#barely even get acknowledged for doing that

[her-favorite]

CLANDESTINE; M. STURNIOLO

BF!CHRIS STURNIOLO / MATT X F!READER

warnings: SMUT, dom!chris/sub!reader (soft dom!matt), MATT THE MUNCH!!!!, squirting, reader’s obvi on the pill blah blah blah, cheating?

people that wanted to be tagged!: @watercolorskyy @thepubeburgler @sturnsxplr-25

a/n: i kinda have an idea for a pt. 2 to this if anyone wants me to start working on it…

wc: 3,088

SYNOPSIS: Receiving a punishment from Chris was always brutal, but when he left you tied to his bed, what were you to do? Surprising you, an uninvited guest makes sure you feel better…

-

“Chris, please!”

“Keep talking and I’ll make sure to gag you, too.” Chris’s voice was stern as he tightened the rope around your wrists, securing your hands above your head. Shutting your mouth in response to him, your boyfriend hums in acknowledgment. “Good girl, keep that pretty mouth shut.”

Inhaling sharply through your nose, your fingers subconsciously twitch as they beg to be freed. For the past twenty minutes, Chris has been teasing you. Lying naked in his bed, you cried and begged for him to keep touching you and let you come, but he never gave in. By now, tears ran down the side of your face, melting down into the soft pillow below your head. Wanting to speak, you try to restrain yourself because you knew if you did, he’d make your punishment worse.

“Y’look so pretty, mama.” Chris mutters, running his large palms along your legs, just barely grazing your inner thighs on purpose. A whine erupts from your throat, causing a smirk to grow on your boyfriend’s lips. Slapping your thigh, he rejoices in the loud echo that sounded in his room, as well as the groan from you. “You wouldn’t have been here in the first place if you just behaved. But you’re such a slut for me, huh, ma?” He teases, his pink lips forming a smile once he sees you nod in response. He hums, squeezing the skin that he had smacked, making the burning sensation intensify. Your back arched slightly from the pain, inhaling shakily, still trying to keep your mouth shut.

“Now, I need to go and get a few things from the store,” Chris starts, immediately revealing to you what his plan was. He ignores the way you tug at the rope, only becoming more turned on by the way you express your need for him. “And I’ll be back when I get home.” He finishes vaguely, putting you more on edge than you already were.

“No, Chris, please—!” You start, the same tears forming again, quickly rolling down your face. With one look from him, Chris’s expression shuts you up, not without an involuntary exhale leaving your lips.

“If you keep up the attitude, I’ll make you stay like this for even longer than I planned.” He threats, his eyes sending daggers into yours. Sealing your lips, you keep eye contact with him until he looks away to turn towards his door. “Patience, baby.” Was the last thing he said before shutting the door behind him.

If you were honest, you didn’t know what you were going to do. You had no idea how long he was going to be gone for or where he was even going. Tugging lightly on the tight rope, a hiss leaves your lips once you feel it burn against your wrists. Deciding against trying to escape from the harsh hold, you swallow dryly and look around his room. You’ve been in here numerous times; you were sure you could pinpoint every detail of it if asked to.

Before you knew it (not that you could tell anyway), ten minutes had passed. Already becoming impatient, your body moved on his bed, at least trying to sit up, but with your arms placed above you, it restricted your movements. Groaning softly at the limitation, you let your body rest against Chris’s comfy bed, eyes scanning his blank ceiling.

Your heart raced as soon as it heard the door open, that familiar creak sounding throughout the room. Your head shot up, immediately thinking of Chris and how he was too impatient to leave you alone for too long. But that thought quickly left your mind as soon as you saw a tattooed arm welcome itself inside. Matt.

“Hey, I was gonna—” Matt begins, clearly thinking he’s talking to his brother, before his eyes met yours, his words cutting themselves off. “Oh, fuck.” He mutters, as if he caught sight of something he shouldn’t, which he has. His blue eyes rake over your bare body, noticing the way you’re straining against the rope that held you.

Too in shock of the situation, your mouth sealed itself shut, your mind screaming at you to say something, anything. Your boyfriend’s brother is seeing you naked! “Matt—!”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did he leave you here?” His words shock you, rendering you speechless. His tone was teasing, resembling Chris’s. Letting himself in, he shuts the white door behind him, his eyes never leaving yours. Clad in grey sweatpants and a plain white shirt, a bulge already forming at his crotch.

Going dumb, you nod your head in response, your chest fastening its pace. Were you really going to let your boyfriend’s triplet brother see you like this? What kind of girlfriend would you be if you let him take advantage of you?

As if sensing your sudden uncertainty, Matt takes a few steps forward and towers over the bed, standing by the foot of it. “Relax, baby, it’ll be okay. Just let me help you.” He soothes, reaching forward and resting his big hands on your ankles, gently gliding them up. “That okay with you, sweetheart?” He asks, the eye contact he’s holding with you making you melt. Nodding in reply, the need inside of you deciding your decision for you. With a smile, Matt whispers, “Good.”

Sighing softly once you feel his touch, your heart still hammers against your chest. You knew your wrists were going to be extremely sore once you’re free from the aggressive grasp of the rope, but as of right now, nothing inside you seemed to care. His palms traveled up your body, purposefully skipping where you needed him and trailing goosebumps up your sides. “So pretty.” Leaves his lips as his hands move towards your chest, swiping his finger of your sensitive nipple. Recalling the teasing from Chris earlier, your body was more responsive than usual, desperate for more than just fleeting touches.

Situating himself on the bed, Matt leans over you as he ducks down to press tantalizing kisses against your neck. His hands glide back down your body, resting on your thighs. A smile fills out his lips when he hears you gasp once his fingers finally make contact with where you craved him.

“You’re so fucking wet, Y/N.” He says, as if astonished by the way your body reacted. His slender fingers run up your slit, gathering the wetness, falling deep into the sounds you were making for him. “How bad do you want it, baby?” Matt asks before he presses sweet kisses against your skin, trailing down your body.

“I need you, Matt. Please.” The words fell from your lips as if routine. Deep down you knew it fed into Matt’s ego, but in the state you were in, nothing else mattered at the moment. By now, you felt your body cry for any sort of relief, begging to be claimed by someone.

“You’re such a good girl, sweetheart. Chris is so lucky, hm?” Matt mutters, knowing exactly what he’s saying behind his brother’s back. The man knew what he was doing was wrong, but he just couldn’t help himself. He’s always had an eye on you, and Chris knew that when the younger brother decided to go for you as well. “Leaving you here, all needy…” he tsks before continuing. “But I can make you feel so much better than he can, pretty girl.” Matt claims, domineering eyes meeting yours.

Before you could get a word out, the air was sucked out of your lungs as you felt Matt’s warm tongue lick a line up your slit. Gathering up your legs, Matt lets them rest over his broad shoulders, savoring the warmth you radiated onto him. Cold rings made goosebumps form on your skin every time they touched you, his thumbs holding your lower lips apart as he devours you. He eats you out as if he was begging for the chance his entire life; like he needed it more than oxygen.

Moaning in return of his actions, your hands moved faster than your brain as they craved to grip onto his soft hair, only to be restrained by the irritating rope. Noticing the harsh lines on your wrists, Matt pulls back from your pussy, smiling softly at the whine that left your lips. “You wanna touch me, baby?” He asks, pressing a quick kiss to your clit, watching you nod. He hums in acknowledgment and leans up to undo the knot, letting it fall from your aching arms and onto the bed. Sighing softly from the release of the tight rope, Matt smirks at your reaction.

Quickly leaning back down between your legs, he duplicates the same position as before, surprising you when his tongue meets your pussy again. Your hand flew down to his hair, tugging on it. Matt groans into you from the sensation, making your back arch as you gasp.

“Fuck, Matt,” your words were breathless as he makes you see stars. Moving one of his hands to your thighs, he squeezes your skin harshly, eliciting a moan from you. Bringing the opposite upwards, his long fingers rub your clit as his tongue enters you, your hand clutching his hair even tighter. Groaning again, Matt’s sounds vibrate against you, driving you even closer to the edge.

Pulling back slightly, Matt’s fingers travel down and quickly plunge inside you, resulting in a loud moan from you. Matt smiles at your sounds, pressing kisses to your inner thighs, looking up at your pleasure-filled face. Leaning down again, his pink, wet lips envelop your clit, the knot inside your stomach hanging on by a thread.

“You close, sweetheart?” His voice breaks you from your daze, nodding your head at his question. “Yeah? Good girl, cum for me, baby.” His fingers hit that spot inside you, rotating them around, the wet sounds echoing through the room. Matt began to grind into the mattress, everything about you; the way you look, the way your body reacts to him, the way you taste, getting him off.

Loud moans rip from your throat, one hand gripping the soft sheets as the other grasps Matt’s hair harshly. As the band snaps, you feel your legs shake, trapping the man between them. “Holy shit.” Matt mutters, yet it barely reaches your ears in your pleasured state.

Inhaling shakily, your body starts to recover from the intense orgasm, chest still heaving. Opening your eyes, they meet Matt’s as he sports a wide grin. Wincing slightly once he gently takes his fingers away, you just start to notice the now-damp shirt he supported, as well as his wet chin. Feeling your body heat up in embarrassment, you look away from him and up at the ceiling.

“That was so fucking hot.” Matt’s words cut you out of your thoughts, making your head turn towards him. He leans down and presses scattered kisses to your sensitive pussy, making your legs twitch.

“Matt, I can’t,” your words are broken as your hands push on his head, yet it does nothing to move him. Leaving one more kiss, Matt leans away and sits up on his knees. His view of you was to die for: the tired look in your eyes, your legs spread wide, your hair a mess over the pillow, yet still in need of more.

Trailing your eyes down his body, they center in on the bulge in his gray sweats, the thin fabric protruding it more than usual. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to fuck you. As if he knew what you were thinking, Matt reaches his arms back to get rid of his shirt, tossing it next to him on the bed. Leaning down to hover over you, his blue eyes never look away from yours, only teasing you more. His swollen lips share your breathing as they stay just inches away from yours. Surprising you, a sudden hand holds the bottom of your chin as he moves down to kiss your neck again. He lets his palm rest there, not putting enough pressure to hurt you, but enough to make you stay in place.

“You listen so well, sweetheart.” Matt mutters against your hot skin, nipping slightly, wary incase he makes a mark. Trailing his hand down, it lands on your breast, squeezing it softly before circling the pad of his thumb on your nipple.

Moaning quietly from his actions, one of your arms wraps around his bare shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer to you.

“You want it, baby?” He asks, moving up as he props himself up on his hand, looking down at you. With a nod from you, he stays watching you, clearly wanting verbal approval.

“Yes, Matt, please.” You reply desperately, moving your hands up to glide down his chest. With a smirk in response, he leans back down to press more kisses against your neck, trailing down to your collarbone.

“Of course, you do, princess. Y’want my cock so far inside you, hm?” He hums nonchalantly, as if he isn’t saying the most sinful words in your ear. Nodding again, one of your hands meets his hair, grasping the soft strands and pulling on them. Eliciting a groan from the man, his hands suddenly take hold of your thighs and wrap your legs around his waist, bringing you as close as possible to him. “You ready, sweetheart?” Matt mutters, pressing a kiss against your temple.

Uttering a quiet “yes,” Matt lines himself up with you before pushing forward. Wincing from the stretch, your nails dig harshly into his bare shoulders, taking a groan out of Matt’s lips.

“Taking me so well, baby.” He mutters as he waits for you to get comfortable, groaning once he pushes all the way inside. After a bit, and confirmation from you, his hips move backwards before thrusting forward, sucking the air from your lungs as your mouth opens in pleasure. “That feel good?” Matt teases with a smile, rhythmically starting to move his hips.

“Yes, fuck!” A cry leaves your lips once he hits a certain spot, your nails clawing down his pale back, red marks quickly forming. Moaning at the feeling, Matt’s hips quicken their pace, painfully hard ever since he stepped foot in Chris’s room and saw you. Over time, he grew exceedingly desperate for you; just watching you writhe underneath him could’ve gotten him off.

