#i never looked st them long enough

[dokyeomini]

what stuck to my head from the gallery visit today were 2 typography posters

#two typefaces designed by students #most were barely readable and broke my brain #or were almost good but a bit messy #but the 2 that stuck out to me were total opposites #but they both /made sense/ #there's not much else i remember from the visit slgndlh #maybe one poster that jad a good idea #what i learned from the visit tho.. #was that with posters it was never the minjte details or the technique that caught my eye #i never looked st them long enough #so as long as it gave off the idea it was perfect to me #also bc i didn't bring my glasses... thin oines were a no go #tho i know sometime you DON'T want to simplify things #sometimes you want to make people look closer #maybe squint their eyes to figure out wtf the letters are slgjdlh #depends on the concept ig

[sleepingdead96]

Prepared for Anything Part Three

What was with Danny’s luck and fires? He wondered as he searched a warehouse he’d come across for survivors. He’d been flying home(invisibly of course) when a nearby building had exploded. Flames licked at the grease spattered floor and ate at old crates, but the biggest issue was the smoke. It billowed thickly like the smog that filled Gotham’s skies, and impeded even Danny’s enhanced vision. He could taste the ash in the air. He knew there were people here. He heard someone coughing and the sound of fighting going on ahead. 

He forged onward, dashing towards the sounds, and the layers of smoke lessened enough for Danny to see what was taking place.

The first thing he noticed was the scuffle. About a dozen of what were clearly henchmen fired guns and grappled with. . .

Danny sighed.

More vigilantes.

One wore purple and had long, blonde hair. The other wore black with gold accents, and a mask covered her face. Both sides of the fight wore rebreathers.

The second thing Danny noticed was the red vigilante with bandoliers across his chest, bound with chains, and hanging by the ceiling. He hung over a vat of boiling oil that was alit with flames.

. . .

. . .

What was this? Some scene from a childrens’ cartoon?

Danny hurried forward, egged on by the lung Red was hacking up, one who very much was not wearing a rebreather.

Danny pointed a finger at the chain suspending the poor vigilante, and shot a small ecto-blast from the tip. The chain broke.

The vigilante screamed as he fell towards the boiling vat and Danny leapt to intercept him mid-air.

“Huu—“ The vigilante huffed at the impact, Danny’s shoes squealing as he landed and skidded to a halt.

The red guy wheezed. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Couldn’t just leave you hanging around, now could I?” Danny grinned.

Tim groaned.

Danny didn’t think the vigilante had room to complain.

Immediately, they were beset by attackers.

“Oop.” Danny dodged a bullet, shifting only the needed inch to avoid it. “Hey! Watch it! I’ve got cargo!”

“Carg—?!” The vigilante tried, only to hack again. He sounded offended. Danny didn’t really care.

A few goons were closing in on them from all sides, and Danny found it highly annoying that they were interfering with his mission to get this damsel in distress outside to fresh air. It wouldn’t take too long to knock ‘em out, but still.

One of the lackeys raised his weapon and Danny prepared to—

Flying in from the left came a foot, clocking the man in the jaw. Danny watched a small and lithe black figure move like she was the manifestation of violent, deadly grace itself. Danny was in awe as she took the man out, gliding and dancing as if it was all she breathed and all she lived. Her movements were efficient and so quick, Danny could barely catch the motions taking out the next three men after.  She tore through them like they were nothing. They fell at her feet as if they were insignificant gnats, as if one look was enough from the goddess of death over here to kill them.

She turned to Danny when she’d cleared his immediate attackers, and he stared at her, mouth slightly agape. His heart fluttered.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. . .” Danny muttered mostly to himself. He could watch her do that over and over and over again and never get tired of it. It was captivating.

The black vigilante went still for a moment, her eyes seeming to lock with his through her mask, before motioning for him to flee.

“Right.” Danny dashed past her, lugging the red one in a bridal carry. A fireman’s carry would probably be hard on his lungs.

“Wh—at w—s tha—t?!” The red one coughed up. Danny couldn’t tell if he was laughing at him or judging him. Or both.

“Shush.”

Danny blew through the nearest doors of the warehouse to meet fresh air and sucked in a deep breath. The smoke didn’t bother him, but this was still nice. He distanced himself from the warehouse quickly, worried about wasting time and risking this dude’s life. Or health. Danny had no idea how bad the smoke inhalation was. Pretty bad, he was guessing.

Danny laid him down in some alley. Mechanical whirring announced who had arrived. Danny looked up as the purple and black vigilantes dropped down from the roofs.

Danny’s eyes briefly glanced over Purple to rest on Black.

“Oh, hey. That was quick.”

The purple one shrugged. “We were almost done any—where did that come from?”

Danny uncoiled the tube to the oxygen tank and mask, fixing it over the baffled face of Red.

“Huh?” Danny fiddled with the knob on the tank and Red took deep breaths.

“You just have an oxygen tank on you at all times?” The purple one laughed.

“You don’t?” Danny countered. He tried not to smirk as Purple choked on her laugh.

“I was joking!”

Danny shrugged.

“Good job.” Black complimented and Danny’s heart palpitated. Her voice was so soft and gentle and the most melodious thing he’s ever heard.

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, no problem, just passing by, I'm in burning buildings all the time, wasn't any trouble." Danny rambled as he went back to fumbling with the knobs.

"Wait, what?" Red croaked.

Purple took in a long breath, as if hit with some amazing bit of realization.

Danny abruptly stood where he’d been sitting on the ground next to Red.

“Here. These are for you.” Danny thrust his hand out to Black, holding a bouquet of exotic, beautiful flowers, native to the Infinite Realms, and at least six times the size of his head.

Purple nearly seized back. “What the—?! Where are these things coming from?!”

Danny had received a multitude of bouquets for his coronation and he was suddenly very glad that he’d frozen them in time to decorate his keep with. Jazz had insisted it would brighten up the place.

“Ah, well, you never know when you might need a professionally done, extravagant bouquet of exotic wildflowers to present to your rescuer. You were my knight in shining. . .whatever kinda armour that is. . .”

Purple’s jaw went slack. Black seemed to pause before shrugging lightly and looking away, curling a little into herself as if embarrassed. Her body language said she was still happy, though. She carefully took the bouquet from him.

Danny was gonna die again. The butterflies were going to mutate and burst out of his stomach.

“Oh my gosh! Stop flirting over my dying body!” Red interrupted.

Danny spluttered. “I am not—“

“You totally are!!” Purple cackled as if this was the most entertainment she’s had in weeks.

Danny ignored her. “Anyway, can I have your name?” He asked Black.

“Wait. . .”Purple tried to get herself under control. “You don’t know who we are?”

Danny shrugged. “I’m, uh. . .from outta town.”

“Well, that was kinda obvious.” Red said.

“Orphan.” Black gestured to herself.

Danny paused. He blinked. Alright, that was. . .that was some oddly personal information to go straight to, but okay.

“I’m. . .sorry for your loss.”

Purple guffawed and slapped a hand over her mouth. Red hacked up another lung. He was gonna run out soon.

Black shook ever so subtly with her own laughter and Danny nearly melted.

“No. Name.” She gestured to herself. “Orphan.”

“It’s her vigilante name.” Purple was still laughing.

“Ah. . .yes. . .right.” Danny blushed. “My name’s Danny. It’s nice to meet ya’ll.” His words implied he spoke to all of them, but he looked only at Orphan.

“Yeah, I’m lucky you were there to grab me. I don’t know how that chain broke.” Red said from where he’d sat up from the ground. Danny’s lips pursed. He honestly kept forgetting about him.

Purple took a steadying breath, warding off the laughter still treading her words. “We should probably get him some medical attention.”

“Psh, I’m fine.”

“I thought you said you were dying?” Danny asked.

“That was like, ten seconds ago, I’m fine now.”

“Yeah, about as fine as a chain smoker with a drinking problem. Have you heard yourself? It’s like you swallowed a sword and gave it a good swishing around down there.” Purple retorted.

Red scoffed.

Danny backed out of the alley, flashing Orphan a smile before disappearing.

<><><><>

“What happened to all your food?!”

Danny came home to Jason(AKA Red Hood. {The wacky ectoplasm kinda made it obvious. Danny was working on that}) peering into his fridge judgementally as if it was an a affront to his person. “I loaded it up just a couple days ago!”

Danny reached past his friend to grab the orange juice and poured himself a glass. He went to sit at the counter. “I ate it all. Duh.”

“There was a week’s worth in there!” Jason gestured indignantly at the empty fridge, staring at Danny.

Danny took a long sip of his juice, keeping eye contact with Jason all the while. When his thirst was parched, he set the cup down with a quiet clink. He leaned his elbows on the counter to hold his face. 

“Obviously not, because I ate it all.”

Jason pinched his nose and sighed before letting the fridge door drift closed. He poured the kettle he must’ve boiled earlier into a prepared mug.

Danny stared down at his half-emptied glass. “I think I’m in love.” He murmured thoughtfully into it.

The tea bag bobbing in Jason’s mug paused, before continuing. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Danny sighed, mournfully. He wondered if Orphan would care if he was half-dead or from another dimension. Would he meet her again? He really, really hoped so. “I met her in a burning building.”

“. . .What?”

“Yeah, what an amazing coincidence, right?”

“That’s not—“

“She was so cool.”

“. . .kaaay?”

How did Danny get her attention? He couldn’t just show up wherever she was vigilante-ing, could he? He didn’t want her to feel like he was stalking her.

Danny shuddered and made a face. Ugh. Ew.

No. He needed to find another way.

A small smile wound it’s way over his lips as an idea came to him.

“What’s her name?” Jason asked.

“Umm, you’ve probably heard of her. She said her name was Orphan.”

Jason choked on his tea.

