moan, his legs going weak, and slides down against the wall, panting. You kneel down next to him, kiss his face and whisper praises as he’s trying to catch his breath, and reach between his legs to take the bullet out.

But instead of switching it off, you press it against his cock, sending a violent jolt through his entire body. He gasps, his bright green eyes going wide in disbelief.

“Shhh, baby, I just need you to cum one more time for me,” you tell him, kissing his cheekbones tenderly. His cage has an opening that leaves part of the cockhead exposed, it’s swollen, red and throbbing against the bullet.

“No, please, I can’t,” he gasps for air with an open mouth like he’s drowning, presses his back against the wall in an instinctive urge to get away.

“Of course you can, baby,” you catch his chin, forcing him to look at you. “You are mine, aren't you?”

“Yes,” you can feel his throat moving under your fingers when he swallows.

“And your cock is my favorite pretty plaything. So I need you to come for me again like my good little whore.”

“It hurts,” he moans weakly and shuts his eyes, blushing brilliantly, his gasps turn into quiet whimpers. His body is twitching, nails scraping helplessly on the floor, but he still hasn’t said the safeword, so you keep the bullet pressed to his throbbing cock.

“I know, baby,” you press a gentle kiss to the corner of his parted lips. “But I want to have you whole. I want to take everything you have, sunflower, and I know you can still give me more.”

His arm springs up abruptly and for a second you think he’ll try to push you away, but instead he finds your free hand and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Yes,” he whimpers shakily and looks up at you, his eyes bright and glittering green from tears. “Oh, please, please…”

He looks incredible like this, luminous in combination of filthy hunger and naked tenderness, an exposed, helpless mess, writhing on his knees, trying to spread legs that are caught in half-undone pants on his thighs

his cheeks glowing bright red, he’s keening and begging, without even knowing what he begs you for, with wet parted lips, chest raising in heavy feverish breathing, cum from his first orgasm still staining his cage and stomach, the swollen, pulsing tip is leaking under your finger when you thumb his slit with the same hand that holds the bullet against it.

Сompletely undone, unraveled, tortured and trembling, but nonetheless, he’s clutching at your hand, reaching, leaning into you with desperate need.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” you squeeze his hand, press yourself against him as he whines, and you can tell he’s close by how the muscles of his abs tighten, his thighs tense. “Show me how good you can be.”

He comes with a choked, broken sound, half-moan, half-sob. You hold him as he’s shaking, pepper his face with kisses, whisper praises as he’s trying to catch his breath.

“Good boy. You are such a delight to have, my little treasure.” His body is full of raw-nerved, unreleased tension, but your words add a maddeningly sweet undercurrent, shiver that runs down his spine, makes the torturous frustration worth it if you’ve enjoyed him. “You’ve been so good for me, I’ll even let you choose your reward. If you want, I will take off your cage and make you cum until you lose your voice from screaming.”

His breath hitches, eyes light up in hungry anticipation, but you continue.

“Or, I’ll let you serve me. I’ll fuck your pretty mouth.”

“Let me serve you,” he answers without hesitation and you smile, because you always knew what he'd choose.

Few minutes later, he’s kneeling at your feet, already naked except for the handcuffs and the cage, the longer strands of his molten gold hair falling freely over the sculpted shoulders. He’s quiet, but he’s looking up at you in restrained anticipation.

“Are you sure, baby? You can still change your mind.”

“Yeah,” he says without hesitation, nuzzling at your knee. “I’m sure.”

“I might not let you out today at all.”

“I know,” he kisses your knee, rubs his cheek against it pleadingly, looking you in the eye. “Please… Use me.”

You smile, let him start slowly, trail a line of kisses up your thigh until he presses his mouth to your sex. It’s not the first time you use his mouth, so he knows what you like, eager lips and searching tongue. He looks up at you, watching for all signs of pleasure: heavy breath, narrowed eyes, bitten lip. You slide your hand into his hair, stroke it softly and he hums in appreciation. When your hips buck against his face, you can feel his moan reverberating against your flesh.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you forcibly pull him closer, fuck his mouth as he goes slack, his eyelashes flutter, warm and willing for you to take.

You slow down a little bit, just enough to hear him make a tiny choked noise, caught deep in his throat, see him look up at you from under half-lowered lashes with glistening, dizzyingly grateful green eyes.

When you finish, it’d be enough for him to cum if he wasn’t caged still, so when you let him go, he slumps against your leg, breathing heavily through his bruised mouth, his ragged breaths hot against your skin.

“Thank you,” he whispers, blush on his cheeks heating up against your knee, just barely loud enough for you to catch it.

You take him to the bed, throw him on his back, and he lies sprawled helplessly in front of you, delirious from the constrained pleasure, watching you with bated breath.

“You’ve been very good, my treasure,” you whisper, looming over him, move the unruly bangs, no longer held by a headband, from his forehead. His hair is too bright and saturated for a blonde, not dark and red enough for ginger, another duality caught in between, gold and tangerines, amber and buttercups, sunflower petals in the light of the late sunset.

“So even though you refused your reward, I’ll give you a chance to cum. If you can win a little game,” you smile, open his cage and slide it off. It goes slowly, with an effort, too tight around his swollen dick, and he shudders, sighs deeply when he’s finally free.

You press your palm against his cock and kiss the corner of his lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to work for it, baby.”

He throws a glance at you, blushing, unsure. Is that all you’ll ask from him, to debase himself to show how much he wants it? That seems too easy for how far gone he is in his desires, but he doesn’t question you. He catches your mouth in an eager, sloppy kiss, thrusts his hips up, rubbing his cock against your hand.

You let his dick slide a few times against your palm, drink lovely, sweet moans from his lips, and then move your hand up, out of his reach. You chuckle as you watch him thrust helplessly into the air, groaning in frustration.

You only touch him again after he settles down, let him build up the rhythm, his thrusts turning quick and frantic as he’s getting closer to release. When you smirk and caress his cheekbones, he tenses, your grin is so teasing he expects a catch.

He waits for you to move your hand away again, but instead you lean down and sweetly tell him: “Slower.”

This catches him off guard, his eyes and mouth going wide in surprise and dismay. He has to brace himself forcefully to obey against his natural instincts. He grips at the bedsheets, but manages to slow himself down to half the speed.

You watch him struggle with a smile, his chest rising in heavy panting, parted lips, fingers clutching at the sheets, involuntary arch building in his spine as he focuses all his willpower on controlling his hips. You kiss a line down the exposed column of his throat, feel him shudder and his cock twitch against your palm, he almost bucks erratically, but catches himself at the last moment.

“Good boy,” you whisper, raking your fingers through his tangled hair. He meets your eyes, pleading, at once desperate and hopeful for release.

Instead, you tell him “Stop moving.”

He lets out a loud groan that breaks into a shaky whimper as he forces himself to pin his hips down to the bed. He throws his head back and arches his back, squeezing his eyes shut, his dick twitching against your palm and his knuckles whiten from how hard he’s clenching his fists. You run your hand up the length of his painfully hard, throbbing cock, provoking a moan, gently thumb at the slit of his swollen, leaking tip.

“Fuck, please, I’m so close, please…” he gasps for air with an open mouth, writhing under you as you kiss his jaw, slide your other hand over his body in tantalizing caresses, feel his muscles clench under your touch. You’re not so cruel to count this against him, because he does manage to keep himself from thrusting into your teasing hand as you slowly, maddeningly slowly stroke his cock, pearly string of precum dripping on his stomach.

“Very good, sunflower,” you whisper in his ear, feel his eyelashes flutter as he’s struggling to look at you. He’s so tense he’s shaking, sweat pooling on his temples and a trembling slope of his collarbones. You kiss his parted lips, cover his clenched hand with your own. “You’ve been such a delightful, beautiful plaything today. Come for me, you’ve earned it, baby.”

He comes undone immediately, with a desperate, strangled scream that he’s too unraveled to feel ashamed about. You pump his cock, let him ride out the pleasure he’s been waiting so long for, forcefully held control finally lost completely and his mind going completely blank, watch him thrashing under you until his screams turn to whimpers and he grasps at you and pulls you close.

Later in the shower he has no strength left, so you start cleaning him up yourself, and he tries protesting, but you gently pin him to the wall.

“Can I take care of my own little treasure, hm?” you ask him teasingly, and he laughs with both embarrassment and gratitude, melts under your touch.

You feel quite tired yourself, looking forward to finally getting to bed and falling asleep entangled in his warmth. But when you walk into the room, he slips out of your arms and starts tearing off sheets from the bed with amount of energy that he frankly should not be able to produce in this state.

“Babe. What are you doing? Cum didn’t even get on the sheets, it’s fine.”

“I’m not going to sleep on sweat-covered bedsheets,” he throws an affronted look over his shoulder as he’s pulling a new sheet over the frame. “I wasn’t raised in a barn.”

You sigh and watch him silently, until he grabs a pillow.

“Thoma. Thoma, what did the pillows do to you? We haven’t even touched them.”

“It’s going to bother me if the sheets are fresh and pillowcases aren’t. *And* if they don’t match.”

“I’m starting to think I’m taking the handcuffs off you too early,” you say sourly, and he chuckles, blushing faintly.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m almost done. Just a minute.”

He is done pretty quickly, but then you catch him eyeing the heap of bedsheets on the floor.

“Baby, if you try to start laundry right now, I will have to knock you unconscious for your own good.”

“I was just going to put it into a basket…”

“NO.”

He laughs airily, lets you drag him into bed, falling down next to you.

“But you have to admit, sleeping on clean linen is so much better.”

It is pretty great, it’s fresh and cool, and smells faintly of lavender.

“It’s nice,” you concede, pulling him close.

Thoma gives absolutely the best hugs and cuddles, firm, but not restrictive, like all pyro, he emanates warmth even when he’s not using his vision, but from him, it’s a lenient sunlight, not the aggressive heat of fire. Amber-hued protective bubble where nightmares seem stupid and everything is going to be alright, a feeling normally only achievable by months of therapy, being covered in puppies or copious amounts of drugs.

“But you are still crazy. I’m going to fuck you over the counter in the morning instead of the bed, so you don’t change the sheets *again.*”

He makes a content little noise, something between a chuckle and a purr.

“And what would you like to have for breakfast? Other than me, of course.”

“I don’t really care. Other than you, of course. Surprise me, sunflower.”

#rhine writes filth #rhine writes #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #thoma smut #sub genshin #sub thoma #thoma

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libraford · 2 years

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oh my god, I just realised I've spent maybe half an hour going through your blog and you used to have a stalker and I'm possibly weirding you out. uh, I'm so sorry!! I just do this with my favourite people from time to time!

Okay, so let me kind of... explain? Because I dont find random people going on a binge read of my blog to be stalker. That's just normal tumblr behavior.

The stalker in question... was my direct supervisor at the flower shop.

He found out that I was using tumblr as a space to vent and since he was the source of a LOT of my rants because he really was... just awful to me.

Now you have to understand that my username did not resemble in any way the name that they knew me by, he didnt have a tumblr himself, and so there had to be a deliberate effort to find me. For the distinct purpose of making my work life uncomfortable and removing me from a safe space to vent.

Meanwhile, he was making death threats against coworkers on his social media, so double standard.

So its 2018, my privacy has been violated, and he's habitually reading my posts in his free time because he cant help himself, hes so self-obsessed- aren't you, Coach. You cant handle a single person disliking you for any reason. He comes upon a post where in talking about his tendency to cheat on his wife which he fucking bragged about loudly inside the shop, and his wife sees it over his shoulder. Now hes in the doghouse. Instead of taking responsibility for the fact that he cheated, he decides to shoot the messenger.

Now I'm ostracized, no one will talk to me, work is hell, and theres no way out and theres nowhere I can go about it because I know hes reading everything about himself.

And it eventually died down when my boss stepped in and said to stop looking at my shit, but I know for a fact that he still did. So I had to change my username and pic and hope for the best but sometimes I still think hes looking because as I said: dude is so insecure he cant help himself.

It's been years and hes out of my life, but I'm still cautious about people looking for reasons to abuse my trust. This is why some of my stories are written with code names, partial truths, obfuscated locations. I talk about shows, but I dont advertise their locations. Dates are vague. This arguably makes storytelling difficult, but its necessary for safety reasons.

So.

You getting caught in the endless scroll of the blog of the person whose content you enjoy isnt really... the same. You enjoying my stories,my posts, my slice of life stuff, my photos... it doesnt make me feel unsafe and it doesnt really have the same real-world consequences as someone I spend every day with using my vent space as ammunition.

You're fine. You clearly dont have any malicious intent. You can scroll guilt-free.

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bedtimestoriesforbrokengirls · 3 months

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The Daily Dad — Feb 11, 2024

Things you might want to know:

Is There Lead in Your Reusable Water Bottle? 💭 I feel like “drank hourly from a lead-tainted tumbler” is going to be the origin story for the world’s worst super-villain. UltraKaren or some shit. She’ll have the power to sigh loudly in line at the coffee shop and then shamelessly take five minutes to negotiate the preparation of her own venti latte.

WhatsApp Chats Will Soon Work With Other Encrypted Messaging Apps ❝ New EU rules mean WhatsApp and Messenger must be interoperable with other chat apps. Here’s how that will work.

Should you flush with toilet lid up or down? Study says it doesn’t matter 💭 A parallel study concludes that pointless clickbait is a waste of everyone’s time.

Bluesky CEO Jay Graber Says She Won’t ‘Enshittify the Network With Ads’ ❝ WIRED spoke with Bluesky CEO Jay Graber about the X competitor opening signups to all, how to crowdsource deepfake porn moderation, Jack Dorsey, and more.

Wil Wheaton Rages at Larry David for Elmo Attack: “Appalling, Unforgivable, Despicable” 💭 Oh for fuck’s sake, Mr. Wheaton. I loved Stand By Me. I skipped the first couple seasons of TNG so I have no anti-Wesley bias, and bear you no ill-Wil. But c’mon, dude… it’s a fucking muppet. My dad hated and screamed at me, too… but we’re adults now. Intentionally triggering yourself with stupid, entirely optional shit and then publicly freaking out about it is infantile. And as for the sanctity of beloved Elmo…? Have you considered how many dicks Elmo has jerked off after-hours in a locked bathroom on the set? Elmo has probably done The Artistocrats for private audiences. Elmo goes to work every day with a man’s hand up his ass. Settle down, bud.