“Knew you’d feel so good, baby- shit.” Matt cut himself off with a guttural groan, leaning down to rest his head in your neck. Your thighs tighten their hold around his waist, your head thrown back against the soft pillow under you. His words register in your mind, yet they don’t have much of an impact yet.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I can,” he exhales harshly, moving back to lean on his forearms again so he can look at you. “I can feel you clenching around me. ‘Want you to come for me, princess.” Matt rests his forehead against yours, still thrusting forward, his hips smacking against your skin. Your moans melt into his as your lips stay inches away from each other, your breathing joining his.

Reaching one hand up, it engulfs one of your breasts in his large palm, the sudden pressure throwing you off guard as it adds to the already overbearing pleasure.

“Matt, please,” your voice was yearning for relief as you start to beg, like how Chris always wants you to. “Please, I need to—”

“Come for me, baby. No need to beg.” Matt cuts you off, his hips never relenting their brutal pace. Your back arches as white flashes behind your eyelids, stars evident as you close them. Crying out of pure ecstasy, your nails dig even deeper into his marked back, your legs shaking as you come undone.

Watching you, Matt’s driven closer to the edge, taking in his view of you. His hips grow sloppy as he nears his orgasm, breathing heavily from the pleasure. “Where do you want me, baby?” He groans, his pace yet to stop.

“Inside me.” The words leave your lips before you could think. Matt quickly complies, moving his hips forward a few more times before a low groan escapes his lips as the same knot that was once tightening in your stomach, releasing in his.

Both of your chests heaved as you calmed down from your highs, bodies spent and tired. Once Matt gathered up the strength, he leaned back on his forearms and let his eyes graze over your face. Not being able to help himself, he leans down and presses his lips against yours, shocking you. But you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t kiss back.

Pulling away slowly, the smirk on Matt’s face never faltered. With you still recovering, your eyes grew tired, not paying attention to your surroundings. They shoot open once you feel Matt’s hands envelope your wrists and put them above your head, wrapping the rope that he placed beside you around you again. Tying it gently, still cautious of your already sore skin, he rests them back against the pillow above you, mimicking the way it was when he had walked in.

“Good luck, baby.” Matt smiles before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I think he’s back.” Pulling away, the smile doesn’t leave his lips as he gets up, throwing on his clothes and sending you a wink before quietly leaving Chris’s room.

Lying there in astonishment, your eyes are locked on the closed door, replaying everything that just happened over in your head. Your heartbeat spikes as soon as you hear muffled talking, your mind immediately registering it as your boyfriend’s and his brother, the one that just fucked you.

The door creaks open, revealing Chris as he sets down a plastic bag before shutting the door behind him. Noticing how you were still in the same position as before, Chris smirks and makes his way over to the foot of his bed.

“So gorgeous, mama. You’re so patient for me.” He runs his hands over your legs, causing the same trail of goosebumps as Matt’s did. Leaning forward, he hovers over you, pressing his lips against yours in a heated kiss. Licking over your lip, his tongue grants itself access, swallowing your quiet moan. Peeking his eyes open just slightly, they trail up to the rope that secured your pained wrists. Deepening the kiss, his tongue meets yours, quickly taking control of the situation.

That was when he noticed the knot was different.

#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut

[wyniepooh]

Closer

you thought that you were already close with patrick and art; turns out, you could get even closer.

Boardingschool!patrick & boardingschool!art x boardingschool!reader.

it’s no secret that the three of you were close.

Everyone at school acknowledges it by joking that you’re practically their manager, because you’re on the bleachers at every practice, seated front row at every match, and whenever the game finishes, the first person they go running to is you.

in fact, you're all so close that you've developed a habit to follow them into the locker room after every practice. if anyone ever questioned your entry into the room, they’d both chime at the same time: “she’s ours.”

neither of them bat an eye when you sit down on the bench between the metal lockers and watch them get changed because it’s you, their little manager, and they didn’t ever hide anything from you.

You’d read them the daily school news, explain the daily school gossip, and update them on any homework they missed in the name of tennis practice. they’d thank you in their typical ways by ruffling your hair and throwing their sweaty shirts on you before sandwiching you in a suffocating hug.

You shriek and laugh and say, ‘stop it!’ but really, you’re too focused on the feel of their bare chests against you— slippery from sweat and hot from the heat— to care about anything else.

There’s always a brief moment after all the amusement when the laughter dissipates and you’re all just staring at each other. Your smile fades, and suddenly you’re painfully aware of their rapid breaths rising against you on either side, and the heat of it all fills the silent air with something else other than just audible breaths.

Today it’s patrick who looks over to art first, who returns his stare with pressed lips. you catch a flicker of something in their eyes, but they looked away before you could decipher it. However, it was clear that a silent agreement had been reached right in front of you. you suspect that for the first time since you transferred to the school, they were hiding something from you.

patrick breaks the silence first, turning slightly away from you to gently close his locker as he murmurs, “you know, there have been a lot of rumours on campus lately.”

You scoffed, stuffing your agenda into your bag before smoothing a hand over your hair. “Really? What kind of rumours?”

Patrick shrugged. He pulled a shirt over his shoulders, nodding his head towards art. “Rumours about us, mostly. Tell her, art.”

art purses his lips multiple rimes before speaking. “It’s just trash talk,” he pauses. patrick glances over to him one more time, flashing him a subtle glare before art finally continues, “there's talk about how the three of us are suspiciously close, or whatever.”

“I guess it’s not so much a rumour as it is true,” you responded. You tilted your head towards them both, eyes squinting with humour as you questioned, “you guys do consider us close, right? I mean, after all I do for you guys, I’m honestly glad that people are speculating and starting to appreciate my efforts.”

“It’s just,” Patrick turns back around, shuffling his feet to sit down across from you on the bench with legs on either side of the wooden plank. His hands are gathered in the middle, fingers attempting to itch closer and closer to your own without you seeing.

“We could be a lot closer, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow at Patrick’s sneaky hands, a slight smile still intact on your face as you asked, “How close can we get, pat? There’s a limit to everything. Even the sky.”

“he’s right.”

You almost jump at the sudden voice you hear in your ear. you cleared your throat as he slid closer towards your back. Art mirrored Patrick’s movements with legs on either side of the bench, but his hands fiddled with the edge of your hoodie as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“We could be a lot closer.”

You observed the way art pressed his lips together, snuggling his face into the side of your neck as Patrick’s thumb rubbed circles on your hand. you hadn’t even registered that patrick was now grinning, building your unsuspecting hand towards his dark curls.

You instinctively wrap your fingers around his wet hair, and you almost gasp when you hear patrick whimper. He pants heavily against your wrist, lips tickling the tender skin as he breathes, “why don’t you come over to our dorm after classes are over?”

You shake your head, dropping your hand from his head. “I don’t think-“

“Please,” art whispers against your neck.

You close your eyes, sucking on the inside of your cheek as you sighed deeply. For a beat, you simply listen to the sound of their synced breathing, taking in the familiar smell of the locker room, and the familiar smell of them. When you open your eyes again, Patrick and art are both eagerly staring at you, pleading with silence.

You suddenly laugh, smiling uncontrollably as you lean back against art and pull patrick closer by the hand that is still wrapped around yours. patrick gladly scooches closer until his nose is practically rubbing against yours, and he returns your laughter with a chuckle of his own.

“Okay,” you mutter while glancing back at art, whose mouth was agape with something adjacent to shock.

“let’s get closer.”

-

a/n: “why don’t u come over to our-“ bags r packed.

#wyniepooh #challengers #challengers 2024 #challengers fanfiction #challengers fic #challengers x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #challengers fanfic #art donaldson #art x reader #art x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig fanfiction #patrick zweig fic #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig smut #challengers patrick #challengers smut #josh o’connor challengers #challengers film #challengers movie #challengers art donaldson #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson fic #art donaldson imagine

[fuckmyskywalker]

thinking about religious reader and stepbrother!sam (with corruption kink) going to catholic school together

18+, smut, Catholic!Reader x Stepbrother!Sam, stepcest, slight dubcon (if you see manipulation as dubcon).

I've been having an awful block so I hope this is good ;)

“Give me my notebook back.”

“No.”

“Give it to me,” You repeat, launching your arm over your head in an attempt to snatch it off Sam’s hand, which is pointless. His soft chuckle infuriates you, to him, everything is just a game. “Sam, I’m being serious. I need to finish my homework.”

“Lemme just borrow it,” He insists, like he has been doing for the past ten minutes. “I’m just gonna copy your Classical Studies homework.”

“No!” After another failed attempt, you give up, defeated arms falling, frown forming. “No one is going to believe you wrote that. You are not that smart.”

This time his chuckle bounces sarcastically around your walls, looks like he isn’t giving up. Sharing a household with him is already bad enough— share school, classes, work is just the cherry on top. Sam can be quite a pain in the ass if he wants to; with little effort to continue his studies, the only reason he agreed to join a religious college was because it was his only option. Join or get kicked. Bothering you is just a plus.

Stubborn, dense and miserable, Sam is quite the fit. Sticking like a sore thumb, he enjoys how you lower your eyes and hide your face behind your binder every time he drives you both home. Is easy to read what's going through your mind, how you wish the world just swallowed you. People talk— the more religious, the more toxic is their venom— something that is part of Sam’s everyday life. Not yours.

You hide under long skirts, friendship bracelets and psalms. The role model that would never be able to break a plate or hurt a bug. The kind of girl you'd see every Sunday; which only makes it more entertaining to taunt you.

“Give me a kiss and I’ll give it to you,” He smirks, leaning down. Your eyes admire his piercings, the dark circles under his eyes— pure sin. The juxtaposition of your disgust and his amusement is enough to pump blood… all the way down.

“Ew,” You squint. “No.”

“Fine. Then show me your tits and I’ll give you the notebook.”

The request alone brings a wave of discomfort down your spine— but surprisingly you find yourself considering it. The thought lasts no longer than a few seconds, barely even acknowledged by your mind. Sam notices. Blue eyes drinking your expressions, how your eyes zone out for a moment, perhaps he hit a soft spot, or perhaps he was truly experiencing God’s blessings.

“Give me a kiss or show me your tits. Either way you'll win,” Threading carefully, there’s a purpose, a chance.

You pout, a habit of yours that indicates frustration. “I’m not going to kiss you.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot you are saving your first kiss for your husband,” Dangling the notebook over your head, Sam leans down. Just keep pushing, he repeats to himself. Just keep pushing. “Look. Showing me your tits isn’t that bad. I’m not going to touch you or anything.”

“It's just as bad!” You argue, biting the inside of your cheek. “If I’m saving myself for marriage, no one should see me.”

Gears working at maximum speed, you ignore how his eyes change focus. “ Now you are wrong, little sis. Your husband is the one who will touch you and enjoy your flesh. I will simply watch,” His words aren't even convincing, far from truthful, close to deceiving. “Just lift your grandma’s dress, I know you wear those fucking briefs underneath. I won’t look anywhere else.”

“How can I know that?”

He is so close. He can almost taste it.

“I swear to God.”

This is the first time you have ever heard Sam say that.

With a regretful tremble, your hands find the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly. Your eyes stay glued to the door, praying that no one walks in. He says it is not that bad— yet it feels like it. Your heart is racing, palms sweating, as if this wasn't supposed to happen.

“Well, if it helps, I think your bastard future husband will be more than happy.”

Not sure if his compliment is a backhanded comment, the second your eyes meet Sams, he lifts them, agreeing to break contact with those round, precious pieces that he thinks are in fact a blessing. A beat goes by. You know you should let go of the fabric now, he got what he wanted, right?

The notebook hits the carpet with a muffled sound just in time for Sam to launch forward. Pushing you down with strong hands on your shoulders, you let out a choked gasp, wondering when did you stop staring at his eyes to now focus on the white ceiling.

His tongue flicks your left nipple teasingly, the sudden jolt of pleasure both terrifying and exhilarating. “I said no touching,” He whispers, the devil’s voice dripping down his lips. Circling your nipple with said lips, you arch your back, surprised by your own response; the soft suckle is enough to drown your loud thoughts. momentarily, at least. “But I didn’t say anything about sucking.”