#dpxdc fanfic #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #orphan #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #Red Robin #tim drake wayne #Dimension Travel #dp x dc au #danny phantom #Spoiler

[poetsblvd]

max verstappen 𝒙 reader !

blurb . requested . fluff and comfort

⋆⭒˚.⋆

He grunts pushing open the door to the holiday home he’s rented for both of you, arms laden with heavy bags from his shopping spree for you.

Hermès, Cartier, Chanel, Van Cleef, APM Monaco, you name it he’s got it.

He drops the purchases on the couch and sighs, fuck he’s definitely going to have to make another trip down for the rest of the bags.

Many wouldn’t think of him to be the type to spoil his girlfriend, and while he takes great offence to that statement he somewhat understands where they come from.

He hasn’t quite had long or serious enough relationships for him to grow attached to and dote on his girl, but it’s very different with you.

He’s the first guy you’ve ever been with, at ripe age of twenty-two now and having only dated him for a year, he thinks it incredibly important to spoil you.

You’re everything to him, and he wants you to know exactly how a beautiful, kind and loving woman like you should be treated.

Because god forbid anything ever happen to peel you away from him, he wants you to know that you deserve only the best, because you are the best there is.

And it’s not only materialistic spoiling, oh no no no, you have to be treated well from absolutely all angles.

Including very bare minimum actions that make you feel special, holding the door open for you, never letting you walk on the dangerous side of the road, getting you flowers every week, always listening and giving you his full attention and input during conversations, etc etc.

He doesn’t get to do this nearly as often with both of you living in different countries and having extremely busy work schedules.

So the chances that he does get to spoil you with all he has, he snatches the opportunity greedily like a toddler with candy.

Today was supposed very normal day of vacation, the first week of summer break that you and Max were very lucky to spend together in St Tropez.

Waking up in the morning however and kissing your face silly, he deemed you too beautiful to not have a day for yourself, a very general excuse to simply spoil you and make you happy.

So with a few texts here and there, he dropped you off at the spa to rejuvenate, relax and pamper up for a cute little date night.

Without letting it drop that he was going to buy you a gift, or a hundred.

Bringing him to where he is now.

He arranges the bags neatly in the living room, running back to the driveway and pulling out the final gifts, a stunning Versace gown and your favourite Manolo Blahnik heels for the dinner he has planned.

He runs back in just in time for your cab to roll through, as you smile and wave to the driver.

He struggles for a moment, wondering how to position himself casually, should he lie down? No that’s weird.

Lean on the door? Far too Troy Bolton for him.

Position himself sexily on the presents? Absolutely not you’d laugh too hard and never let him live it down.

“Maaaaax! I’m hoome!” Your greeting has him smiling and he finds himself making long strides to pull you into his arms.

“Hello my love.” He breathes in the flowery scent of your perfume and the softness of your skin. “You look stunning, how do you feel?”

He finds himself momentarily in awe of your smile and nods, impressed when you shove your hands in front of his face showing him the nails you’d decided upon.

“They’re very pretty baby, I really like the blue flowers on them!” He winks at you, pulling your nails closer to his face.

“Really? I’m so glad! The lady over there kept telling me that I should do ombré, and I didn’t know how to tell her that I really hated designs like that, so we finally agreed on— Max!” You gasp, stopping in between your story telling.

“What?” He shrugs innocently.

You gape at the living room filled with shopping bags of varying sizes and colours, shock marring your face. “Oh Max, again?”

His brows furrow. “What do you mean again?”

“I mean, you practically bought me the entirety of Hermès a few months ago? Why on earth would you spend so much money on me again?”

“Five months ago darling!” He leads you to the sofa, kissing your knuckles, and handing you a tiffany blue box.

“I’ve been slacking! And what do you mean on you? What else would I ever spend my money on? it’s yours anyways, everything of mine is yours, especially me.” He settles down cross legged by your feet and keeps pulling boxes and bags towards you.

Placing a hand on his cheek you smile “You really don’t have to do this, I’ve told you so many times I just want you.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want too.” He grips your hand on his cheek and kisses your fingertips.

“I love you.”

“I know, I love you more.” He smiles, squeezing your knee and nodding at you to open your presents.

“Now come on! Gimme a fashion show, I planned this with just enough time before our dinner. I got you these new shoes, oh! And a dress for tonight, but you’re gonna have to choose between this tennis necklace or this Juste un Clou necklace, I liked both so I got you both.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆

love note , ugh this made me feel very single and think of very unreal expectations from men!! thank you for requesting and i hope you liked this <3

#౨ৎ my works #⋆⭒˚.⋆ max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen blurb #f1 x reader

[lyssasdrafts]

unrequited love (part 2) — azriel x reader

description: (part 1) azriel realizes you’ve been avoiding him, he confronts you and the mating bond snaps between the both of you.

includes: angst with a happy ending, mating bond, emotional azriel

@cumuluscranium @anuttellaa @cupidojenphrodite @saltedcoffeescotch @tele86 asked to be tagged for pt2 !!

azriel didn’t deserve a mate.

he never once bothered to consider himself as someone who could be loved. he wasn’t beautiful or charismatic like rhysand, he wasn’t strong or resilient like cassian. azriel was the boy who had grown up in isolation. the boy who never once saw the light outside his window. the boy who was left alone in that cold cellar for so many years, who had the scars to show for it. who could ever love someone with a past like that?

azriel knew he wasn’t easy to be around. he saw the way that you shivered when you first met him, the way your gaze always drifted whenever it met his eyes. was he really that intimidating? azriel saw the way you hesitated around him, how nervous you were when he spoke. he felt the way you stared at him whenever you thought he wasn’t watching. for whatever reason, it made his heart beat faster whenever you did that.

you were just one of the many people he’s probably scared. azriel knew he could be quite uninviting towards the people around him . even when he tried to start any conversations, the way the words became dry on his lips and his voice left his throat felt discouraging.

his friends always laughed and talked around him while he reluctantly nodded along and gave small smiles. his family, his friends. azriel sometimes wondered why they stayed with him for long, the centuries they spent as a court blurring together and they still never urged him. they never overstepped his boundaries, perhaps because they didn’t care enough, or perhaps they knew he wouldn’t talk about it. but perhaps that was a good thing. nobody questioned the dark look in his eyes whenever he came back from his missions, rhysand just nodded and told him that he did a good job, moving on to his other high lord responsibilities.

azriel watched as rhysand taught his son how to fly, the way his friend grinned proudly whenever nyx stretched out his tiny wings. he found it within himself to smile at the sight of them too, despite the feeling that something heavy weighed in his heart, something that weighed his every movement.

azriel took a glance at the childhood that he never had, the one that he never will have, he corrected. azriel would never forget the days he’d spent alone, trapped in that dark cellar. he wondered if the light within his eyes that slowly dimmed each moment that passed would ever return. perhaps it was unfair for azriel to wish for someone to make it come back. it was unfair for him to ever wish himself upon anyone.

he was reminded of all this again when cassian had asked you about having a mate, to which you softly answered “no.” at least that made the both of you.

“what about you, azriel?” you asked him. the glint in your eyes, your pretty smile, it took everything within himself to say no to you. he stared at you for a moment before giving his response, as sharply as possible.

“i don’t have a mate,” azriel said coldly. “and i don’t want one.”

you nodded politely in response, the smile suddenly fading from your lips. you glanced at cassian, seeming uneasy. he watched as cassian walked you home, feeling a pang of envy in his chest that you hadn’t trusted him instead. azriel shook off the feeling, perhaps there had just been something wrong with him that day.

and since then, azriel began noticing your quiet absences from his life. he heard the wind carry away your laughter from afar, he witnessed the way you joked and smiled as usual at training. whenever he came around though, it would be dead silent. azriel once met your gaze everyday at training, only for you to start looking at the ground now when speaking to him.

he didn’t know he started envisioning you whenever he closed his eyes, how your words echoed through his mind when he was supposed to be asleep. he didn’t realize how attached he was to your presence, how much he longed for you.

azriel had always known longing. azriel longed to feel comforted, to feel loved. to be touched and held with the intimacy that he only watched his brothers feel with their own mates. but somehow, he only wanted it to be you. it was strange, the way his feelings gravitated towards you.

he needed to confront this, he needed to confront his own attraction towards you and why you had ignored him.

he tried seeking you out after practice, but instead you kept walking away, turning away at the sight of him only for him to find you again in another room alone. azriel leaned against the door frame, blocking your exit so that he could speak with you.

“you’re avoiding me,” azriel said.

your eyes widened in shock at first, you hadn’t realized he would even notice you. your face twists, “i haven’t been. you just don’t seem interested-”

“did i do something wrong?” his voice shifted, his tone softened. azriel looked down on you with his hazel eyes, pleading for something, anything. you gave him a glare before muttering a quick, “no,” and walking towards the door.

he grabbed your wrist, a chill went down his spine. the moment stopped for both of you, simply staring at each other in silence. the realization flashed before him as he looked into your eyes, how they stared up at him in anticipation.

azriel suddenly felt that tug on his heart, the same one that connected him to you. that explained the attraction, the longing, the desire that he felt for you. you were the other half to his broken, fractured heart. the tears stinging in his eyes clouded his vision but he still moved his hand to wipe your own tears off your face.

“you’re my mate,” he whispered to the world. but more importantly, to you.

it suddenly occurs to him that you knew. you knew he was your mate. you had sensed it before he could and tried to ask him. but instead of returning your feelings, azriel had shut you out. you can’t bring yourself to do anything other than repeat his name to yourself.

“azriel,” you say softly before you let yourself fall onto his chest. he wraps his arm around you, his newfound mate, the missing piece of him.

he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, his scared hands still trembling to touch you. it had been his touch that sparked the bond to snap for you. “i’m sorry,” azriel muttered. “i’m sorry, y/n.”

you shake your head at his words, letting him know he shouldn’t apologize for anything. you hug azriel back, breathing in the feeling of having your mate with you.

