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theragethatisdesire · 10 months

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scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.”

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin.

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it.

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch.

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

#aot x reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren x you #eren yaeger x you #eren yeager smut #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger fic #eren jaeger fanfiction

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cy-cyborg · 19 days

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How your disabled character's allies react to their disability can make or break the representation in your story: Writing Disability Quick Tips

[ID: An image with “Writing Disability quick tips: How your character's allies react to their disability matters” written in chalk the colour of the disability pride flag, from left to right, red, yellow, white, blue and green. Beside the text are 2 poorly drawn people icons in green, one is standing with their hand up to the face of the other, who is in a wheelchair. /End ID]

Something I brought up in my big post about Toph Beifong was how the other characters reacted to Toph pointing out that things were not accessible to her and setting boundaries regarding her disability, which were ignored. I had more to say about it than I thought I did, as it turns out (when isn't that the case lol) but I feel like this is an important aspect of disability representation that is all too often over looked.

You can write the best, most accurate portrayal of a specific disability ever put to screen or page, but it won't mean much if all the other characters, specifically those we're supposed to like and empathise with, treat your character terribly for being disabled and having needs relating to said disability, especially if the story justifies their behaviour.

You see this most often with autistic characters and especially autistic-coded characters. The character in question will be given a bunch of autistic traits, most often traits relating to not understanding certain social dynamics or sarcasm, and when they get it wrong, the other characters we are supposed to like jump down their throat, tease them or outright abandon them. Autism isn't the only disability that gets treated this way, but it is one of the more common ones that get this treatment. It doesn't matter if you do everything else right when creating an autistic character if the other "good guys" constantly call them annoying, get angry at them or laugh at them for the very traits that make them autistic, or for advocating for their needs.

Likewise, if you have a leg amputee character who is otherwise done well, but is constantly being criticised by their allies for needing to rest their legs or taking too long to get their prosthetics on, it undermines a lot of the other work you've done. Same goes for having a wheelchair user who is accused of being a bore or a stick in the mud because they point out the places their friends want to go to on a group holiday have no wheelchair access, or a deaf character who is accused of being entitled for wanting their family to learn to sign, or anything else.

This isn't to say you can never have moments like these in your stories, but its important to remember that a) people with the same disability as your character will be in your audience. If you spend a whole season of your TV show shaming your autistic character for real traits that real autistic people have, they're not exactly going to feel welcome and may not want to hang around. b) it's going to very, very heavily impact people's perceptions of your "heros" who do this, especially in they eyes of your audience members who share the character's disability or who have had similar experiences. This isn't like calling someone a mean name or being a bit of a dick when you're sleepy, it's going to take a lot to regain audience appeal for the offending character, and depending on exactly what they do and how frequently they do it, they may not even be able to come back from it at all. And finally, c) there should be a point to it outside of just shaming this character and saying the other guy is an asshole. Like I said before, you're character is criticising real people's real disabilities and the traits or problems that come with them, things that they often have no control over, it shouldn't be used as a cheap, quick way to establish a quirky enemies to lovers dynamic or show that one guy is kind of an ass before his redemption arc. If you really must have your characters do this, be mindful of when and how you use it.

#Writing disability with Cy Cyborg #Quick tips #Disability #Disabled #Disability Representation #Writing Disability #Writing #Writeblr #Authors #Creators #Writing Advice #Disabled Characters #On Writing

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ukrfeminism · 3 months

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We’ve been chatting for about half an hour when Eloise lowers her voice to a whisper. Until now she’s been confidently talking through the ups and downs of being a 19-year-old woman in a world she finds unsteady.

She’s annoyed that, on TikTok, the advertisements she gets are keyrings with rape alarms and “stabby kitties” (a cat-shaped metal keychain with pointed ears sharp enough to cause damage), feels that modern feminism sometimes goes a bit too far, but having grown up in the age of nudes, she doesn’t really trust men. Which is unsurprising considering the story she tells me next.

“So a boy I know was asking a girl at his school for nudes,” she says, quietly. “And then when she refused, he threatened to rape her.” The boy was 14 and had recently posted an Andrew Tate video to his Instagram page, which was Eloise’s first encounter with the online influencer.

“It said stuff like how women are your property and that it doesn’t matter if women say they’ve been sexually assaulted; if you’re with them that’s your right. I didn’t like it,” she adds.

Tate has made several appearances in the headlines this week. On Tuesday, a Romanian court rejected his appeal to ease the ban on him leaving the country as a legal case against him – in which he’s charged with human trafficking, rape and forming a criminal gang to sexually exploit women – continues. He denies all charges against him. The following day, Ipsos polling for King’s College London’s Policy Institute and the Global Institute for Women’s Leadership found that one in five men aged 16-29 who have heard of Andrew Tate have a positive view of him.

Separately – or, arguably, perhaps not – another survey published in the same week underpinned a renewed focus on the attitudes and beliefs of Generation Z, this time from the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS). The research asked just over 3,000 adults of varying ages – 50.6 per cent of whom were female – about their understanding of rape and serious sexual offences, and the law on consent, and drew troubling conclusions.

Overall, 74 per cent of people surveyed understood that it can still be rape if a victim doesn’t resist or fight back, but the number fell to just over half (53 per cent) of 18-24-year-olds who had the same understanding. Less than half of respondents from this age group recognised that victims might not report a sexual offence to police immediately, that being in a relationship or marriage doesn’t mean consent can be assumed, or that if a man has been drinking or taking drugs, he’s still responsible if he rapes someone. More than 70 per cent of over-65s recognised that even if no physical force is involved a person might not be free or able to consent to sex, compared to just 40 per cent of young people.

Previous generations have become used to hearing that rape myths and misconceptions continue to persist, but that’s precisely why this week’s grim trinity of headlines stings. “There tends to be a public assumption that things are generally always getting better,” says author and feminist campaigner Laura Bates. “Actually, views like these are incredibly widespread among young people.”

Bates regularly works with schools, talking to pupils who often tell her that “rape is a compliment”, that “it’s not rape if she likes it” or, “it’s your boyfriend, you have to have sex with him”.

She adds: “Attitude surveys have to be taken seriously because they are a real red flag that we’re going backwards – we’re seeing much more extreme and concerning misogynistic attitudes among the youngest generations than we are among the oldest. We have to face up to that and ask, why is that happening?”

Gen Z has never been neatly contained. Growing up as the first digital natives in the chokehold of crisis – climate, Covid, cost of living – has seen them praised for their social awareness, but disenfranchised and forgotten by politics. Their extremely online nature has given them unprecedented access to the world and other people – but, of course, that’s a double-edged sword.

“The internet has made everyone’s voices louder, but that means the most misogynistic people in the world are heard more too,” says Niya Clement-Hickson, a 26-year-old marketing designer from London. He says his generation has been “kind of ruined” by social media.

“You’d be surprised at just how many people around my age will argue that Andrew Tate is not as bad as he seems.”

When I spend an hour talking to 16-year-old Tate fan Manus from Ohio on TikTok, he says exactly that. He’s relatively timid and seems unsure of what he thinks at times, but came across Tate aged 12, being drawn to his motivational speeches, humour, and attitude towards making money. “[Tate] kinda showed me how people really are in reality,” he says. On Tate’s assertions that women are the property of men, he says those beliefs are simply from the Bible (though Manus himself is Muslim).

He maintains he’s never seen Tate speak violently about women, and when I send him leaked voicenote recordings of Tate saying that he enjoyed raping a woman, Manus is certain it’s fake “probably to make him look bad”. I ask for his views on feminism and he responds that feminists now want “superiority” and “more rights”. What rights exactly? “More rights in general,” he says, vaguely.

This opinion is not a rarity – there’s a pervasive idea circling comments sections and pub corners that the pendulum has “swung too far”. “Some of us warned that when you continue to suppress their identity by telling young boys that they are inherently toxic, they’ll start acting irrational,” one comment under an Andrew Tate post this week read. But it’s not just boys who hold this idea. Early last year, a survey from Ipsos UK and the Global Institute for Women’s Leadership at King’s College London echoed this and some of Eloise’s views that feminism has gone too far. They found that 52 per cent of Gen Z and 53 per cent of millennials believe that we’re now discriminating against men. Less than half of Gen Z respondents said they defined themselves as a feminist.

Was it coincidence then, to see that shortly after the research was published in March 2023, the year of the girl was in full swing? A persistently pink summer was punctuated with girl dinners, #tradwives – modern women who believe in traditional gender roles – and stay-at-home girlfriends sharing their daily rituals on news feeds. New York magazine’s The Cut declared it “Woman in Retrograde” as the year came to a close; a cluster of reactionary elements to a significant demise of mainstream feminism.

This shift back to traditional behaviours is also present in younger men, says Niya. “A lot of guys feel that their role is all about providing money, being a protector. But they feel they deserve to get something out of the interaction. They just can’t deal with being told no.”

In terms of consent, does he hear attitudes that put women in danger? “Absolutely,” he replies. Niya didn’t learn about consent in school – “I don’t think it was ever talked about beyond ‘don’t have sex until you’re old enough’” – and thinks this is quite common for men of his age. For Maya, who’s 24 and neurodivergent, the line of consent is difficult to pinpoint and somewhat shaped by social media. There’s a “disconnect” from what she really wants – and is able to articulate – in the moment.

“I think that we do have less and less sex and more and more porn,” Niya adds. “And I think that once porn is your main and in some cases, only engagement with sex and women, then that is going to completely screw up how you see sex.”

Do all roads lead to porn? Probably. Clare McGlynn, who is a professor of law with particular expertise in sexual violence and online abuse, says: “We know that algorithms promote more extreme content, more hate – and many, many younger people, men and women, are getting this. Millions of people, as we speak, are watching mainstream online pornography that is racist, sexist, misogynist and violent in its content. Of course, it’s shaping attitudes and lives.”