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya answers! #anon #sam monroe #sam monroe smut #sam monroe fanfiction #sam monroe fic #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe x you #sam monroe x y/n #sam monroe x reader smut #sam monroe x fem reader #life as a house #hayden christensen x reader #womp womp bitch

[heyftinally]

Y'all are going to like this one.

SWIFTIES DON'T TOUCH THIS POST WITH A TEN FOOT POLE, I SWEAR TO FUCKING HELL-

So my friend sent me this article, and I'm going to tell you why I think it's complete bullshit.

1) wishing us a happy Pride month is the BARE MINIMUM. As someone with her presence in the media and social influence, she could - and should - be doing SO much more than just wishing us a happy pride four days in.

2) "the singer has been an advocate for the LGBTQ+ community" not a good one. She seems to only remember us when it's convenient or benefits her in some way. Case in point:

2018 - "When it comes to feelings and when it comes to love and searching for someone to spend your whole life with. It's all just really really delicate. You know?" Taylor then performed her song "Delicate."

2023 - It’s painful for everyone, every ally, every loved one, every person in these communities.

In the first example, the intentional song reference comes off as extremely tacky. This is people's LIVES you're talking about. People are MURDERED for who they are and who they love (or don't love). This isn't an appropriate time to pull out the "oh-so-quirky" act and be cutesy.

In the second, the fact that she can't even center queer people in their own experience is so, SO telling. I promise, however painful it is for allies, it's 1000x worse for us to LIVE it. Allies don't have to wonder "am I going to get hate crimed wearing this?" before they leave the house - we frequently do. To not acknowledge that shows me that everything she says is performative at best.

3) I wouldn't call what she does "advocacy". She mentions us every now and then when it's convenient for her, profits off of us when we fit her marketing plan, and I've yet to find where she actually apologized for the homophobia in the original version of Picture to Burn. Also, she's real good friends with Travis Kelce's dad, who is a raging transphobe (and I bet his kids are, too). You don't get to call yourself an ally if you willingly allow the people around you to be violent bigots.

4) "always" is a strong word for someone who seems to show her support situationally at best. The full quote was "The way for that to happen is for us to continue to keep pushing governments to put protections in place for members of the LGBTQ community. And I promise to always advocate for that." Yet she doesn't do that.

5) what she speaks out, I've noticed that it's nearly always in the states that primarily agree with her. We don't see a whole lot of her "inspiring ally" speeches in places like Texas or Florida. But I've seen plenty of them come out of already notoriously queer-friendly places. If you aren't willing to face the heat of the difficult places along with the comfort of the easy ones, you don't get to call yourself an ally. Allyship is not easy. Anyone remember when Lady Gaga advocated for us in Russia, under threat of arrest, and her response was "arrest me, Russia! I don't give a fuck!"? Yeah, I've never seen even half that level of true commitment from Taylor.

6) STOP. MAKING. STRAIGHT GIRL SONGS. "GAY ANTHEMS"!!!! FFS it's such a slap in the fucking face of REAL, ACTUALLY QUEER ARTISTS that y'all keep calling these piss pathetic straight girl over produced crap songs "anthems". Fucking stop it. If they aren't queer, they don't qualify to be a queer anthem or icon. Start supporting ACTUAL queer artists with ⅛ this energy, for the love of FUCK. This bullshit pisses me off. Do you need a list of queer artists? I'll make you one by hand if you promise to stop trying to label Raylor Swift's straight girl shit songs as "gay anthems".

7) rainbows and gender subversion are not exclusively nor inherently queer. If that's our bar for "gay anthems", the bar is so low Lucifer himself needs a damn Webb Telescope to just barely see it from hell.

#anti taylor swift #taylor swift critical #anti swifties #swifties dni #SWIFTIES I SWEAR DO NOT TOUCH MY DAMN POST

[franzkafkagf]

The fact that Aegon loving his children it’s even book canon. TGC is describing Aegon’s personality as it is hinted in the book and yet people is mad.

Tom literally acknowledges he is not a good parent but he loves his children.It makes total sense that he would have a complicated relationship with fatherhood based on how his father treated him. Or that in his mind, he wants to be better than Viserys.

Thank you anon! You're exactly right, we've always known from the book that he loved his children. Adding onto that is that we have barely seen 20 minutes of Aegon until now, if the early reviews are true we'll get 15 minutes of Aegon in the first episode ALONE. Of course we find out much more about the character, we barely know anything about him!

This made me wonder; what do we know about Aegon?

We meet Aegon for the first time in episode 3 of season 1. He is just a two year-old who plays with a wooden dragon toy and yet the older characters around him only see him as a threat, a pawn or, by his father, as a replacement— watching the episode it's clear to me that Viserys wanted Baelon, Aegon cannot be Baelon. It's pretty telling that the only positive on-screen interactions Aegon has with his father are in this episode. He is a little kid still, Viserys can project his wishes and fantasies about Baelon onto him, something he isn't able to do once his son is grown up.

I think it's pretty crucial to understand this part of Aegon's and Viserys' relationship— the perfect ideal of Baelon (he killed the only woman he ever loved for the perfect son; you cannot come back from that) stands between them, like a shadow Aegon could never escape and a standard he could never meet.

We don't really see Aegon again until episode 6— he is a teenager now and thus a completely different person. The little baby from episode 3 has been shaped by years of neglect, unfulfilled expectations, and the toxic dynamics within the family. What has he become? He is a 15 year old with problematic relationship to alcohol that is used as the punching bag of the family. He jacks off from windows (welcome back Roman Roy!), leers at maids and bullies his younger brother.

Teen Aegon is perceived as a disappointment by his grandfather, who sees him just as a weakling and a pawn to be controlled (a belief he still holds at the start of season 2 apparently). His mother projects her own ambitions, resentments and fears onto him.

These behaviors are all very troubling and someone should've done something to prevent these habits from festering within him; no one did. I honestly feel like no one really cares about him that much.

And yet, there is also so much postitive to be said about this iteration of him too, glimpses of Aegon's potential for goodness and his capacity for loyalty. You might call it naivety, but Aegon seems to believe in the good in people— he trusted Rhaenyra not to hurt him or his brothers if she was to become queen (something I agree with). He also seems to treat his nephews well enough, he doesn't seem to care about the bastard-allegations -> he also seems to be friends with bastards as an adult! Eddard Waters belongs to his entourage, this informs his character— yes he is an entitled prince, but there's also an element to him that is endearingly down-to-earth.

Another notable example is in episode 7, he decided to protect his mother after Aemond blamed him for spreading rumors about his nephews' legitimacy . He never cared about the rumors, yet he stood his ground and shielded his mother when faced with his father's wrath.

Ty Tennant does such a great job here. The scene highlights his complexity— he is not simply a drunken disappointment, a villain or a victim, but a young man trapped in a situation he doesn't seem to be able to get out of.

When we next see Aegon, he is in his early twenties, and the toll his upbringing took on him is evident. His introduction in episode 8 is a hefty one. He is shown sleeping off a hangover, his drinking habit from his youth has fully established itself in him. His mother yells at him, tries to get him to understand the consequences of his behavior— he has raped a maid, something that, disturbingly, is not new for him. This moment speaks volumes about the man the little boy from episode 3 has become: flawed, morally compromised, and numbed by his vices.

Further even, Aegon engages in activities that reflect a deep-seated cruelty and a disconnection from others— watching toddlers rip each other apart in brutal fights shows his general desensitization and apathy to everything. These behaviors are obviously unacceptable, but this is a fictional character we are talking about and you know what these behaviors tell me about him? These are just manifestation of the dehumanizing effects of his upbringing.

He is desperate to be loved but destined to be hated — Tom Glynn Carney

Because characters can be multi-faceted and complex, Aegon fights off insecurities and still yearns for love and acceptance from those around him. Him acting out like this can be read as misguided attempts to drown out the background noise, to try to assert control in a world where he feels constantly undermined and unloved. However, his actions only serve to alienate him further from the people he wants to be accepted by.

Aegon's aversion to the throne and his rejection of the responsibilities that come with it are just other manifestations of his deep-seated apathy. He despises the very idea of kingship and what it represents. He doesn't want to take up responsibility become a pawn, he yearns to run away but he himself knows that he will never be able to run.

The carriage ride to the sept and the coronation are gifts that keep on giving. It's all so horribly tragic. He never wanted this. Crowning him will kill him, he knows this is his end deep down!

He is so preoccupied with what his father wanted, Baelon is absolutely still haunting the narrative— his father's desire for him to embody virtues he never possessed or could aspire to (BAELON) are still at the forefront of his thoughts.

As he walks to receive the crown, he is literally crying, this single moment encapsulates it all so well. He is man who, despite his privileged position, is trapped by the very power and responsibility he was born into but never desired for.

But then, at the very end of episode 9, we see a shift in Aegon— something else to him that will be at the forefront of his character in season 2. He finally gets the adoration and the purpose he always sought after with the crown. The moment he realizes that the smallfolk is cheering for him is the moment the apathy that defined him up until now begins to lose its grip, replaced by newfound determination.

This change in Aegon will be furthered by the death of Jaehaerys, a source of pride and a reminder for him that he is capable to create and care for something precious and pure (thank you TGC) -> I won't go into this deeper, let's wait until the season airs.

In conclusion, a wise woman once said that apathy is death. For so much of his life Aegon embodied apathy, only for the very thing he feared most (kingship) to make him rethink everything. Aegon will be driven by his determination, but this path will lead to his destruction, consuming him until there is barely anything left of him. It will ultimately tear him apart; he is both redeemed and ruined by the weight of a crown he never wanted.

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #hotd meta #hotd #princess i love you. #house of the dragon #ales.txt #asks #vizzy t you done fucked up

[aquinnix]

Can we just acknowledge how absurd Hermitcraft lore/canon is? 

We have a space hippy with a camper van that can travel at the speed of light. A sentient and mildly existential campaign robot whose various iterations are willing to destroy a world in order to make some guy with a mustache mayor (whose mustache has the ability to bring back the dead). Some creeper cyborg goat who wears crocs and breaks the laws of physics like it's any other Tuesday is in an economic dispute with the salmon mafia which is mediated by a hand puppet with a surprising knowledge of contract law. You could play a drinking game with the amount of time people get possessed by one entity or another, including but not limited to: a rock, some corrupt moss, some other corrupt moss, the ocean, a rabbit, capitalism ghosts, and Jeff. None of them are human, except that one guy who still probably isn’t human. One season straight up both is and is not canon depending on who you ask because it might have just been a simulation run by the previously mentioned existential campaign robot. There are multiple eclectically themed superheroes who barely do anything remotely helpful, one of which has a whole persona dedicated to *checks notes* being attractive? Don’t forget about the money laundering space snails. Then you have an eccentric inventor type who is also death incarnate and to whom the laws of reality just don’t apply if he doesn’t want them to. And then you throw not just time travel into the mix, but travel between multiverses. Except they might not be multiverses, just other planets. Half the people just disappear for a while playing a traumatic death game and everyone just acts like nothing happened. Don’t even get me started on helsmits…

This fandom really is just left rocking back and forth in a corner with a ball of red string.

#mcyt #hermitcraft #lore

[villain-enthusiast]

heyy i don’t have something specific in mind but can you please right something about a morally grey villain and a civilian. make it romantic and flirty and stuffff

Civilian was going to die.

The explosion from the bomb had obliterated half the bank within fractions of a second. The blast was far enough from their office that they weren't directly affected, but evacuating the actively crumbling building could easily kill them.

Rubble rained down as they desperately ran down the dusty hallway to the stairwell. Why did they have to be three stories up? Would they even get all the way down before the place collapsed?

Boom!

Civilian barely had time to react before they were thrown off their feet from the force of the blast that had detonated from the room beside them. Their back smacked into the opposite wall, pain and shock rippling through them as they hit the ground, rendering them helpless.