“you’re not…” he begins, “you’re not afraid of me?” the hesitancy in his voice, a vulnerability that he’s never shown before. azriel wondered about what you would think of him if you knew about his past, his story, the reasons behind the scars on his body and the memories he tried so desperately to forget.

had he really deserved your love? you were so bright and joyful, lighting up any room you walked into. azriel had believed that he would only dull your light, that he would hold you back. he had never intended to reject you, but he would still loathe himself for the time to come for doing so.

you cup his face with your hands before looking into his eyes, “you never scared me, azriel.”

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel x reader angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel fanfic #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar #acotar azriel #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #acotar fanfic #acotar angst #night court x reader #night court x you #inner circle x reader #bat boys x reader

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

KINKTOBER DAY 7

VIRGINITY

"TICCI" TOBY

You and Toby had been dating for quite some time now. You'd gotten used to each other, you complimented each other, and everyone knew that this was something that was serious. Especially since you didn't throw him to the curb when he began to let his problems show.

But as the relationship continued on, you began to get nervous. Toby was a rather sexual guy, he had never gotten any as a teenager so he'd been using his adult years to get what he hadn't before. He'd been in and out of relationships, most of them ending when the girls couldn't handle his deeply engraved problems. That part wasn't the issue for you. It was that you had zero experience with sex or anything sexual at all for that matter. Shit you'd never even watched porn before! Never seen a dick either!

You were scared, scared you couldn't please him how he wanted, scared you wouldn't be enough, scared it would hurt, the works.

You'd tried to touch yourself one night, but when you couldn't get a pleasurable experience you quickly stopped and deemed it all as hopeless.

And of course... The inevitable day came...

"Babe! I-I was thinking... We've been together for a wh-while... I was hoping uh... May-maybe you'd wanna... Y'know...? Have sex?" He asked with sweet hope in his eyes.

Of course he didn't miss the way nervousness flashed through your eyes. You weren't... A virgin right...?

Shit he had completely forgotten to ask!

Wait... Was it weird to ask...?

"I- Uh..." You stumbled over what to say. Fuck you were nervous! "Sure! Tonight right?" You didn't even realize what you said before it was too late.

Fuck...

"S-sure! Tonight w-works great!" He smiled happily, giving you a soft kiss on your forehead before walking away.

The night soon came and the feeling of dread was overwhelming. You jumped when you felt Toby's hands on your waist.

"Shit! Don't scare me like that Toby!" You nervously laughed.

"I'm n-not scary!" He chuckled and scooped you up into his arms, bringing you to his room and placing you gently on the bed. "You ready?" He asked with a smile.

"Toby I don't know... I've never..." You covered your ever reddening face with your hands.

"You've never had s-sex huh? It's all good! We'll take st-stuff slow!" He slowly peeled your hands from your face and peppered you with sweet kisses.

His hands slowly worked up from your hips, bringing your shirt up with them to expose the soft skin of your torso. He brought his lips down to your soft flesh, kissing softly as he followed his hands upwards to your breasts. He looked up at you questioningly, his fingers teasing the clasp of your bra.

All it took was your nod and your bra was off in seconds. His skillful fingers worked at your nipples, earning little whimpers and whines as you felt heat pool between your thighs. When he took the other in his mouth you were like putty in his hands.

He'd never thought he'd see the day he'd take someone's first time. Especially someone he loved so dearly. But god the sweet noises you made and the way you squirmed under him had him hot in bothered in no time.

His tongue rolled over your nipple, his teeth lightly grazing your flesh causing a massive shudder to run down your body.

"Toby oh fuck-" You could barely get out words as you felt his hand trail down into your shorts. His fingers rubbing you gently through your thin panties.

"Mmmm... Soaked for m-me babe..." He muttered against your flesh, pushing aside your panties to let his index finger tease your virgin hole.

"Be nice- Please..." You moaned out, a twang of nervousness hitting you when you realized what was going to happen.

"M' gonna take g-good care of y-you." He licked a long stripe up between your breasts as he pushed his finger in. Your long moan was about enough to make him lose his mind. So worked up over one little finger? God he didn't even know if you'd be able to take his cock at all.

He worked slowly to stretch you out, adding another skillful finger in your tight cunt, scissoring you slowly. He could see the way your eyes rolled back, knowing you were close from only his fingers was a huge confidence boost to say the least.

Removing his fingers, he pulled your bottoms down, exposing all of you for him to see. You looked so stunningly beautiful, he couldn't even put it to words. You whined softly as the cold air hit your dripping core.

"I k-know love... Gonna make you feel real g-good in a sec." He mumbled as he threw off his jeans, pulling his shirt off to reveal his happy trail that led down to just what you wanted. Your hands grabbed at the waistband of his boxers. "Eager are we?" He smirked, letting you take off his boxers, his hard cock springing free.

He let you take a minute to look him over, his skinny boy abs practically made you drool. And his cock? Oh lord it was the biggest thing you'd seen! Well... You didn't really have anything to compare it to... But regardless you knew it would be a stretch to accommodate him.

"R-ready?" He asked softly, kissing your forehead gently and running his cock along your drooling slit, collecting all the slick he possibly could to make this as easy and painless as possible.

Your nod was just the conformation he needed, slowly pushing in, feeling the way you stretched around him. Your nails dug deep into his back, probably deep enough to draw blood... Thank god he couldn't feel pain. The only pain he felt was when he saw small tears drip down your face. It hurt him horribly to hurt you but he knew that it would all be made up for in a minute.

When he bottomed out he let you adjust slowly, waiting for another nod to let him know everything was fine. He worked you over slowly, kissing your neck and rubbing your clit to take away as much of the pain as he could.

"Such a good girl... Doing s-so good..." He praised breathlessly.

He'd never felt anyone as good as this. When your moans started up again he picked up the pace, letting you tug on his hair and scratch his back.

You felt so full... So fuzzy... So warm...

You didn't know what this feeling was but hell did you like it.

"Toby I feel funny..." You moaned out, worried about what would come of this feeling.

"Mmm... Y-you're gonna f-finish. Let it happen babe." He replied, continuing what he was doing just the way you seemed to like.

It was only moments later you felt a wave of euphoria wash over you, a moan ripping from your throat as you held onto Toby like you'd lose him if you let go. He fucked you gently through your heavy first orgasm, feeling his quickly approaching as well. He debated on pulling out... He really did! But fuck he couldn't get over the thought of calming you as his. He slumped over you as he came, letting hot ropes of cum fill you up.

When he finally pulled out, you felt so empty it was almost painful. But he absolutely adored the way his cum dripped out of you.

"Did so g-good for me babe! Was i-it a good first ti-time?" He asked, concern filling his eyes. He wanted to give you the best he could provide, and if tonight wasn't enough, he'd start again tomorrow.

"Perfect love, that was the best feeling ever." You pulled him to you with a smile, kissing him deeply and snuggling into his chest.

#creepypasta #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby smut #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby #toby rodgers #asks open #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

ON AN AUGUST night in 2003, a young woman who went by the name Paulina sank into the sofa of her modest, rented apartment, opened up her laptop, and began talking about sex with a man she’d recently met in a Yahoo chat group. His name was Stephen Bolen. His first communications had been terse, but he soon warmed to Paulina. It didn’t take long for both of them to begin to open up.

Paulina had told Bolen she lived in the Atlanta area, that she had a three-year-old daughter, that her daughter’s father was no longer in the picture. Soon, she was sharing more intimate details: what it was like growing up a skinny white girl in a rough neighborhood outside of D.C.; how her dad, a Marine, had died by suicide two weeks before she was born; how her mom had been emotionally and physically abusive, and had never really shown her love. How she’d had a sexual relationship with her stepfather.

Paulina would put her daughter to bed and then she and Bolen would chat throughout the night, over Yahoo and sometimes on the phone. The back-and-forth could feel like dating, but with an added element of danger and risk: Both Paulina and Bolen knew they were tiptoeing up to a line to see if they trusted each other enough to cross it. It could take a while to figure that out.

Eventually, Bolen asked Paulina to send pictures of her daughter, and she agreed to do so, though the ones she’d shared were chaste — the little girl clothed and her face turned away from the camera or obscured behind an untamable halo of blond curls. After seeing the pictures, Bolen asked to meet. While a lot of the men Paulina had encountered in chatrooms like “Sex With Younger” just wanted to trade images and videos of children, to expand their illicit collections, Bolen was a “traveler,” someone looking to act upon his obsessions.

On Sept. 17, just as they’d arranged, Paulina sat on a bench outside Perimeter Mall with a stroller parked in front of her, scanning the parking lot nervously. Part of her hoped Bolen wouldn’t show. When he did, she could see he was handsome, a preppy guy in a pink polo shirt and khakis. “Paulina?” he asked eagerly. She nodded. As he smiled and pulled back the blanket draped across the stroller, he found himself surrounded, handcuffs slipped around his wrists.

“Paulina” watched his face fall, his confusion giving way to distress as FBI agents took him into custody. It was her first undercover arrest. It would be the first of many.

[long read]

IF ONE WANTED to hide in plain sight, one could do no better than the tidy, suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis, where FBI Special Agent Nikki Badolato now resides. The well-tended, two-story homes are so pleasantly indistinct that I could hardly tell you what hers looks like, even if it were safe for me to do so, which it is not. Suffice to say that Midwestern comfort and conformity unspool around every gently winding curve. Here Badolato has raised her two children, a daughter who is now in college and a son who is a junior at a local high school. When planning a neighborhood scavenger hunt or tending the community garden, Badolato does not often mention her many years as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force, a joint effort between the feds and local law enforcement that targets some of the country’s most heinous crimes. Open a cabinet in her kitchen, however, and a government-issued Glock 42 can be found stowed away between the vitamins and mixing bowls.