“There’s certainly a pressure on young boys and men, for example, to be taking and sharing nudes – they’re part of a culture that is encouraging them to,” McGlynn explains. During a study, she looked at what material was presented on the homepage of popular sites – she found landing pages which were filled with sexually violent material. “So it’s also not them even actively choosing that material; we’re part of a culture that is grooming young men, teaching them expectations around sex – and asking them to accept and normalise it.”

What appears clear from the survey conducted by the CPS is a dangerous lack of understanding of what constitutes a crime. “I do lectures on criminal law and I’ve had students come up to me afterwards and say that they didn’t know they had been sexually assaulted or raped,” McGlynn adds.

Laura Bates says that we’re in the midst of a “crisis of sexual violence among young people”.

“Deeply misogynistic misinformation is being spread to young people online at a rate that most people just have absolutely no idea about,” she says. “And there is a massive knock-on effect.

“Some will look at these surveys and go, well, what does attitude matter? But you have to draw a connection between these really worrying attitudes about rape and the fact that nearly 80 per cent of young people told Ofsted inspectors recently that sexual assault is normal and common in their friendship groups.”

So what can be done? More responsibility and accountability from social media companies, says Bates. Tate’s content – some of which reportedly shows him attempting to beat a woman with a belt; she later hides behind a locked door – has been viewed more than 11 billion times on TikTok, she says, adding: “That’s more than the population of the planet.” Last year, advocacy group HOPE found that more 16-17-year-old boys had watched Tate’s content than had heard of Rishi Sunak. “I think it’s really important that the government supports high quality, age-appropriate sex and relationships education,” she adds.

Actively listening to and engaging with boys – as seen in initiatives like the state of New York’s Starting the Conversation campaign – is also important. Boys must have a safe and judgement-free environment to express themselves: the more their experiences of rape culture are internalised, the more difficult they are to see.

The Online Safety Bill, which was enacted in October last year, she says, was a missed opportunity for change. While it asks for more transparency on social media platforms and imposes sanctions for those not following the act, along with criminalising cyberflashing and sending unsolicited nude images, “it went 250 pages without mentioning women and girls once, until campaigners changed that”, Bates says.

“It’s so much more effective to focus on prevention of radicalisation than trying to unpick it once it’s happened,” she says. “Young people really are prepared to listen and prepared to change their minds, it’s just a shame this isn’t happening in every school.”

“It does make me worried about how safe the world is going to be,” says Eloise, who will begin her twenties in the summer. “What if people really start thinking that women are property again?” Then, she’s quiet again. “I really hope it can change.”

#Articles #community #MVAWG

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z0mbiefrank · 1 year

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i have a lot of thoughts i'd like to document about mcr's auckland show, but here's just some of the things gerard said that hit me particularly hard.

first off, of course, we have the quote of the whole night, which i'll try not to dwell on too much.

"In the face of extermination, say fuck you."

there have been many posts about this. despite it not being included in the live stream, this video swept the dashboard. there is a pride flag front and centre in the audience. gerard is barely visible but all we needed was his voice. within hours it had inspired countless textposts and art pieces. i know i'm not the only one who cried. it is exactly what i needed to hear during this time of trans rights being rolled back all over the world. then came this video where you can see gerard. they walk right to the front centre stage, legs planted strongly in their skirt and tights, face set with intent, and he spits out those words for the whole world to hear.

now this next one i have not seen any posts about, but it struck a chord with me anyways. before planetary go they speak to the audience:

"You all look wonderful. You do. I see you when the lights are bright on us. I see you. Don't worry, I see you. There's some wonderful costumes. If they're costumes. Are they costumes?" The audience yells back with a resounding "No!" source video

every night my chemical romance performs, they look out to a crowd of visibly queer people staring right back at them. my mcr show was the first time i saw my trans best friend able to walk into the men's bathroom with his head held high. recently there has been a huge onslaught of anti-transgender laws across the world. i'm sure we've all seen posts pointing out that gerard's cheerleader dress they wore in Nashville would now be illegal. the new tennessee bill bans "male or female impersonators who provide entertainment that appeals to a prurient interest." many people have claimed the bill is 'only' about drag performers, as if that would make it okay, but we know that is not true. right-wingers have proven time and time again they view trans women as nothing more than "female impersonators". they treat transgender bodies as nothing but a fetish, or a prurient interest. they argue against gender-affirming medical care on the same phone they use to watch transgender porn. they believe transgender identity and queerness is a costume. it is something we can take on and off. something they can ban and eradicate from their country. but it's not a fucking costume. it's who we are.

which leads me to the encore. this was the only show during their tour with a planned one-song encore (excluding festivals), and that song was their most famous of all time, welcome to the black parade. the band walks back on stage and the only thing gerard says is

"Be who the fuck you are." video

an incredibly important statement that has always been a core part of my chemical romance's message. but with everything that's been going on, with frank saying one of his favourite thing about these tours is "g being able to just be himself", with gerard's gnc outfits making headlines, i feel like that was the perfect sentence to close the show

#this is very scary for me to post okay so be nice and hold my hand #mcr #gerard way #mcr auckland #mcrauckland #my chemical romance #op #z0mbie thoughts

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batmanego · 9 months

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re: last post and tumblr claiming the consistent flagging of any content by trans women as mature: allegedly, the appeals process is supposed to put the post in front of a human being. which gives us two options: either a, tumblr is lying about how the appeals process works and it is either a complete sham (unlikely in my opinion given that ive had appeals go through) or is the product of some sort of algorithm too and there’s no human involved, OR b, tumblr staff’s appeal team at least one but likely more person or people intentionally suppressing the content of transfems on this site and, to a lesser extent, lgbt content as a whole. there’s not a single way out of this that makes them look at all good lol.

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mylight-png · 6 months

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"Ceasefire Now" is War

The idea of "ceasefire now" seems so appealing because the reality it would cause is directly the opposite of the actual call to action, and most only see the words at the surface level. Not the consequences.

When people say "ceasefire now" they imagine just that. A ceasing of fire. Of war. They imagine peace.

And this would work if the war was between two rational actors who abide by such agreements.

But what people do not understand is that Hamas is not a rational actor, and they do not respect ceasefires.

We had a ceasefire until October 7th, when Hamas broke it.

Do not forget this fact: aside from being an absolute monstrous and disgusting massacre, October 7th was the breaking of a ceasefire agreement.

Also do not forget that the leader of Hamas has verbally promised to repeat the October 7th massacre until Hamas, G-d forbid, wins.

And finally, do not forget that Hamas has already broken at least 15 ceasefire agreements with Israel.

So, with all of that in mind, what would a "ceasefire now" world look like?

At best, we get two or three years of peace. Then, Hamas will do what it always has done: attack Israel with the aim of fulfilling their foundational goal, the eradication of Jews.

That's at best. At worst, we would see no ceasing of fire from Hamas. At worst, we would see a continuation of Hamas (and their allies) firing at and attacking Israel, while Israel is pressured by the international community to hold their side of the ceasefire (even though it would already be broken when Hamas would attack) and, even worse, the international community may pressure some sort of concession from Israel in order to pacify Hamas.

Except those concessions have never worked in the past either.

The second situation is unlikely, not because Hamas wouldn't immediately break the ceasefire, but because Israel would not allow itself to be pressured into defenselessness. Even so, it is a terrifying thought.

In short: a ceasefire is not peace in any scenario. A ceasefire is a prolongation of this war that would allow Hamas to recuperate and kill more Jews/Israelis and endanger more Gazans.

What would lead to peace?

There are two answers:

1. A complete dismantlement of Hamas (what Israel is trying to do right now)

2. A complete surrender of Hamas (unfortunately unlikely, even though it would be the only option that would put an immediate end to the bloodshed of civilians on both sides)

There is a reason that the Jewish community has been continually praying for peace, while vehemently opposing a call for "ceasefire now" and that's because we know that a ceasefire is counterproductive towards peace.

I also want to address the fact that basically every "ceasefire now" post I've seen has either had Palestinian flag imagery (as in solidarity, not addressing Palestine) or #freepalestine tagged onto it, or both.

This, to me, implies one of two things.

The first thing this may imply is that people are simply ignorant, and this is what I try my best to believe. They do not know that Hamas is still firing at and attacking Israel, so they believe that only one side would benefit from a functional ceasefire agreement. ("Functional" meaning that it would work, because the people posting this erroneously think a ceasefire would work.) Thus, to them it is logical that a call for ceasefire would equal aligning themselves with the side they perceive to be on the receiving end of unreciprocated attacks.

However, that's not what reality is like, and it is disturbing that in a time when information is just a few taps away, people still can be this ignorant.

In reality, Gaza is running out of everything except for rockets (because Hamas takes basically all aid and uses it to continue attacking Israel, leaving nothing for civilians). Hamas continues to bombard Israel daily. The bombardment is going both ways, although Israel is the only side trying to avoid civilians.

The alternative implication is that these people want a one-sided ceasefire, and this is far more disturbing than the previous option.

This implication has stronger likelihood when paired with the "from the river to the sea" slogan. (A slogan calling for the genocide of Jews and anyone else living in Israel.)

These people want the scenario I presented earlier, where Hamas is free to attack Israel, while Israel's hands are held behind its back by the international community.

These people want Israel to burn with its hands tied, just as Hamas bound the hands and burned the bodies of Israeli civilians. They want October 7th on a national scale. They want genocide.

A one-sided ceasefire would mean the success of Hamas.

Hamas has the goal of genociding Jews written in their founding document. I know I've said it before, and I will continue to say it until people remember this fact.

Israel's goal is not the genocide of Palestinians. If it was, they could've achieved this long ago without losing a single soldier through bombardment alone. The very fact that they are putting people into Gaza shows they are trying to go for a more specific target: Hamas.