They couldn't move. This was it. They were going to—

"Oh, sweetheart."

Civilian jerked their head up to see someone standing over them, not a single speck of dust visible on their impeccable black clothes. Not the uniform of a co-worker or a rescue team member, Civilian realized with dismay.

The person crouched down in front of them, head tilted. "I could've sworn I got everyone out in time. I guess you're just a little elusive, huh?" They smirked and ruffled Civilian's hair, wildly playful considering the life-or-death situation they were in right now.

Wait.

The realization struck them like a brick to the head. “You set the bomb off,” they wheezed. “You’re Villain.”

Villain gave them a mock salute. “Nice to meet you too."

The floor wobbled dangerously and Civilian squeaked in fear, trying and failing to prop themselves up. "Please...please don't kill me," they blurted.

"Wow, who do you think I am?" Villain placed a hand on their chest in mock disbelief. "Eh, besides, you're too cute to murder. Or leave for dead,” Villain added as the building groaned, swaying on its foundations.

Civilian flushed, not sure if they should be flattered or absolutely terrified that their whole fucking workplace was about to collapse and that this bastard was trying to flirt with them—

Villain scooped Civilian up without warning, hoisting them into a bridal carry. They yelped in surprise as a block of cement crashed down onto the exact spot where they were laying just seconds ago.

“See?” Villain grinned at Civilian, bearing in close. “Too cute to leave behind.” Their face was near enough for Civilian’s eyes to flick down to their lips. Their grin widened in acknowledgment.

Villain turned abruptly and ran down the hallway towards the stairs, throwing the door open. Three flights down stared back, seeming infinitely long, too long.

But Villain was still smiling like they were gonna make it out of the bank on time. They looked down at Civilian, who had unconsciously fisted their hands into the lapels of Villain’s jacket.

“Yeah, just like that,” Villain said, winking at Civilian.

Civilian blinked, their mind flailing for footing. Just like what—

“Hold tight!” Villain whooped, and instead of booking it down the steps, they jumped onto the railing and slid down, handless.

Holy fucking shit. Civilian squeezed their eyes shut and held on so tight onto Villain’s jacket, stomach lurching. If the bombs didn’t take them out, then this would definitely—

They felt the Villain jump onto solid ground before they could even finish their thought. Oh.

“Aren’t you a scaredy-cat,” Villain teased, that shit-eating, infuriatingly charming grin back on their face. “Ever been on a roller coaster before?”

“No, I’ve never had fun in my life before, actually,” Civilian snapped back sarcastically.

“Hm,” Villain made their way out of the stairwell, casually walking towards the entrance as if the bank wasn’t crumbling around them. “Well, they’ve been saying amusement park dates are all the rage. Maybe this is my sign to take you out.”

Civilian fumbled for a response. Why was this criminal so good at rendering them speechless?

“You’re not saying no…” Villain murmured, exiting the building seconds before it promptly collapsed, throwing onlookers into chaos and allowing them to blend in with the crowd. The timing was almost comedic.

They slipped into an empty alley, Civilian still in their arms.

“I’m not putting you down until you say yes,” Villain urged, eyes glinting with playful mischief.

Civilian, despite themselves, rolled their eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be a bad guy? What happened to ‘Now I take you back to my spooky dark lair and lock you up and torture you until Hero comes and I fight them to the death’?”

Villain smiled, but it was warmer, more genuine this time. “I guess I prefer it when people look at my lips and clearly want to kiss me instead of looking at me like I’m a monster.”

Civilian paused, dissecting the layers of that statement before—damn them—glancing again at Villain’s perfectly kissable mouth.

Villain ran their tongue over their bottom lip, clearly toying with Civilian, but fuck, it was working.

It was the nearing wail of police sirens that shook them out of their trance. They groaned, stupefied at how they almost fell for the person who just blew up their workplace. “Please put me down.”

“And here I thought I almost had you.” Villain sighed and set Civilian down on the ground. “Unfortunately, the authorities tend to annoy me a bit, so this is where I take my leave. It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” They bowed to Civilian and began to make their way down the alleyway.

Fuck, the way the nickname made Civilian’s stomach flutter. Fuck fuck fuck— “Disneyland, this Friday, 10 AM,” they blurted.

Villain stopped in their tracks, and although they didn’t turn around. Civilian could feel that stupid little smirk on their face.

“See you then.” Then they disappeared around the corner.

As it turns out, roller coasters really weren’t so bad when you have someone doing it with you.

#i feel like this one is SOO long #do u guys like the longer snippets?? #or am i just overthinking everything #anyway guys i’m back #hero #villain #civilian #villain and civilian #civilian and villain #villain x civilian #civilian x villain #hero/villain #villain/hero #nice villain #flirty villain #my writing #writing snippet #ask

[zmediaoutlet]

Two hundred miles north of Bodega Bay, Sam taps his fingers on his thigh in a particular pattern. Dean pulls off the 101 at Eureka, driving easy. Trying to make it look that way at least. Familiar roads off the highway—gas, fast food. Motels, and he picks the third he sees, a long low building with a cracked and unfilled pool, and he looks sidelong at Sam across the seat and Sam nods and goes into the office to get whatever room can be got.

Idling in the dark. He clears his throat, feels like an idiot. Says out loud, anyway, "Hey, uh. You there? 'Cause, I know—I mean, I guess, ghosts don't sleep, right? But me and Sammy have gotta get some shuteye before we go all guns blazing, so. Hope you're good to—to hang out, and…"

And what? Read their Dick Roman research in the dark in the parking lot? The idiot feeling hasn't gone away and intensifies when there's no answer but silence. There's this other thing squeezing his guts, though, a shiver that he's trying not to acknowledge so it won't rattle all the way through and make his bones leap fully a foot to the left of his body—and he jumps when there's a knock on the window, but it's just Sam. He holds up his fingers, backlit by neon and the white light of the motel office—room seven—and sets off walking, so Dean's left to pull the car around, the radio off, silence ringing through the car like a struck gong, shattering.

Big truck parked directly in front of room seven. Dean picks a spot a few down and mutters loud enough to be heard, "Take your half out of the middle, huh?" Sam meets him at the trunk, spinning the keys into his palm, and they don't look at each other while they pick up their duffles of clothes, the weapon bag Dean usually packs, the supply bag Sam tends to haul when they need to haul it, with its load of iron, and silver, and salt. Sam goes over to open up the room and Dean heaves his bags up onto one shoulder and sees the flask wink parking lot light back up at him from where it's stuck by the box of IDs. He says, "Night," easy, like it's easy, and then he shuts the trunk and follows Sam into the room and flicks the lamp and closes the door firmly behind them with his heart in his throat, and Sam opens his mouth and Dean shakes his head and Sam looks at the closed door and then turns away, his shoulders high and stiff, and dumps his bags on the further bed, and unzips the supply bag and picks up the salt.

Heavy pour at the line of the doorway and under the gross pink polyester curtain. Dean wants to toss it up into the vent in the bathroom but that's probably overkill. "Van Ness house gave me the creeps, what can I say," he says, to Sam, loud enough maybe to be heard on the sidewalk outside.

Sam blows out air. "You think they're stuck to your shoe?"

Dean licks his lips, checks his pockets. No flask—no, he checked, it's in the trunk, and now with salt heavy between them and what should be the past, that panic scrapes again at his gut. Sam lifts the EMF meter out of his bag, where it's been turned on, and there's not a blip, and Dean feels like all the tendons in his legs have dissolved when he drops onto the free bed, and he says, "What are we—Sam, we—"

How long has it been? Sam shakes his head but Dean knows he's thinking the same thing. Since that godawful day in the hospital, since they burned the bones, the blood-stained hat, and they'd gone back to the abandoned shitty house they'd squatted in and stared in at its grey wreck with dry eyes and they'd—fucked, that night, miserable and not even enjoying it but doing something that was other than death, that stupid instinctive defiance against the night that they'd perfected over all these years of tragedy, and Dean had—he'd filled the flask, after, with the sweat barely cooling on his shoulders, and sipped whiskey and swallowed with a mouth that still tasted like his brother, and it was—unthinkable. After all those years of secrets. On top of everything, this couldn't—they couldn't have—

Sam's dragging his thumb back and forth over his other palm, slowly. Hair hanging over his face. "Ghosts—they don't show up right away, right?" he says. He clenches his hands together, weird and cramped-looking. "And then once they form, it's because they've got—a goal. One thing they're focused on."

"Revenge," Dean says, and Sam looks up at him, and nods. No panic on his face, at least. Even the vague sickness drained away. Dean watches Sam's hands, the clawing in his gut not—fixed, exactly, but not worse.

All these hard-fought years and he didn't—think about it. After all they'd gone through it was just part of the fabric of the world and he knew there was no changing it and he thinks, he's pretty sure at least, that Sam's in the same boat. They'd either keep sailing it or go down with the ship and that's just the way it was, and now—with everything they'd lost—there'd been this kind of… raw and horrible freedom. He hadn't thought about it that way until he'd looked up and seen the ghost and known, after the initial shock and the fear and the thinking-through what it meant, that the veil had been drawn back and not fully closed—had known that raw hot terror of what—being seen would mean. Hadn't felt that horror since his real father had died. And, now—

"Got me wishing for a real private foxhole," Dean says. Mostly evenly, he thinks.

Sam looks at the closed motel door behind Dean's back and takes a deep breath. "If we win here, we will win everywhere," he says, quiet, and it sounds like he's quoting something but Dean doesn't know what. But there's salt thick over every gap and a closed curtain and three parking spots between that flask and here, and so Dean leans forward and grabs Sam's clenched hands. Sam looks at him, surprised, but he lets Dean worm a thumb in between his palms and touch the scar.

"We're not crazy, at least," Dean says.

Sam snorts. "Yeah," he says, a little ironic but not as ironic as he could be. He grips Dean's wrist very tightly before he gets up, putting space between them, and shuts off the EMF reader.

#happy wincest wednesday #my writing #ww lottery #a random ficlet for episode 145 #i have thought about the raw incest reveal panic a Lot #in ways cracky and terrifying #but honestly #established relationship doesn't go into it enough i feel like

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Singer!FemReader

Summary: Before Venus was a multi-platinum record selling artist, writing about the quarterback that stole her heart, she was senior at LSU going through her first heartbreak. This is that story.

a/n: buckle up babes, its heavy

Chapter 16: Robbed

#Track9 Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, noncon, smut, launguage, brief description of sexual assault. MINORS DNI

Part 1 🖤

Word Count: 3.3k

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Miles was your very own fairytale prince; he was sweet, chivalrous, charming and easy on the eyes. You met while moving into your LSU apartment about a week before classes started. You were struggling with some boxes when he swooped in and safely helped you bring it up the stairs to your second floor apartment. It was then when you learned that he lived across the hall and ‘couldn’t bare the thought that you had to move in all by yourself, when a lady shouldn’t have to carry any of her stuff at all.’ It’s safe to say, he made the best first impression you’d ever seen. 

To thank him for taking the load off your shoulders, you invited him in for the only thing you had in the fridge: sweet tea and beignets that you had left over from breakfast. He accepted the offer with the kindest eyes and you proceeded to learn more about each other for the rest of the afternoon. You learned he was here on an athletic scholarship for soccer and you excitedly informed him about how your summer internship turned into a job offer at the Baton Rouge Clinic. Meeting him made the 9 hour move from home less stressful, he just had a face you wouldn’t mind seeing more of. Luckily before leaving he asked you on your first date, of which you gladly accepted. Why wouldn’t you, he was the most respectful and gentle man you’d ever met. 

If only you had remembered that fictional fairytales are the only ones getting perfect endings.

That Friday, your date went exceptionally well, so it led to another and another until he asked you to be his girlfriend. That second week of dating, after officially being his girl, you met Joe and Ja’Marr. You didn’t think you’d hit it off the way you did, but you gained a boyfriend and two lifelong friends within a few weeks of being at your new school. You were on top of the world; you had a job you loved, classes that you actually enjoyed, an amazing boyfriend and friends that’d do anything to put a smile on your face. You couldn’t ever fathom anything going wrong from here, but of course it did, without you even knowing at first.