On a sunny morning this past October, Badolato sat at her dining room table, scrapbooks and albums spread out before her on the dark wood. There was the acceptance letter she’d received from the bureau the spring of her senior year of high school, after a representative had shown up to administer a test in the typewriting room. “I chose to wear a red dress and red heels,” she says of her first day as an FBI mail clerk, two weeks after her 18th birthday. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I guess maybe I was trying to go in bold?” She pauses at a picture of herself on the gun range at Quantico almost 10 years later, her shoulders squared and her caramel hair pulled back into a ponytail as she fires off rounds. By then, she’d married a man she met just after high school, had a little girl, completed college at night, and been accepted into agent training in the heady days after 9/11. She’d seen her first dead body only a few weeks into the job, after the pursuit of a bank robber ended with a shootout in a Walmart. When Badolato got to the scene, the body was still warm, and the perp’s head was resting on a bag of cookies. “It was surreal,” she says. “How many times have you been in a Walmart and walked down Aisle 4, not really expecting there to be a dead person with his head lying on a bag of Chips Ahoy?”

Badolato wasn’t deterred. She felt like the bureau saved her, plucked her out of a shitty home life, and gave her prospects and purpose. As a new agent, she was intent on proving herself worthy. “My training agent told me, ‘You know, Nikki, it’s a marathon, not a sprint,’ ” she says. “I was like, ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.’ ” She turned a few pages to show a picture of the 391 kilos of cocaine and 140 pounds of meth she’d recovered on a single raid during a stint with a cartel squad, then pointed out another in which she poses with a five-year-old child she’d rescued, the little girl’s hair cut short because the kidnapper had wanted her to look like a boy. But the keepsake she really wants to find is the card that Bolen’s wife had pressed into her hand at his sentencing, the one with the picture of their children — a blond girl of about three years and a tiny baby — and the words “These are the faces of the children you protect each day.” Bolen’s wife had been the only one she’d ever encountered who had lobbied for her husband to receive the maximum sentence. Some wives accused the FBI of planting evidence inside computers. Most seemed intent on clinging to their delusions. (Attempts to reach Bolen for comment were unsuccessful.)

“Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It is happening all the time.”

Which, Badolato has come to understand, is the way it goes with child trafficking and sexual abuse. She had invited me into her home — had agreed to speak on the record about her decades-long career working undercover — because when it comes to the crimes she’s spent her career fighting, she has had enough of the delusions people are under. She’s had enough of the way movies like Sound of Freedom both glamorize and trivialize the work she and her colleagues do, enough of the idea that swashbuckling white men burst through doors and rescue trafficked children with a Bible in one hand and a firearm in the other, enough of conspiracy theories about Hollywood and Washington that detract from the real root causes of why children are trafficked and abused. “Human trafficking is not the movie Pretty Woman — the girl doesn’t get the guy — and it’s not the movie Taken, where people are kidnapped in a foreign country and sold on the black market, or shipped in a container across the world,” one of the detectives who worked on Badolato’s task force tells me. “I’m not saying that doesn’t ever happen, but it’s not what we’re seeing.”

What they are seeing is a lot more insidious and a lot more homegrown. A report released in 2018 by the State Department ranked the U.S. as one of the worst countries in the world for human trafficking. While the Department of Justice has estimated that between 14,500 and 17,500 foreign nationals are trafficked into this country every year, this number pales in comparison to the number of American minors who are trafficked within it: A 2009 Department of Health and Human Services review of human trafficking into and within the United States found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that between 244,000 and 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked specifically in the sex industry. Heartbreakingly, many of these children are victimized not by strangers who’ve abducted them from mall parking lots but rather by people they know and trust: Studies have found that as much as 44 percent of victims are trafficked by family members, most often parents (and not infrequently parents who were trafficked themselves). Between 2011 and 2020, there was an 84 percent increase in the number of people prosecuted for a federal human-trafficking offense. Of the defendants charged in 2020, 92 percent were male, 63 percent were white, 66 percent had no prior convictions, and 95 percent were U.S. citizens.

Badolato started her career as an FBI agent in some of the earliest days that children could be bought, sold, and traded online. As the internet-porn industry mushroomed, its most lucrative branch turned out to be that of child sexual-abuse materials (the term “child pornography” is no longer used by those in the field, as it implies consent). And as demand for these images increased, so did the abuse that led to their creation.

In 2003, just a few months after Badolato graduated from Quantico, a Crimes Against Children squad was formed in the Atlanta office where she’d been stationed. By then, the FBI was starting to get a handle on the extent of the problem — if not exactly what to do about it. At a weeklong training in Baltimore, Badolato was given a tour of the darkest underbelly of fetish chat groups and then instructed to figure out how to infiltrate. “Everyone was a little nervous,” she explains of the directive. “It was a process, a direction that was new.” Agents were told that they would need to come up with a “persona” and a “story,” and that they would likely have to provide images of children to “prove” they had a minor on offer. They were also told that they could use images of their own children, if they were comfortable doing so (the FBI no longer endorses this policy).

Badolato’s unit with a kidnapping victim after her recovery in 2011. A Health and Human Services review found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that as many as 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked in the sex industry. 

Badolato developed “Paulina” based on her understanding that any persona would need to share most of her own backstory and traits. “That’s the only way you can really do undercover work,” Badolato says. “People can tell the sincerity in what you’re saying, so there has to be a level of genuineness, but then you just add this criminal element to it.” Most of the things Badolato had told Bolen were true: where she was from, her family background, the monstrousness of her mother, a woman who she says would pass out cigarettes and beers to Badolato’s 13-year-old friends in a state of manic permissiveness one minute and fly into a violent rage about a piece of lint on the floor the next. (Badolato’s mother declined to comment for this article, but a childhood friend corroborated Badolato’s account.) It was true that growing up in an unstable home with a string of stepdads, she had never really felt loved, true that she had divorced her first husband, true that she was raising their three-year-old daughter on her own. The only thing that wasn’t true was her tale of being molested, her initiation into the “lifestyle” — to use the chatroom parlance — that Paulina said she now wanted for her daughter. As Badolato had familiarized herself with the language and behaviors of the chatrooms, she’d honed that added criminal element, imagining what psychological conditions might believably lead a parent to traffic their own child and how those conditions could be grafted onto her real life story. She already had a history of abuse; it was not hard to extrapolate to a fictional stepfather who had seemed to provide a gentle counterpoint, showing her love and making her feel special when no one else had, even if others couldn’t understand. From there, it was easy to convince the chatroom participants that she shared their belief — or justification — that most people had it all wrong and that “child love” was natural, and could even be beneficial for the child.

Badolato estimates that she has arrested more than a thousand people; not one of those arrests has failed to end in a conviction. She didn’t know until she was in the thick of it that most agents refuse this sort of work, that most can’t even pretend to forge a relationship with someone looking to victimize a child. But she could. “Paulina,” she points out, is not a name she chose at random; it’s similar to her own mother’s name. Badolato says she had grown up learning to compartmentalize for the sake of her own emotional survival. She’d perfected the art of engaging with someone whose actions she couldn’t stand. Doing this work had felt like a way of taking her trauma and putting it to good use, of leveraging her past as a safeguard against her daughter’s and other children’s futures.

Of course there were moments that were hard to take — when suspects mentioned which brands of lubrication were best or whether or not a parent might hold a child down. There were times when she knew that even talking about these things was a turn-on for these men, times when the conversations made her nauseous, times when she’d lie awake all night or play back a recording and think, “Holy shit, I listened to this? I said these words?” But she kept faith in the mission. She reminded herself that the pictures she sent of her daughter — the beautiful, little girl sleeping in the next room — did not represent a real child on offer. “I was thinking, ‘If I send this obscure picture of my daughter and he acts on it, then he’s never going to harm my daughter or anybody else’s,’ ” Badolato says now. “I was presenting a fake girl to save a real one.”

KYLE PARKS SEEMED to think he could get away with anything. He seemed to think, for instance, that he could get away with running a brothel, a 1-900 sex line, and a housecleaning company out of the same Columbus, Ohio, office park and under the same oxy-moronic name, XXXREC and Hygiene Services. He seemed to think he could invite one young woman and five teenagers (four of whom he had only just met) on a road trip to Florida, but instead deposit them in two rooms of a Red Roof Inn in St. Charles, Missouri. When they piled out of the minivan — high on the drugs he’d given them — saw snow falling and asked to be taken home, he thought he could make a little money off them first. All it took was a few ads in Backpage — the Craigslist of sex advertisements — and men began showing up.

Even after things started going south for him, Parks couldn’t fathom that he wouldn’t prevail. When someone alerted law enforcement as to what was going on, Parks (who, according to legal documents, had been out getting food when the police showed up) burst into the precinct the next morning looking to bail his “friend” out. When questioned about the 88 condoms found in the back of his van, he said they had been prescribed to him by a doctor. After being taken into custody, he protested that he was being set up. Most people would have cut their losses and pleaded guilty, but not Parks. He thought he could take his case to court and win.

And it wasn’t impossible to imagine that he might. Badolato knew that even the tightest cases could go sideways when put before 12 people who would inevitably enter the courtroom with a cinematic sense of what sex trafficking was supposed to be. In fact, it wasn’t just the jury that Badolato knew she would need to convince; it was also often the victims themselves, young people who had internalized the exact same misconceptions about trafficking that the jury had — along with any number of other judgments society had thrown their way — and who were loath to submit themselves to a courtroom full of more judgment.