So remember: "ceasefire now" is a call for the prolongation of war at best, genocide at worst.

#jumblr #jewish #judaism #jew #opinion #proud israeli #israel solidarity #discourse

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

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for the hot scenario thing… thinking about eddie cumming in you and steve eating it out before he fucks you then we he cums in you eddie cleans you up. steddie brain rot is so real

First of all, thank you! And second, you’re probably gonna get more than you bargained for with this one, lol. My brain is going to town on me, quite literally, so… I hope you like this? ;)

From the post here

Send me a hot scenario and I will rate it

Warnings: Language, NSFW, anxiety and self-esteem mentions (it’s brief), slight masturbation, Steve has a daddy kink, mirror play, squirting, handjobs, oral sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, fluff, slow sex, rough sex, creampie, cum eating, and MORE!

~*~

You aren’t exactly sure what you did to deserve this? Maybe winning some jackpot lottery on the sexual spectrum that life offers, but you won’t complain. Not when you’ve got the two hottest guys in Hawkins—no, in the entire fucking world—at your feet, worshipping, praising, encouraging, soothing you into their sins.

~*~

Lately, you hadn’t been your boisterous self, and though you tried to hide it, your boyfriends noticed. The kind of red flag, bells tolling, alarms beeping—type of noticing.

Your calls became less audible, the desires to go out in public and have any sort of human interaction that wasn’t with your shared group of friends, becoming too non-existent for their comfort. And that’s what one of the main rules when all this started was. Comfort. Your distress was alarming, and they couldn’t stand it any longer, having sought you out. It wasn’t a simple thing, by any means, but it was a fixable situation.

You were feeling briefly lost, on the cusp of floating through the motions, unmentioned. Eddie was the first to corner you, having gotten out of band practice before Steve got off work, given the go ahead to make some headway and cheer you up. He questioned you outright, knowing that sugar coating anything isn’t the forte you abided by. You’d shrugged a shoulder, your floral pastel t-shirt blowing in the breeze of your exasperated arms, as they thumped into your lap. Your fingers had reached out to touch Eddie’s knee through ripped denim, playing aimlessly with the threads to avoid direct confrontation.

Eddie had coaxed it from you by willing his newfound patience (a trait learned from Steve), and you had admitted to being overwhelmed with the relationship. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made you feel undeserving. After all, as you had explained, how could someone like you appeal to men like them? Whilst Eddie had explained that the three of you were the most unexpectedly, oddest people in Hawkins to become linked—it worked. And why did it work, exactly?

Love. He couldn’t feel his fucking arms without seeing Harrington’s dumbass little smirk everyday, he wouldn’t be able to take in a steady breath unless your lips hit his cheek on your way out the door. Without ‘this’, as he’d motioned with ringed hands in explanation— his balance shifted. Nothing would be right if none of you were together. You had cried when he finished his statement, moisture getting caught in your lash line as he had asked, “How does all this feel for you, baby? You know we can stop if it’s not something you are really ready for.”

But you’d objected rather vocally and quickly, soothing Eddie’s erratic breathing. He understood being caught up in overwhelming moments, and the incredulous wonder of you three.

“Feels like I’m floating, or sometimes I can’t even comprehend basic, normal, everyday things, because Steve’s voice does that raspy thing when he first wakes up. Everything goes fuzzy in my head and I swear I short circuit after you come home from practice, with that smirk on your pretty mouth. And… fuck it, my chest hurts when I see you at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette, attempting to keep that hair off your face as you work on campaign sheets for the kids, and Steve pulls it back for you. And I just look, I fucking see. I’m in—“

“Love?” Eddie had finished, a thumb brushing your mouth’s corner.

The veil had lifted off your mood, a phantom air so fresh and clear inside of you that you could taste and smell it. Steve had called in between customers and Eddie had pressed the receiver to your ear, watching as the insecurities poured out of your mouth, easier than the air you needed to survive. He’d kept a hand on your back, rubbing to reassure, to give you the time you need to tell Steve what you had told him, including your observations and declarations. Your shared partner was smooth and gentle, a tone reserved for you and Eddie, as he addressed the matter.

“If you both could feel how whipped I am for you, how much I love you…” Steve had cupped his hand over the phone to muffle his words from prying patron ears.

You’d blushed, squirming a little. Eddie saw, of course he did. He’d leaned by your head, cheek to cheek. “Think one of your words just lit her fuse, Harrington.”

Steve got off work pretty quickly that night. And after airing your feelings out to your boyfriends completely, Eddie wasted zero time reminding you about that word that set your inferno ablaze. Whipped.

“Sex, sex, sex. Is that all you ever think about, babygirl?” Steve had stroked your dumbfounded expression after teasing you with his words, and you—the way you encouraged them to push you further, pull you back into entanglement.

After your confession time, you were left with a need so raw and full, you’d die if it wasn’t satiated.

~*~

“Wait a second.” Eddie pauses his sturdy thrusts, his thick cock throbbing inside your overly wet pussy. You dig into his shoulders, nails scraping his slick skin, and mewl into the safe confines of his neck. “Shh, I know, sweetheart. M’ gonna move in a sec. I just want to try something.” He coos, cigarette stained breath hot on your mouth. “Harrington. I know you have a full length mirror in here somewhere.”

You can’t help the automatic reaction your body has to his words, clamping down, sucking his cock in deeper, causing it to squish against that delicate spot. Both of you groan, your legs hiking higher around his waist. “Holy Christ.” You whimper, earning a laugh from Eddie. Steve joins back in, seconds later, a long mirror in hand. He stumbles with it, earning a fond smirk from Eddie.

“And they say I’m the clumsy one.”

“Keep talking like that and see how well you can fuck our girl with your mouth full, Munson.”

Yep, that’s it.

Your head falls back onto the couch, limbs reduced to complete puddles of jello. Eddie praises your love for their filthy banter, multi-tasking Steve in helping him adjust that full length crystal by verbal instruction, until you catch a view so damned debaucherous that you’re probably going to hell when you cum. He’s still inside you, making it hard to catch your breath, a trembling vibration in your bones. “Eddie, please.”

The expanse of his semi-tall structure is on full display, those tattoos like sinful vines that you ache to climb, to taste. Licking your lips, it’s obvious to both panting men in the room that, yes, you like this. A lot.

“Oh, look at her, Harrington. She’s cock drunk and obsessed with my backside.” The metalhead spares a look through frizzy, sweat soaked curls, moaning around a mouthful of garbled words.

“Keep fucking her, Eddie.” Is a command that dips off Steve, that thick fucking cock leaking in his shiny fist.

Eddie and you watch his motions in simultaneous harmony, Eds picking speed back up his rhythm, suddenly shifting into railing you into the couch cushion—every lump and bump in worn pillowing—visible. Your lids have fluttered closed against an onslaught of distinctly, familiar pleasure. It’s happened before with a lot of grunting teamwork, often leaving you overstimulated and begging to be released and brought back into it, but this time it’s happening with only Eddie’s cock. Everyone hears it before Eddie says anything. That increasingly loud squelch that becomes a vulgar sloshing.

Eddie’s chocolate irises are gone beneath two black lakes, his mouth red and swollen from eager and sloppy kisses, courtesy of you and Steve. His hand lifts your thigh a little higher, the other motioning Steve over. “You hear that, Stevie? Our little girl is gonna squirt all over my cock.”

Steve rubs a fast palm down his dick, enjoying the aching stimulation. He tilts his head in curiosity, his hickeys visible all across his neck and collar bones. You smirk through the haze of pleasure, hand reaching out for him as he bends a little, letting you run your fingers through tufts of chest hair, amused as he adds in, “Yeah, think you can do it without either one of us touching that sweet clit, honey?”

“M’ gonna try. Eddie…?” You lift your other leg to lock them around Eddie’s back, pleading for him to go faster, but Steve is halting the motions, stepping into view and lifting your left leg onto Eddie’s shoulder, having you maneuver the other around his lower waist, moving off to the side and making sure Eddie feels every inch of his soaking cock drag across the rockstar’s backside.

With this, you can still see your reflection, but it has Eddie driving into that spongey spot at an angle so sharp, you swear you black out. “Fuck! Fuck!”

“Shit, dammit. She’s squeezing my soul out, straight through my dick.” Eddie says, then whimpers and grips your jaw, pressing his forehead to yours as he begins to slam himself into your cunt so hard that you feel the slip and slide of your pelvic bones, his happy trail giving your clit feather light strokes on the up. “M’ gonna cum inside her. Think I should?”

Steve doesn’t waste a second. “Soak that pussy, Eds.”

Their words bring a waterfall over your entire nervous system, a scream ripping straight through your diaphragm, and bouncing off your lungs, leaving your throat raw, and you winded. That impending climax dangling by a scrap.

“She’s getting wetter, Steve. Get the fuck over here and open your mouth. Show our girl you appreciate the show she’s getting ready to put on for us.”

Steve kneels, your leg releasing and lifting onto his shoulder, draping down that freckled back. His voice is hot and raspy, as he says, “Squirt for me, baby. Daddy needs to get wet.”

Your clit tingles with the release before your pussy feels the impact, a warmth spreading through you in a honey dripping sheath. Your muscles tighten and then relax themselves, a clear burst of your cum squirting from your cunt and around a stuttering Eddie as he fucks you through it. Steve’s pinching the meat of your inner thigh, tongue out and accepting the translucent spray, marveling in how it’s soaking his face and chin, some dripping off his chestnut tousled tresses. You can’t breath, can’t scream, you fucking cum. Eddie’s thrusts grow erratic, and you pull on his long hair, Steve slapping his ass, and he’s done for, warm spurts coating your insides in his cream.