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

The first sign of the end of this moment of bliss was when you had Miles meet your friends. You and Miles were at the library on a study date when the two football players walked in for their own study sesh. They saw you before you saw them, due to your eyes being buried in your books. 

“Well look who it is, our little Psych major.” You lifted your head to Ja’Marr sitting in one of the empty seats at your table, closer to Miles. While Joe took the one closest to you. Miles quietly observed the quarterback as he instantly acquainted himself with your study snack and loosely threw his arm around your chair. He frowned at your lack of acknowledgement. Did you not see him attempting to stake his claim on you while he, your actual boyfriend, was sitting directly across from you?

“I didn’t know this was when you usually studied. I thought there was lab in the facility you used?” You asked pulling out a small bag of pretzels from your purse and giving it to the quarterback.

Before either of them could reply, Miles cleared his throat. “There is, but it’s usually crowded with jocks doing anything but homework.” His eyes flicker to the man next to you, who smirked right back at him.

“Yea well, we heard you talking about coming here yesterday. Since it’s before practice, we decided to join you. That okay?” Joe asks smiling in your direction. “Of course, it is!” 

‘What a kiss ass.’ Miles mumble under his breath, inaudible to everyone except Ja’Marr, well it didn’t take him long to get on his radar.

Unbeknownst to all the tension surrounding them, you introduce the boys and continue with the session. 

A few minutes before the guys leave for practice, you get up to go to the bathroom, leaving the men to themselves. Once you’re out of sight, Miles sits up and looks straight at Joe.

“What are you doing with my girl Burrow?” His eyes squinted and brows knitted.

Joe shrugs with a smug look on his face. “Nothing man, she’s my friend. just looking out for her.”

Miles kisses his teeth, “Nah, that was more than just lookin’ out. Just remember that’s my girl.”

Joe chuckles and pulls out his phone, “Loosen up Robinson, it’s nothing. Plus I got my own to worry about.” He lies showing him a picture of the cheerleader he hooked up with sometime ago. Ja’Marr side eyes him with a knowing look and shakes his head, before eventually backing his QB up.

“Yea, she’d be here right now if it wasn’t for her own practice. You can even ask Y/n.” He teased, watching Joe’s eyes widen for a quick moment before maintaining his innocence.

Miles tosses the phone back as you round the corner, “whatever, but I’m still watching you.” Joe raises his hands ‘harmlessly’ then goes to stand when you reach the table.

“Hey Princess, thanks for the company but we gotta get to practice.” He says going in for a side hug which is immediately reciprocated.

“Aww well, you guys have a good practice. I’ll come by the house when I’m not busy.” You smile hooking your pinkie with Ja’Marr like he would with his teammates. “We should probably get going too, right babe?” Miles was too occupied with glaring at the quarterback as he walked away to hear you.

You walk around to him and run your nails through his hair and scratching the side of his fade. “Babe.”

“Yea, it’s late.” You pack up and walk back to your apartment hand in hand, but Miles’ mind couldn't be further from the moment.

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

After meeting your friends Miles shifted, to you it seemed like he just wanted to spend more time with you but it was way more than that. He started becoming more possessive of you, always with you, constantly had his hands on your body and became obsessed with making sure no other guy could take anything from you that he hadn’t already done. It was hot always being under his arm, sure you missed your friends but he’s your boyfriend. Your study dates moved to his apartment and suddenly he had an all access pass to do whatever he wanted.

It was Midterms time and you needed to finish your research paper before the test. The amount of stress you were feeling at the moment was brain numbing. 

“What kind of professor assigns a 20 page research paper and a written test in the same week? I mean isn't the paper enough, does he want to be grading for the next 3 months? It makes no fucking sense.” Miles watched as you pushed your glasses up to bury your head in your palms.

“Yea, I don’t know either.” He says eyeing the way your tits push out as you cross your arms at the computer. His gaze lowers to your bare legs, you always ran hot when it came to working, the tennis shorts you were wearing swallowed up by the thickness of your thighs. That added to fact that it was his gold jersey covering your perfect set of twins made him readjust himself multiple times in the last hour. Not like you ever noticed, but something about your oblivious nature made him crave you even more. 

When he looked back up the deep set eyes and frown that painted your beautiful face made him clear his desires just enough to position himself behind you and rest his strong hands on your shoulders. “I bet I could relieve some of that stress.” He mutters against your ear then starts kneading at the tense muscles.

“Oh, that feels good.” You couldn’t help the light moans thickening the air, just like he couldn’t help but kiss on that spot behind your ear making you melt even further into his chest. 

By the time he was done the pressure in his jeans was unbearable. His hands moved down to your waist and lips into the curve of your neck. He bets Burrow’s never gotten this far with you, he probably wishes he could have what’s his. “I could make you feel so good.” 

You hum and turn your head to kiss his lips. The force your met with takes you aback, but you indulge him for bit. “That was nice, but I need to study.” You peck his lips once more then turn back to your paper. His hands continue to roam your body, his lips reattach themselves to your neck sucking deep bruises into your skin. “Babe, please I need to do this.”

He lifts the bottom of the shirt and teases the band of your shorts. You hands grab his and pull them away from your figure. “Miles, stop.” You shuffle yourself away from him and watch his face convert from lust to agitation. “What is up with you today?”

He scoffs, “what you come over here dressed like that and expect me not to want more?”

Your head drops, “we talked about this. You said you were fine with moving at my pace.”

“Well maybe it’s time we step up the pace.” This has to be a joke, you severely want to believe that he’s joking, but the look in his eyes matches the way he looks on gameday, pure determination.

So you match his expression. “I’m not ready, if you can’t deal with that go find someone else that would love to spread their legs for you. You need to tell me right now Miles, because I’m not going to keep myself in a position that makes me uncomfortable.” 

He sucks in his lower lip then chuckles. “Princess, I want you and only you. I’ll wait as long as you want, because you mean that much to me. Now come back here, we can put on a movie and forget all about this.” The little anger you had dissipated to anxiety, he noticed as you fingers picked at your nails.

“Baby I promise, nothing like this will ever happen again. I’ve been so stressed that my body took over before my brain could reason the actions. I just want my girl back.” He seemed sincere, like he was actually sorry. It takes a lot for a man to apologize in your experience, so you slowly gave into him. 

“You promise you won’t make any more moves?” 

~

The last time a man- a boy really- got this close to you, he didn’t hide his desires at all. So you rejected him, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. You thought if you just avoided him at all costs that he’d just go away, but he was best friends with your roommate. So one night last year when she had her friends over, he made his move. She and her other friend had left to pick up dinner and he saw it as his opportunity to finally have you. He towered over you, his hands moving up and down your thighs, they were clamped shut as you continued to move away from him. He pinned you against the wall, using his weight to keep you there. You kept repeating for him to stop, but your pleas were muted to his ears. Somehow he managed to get your pants open, but just as he moved his hand further the front door opened.

~

“I would never do anything you didn’t want princess, I got you.”

Things seemed to simmer down after that, he kept his promise and didn’t try anything more than you would give. You knew it was a bit unfair to withhold that from him, but you just couldn’t open yourself up to someone you’d only known for two months. You tried to make up for it by helping him out when you could, but never wanted to go past that.

The weekend of your 3 month anniversary was packed with events. He had a game that Thursday, Joe and Jamarr had a big game on Friday and your anniversary was the next day. Not to mention you still had to work each day, so you were exhausted. Miles promised you a nice carefree night and he certainly delivered.

“This has to be the most fun date I’ve ever been on.” He smiled you leaned into him all giddy and happy. 

“I’m glad you think so cause its not over yet.” He held the door open to his car then got in himself. 

“I can’t wait to see what else you’ve got planned.” The high you were feeling off of pure vibes was incredible, he actually indulged you in your love for bowling alleys and arcades. Growing up if you weren’t roller skating you were by the lanes eating greasy food and laughing with your friends.

Miles turned on the car to warm it up some, then reached into console and pulled out a single wrapped chocolate chip cookie. “Babe in the nicest way possible, that is not going to feed both of us.” You chuckled.

“It’s not that kind of cookie, but don’t worry its completely safe and I’ll be with you the entire time.” When you locked eyes, your mischievous nature couldn’t disguise itself. The smirk on your lips added to that look in your eyes told him everything. So he split the treat and handed it to you. 

“Bon appetit, baby.” 

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

The second you got to his door, your hands were all over him itching to touch his skin. Your lips bruised due to the fervor the sloppy kisses you shared. It takes him an extra five minutes to actually get the door open. Once it is, your pushed up to the wall with his knee between your legs. You couldn't help but grind yourself on the thickness of his thigh, your high taking away all worries and just allowing you to actually enjoy the moment. 

“Fuck baby, I need you.” He breathes out as he licks on your sweet spot. 

You moan before pushing him off, “not here.” You smirk throwing off your hoodie and walking towards his bedroom. 

The weight of him on top of you in that moment felt like fulfilling a delicious craving, but its short lived as pieces of clothing are being thrown around the room. You take a second to admire the man’s physique, he’s a perfect mix of lean and muscular. His hands find yours as they run over his stomach and pulls them over your head, suddenly you’re eye to eye. You go up to kiss him when his other hand lifts up your leg. Your desire quickly turns to panic, “Babe?” There’s no way he’s about do this without any prep, right?

He looks up at your wide eyes and pecks your pout. “Don't worry I got you.”

“Wait I’m not- we can’t until- Miles!” 

Without any preamble, he pushes his length into your canal immediately being met with resistance. “Fuck you’re tight.”

He barely notices the wince you let out nor the whelmed up tears in your eyes from the intrusion. 

“Miles this isn’t, it hurts please just stop-

“Baby it’ll get fuck better.” He starts losing control of his hips and buries his face in the pillow next to you. The moan and groans are muffled by the softness, while your cries are silenced in fear. The pain worsens with each thrust, your pelvis feels like it could shatter and your walls must be coated in blood as the smell of iron wafts into the air.

“You feel so good. Baby you’re gonna make me cum.” Your gaze is locked on the ceiling, hiding your tear stained face from him. At this point you’re just hoping he’ll finish faster. You no longer want to feel the harsh thumps of your chest, the way his dick ambushes your walls, instead you find that hole in your mind that allows you to escape and jump.

Seconds later, Miles lets out one final groan before emptying into the rubber and pulls out. Too fucked out to do anything, he takes the condom off and throws it onto the floor. He doesn’t see the amount of red stained on it or even tied it off. He just slumps into the bed and falls asleep. 

It takes almost half an hour for you to come back to reality, your now pulse even but your body feels beyond wrecked.

You stared at the sleeping man dumbfounded for a few seconds trying to wrap your head around what the hell just happened. Letting out a muted scoff you grab the nearest item of clothing which ends up being his soccer jersey. After putting on the shirt you walk over to his bathroom. Each step made you want to double over, you could never look at him the same again. It felt like that night all over again, except ten times worse. Nothing made sense anymore.

Looking at yourself in the mirror isn't the same anymore. Your eyes are duller and your cheeks tear stained, and all you can ask yourself is, ‘what the fuck?’ You knew the first time wasn’t supposed to be sunshine and rainbows, but that felt like a hurricane followed by a tornado. 3 months of events that led up to the most awful night of your life. Rummaging through his cabinets you find ibuprofen and immediately down 3, you wouldn’t wish this pain on your worse enemy.

Your legs tremble as you walked back into his room and slowly slid yourself under the covers hoping he wouldn’t realize you were gone. Giving that he didn’t move an inch, you’d say you were successful, but at what cost? You could've just walked down the hall back to your apartment, but for some reason you thought that maybe in the morning things would get better.

In the morning things did not get any better. Miles’ ridiculous alarm that blared ‘Bump N’ Grind’ woke you up out of the worse sleep of your life. To make matters worse, it was 4 am on a Sunday.

“Babe what the hell?” You groan.

Miles responds with a grunt then turns all the lights on and leaves the room. 