Merlin is a brilliant pig who communicates through "speech buttons," and loves to dance and eat ice cubes ❝ Pigs are so very smart, and this one named Merlin is no exception. In this terrific video, Merlin, who lives in West Sacramento with his human, Mina Alali, demonstrates how he communicates through pushing…

Ars Technica used in malware campaign with never-before-seen obfuscation ❝ Vimeo also used by legitimate user who posted booby-trapped content.

Polyamory Has Entered the Chat ❝ Mainstream awareness of polyamorous relationships is becoming more widespread. On dating apps, making connections is about more than sex.

TikTok is full of tryhard slang 💭 When people with sex blogs do it, they’re called “neolojisms”.

Bluesky Social Network Ditches Invite Codes, Opens Registrations to All ❝ Bluesky, the decentralized social media platform conceptualized by former Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey, has now opened registration for everyone. On...

Plex Launches Movie Rental Store ❝ Media platform Plex today announced the launch of a dedicated movie rental store, allowing U.S. Plex users to purchase content directly from Plex...

feeeed: Embracing Feed Diversity and Personal News Curation 💭 I don’t think it’s for me, but feeeed is interesting… it’s essentially a news and social media bucket for your life, collecting everything from dozens of sources and presenting them via an algorithm tuned for the end-user and not advertisers.

Apple Updates Its Collection of Windows Apps ❝ Today, Apple introduced a redesigned version of its iCloud for Windows app. The updated app, which allows users to access photos, files, passwords, and other content on a Windows PC, has clarified how it works and where synced content can be found. The app also adds physical password keys and other refinements. I don’t spend

Why Everyone Can’t Stop Talking About Palworld ❝ Palworld is the first video game blockbuster of 2024—but it’s not what it seems.

Landline Phone Owners Are Protesting AT&T’s Plans to Drop Service ❝ In California, AT&T is designated as the Carrier of Last Resort. The fight is on to keep it that way.

Disney invests $1.5 billion in Epic to create ‘persistent universe’ tied to Fortnite 💭 When Epic rebooted a flailing Fortnite —ripping off PUBG in the process— I decided to give it a try… it’s such a mishmash of mechanics, I figured there had to be something in there for me to enjoy. I was wrong. Bleh.

The Best Vibrators to Get Your Groove on ❝ Gender? I don’t even know her! No matter what you’ve got, these tools promise good vibes for all.

Apple Vision Pro Users Are Mad They Can't Watch 3D Porn ❝ Sorry, horny weirdos. You’ll have to find another way to get off.

A Designer Dog-Maker Regrets His Creation ❝ The inventor of the Labradoodle believes he created a Frankenstein.

Deepfake scammer walks off with $25 million in first-of-its-kind AI heist ❝ Hong Kong firm reportedly tricked by simulation of multiple people in video chat.

Carl Weathers, Rocky, Predator and The Mandalorian star, dies aged 76 ❝ Actor played Apollo Creed in the Rocky film franchise

Microsoft may bring Bethesda’s Starfield and Indiana Jones games to the PS5 after all 💭 After the massive, long-term strategy leak last year, it’s entirely possible that Microsoft is ready to just throw up its collective hands, pull a Sega, and exit the hardware business entirely.

Apple made an AI image tool that lets you make edits by describing them ❝ The model, called MGIE, lets users type out their edits to photos. MGIE is open source and available for download on GitHub.

#news

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aziraphales-library · 2 years

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Hello! Is self-advertising allowed…?

If so, I would (very selfishly) like to put my own fic out there! I‘ve been working hard on it and would love to get some feedback. ^^

Armageddon Must Restart - by me, herandmine

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37261480/chapters/92969296

Thank you for this wonderful blog!!

Very allowed, thank you!

Armageddon Must Restart by herandmine [T], WIP

While Adam expresses his feelings too loudly, others are too quiet. Therapy can teach both.

Crowley and Aziraphale pick up with a parted, unhappy relationship when Adam needs their help. There are a lot of things to clear up and do better, but the question is if that'll work with two entities that have never learned to properly communicate with each other, even after 6000 years.

Mind the tags.

~Mod N

#hurt/comfort #angst #canon #fluff and angst #happy ending #armageddon

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sparksocialagency · 1 year

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Tips To Write A Thoughtful Social Media Post

Writing a thoughtful social media post can be difficult. You want to write something that resonates with your audience, but you also want to avoid going overboard on the corniness factor. So how do you write a thoughtful social media post? Here are some tips for creating content that is both meaningful and well-written:

How to write a thoughtful social media post

Write with a purpose. Social media is a place to let your audience know what you’re up to, so don’t post random and irrelevant information just for the sake of posting. Think carefully about what you want to say and how it connects to your brand or mission as a business.

Write for your audience. Your social media posts should be written in such a way that they are easily digestible by people who may not have been following your account before, but still retain all of their meaning in case someone has been following along all along. This can be tricky, but try using images and videos on Instagram where appropriate, or using hashtags when writing on Facebook or Twitter so that people browsing the platform will see your content in the feed (this strategy is especially effective if you’re doing paid advertising).

Writing a thoughtful social media post is like telling a story.

Writing a thoughtful social media post is like telling a story. The first time I wrote something that got a lot of attention, it was because I thought about what my audience wanted to hear, how I wanted to tell that story, and how I wanted them to feel when they finished reading it.

At the time, we were working on an app called [I’ll write a link here]. In the months leading up to launch, we had been spending our evenings posting screenshots on Twitter and Facebook while getting ready for work in the morning (and occasionally during lunch). We felt like this was pretty fun and interesting—and our friends seemed equally amused. So one night after work when everyone else was asleep or busy watching Netflix or whatever else people do these days instead of staying up late working on their blogs or podcasts or podcasts about their blogs that are also full of photos taken with your phone at dinner parties where no one ever raises their voice but still manages make you feel uncomfortable about yourself even though nothing has happened yet but maybe later tonight if you could just hold off sending me those pictures from last weekend until tomorrow when maybe I’ll have more time then too because right now it would just be better if you sent them tomorrow instead so then later tonight could happen sooner rather than later which would mean now because while this process may seem slow compared with other processes such as breathing heavily into someone’s face while they loudly ask themselves why they’re doing this instead of playing video games online all day long like most people who aren’t 22-year-olds whose parents pay for everything including rent bills for places like Brooklyn where there isn’t much going on besides bars filled with young adults drinking iced coffee drinks from local roasters even though neither party actually needs caffeine since both have already consumed enough earlier today anyway…

What to avoid when writing a thoughtful social media post?

Avoid using slang, emojis, abbreviations, emoticons and hashtags. Slang is typically used in a very close group of friends or family members. Emoji’s are for someone you know well enough to have inside jokes with. Abbreviations and emoticons should only be used if you are very familiar with the person you are speaking to. Hashtags should be used sparingly because they can make your post look unauthentic if there are too many hashtags packed into one sentence and not enough content around them.

Ask for help from others in order to write the best post possible.

Confide in the people in your life, who you know will have honest and thoughtful feedback on what you are writing. If someone has a different perspective than yours, ask them to share it with you in order to make your post better. This can be done through email or even face-to-face conversations with those who are close to you. Ask that person: “What do I need to keep in mind as I write this post?” Your friend may also offer advice or suggestions that might seem helpful when writing your next social media post!

Writing a thoughtful social media post can be difficult, but you can do it!

Writing a thoughtful social media post can be difficult. But you can do it! If you have trouble getting started, try telling a story. Maybe your friend got stuck in traffic on the way to work yesterday morning and nearly missed their appointment with their boss, who really needed to talk about something important. Your friend was able to share with them what they wanted because they were late for the meeting anyway.

Spark Social Agency is a social media content marketing and marketing agency that specializes in creating compelling and engaging content for brands, businesses and influencers.

Spark Social Agency is a full-service social media content creation. We specialize in crafting compelling content and beautiful visuals that will drive engagement on your social networks, help launch new products or services, grow your audience, and increase sales.

#social media content marketing #social media management agency #social media content creation #social media agency #social media marketing agency

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sawship · 1 year

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💗 real selfship hours 💗

Adam (or other names, if you know me on another blog!)

24 | he/it/wer | 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ | autistic

click to see my F/Os

I’m fine w/ sharing my F/Os for the most part! If I’m weirded out by something, I do block liberally— I don’t really expect that to come up here, though

my askbox/DMs are always open too! I love talking abt this so please please feel free to hmu!

I do make icon edits/moodboards every now and then, so I might open limited requests for yr F/Os! I’ll advertise it pretty loudly if I do ^_^

(you can find links to my full abt/kin list through my selfship carrd — not required by a long shot, but jsyk)

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ramp-it-up · 3 years

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Make it Hot

Day 16 of #RampitUp1Kinktober

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Reader

Summary: Johnny just wants to make it up to you.

1Kinktober Kink: Face Riding

Word Count 1K

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk. Fuckboi ways, bratty attitude if you squint, oral (f receiving), squirting, creampie. Not Beta’d. All errors my own. Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

A/N: Im so tired y’all 😩. And this is maaad late, but it’s still the 16th somewhere in my country, lol. This is for the 16th day of #rampitup1Kinktober! TYSM for following me! 🧡

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

“Let me make it up to you, Sweetheart.”

It always started like this.

Johnny’s fuckboy ways pissed you off and he would get you hot to distract you.

It was your toxic way of life being Johnny’s girl. At least it wasn’t boring.

You had blocked him and it had taken him a day and half to notice. He’d melted the lock on your front door to get to you.

You were in bed and about to cuss him out when he stopped you.

“Don’t even pretend. I know you want my attention. Well, you’ve got it now.”

Johnny pulled back the covers, regarding your panty clad body. You didn’t sleep in anything else because you’d invariably get hot.

One way or another.

He waited for that look to cross your face and then disintegrated your panties, heating your pussy up for him.

This is what you wanted. It had been three days since he'd given you dick and he was liking IG models’ booty pics. It wasn’t until you blocked him and posted your own that he came over.

Johnny shook his head at you.

“You know better than to advertise what is mine to the world, Sweetheart.”

He lifted your leg up on his shoulder and started to kiss your foot. Soft kisses and tongue trailed down your leg to your inner thigh.

“But I get it, I’ve been neglecting you.”

He must have been using his power to heat his kisses, because your leg and your soul were on fire.

Johnny ran his nose along your slit and inhaled, smiling as he lay flat on the bed, naked body indenting the mattress, as if etching his form into the bed. He was heating up. You whimpered in anticipation.

You were so wet, your juices were coating his lips as he licked you hungirly.

“So sweet. I want you to sit on my face.”

He lay down with his head beside your stomach, one hand reaching over lightly, hotly, tracing your belly button, while the other started stroking himself off. You swore you saw steam coming off him.

You get up on all fours and swing your leg over his head, kneeling above him. You felt the heat rising as his fingers parted your lower lips and slowly rub your already hardened nub with your wetness.

“Yes, I love this shit,” murmured Johnny, as your thighs started to shake already. “I’m about to eat this pretty little pussy like it’s my last meal, sweetheart.”

His hot hands grabbed each asscheek and pulls you down onto his face, burying his face in your cunt, motor boating and licking your wet cunt with his hot tongue (you’re sure of it now) until you are moaning loudly and beginning to try to lift off his face.

Johnny forcefully pulled you back down, saying something that must be “Sit here and take it,” into your pussy. All you experienced were the vibrations of the words on your sensitive clit.

“Johnny, please, oh my god, oh god!”

Your voice was broken as you begged him to stop. You started convulsing as you came in his mouth, your juices spilling out like a faucet.

When you were done, he pulled you back on his chest, propped his head up on the pillow and looked down at your wet mess of a pussy, trapping you there with his hands on your thighs.

His long fingers were still exploring your sensitive areas, and it was almost too much to handle.

“Johnny, please. I can’t take it baby. Please.”

Those fire blue eyes looked up at you.

“Oh, sweetheart. We’re just getting started. You’re going to be sore in the morning.”

His hoarse whisper made you clench and he felt it. He grinned that grin at you and pushed the fingers of one hand deeper into you while rubbing your clit with the other thumb.

“You’re so fucking nasty, Johnny. I love it”

You were sliding over his pecs now, the hair on his chest adding to the friction his hands were giving you.

He rubbed your clit faster, flicking his thumb over it back and forth until you were crying out, shaking and moaning.

He swiftly pulled you back over his mouth and plunged his hot, thick, wide tongue inside you to incite another orgasm, which happened quickly. You slumped over him onto the bed and he slid out from under you like a mechanic.

You were on all fours again, head on the bed and legs drawn under you. He pulled your legs apart and there appeared that perfect arch.

“Sweetheart. For me? You shouldn’t have.”

Johnny swiped his hard, leaking cock up and down your folds, sparking your over sensitive clit. You were exhausted, but you needed it to make your night complete. You arched even more.

“Yessssss. Let me get that shit.”

Johnny pressed his hot palm on the small of your back and held his dick straight as he slid inside you. You were so wet that it happened easily, but not without an incredible stretch that felt full and warm and good.

Once he was balls deep, he let you adjust and started stroking, warming up incrementally until your walls pulsed around him. At this point, his hips were snapping his cock into you hard and you could feel hot spurts of precum as he got impossibly harder and started moaning.

“Pussy so good. Gets me going. You’re so fucking hot.”

“Give it to me Johnny!” You were gasping for breath.

“Shit shit, fuck, oh my god!”

Suddenly, you felt his hot cum wash over your walls which triggered your third orgasm.

Johnny grunted his release and rolled off of you as you collapsed flat on the bed, his hot spend seeping out of you.

You smiled over at the sight of actual steam wafting from him.

He smiled back at you as he got up and moved toward the bathroom.

“Wanna take a cold shower with me?”

You couldn’t resist that smile, or the invitation.

After all, you knew Johnny would make it hot.

I know this is just PWP. But give it to me. I can take it.