Of all of Parks’ underage victims, the hardest to pin down had been a 17-year-old we’ll call Sierra. Once she returned to Columbus, Sierra seemed to basically disappear. Calls to her mother’s number went unanswered. When one of the other victims managed to track her down in December 2016, a month before the case was to go to trial, Sierra agreed to meet Badolato on a blighted Columbus block with a string of dilapidated homes, climbing into the bureau’s Chevy Malibu with matted hair, dirty clothes, and a wary expression.

By this time, Badolato had remarried, had a second child, relocated to St. Louis, and taken over as head of the Child Exploitation Joint Task Force, which had become one of the most productive FBI teams in the country in terms of arrests and convictions. Meanwhile, as the internet streamlined the process of buying or selling any good or service, trafficking had become one of the fastest-growing criminal enterprises, estimated by the Department of Homeland Security to bring in $150 billion globally and considered by many criminals to be a superior business model: If caught, the sentences were often lighter than those for peddling drugs; and unlike crack or heroin, the same product could be “used” again and again and again.

Badolato taught her team of 20 how to do the online undercover work she’d trailblazed in Atlanta, tracking the movements of child-abuse material through the online underworld and then prosecuting those who distributed and produced it. Her new squad also initiated her in the type of undercover work it had been doing before her arrival: covert sting operations in which a detective would pose as a john, set up a “date,” and then meet said date in a hotel room fitted out with hidden recording devices while, in the next room over, a taskforce team listened in, waiting for the code word that would let them know that enough evidence had been gathered for them to swoop in and shut the op down. This had proved a very effective technique for getting convictions, but Badolato’s arrival coincided with both a growing sentiment that consensual sex work had been over-criminalized and an increasing awareness that what looked like consensual sex work might actually be trafficking, no matter what the “date” professed in that hotel room.

Badolato has a tendency to say aloud the things she notices — about you, about others, about situations — observations that are not at all unkind but are perceptive enough that most people would keep them to themselves. She points out when someone deflects, and she has a sharp eye for defense mechanisms. She once casually mentions my tendency to mirror other people’s vocal and speech patterns. She is not shy about bringing up the emotional and physical abuse she says she experienced as a child, and she is quick to comment when someone is making excuses for someone else’s behavior. It was soon clear to her colleagues that Badolato brought a trauma-informed mentality to the work, a tendency to look beyond what someone was doing and instead try to parse why they were doing it. And she was relentless: While some squads did one or two trafficking sting ops a year, her team was doing four or five a month. In addition to the hotel rooms reserved for the john and the team, they would have a social worker set up in a third room, ready to offer services to the victims. They would have lookouts stationed to see who might be dropping the date off. If that date was found to be underage, the case was automatically classified as trafficking. But even if they weren’t, Badolato’s team was primed to get to the bottom of what was going on, to figure out whether they were being manipulated or coerced, and by whom.

“If I could put my hands on a pimp, that’s what I wanted,” says Jeff Roediger, a St. Louis county detective who was the “john” for many of Badolato’s sting ops and who makes clear that the team was not interested in policing voluntary sex work. “When I had those types of cases, and I knew they were being sincere with me, I wouldn’t book them,” he says. “It was all about talking to the girls. It’s not like in the movies where they come running to you. You know, ‘Thanks, you rescued me!’ It’s not like that. A lot of them try to bullshit you at first — ‘That’s my boyfriend, blah blah blah’— but once I talked to them for a while, they would become more forthcoming.”

Badolato’s unit was one of the first in the country to take on this “progressive and proactive” approach, as she puts it. Soon, St. Louis looked like a sex-trafficking capital — not because it was actually trafficking more victims than other cities but because the task force was so aggressively pursuing those cases, and classifying them as what they were. “I mean, I was working in vice for years,” says Roediger. “Back in the day, it was always ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution’ — until we started to figure it out a little bit, until we started digging a little deeper.”

Once they did, the task force found that roughly a third of the sex-trafficking victims they recovered were under the age of 17 — and they began to see the reach of the problem. Kids were being trafficked out of every hotel in the area, from the seediest roach motel to the fanciest Ritz-Carlton. They were being trafficked every time of day and by every socioeconomic group (“Before you go do brain surgery, you got to bust a nut real quick,” one underage victim told Badolato of her high-end clientele). Some of the victims were girls. Some were boys. Some were LGBTQ kids who’d been kicked out of their homes. Some were straight cis kids from the suburbs. “I tell people that I could probably name two or three [kids] in the school district they live in that have been trafficked,” Roediger says. “And they just can’t comprehend it.”

“If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work.”

There were kids who were about to age out of foster care (a particularly at-risk group, according to those who work in the field), kids who’d run away, kids who were being sold to pay their family’s rent, or to buy their family member’s drugs. There were kids who’d sit in the hotel room, backpack at their feet, dutifully working on their math homework while agents and social workers tried to figure out what to do with them. Was their home life safe enough that they could be returned to it? Would a residential program take them? Of all the imperfect options, which would make them least likely to be trafficked again?

The one common denominator was this: They all had a vulnerability that could be preyed upon. They all lacked a safety net — societal, familial, emotional, or some combination thereof — that might have broken their fall. Mostly, their stories weren’t dramatic; they were typical American tales of neglect, of abuse doled out casually, of a steady stream of letdowns by people and institutions who should have propped them up. Badolato found that she had a knack for getting them to talk about this, for getting them to open up to her. She didn’t look like an FBI agent — at least not what they’d imagined. She spoke softly, but with authority and a slight vocal fry. And she thinks that, at some level, they could probably sense that she’d once been a vulnerable kid too, that with only a few slightly different twists of fate, she could have become a trafficking victim herself — and that she knew it. “My trauma looks different than theirs, but it’s trauma nonetheless,” she says.

“And I think victims can feel that.”

AS THE TASK force learned more about the psychology of victims, they also learned more about the ways in which their vulnerability was being manipulated, and how those ways were evolving. It was known in law-enforcement circles that once a skilled trafficker set his or her sights on a vulnerable young person, they could be groomed in a matter of days: one day for an introduction, a day or two to make the victim feel special and cared for, and then the day when a “friend” comes over and he needs to be “cared for” as well. Sometimes violence was involved at that point; sometimes drug use was involved throughout. But emotional manipulation was the key element, which is why it was so easy for grooming to move online, for groomers to take advantage of the false senses of connection fostered on social media.

Of the victims who are not being trafficked by family members, the majority are being groomed in this way. “I would say that probably 75 percent of the initial grooming is happening online now,” says Cindy Malott, the director of U.S. Safe Programs at Crisis Aid International. “Recruiters used to have to work really, really hard to get access to kids, but now they’re practically sitting in a child’s bedroom. And kids put everything out there — what’s going on in their life, who they’re angry about, parents are going through a divorce, their insecurities about their body, about themselves, what they do, how they spend their time — so it’s like a gift to these predators.”

The ways to manipulate are legion: Get a kid to send a compromising photo, and she’ll do almost anything to keep you from sending it out to all her Facebook friends; find out a gay kid is still closeted, and the threat of outing him gives you incredible power. And predators aren’t just on Instagram and Snapchat; they lurk in the chat functions of Roblox, Minecraft, Grand Theft Auto. “They’re everywhere,” says Malott. “People think, ‘Oh, I just got to keep my kids away from those porn sites, those horrible places.’ Well, no, predators are gonna go where the kids are.” And once there, they’re going to zero in on the kids who are most vulnerable.

That’s what got to Badolato. In her online undercover work, she’d plumbed the psychology of pedophiles, but now she wasn’t just dealing with suspects; she was spending time with victims and seeing the same vulnerabilities in them that the traffickers had seen: the instability or poverty, the addiction or mental health issues or abuse that had been normalized in their lives long before the traffickers entered them. Sometimes Badolato couldn’t help but feel that all the conspiracies and misconceptions weren’t just a distraction from the truth of trafficking but rather some sick attempt to let society off the hook for trying to solve the much more intractable problems at trafficking’s root.

“People would rather stick their head in the sand than address the real problem, because then you have to face and talk about the societal issues,” she says. “With a movie like Sound of Freedom, it’s like, ‘Oh, this is in a jungle in South America. This isn’t actually in [my neighborhood].’ You know? It’s easier for people to ignore the problem than deal with the issues on a societal level.”

BY THE TIME Badolato was sitting in that Chevy with Sierra, on that blighted Ohio block, she knew that the rate of revictimization for children who are trafficked was as high as 95 percent, according to FBI reports. She knew that 90 percent of sex-trafficking victims have a history of child sexual abuse, that more than 75 percent had lived in foster or adoptive care. She knew that she could arrest one perpetrator, and another would pop up in his place, that she could send one pimp to prison and the same victims would show up to stings some short time later, run by a different crew. She knew that testifying was a way for Sierra to psychologically push back against what had happened to her, and she was right: After the young woman took the stand on Jan. 10, 2017, Parks was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years; while testifying, Sierra had seemed to transform, to channel and embody a sort of empowerment. But Badolato also knew that once her testimony was over, Sierra would go back to that blighted block. She wondered how long that empowerment would last.

She also wondered about her own trajectory, her own ability to continue doing this work. The youngest trafficking victim she’d ever recovered from a sting op — an 11-year-old who’d been recruited through Facebook — had been returned to her family in a house that had no heat (Badolato had used an FBI slush fund to get it turned back on). One did not become immune to the human misery of such things. They compounded, became harder and harder to compartmentalize. “It’s just a combination of all of those years — and it’s all awful,” she says. “But there are particular moments that, for one reason or another, you can’t get out of your head. I just don’t think it’s in human nature to be exposed to that for so long and it not start changing who you are.”