“What a dick.” You pull the covers over your head and attempt to fall back asleep. A few minutes later he comes back in the room fully dressed for practice (minus his shirt) and yanks the blanket off of you. 

“I need that.” He says pointing to the jersey.

“Don’t you have like seven of these, why do you need this exact one?” You ask.

He rolls his eyes at your question and start gathering your clothes. “What are you doing? Miles what’s going on. Just talk to me.”

He dumps your clothes onto the bed. “Bitch just give me the shirt and get the fuck out.” You look at him stunned before getting out of the bed. 

“I know you did not just call me a bitch. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to Miles?” Your furrowed brows and crossed arms mirror his, but you’re on a whole ‘nother level of pissed.

“Y/n I don't have time for your shit. I have practice in 10 and I’m not letting your lazy ass make me late.” Then he leaves the room again. You throw off the shirt and hurriedly get redressed before storming out of the the room and chucking the jersey at him as he makes his pre-workout shake. 

“Thanks baby, I’ll call you later.” He says seconds before you slam his door. Now he wants be all cute and lovey. Arrogant son of a bitch.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

<<<Previous Chapter | Next Part>>>

main masterlist

tag list: @light-yagami-l

A/n: soooo any thoughts😅 please share

#black reader #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #social media #rnb #h.e.r. #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x black reader #nfl imagine #robbed #horrible boyfriends #taken advantage of #miles robinson #soccer player #lsu joe burrow #lsu joe #flashback #track9 #bad boyfriend #overprotective #bengals barnesbabe #track 9 #jamarr chase #joey b #joeburrow #fluff #friends to lovers #tw noncon #smut

[thigholstercas]

So I wanted to have all these parts of scripts that I love with destiel moments that were erased, changed, or added context in one place. Bare in mind that there are some that are Production Drafts and others Writer's Drafts, and so on.

4x02 - Are you there, God? It's me, Dean Winchester

Oh honey, he's gonna be your husband

Honestly, I'm just putting this here because I love this scene.

5x04 - The End

Cas received the order to follow Dean's commands once, and he sticked to it up 'til the end of everything.

7x17 - Born again identity

Just remember, this was after everything that happened in season 6 and widow!dean arc 1.0

Forward to Cas' speech in 15x18, yes the parallels.

Swear this is a whole Dean thesis. If we go back to what started this whole thing in tmwwbk. Dean tells Cas, we can fix this. And he never stopped wanting to fix it.

8x17 - Goodby Stranger

Like, I know they established that it didn't make sense for Dean to say I love you here, which fair, and we ended up which I need you (somehow worse).

But if we look at this as a whole, what Dean might understand is that saying I love you makes people leave him. Fastforward to the part when Dean takes the sigils so Cas can find him and Naomi visits and tells him that Cas doesn't return his feelings. Fastforward again to the You didn't trust me because even if we get to know that it was hard for Cas to leave with the tablet, away from Dean, Dean doesn't. For Dean, he left him, without even acknowledging that he loves/needs him, ignored him, and didn't trust him. Imagine you say I love you and you are left feeling abandoned, betrayed, and angry.

8x19 - Taxi Driver

This in the middle of I love you, and You didn't trust me is something

8x22 - Clip show

The one guy that's always had your back.

9x22 - Stairway to Heaven

Don't know what they smoked to write this, but I want some

10x23 - Brother's Keeper

You'll see the word shattered used a lot. This very much both destiel and drowley imo.

Season 12 is weirdly filled with these, so here are special mentions (because the max of pictures is 30 and there are too many moments). Most likely, it has to do with the market research by the end of 2016, which is why from 12-15, these scenes are more emotionally charged.

Mary saying Good friend when Dean and Cas hug in 12x01

Cas told Mary I promised (Dean) when they were talking outside the barn before going in to help Dean save Sam in 12x02

Dean telling Mary Get him outta here! when Cas was wounded in 12x12. And of course, when Cas says the things they have shared changed him (but that's on screen)

Cas texts? from 12x16

Dean is a worried husband on 12x18.

Dean explaining that no matter how much Cas messed up, did the wrong thing, or every dumb move he got it in 12x20. Cas was always Cas.

12x10 - Lily Sunder has some regrets

Dean telling Cas he has changed, and it has all been for the good. Again, forward to 15x18.

12x19 - The Future

This whole episode is charged with scenes from Dean and Cas. Like you have the angry Welcome home from Dean when Cas returns from Heaven. Dean calls Cas a super strong dude in a trenchcoat. The mixtape scene with the That was a gift. To keep. And Dean softening a bit even if he's angry because he's more worried.

But I think the biggest one is this one. The destiel sex scene (jk)

And after this, even though it is said in the show. There is more insistence from Dean to not let go of Cas -> We're not gonna let you just walk away. Not again. Not happening.

12x23 - All Along the Watchtower

The word shattered is mentioned a lot in the scripts. This is every part that describes Dean's reactions after losing Cas. Forward to 15x18.

13x06 - Tombstone

This is one of the best things that never happened in the show. You have Dean choking down his emotions saying he's much better now and Cas who fought with the empty with everything he had in 13x04 to return to Dean, coming to a meadow near a windmill because Dean thought he'd like it.

13x14 - Good Intentions

Forget about the in love part. They are best friends, and we didn´t get this.

13x20 - Unfinished Business

He lost Cas and it damn near broke him. Not we lost Cas, I.

14x12 - Prophet and Loss

Losing Dean was unacceptable. Cas said that losing Dean was unacceptable. And Dean got emotional. And then forward to 15x18, Cas just goes no, Dean can't die because that'd be unacceptable to me, so i'll sacrifice. And then, Dean gets emotional. Again. But for Dean, the unacceptable happened.

15x09 - The Trap

Forward to 15x20. In this future that Chuck showed Sam that he lost Dean the second Cas was gone.

Have I said how much they used the word shattered. Anyway, Dean wanted Cas to stay. That's his best friend.

He's amazing.

15x18 - Despair

This is not that different from what it was filmed, it is just that seeing it described makes it different. Especially when you get things as Still beautiful, still Dean Winchester, Dean is emotional, stunned, shocked. And have I said how much they used the word shattered. Also, you can see how it starts as a confession because Cas is confessing that he made a deal, but then it ends as a declaration, a declaration of love. Which makes testament such a good word for it.

15x19 - Inherit the Earth

The fact that Dean couldn't say Cas was gone

He's not the ultimate killer. He's not daddy's blunt instrument. He's someone who raised his little brother for love, who fought for the world for love and the most caring man on Earth

15x20 - Carry On

We don't talk about this episode because the script has way too many [omitted] but this is exactly what happened in 15x09 when Chuck showed their future to Sam if they followed the road they were taking.

Okay, that was it. Probably missed some, but for me, these are the parts that stand out.

#destiel #spn #spn scripts #deancas

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

you know, i like hordak as a character. he's interesting, he's likeable, he's a good example of an abuse victim who isn't overly infantilized and coddled by the narrative. his relationship with entrapta was cute, his relationship with horde prime was tragic and i like that he at least gets a proper confrontation with his abuser, where he is able to declare his own independence and get some closure from his trauma.

however, there are two main problems i have with his character (some of which i've already talked about but i want to go into more detail):

1. hordak was not an effective villain. heck, he was barely a villain at all.

you cannot tell me that hordak was the main villain of the first four seasons when the majority of his screentime was spent with him either lurking in his sanctum or canoodling with entrapta.. in his sanctum.

at first i thought that hordak was going to be this looming presence that had control over everything and puppeted everyone's every move, and was this evil masterpiece who orchestrated everything behind the scenes but.. nah. turns out he's just an incompetent manchild who needs a literal teenager with no battle experience to plan everything out for him. how did he conquer half of etheria before that? who knows? not important.

hordak also has no meaningful relationship with adora, the hero. there were actually a lot of parallels that could be drawn from hordak and adora both being raised by abusers who valued perfection over everything else. granted, in that aspect, hordak is more like catra but there isn't even that many parallels with him and catra. there are, in fact, more parallels with catra and shadow weaver or catra and horde prime.

and okay, not every hero and villain needs a deep intertwined relationship or complex narrative parallels. but at least give us something? a proper interaction?? the show even acknowledges the fact that hordak and adora have absolutely no connection with each other, when adora asks him why he kidnapped her and he basically replies with "lol who are you again". and then he just randomly remembers her at the end of the finale and it’s supposed to be this touching, emotional scene except you feel nothing because these characters literally never interacted, what are we looking at?

adora is supposed to be fighting the horde, but it seemed like she was just fighting catra most of the time. as the hero who opposes etheria's oppressors, shouldn't adora mainly be targeting hordak, the person who started it all? and shouldn't hordak, as the leader of the horde, be more concerned about the rebellion having an actual god on their side? i guess it doesn't really matter if said god can be easily defeated by a inexperienced catgirl

it just feels like hordak didn't have to be a villain at all. we only know he does horrifying things, because the narrative says that he does. oh, and he tortures catra once and sends her to crimson waste, so i guess that qualifies as being a villain.

the point of a villain is to drive the central conflict of the story. to oppose the hero and to pose an actual threat to the status quo. any character who doesn't do this is merely an antagonist. in hordak's case, i don't even know if he counts as an antagonist. he's like that one edgy antihero with a dark past where he murdered countless people but it doesn't really matter in present time. it’s just there to add flavor and to enhance his tragic past, because war is obviously a fictional fantasy trope and totally not something that has happened in real life. /s

2. like many other characters in this show, hordak's character almost completely revolves around his love interest.

yes, entrapta taking care of hordak and boosting his self-esteem is endearing. yes, hordak breaking his defenses and being vulnerable around entrapta is very sweet. but apart from entrapta, the only characters who have any kind of effect on hordak is horde prime and catra. and.. i guess, imp? but again, imp is mostly just a stand-in for the cute animal sidekick.

i know that hordak was supposed to be a recluse but it's impossible to believe that this kind of person was able to start an army and feed them with false propaganda. again, if you read my post about cults and their methods of indoctrination, you would know that cult leaders are often very charismatic and friendly people. and i know the horde isn't exactly a cult but we are supposed to believe that at least some of the cadets raised there genuinely believed that they were on the side of good, when their leader was a mysterious shut-in who basically didn't do anything substantial and their mentor/superior officer was just actively radiating Evil Vibes™.

i just wish they did more with hordak’s character and actually made him interact with some of the other characters. he doesn’t even interact with shadow weaver that much, and she was his second-in-command. even if it’s not direct interactions, it would have been interesting to see the characters mention hordak more, especially the ex-horde soldiers. apart from the general “oh no he’s evil and wants to kill everyone”, that is.

like we see people talking about shadow weaver. we see adora open up about her relationship with shadow weaver and ponder about whether there’s some good left in the woman who raised her. we see glimmer talking about how powerful shadow weaver is and how she could help the rebellion. we see catra complaining about how shadow weaver treated her in comparison to adora. we see angella talk about how shadow weaver shouldn’t be trusted.

when you think about it, shadow weaver was much more of a looming menacing presence in spop, despite not even being a villain, let alone the main villain.

even when she was on the good side and helping the princesses, there was always a ceaseless feeling of unease and fear, because we’ve seen what she’s capable of. we weren’t just told that “shadow weaver is sooo abusive, she’s bad!” we see how she treats adora and catra, we see how she manipulates situations and people for her own benefit, we see how she slowly starts to get into glimmer’s head. the show actually does a good job with shadow weaver, and i have to give credit where credit is due. shadow weaver was genuinely a well-written character.

hordak is just.. there, most of the time. he acts evil enough to be considered as one of the villains but he’s not actually a villain if you consider it for more than five seconds. he doesn’t really do anything for the bulk of the narrative, he has one kinda cool scene where he stands up to his abuser and then he just peaces out with entrapta.

i don’t really understand the point of taking a main villain of the show and turning him into this. sure, the OG hordak was more of a comedic villain and wasn’t super complex, but from what i know, he still played an important role in a narrative and his humorous moments made up for the lack of a tragic backstory.