Tags:

@olyvoyl @summerofsnowflakes @riiyy @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @chattykathysquietsister @nikole-witha-k @nissameta1782 @afriendlyblackhottie @betterkeepmewetterthanabayou @donutloverxo @marvelfansworld @london-grunge @ximaginexx @bertieandberries @ladystrawberry @chesca-791 @calimoi @fangirlfree @iconicshit @maroonsunrise83 @partypoison00 @curlyhairclub @denisemarieangelina @harrysthiccthighss @simpinforu @sunshinexsin @celestialbeingz @the-1900 @geminixevans @fanfictionwr1tin @breezykpop @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @peaceinourtime82 @hisgirlfriday439 @nik2write @deepintothenature @jassiejj2118

#rampitup1kinktober #chris evans #ask dj #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x black reader #johnny storm x you #johnny storm #johnny storm x y/n #johnny storm x fem reader #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm smut #rafael casal

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pengychan · 3 years

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[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 23

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Long overdue make-up sex? Long overdue make-up sex. Only the epilogue left before this is all wrapped up!

***

“... I need water.”

“Seconded.”

“Thirded.”

Silence. Some shuffling.

“Well, who’s going?”

“I’m not. I went and got Coco back to sleep when she cried. Did my part.”

“I am not getting off this couch.”

“If you make me go, I’m only getting water for myself.”

“I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Uugh. No, I don’t.” Ernesto groans, rubbing his eyes before dropping his head back against the couch’s backrest. He grimaces towards the kitchen. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Three in the morning.”

“What! Where has the evening gone!”

“Where has the entire day gone, we began discussing this over lunch,” Héctor mutters, laying upside-down with his legs over the backrest.

He is not wrong, really: they have quite literally spent half a day and much of the night discussing where to go from there. They talked through lunch, through the afternoon with Coco passing from one set of arms to another whenever she was not napping, talked while Héctor changed her diapers with a frequency Ernesto found frankly concerning given the child’s small size. They took a brief break from talking while walking their dogs - best to be careful with their words outside - and feeding Coco respectively.

More talking ensued as they put Coco in her playpen to watch a cartoon, as they cooked dinner, as they ate it, as Coco fell asleep cuddled up to Pepita while the dogs watched with envy from outside the playpen, with Dante having finally learned that trying to jump in would spell disaster.

They discussed everything they could possibly discuss - their arrangement, how it could work going forward, whether to tell Coco, what to tell Coco once she was old enough, how to keep it private business without having to actively hide, what family members could be told and what family members could never - coming to the agreement Imelda’s brothers were probably the only ones who could be trusted, at the moment, to possibly know if it came to it.

“I never thought I’d see the day I had to say they can be trusted over our father,” Imelda said as she disappeared to put a very sleepy Coco in her crib, and Héctor and Ernesto were still snickering at the idea when she came back. They sat on the couch with a drink, resumed talking, and never stopped except for the time Coco began crying and had to be soothed by a very concerned Héctor.

Until, of course, exhaustion and thirst caught up with them at three in the damn morning.

“So, I’m going to be the waiter from now on,” Ernesto mutters, just a little dramatically, as he finally gets off the couch to fetch everyone some water. He guzzles down a glass, fills two more, and brings them back. Héctor and Imelda drink just as greedily while he flops back down on the couch, exhausted and honestly still absolutely stunned.

“... This is-- is this really happening?” he finds himself asking, very quietly. Part of him fears this is all a dream, that he will wake up alone in his bed to find none of this has really transpired. The other two pause, look back down at him - and maybe Ernesto let something vulnerable show a bit too much, because suddenly they’re both leaning down with the clear intention of giving him a kiss. Exactly at the same time.

With predictable results.

Bonk.

“Ow!” Imelda yelps, wincing back.

“Agh! Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” Héctor frets. Imelda just slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter, which just comes out of her nose with a honking sound. Ernesto just laughs, his own head unscathed but oddly light. Yes, this is happening. He couldn't have dreamed up something so stupid if he’d tried.

It is happening, he thinks. We’re giving this a chance, he thinks. For the love of God don’t fuck it up, he tells himself, but says none of those things aloud. He just laughs until he has to catch his breath and it dies down in a snicker. That’s when Imelda leans down to kiss him briefly, this time without bumping her head against Héctor’s.

“I think that means we’re officially too tired to function,” she says. “Let’s go to bed.”

Ah. Right. It is three in the morning. Ernesto clears his throat and sits up. “Of course-- I’ll drop by after lunch, then, so we can go rehearse--”

Imelda pinches his earlobe. “Who said anything about you leaving?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. Ernesto’s words die in his throat.

Right. Yes. This is happening.

Not that anything physical is going to happen just yet. They are all much too tired to do anything other than shuffling into the bedroom as quietly as they can - “whoever wakes her up has to calm her down”, Imelda threatens - and changing their night clothes - it is odd, finding one of his nightshirts still in their closet, washed and neatly folded - before they flop on the bed.

At least, Ernesto and Héctor flop down on it. Imelda is decidedly more dignified, and leans down between them. Héctor pulls her close, and immediately holds out the other arm for Ernesto with a grin. Part of him is still wondering if he’s dreaming this, really, but when he slides closer, leaning against Imelda’s body with Héctor’s arm around him, again he knows he will not awaken alone after all. He smiles.

“Your arms are freakishly long,” he mutters, very romantically, causing Héctor to snort.

“Oh, thanks, amigo,” he mutters, but his hand keeps resting on Ernesto’s side. “Don’t hear you complain when I give the best hugs ever given.”

“That’s debatable, who decided it is you to give--”

“I said--” Imelda cuts him off, then yawns. Loudly, and without bothering to put up a hand against her mouth. “Sleep,” she mumbled, settling her head back down, forehead against Héctor’s chest and one hand resting on Ernesto’s forearm around her waist. It’s not clear whether it’s an order or just a declaration of what she’s about to do, but they do take it as an order.

They are, after all, exhausted. There will be time to marvel over getting all of this back in the morning; for now, Ernesto leans down his head, closes his eyes, and sleeps basking in their warmth.

***

They get to sleep a grand total of two hours and a half before they awaken to a chorus of wailing, barking, yapping and yowling. It’s hard to tell what started first - Ernesto apparently would put money on the wailing, though Imelda is ready to counter-bet a chihuahua yapped first - but the fact stays, someone needs to go put an end to it before half the condo is at the door with murderous intentions.

Thankfully, Héctor is out of bed almost immediately. He’s still sleepy and misses the door the first time, hitting the wall before stumbling out with a murmured ‘I’m fine’ to go make sure no horrid monster has attacked Coco in her crib. In his haste he leaves the door open, and two chihuahuas as well as the cat rush in, with the small dogs yapping and trying without success to jump up on the bed.

The other two as well as Dante clearly decided to stay behind and watch Héctor’s baby-soothing operation. Imelda stifles a yawn, bringing a hand up to her mouth. “Those dogs are not allowed on the bed,” she says the instant Ernesto moves to pick them up, just as Pepita jumps to settle down next to her head.

Ernesto scowls. “That’s favoritism,” he points out, and a little monster yaps as though to agree. One of them whines, clearly trying to move her into relenting. Imelda remains entirely unmoved.

“Pepita is clean,” she replies, reaching over to scratch Pepita behind the ears. Her green eyes, fixed on Ernesto, narrow. Hard to tell whether it is in pleasure for the ear scratch or in displeasure for the man back on her owners’ bed, but if it’s the latter, she will have to get used to it.

Ernesto makes a face. “I can’t imagine it’s hygienic.”

“She grooms herself for hours on end--”

“With her it tongue, that’s not cleaning a thing--”

“Well, it’s more than dogs do. I have only ever seen them use their dogs only ever use their tongues to lick--”

“They’re clean! I bathe them every week!“

Imelda blinks. In the next room over, Coco’s wails are quieting down. “... You do?”

“With a very expensive dog shampoo, too. I advertised it on my Instagram account - I mean, their Instagram account. Didn’t you see?”

Ah. That. “I think I unfollowed both when we-- broke things off,” Imelda admits, causing Ernesto to frown. “It stung,” she adds quickly. “Seeing you.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Well, I-- I haven’t been posting a lot, so you haven’t missed much. Should get back to it. I think the dogs have more followers than I do at this point.”

“Well, they are cute. I suppose,” Imelda concedes. Pepita jumps off the bed, clearly satisfied with her dose of scritches, and is followed outside by both chihuahuas. Imelda props herself up on her elbow. “You should try with shirtless photos,”she adds. It’s mostly meant as a joke, but Ernesto is clearly considering it.

“I already posted plenty. And a couple where I was only wearing a--”

“I mean, more shirtless photos,” Imelda rectifies, very much aware of what photos he is referring to. Unlike Héctor, whose social media accounts are bereft of any sign of life aside for the occasional photo of a guitar, a music sheet, or Imelda going over his latest work, Ernesto is very much active and not precisely trying to disguise the fact his sexuality is ‘yes’.

“I guess I could take a trip to the beach for a few more shots, after we’re back from Santa Cecilia...” he muses, and Imelda is about to ask if they’re meant to join him for that trip to the beach when Héctor walks back in, a triumphant grin on his face and phone in hand.

“She’s sleeping! Look!” he whisper-exclaims, and gets right back in bed between them before he proceeds to show them thirty identical photos of Coco sleeping. “Isn’t she the most beautiful little girl?”

“She is,” Imelda agrees with a small grin, leaning her chin on Héctor’s shoulder. “Not that I’m biased or anything.”

Ernesto scoffs. “You absolutely are.”

“Not everyone is your mamá, Ernesto,” Héctor snickers, elbowing him. “Telling everyone within earshot how handsome you were going to be once you shed your baby fat.”

“Well she was right, I did turn out-- what! She never said that, pendejo!” He huffs, giving Héctor’s shoulder a shove that almost sends him flying off the bed. He laughs it off, flopping back down.

“She did too, Ernestito! Heard with my own ears!”

“Mph. Your stupid elephant ears.”

Héctor’s expression turns coy. “Ah, what can I say, it’s my cross to bear. Much like a dick a couple of inches longer than yours…”

“It’s not, Héctor!”

“Is too! We checked with Imelda’s measuring tape, remember?”

“... You did what with my measuring tape now?”

“We had a disagreement to settle, mi amor.”

“And we found it’s-- maybe an inch longer! At most! And mine is thicker, too!”

“Oh no, it was longer than that. Need me to refresh your memory?”

“We can arrange that, if you let me catch another couple of hours of sleep,” Imelda mutters, causing the squabble to die down. There is some grumbling, a few more shoves, but soon enough they’re all settled to sleep again, basking in the warmth and enjoying blissful silence.

For another fifty minutes.

***

“Oh my God!”

“Gah!”

“Wha--??”

Héctor barely catches himself before he falls off the bed, flailing his arms and only narrowly missing Imelda’s face. He reaches to turn on the bedside lamp, and sits up to look over to the other side of the bed where Ernesto is sitting upright, hair tousled, a horrified expression on his face as though he just awakened from the worst nightmare a human mind can conceive.

“Ernesto? What is it?” Imelda is asking, concern plain in her voice. She puts a hand on Ernesto’s forearm and he looks back at them, eyes wide and skin ashen.

“Oh my God, ” he repeats. “My mother has seen my Instagram.”

Ah, Héctor thinks.

“Ah,” he says, mind already wandering to some photos that are probably not meant for the eyes of one’s own mother.

“Oh,” Imelda repeats, clearly thinking the same.

They succeed in staying serious for almost five seconds before Héctor cracks, and Imelda is quick to follow.

“Pffft…”

“Heh…”

“She has been looking up my account for ages-- she even mentioned it, I had forgotten-- what if my father-- stop laughing!” his voice comes out a whine, and it’s what entirely undoes them. “This is serious! Stop laughing! I’ll have to look her in the eye when we go back for Coco’s christening! I-- uuugh!” Ernesto lets himself drop back on the pillow with a groan, covering his face with an arm. “I hate you both.”

“No, you do not.” Héctor grins down at him and, while Ernesto scoffs, he fails to say otherwise.

“If she brings it up, I will dig myself a grave and crawl in it.”

Imelda snickers, leaning across his chest. “If they’re that terrible I don’t think she’ll want to bring them up.”

He pulls his arm off his eyes, frowning a little. “Not that I’m naked in those photos, I’m not an idiot, but I--” he trails off with a sudden intake of breath when Imelda’s hand slips beneath his nightshirt, across his chest. Héctor sits back a moment, watching them - Imelda’s tousled hair and the strap of the nightgown falling off her shoulder, the way Ernesto arches a little at her touch.

It’s not the most alluring sight he’s ever laid his eyes on, but it comes pretty close - and it hits him suddenly, the realization that they have this again. It leaves a lump in his throat and a dumb smile spreading on his face while he watches Imelda lean in and kiss Ernesto’s lips. When they break apart, Ernesto’s breathing is quicker and his eyes wide.

Imelda grins, and tugs at his nightshirt. “Since we clearly are getting no more sleep this morning, would you mind getting this out of the way and let me take your mind off your mother going through embarrassing Instagram photos?”

Ernesto is sitting up and pulling the shirt up over his head before she’s even done speaking, but he doesn’t get to take it off - not before Héctor moves suddenly to pull them both in his arms, and squeeze tight.

“Agh!”

“What the--”

“Really?”

“And here I was trying to be seductive,” Imelda mutters, face pressed against Héctor’s chest.

“It was a very good effort,” Ernesto informs her, head still tangled in the shirt.

“Thanks.”

“Unfortunately, you married an idiot.”

“Oh, like you didn’t stick to the idiot long before I got him to put a ring on it.”

“What can I say, I felt bad for him.”

“... You guys realize I can hear you, right?”

“No doubt you can, with those ears,” Ernesto mutters, voice still muffled by the shirt wrapped around his head. “Can you let me go now?”

“Do I have to?”

“If you want us to get anything done before Coco needs breakfast, yes,” Imelda says against his chest. “Now, if you’d let go and fetch the lube and condoms…” she adds, and Héctor is off them and across the room so fast he almost topples on the floor.

With most of his blood flow already getting redirected in his nether regions, Ernesto’s power of thought may not be at his highest. However, as he gets the shirt off his head and throws it off the side of the bed, he does pause a moment to think. Or try to. Something is definitely different.