One night, at a restaurant near where Badolato lives, I ask her whether she thinks children are being sex-trafficked right then, in that very moment, in just the mile or two radius around us. She’s quiet for a long time, her gaze fixed downward at her glass of wine. By the time she looks up, her whole body is trembling. “It’s happening right now,” she says quietly. “Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are three or four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It’s not only when we think about it. It is happening all the time. And if I’m just sitting here, present, having dinner, not thinking about it, that means I’m ignoring a problem that I know is real.” Tears stream down her face.

“Many images have never left my mind,” she says. “It’s really hard to have worked your entire life in law enforcement with a lot of child crime victims and be at the end of your career looking at the situation where you realize you can only do so much to make a difference.” Badolato wipes back the tears with the palm of her hand and shudders her head, as if she can shake the thoughts away. “Damn,” she says. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be the one crying. I’m not the victim of this.” The veteran agent steels herself and repeats, “I am not the victim.”

THE HOUSE WHERE Korina Ellison says she was first sex-trafficked no longer exists. It once stood on an unassuming lot in a residential suburb of Portland, Oregon, that stumbles down to the banks of the Willamette River. Now, Ellison can’t quite bring the house’s features to mind. She was so young back then, maybe four or five. There is so much she’s repressed, or only pieced together after the fact. As a child, she wouldn’t have known what she now believes to be true: that her grandmother scored her drugs by offering up her youngest daughter, Ellison’s mom. Or that, once her mom was hooked on the meth cooked by the man who’d lived in that house, she’d known just what to do to get more. But Ellison does remember being inside the house, unclothed. She does remember how the man would touch her.

Her life unspooled from there. Her father died of a heroin overdose when she was six. Her mom lost custody for good. She bounced around foster care, then various residential institutions, then whatever shelter she could find. In the story she tells of how she was sex-trafficked again in her teenage years, there’s no moment of drama, no kidnapping, no clear coercion. There was just a random, rainy afternoon when she had no place to go and was alone in the street and a car pulled up. The man inside took her home with him, fed her, introduced her to his girlfriend. They took her shopping. They let her stay. When men showed up at the home to have sex with the woman, Ellison was invited to watch, but she wasn’t expected to participate — not at first, anyway. According to a statement Ellison later made to law enforcement, she just “realized that people aren’t going to take care of [me] for free.” Soon, the woman was posting Ellison’s services on Backpage — $150 for half an hour, $200 for a full one — and the trio were traveling the Midwest. For a long time, it didn’t even occur to Ellison, then 16, to leave. “Where would I have gone?” she asks. “I’d been missing for over a year. Nobody was looking for me.” When the man told her to call him “Daddy,” she complied.

That was more than a decade ago, near the beginning of Badolato’s tenure as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force. But by 2021, leaving it had seemed a necessary form of self-preservation. One of her last cases had gone well legally: The perp, a retired police officer from California who had produced child sex-abuse materials of three sisters in Manila, had pleaded guilty to such charges when he learned that Badolato had brought the girls to the states to testify against him. But the experience had been emotionally devastating for Badolato, who had wanted the sisters, then 16, 13, and 11, to have memories of the U.S that consisted of more than reliving their trauma in a courtroom. She took them shopping and to the zoo, invited them to her home to have dinner with her own family, saw them slowly start to open up and laugh and behave like the children they were. Then she’d had to put them on a flight back to Manila, back to the aunt who had allowed the man to abuse them and who Badolato had been unable to extradite. Fortunately, she says, their estranged father ended up intervening and taking custody of the girls, but that feeling of futility in the fight lingered.

“I stayed for a little bit longer after that trial, but it really was when I should have been able to look myself in the mirror and say, ‘Nikki, you’re done,’ ” Badolato had told me in St. Louis. “It became clear that I had been doing it too long.” She’d spend the last couple of years working national security, a position without the immediacy of child-exploitation work, but also without the heartache. “If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work. I just don’t,” she says.

And yet, here Badolato was in Portland, leading Ellison, now 30, up to her hotel room, telling her about all the announcements she’d heard in the Atlanta airport instructing travelers to be on the lookout for sex trafficking. “It’s like white noise in the background,” she says as Ellison settles into the sofa. “It’s a false sense of doing something to help.”

“Here’s the thing: Nobody knows what to look for,” Ellison agrees.

“And what about the victims who are in that airport, who are walking around and listening?” Badolato asks.

“I wouldn’t have even heard that announcement,” Ellison replies. “Because I didn’t feel like a victim. It goes a lot, lot, lot deeper than anybody realizes.”

That’s what she and Badolato both understand. That’s why they started talking eight months ago. Of all the teenage victims Badolato’s task force recovered, Ellison is one of the few who she knows has permanently extricated herself from being prostituted, though it took years for her to get to that point, years for her to see that what happened to her was not her fault but rather a fault in the system, a fault in many systems over the course of generations. Neither she nor Badolato can fix that.

Yet they can’t help feeling like there’s something they can fix — or at least try to. Under the umbrella of an organization she’s founded called Innocent Warriors, Badolato created a program for schools, instructing educators on the signs that might indicate a student is being trafficked and teaching kids how to avoid getting groomed online, which, she believes, is not about stranger danger but rather an awareness of subtle manipulation. Ellison has been working with trafficked youth through nonprofits like Children of the Night, the residential program where Badolato’s team sent her when she was 17. Together, they’ve been talking about having Ellison help train undercovers who are learning to do trafficking sting ops. They’ve also discussed starting a mentorship program in which children who are still being sex-trafficked are paired with young adults like Ellison who once were, providing a way for victims to begin to envision a different future for themselves and a path toward it even while being prostituted. Such a program may be retroactive rather than proactive, but it would capitalize on Badolato’s and Ellison’s experience and expertise — and it could help in the healing of mentors and mentees alike.

Badolato had traveled to Portland for the two to talk face-to-face about how the program might work. “You have to understand how they’ve been traumatized because sometimes, to a child, relating doesn’t sound like you’re relating. It sounds like you’re pointing out all the bad things in them,” says Ellison from the driver’s seat of her Nissan Pathfinder as she drives Badolato around to show her certain landmarks of her past after she’d left Children of the Night: the bridge she’d slept under for over a year after a boyfriend had gotten her hooked on heroin, the blocks downtown where she’d bounced between a children’s shelter and the needle exchange. It had taken a prison sentence for her to finally break her addiction and commit to a different kind of life, though that evolution had had less to do with not having access to drugs than with seeing her own mother cycle in and out of the same facility — like looking into her own future and witnessing how bleak it would be. Maybe, she thought, she could provide the inverse of that for kids in Innocent Warriors. Maybe she could reverse engineer her own escape.

“I just want to make it very clear that if you were a victim, you are a victim, and just to not have any shame in that,” she tells Badolato as they drive through Portland’s misty streets.

“What I anticipate and hope is that then we get survivors that are like, ‘They get it,’ ” Badolato replies. “And that it opens up doors to help, for people to recognize that there are people who get what’s really going on.”

“It took a really long time for me,” Ellison says of coming to terms with her own victimhood.

“It’s like reworking your thought process about some of those things,” Badolato agrees. “And that’s hard, and it happens slowly over time, and it looks different for everybody.”

Ellison grips the wheel tightly. “The truth does matter. It does. The truth is the fucking truth. And it’s been empowering to be able to talk about it because that’s another way that I’ve realized, like, ‘Man, I was a victim,’ is re-going over all of this. Because when it happens so many times, you do blame yourself. It’s a lot easier to just continue to live in a lie than believe that you were lied to.”

Still, Ellison and Badolato agree that the impressionability that makes children vulnerable is also what makes them open to guidance and mentorship if a relationship of trust can be established. “What do you think a parent does? They groom you. I’d been waiting to be guided and groomed,” Ellison says.

It’s been instructive to see that potential from another perspective, as a mother doing the guiding. As the afternoon wears on, Ellison stops to pick up her then-15-month-old son, who was being watched by a social-worker friend. She buckles the little boy into his car seat, ruffles his hair, and passes him a bottle. He grins widely and begins removing his shoes and socks, throwing them gleefully onto the floor of the car and then kicking his tiny feet in time with the music as Ellison glances back at him and smiles. “Kids are so perfect,” she says.

The last stop of the day is the large plot of land where the drug dealer’s house once stood. Now, it’s been turned into a playground, with brightly-colored jungle gyms, a covered picnic area, and a large lawn, where a couple leisurely walks their dog. Ellison and Badolato climb down from the car and stand at the park’s edge, as Ellison’s son toddles around the grass, oblivious to what had transpired in that very spot. There is some form of poetic justice in the land being earmarked for children’s enjoyment, but neither woman voices it. Mostly, they’re quiet. Night is falling, the air growing cooler, and the gray sky fading into dusk.

“You would never think a park could hide what it used to be,” Ellison says at last. And yet it did. Driving off with Badolato at her side and her son babbling happily in the back seat, Ellison glances in the rear-view mirror, but only for a moment. Badolato keeps her eyes fixed only on the road ahead.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Heart II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You try to recover

You stay in the hospital for nearly two weeks as your new heart gets used to its new home in your body.

Ingrid and Mapi are with you the entire time.

Sometimes, one of them even skips training to come and see you. You're in a special hospital room and they have to wear silly facemasks when they come to visit that makes them look all weird.

They bring you lots of things to play with while you're stuck in bed and all of their friends send you flowers and food to keep you happy. Your caseworker comes in sometimes and she gets Mapi and Ingrid to sign lots of documents and helps them to sign you out of the hospital to take you home.

"Okay," Ingrid says as you all come up in the elevator together," You ready?"

You're wearing a special party hat because Mapi said that you were going to have a little party to celebrate your new heart. You don't really know why getting your new heart means a party but you also know that a party means lots of food and fun so you're happy to go back inside.

A few of Ingrid and Mapi's friends are already in there but you head straight for Patri and Pina because they're holding Bagheera, who's wearing a party hat too.