He collapses onto your heaving bosom, panting and quivering, you struggling to take in air yourself. Steve, still hard as a rock—agonizingly so—helps Eddie slide out and off of you, kneeling completely and dragging you to the end of the couch, tongue clicking to the roof of his mouth. By this time you’ve managed to prop up a little bit, watching his back muscles move with every shift, those freckles begging to be licked. Eddie’s mirror idea may just be his best one yet.

“Oh, Harrington, you filthy slut.” Eddie knows just the direction his boyfriend is headed in, and he steadies himself beside you on the couch, palming your breasts and pinching your nipples, rings stroking back and forth to stimulate the areola.

“He’s not gonna…” You trail off.

“You made Stevie bring out the D word, Y/N. He’s going to, and we’re gonna watch him, do you understand me?”

That playful, but dominant tone has you captivated, obeying with a nod and accepting Steve’s scorching mouth. He jerks your knees apart, flattening his tongue as it licks a broad stripe up your sopping wet cunt. His mouth is drenched in yours and Eddie’s releases, Steve making sure he doesn’t waste a drop, watching you both through a very thin ring of hazel. You can’t look away from his muscular physique and every single one of those unrealistic freckles that keep you high on everything Steve Harrington. When the former prom King has managed to suck on every inch of your labia, crudely clean every cum slick crease, he lifts his head, a blob still left on his tongue.

He beckons you, Eddie pushing your sweaty back to help you meet Steve in a rough kiss, sharing that particular mixture. You run your fingers through his hair, arching as if you’re a magnet and he’s earth’s gravity personified. On a messy breakaway, saliva and remains of arousal stretch, Eddie weaving his ring covered fingers through, in awe of how it causes the jewelry to glisten. He closes his plush lips over each ring, releasing with a loud suckling pop. The three of you share a smirk, and Steve brushes his knuckles down the flushed apple of your cheek, tugging on you to help position yourself with him.

“Come here to daddy.” And he manhandles you until your ass is dangling, giving him plenty of room to grasp your ankles. Eddie, the greedy bitch that he is, reaches between your thighs and grabs Steve’s cock, slicking it up and down the seam of you. It’s got everyone in those sensual shambles.

Steve turns his head and tugs Eddie in by his throat. “Put me inside of her. Now, Munson.”

You can’t even speak human language, having given up long ago. Eddie presses Steve in, that burning stretch causing a fullness to press against your swollen walls. You hiss, toes curling, Steve’s fingers tapping across your ankle bones. “I know, baby. Daddy always splits your little cunt open, doesn’t he? Always feels like the first time, doesn’t it?”

“So fucking full.” You whisper, taking Eddie’s fingers as they’re offered, his other hand reaching to draw circles underneath the back of your knee.

“Look at us, baby. C’mon.” He demands.

Steve fucks you slow and deep, making sure you feel every ridge and curve of his cock (as if you don’t dream of being wrecked with it more than you care to admit), a slippery glide helping you find yourself matching his movements, pushing your hips into his, spreading your legs wider, letting them slide from his hold and entwining around him, thighs pressing against his tailbone. He lifts a hand beside your head, taking Eddie’s and yours in a stern grip. You’re overloaded and that coil is expanding, bursting, ready to explode and make you implode. Steve is marveling.

“That’s it. Cum for me, honey. And I’ll let you have mine.”

You fall apart, this time your vision does spot out, both of your boyfriends struggling to stay upright. Steve releases not seconds later, rowing forward and biting above your breast when he cums, layering your pussy in a sticky sheen. He doesn’t waste a moment, though, only stopping to inhale roughly a few times, pulling himself out and watching his essence and your fresh orgasm drizzle out of you. Eddie scoops down and closes his entire mouth over your cunt, devouring and sampling, nosing crudely. You let him clean you, still throbbing and recovering.

And then there is Steve, who decides he needs some more, not minding it’s his own, so he’s burying his face in between your legs again, wiggling his tongue just enough to coax more from your sore opening. Eddie cups the back of your neck as your tongue pokes out to touch Steve’s, gathering what he gives you, Eddie welcomed into the kiss next, that slurping a noisy enchantment. “Mhm, the taste of my two favorite whores.” He states, in his matter of fact way.

Yeah, you’re gonna need to hydrate and eat up tonight.

~*~

Tagging some babes: @prettyboyeddiemunson @inklore @ethereal27cereal @littledemondani @likedovesinthewnd @corrodedhawkins @thisishellfire @gothbitchshit @indouloureux @boldlyvoid @roanniom @master-of-munsons @runningmunson @munsonquinns @cowboy-kylo @pinkchubbiebunnie @pixiemunsons @munsonmunchies @manicpixiedreamcurl @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @st-eve-barnes @oliveoilthoughts @sending-love-letters @screaming-blue-bagel @spookycreepycookie-blog @gublers-ghost @munsonxdays @hellfirehope @taurusxmun @captaincarmel164 @mrsanxiiety

I tried tagging everyone on my tag list (I tagged some mutuals that aren’t on there, so I hope that’s okay?), but I couldn’t tag some of you for some reason. I’m sorry :(

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justjasper · 5 months

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Creation of the Pan Flag

Copied (with grammar/spelling mistakes) from my twitter thread about it for posterity.

I was going to do this for Pride weekend but you know, life, so: I wanted to talk about a thing. I created the #pansexual flag, a thread.

Back in 2010, I was 20 and tumblr was my main social playground. I was active in various spheres, and I was learning.

I'd been IDing as bi since I was 13, but moved away from bi as an identifier and took up pansexual soon after discovering the term, bc I felt it fit better.

This is mainly bc the simplicity of pan being defined as attraction to any/all genders was extremely appealing to someone really coming into this new way of expressing their orientation like tumblr allowed. It felt right for how I wanted to relate to and express my orientation.

The bi communities I had access too often saw heavy discussion related to attraction parametres of "bi" - convos at the time I didn't really recognise for what they were: bi people working hard to define bisexuality on their terms, tackling intra-community transphobia, (cont)

(cont) and developing within a social space where more expansive gender experiences and identities were becomes more well known and understood.

My switch of labels was about finding something that felt truly right for me, but it would be dishonest to pretend the decision wasn't impacted by the politics and "discourse" I was involved in at the time.

There was no popular pan flag, and the offerings were frankly... ugly. To me. Various shades of purple, P letters, P symbols incorporating gender symbols, infinity symbols. They didn't feel consistent with the other pride flags.

So on a whim, I decided to design one. I designed it to be pretty, honestly. That was a primary function of it, to have s/t I liked to represent my identity. No point pretending I was trying to be super innovative and deep: I wanted something pretty to plaster on my blog.

Pink, yellow, blue. A strong magenta, a strong gold yellow, and a light cerulean. The pink not too purple, the yellow not too bright, the blue not too cyan. Hex FF1B8D, FFD900, 1BB2FF.

Pink and blue, because of their gendered traditions, and yellow, a generally non-gendered colour, to represent nonbinary folks etc.

I created it anonymously, on a side blog away from my main handle. I was already running LGBTLaughs which was proving very popular in tumblr and didn't want to monopolise queer blog space, I suppose.

I didn't expect it to take off. It proved popular on tumblr, and for a few years the flag kept getting added to the Wikipedia 'pansexual' page and then removed. Eventually it snowballed and ended up in use well beyond tumblr.

As I've got older I've realised a lot of people would be interested in knowing this part of modern queer history, and more about modern flag creation in general, and that it's worth documenting. Not for credit so much as for posterity.

So, that's that. The first time I saw a pansexual flag in real life at my city's Pride parade I may have had a little cry.

Twitter Drama

Best viewed on the original twitter thread, for the full documentation (I may update this with fuller documentation down the line) but here's a rundown of drama surrounding the flag.

First, to set the stage:

posted about designing the pan flag

said i was cool with bi/pan lesbians

said i was cool with kink at pride

Thus followed, in varying intensity 2020-2022:

misgendering

suicide bait

general harassment/pile-on

"called out" on r/pansexuals

blasted on sapphics for satan (fb)

now sworn enemy of of lesbian kpop avi twitter

claims the original pan flag was transphobic in meaning

multiple "new" pan flags designed to displace the one i designed

claims i stole the flag from a medieval indian kingdom, and subsequent vandalisation of wikipedia for the actual state of kerala

vandalisation of the wiki page for the pan flag, resulting in it having to be locked

#pan flag #pansexual #posted for posterity

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re-bee-key · 10 months

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Just watched the Tumblr Live QnA Panel, and here's some of my thoughts:

* Had to toggle on Tumblr Live to watch and agree to the terms.

The stream itself was a little low quality visually, not terrible, but either they used a low quality camera or streaming isn't up to the same quality as other sites like Tiktok

* the gifting feature that mimics Tiktok was obnoxious. Users that seem to use Tumblr Live a lot where using gifts very often. The gift icons would take up most of the screen covering chat.

Some people in chat suggested that the gifters were Staff plants to make the site seem more popular than it is. There is no way to verify if they are or are not. But these individuals talked in the chat about how they use Tumblr Live all the time, and some dont even have blogs they only use Live. Which is????

I don't like the gifting emojis. But i dont like them on Twitch or tiktok either, so shrug emoji, i guess

Questions Answered (that i remember)

* The Chronological Dashboard will stay. They mentioned this several times that tumblr, while they are going to improve the For You algorithm, the main Chronological Dashboard will not change.

* Tumblr Live apparently isn't blocked in Europe and is just waiting for approval, which is soon. They said it being blocked was misinformation. (Which i have no way to verify.)

* LGBTQA+ and specifically Trans content getting flagged or censored is a bug, apparently. They said it happens from time to time, but reporting should fix it. Users in the chat were unhappy with this answer since the issue has lasted for such a long time and doesn't seem or feel random. But they did not comment further.