“Condoms? Not on the pill anymore?”

“Not yet. It already failed, anyway, and I really am not ready for another little miracle. At least if the condom breaks we’ll notice right away.” She reaches up to brush back his hair, and leans against him. She is warm against his bare chest, her lips so close to Ernesto’s own. Her nails rake lightly down the back of his neck, and he swallows. “But it shouldn’t happen, if you know how to put one on properly.”

He makes a face. “Well, of course I know how to put on a--” Ernesto begins, and then trails off. The amount of blood going straight to his cock is making it very hard to think about anything else, but he’s not yet so far gone he can’t catch the meaning of her words. He stares at Imelda, mouth hanging open.

There are...few things they did not at least experiment with throughout the relationship, but at no point did Ernesto get to be in her. Not with his cock, anyway. It simply never happened, Ernesto would think, but he knows deep down that was not it. It was a line Imelda did not want to cross, the one that marked the difference between her husband and the annoying-- acquaintance -- friend turned unlikely lover. Something Héctor could have while he could not. Until now.

He should try and play it cool, of course. Get cocky and say he’s glad she changed her mind there, she has no idea what she has missed out on. Instead, he sputters.

“What-- are you-- sure?”

Imelda’s expression turns coy, a finger running down his chest. “Well, if you’re afraid to disappoint…”

What!

“What!” Ernesto huffs, crossing his arms. “For your information, I never disappoint.”

“Sofía told me otherwise.��

“Sofía should mind her own-- wait a moment, since when are the two of you on gossiping terms?” he asks, just a hint of panic making it to his voice as he tries to run the numbers on the amount of ammunition Sofía may have to use against him. Unaware of his worry, or maybe all too aware of it and hiding it very well, Imelda shrugs.

“She ordered a pair of shoes and we got talking.”

Talking about what, Ernesto wants to ask, but before he can open his mouth Héctor is back on the bed and kissing his shoulder, causing him to trail off and his breath to catch a moment.

“Here,” Héctor smiles against his skin, pressing a condom in his hand. “Put it to good use, we have no others left until we restock.”

Despite the rising heat, his own quickening breath and the by now unbearable friction of underwear on his erection, Ernesto raises an eyebrow. “That busy, even with the baby?”

“Not really. It’s that Dante found the box.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, ah. The vet judged me the entire time. Not that he said anything, but--”

“... Surely we can have this conversation another time?” Imelda intervenes, tapping her fingers against Ernesto’s chest in a motion that is… a little more annoyed than seductive now. Héctor blushes a little, and gives a sheepish grin.

“Heh. Right,” he says, and without warning he suddenly pushes Ernesto forward, causing him to fall over on top of Imelda. He barely catches himself, hands braced against the mattress, and almost protests - but then he looks down to see Imelda leaning on her back beneath him, head between his arms and hair spread across the pillow. Her skin is flushed, and ah, the way she looks at him. If one could bottle that look to sell it, they’d make billions.

“I can’t help but feel I’m terribly overdressed for the occasion,” she tells him, and starts unbuttoning her nightgown. She barely makes it to half the buttons before Ernesto’s mouth comes down on hers, hard. She melts into the kiss in a way he cannot recall her ever doing before, fingers tangling in his hair and Christ - Christ - it is almost worth the long months without them, waking up in his own bed.

Ah, it’s good to be home.

“Ah--” Imelda sighs and throws back her head while Ernesto’s mouth trails down her throat, to her breasts. He only stops with a startled gasp against her nipple when a pair of familiar hands pull off his boxers, and a very familiar finger begins to probe as him, slick with lube.

“Oh, don’t mind me back here,” Héctor calls out, and Ernesto can almost feel the grin in his voice when he slides the finger in, slowly but without hesitation, getting another gasp out of Ernesto he barely muffles against Imelda’s skin. “Want me to put on the condom for you while I’m at it? You look busy,” he adds. His other hand closes on Ernesto’s cock in a soft squeeze, and he almost cries out.

“Christ-- don’t do that!” he pants, suddenly terrified he’s going to just come like that, before anything can happen. Héctor chuckles, but does pull back the hand. The other hand pushes in another finger, sending more shivers up his back. God, he’s shaking - this is bliss, never enough and yet too much, how can he possibly hold himself together?

“That horny?” Héctor asks lightly, as though conversing over a glass of wine. Ernesto snarls.

“I’m about to fuck your wife, what do you think?”

“Ah, good point.”

Beneath him Imelda, who somehow managed to unbutton the rest of her nightgown and shrug it off, laughs and forces his head back by the hair to kiss his mouth. He doesn’t resist - how can he resist? - and only lets out a noise of surrender. The finger within him retreats and Héctor is leaning across his back, putting the condom on him with surprisingly delicate fingers. His own cock presses against Ernesto’s thigh, hard and hot and already slick with lube. When he pulls back, Ernesto lets out a whine.

“Don’t bother with fingers,” he groans. “I can take it-- por favor--”

A kiss on the back of his neck, just as Imelda’s mouth presses on his throat. She has a leg on either side of Ernesto, and his cock brushes against the warm skin on the inside of her thigh. It is only a soft brush, but it’s almost unbearable on heated flesh. He lets out a shuddering breath, and glances down to meet her eyes.

Are you sure?, he asks without words, and Imelda responds just as wordlessly, pulling his mouth down on hers and arching beneath him. Whatever shred of self-control Ernesto had left is annihilated and he kisses her back, frantic, before pushing his hips forward purely out of instinct and oh--

He slides in so easily and for a long, blissful moment, Ernesto forgets how to breathe or move or think. There is only that tight heat, Imelda’s scent in his nostrils and her breath against the side of his neck as she clenches around him - the soft moan filling his ears and the nails sinking in the skin of his shoulders.

And then Héctor is bearing down on him, mouth on the back of his neck and weight across his back, pushing into him unbearably slowly and all too fast at once. Everything is too much. Nothing is enough. He wants and needs and yearns and yet it’s everything he could possibly ask for, and more.

As much as he enjoyed the strap-on and Héctor’s ass, this might just be the best variation of Ernesto sandwich he’s ever had.

“Pepita got your tongue?” Héctor chuckles against his ear, settling deep into him, resting his chin on his shoulder and glancing over at Imelda. “You good?” he breathes. Imelda lifts her head to kiss his lips. Her skin is flushed, eyes half-lidded.

“Oh, yes,” she says, and kisses Ernesto’s neck again. “You are thicker, I’ll give you that,” she whispers, perfectly audible to Héctor, whose chuckling protests are not very believable. Her hand cups Ernesto’s cheek, her fingers calloused from working leather. “Don’t worry about a thing,” she murmurs, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. “We’ll take good care of you.”

“Christ--” Ernesto pants, and manages to lift himself up on his elbows just enough to get some weight off her, and rest his forehead on hers. He’s so acutely aware of everything - the smoothness of her skin and Héctor’s chest hair against his back, her hand cupping his cheek and his chin on his shoulder, the heat around his cock and the cock in him. “I don’t know-- how long I can last,” he manages to admit.

“Ah, don’t worry about that, amigo,” Héctor speaks, and tilts his hips, sending a jolt of pleasure up Ernesto’s spine and tearing a gasp out of him. “Wouldn’t be the first time. And we can do this whenever we wish…”

He says something else after that, or Imelda does, but none of their words makes it to Ernesto’s brain. They start moving in tandem, in him and around him and on him and beneath, and it is all that Ernesto can think of or feel. It is all he wants to feel right now.

The moans that leave him are louder than advisable, with Coco sleeping just a couple of rooms over, but Imelda is quick to muffle any noise he makes with a kiss. Good move, that.

None of them is in the right state of mind to go soothe a cranky baby, after all.

***

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#pixar coco #hector rivera #ernesto de la cruz #imelda rivera #coco #mind the gap

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auro-ora · 4 years

Text

Friend or Foe

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2,144

Summary: what happens when two enemies are stuck in quarantine together?

Warnings: enemies to friends, language, angst, quarantine problems, arguments.

Notes: @jobean12-blog here we are babes, thank you for wanting to read this and sorry if this sucks. :c I haven’t written in over 3 years <3

There was no doubt about it that Bucky Barnes, your roommate, your enemy, your rival, your whatever else you wanted to label him as, was officially driving you to the point of insanity. It didn’t help that you were quarantined with the man in question since the beginning of March, three months. Three months of being locked in your spacious two-bedroom Brooklyn apartment with him. Neither of you were free to leave, neither of you were allowed to go to work, the compound was out of the question, your family lived in a different state, you had no choice but to stay here under this roof with him.

Some days, you believed he was doing most of his antics on purpose, such as leaving his dirty dishes in the sink for you to clean, leaving his dirty laundry on the floor in your shared bathroom, cooking his own food and leaving you to make your own food, playing his music too loudly, only one of you were allowed to go grocery shopping and he often went, forgetting to pick you things up even if you did ask him nicely. It was your worst nightmare and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time when the weather was starting to get warm, the heat causing more arguments between the two of you, which often ended with him screaming at you.

It wasn’t funny anymore, at first you would probably admit you loved to piss him off on purpose, but as the months passed, it was becoming upsetting. You wondered what you did at the beginning to make him dislike you so much, he was talkative when you first moved in, a steady foundation for a friendship but then it went downhill after day 5. Bucky wasn’t a man you could talk to, he wouldn’t listen and he would often ignore you and pretend you didn’t exist, and it was much easier for him to do that when he brought other girls home for the night. But you? Bucky made the rule when you first moved in that no other men were allowed in this apartment, which at the time you agreed to because it was his apartment and you were grateful to have found a room in Brooklyn.

You overheard him say to a friend just the other week how he wished some girl named Natasha was living here, which made you upset and since then, you have tried to avoid him as best as you could. You would use the shower when he was in his room listening to music, you would cook when he was in the shower and then you would sneak back to your room. It was like two strangers sharing a space, and you were sure roommates weren't supposed to act this way. You did try to find another apartment, but unknown to you at the time Bucky was the one sabotaging everything by contacting the person advertising the apartment and falsely warning them of your partying habits, which resulted in your viewings being canceled at the last minute. They never told you the reason why, you assumed they had found someone better suited, financially. Was Bucky proud of his actions? No, he wasn’t, but he didn’t want you to leave, he didn’t want to go through the hell of replacing you with someone else who he might really hate next time.

Today would be a good day, you were almost sure of it. The light from the sun created pretty patterns on your wall, you pulled yourself up from your bed and walked out into the living room, scoffing by the sight of your roommate sprawled across the couch with his arms spread out on the back of it. You mumbled a good morning, he ignored you as usual. You rolled your eyes and walked into the bathroom, making sure to slam the door a little harder than necessary.

“Stop slamming the fuckin’ doors!” he yelled from his spot. You could feel the anger building up inside of you. The frustration from having a complicated roommate and no means of fixing the already broken relationship. You peeled your pajamas off your body and turned the water on the shower to a comfortable temperature, pulling your hair tie off, your hair falling loosely over your shoulders. You step into the shower and sigh, making the most of your time here because this is the only time you get peace and quiet from Bucky. You lather up your loofah with your favorite shower gel and wash every inch of your body, at least twice. Then working on removing your body hair and finally, shampoo and a deep condition. Meanwhile on the couch, Bucky was scowling towards the bathroom door, the steam started to appear from under the door. He knew you were taking your sweet fucking time on purpose to avoid him, but 40 minutes to wash yourself? No, he was not having that. He stood quickly and walked to the bathroom door, surprised to find it unlocked. He saw your form behind the shower curtain, and swiftly yanked it to one side where you screeched, using your hands to cover your private parts.

“BUCKY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?” you yelled at him, but the jerk just stood there, his eyes trailing and you wanted to smack the smug grin off his stupid face.

“Thought you drowned in ‘ere or something. What’s taking you so fuckin’ long to wash your damn body?”

“GET! OUT!” you threw the soapy loofah at him which he easily batted away.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Bucky spat.

Fearing Bucky would return sooner than later, you hurriedly washed the conditioner out of your hair and stepped out of the shower, wrapping the white fluffy towel securely around your body and stepping out into the living room once again. This time your pain-in-the-ass roommate was busy making himself breakfast. Your room was warm from the heat of the sun and you sat on the edge of your bed, staring longingly into the mirror opposite you. The towel pooled around your waist, you sighed and walked to your closet for some clothes, putting them on quickly just in case Bucky decided to walk in once again. You towel dried your hair, putting it up into a messy bun. You went back to the kitchen, this time to prepare some breakfast for yourself, only to find Bucky had left you no eggs or bacon and the bread was gone.

“You ate all the eggs?” you rubbed your temples, this couldn’t be happening. It was supposed to be a good day and it was already going to shit.

“I did.” came his nonchalant reply. “There’s no milk either.”

“Okay.” you sighed knowing he wasn’t going to be helpful. “Can I borrow a face mask and some latex gloves please?” you rubbed your temples with your fingertips and watched as your roommate leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his wide broad chest.

“No.” he deadpanned, his tone and eyes were stone cold.

“I said please!” now your eyes were filling up with tears, and you were completely helpless, unable to go out to buy your food with protection, because if you went out without a mask and gloves, you risk catching the virus.

Bucky steps in front of you, his large frame towering over you forcing you to crane your neck upwards. His breath fanning across your face as he spoke.

“Make me a list of items you need and I’ll go and get it.”

“Why? Each time I’ve asked in the past, you’ve always refused!” you shouted a little louder than you intended.

“Y/n, come on. Don’t be an asshole and make this difficult. Just write the fuckin’ list so I can go!”

“Not when you speak to me like that. Get out of my way, I’ll go my damn self!” you attempted to shove him but he didn’t even budge.

“You’re not goin’ out there, it’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t know why you even care!” you yelled. Weeks of built-up anger and frustration all coming out.

“Because I care about you!” Bucky yelled back. And then there was silence, neither of you spoke a word, just staring and blinking at each other. He cared about you? Since when? Since when does ignoring someone, yelling at them and picking arguments count as caring about someone?

“No you don’t.” a single tear rolled down your cheek, you nibbled on your lip, mulling over his words in your mind like a loop.