#also i'm feeling better now thankfully it only lasted two days #spop critical #spop salt #spop #spop discourse #spop criticism #she ra #anti spop #bad writing #writing errors

[fateisfiction]

SFW Price x Reader

Price takes you in wanting nothing more than for you to recover. It's a slow process, but he finally feels like there's hope.

Price can't stand to see you out on the streets. You're a pretty young girl, and all he can see is someone's daughter, their younger sister, a friend. You look just like a childhood friend of his, but you're halfway around the world when he meets you. Out of sorts. In a bad situation.

He brings you home, makes all the arrangements. You don't even remember how you got there, and Price thinks it's probably for the best. He's seen what men do to girls like you in places like that. No family, no friends, you didn't even speak the language.

Back in his London flat, you have everything you could ask for, pretty clothes, your own bedroom. Not that you've asked. In fact, he can't even remember ever hearing you speak. He just wishes he could do more. He tries to get you to come out of your shell, but you barely leave the house. Hell, you barely leave your room.

He sets up regular grocery delivery for when he's away, but when he comes home to find there's no change, half the food untouched, he can't help but worry. The next mission comes along and he almost thinks that he's making progress with you. You're spending more time out of your room. Not necessarily in the same room with him, but he can hear you move around in the next room while he reads.

He almost turns the mission down. The men don't need him for this one, he has a few soldiers picked out to fill in from time to time and Gaz and Simon are more than capable of standing in for him. Maybe if he just takes a few more days before shipping out. Just a little more time with you, it could make all the difference.

He can't believe his eyes when you finally step into the same room as him. Head down, hands behind your back as you lean against the doorway. Taking care not to directly acknowledge you, he muses to himself, "Beautiful day out there."

He'll be damned. You actually reply.

"Is it?" Your voice is so small, weak from disuse.

Of course you could have seen that for yourself. There's a window in your bedroom, overlooking the courtyard of your apartment. Price always hoped that maybe having a view of the gardens would encourage you to spend some time outside.

You're unimaginably pale, months, maybe even years, of being indoors stealing the life from you. Young skin should glow, radiating life. Price has bought you all manner of skincare and supplements, hoping to someday witness that glow return in his lifetime. But you locked yourself away.

"Would you like to go outside?" He catches you, just in the corner of your eye, freezing up like a deer in headlights. He speaks slowly, quiet, as though not to spook you more. "You don't have to. Just thought a stroll in the courtyard would be nice. Get some fresh air."

You don't immediately relax, but after a few quiet moments, the tension leaves your shoulders. "Okay."

He's not sure if that's an 'okay' you'll join him or an 'okay' to not having to, but you slip away to your room, closing the door behind you.

Price could head downstairs by himself, enjoy the sun while he can, but he figures he'll wait. Just a few minutes to see if you would join him couldn't hurt. Busying himself with the plates in the sink, he doesn't hear you shuffle into the kitchen behind him. If he were a lesser man, he might have jumped at the sight of you.

Ghostly, almost ethereal, in a long white dress, arms covered by a knitted jumper. Beautiful, but haunting. He tries not to let it show on his face.

There's an awkward moment where he's not sure if he should offer you his arm or just hold the door for you. You decide for him, practically hiding yourself behind him as you take his arm, clinging to him as though you're afraid you'll be blown away by a hearty breeze.

It's a short trip down the stairs and then you're outside. Arm raised to shield your eyes from the rare London sunlight, Price moves slowly around the garden giving you ample time to adjust. The vibrant green, of new, young leaves springing forth to collect the light they need to thrive.

It's beautiful, Price thinks. He's never spent much time here in the courtyard, always passing through in a rush to meet up with the boys or shipping out for his next deployment. But the garden is nothing compared to you.

He was right. Your time indoors had paled your complexion, but not as much as he had feared. Out here, away from the artificial light, you were a sight to behold.

Apparently you had been taking care of yourself while he was away. Eyes filled with wonder as you spun around, you were practically glowing. The sunny warmth bringing out the subtle tones in your skin and hair.

For the first time since he took you out of that wretched place, he actually thinks you might be okay.

For the first time in a while, you give him hope.

---

Masterlist

#quill writes #price x reader #price x you #john price #captain john price #john price x reader #john price x you #cod x you #cod x reader

[lunejump]

Listen I did not want to bring this out of the replies but this is too funny not to. @paledarklight

How in God's name is this not enough for you? He's having a wholeass breakdown.

Katsuki has atoned for all of his bullshit. Katsuki has apologized, Katsuki has taken a hit for Deku, Katsuki has stopped calling Izuku Deku despite the fact that everyone calls him that because Izuku reclaimed it and he kept calling him Izuku even after he told him Oh it's fine Kacchan you can stick with Deku if Izuku's too hard, Katsuki has died wondering if he'll ever be able to catch up to him. Katsuki knows what he did was bad, he acknowledges it clearly and works to be forgiven. If your problem is with the fact that Izuku forgives him, then I'm so sorry, but that's just how Izuku is. The only person Izuku hasn't forgiven is Tomura, because he hurt his loved ones so badly.

Again, you're entitled to your own opinion, if you don't like the way Katsuki's character development was handled that's fine, if you don't like that Deku forgives Katsuki easily that's fine, if you don't like that Izuku loses his quirk but Katsuki only gets one arm fucked up almost beyond repair that's fine. There's a lot of people who don't like the new chapter, I am not one of them.

It is terrible etiquette to go into the replies of a piece of art or an edit that is not asking for opinions on a new chapter and just... give your opinions randomly. Especially when those opinions are clearly opposite to the one who posted - the bare minimum would have been to go into my inbox and send me an ask. This post was not made for this. Also, you own a very nice blog in which I hear you post some very great opinions so why not post your wonderful opinions on the latest chapter there, instead of here?

Anyways. This is the last you'll hear of me because this isn't necessarily something I enjoy. Have a good day, night, whatever. Keep sending me shit if you'd like, I won't answer (I don't even got anything better to do I'm just done with this). If you get too mean, I'll block you (if I pissed you off you're free to block me).

#lunarchatter #discourse #sorry about that @the normal people who follow me #there's been a situation #the normal lack of posts will resume as usual #mha manga spoilers

[confessbeatles]

i think that the fandom is overly harsh on george and mo for their affair.

i'm not saying it was right but i've never seen anyone seriously wonder why they did it. why would maureen cheat on ringo when she'd never done it before? even when he was cheating on her?

there's been details here and there which have indicated a whole story we're missing. ringo was deep into alcohol and cocaine and they had young children. maureen was scared and worried about him. they argued a lot. there's a 70s interview where he says he and mo had effectively been broken up for years before their divorce and they slept in separate beds. they stayed together for the kids.

in george's case he was very depressed, his marriage to pattie was a disaster and seemed to genuinely believe he was in love with maureen which wasn't the case with his other affairs.

again, i don't say this to mean it was fine what they did and they shouldn't be criticized. but i don't think it's fair that it's never considered the story was more complicated than it's been made out to be just like many other beatle drama cases. the two people who actually know what happened never got a chance to share their side.

I have to respectfully disagree on the “we shouldn’t criticize it” part. We can and should acknowledge that it was a shitty thing to do; not only to ringo obviously but to Pattie. George was unnecessarily cruel to Pattie imo. When she found Maureen on a mattress on the floor in George’s room, all he dared to say to Pattie was “oh she’s a bit tired, she’s having a rest” and couldn’t at the bare minimum admit that he was sleeping with her when he clearly was. I know cheating isn’t the worst thing that a human can do but to me, the problem was how he acted. He could’ve simply just told Pattie he was unhappy and got divorced and that would be that. I love George to death, he’s human and I get things are more complicated on the inside, but saying that we shouldn’t criticize or acknowledge it doesn’t make sense to me. Just like we should criticize and acknowledge ringo for being an abusive drunk for a while, or Johns violence, or Paul’s misogyny, ect.

#the beatles #confessions and theories #george harrison #pattie boyd #ringo starr #maureen starkey

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Thursday:

"Responsible Adults", the sequel: Jak tries to do a regular Jak Stunt and is shocked that it doesn't go over well

(Roughly a week after this one ends. Long post warning, as most of these are lol)

Night terrors were not an uncommon experience for Jak. They may not have been his nightly companions anymore, but when he did have them, they were intense. He woke up in a corner of his room, wedged beneath the sink. There was a vague sense that he was taking cover from something, or someone.

Blessedly, he remembered no details of the nightmare. But the terror still sent his guts quivering the way they had in the prison. Huddled under the cot both for warmth and silently praying the boots wouldn't stop at his door. That he wouldn't end up Tyber's new punching bag when he got bored of the old man in the cell above Jak's.

Tyber is dead. Errol is dead. Praxis is dead. I watched them die.

Jak repeated the words like a mantra until he could move his limbs again. He crawled out from beneath the sink, but the lingering fear made his room feel claustrophobic. Smaller than it really was.

At least he hadn't woken Daxter this time.

Jak put on his boots, but didn't bother getting fully dressed. He didn't even know what time it was. Why bother if the doctor and the king guy were just going to nag him about being sleep-deprived anyway?

It must have been early morning, before dawn; the moon had vanished and people were outside doing repair work on houses and fog-catchers.

Early morning was the best time to get any outdoor work done in Spargus. A small girl led a flock of caprids out of the stables and towards one of the other districts to graze on the cactus there, and a gang of trainees only a little older than Jak were taking advantage of the temperature to do an endurance run around the city.

Personally, Jak didn't see the good of such things. You learned to be fast enough or smart enough to escape your enemies, or you didn't. He'd learned through life and death experience, not a footrace with no winners.

"Easy with the straps there!" A stocky man backed into Jak, calling up to a team of three people.

"Ope-! Scuse me there, pipsqueak." The Wastelander stepped to the side as if Jak was barely worth noticing.

"Howland, that thing ain't cinched tight enough!"

They seemed to be trying to remove a corroded beam from the supports of one of the multi dwelling houses. It was already leaning at a precarious angle, as big around as a grown man. If that beam came down the wrong way, it would take a lot of the adobe structure -- and probably a lot of people -- with it.

"It's fine, Daru!" Howland complained, "I just cinched it!"

"Well cinch it again! That sucker’s leanin'!"

Jak frowned, but let his curiosity wash away the dregs of the night terrors.

"What's wrong with it?"

The unofficial foreman tugged at a bushy red mustache and shook his head. "Don't rightly know yet. Could just be age. Sand storms and salt air will do a number on this kind of metal after a while."

Jak wondered if that had anything to do with Sandover using wood and stone almost exclusively. He was about to ask why it had been anchored to a mud wall when there was a loud metallic clang. The last bracket holding the beam snapped under the weight, and the straps weren't enough to hold it.

Jak didn't remember moving. But then he was there, with the beam on his shoulders and the foreman on the ground, having narrowly avoided being crushed to death. Cold metal dug into his hands, pressed down against his head, and Jak knew that by rights he should've been dead.

There was a thrill of revulsion in his chest when he reluctantly acknowledged that the only reason he was standing right now was that the dark eco experiments had lengthened his muscle strands to twice the size of a normal hu'men's. It wasn't just in his dark form. That element of...unnatural...was just with him. Every moment.

"Frith! Oh my- HOWLAND! GET DOWN HERE!" Daru roared, "YOU COULDA KILLED SOMEBODY!"

"I got it," Jak said through gritted teeth. "Is there a place to put this thing down?"

"Not yet," Howland admitted as he shimmied down a ladder.

"We were going to cut it into pieces once it was secure, transport it that way to be recycled."

Jak craned his neck, but the motion jarred the beam. Hastily, he adjusted his grip.

"What's- What's around me?"

"Too much," said Daru grimly. "Just- Hold on, kid."

He winced at the boy's flat stare.

"Er...no pun intended. We're gonna, gonna get you out from under there, I promise!"

"Get it cut up first," Jak grunted, "And you won't have to worry about getting me out."

"And what if your hands get sweaty, huh?" Daru demanded, "Fat chance, little man! We're going to find something to hold this up!"

The other two men hurried down from the roof with saws in hand.