* Tumblr posts being collapsable was not super addressed. They sort of skimmed over this question and just said that they try lots of new features to see what works and what doesn't. Apparently, there will be a toggle to turn this feature on or off.

* Tumblr Groups was addressed. It was shut down because not enough users used the feature.

Apparently, not many users use Tumblr Live either, but they want to keep working on it to make it appealing.

* Another bit about Tumblr Live. CEO essentially said they will not give the option to permanently toggle off the feature.

One user had asked if Tumblr had investors. CEO said, "Of course."

CEO did mention they "might" add a way to permanently turn off tumblr live. But it if they did, it would be a paid option over $20.

* One user commented that they are epileptic and that certain ads trigger their seizures because of the flashing colors and wanted to know what they would do for this issue. Tumblr CEO said "Well you could pay for No Ads."

CEO talked about paying to go ad free a lot. Saying only 25 thousand users pay for it at the moment.

Personally, it seems really irresponsible to suggest that the only way to fix an accessibility issue is for a user to pay money. As if disabled people dont have to pay enough as it is.

* I had asked if they were willing to work with more artists for Merch and Badges. They said they are working on it and there is a feature called Creatr that is set up to uplift creators and work with them on merch ideas.

I've never heard of Creatr. He seemed like we should have known what it was? Maybe they should promote that more. I know we all want more ways to support artists.

* More Badges and Achievements are coming. Apparently, a Legacy Badge that shows how long you've been on tumblr is in the works. (Im personally very excited about Badges.)

* Tumblr is thinking bout doing more QnA and even meet ups at different conventions and some even at the headquarters themselves. (They did not acknowledge questions that asked for a Headquarters video tour.)

Anyways, that was about all I can remember. Staff didn't record the panel, so hopefully, one of the other users did.

They talked about other random stuff. Calling out gifters specifically and rambling about donuts and books.

Oh, also, they brought a ball pit. Which is, yeah. Lol

#tumblr #tumblr live #tumblr staff #tumblr qna #tumblr stuff #stuff happening on tumblr #tumblr update #i dunno how to tag this #my words

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vvettell · 1 year

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i think about it at least once a week anyway but now that brazil is next i keep thinking about brazil 21 and how much of a rollercoaster ride it was the narrative was SO rich that weekend it was better than any script anyone could have written

when after mexico it felt like max already had one hand on the trophy because the points gap was big enough that lewis would have had to win all the remaining races and first the freight is stuck in miami and arrives late so teams can't work as they usually would and the first rumours pop up of lewis taking yet another ICE and it feels desperate because why would they take yet another one but then quali happens and lewis gets pole by FOUR tenths which was one of the biggest gaps we had in quali all season and it's okay because he'd start the sprint from p1 but then the race from p6 and he did a mega lap

ONLY THEN after the session reports come out about the fia checking lewis's car forever and bam lewis gets disqualified because his rear wing flap opened only 0.02mm more than it should on one side and merc fight it immediately and video emerges of max touching lewis's rear wing in parc ferme after rb had been baffled by merc's straight line speed and newey met the fia about it but the stewards refuse to come to a decision that day and it feels like the championship is already over just hand the trophy to max while the merc admin is posting about lewis being the dj in the garage as if nothing's happening so saturday happens and merc lose the appeal and max gets fined 50k for touching another car in parc ferme

lewis starts the sprint dead last and has one of THE drives and gets 4 cars in the first lap alone and ends up p5 on the grid in a matter of 24 laps which sets a record for most overtakes in that amount of time and it kinda feels like you're watching something special like history being made like maybe..... but WAIT!!! he still has to take the engine penalty

so sunday comes around and lewis starts the race p10 and gets up to p2 after a small battle with checo and the car is so fast lewis is catching and catching and on lap 48 he tries to overtake max in turn 4 who doesn't even TRY to turn the car and punts him into argentina basically and the stewards don't even note it and wheatley is on the radio about how it's all about letting them race and hard racing while merc complains and masi tells them they've looked at it from all angles which turns out to be a bold faced lie after the race because they didn't have max's onboard and couldn't see his steering inputs at all and he's not referring it to the stewards and lewis puts his head down and sets it up and gets a beautiful move done 1 lap later the crowd goes absolutely wild and after the last two races in that triple header it feels like this championship is on again

he picks up a brazilian flag from a marshal in the cool down lap and drives the lap with it and brazilian commentary literally chokes up on live air and lewis stands on the podium with the brazilian flag around him and brazil celebrates him like he's their own and call him the boss and it was the most beautiful thing he came back from what was essentially a 25 place grid penalty and overtook every single car on the grid some of them even twice and still WON!!!!!

#just ......#i don't think i ever slept as little bc of f1 as during that weekend lmao #ALSO honourable mention to seb joking about touching hamilton's rear #funniest moment in all of this tbh #lewis hamilton #brazil 21 #what a race #i need a rewatch tbh #txt

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 7 months

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The Dutchess of Camden

Hobie wants to take Diane to her first punk show. And she has just the outfit. (a.k.a How Diane got her punk battlejacket - aka I saw this photo of Fran Fine and laughed so hard.)

DiscoPunk - DiscoSpider!Diane x Hobie Brown - PURE FLUFF. More fluff than a cappucino with extra foam. FLUFFY

Also this post was largely inspired by @spidey-bie and their post about Ansi & Hobie!!

______________________________________

Diane isn't punk.

With chiffon skirts and silk shirts and glittery nails and light up roller-wheels - if anything, she was the farthest thing from it. But that never stopped her, did it?

Without a doubt, she was still Hobie's #1 fan.

Hobie had only known Diane a couple of weeks - and it was only four months ago that he'd met her that in that darkened club, a Daiquiri on her lips and a joint at her fingertips.

And since then, the party hadn't stopped.

Hobie didn't have an explanation for it - but for some reason, Diane seemed to like him. If anything, she seemed to adore him. And that in itself wasn't a rarity -

She just wasn't afraid to show it.

Out of a room full of people, she'd be the one to approach him first. In a cafeteria full of tables, she was the one to ask if she could sit at his, just because 'y'all seem like you're having fun'.

And regardless of what anyone had to say about it, to Hobie - that only added to the appeal. Because Diane said it all the time -

'Closed mouths don't get fed - Ain't that right?'

Over the weeks, he'd gotten used to her face, front row at SpiderBand's every show. He'd gotten use to her laugh, and the way she'd smile every time he told a joke - no matter how unoriginal. How he could make her laugh without fail.

He'd gotten use to the way he felt when he knew she was there, safe somewhere nearby.

Like praying for someone to turn up to school that day, and then hearing that they did.

And did having her on his arm, his voice in her ear, an inside joke between the two of them - mean them anything?

Hobie didn't know. And he didn't care.

It didn't matter what Diane being at his side made her - as long as she wasn't going anywhere.

And so he'd bring her along for the ride, as long as she'd let him.

Hobie and Diane had known weeks, and she was never shy to invite herself, asking for permission to tag along any place that sounded funky enough for her to find it far out.

And he was never one to tell her 'No'.

But there was one place she'd yet to go - and that was 138.

"Oi, I'm taking you to a rock show tonight. It's in 138, so try to blend in, alright?"

"Of course!" she says. "I've been waiting for this! I have just the outfit."

And then she turns up in this.

Diane looks at him and goes "What'd I tell ya!"

She's so proud of herself. She thinks she's killing it. She brought that outfit the month she met him and she's been waiting for this moment.

She's like -

Hobie has to cover his face. Because if he looks at her - he's gonna start laughing. Cause what iN THE HELL-

Hobie looks at her like -

"Di, where'd you get that?"

She's like "Malala (Spider-UK). It's SO CUTE right. I look all posh!"

Hobie is like "You look like a Spice Girl. You look like Scary Spice and Ginger Spice had a baby."

Diane takes a moment to assess the situation. She reads his body language. And of course she's like "I feel very complimented but your tone of voice is saying otherwise, Hobart."

Cause what do you mean??? she absolutely understood the assignment!!!

Hobie takes a moment. He loves the enthusiasm, but still, he considers a way to break it to her softly, before telling her "Yo, me and my mates be setting that flag on fire-"

"Good cause it looks fire on ME."

And.. She's not lying. So what's the problem?!?

Hobie doesn't have one. And it'll be a frigid day in hell before he tells Diane to change - for any reason, clothes or otherwise.

He asks her if she'd dead set on wearing it, and she's goes "What- do you think the skirt is too tight to dance in? I can. Don't worry, I checked."

If she's going to have a good time, that's all he cares about. And Hobie just smiles, telling her if that's the case then the outfit is bloody perfect.

Because somehow Diane finding the most perfectly coordinated outfit regardless of crowd, vibe, occasion, or time of day, seemed so entirely her.

Not faking it for him in ripped fishnets or studded clothes. Turning up in her perfect black stockings and the most painfully British outfit she could find.

And it wasn't until she pointed to him, that he understood why. "I wanted to match - you know, your pin." she says, pressing a manicured nail to his lapel. "It's my favorite one."

To him, the outfit is perfect. Funny as hell, but perfect.

"Brilliant taste you have." "Couldn't you tell from my taste in boys?"

The whole 'blending in' thing went out the window. But the outfit is a hit.

People couldn't help but notice the 6 foot girl who wore stilettos and a Union Jack to the function. A regular in the circuit, Hobie couldn't help but stay by her side - watching amused as she looked around the shitty backalley venue like it was a palace.

It was so different from the discos.

Diane couldn't help but marvel at how 'Hobie' the world seemed. "You're still the coolest thing here, though." She tells him over and over.

Hobie makes sure to keep an arm over her shoulder, not out of possessiveness, but the fact that Diane was liable to drifting off, eyes dazzled at how cool and punk and textured and rough everything seemed, how vibrant people were.

And Hobie loved it.

He wants her to love it, to enjoy herself. To smile and laugh and go on and on about how funky everything was. "But like - in a you way."