“I do, y/n. I was just scared… when you first moved in, I didn’t even think you’d like me as a friend, then I saw the way you looked at me like you were trying to figure me out and I panicked. I’m sorry.”

“All I wanted was to be your friend Bucky. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I know and I’m so sorry for everything I ever did and said to you, I’m an idiot and it wasn’t my intention to drag it out for as long as I did.”

“You really hurt me. All those times you screamed at me and made me feel like I was the problem, that you hated having me here and you made me feel like if I suddenly died, you’d throw a party!” you attempted to shove him again, but he stepped closer instead grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his chest.

“Don’t you EVER say that. I’d be lost without you honestly, because you’re so argumentative and you amuse me.” his heart thumped against your ear and you didn’t actually understand what was happening. One second you thought you two hated each other which turned out not to be true, you learned Bucky did care about you. You pulled back after a while, wiping your wet cheeks with your palms and a wet chuckle came out.

“I never wanted you to see me cry.” you admitted through some deep breaths.

“You’re still pretty. I really hope we can start again from the beginning, though I don’t expect you to forgive me right away.” he smiled sheepishly.

“It’ll take some time, you have been an asshole.”

“Alright, don’t sugarcoat it.” he teased

“No but seriously, we both have been pretty stupid, so yeah. During this quarantine, let’s work on a friendship.”

Later that day, Bucky kept his word and did your grocery shopping, picking up everything that was on your list and more. He bought some snacks and chips in hopes you’ll agree to watch a movie with him later, which you did. The pizza was taken out of the oven and the chilled beers were on the coffee table waiting to be cherished. You contemplated on lighting some candles, but didn’t want to give Bucky the wrong impression since you weren’t interested in a relationship (at this time). You went with the other options and switched the lights off entirely, the only light was from the TV screen. Bucky chose a movie, an action he had found on Netflix and the two of you settled into the couch. The pizza was eaten, the beers were gone and you were halfway through the movie when a loud knock sounded on the front door.

“Oh, I’ll get it.” Bucky said squeezing your thigh as he stood up. You paused the movie and placed your hands under your thighs. You heard a harsh laugh boom through the apartment and you cringed.

“Nat! What are you doing here?” Bucky joined in on the laughing as he invited her in. You narrowed your eyes, remembering no visitors were allowed in people’s households so why was she here?

“I came to see you. Couldn’t wait to see my man any longer!” she laughed and pulled him into a hug, looking over his shoulder towards you and smirking.

“Uhm, Bucky? The movie…?” you interrupted them. Bucky offered you an apologetic look as he took Natasha’s hand in his and led her to his bedroom door.

“Sorry doll. Maybe another time.” your heart sunk, you knew this was too good to be true. The slam of his bedroom door caused you to tense up, as you sat on the couch in the dark listening to their giggles behind the door and then the loud music started.

“Thanks for nothing.” You mumbled to yourself, turning the TV off and sheepishly walking into your bedroom, allowing the tears to fall down your cheeks. You sank to the floor, raising your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs. You wished this time you were good enough for Bucky, but clearly his priorities were the wrong way around.

Maybe this time you’ll be lucky enough to be approved to rent a different apartment. Now you were more sure that you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t want to be near Bucky any longer.

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crystalstar8 · 3 years

Text

Knights of the Night (chapter 2)

Chapter 2

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 1,628

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

Despite complaining about walking to work, Catalina was sort of looking forward to the hike. She could see the mountains from wherever she was in this town, and they were beautiful. It was seven in the morning and Catalina was half dead. After a cup of coffee and a hearty breakfast though, she was ready to go. Jungkook had texted her the day before giving her a time, eight am, and his home address. No other details, such as what to wear to work, which would have been helpful. She had texted him back but he never answered, so she wore a plain black t-shirt with jeans. She figured that was neutral enough.

Jungkook’s house turned out to be right around the block, so it was a short walk. The house was old, two stories, grey brick, square and narrow. Catalina knocked on the door and waited. Jungkook opened the door right away.

“Hey, come on in,” he said, holding the door open. Catalina closed the door behind her and looked around. The inside looked like it hadn’t been redecorated since the 70’s, but it was still cozy and homey. Jungkook led the way up the stairs to a small bedroom at the end of the hall. His hair was still a mess and he wasn’t wearing shoes.

“Are your parents home?” asked Catalina.

“No, they’re at work. They’ll come home in a few hours,” he said.

“The night shift?” asked Catalina.

“Yeah, they’re nurses. They’ve worked the night shift ever since me and my brother started high school,” said Jungkook. He was sitting on his bed, lacing up a pair of Timberlands.

The bedroom was a mess, clothes scattered across the floor, piles of tangled wires in the corner. A bookshelf was against the left wall filled with video games and stuffed animals. Beside the bookshelf, a surfboard, a snowboard, and a skateboard all leaned against the wall. A glass of milk sat on the desk by the door and there was a hole in the wall right above that. Catalina could see into the next bedroom through it, which looked similar to this room. The whole bedroom stunk like…

“Dude, this milk is bad,” said Catalina. She scrunched her nose and shuffled away from it.

“It is?” asked Jungkook. He picked it up and sniffed it. He reared back and gagged loudly. Catalina threw her head back laughing.

“Why did you sniff it?” she asked.

“I don’t know! Shut up!” he said. He took one last tentative sniff of it before setting it down and grabbing a hairbrush.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No I just got up, like a few minutes before you got here,” he said. “I was thinking we could stop somewhere on the way.”

“Won’t we be late?” asked Catalina.

“Just McDonalds, nothing fancy!” he said.

“What time do we have to be there?”

“Eight.”

“Dude! We’re gonna be late!”

“Just quick! We’ll go through the drive through!”

“We’re walking!”

A half an hour later found Catalina and Jungkook starting on the trail up the mountain. Jungkook was wolfing down three McMuffins, tater tots, and a frozen coffee. The walk through the drive through was something Catalina never wanted to do again.

The hike, though intimidating, was very nice. They talked about their childhoods and other random stories while they walked. The woods were beautiful; enormous, ancient trees towering all around them. Catalina remembered Jungkook telling her about people skiing in these mountains. She didn’t know a whole lot about the sport, but she was pretty sure the trees would get in the way.

“Now, I don’t know enough about skiing, but I feel like all these trees would get in the way,” said Catalina. Jungkook chuckled.

“Yeah, there’s slopes at the top that you take lifts to get to. No one skis here,” said Jungkook. “We’ll go this winter.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. Anyway, this is a really nice hike, but I bet you we won’t feel like doing this every time,” said Catalina. “We’re gonna get sick of it after the first few times.”

“No way. R.I.P. to you but I’m different,” said Jungkook.

Catalina sighed. “That was lame. And you’re the only one here who has a car, so…”

“I know, I’m just kidding,” he said.

The trail let them out onto the road, which they followed until they reached the gift shop. It was a small building on the side of the road which advertised trail maps, souvenirs and camping necessities. A little bell rang above the door as they stepped inside. Hoodies, snow globes and tacky, racist Native American merchandise greeted them inside.

“You’re late,” someone said. A woman in her late 40’s rounded one of the shelves and crossed her arms.

“What? Not we’re not!” Jungkook checked the time on his phone. They were indeed late. Catalina sighed. Great first impression.

“We’re really sorry ma’am. Someone had to get McDonalds on the way here,” she said.

The woman sighed. “Call me Helen. And it’s okay. It’s not like they’re bustin’ the door down.”

Sure enough, besides them, the store was empty. Helen showed them how to work the register, where the back room was, and how to close at seven.

“Just be friendly with the customers. I’m not gonna be here on weekends, so keep yourselves occupied,” said Helen. And with that, she left the store. The rest of the day went by slowly. Not many people came in, so Catalina and Jungkook mostly just hung out and goofed around.

When Catalina got home later that night, she was exhausted. They only had a few customers that day, the rest of the time was spent chatting and making fun of the Indian goods.

Her bed, which was still just a mattress on the floor, was a welcome sight.

The only thing she could feel was a deep-seated fear. It made her palms sweat and the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The narrow hallways seemed to be never ending. She needed to find a way out. If they caught up to her, she was dead. The faint sound of a floorboard creaking somewhere behind her made her spin around, breath caught in her throat. There was no one there, but the hallway seemed darker than it was before.

All of a sudden, Catalina found herself in a den. A fire crackled in the fireplace, bookshelves lined the walls and a big desk sat in the corner. It was cozy, and Catalina felt the fear melt away. She felt safe here.

“Have you read this one?”

Catalina turned around. A man stood by the hearth. He held up a book, but Catalina couldn’t make out the title since the letters kept shifting.

“I’m not sure,” she said. This man was dangerous, Catalina could tell by the fear she still felt being around him. But she also knew he wouldn’t hurt her. “I don’t think I’ve read it. What book is it?”

“I told you about this one yesterday. You would like it,” he said. When he smiled, his dimples caved and his eyes sparked. Catalina no longer felt afraid of him.

I Like It, by Cardi B. blasted from the speakers. Sweat dripped from Catalina’s brow.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, one, two, three, STEVE, GODDAMN IT YOU’RE STILL TURNING THE WRONG WAY!” the choreographer shouted. She paused the music and pinched the bridge of her nose. Catalina took the opportunity to breathe and turn to Jimin. He was trying not to laugh.

“I don’t wanna be here when she kills Steve,” Jimin said under his breath. Catalina giggled.

“I think it’d be some fun drama,” said Catalina. “Also, he deserves it.”

Jimin laughed and they got back into position as the music started from the beginning again. Catalina wasn’t really a fan of Cardi B., but the dance was a lot of fun. It was a smooth hip hop, lots of body rolls and sexy partner dancing. Catalina was glad she got Jimin as her partner and not Steve. Steve was pretty bad.

Once the choreographer called it a day, Catalina and Jimin took their time packing their bags.

“Do you watch the news at all?” asked Jimin. Catalina shook her head. “Well, it’s the only thing ever on at my house, and I guess there’s like, people going missing in the town next to us.”

“Whoa, really?” asked Catalina.

“Yeah, and I was invited to this party, but my mom has been freaking out and she doesn’t want me to go out, so I don’t know if I’m going…”

“Wow, that’s crazy. Yeah, I mean, it’s not in this town though. So it should be fine to go to a party,” said Catalina. Jimin shrugged.

“Maybe. Anyway, how was the first day at work?” he asked.

“Ah, yeah, it was nice. The hike is cool and there’s a bunch of racist Indian goods in the shop. There’s like, barely any customers, so it was pretty chill all day,” she said.

“That’s cool. I don’t think I’d be able to walk that far to work every day. I’m too lazy,” said Jimin.

Catalina shrugged. “I mean, a job is a job. But I’ll probably have a ride for a lot of my shifts,” she said. “What about you? Did you get that job in the theater?”

“Yeah, it’s alright. I guess it’s gonna be mostly just moving chairs around and helping backstage for events,” said Jimin. “But what if I want to audition for a show?”

“Then they’ll just have to find a replacement for you!” said Catalina. “You deserve to be on stage!”

Jimin laughed and said, “Thank you. I do deserve to be on stage, don’t I?”

#bts #bts fanfction #nights of the night #kim namjoon #namjoon #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #park jimin #kim taehyung #jung hoseok #min yoongi #Jimmy K #captain kirk #vampire au #crystalstar

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trickstermiraculous · 4 years

Note

Not sure if I sent this to you. But a class salt prompt. After getting exspelled than told oops a mistake was made you can come back. Only Marinette doesn't and bustier forgets to tell the class she is no longer exspelled and they start to think she did what was said. And the send stuff to her phone and such but for some reason one of her family members have her phone and they are nit pleased

To Marinette’s parents, it was a quick discussion. The school expelled their daughter off the word of one student, not even checking the security cameras but the word of one girl with evidence that can easily be faked and then they suddenly want her back because the girl admitted she lied with another lie to keep herself from getting in trouble.

Enough was enough until they could find another school, one where they did favour bullies who were rich. As soon as Marinette got told she could come back to school, her mother loudly announces that they can clear Marinette’s record but she will not be coming back to school that expells students without a proper investigation.

The problem came that none of the teachers told Miss Bustier’s class that Marinette was innocence so thought she had done it and with Lila continuing to lie about Marinette even with her gone, they started to hate the baker girl.

It had been a month after the Miracle Queen incident and informing her parents about her job as the new guardian and ladybug because of this they decide it would be better for her to be homeschooled as she didn’t have to keep making up excuses to leave class due to an Akuma attack. Although she had been signed up to a gymnastics club and her mother started to teach her martial arts so she was better in a fight and still did some form of PE.

Marinette had been more focused on her school work as well as plans to stop hawkmoth and because of the fact as soon as she left the school it had been clear that her old class was not on her side if the texts she was sent, were anything to go by. So, she had taken to ignoring them but had forgotten to block them so when she had left her phone on the side, she forgot her parents would see the notifications.

Marinette had just gotten done with doing some maths work and came down for a snack when she noticed her mother holding her phone while sitting at the kitchen table. “Care to tell me, why your old classmates are sending text messages calling you a lier, a bitch and other things I rather not say out loud?” Her mother questioned placing the phone down,“I-” Marinette was cut off with a look from her mother,“sigh, none of the teachers informed them that I was proven innocent and Lila has used that to her advantage” Marinette replied sitting down across from her mother, “I know that I should have blocked them but decided that I should at least know what Lila has spread about since when they text me insults, they just happen to tell me the rumour”.

“Hmm, Have you taken screenshots?” asked her mother,“yes” replied Marinette catching onto what her mother was getting at,“This is cyberbullying and slander so would you mind give me those screenshots,” her mother said,“They don’t need to be sued, mum” exclaimed Marinette,“They’re not being sued, it’s called a warning” retorted her mother,“Fine” as soon as Marinette agreed, her phone went off, grabbing her phone she realised it was a notification from the Lady Blog.

“You know what mum, you may actually need to sue Lila and Alya,” said Marinette passing her phone to her mother, watching her mother face change to pure anger as she read the article, “get your father and close up shop, while I contact Miss Green” her mother demanded.

Like every other day since Marinette left the class, everyone was hanging off Lila’s words while ignoring that we were supposed to be working while Miss Bustier was out. The classroom door open, revealing Miss Bustier and an older lady holding a pile of papers, looking very anger at the class.