Oh gods. Handsaws. This was going to take a while.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Honestly, Damas should have been expecting trouble when he didn't start his day with a free heart attack after seeing eyeshine in the kitchen. The kid was diametrically opposed to the concept of sleep, so he wouldn't have been in bed. If he was off his routine -- and by now Damas had learned to dread something interrupting the kid's self-imposed routine -- then there was probably going to be trouble later.

When he refilled the fuel in the Beacon, fed the birds, and actually had a cup of coffee uninterrupted, he was suspicious.

When the sun rose and there were no echoes of truncated curses in the halls from guards running into Jak, he started to wonder if the kid had decided to work outside. Unusual, but as long as he didn't do anything that would make Dr. Petros yell at them both, more power to him.

But when the talking ottsel showed up in the throne room about an hour after dawn, frantically demanding to know where Jak was, Damas was concerned.

Those two were attached at the hip! Jak wouldn't have gone to look for work without Daxter.

There was a small crowd forming by the time Damas stepped outside. People were shouting encouragements, or conflicting advice about pulleys and snatchblocks. Had something fallen? Damas hadn't heard any impacts. As he began to pick his way through the crowd, the shouts took on new meaning.

"He's slipping! Somebody get under there!"

"How many more hands do you want? There's ten people holding the beam up!"

"Why won't he just let go?!"

"Standing this long, maybe his arms locked up-?"

A beam? People holding a beam-?

An accident. There'd been an accident and night watch hadn't caught it.

Thoughts of crushed citizens and mangled houses circled Damas’s imagination as he pushed through the rest of the crowd, close enough to hear the rasp of handsaws and the buzz of a lone angle grinder.

"Get the cart back in!" Someone yelled, "Next piece is almost off!"

From the looks of things, a crew of four had reduced a two-story high support beam by a third.

Ten Wastelanders were beneath the colossal pole, hands and shoulders braced against the metal as it shrieked and groaned. If even one of them slipped-!

Damas threw down his staff without thinking to join them, racing to catch the end beginning to slide.

"What happened?" he demanded, straining with the others to keep it from crushing the houses and themselves.

"Tie straps broke!" a man three people down called back, "If it weren't for the kid, it woulda come down right through the roofs of a couple houses!"

Kid?

Oh gods don't tell me...

Jak was standing in the very center of the line. His arms trembled, and sweat poured down his face. He didn't seem to hear anything happening around him, too focused on keeping his grip. He was beginning to pale.

"What's he doing here?!"

"Dunno!" A woman to the left answered. "He was already there when me and the girls showed up, but that was two hours ago."

"Hours?!"

Jak had been out here for hours, trapped, and Damas had been none the wiser?

"Why hasn't anyone gotten him out yet?!"

"We tried! The poor kid froze up!"

Damas gritted his teeth and pushed away images of the kid standing alone under that crushing weight for hours until help had woken up.

"Get a truck and winch out of the pit!" He ordered, "Forget damage to the streets, we'll fix it later! I want this thing taken care of now."

It took a full twenty minutes to get the Dozer through the narrow streets of the tower district. By that time, those who had been holding the beam first had cycled out for fresh arms to allow for water and eco. All except Jak. He'd accepted some water that someone poured into his mouth earlier, but still seemed to be unable to let go. He was at the fulcrum point, he insisted, and he wasn't going to let it tip. (Not that he thought he'd actually be able to move at this point.)

Fifteen people attached pulleys and cables to the beam from above, careful not to dislodge the hands of those below. When the cables had all been hooked to the Dozer's winch, the weight began, at last, to lessen.

There was a ragged cheer from the assembled Wastelanders as the end of the beam tipped up and the rescuers eased the other end to the ground. There would be extensive damage to infrastructure to deal with. But nobody had died, and there were no major injuries, and Damas would count that as a victory. Shaking out aching arms, he hurried to the center of the line, where someone was physically holding Jak upright. Damas took hold of the boy's stiff arms carefully.

"It's gone," he said, easing the limbs down, "It's gone, let go, Jak. Come on, you're done."

The kid made a sound, a soft rasping whine that might’ve been words. Then he collapsed.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

When the world drifted back into focus, Jak didn't know where he was. The smell of eco lingered around him, confusing the other scents that could have identified his location. He couldn't move his arms. Why couldn't he move his arms?!

It took a massive effort just to pry his eyelids up. Jak’s breath caught harshly between his teeth as he forced himself onto his side.

Well, that explained the lack of mobility in his arms. He ached like he'd been fighting beyond his limits again. The injection sites would be agitated again, he knew without looking. The pain radiated from his shoulders to his fingertips, skin, muscle, and bone.

The room was a blur. Brown and yellow slowly settled into more colors, ending in something either white or pale blue in front of his nose. The longer he stared at it, the more detail he could see. Pills of thread, clinging to loosely woven fabric. The texture and shape of the warp and weft shifted as he tried to move his hand.

He hissed in pain.

"Well that's what happens when you try to make a career as a load-bearing wall."

Jak tensed. Not alone. Not with Daxter.

Biting down on the pain, he dug his fingers into the pallet beneath him and forced himself upright.

This wasn't the hospital -- small blessings -- but it wasn't his room either. There was a low wooden bedframe on a wall a few feet away, on the other side of some kind of half partition full of plants.

"Where...?"

"Well you're about to think of it as prison," Damas answered from the opposite direction.

He was sitting at a table, hunched over a cup of coffee. The empty pot beside him was a story of its own.

"By the way, you're grounded."

"What?!" Jak sputtered. He started to get up, but fell back onto the pallet with a grunt of pain.

"Like rot!"

Damas glanced back over his shoulder. "Take it up with the doctor. He put you on bedrest, not me. Better yet, blame your own self! You could've let go at any time once the rest of the district turned up to help!"

"The whole...district?"

Jak blinked.

"I don't...remember that..."

Damas sighed and peered into into his mug.

"You've been sleeping most of the day, I'm not surprised. Even with the eco you'll probably be sore for a while."

"How -- ow! -- long was I out there?"

Jak cringed at the look in Damas’s eyes when the man turned around fully.

"Four. Hours. Four hours! Why didn't you let go when others arrived?!"

Was this a trick question? It had to be a trick question.

"Be...cause...I'm not supposed to let other people get hurt?" Jak answered with slow confusion.

Damas stared in complete silence for several seconds. Then,

"You're insane. My foster-son is insane. That's insane! In what world is "throw the youngest under the pillar" a rational solution?!"

"Uh. Haven?" Jak muttered peevishly. He tried to sit up again. "Look, just. Tell me which way my room is and I'll get out of your hair."

Damas pushed his chair back with a scraping sound.

"Mn. No. What part of "bed rest" didn't you hear?"

In brusque motions, he knelt and pulled the blanket back over Jak.

"You are not to do anything even mildly strenuous, or Petros will strangle me. And since I apparently can't trust you not to willingly walk into harm's way unsupervised, you get to camp out in here, and I get to work from home for the next few days to make sure you don't go try to lift a car or something!"

Jak was appalled. "You can't do that!"

Dry as dust, Damas retorted, "First of all, I'm king. Secondly, I'm your legal guardian. Yes I can."

Jak groaned in frustration.

"Where's Daxter?"

"Not grounded."

"Oh come on!"

#jak: but i did this kind of thing in haven all the time! #damas is developing new gray hairs every time the kid says something about haven #fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #free day Thursday #snippets #this universe of stressed dad damas i generally file under the title “Relearning Childhood” #because Jak is one of only 50 minors in the entire city and they're a lot more strict about age-appropriate chores than Haven #Daxter will absolutely rub it in Jak’s face that he's not grounded. because he is Mad at Jak for pulling a stunt like this without him #oh just wait Damas. It gets so much worse.

[moonlightseve]

So we all know that Stammi Vicino – Non Te Ne Andare is essentially Viktor’s cry for help in a world where he has neglected his personal life for twenty years, giving everything he has to his sport and becoming an untouchable god because of it. And the lyrics are so sad and I just want to talk about them and what I think is going on because I can’t get it out of my head. 

I hear a voice weeping in the distance Have you maybe been abandoned as well?

We start out with Viktor looking for this person who can understand how he feels, that same desperation for connection between the two of them. They are not united yet, but are able to come together because of their circumstances. Viktor, who has no family that we know of (or even friends outside of skating) is so utterly alone that this chance at having another soul who gets him has to be this horrible gnawing desire. 

Come now, I'll quickly finish this glass of wine I’ll start to get ready Be quiet now

The glass of wine only confirms my thoughts about his loneliness, in my opinion – he has been sitting there alone, silently, enjoying this small pleasure with no company. And now he moves to join this distressed individual addressed at the beginning. There’s little comfort here beyond an attempt to silence their crying, it’s less of an established connection and more of an acknowledgement of similar circumstances. He can understand what it’s like to be sad and alone without feeling like there’ll be any change.

With a sword I wish I could cut those throats singing about love I wish I could enclose in ice the hands that write those verses of burning passion

There’s some frustration here – Viktor is 27 years old when he skates Stammi Vicino. This is past the age where many people experience these passionate romances for the first time, finding a twin flame with which to go through life. Despite how much people adore him, how successful he has become, how admired he is… he cannot be loved because no one truly knows him. There’s so much media out there about people finding each other, these grand love affairs and lasting friendships that add so much depth to a person’s life. And he has nothing. It must be infuriating, to have so much and yet so little. And I think there might be something there with the “enclose in ice the hands that write those verses of burning passion” as well, with him reflecting on his own circumstances in comparison to these love stories. Why don’t they have to suffer the same fate as him, married to the ice? Why must his heart remain frozen and no one else’s?

This story that has no meaning Will vanish tonight together with the stars If I could see you, eternity will be born from hope

There is no meaning to his life, nor is there any meaning behind his connection with this other person. They do not know each other. This is fleeting, and temporary, and entirely impermanent… but god, he wants so badly. He knows he can’t have it but he wants to hope so much.

Stay close to me, don’t go away I’m afraid of losing you

This hope has taken root in his soul. Despite the fact that he is so utterly alone and this individual who maybe can just barely begin to understand how he feels isn’t truly with him in any way that matters, he can’t bear the idea of giving up this tiny thing that is all he has left. This is a moment of pure vulnerability, the admission of just how scared he is. He is going through the motions, facing everything he has to entirely alone. Even a fragment of attention and care sets him alight, he cannot bear to lose anymore than he has already.

Your hands, your legs, My hands, my legs, And our heartbeats Are blending together

Here he comes together with this person. I still don’t think it’s viewed as a bond that he believes in, but acceptance of potential and the fact that maybe they could have something together. He feels something intertwined in their souls, some semblance of similarity. And for him, that means a lot.

Let’s leave together I’m ready now

The glass of wine has been put down, he has acknowledged his anger and frustration, and he is ready to move forward. There’s something for him, maybe, if he keeps looking. He can only hope.

Now. I could go on and talk about what the banquet meant to Viktor, and how this was maybe the first time he had wanted a person in his life this way, or I could just talk  about the duetto … which is what I’m going to do. 

So the duetto contains some pretty obvious lyric changes, namely the fact that the verses

With a sword I wish I could cut those throats singing about love I wish I could enclose in ice the hands that write those verses of burning passion This story that has no meaning Will vanish tonight together with the stars If I could see you, eternity will be born from hope

are removed. Hmmmmmmmm… all of the longing, none of the aggravation towards that sickly sweet romance? None of the denial that this could matter, the quiet desperation that maybe he might be allowed to hope for once? Because finally, after years of searching and waiting and quietly, so quietly, hoping – Viktor found someone who sees him. Who loves him, who wants him for who he is. They can stay close to each other, and neither of them will go away. Yuuri adds this color and warmth to his life that he had been looking for, and Viktor in turn has given Yuuri the chance to flourish and become the best version of himself, all the while having someone by his side who simply will not leave him. They are able to support each other in ways no one else can, and that is what makes their pair skate so beautiful. 

#victor nikiforov #viktor nikiforov #yuri katsuki #yuuri katsuki #victuuri #yuri on ice #I wrote this instead of the paper I was supposed to be doing