He wanted her to have a good time, but Hobie knew eventually, someone would say something.

And it came with a laugh.

"Christ, that's gotta be the funniest thing I've seen tonight." A guy wearing red liberty spikes said, and Hobie recognized him as Ned, a guitarist in some straight edge band.

And the girl at his side, Betty, grinned as she laughed along.

And Hobie wondered if he should scare them off, or give Diane a chance to bite their heads off first. Until Betty said-

"Fuck. I wish I'd thought of that."

"Huh?" Diane asked pointedly, seemingly more annoyed at the distribution of her Hobie-induced haze than anything else.

"Ain't that a giant 'fuck you' to the fascists - a black chick wearing their 'heritage' like it's the new spring collection - I'd pay to see the first skinhead that had a butchers at you," Betty said and she was a black girl herself, hair in neat boxbraids. "They'd be fucking fuming."

Diane side-eyed Hobie for a translation, and Hobie smirked, leaning in closer to her ear. "That's a good thing," he assured her, voice teeming with pride as he gave her shoulder a squeeze.

Because pissing off skinheads was very much a compliment.

Diane raised her eyebrows, because she surely couldn't tell. But, if Hobie said it, she was willing to take his word on it.

"Thank you..?" She chuckled, a hand on Hobie's arm. "Sorry, I ain't that good at speaking British. Hobie usually translates for me - Thank God he speaks American or I'd be so lost -"

"And she's American - that's fucking hilarious. No wonder she doesn't give a fuck." Ned said, grinning, pointing to her top.

And finally, Diane looked down - as if she'd just noticed what they meant.

"The flag?" She questioned, pouting her lips in confusion. "Am I supposed to give a fuck about the flag?"

"You aren't." Betty said. "That's what's so punk about it."

Her face lit up. Diane didn't speak British, but that she understood.

And she had to turn her face into Hobie's shoulder to not squeal. They said her perfect outfit was punk!

They said she was Punk!

Hobie stiffled his laughter, pulling Diane closer as he reached up to ruffle her perfectly curled hair.

Diane bit back her euphoria as she composed herself, flattered beyond belief. And to the pair in front of her, Diane said -

"Why, thank you!" mimicking a curtsey, head bowed and knees bent.

The pair burst out laughing.

And then, they did the same, playing along.

"Pleasure is ours, Your Majesty.~" Betty snickered, nudging Ned to get him to play along, and the dark-skinned boy did the same. "And to whom do we owe the honor?" he asked.

"Diane." Hobie said, squeezing her at the waist for a moment, and before she could tell them otherwise, Hobie said. "Call her Dutchess, yeah?"

Betty held back a snort. "Dutchess - She the Dutchess of Camden then?"

"Brilliant, you two." Ned said. "Leave it to Hobie to find a cheeky one."

Diane was glowing in his arms.

"The Duchess of Camden." Hobie said, a smirk coming to his lips. He adored the sound of it. "That she is. A national treasure, this one." And he believed it.

Hobie couldn't help but drink in the joy on Diane's face.

The name was so prestigious sounding - glamourous even - and Diane had no idea what the hell a Dutchess was, but she damn sure knew what royalty meant.

But nothing could compare to Hobie's words.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, drinking in the flattery. And when she looked at Hobie her eyes were elated, dazzled to share the moment with him.

"Oh my, What a Prince Charming!" Diane laughed, wrapping her arms around Hobie. Who knew people in his universe would be just as cool, as interesting, as kind?

Who knew that not caring or thinking about British culture at all - not trying to make a statement, or say much of anything at all, could be punk? Hobie didn't.

Somehow, though, Diane managed to work miracles.

"Well, Dutchess," Ned said. "I take it you and Prince Charming here fancy a cordial invitation to the pub after this?"

Diane's jaw nearly dropped. "A Pub, like a Tavern?" And she couldn't imagine anything more British than a tavern. "Like the kind that serves pints? Just say the word and I'll call my horse-drawn carriage!"

Dutchess rode carriages, right? Who else would?

Betty shook her head, a grin on her lips. "Enjoy the show, Your Highness." she said, lacing her fingers with Ned's before weaving them back into the crowd.

For a second, Diane didn't say anything - cheeks glowing with the smile she was fighting back. Hobie wished he could make her feel that way forever.

"Well Punk royalty, how do you feel?" he asked, his voice low enough just for her to hear.

"You know," Diane said, turning to look at him, and slowly she laced her arms around his neck. "With this dimension time travel stuff - it's like you're the Punk Doctor Who, and I'm your companion, right? You know that British show, Doctor Who? The watch is like our Tardis-"

"Diane," Hobie said. "Never change."

__________________________

Hobie didn't know what this made him, but he didn't care.

He'd take Diane any place she'd follow. Any place she'd follow, he'd want her there.

Even here, on the curb of a street somewhere in London. Outside of a 24-hour Chip Shop at 3am.

Diane had followed him to 138 - and in return he'd followed her to a punk show. And then to an afterparty, and then to a pub, and then another.

And more and more people came over, to laugh and talk, to invite her into the community. And bit by her bit, her 'perfect' outfit had gained color.

A pin passed on from a friend, a patch someone would pull off their jacket, fishing for bobby pins to pin it to hers. A clover patch to match his pin, an A sprawled across the front like The Scarlet Letter.

Hobie couldn't describe the way Diane looked at him every time, the way she squeezed his hand and didn't let go. But that didn't matter. He just wanted her to do it more and more.

By stop two, she was complaining about her feet. But come 20 minutes, without fail - there she was, hanging on his sleeve. Asking him to leave so they could go someplace more her speed, 'hipper to the groove'.

And he'd always say 'Yes'. There wasn't a moment of it that he regretted.

He'd follow her anywhere, because he knew she'd do the same. And now, sitting on the curb on some random street in East London, Diane had the beginnings of her own battle jacket.

And a backpatch to match his, with her own addition:

'Punk's Not Dead.' 'He's back at my place.'

Hobie popped open the box of takeout, steam escaping as he lifted the flaps on the fish & chips. Beside him, Diane rolled her eyes in ecstasy at just the smell of it, throwing her head back in excitement.

Needless to say, Diane was plastered.

"You spoil me." she squealed leaning in closer to gaze at the sacred food that sat in Hobie's lap, her arm looped with his as the smell of fresh battered fish rose from the box.

Hobie lifted up a bit of fish, holding it out to Diane. "You ever tried this? Can't say you've been to London until you have. Like going to New York and leaving without the pizza." he smirked, eager to see her reaction - that look in her eyes.

Diane leaned forward, taking a bite of the fish without even taking it from his hand - too drunk to care.

"I don't know if it's because I'm drunk, or because I'm with you - but British food is so good." she snickered, stealing a chip from the box.

Carefully, she sniffed it.

"It has vinegar." he told her, watching as Diane nodded seriously, before pointing the chip at the box. "And that?" she asked.

"Mushy peas."

"Mushed peas?" Diane said, part bewildered, but mostly disgusted. "Mushed peas - is that what you said?"

Hobie snickered. "You ain't gotta eat them. I'll eat them if you don't want to-"

"You're gonna eat them?!" Diane demanded, jaw agape. "I was just complimenting you're national cuisine and now you're offering me pea sludge?" she laughed, almost in disbelief.

"You ain't gotta eat the pea sludge, Dutchess. Dump it in the harbor if you wanna kick off. That's what you all do, yeah?"

Now Diane's expression turned to shock. "Don't compare me to a Bostoner! As a New Yorker, I take offense to that." she said, stealing another chip. "You don't see me calling you a Birmingham-nite or whatever."

"Brummie -" Hobie corrected. "Surprised you know about them."

"I don't." Diane assured him. "I just know they exist."

Hobie grinned, taking a bite of fish, as for once - London seemed quiet around them.

No loud music. No crowd, or laughter, no anything. Just them. And Hobie realized that this was the first time they'd been alone - since that night they'd met, four months ago.

And he still felt the same as he did back then - in the alleyway behind the club, bathed in neon lights.

He had slipped into her world to find her - and now here she was, slipping in to his. And here, now, with her post-show hair, and smudged red lips, and blurred eye-liner. In her spray-painted jacket, and a hangover around the corner - he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Hobie -" Diane asked, eyes far away. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did." he snickered, simply because he knew it would get her attention. Diane grinned, even despite herself, and she shoved his shoulder.

But he could tell, whatever it was - she meant it. "Anything." he said.

"Why do you.. let me follow you around?" she asked, and even to her, the words felt clumsy, clouded by nerves and 4 pints of beer.

"I mean - Why do you put up with it?" she asked, voice barely at whisper. And for the first time, it was like she couldn't look at him. And yet he couldn't look away.

"With what everyone says. I mean - I know that you hear it. And..I'm not subtle about it. But you never complain. Or tell me to go away. I guess at a certain point, a part of me thought that maybe you just...didn't want to hurt my feelings, I guess."

Diane said, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

"But then, you invited me here. And you've been so kind to me all night. Even though I'm just some chick who shows up to your shows. And, I don't know how to thank you, or why you do it." she said, voice barely a whisper.

"Because I know that you care. Cause I can tell you do." Hobie said. "And I can tell you don't want nothing of me. You aren't asking me for romance or anything. We can just be together. Wherever. And that's enough. More than enough." Hobie said, and to him, the answer came easy. Now that it was her who was asking.

And maybe that was it. "We're enough for each other."

And she was more than enough for him. More than enough for him to watch to keep her around, and then some.

Diane's expression softened, the lump in her throat growing. "Thank you," she said. "For never making me feel like I was annoying. Or like I wasn't worth your time."

For making her feel like she was enough, always.

"You are worth my time, Daiquiri." Hobie said, and he reached up to brush a stray curl from Diane's face. "Don't want you to ever think otherwise. I don't know why you do it - what I did to deserve it.