“Class, if I could have your attention please?” asked Miss Bustier with a nervous tone, everyone turned round to face her with Adrien looking very worried as she recognised the women as her father had hired them before. “This is Miss Green and she needs to talk to Lila and Alya” she continued, “Oh, hello are you here for the young journalist competition?,” asked Alya who looked extremely excited.

“No, I’m not Miss Césaire, I’m here to give you and Miss Rossi, these” Miss Green answered placing to pile of paper in front of the girls, “What are these?” asked Lila rooting through the papers, “Lawsuits for slander against Dupain-Cheng family” the women stated causing an uproar.

“What but why?” demanded Alya, “You wrote an article about their bakery accusing them of buying the products insted of making them like the shop advertised as well as treating other workers like dirt on the sidewalk as the reason why only the family works the shop now” the women explained, “but-” Alya was cut off by Miss Green, “You posted this on the Lady Blog which is used by most of Paris for info about Ladybug meaning most of Paris now thinks these accusations are true”,“But they are” replied Alya,“Oh and where is your proof?” retorted Miss Green,“Lila said-” she was cut off again by Miss Green,“One accuser is not enough proof especially one who is a serial lier that can be provided to belying by a quick google search, you need more people to back this up and physical evidence before you accuse people like this” snapped Miss Green, “you are all luckily they didn’t plan to sue for those texts messages you all sent as it is cyber bullying which is a crime” and with that, she left leaving Miss Bustier to deal with the fallout.

Notes: I'm aware this is my best writing but I did struggle with how to answer this prompt but I hope this is still entertaining. College got shut down due to the virus so since I'm stuck at home, hopefully, I can write more.

Wattpad

AO3

#mlb salt #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfiction #fanfiction #original content #marinette dupain cheng #sabine dupain cheng #alya cesaire #lila salt #alya salt #ask #answered

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uwua3 · 4 years

Note

hi! first off, congrats on the new blog!! i read that misumi piece and i really enjoyed it hehe,, if it's alright, may i request some domestic fluff with kazunari? mayb looking over old photo albums of each other from when they were kids and laughing and telling stories about what happened in the photos? thank you very much and i hope u have a nice day :D

hi!!! this made me so happy 🥺 thank you so much, i hope to keep this blog running for a long time! also, i saw your reblog of my jealousy hcs and i wanted to say thank you for your sweet comments!!! i go back to it whenever i need motivation, you inspire me to keep writing ♡ thank you! i hope to continue making you proud as a writer :D <3

summary: kazunari had to stop living in the past and make new memories outside of his yearbooks with you

author’s note: this is definitely a much happier piece than my others! this was refreshing to write and i treasure it dearly, it’s definitely much more on the humorous side! no angst today, folks!!! (ok just a little, but it’s barely noticeable!)

this is just a little look into a hoarder named kazunari and his sentimental, nostalgic personality ♡ i, myself, am a marie kondo supporter so i love decluttering! if you are a hoarder like kazunari, honestly go you! you keep those knick knacks that remind you of memories! do whatever makes you the happiest :D

word count: 2,151

music: make you mine – public, tongue tied – grouplove (this song is so Kazunari !!!)

nostalgia.

🌻🎨 miyoshi kazunari

it was that time of year again

kazunari hated spring cleaning with a passion. so what if his art supplies were all over the dorms? he knew where everything was! uh, mostly...

(if you ignore his daily panicked house searches which kept everyone up way too late if he couldn’t locate a very specific paint shade for a big project he definitely procrastinated)

so, it took, so much bribery to get kazunari to even consider cleaning out his entire dorm room

(muku was a very Good Boy and already had his side of the room perfectly dusted and organized)

yes, you had to promise to pose as a model for one of his paintings one day (hopefully, not the type of class you were thinking) (kazunari’s suggestive wink didn’t help)

the thing about kazunari was he was somewhat of a, putting it politely, hoarder

as an extremely sentimental person, it would take the whole mankai company to even force him to throw something away

(“no! it has a special meaning to me! i remember what happened when i got this~” kazunari would whine, holding the useless item between his hands with no intentions to ever look at it again)

so the boys employed you to be kazunari’s rational judgement when cleaning that day

(“please actually make him do something.” sakyo looked like he was on the border of begging; kazunari’s abundance of random knick knacks and shopaholic addiction problem was becoming an issue that affected everyone)

rule #1 of cleaning kazunari’s storage room: don’t open anything because kazunari will become very sentimental and nothing will get gone

so therefore, as a team, you two tackled the rather spotless room. the interior was minimal and modern, just like kazunari liked it with pops of color here and there

(he had one blank white wall and you realized it was the backdrop he used to film all his social media posts [dancing tik toks, fashion #ootds on instagram, daily vlogs on his growing youtube channel])

at first, you were confused where all his stuff went until you opened a closet against his terrible and unconvincing distractions

without time to react, you found yourself buried in tens of books you couldn’t even fathom how it all fit

(“i’ve played way too much tetris.” kazunari would admit later on when asked about his immaculate stacking)

“you’ve got to be kidding me!” you groaned, pushing your head above the surface of book covers that have either never been opened or were way too old to even be functionable

“i’m sorry~ please, forgive me!” kazunari pleaded, immediately pulling you out of his own mess and using all his cuteness to make you roll your eyes fondly at your best friend

you almost started ranting at him about the dangers of taking up too much closet space with useless items before you realized:

wait! stop! he’s trying to get you to forget about throwing these books out! you thought suddenly, crossing your arms as you stared at the pile, trying to figure out how to approach the situation

“you cannot distract me. we are going through this mound and you will be getting rid of something today.” you ordered, seeing his shoulders drop in defeat as he nodded solemnly, but accepting his fate without any arguments. thank god for that

you two bent down and organized all the books into categories. popular photography instruction guides, creative advice columns, and all his past art textbooks kazunari couldn’t sell were put into a seperate group because luckily, they were relevant to his art school

things like old newspapers with funny comics were recycled (you refused to let kazunari read them in fear of invoking some form of nostalgia) (also because he had the whackiest sense of humor ever and would die laughing)

it was going well, until you reached the thickest photo books of them all (you had almost forgotten what you and kazunari’s school mascot was)

but unsurprisingly, kazunari had every single yearbook from each year of his education all the way until his last year in high school piled high to his chest

even he looked somewhat shocked from his mass accumulation from his teen years

“ah! i’m so old now~ look at all this! what else can i do except die?!” kazunari dramatically flopped onto his bed, tired of lifting so much weight. hey! his arms weren’t meant for exercise, he was a painter!

lifting his head to see you were distracted from alphabetically sorting the first section lovingly dubbed, “art shit”, kazunari mischeviously grinned as he leaned down to snatch a random yearbook

flipping to a random page, kazunari smiled as he realized it was the first time he ever met you back in elementary

kazunari sang your name as he sat upwards, having a shit–eating look on his face as he started swinging his legs back and forth

oh no, he was up to something no good, you knew it but humored him anyways

“yes, kazu?” you turned your line of sight to the most horrible picture possible: you with the ugliest haircut in the entire world with kazunari’s black hair taking up the entire photo as you two sheepishly smiled for the camera. it was not a proud moment

okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad, you just couldn’t help but shriek at the sight of your hair

“oh my god! you can’t just jumpscare me like that!” you laughed despite yourself. you knew you had to be serious and focused on decluttering, but one look at your past made you remember all the good times before so–called “adulthood”

“look at your hair!” you cackled, reaching up to playfully yank at his mullet as he yelped and lightly smacked your hand away. rubbing the back of his neck, kazunari huffed childishly and pouted like he was back in his youth

“come on! this was the pinnacle moment i realized, i should not be a hair dresser.” kazunari commented, making you remember how you just let a random 8–year–old boy waddle up to you with safety scissors and advertise his salon business like a professional

(yes, you bought into it right away. your teacher had a heart attack when she saw you with a majority of your hair on the floor and kazunari keeping small talk like an actual hair stylist)

thinking back after the haircut incident, you weren’t allowed to chat with the funny class clown anymore as you were forced to wear a hat every day

(it was either that or go completely bald to fix the job kazunari did to your head)

it wasn’t until you received a very creative and colorful apology letter with tons of sad faces drawn with waxy crayons that you snuck out to play with him on the swings in recess

“i can’t believe we became friends because i wanted free hair cuts for the rest of my life.” you added, staring at the picture with a sense of nostalgia. you kinda got where kazunari was coming from, memories were fun to look at every once and a while

at least, eleven years worth of memories after being inseperable from that moment forward

(maybe, you should’ve held onto it, you thought, not knowing that would be the first of many art pieces you would be gifted by him)

kazunari knew he won. excited, he dropped down to lay on his stomach as you leaned against the bed, watching as he thumbed through the pages with ease, leaning his head on yours comfortably

it was rare to find kazunari quiet, he must’ve been like this all the time when going through his stuff, you thought, at peace for once

lazily smiling, kazunari put his finger against your yearbook pictures as he reminisced on the past. something about everyone ever in your grade, how kazunari knew everyone and had a special memory with each person, no matter how big or small

“—and here, the teacher somehow caught a pic of us swinging wayyy too high for kids our age!” kazunari laughed, breaking your train of thought as you snickered at the absolute joy radiating from both your faces as you two competed to see who could reach the clouds

(kazu won. you fell off right after and had to get picked up from your parents after badly scraping your knee. it took another sorry letter and art of you two holding hands with a heart for your parents to forgive kazunari)

“let’s go back.” you interrupted him, making him sit up confused as you swung your keys out from your back pocket. it didn’t take any convincing for kazunari to nod right away and took the elementary yearbook into his arm

you two only had to exchange a secret look before formulating a plan to sneak out, leaving music on from kazunari’s speakers to act like kazunari was still cleaning

you two giggled amongst yourselves before clambering into your car, speeding off and laughing loudly from your successful getaway. the manager was none the wiser!

during the short car ride, you and kazunari played your favorite mixtape of all time

(“you kept this?!” kazunari yelled, giddily bouncing up and down from excitement when he discovered the mixtape stash)

he slipped the disc in as you two yelled along to childhood favorites with the windows rolled down, letting the entire neighborhood know the best duo were back in town

(seriously, there were so many you stashed away in your glove department. all labeled in sharpie with compelling titles connected to the inside jokes only you two found funny)

arriving at the destination, you two exited the vehicle to see the play pen was abandoned as the teaching staff went home for the day

the sun was setting and it felt like the playground was in another rift of time as you approached it, hearing the weak movement of the swings going back and forth on their own. you sat down, holding onto the chains. you hadn’t been back ever since you graduated. it hadn’t changed at all

kazunari opened the elementary yearbook back to the original page, pulling out his tripod and phone he always had on hand in his backpack as he set it up right across the swing set

“what are you doing?” you inquired, tilting your head as he fumbled around pressing different buttons and filters too complex for you to remember

looking up, kazunari grinned as he set a timer for 10 seconds before sprinting back to the swing next to you

“swing contest right now! i bet i could swing higher than you ever could!” kazunari challenged childishly, quickly kicking his legs for the momentum. you narrowed your eyes, refusing to lose as you two laughed over the sound of his phone taking a burst of photos

you realized what he was doing. he was re–creating your memories together

but you turned to look at him and your heart skipped a beat. you never remembered him looking this, different, in the purple lighting. for a flashing moment, you swore you saw the silhoutte of his black–haired, child self sit next to you before you blinked and saw him. kazunari was the same, just older now

you slowed down your swing by dragging your sneakers against the wood chipped ground. you grabbed both the swings’ chains to hold them together

you didn’t want to live in the past anymore. you wanted to grow up with him, too

“what—” kazunari started, matching your pace before being cut off by your lips against his, the phone going off for one last time

you pulled yourself in close enough just to smile. he smelled the exact same as he did when he discovered cologne for the first time. he never changed

you pulled away first even if he tried leaning forward for more, like he was waiting all these years just for that one moment. like he saw you in the same light, too

“i wanted to do that for years.” you confessed, watching as he took your hand carefully, like he was afraid you were going to leave. for once, he didn’t know what to do, which face to show

“me too...” kazunari agreed, seemingly speechless before straightening his back, like he was about to run away. the hair on your neck stood up, what was he about to do?

“i promise i won’t cut your hair anymore, unless?” kazunari winked dramatically, mimicking the shape of scissors with his fingers as he tried snipping at your hair

he laughed as you shoved him with all your might, hopping off the swing to chase him throughout the school parking lot

now this was a memory kazunari would never throw away, no matter what

(no one thought the two of you escaped until kazunari posted the pics on his instagram, both of you getting a scolding from sakyo this time)

(busted!)

#miyoshi kazunari #kazunari miyoshi #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #kazunari x reader #a3! kazunari #a3 kazunari

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kokiafans · 3 years

Text

KOKIA blog: May 10, 2021

Source: KOKIA.com/blog, May 10, 2021

KOKIA Jirushi

I talked about items that ‘I’m planning to sell as lovely new products on the KOKIA Jirushi web shop very soon’ in ohis blog a while ago, and starting today, the ‘music gift cards’ are for sale on KOKA Jirushi!

http://ancocoro.shop-pro.jp/?mode=cate&cbid=2719981&csid=0

KOKIA Jirushi has become the official online space where I’m selling products that made me go ‘I want to make these! I want to send these out!’ from the bottom of my heart, along with my CDs, concert DVDS, sheet music and goods.

It also has CDs that are only for sale here, and with the concert DVDs that I’ve continued to sell here for many years, these are items that make you feel the history of my activities as KOKIA.

Since most of them are only available in the web shop, I’d be happy if you’d check out the many wonderful concerts I’ve given in the past if you have the chance.

In that sense, KOKIA Jirushi isn’t just a web shop, but also a place where you can find out about the course of KOKIA activities, and a web shop selling the products that are packed with what ‘I want to do! I want to make’ = ‘my thoughts and feelings’.

The things on display here are simply what I created within me with great care at those times.

This time, I’d like to introduce the first new products after a long time which I’ve lined up here.

As it’s gotten difficult to hold a concert, I could sell things via the web shop...

With that in mind, I look back to see I’ve also put two new albums for sale in the web shop this year.