"Whoa, there," Ingrid says softly, still holding your hand tight like she's scared you're going to wink out of existence," Let's take it slow, alright?"

You frown and shrug. "Okay."

She keeps hold of your hand as you move to greet Bagheera. She mews at you softly, bumping her head against your chest.

"I know," You say," I've got my Santa heart." You look up at Pina and Patri. "Santa got me a new heart for Christmas. It goes boom-boom properly."

"Really?" Patri asks," That's cool. Do you feel better now?"

"Little tired sometimes," You reply, rocking back and forth on your feet," But still good!"

"She's been healing up very well." Ingrid's fingers run through your hair like yours run through Bagheera's. "The doctors are going to do another check next week and then we get to take her out again."

Even though you're out of the hospital now, you're not allowed out of the house for another week just so you can adjust to everything back home again.

"It'll be good to see you at training again," Pina says," We've been missing our little cheerleader."

"And you can join in now!" Patri exclaims and you whip your head over to Ingrid.

"Can I?"

She thinks for a moment. "We'll see," She says," Let's get through next week and then we'll see if you're strong enough to run around."

"Okay." You go back to stroking over Bagheera's fur and adjusting her party hat when she gets annoyed with it. You like Bagheera. You'd never seen a cat in real life before you came to live with Ingrid and Mapi so it's nice to have Bagheera with you now.

You yawn when you're about halfway through the movie Paredes put on and you climb up into Mapi's lap to lay on her. Her big hands rest on your back, gently stroking up and down until you're head feels too heavy for your body and it flops against her.

"She looks much better," Alexia says as she notices that you're out like a light.

"Yeah," Mapi says as she reaches for a blanket to drape around your body," They had her on a ventilator those first few hours after surgery and she looked so bad when they took her in. But...But she's better now, just a little sleepier."

"She just had major surgery," Alexia says," I think she's allowed to be a bit tired. I'm surprised she lasted as long as she did."

Mapi laughs, gently rocking you. "I should put her to bed. I can't imagine those hospital ones were comfy."

Your weeks dissolve into a steady routine after you get your Santa heart. You still have to go to the doctor every week and they do tests on your new heart and they take out the little staples they put in your chest.

Ingrid still sticks to your side and she's always giving you cuddles and kisses. She lets you run around more now that the doctor says it's okay but she still wraps you up nice and warm because you still sometimes have issues with being cold.

A few months after you're declared fully fit, your caseworker comes to visit.

Ingrid lets her in while you've opened your mouth so Mapi can give you your medication. The doctor says that even though your Santa heart is working very well, you'll have to take medicine every day to make sure that your body wants to keep it.

Well, he said lots of big words and complicated stuff but Mapi explained it to you like that when you went to get ice cream after your appointment.

You case worker says hello to you before briefly looking around the house ago and then making you sit down in front of the tv with her. That makes you a bit nervous and you hang on Mapi's hand.

"With Mapi and Ingrid?"

"In a minute," Your caseworker says," I just want to have a little talk with you without them."

Your brow wrinkles. "And Bagheera has to go too?"

"Bagheera can stay," Ingrid promises you, kissing the top of your head and steering Mapi into their bedroom.

You stroke Bagheera's fur rhythmically as you sit in front of your caseworker.

"How are you feeling now?" She asks," With your new heart?"

"Santa got me a good one," You reply," But I've still got to take special medicine."

She writes something down. "And you always take your medicine?"

"Ingrid reminds me," You answer, getting a bit distracted by the way a single ray of sunlight is peaking through the blinds," And Mapi hides it in icing sometimes for when I don't want to take it."

She writes down something more. "That's good. And you like it here, with Ingrid and Mapi?"

The topic of your favourite girls makes you perk up. "They're my most favourite! Mapi is so cool! She's got lots of tattoos. She says that one day, she'll let me draw her one to put on her body."

Your caseworker nods along, her pen moving along the paper. "And what about Ingrid?"

"Ingrid gives me cuddles all the time," You say," And she lets me help make dinner and cookies and she takes me to the park and we go down the slide together."

Your caseworker stops writing and flips her notepad shut. "Do you remember what it means to have a caseworker like me?"

You nod.

"What does it mean?"

"It means that you find adults to look after me because I don't have parents."

Your caseworker nods. "Adults like Ingrid and Mapi," She says," They're fostering you."

You give her a little look. "I know." You don't know why she's talking about that. It makes you feel all weird inside and briefly, you wonder if your Santa heart is going boom-boom wrong like your old one.

"Sometimes," She says," Fostering is more temporary."

You don't like her words. It makes you feel all icky and bad inside. You shake your head. "No," You say," No! Stay here!"

Your caseworker hands you a picture. It's got a little family on it, a mummy and a daddy and two boys who have the same hair colour as you.

"This family doesn't want to foster you," Your caseworker says when you throw the picture on the floor and hold Bagheera close. "They want to adopt you. They think you'd fit in well with them. Like a forever home instead of a foster home."

You shake your head, your bottom lip wobbling. "No...No! Forever home with Ingrid and Mapi!"

Your caseworker sighs deeply, shuffling the picture of the little family back into her folder. "You want to stay here?" She checks," With Ingrid and Mapi?"

"And Bagheera," You say stubbornly," Because this is forever home. Mapi and Ingrid are forever with me and my Santa heart."

"And you don't want to live with this family?" She reaches for the picture again and you turn away.

"Ingrid and Mapi," You say firmly.

"Okay. Let's get Ingrid and Mapi in here."

You're near to tears when they finally come back in and Ingrid pulls you into her arms immediately. You wipe your cheeks dry on her shirt and blindly reach for Mapi.

"Stay," You beg," Stay here. With you."

Mapi whips her head to your caseworker. "We've already begun to file the paperwork!" She hisses," Why would you bring them up to her?"

"I'm just doing my job. I couldn't let her stay here if she didn't want to!"

"Want to stay!" You say, hiding yourself away in Ingrid's neck," Want to stay!"

"You're stressing her out," Ingrid cuts in plainly when it looks like Mapi and your caseworker are going to start yelling," I understand you're doing your checks and you have to get her opinion but she's barely been out of the hospital for a few months and the doctors said that undue stress isn't good for her Santa heart." She strokes a hand over the back of your head. "We've filed the paperwork. She wants to live with us over the other family that expressed interest. We want her here with us."

Your caseworker sighs. She does that a lot. "I can't promise this will stay private. You're public figures. Your papers will be rushed through as soon as possible."

When she leaves, you finally peak out from your hiding place. With big, wet eyes, you look between Ingrid and Mapi. "Stay here?"

"Yes," Mapi says with an air of finality," You're staying here."

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

[butdjgn]

Don’t break it

Xavier Thorpe x reader

Disclaimer🔞: this fic is completely fake nothing in this story is factual, this story is rated meaning there is inappropriate material written. Please be advised. Thank you.

Ever since the beginning of school, Xavier has been starring at me. But I would be lying if I didn’t say I stared back. The tension is so addicting, it feels like he’s almost eye fucking me. Every single time we see eachother it’s always a contest seeing who is going to look away first, that became our thing. It wasn’t weird nor uncomfortable, that’s what I loved most about it. It’s like I can never get enough of him.

At first I was more rather curious than worried about him, I wanted to know who was staring at me often. I started to follow him and know his schedule, his routine, and everyday after school he goes to this secret shed. I’m not sure what’s in there and I want to find out. I know exactly where it is but I doubt I won’t have enough time to see.

Walking in the halls into my next class, I see Xavier on the balcony eye fucking me once more and leaning his body forward. Fuck he’s so hot. I decided to stand there making horrific eye contact. Looking at his body and into his eyes, man it makes me crave him every time. After a few seconds, he walks away like as if nothing happened. It was still sexy, I get a little excited walking to my last class of the day because I won eye contact.

48 minutes later, school is over.

I walk to my locker planning onto getting my things but when I open it, a piece of paper falls. Oh it’s a note.

Think you could stare at me like that? Come to the shed.

- Xavier

Fuck, he knows I followed him? I look at the note for a couple seconds and then place it in my pocket. Should i go..?

Ugh fuck it

I gather my things and go right where the shed is. I get there and the door is wide open. I peek in there and his back faced the door and I see all these drawings of what I think are girls? He’s painting another and it’s a body portrait. I invite myself in not thinking of it but to see what he’s truly drawing.

These portraits…. They’re me?

I see all of the drawings and it’s full of details of my face of me looking straight ahead at the viewer. Like it’s a photographed memory of us making eye contact. I can’t believe he’s this obsessed with me. It turns me on that the obsession is mutual.

I guess you caught me

I look at him, he can’t see me?

“What do you want”

Still painting the portrait, he continues.

I know you follow me around, you didn’t think id notice (y/n)?

He says my name so naturally, like he’s said it a thousand times. He gets up closing the door behind me. I stay in place, didn’t move a single muscle.

He comes from behind me and moved my hair off the side of my neck. He leans in stopping right before kissing it.

“It’s hard holding myself back from you, I don’t want to any longer.”

I turn over making full eye contact looking up at him.

“Nobody is stoping you”

He looks at me with shock, breathing hard slowly raising a smile. Slowly leaning in towards me, he suddenly smashes his lips with mine holding my face still making sure I’m not going anywhere. He picks me up and sits me on the table leaning over me with his hands catching him on the table. His heavy breathe turns me on so much. The way his body is reacting I know he was craving me. Standing straight, He opens my legs slowly rubbing my thighs with his long slim fingers. Looking at my facial expression. He reaches under my skirt touching my clothed clit. I love the way his cold fingers are petting against it.

He moves my panties to the side inserting his middle finger. He looks at you with a opened mouth.

“ fuck you’re so wet for me ”

“Anything for you”

He smiles and leans in again inserting another finger and pressing against your ‘spot’. Making it hard for you to kiss back. He giggles.