But it doesn't matter. I ain't letting you get rid of me now."

Beside him, Diane grinned, hanging her head in bashfulness.

"I'd kiss your cheek right now, if I didn't smell of fish and vinegar right now." she told him, and instead, so instead she pressed a kiss to her fingers, before smooshing it in his face.

Hobie snorted, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer. Pressing kisses to her forehead, even as she faked a grimace. Because he didn't care about fish or vinegar or anything else. Just her.

Diane laughed, shoving away from him just as Hobie asked "And what about you?"

"What about me?" "Why do you do it?" he asked. "I mean, could have any bloke on any Earth. But you choose me."

And he would never understand it, but he would always be grateful.

For a moment, Diane had to think about it - and Hobie wondered if she ever questioned it herself. Or if she just did what made her happy, and worried about any bridge when she came to it.

Diane shrugged a bit, stealing another chip as she thought, eyes lidded and voice quiet under the haze of alcohol.

"I dunno. You make me feel safe, I guess." She said, and maybe it was that simple. Because saying it felt right.

"I don't have to worry - about you laughing at me, or judging me, slutshaming me. You don't think I'm stupid, or annoying. I mean, you let me wear this outfit, you made me feel good about it. So I trust you."

Because she could tell he cared too.

Hobie grinned, leaning forward to brush his nose against hers, their own form of kiss. "And that's enough for you to treat me as good as you do?"

"I mean, we met when I was shitfaced drunk." Diane said, well aware she was probably shitfaced right now. "In a club, basically throwing myself at you - and you somehow got me home and into bed." And she snickered at the memory alone. "You even put my bonnet on me."

"You were there the first time I saw the Sun. Or a sunset. I guess I feel like if you're there, it'll be okay. Or like, super far out - groovy, psychedelic, absolutely dynamite!"

She laughed. "Like tonight. Thanks for tonight, Hobie."

"Anything for you, Dutchess." he told her.

"Look at you, treating me like Queen Eliza." "Elizabeth." "Does it matter?"

Did it matter what they were?

"Not at all."

Because they were enough.

_-_-_-_-_-_

"Are you actually going to eat the pea sludge?" "What, is that a crime, your highness?" "No, but it should be."

_____________________________________________

Hobie will keep Diane ignorant about British culture, if it's the last thing he does. He finds it really, really funny.

And that's the story of how Diane got her punk jacket, why Hobie calls her 'Dutchess', and why they stick with each other through everything. UUHHHH N-E-WAY I think this might be like my first DiscoPunk fic holymotherof!!!!! I LOVE THEM. I LOVE THEM. I LOVE THEM I LOVE THEM. Let your OCs be loved. If you read this far thank you so much! It genuinely means a lot, so thank you for your time! In an act of gratitude here is Hobie

(thats them im gonna go cry)

#Diane: British people are so silly and funny look at me I'm Bri'ish #Pavi: look at I I'm Bri'ish I like stealing other countries artifacts #I LOVE NON-CONVENTIONAL RELATIONSHIPS #MY BABIES MY BABIES #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #NOT proofread but full of LOVE #spidersonas #spidersona #hobie x oc #hobie brown x oc #oc art #my ocs

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jazeswhbhaven · 4 months

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Blog/Game Update! 12.27

Hey all (ｏ´・ε・｀ｏ)

Hope your holiday was great spent with your loved ones, yourself, furbabies, etc. <3 With the new year coming up I just want to give some highlights of what's to come with this blog!

-tumblr staff STILL has not answered me about my previous blog jazeswhbvault...and what's weird about it is that they flagged my Bimet event post which had 0 nudity in it....and I put in an appeal and it was fixed within a couple hours. And yet...crickets on my visibility for the fucking blog itself lol So it's safe to say this one will be my permanent one. I'm still keeping the old one up as none of the posts have been delted. I also downloaded all of the content in a backup zip file in case it does get deleted so I can repost them here.

-after I finish posting the last react posts for the past event, I will dedicate the rest of the week/year to responding to all of the requests/asks I've received including the ones on the old blog. I'll have them post on a time-based schedule so you won't see a huge influx all at once

-now for the game itself the admin of the WHB updates twitter sent in a long email for PB to answer and it sounds like there's some promise to look forward to in regards of Solomon seals, and other concerns players have had. for now, they have addressed that they are looking into giving us 500 seals per month without paying for them and looking for other ways for us to earn them. Now, for the lesser keys being used for a limited banner pull they mentioned the game's design makes it difficult for this to be possible and could take some time due to manpower/other factors. to me, that's understandable so I'm cool with the free seals per month because honestly I'd probably just save up on those anyway. There's more to be addressed, so I'll be tuning into that once the admin posts it. Source -> Boom, click here

-i also would like to thank all players who are being generous in sharing content they've unlocked in the cards, chats, just anything. for someone who is a f2p,budget gacha person who just loves writing content and headcanons this is very helpful and keeps me in the know so I won't have outdated info for my requests/fics to go off of.

-so i checked my google form on audio reacts and it looks like a good chunk of the responses just want me to go for it! ^^ thank you all who participated, i'll make sure that the react is a good one That's it for now lovelies <3 please continue to be awesome, I will get to your requests, and thank you for all interactions -your lovely admin (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

#whb #what in hell is bad #jwhbhaven blog updates🖤#whb game #look a wall of text

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passports-pls · 8 months

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I was very disappointed in the lack of quality Mine playlists so I made my own 🤞

Listen here

you COULD listen to it in your own free time OR you could listen to it alongside my mentally insane directors commentary 😌

(under the cut)

for the sake of this post not getting too long I am grouping all the important songs into different categories pertaining to the different eras of mine tm

Pre-Daigo Misery (Nobody - The Other Woman)

This section is mostly abt Mine being a lonely little weirdo (characterised mostly by the smiths unsurprisingly) and because this era lacks a lot of actual content my notes are less specific between songs

There are actually so many male manipulator songs that fit too perfectly with Mine in this part of his life that I couldn't resist like I'm sorry but creep by radiohead is LITERALLY about him i don't make the rules

Okay but I do find 'Heaven Knowns Im Miserable Now' so funny in this context because I'm sure Mine was forcing himself into the yakuza expecting it to be so much easier to have close connections with these other men compared to his previous 9-5, only to find its almost exactly like his 9-5 just with more crime

'Salvatore' and 'Therefore I Am' are specifically the songs I attach to his bateman-esque grindset and his bubbling hatred for most of the people he works with dsfgf

okay but THE OTHER WOMAN ASWELL. It's literally mine you wouldn't understand. He dedicates so much time to taking care of himself and setting himself up to be an actual catch of a man and yet,, no one gives a shit about him despite all the effort he puts into his lifestyle to appeal to the ppl around him

LIKE??? Kicking and screaming he's so lana del ray coded

Just the sheer depression of this era i feel so bad for him

Yandere-mode activated (Can't Get You Out of My Head - The Killing Moon)

Self explanatory however actually finding songs that pertain to his specific brand of obsession was surprisingly difficult sfdsf

Although I will say that I cope and seethe at the fact that I had to sift through Killing Stalking playlists to settle on most of these songs gfdgsf

Theres such a delicate balance between the right amount of fluff and insanity that very few songs capture without being about literal stalking

like no in this case the stalker fucking won

that and vibes of idolizing Daigo like a god, I think 'Out of Touch' and 'Stolen Dance' do this the best

And freak because I can only imagine in all of Mine's relationships it's always been purely transactional and no ones ever put in the effort to actually talk and get to know Mine in any intimate form.

my poor touch starved blorbo

FEELINGS TM (Romantic Homicide - How to Dissapear)

THIS SECTION I FEEL GREATLY ABOUT

These songs to me are all about how Mine copes with Daigo's hospitalisation and when he wakes up. His whole internal battle surrounding his premature grief and his loss of connection with Daigo because could no longer see him as a truly living thing anymore

'Change' specifically hits when you think about it in this context. Because it's not so much about any real change in Daigo himself it's all about Mine's mental image of him now (because let's be real, Mine was way more in love with the idealised version he had of Daigo more than anything tangible about him)

IFHY is a little more of any iffy choice but I think it still convey's a lot about how conflicted Mine likely felt as well as just continuing his Yandere behaviour just in a much more sinister flavour

Okay but here's where my favourite song of the entire list is

WHITE FLAG BABY

admittedly it's completely self indulgent and ties into the mine-lives theory. But just the guilt and shame Mine felt when he see's that Daigo was indeed alive and that he was going to have to explain the past few weeks to him

yeah i would've thrown myself off that roof as well

also the lyric "I will go down with this ship" paralleling his "everyone abandons ship eventually" line just tickles my brain in the best way

'Door' and 'I Guess' are also just Mine guilt tm as well

'I guess' even more specifically because he's literally attached himself to daigo like a parasite and now he's thinking daigo's gonna break up with him I just AUGH

He KNOWS he's completely fucked up but I don't think he realises how much of a pushover Daigo is just yet and that he would have forgiven him eventually gjfdg

I'll probably update this with more notes as I remember them but for now I hope y'all enjoy the playlist!

#mine yoshitaka #rgg #ryu ga gotoku #yakuza #character playlist #Yakuza 3 #playlist #now I can finally listen to Mine flavoured goodness without gritting my teeth #Spotify

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dizzymoogle · 5 months

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To show you how much of a joke Twitter is:

I made pretty much the same post over on Twitter this morning for the Anniversary of Final Fantasy XV. A few hours later I get a notification telling me my post had been marked as sensitive content.