As a result, I was able to create two lovely albums, and although ‘the situation has turned to this’, I feel like it hasn’t been all bad, as I’ve followed this unexpected course and produced new things.

Be that as it may, it costs a lot of money to produce an album, so for that reason I’m currently able to write songs without being at full stamina due to the circumstances... Because of that, I can’t just put out one album after the other, and instead the timing this time was ‘that’s right! I wanted to try and make new products’.

Originally, I was already considering this idea of ‘music gift cards’ for a long time, wanting to sell them at concert venues.

As for the reason why...

Since the sale price is cheap at ¥ 500, I thought they’d make just the right kind of purchase to commemorate going to the concert, but when selling them via the web shop, you’d have to consider fees and shipping costs, so honestly, I was also thinking about the shipping costs that would arise for the purchase of a cheap product for the customers, too.

However, I’ve come to the decision that it might be difficult to produce these ‘music gift cards’ if I’d wait for the chance I get to sell them in person, which could take a long time. So I’ve also prepared them as sets for sale, and have started to sell them via the KOKIA Jirushi web shop.

I’ve also written about the products on the KOKIA Jirushi product page, but...

These new products ‘music gift cards’ are cards the size of business cards.

I have a lot of chances to send flowers and presents, but when I get to attach a message card with names or a couple of words to the present on those occasions, I get even happier.

And from that... the idea of these cards with the thought ‘if I could attach music to these short message cards...’ was born.

So far, I’ve been someone who thinks of creating music as creating CDs, and who has been telling her fans ‘it’d be great if you’d give musical presents to your friends and loved ones by giving them CDs...’. Since you can’t listen to a CD right away without a player, I’d think it’s nice to listen to it without rush after getting home, but it was an obstruction for something like a present that you’d like to get excited about on the spot, lacking the immediate effect of surprise.

Then the idea struck me to include a QR code to the message card, so that when you read the QR code, you get the music as a present.

That’s the kind of cards these are.

I’d be happy if you included this card as a short message card with a present you’ve prepared yourself for someone dear to you, and multiply the surprise and joy.

In starting this, I prepared many of the birthday versions as they might be the cards most in demand, but I’m planning on increasing the variation hereafter, so if you were planning on purchasing CDs or DVDs, you could save on shipping costs if you ordered these alongside. ^^;

↓ The recommended CDs can be found on this page.

http://ancocoro.shop-pro.jp/?mode=cate&cbid=1066527&csid=0

A year has come and gone, but since the hot summer is around the corner, now is the time! There’s something I want to advertise loudly!

It’s already been a year since I produced the goods for my planned Opera City concert in April 2020, the ‘cute ghost T-shirt’, the ‘opera glasses’ and the ‘pin badges’!

In winter, I thought it couldn’t be helped, but now that the hot summer is coming up, would you consider these once more?

For me, it was a phantom concert. Looking at the products left in the cardboard was a sad time, but now that I’m past that time, it makes me smile once more to look at them.

Pin badges on those concert T-shirts...

I wonder if there will be a day when they’re all gone...

http://ancocoro.shop-pro.jp/?mode=cate&cbid=1074870&csid=0

#KOKIA #translation #translation: blog #other: webshop

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nev3rfound · 5 years

Text

the show must go on : b.b

brief summary: based on the movie age of adeline, you’re unable to age and live your life in new york. until one day, you’re spotted by two of your oldest friends.

word count: 2.7k requested: nope. this is an idea I’ve had since april and finally put it into writing. i’m not sure if this will just be a oneshot or a series, but do let me know what you think! warnings: not any i’m aware of

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

* masterlistin’

* commissions

** permanent taglist **

With every single card laid out before you all you had to do was pick whichever one would be most suited. Your fingertips roam over a series of them, quickly discarding a selection due to the date of birth making you now too old.

You sigh quietly before picking one of them up, checking the birth date before slipping it into your purse, exchanging it for Hadley Wilson. “I guess Amelia Kingsley will have to do today.” You mutter under your breath as you take the rest of the ID cards and slip them back into the shoe box.

Amelia Kingsley, aged 26, born in Michigan.

Today was going to be a good day, you needed it to be.

Shuffling across your floor of the apartment, you lift the creaky floorboard up and place the box back inside, out of sight. Beside the shoe box remains your most precious memories from your original years alongside some emergency cash and supplies. Everything you kept hidden away were the only things you truly cared about, everything that remained on display in your apartment was simply for show. You could easily pack everything up into one large box and move to another place when the time came, not if.

You rise to your feet as you dust off your jacket and pull your hair out, allowing it to fall over your shoulders. Taking your keys and purse, you head toward your front door, just allowing yourself a single glance at your reflection.

Seeing yourself in the mirror wasn’t surprising. You never woke up looking at yourself with a shock. You had seen in films where the protagonist wakes up a mess, scared to see their state in the mirror. But for you, there was never anything different to be scared of. In all of your years, not a single detail or feature has changed.

There weren’t any signs of wrinkles, of greys appearing or age spots. Your skin was still youthful, your hair full and smile bright. You hadn’t aged a day over 25 in nearly a hundred years, and you were sick of it.

Closing your front door, you make your way down the stairs holding your uniform in your bag. Amelia had a part-time job, you knew she could just turn up and they’d accept her with open arms.

Exiting the building the doorman nods as always, never saying a single word, just a simple nod. “Have a good day, Henry.” You cheerfully reply as you take your handbag and whistle out for a cab and watch as one quickly pulls up. “Guess some things never do change.”

New York, the city you once grew up in has changed more than you could compare. The streets are covered in lights, illuminated by advertisements and sounds of languages you had yet to learn. It was amazing, beautiful, but forever haunting you of what you’ll never have.

Unlike New York, you’ll never get to change, to evolve and grow old. It was a freak accident you can’t explain, no one could.

In your long life, you’ve lived in nearly every state of America. You travelled abroad briefly but felt too unsafe to allow yourself to settle. Part of you knew you’d always end up back in New York, maybe not in Brooklyn where you were raised, but it was the closest to home you had been for a long time.

“Just here, thanks.” You tell the driver as you pass him the cash before climbing out of the cab and walking toward the small building.

Opening the door, you could already hear the sound of high heels clacking against the wooden floors and the claps of the rhythm being rehearsed. A small smile plays on your lips as you listen to the sound of music playing, the soft melodies you grew up hearing.

“Amy, hey!” You turn around, seeing Lydia running toward you already made up in her costume. She wraps her arms around you tightly, not giving you a second to adjust. “Where have you been, it’s been a week?” She questions, pushing her black curls out of her face.

You shrug your bag off of your shoulder, walking alongside her toward the dressing rooms. “I just got busy, had some family things to deal with.” You lie, but she’s never one to question.

“Everything alright? Your parents doing okay in Michigan?” She asks sincerely and you simply nod, trying to remember that you’re Amelia Kingsley, that your parents are in fact still alive.

Placing your bag down on your dressing table, you slip your jacket off as she takes the spot beside you, touching up her lipstick. “They’re doing alright, just worryin’ about me.” You say with a light laugh as you roll your eyes. “You know how parents can be.”

Lydia scoffs lightly, nodding in agreement. “Tell me ‘bout it.” She sighs as she slumps back into her chair as you begin to change into your attire. “Jonny’s Mom wants me to go over and cook for Thanksgiving. Like, she has it out for me I swear.” Her New York accent remains thick as she talks which makes you smile, realising there are still some oldens around.

“But isn’t Thanksgiving two months from now?” You ask as you slip the tights as you pull the short dress on.

“Exactly.” She says with a huff as she passes you the underskirt, watching as the excessive fabric fluffs out the short dress, accentuating the curves of your body. “But she knows I can’t cook, and she doesn’t like me bein’ with Jonny as it is.”

You continue to listen to Lydia’s rambles as you pull the tighs up over your legs, adjusting them underneath the dress as you slip the short black heels on, doing the buckle up.

“What’s tonight's routine?” You interrupt as you loosely curl your hair before finishing your makeup off, watching a series of girls walk in wearing the same outfit, smiling and waving to you as they do the same.

“Usual. Just gotta do the normal dance then into the crowd, sing the songs and that’s a night.” She rounds up and you nod, knowing this routine all too well that you could do it with your eyes closed.

A loud knock on the door causes everyone to go quiet. “You all decent, ladies?” A man calls out and unison of yes follows.

The door is pushed open and there stands Jonny, chewing his gum loudly as always. “You look lovely, ladies.” He looks around at everyone, his eyes lingering on Lydia. “Now, we gotta show to do.”

All of the girls file out as you pull the white gloves up over your forearms and adjust your soldier's hat.

“Good to see you, Amy.” Jonny winks to you and you politely smile, ignoring the feeling of your skin crawling as you walk toward the stage, standing behind the thick red curtain.

Your hand rests on Lydia’s shoulder as you listen to Jonny in front of the curtain talking to the crowd. “Okay now for tonight’s main event, who is ready to see Captain America’s girls?” He calls out and a series of cheers commence.

The mention of his name never gets dull with the crowd as they have all lived through it too. They watched the poor attempted shows that Captain America had to do and at the time, booed him and demanded the girls to return to the stage. But now, these retired veterans eat this up, they love the nostalgia. And you love the chance to be reminded of the life you lost.

Music begins to play as the curtain rises. Your smile remains bright as you try and look out into the crowd. Immediately you can see some of the regulars sitting at the front row, giving you all a nice wave and smile.

The dance begins as normal as you all flutter around the stage, lip-syncing some of the songs as you keep in time to the beat.

As the first song comes to an end and the next begins, you walk out into the crowd in a single file, all walking off in differing directions. During each show, you’re assigned an area and tonight you’re working the back right corner.

Wandering over, a spotlight follows you as you stand on top of the table, singing delicately to the men around you with a smile. You look around the room, feeling two pairs of eyes refusing to part with you as the spotlight on you fades away.

Turning to face the longing stares, the spotlight illuminates Lydia on their table. But no one is staring. You shrug the paranoia off and carry on with your set.

All of you file back toward the stage, and as you’re in line you hear a voice mutter. “Steve, it’s not Y/n.” You can feel the hairs rising on the back of your neck as you keep your eyes set dead ahead, refusing to glance and see who it is.

You finish the routine with a heavy breath as the curtain falls and the sound of cheers is something you can barely hear over your own heartbeat.

“Amy, you alright?” Lydia calls out as she watches you rush back to the dressing room, grabbing your things and throwing your coat on.

Standing in front of her with wide eyes you nod. “Yeah I just, I gotta go.” You mutter before walking past her, not even stopping to chat to the regulars like you normally would. “I’ll let you know when I’m next free.” You call out as you keep your head held low, your trainers hitting the ground hard as you pass by the stage.

Most nights, you could sit for hours and talk to them about the 20′s and 30′s. How they describe it as a world you would never recognise with the technology you all have these days. You would laugh with them, smiling and playing along.

“Hey,” A voice calls out from beside you, and you stop. “sorry, Miss.”

Turning you look up to see their faces and you try and focus. “Hi?” Your voice is barely audible as you stare at the faces of your former best friend. “Sorry, can I help you?” You mutter, feeling your body beginning to burn up under his gaze.

“Sorry, it’s just, you look identical to an old friend of mine.” Steve states with a smile playing on his lips, barely believing the sight before him.

Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you shrug your shoulders as you recollect yourself. “Oh, I get that a lot actually.” You try and laugh it off, but Steve is looking at every feature.

“It’s just uncanny, really. Her name was Y/n Yl/n.” Steve tells you and watches a flicker in your eyes.

You smile softly to him, tucking your hair behind your right ear. “Y/n?” The name plays on your lips as you watch him nod. “She was my grandmother, I get told that a lot.”

Steve’s smile grows across his face. “Is she, is she still with us?” He licks his lips, and you let out a small sigh as you force yourself to shake your head. “I, I’m sorry. She, she was an amazing woman.”

“She truly was. How, how did you know her?” You ask him as you look around, seeing a tall figure with dark brown hair hovering by the notice board.

“She was an old friend of mine, and of his.” He motions to the man by the notice board, and your breath hitches in your throat. “Sorry again for bothering you,” He pauses, realising he never got your name.

“Amy.” You tell him quietly, watching as the man begins to turn but you push open the front door. “It was nice meeting you.” You call out as you turn the corner, not wanting to be faced with the tall figure.

Steve remains still, watching you disappear out of sight as Bucky stands by his side. “So,” Bucky asks Steve, watching his smile falter. “was it her?” Bucky tries to hide the hope lacing his voice.

“No.” Steve quietly admits, not wanting to see the disappointment fall on Bucky’s face. “I’m sorry, Buck. Y/n’s dead.”

Bucky releases a heavy sigh before pushing the front door open. “Let’s go home.” He mumbles sadly, unaware of you walking just out of his view. “I guess it was just too good to be true.” Bucky states quietly to Steve as he stands with his hands in his pockets, walking in the opposite direction to you.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees as he glances back, seeing your long trench coat behind him as your curls bounce behind you. “I guess it was.”

“Evening, Henry.” You hold back your tears as he opens the door, forcing you a small smile as you head straight to the lift.

As the doors close on you, you feel the tears falling down your cheeks. His face is all you can picture, the young boy with the dark brown hair swept to one side, his cheeky attitude and his attempts at being suave. He never failed to make you laugh, or try to cheer you up.

Pushing open your front door, you slip the trench coat off, catching sight of the mascara staining underneath your eyes as you collapse down by the creaky floorboard.

You force it up, pushing it to one side as you reach down to the old biscuit tin. A thick layer of dust coats the top as you blow it off, coughing as you inhale more than intended.

Brushing your fingertips over the top, you lift the lid open hearing it clang on the ground beside you causing you to jump lightly as a small lamp brightens the spot above you.

As delicately as you can, you look through some of the photographs you kept. When the accident happened, you realised you were only going to be able to keep a selection of treasures. If you carried photo albums from the 30′s with you containing photographs of you with well-known faces, you knew suspicion would arise. As a result, you kept only the photos you didn’t want to forget, the people you’d never see again.

Your thumb brushes along the photograph of you and your family. It was taken when you were just a little girl sat between your two older siblings. Your Mother was so beautiful, and your Father was stern, but you knew he did it because he cared about your safety. The next is when you’re older, around the age of 17. You’re wearing one of your sisters dresses as she couldn’t afford a new one for you to wear at her wedding.