The post in question:

I was told I could appeal it, which I did. I wrote:

"This post is about the Anniversary of a video game. The post doesn't have anything hateful, gorey, violent, sensitive, or nsfw in it. The game in question isn't even rated mature"

An hour later they send me this joke:

"Careful review"....sure Jan. 🙄

I don't even think they have real people doing anything on the site anymore. I think it's all done by bots/AI

I see full on nudity on Twitter constantly and yet I get flagged? And don't even get me started on the spam and bots running rampant on the site...that nothing is being done about.

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themessengervevo · 5 months

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Hello my followers. Today I'm posting something that's not a piece of art I made or a responce to an ask, because I need your help. Several days ago, with the help of my very supportful art teacher, I made a Google account and a Youtube channel as well. She wanted me to post my music on there because she liked it alot and wanted other people to discover it as well. I shared those thoughts too. I also wanted to have a Google account as well because I had one up until 2019 where a phone number being removed caused it to instantly remove my access to the Google account, and thus the Youtube channels I had, which included an earlier instance of a channel dedicated to my music. My most succesful channel only had a slight big over a hundred subscribers.

So I got the Google account, and the Channel set up to where I wanted it and started work on the first upload. It was supposed to a full upload of my album "Suffering Embedded in Logic" with a remastering done by me. I completed the full upload, and even gone through the effort of verifying my account for the purpose of being able to upload a one hour video without hassle. I uploaded it, the copyright checks went through fine, and I uploaded it to the channel. I, obviously considering the big steps I took to getting here, advertised it everywhere, and I wanted to advertise it on this account as well. But then, after a total of three days since creating the account, and not even a day after uploading the video, I was greated to a screen.

It said my video was removed because my account has been terminated. I was obviously very much distressed by this. What could've caused this termination? Why? Was it the full album I posted? Was it something completely different? Did I spent all this time wishing to have a channel again to then be euthanized like that? So I sent an appeal to Youtube regarding my channel.

I got an email confirming that they were looking into the appeal, and that I would get it in around 2 business days.

All well and good, right? Well, I woke up today to this lovely message in my Inbox:

This was obviously shocking to me. In the email regarding my termination, Youtube said my channel had "severe or repeated violations of [their] Community Guidelines". I believe that I wasn't doing anything that could break their Guidelines. What part of the Guidelines I was apparently breaking was not detailed in any way, so in my appeal I said for them to atleast guide me to where in the Guidelines I was breaking these rules, but in their reply not only did they not tell what I was apparently breaking, but doubled down on their decision and are keeping me terminated. Fun little fact, you can only make ONE appeal to them, and no more.

This was infuriating to say the least. Not only did they banned someone who didn't do anything, they didn't even include a reason or anything so at to why they did this. So in their Feedback form thing, I wrote them this:

Please, PLEASE read this fully if you want to see my thoughts on this, but if you really can't, here is a "tl;dr" on my thoughts.

I have 2 working theories that might explain why I was inexplicably banned from this platform. And both arent the brightest in their image.

The first theory I have is that this is all a work of a Bot that just so decided to screw over a person for some false reasoning that it sticked to. This theory is confirmed by several support threads on Google's own support forums regarding this exact issue (which are still being made to this day), the one linked as an example. From there, I saw many a person talk about their channels being unfairly banned for unexplained reasons, including a small martial arts group that were only uploading clips of them. that martial arts group got the reasoning of "spam, deceptive practices, and misleading material" for their ban. I believe their network of bots sometimes falsely flag people and terminate them, and that human support doesn't come to correct these bots for many of the smaller people, resulting in an unfair permanent banning. As such, I proposed for them to give reasons as to why they ban people, as well as up the amount of appeals you can do, as well as for them to make their bots better.

The second theory though has more serious allegations. I don't usually talk about where I live, mostly for privacy concerns and also that I believe you shouldn't give out all your information for strangers online, but I have to talk about it for this part. I live in Russia. I have been living in Russia for my whole life. It isn't the best place to live in my opinion, but I've been stuck on this patch of land since I was born. Ever since the Russo-Ukranian War started, the already somewhat negative outlook of people outside of Russia has dropped significantly, many people from there who catered to people outside of Russia received many threats. One of my best friends, who I like to call Reggie, that is working in a store dedicated to people with Autism, had to stop working in Global markets because there was so much hate for Russians at the time that the Dollar-to-Ruble ratio dropped massively, and it was just too much. Many sites put sanctions on Russian sectors, including PayPal, which led to many Russians who used it to basically be poor. Which leads me to believe this: The reason why Youtube terminated my account with no explanation is because either it's human support is xenophobic, or that Youtube itself is xenophobic. I do not like this though, but I'm more and more convinced that this is the case.

Which leads me to a wider discussion of how Youtube is fundamentally broken. From letting big youtubers to stay on the platform despite them breaking their own rules, to many spam comments and scam accounts that exist solely to harvest subscribers and unsuspecting victims, to the whole ElsaGate debocle an how it returned in BIG amounts with Youtube doing nothing, to innocent channels getting silenced and punished for just existing, I believe that what Youtube meant in "making sure that Youtube is a safe place to all" is that they would make sure that Youtube is a safe place to all the big channels that are making money for them, which include scammers, botted accounts, hacks, and big television networks. I say NO to that. I say

FUCK

YOUTUBE

Youtube has shown to be late to things that should've been resolved way earlier, that they do not care about serious violations of their rules unless it is explicitly called out on Twitter, that they are inherently racist, homophobic, and xenophobic as was shown in many cases prior to this one (CoryXKenshin immediately brings to my mind), and that they will let their biggest cashcows to continue thriving on their platform and giving them money, even if they are the most scummiest creatures of this earth. This should NOT be how Youtube is. It should be a safe community for many people to go about their lives posting things they want to do, knowing they are safe from the threats of people who would gladfully steal their work knowing they are bigger than you and can get away with it or the system not banning them for arbitrary things they dont know. It should be safe for all, but its only safe for the biggest. So I again say

FUCK

YOUTUBE

Please spread my story everywhere you can. Reblog this, crosspost this, blaze it, share it anywhere (but especially on Twitter) you can to let my story be known. Please let everyone know how broken Youtube is, and keep fighting. Even when my Youtube account gets restored, keep. fighting. Keep fighting for the hope that Youtube will FINALLY listen to their cries, and that they will start fixing their shit, because any win we have is one step towards a truly safe place for all. If you have/had any experiences like this, or you live in Russia as well, tell me your thoughts and your story! Hopefully, this will lead to more stories of Youtube being in the wrong, and this will lead to a better future.

Hope you read and understood all of this.

So now that you have read of my channel's unfortunate sudden end, you might be wondering this:

"Well that was sad to hear, but how can I help YOU specifically?"

Glad you're asking that! I would love to have your support in any way. So here are places where you can help!

Tumblr

Obviously, considering you where you're currently are, you can support me here on Tumblr by reblogging and following this blog, as well my side blog @mailyftw! Here I post the art I make, as well as any serious announcements, while on the side blog I like reposting various things and showing whatever doodles I made today. It would be very helpful for me. You can also support me on Newgrounds, it's basically my side art archive, and also a music archive! Speaking of music,

Bandcamp

This is where I primarily upload my music on. I've been making Caretaker-like music since 2020, and I would love for you lot to hear it, espcially since I improved from that time. I may upload the remastered version of the album I mentioned earlier with some new tracks added, since I was planning to do this for a while now. I also host on there my supergroup The Haggstrom's albums. We've had some stuff out for a while to enjoy, infact we're making an album ABOUT the problems Youtube has! We have a dedicated server where you can talk about them and even make a submission for our projects, so if you want to support not only my work but the collective works of many people, you can do so by clicking this sentence! It would be very much appreciated, since work has exponentially slowed down there.

WeVidi and BitView

These two Youtube alternatives is where I currently upload my work to. On WeVidi, I upload content related to my music, particularly my albums. And on BitView I upload everything else basically, including memes and animation (hopefully soon). If you want to support me on there, please make an account on these platform and subscribe and share my videos, it will not only help me to be seen, but also help these revivals to thrive as more people see them. Hopefully, they won't lead to a Vidlii situation! Hopefully.

Socials, also known as "Other"

If you want to support me somewhere else, here are some other places I frequent: - SpaceHey! It's a revival of MySpace, and it's really great. I'm always on there, and I sometimes make bulletins or blogs. Friend me if you want! I'll accept most people that are sane and like the things I like. - Discord! Message me at the___messenger and maybe friend me too! Again, I'll accept most people that are sane and like the things I like. If you're one of the "big people", and you want to interview me, go ahead! Though please, link this blog post and the big places I'm in, and be mindful that I don't have the best camera in the world so I'll most likely be doing this in text or on phone. - Reddit! I'm active on there under Spot_Mark, you can message me if you want. Again, I'll accept most people that that are sane and like the things I like, or people wanting to interview me. - Escargot! If you are particularly privy, you can message at [email protected]. Once again, I'll accept most people that that are sane and like the things I like, or people wanting to interview me. Note that you'll need an escargot account and a copy of Windows Live Messenger, preferably 8.5, to even begin messaging. - Anywhere else! I'm on many platforms and places, usually on the smaller side. You can find me under "TheMessengerVEVO" or a similar name on a place. Any support will be thankful. - I'm considering getting a Boosty account for people to help me monetarily, since we here are basically scraping by, plus the wole PayPal nonsense. Hopefully yall could help when it comes out, if at all.

If you supported me because of this, I have nothing but the biggest thanks for you! I'll try updating you on this situation as it goes on, and hopefully it will result in things actually being done. I'm very scared of whatever might come, and also relieved now that I revealed the whole Russia thing. I wanted to reveal that anyway for the past couple of months. Anyway, I hope this gets big and gets the attention of Youtube!

- May our strength guide us forwards, The Messenger.

#text post #the caretaker #everywhere at the end of time #russia #peace #peace and love #youtube #fuck youtube #please reblog #pls reblog #please share #it would be very much appreciated #drama #2023

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