A series of photos pass by, and then you land on the one you were looking for. For a brief moment, you were worried it was lost in transit from Atlanta.

Leaning back, you rest against one of your cabinets as you feel tears forming in your eyes. Despite the changes, you know it’s still them.

The three of you are standing outside of the local dance hall, all smiling as they hold you close in their arms. Steve is tiny, the broad man you spoke to earlier isn’t the same one you remembered. His smile is still bright, but you remember having forced him to go with you so you wouldn’t feel left out in case Bucky wandered off.

And then there’s Bucky.

You sniff lightly at the sight of him, his height towering over you as his hand ghosts around your waist. He was always so delicate with you, never wishing you any harm. You can remember just after the photograph was taken that Steve had a coughing fit, resulting in the three of you going home early.

As you and Bucky helped Steve into his house, he insisted on walking you home.

Closing your eyes you can still picture it, hearing his laugh as he twirls you around in the dark streets of Brooklyn.

A small smile rises on your face as you flip the photograph over, sighing as you hold it close wishing you could go back.

‘Bucky, Steve and Y/n. 1927.’

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@psychicforest 🌙 @lourightm 🌙 @mywinterwolf 🌙 @perellith-chronicles🌙 @supermoonchildbroski🌙 @xrosegoldwolfx🌙 @courtneychicken

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incarnateirony · 4 years

Text

Sometimes I feel like SPN’s greatest strength is its fandom’s weakness. And sometimes even the product itself.

When SPN started, it was very insular. The internet screamed at you in most parts of the world to connect. Cable was even pretty rare. It was on a small backwater channel and, even at its hottest fresh burst, was running 1/4-1/5 of the numbers of the leading competitors at the time. When SPN premiered just above a 2.x, Grey’s was running 9.x and was still well above 8.x by the time SPN fell to 1.x. It was a dedicated cult show, with fandoms communicating by postcard, huddled in moderated livejournal corners.

Kripke, Jensen and others have all mentioned SPN really getting its wings around S4 to have a sense of stability, and it even survived the digital conversion mandate, it survived the advertisement crash, it survived one of the biggest TV show culls in history while the landscape changed and, somehow, the ratings that year went /up/. But even still, just because it wasn’t riding the bubble anymore, didn’t mean it was huge.

It barely survived Ostroff’s mismanagement. It barely survived the season 7 crash under Gamble. And then CW struck a legendary deal, and binge watching became available on Netflix, while Carver shifted and serialized the show, now that both DVR and increasing-speed internet and streaming services became available. And within a year, SPN was an international phenomenon. Hell, by seasons 11+, it perpetually ran in the top 20 digitally called shows in the world, ranking higher each year.

I think this is really what caused, in every way shape and form, the constant fighting in fandom.

I mean sure, we can talk about people who get stuck in ruts in what they think the show is supposed to be about. Those happen in every old as dirt fandom. For every Old School Fan in SPN I point you to Star Trek, to Star Wars, to whatever. You know, Back In My Day The Show Meant XYZ isn’t really a fresh thing to SPN.

But the fighting isn’t just about that. It’s about how to render characters. It’s about what makes good story flow. It’s about what dialogue means. In some corners, it’s about representation.

By and large the fandom endorses, “all interpretations are equal” -- which is valid to a point. Personally, I always asterisk it with “all interpretations are equal as long as your interpretation continues to work for you.”

But there’s some catch-22s to that. In a still developing piece, things change. That’s obvious. And what “works for you” seems to be difficult for some people to identify. I regret to inform you, if you have an interpretation, and yet the piece continues to divide further and further from your interpretation, and you continue to get angrier while the show seems to be going against your interpretation, then technically, no. Your interpretation is no longer working for you.

That is, if you choose to continue to consume content. There’s lots of ways to manage this. One can figure out at what point their interpretation broke away from the product and try to adapt -- you can take pointers from fandom, but realistically, it’s something to do yourself. Taking pointers from fandom tends to be what gets people into this mess where people get angry. You can choose to stop consuming new content and enjoy the canon within the sandbox that made you happy with your interpretation. Or yeah, you can stay angry and keep watching while you’re angry and refuse to figure out how to get un-angry, but I mean, why torture yourself. It’s your right and your decision of course, so I’m not going to tell anyone not to. That’s not the point of this.

Because ultimately that’s a small aside to the “interpretations are equal”, a general disclaimer appended, vs “still developing piece”, but the point I intend to make is it’s more than that. It’s more than Old Fan vs New Fan, it’s more than whatever weird totemic argument fandom ritualistically engages with and faps to. It’s...

A while back I mentioned offering to do an AV studies course. Technically drafts of it are still floating in my draft folder, just between life emergencies, life, covid pandemic, getting grossly ill, I’m just sitting here kind of empty. Full honest. But thoughts still come, so I blog, even while staring emptily at my half finished project in my video editor I don’t have the spoons to finish much less anything else.

But one of the things it was going to discuss was different things like Representations, Audiences, Ideologies, Language, and so forth. And this circles back to my point on this show’s strength and weakness, and how it falls into interpretation.

Two major impacts (I would be far from saying they are the only, or are they themselves laws that make someone somehow oblivious, but are major influencers when speaking of large groups of people) I’ve noticed are generation, and location. Such as... country.

SPN is a very Americana show. It’s filmed in America for America (hey, technically Canada is North America, but it’s definitely American oriented business/studios regardless of filming locale), often making American references, but even getting references doesn’t mean you’re really catching a lot. American shows do not follow the same time/format/delivery pattern as, say, Chinese or Korean shows. Go watch them, put them side by side if you have to of something in related-ish genres. Different cultures deliver their stories differently be it pacing, structure, symbolism and color, or whatever. What Japanese culture perceives out of the idea of a dog in symbolism is like wildly different than what American culture perceives out of a dog.

Similarly each generation has its own language. I mean, watch boomers and zoomers talk right past each other and that isn’t hard to see in practice.

Don’t even get me started on representation. America’s in a goddamn trashfire of Hays Code aftermath, which say, British people didn’t have to grow up with and may be used to entire other systems so they see Rando American Show elsewhere and go, well see! but that’s a whole other mess. Just... adding it to the equation (and vaguely thanking the Brits and other Europeans for shipping off so many gay ass films for decades that the MPAA couldn’t stop that they just gave up enforcing the code as much as letting cultural aftermath doing the work.)

So this show absolutely exploded, and like, it’s nobody’s fault that the entire sum of the fandom aren’t all like, media minds/eyes that pay attention to the different methods in international films. But it adds to a lot of talking past each other in the dialogue. It leads to a lot of expectations or readings that may be/seem valid to people because it’s what they know in their area. It leads to a lot of obfuscating of points, infinite carousels of suggestions and alternatives that, after dozens of millions of fans engage for a decade, just becomes a big relativistic vat, but a lot of lanes are now angry in every way.

Like this isn’t a one-ship thing or one-lane thing, it’s a just about everybody thing. And it’s not about any one subject or angle or view of approach. These days, it feels like Everybody Is Mad About Everything. Their reads aren’t really working for them anymore, regardless of their lane (for every pissed off Wincester there’s a pissed off Destiel fan, for every pissed off Sam stan there’s a pissed off Dean or Cas or even Rowena stan these days). Everybody somehow seems permanently blindsided by Everything if you take the temperature of the sum of an entire lane as a general rule, rather than (impossibly) reading through every opinion in each lane and figuring out where people are still happy vs where they’re upset. Then of course groupthink kicks in and well, if Rando French Cas Stan is Outraged, I Should Be Too I Guess. Everybody’s mad, guess I should be mad, instead of trying to figure out why everybody everywhere is fucking mad.

So people each build interpretations, reasonable in their own way, from their own origins, in their own countries with their own styles, but somewhere along the line, there’s a fracture. The storytelling pacing they thought they knew vanished and turned out wrong. The character dialogue wasn’t what they interpreted out of it. The cinematic stuff they read was coded to a different language than they were used to reading (back to, say, dogs). People are flagged and pay attention to things that may mean nothing to a filmmaker in the area it’s made and other people completely miss things that may mean something to the filmmaker because it really doesn’t mean A Thing elsewhere.

Compound this by lanes, echo chambers, people collectively finding what they enjoy and is -- respectively -- convenient to their mindset. Add in ship warring, slap fights, wasted kilobits. Add in decentralization, globalization. There’s no leaders, no teachers, and frankly, there’s not even a real In The Know anymore. Most people are In The Know to some extent. Some more than others. Hell, the people who most loudly /publicly/ pose as In The Know are often hilarious bags of air that end up embarrassed a year later (here’s to looking at you, blogger that anti-ranted Friendship Fan now facing the return of the Subtweeting Turkey. You know who you are and what I’m talking about.) I mean sure, there are a few legit Secret Masters of Fandom. But that’s it. They’re Secret. You may kinda pick up the vibe between the lines, and maybe just maybe they’ll drop a few genuine hints here and there in public to try to tilt people ahead, but it’s not the clout chasing goblins around here that anyone really should listen to and I /think/ at large everybody’s kinda figured that out. Most SMOFs are just silent contacts that hide in DM boxes and casually ignore the raging thunderstorms in the wild.

So going back to how I started this post-- while SPN found its success mostly post-S8 from the globalization of the product making it a phenomenon -- more than any one ship (but that doesn’t help), more than any one demographic, it’s just... it feels like everybody’s talking past each other and nobody’s introspecting or considering that while, yes, people’s interpretations are valid to them as long as it works for them, that if it’s not REALLY working for them anymore, maybe they’re missing somewhere. Generationally. Culturally. Whatever it may be. And I don’t see any amount of me sitting here in a Thinking Man pose about it changing that, or changing a vast amount of minds, as much as I really just want to /speak/ the thought process.

Because like. I’ve always existed kind of in the grey space of fandom. I “ship” Destiel in so far as I simply can’t be budged from the value in the text be that by antis or honestly even shipping culture itself. I don’t escalate into rants just to prOVE the tRuTH. I write meta about mythology because it interests me. Who the fuck are you MikeDawg1783894jKFbetabitch82398123? why should I care, where is your self importance coming from. I am far too tired to bother explaining anything to anyone, and frankly, I don’t owe anybody jack shit. You know what, you do you. If you’re happy go be happy. If you’re not happy, stop spewing your misery at me. This isn’t hard. But people around here make it complicated for some reason.

The internationalism also harms the product to some extent. Parrot Analytics reveals that this Americana show with Americana origins and methods is also ... *primarily viewed in Russia.* Like, 3x the US audience size. SPN been running the top 15-20 digitally called shows in the world up there with big sling hitters like Grey’s Anatomy now? Grey’s, as I saId above, always dwarfed it. In live numbers we still do. But there’s that audience to account for online now, with SPN treading almost neck-and-neck with it.

Result? Well, with TV being a business, that means that they try to cater to Russia. And like, no hate on my Russian friends out there. ILU. There’s nothing wrong with you. But then it’s like trying to perform for an international audience that this studio is not designed nor predisposed to deliver content in the form of. Read as: whole new interpretive tire fire potential, new arguments. New mess. Just extra restrictions on a core business level about the do’s and don’t’s for authors. Cuz things that are cool in the US may not be cool in Russia and the other way around for that matter.

So somewhere between “what business chooses to do” and “infinite cascade of fandom white noise, anger and confusion,” I feel lies in the same thing that has kept SPN so successfully on the air so long. It’s strength is it’s weakness, and it’s the international nature of it, the longer I think on it.

And no, I’m in no way implying international friends aren’t welcome or whatever. Most of my followers are international. That’s fine, I ain’t shitting on you or telling you to hang it up and go home. I just feel like a lot of this eternal static is based on this many cultures trying to argue interpretations of a work from an outside perspective with very few anchors on the methodology that drives it from within. And frankly, fandom hotbox dialogue doesn’t exactly lend itself to sitting and truly wanting to discuss the methodology, because people are so high-strung at this point, nobody wants to hear a POV that clashes with what they’ve built for themselves. Because you know, “my interpretation is valid.” I just... wish... people would assist their own health and mental health by, once it no longer is-- kinda figuring out why and where? be that for international reasons of film delivery, be that language, be that generational gaps, be that *WHATEVER* it may be. I feel like that’s a message not often-enough put out there in this fandom.

Like, hell, it’s okay to like. Just. Not watch new episodes. Play in the sandbox that worked for you when it still, like, worked for you. Watch it a million times. Write a million fics to it. It’s okay to not watch the Declared Popular Thing. You don’t have to shackle yourself to a piece when it’s no longer working for you, just like I don’t advise watching a show with a premise you hate only to yell about it from go. And furthermore-- if you do wanna keep going, it’s totally fair and okay to go, hm, I was wrong somewhere. Let me unplug this giant fandom screaming megaphone from my skull, go review, figure out for myself where the fandom egregore led me one way or another, let me find a new way to appreciate this piece as it continues to grow. But that ain’t gonna happen unless people truly want to surrender their current framing. And... you don’t have to. Not anymore than you HAVE to keep viewing.

I’ve found, for example, a lot of internationals I talk to tend to be upset about something or another, or confused, or what have you. And the reasons vary. They aren’t dumb people. But somewhere they fell off the rails and struggle to get back on and whatever chamber of fandom they’re in isn’t helping. The internationals I find that don’t struggle with any part of it just outright tend to be people who like... specialize? be it film study or lit study or whatever the topic is that helps them bridge understanding; people who can discuss constructivist theory or have read enough books across their barriers that it all just kinda clicks. Doesn’t make them better or worse than anyone else. Not a better fan. Just... happier with the content, which is better for /them/. And that’s really what matters in the end, isn’t it?

So IDK what the solution to this musing really is, as much as trying to put my finger on the pulse, beyond the sticky underbelly that is shipping fandom and its many corners that people blame for a sum of it. And like. Yeah. Y’all know I’m not a fan of Shipping Culture. But I really don’t think My Ship Vs Ur Ship is all there really is to blame.

The same reason for SPN’s success is often the same reasons for SPN’s fandom’s downfall, IMO.

#supernatural #spn #fandom

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