You’re so adorable y/n

He shifts up looking at you taking your panties completely off throwing them on the floor. Still eye fucking you he unbuckles his belt flipping his dick out. He inserts himself unannounced and it caugh you off guard.

“Mm you’re so warm. Fuck. You feel so good”.

He starts thrusting. Tell me how you started following me around. He commands me.

You’re eye contact- fuck…. It kept me interested…you’re body language was so fucking hot..mm..I wanted to know more about y-you..

He smiles letting it be known that he likes you feeling the exact same about him.

You wanted this for so long, huh?

“For so so long Xavier”

He lifts your legs grabbing your thigh and fucking ts out of you making you moan out of control. You look away closing your eyes trying to take his dick.

Don’t look away from me, or I’ll go even harder

“Maybe I want you to”

Yeah?

I nod. He gets closer spreading my legs and his hands on my waist. He fucks me so hard the table is hitting against the wall. I look up at him almost wanting to cry moaning in the process.

I know baby, I know.

He thrusts squeezing me so tightly it leaves a mark.

I’m s-so close

Lifting his head back, he pulls out just in time cumming on the floor. Relieving himself with his left hand breathing heavily.

#dirty fanfic #xavier Thorpe #smut #Xavier Thorpe smut #Wednesday adams ff #Xavier x reader #pov #imagine #xavier thrope imagine

[corruptedcaps]

Brat App

Ugh why did Mom have to marry the Dad of that bitch Alison?! As if being bullied at school isn’t enough now I have to get it at home too? I guess it’s not all bad though because I was able to hack into Alison’s phone and invite myself onto the exclusive ‘Brat App’ that Alison and her friends are all on. No idea what it is but with any luck I’ll find out some dirt on Alison to get her finally expelled so I can have some peace.

Hmmm this just looks to be some sort of social status game with challenges built on top. Every challenge has a ‘Brat’ value associated with it. So the more challenges a person does the higher up the leaderboard they climb and the higher up the rank. No big shock that Alison is sitting at the top as a level 10! Which gives her the rank of ‘Brat Queen’ which appropriate. By my calculations that would be…. nearly 10,000 points! Wow she must be addicted to this game. Looks like I got 1,000 bonus just for signing up and I can spend it on my little avatar of myself. Let’s see what I can buy. Sure why not, let’s improve her eyesight.…

Holy crap what just happened? My body feels all tingly and different. My glasses are making my eyes blurry. Did… did this app just cure my eyesight? This is unbelievable! What else can it do… more athletic, long nails, thick hair, big boobs, perfect posture. It makes sense now! All these challenges are real life challenges! This is how Alison is the hottest most feared girl in school! Ok new plan, if I raise the ranks of this app, and surpass Alison’s score then she’ll have to listen to me and become nicer. How hard could it be? I’m already at level one after all and these challenges don’t seem that difficult….

Bold makeup. Check. Revealing dress. Check. And that’s net me… let’s see here. 50 points? At this rate I’ll finish college before I have enough points! I need more bigger ticket items. Let me redeem these pathetic points at least. Mmmm nothing changed but it did give me a nice little tingle. Ok for 1000 points I need to… send some nudes?! Absolutely not! Alison hasn’t even done that! For another 1000 I need to suck a married cock? How vile! Ok this is more doable. Spread a vicious rumor about a classmate for 300. I could do that I guess. Hmmm I have to post it directly to the app so it can’t be about Alison or any of her friends. I know, I’ll say something about Lisa the unfortunate overweight girl in our class. She’ll never see it. I’ll say she was banned from Dairy Queen for breaking in and eating their whole stock. And send! Ohhhh somethings happening!

Oh god my tits! They’ve gone up like two sizes! But why? Hmmm looks like I hit some hidden ‘Bitch Bonus’ by doing that challenge. This is amazing and all I had to do was make fun of that whale Lisa. I know it was mean but it feels so fucking good! She’ll be fine it’s not like anyone will believe it anyway. <ding> ohhh that felt nice, what was it? Oh one of Alison’s friends liked my post. <ding> mmmm another one of her friends liked my post! Every like is 10 points and feels so gooood! <ding> oh fuck yesss girls keep liking! It feels so hawt! Maybe I should spread a few more lies…

Mmmm my body feels so much better in these clothes I redeemed! After only a few more rumors I got easily up to level 5, ‘Beta Bitch’, which unlocked my beautiful nails, my gorgeous silky hair, my perfect makeup, and all the knowledge to maintain them. Even my body is better shape, I’m so flexible now! Not to say anything about my lovely big tits! Alison’s friends seemed to really enjoy my wicked little rumours. I can’t deny it wasn’t fun writing them and it was even better getting the likes for them!

But I do feel kind of bad for all those losers I wrote stuff about though, I think the Brat App is effecting not just my body but my mind too. I feel so nasty and mean everytime I use it and even more now in this tight blouse and short skirt. I can’t help if I’m hotter than those dorks now! No that’s the app’s influence talking! I have to stop using the app, but I need to topple Alison! Ugh what do I do? <ding> what’s this? I’ve unlocked a new bonus. ‘Morality Suppression’? Hmmm that would solve my problems I guess and there is an option to turn it off later. Ok I’m going to do it! It’s for the good of the school after all. Here goes…

Ohhhhh fuck yesss that sooo much better. Like hell this is for the good of the school this is for the good of me! I feel so fucking free now. To think I was feeling regret for those pathetic fattys and geeky nerds I was writing about! I only regret not writing more! The only people worth anything are my bratty followers who like my posts and even they need to know their place and they will when I surpass Alison and become the new Queen bee. Oh fuck I feel so horny being this bad! I need some release and quick! Mmmm maybe I can finally tick off some of these challenges old me was too much of a loser to attempt. Mmmm yesss those will raise my rank in no time! Oh I have the perfectly wicked idea that will make me a bratty goddess by the end of the day! Oh step daddy!

Changed? Nonsense step daddy I’ve always looked like this. I’m a spoilt wicked little bitch just like your precious daughter, only you can fuck me. What’s the matter step daddy? Cat got your tongue? I bet you always wanted to fuck your mean little princess didn’t you? But you’re a good man and would never do that would you? But guess what? I’m not your daughter but I’m everything she is and more. Would you like a look under my shirt? Sure you would.

Hehe I see you like it step daddy. The outline of your cock is practically bursting out of your pants. Mmm and it looks so impressive. Let me have a peek <zip> oh step daddy, I can see why mommy married you. You’re so big! It’s making my mouth water. I need to have it step daddy, please say yes! I know you’re still hesitant so maybe it might convince you if I stopped calling you step daddy and instead called you… daddy. Mmm you like that don’t you… daddy? You want to put that big cock in my mouth and have my perfect pink lips suck it don’t you… daddy?

Mmmm thanks daddy for the great fucking, you’ve helped me complete so many nasty challenges. Suck a married cock. Check. Fuck an older man. Check. Call him daddy. Mmmm double check. After everything we got up to I completed over a dozen challenges, more than enough to take you bitch of a daughter’s crown. I just have to redeem the points now and assume the throne…. Mmmm it feels so good but something different is happening… oh fuck something amazing is happening!

Mmmm oh fuck yessss! Look at me, I’m a blonde busty bitch now! Im older and sexier and I feel so fucking nasty and hawt but how is this possible? Oh I see I unlocked a new challenge tree and a new rank. Mmmm ‘Homewrecker’ I love the sound of that! Who needs to be a bratty queen when I could be the wicked bitch that stole her daddy instead. Thats right darling, I’ve levelled up to being your mistress now and if you’re lucky and do as I say soon I’ll unlock ‘Trophy Wife’ and you can spoil me rotten as you should. Don’t worry I’ll still call you daddy, it makes everything feel so much more naughty. My mother? You mean that old crone Emma? She’s not my mother anymore, she not even my rival, she’s just an obstacle to our love, isn’t that right? Mmmm I knew you’d agree…. Daddy.

EPILOGUE

Alison was wondering what her father was doing that was taking so god damn long that he couldn’t have sent a car or something to pick her up from the mall like he promised. She had spent so much on his credit card that she was surrounded by high end boutique bags. Just when she was reaching her finally straw she got a message from him telling her he had sent a friend, some woman by the name of Gabrielle, to pick her up. Alison hadn’t heard of any Gabrielle before, except maybe her new dorky step sister but she went by Gabby anyway.

Following her father’s instructions to Gabrielle, Alison’s mouth was agape when she turned the corner to find a stunning blonde waiting for her. The blonde looked at Alison with distain and made Alison feel insignificant for the first time in her life. She didn’t like it. Gabrielle didn’t let up with her stare down, enjoying the way Alison averted her gaze. Alison meanwhile was grateful that their encounter was going to brief.

“So you’re Ted’s daughter? Hmmm I expected somebody a little more… impressive.” Gabrielle said not willing to hide her distaste. If this was anyone else Alison would have ground them to dust with only a few choice words but she felt so intimidated as she got into the car with the blonde bitch.

So much so that her phone dinged to tell her she lost some Brat points for her weakness. She had never lost points before! Gabrielle smirked to herself as she looked at her own phone and saw her points climb. She couldn’t wait become a wicked step mother.

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #evil bitch #evil couple #power transfer #magic item

[gojo-mochi]

A/N: yeah I wrote half of this when I went to see a live show… (shoutout to gho/st file/s!) Non edited/proofread bleh it just my rambling anyways

MDNI

Getting fucked dumb by a bigger man. In mass, size, and length. By the time their cock enters you, you’re already halfway to being a drooling and mindless mess. He needed to prep you thoroughly before you could take his cock, he didn’t want to hurt you after all.

“Oh? What’s that? You think you can take me with no prep?”

“Oh, little one, maybe we can try that tomorrow. For now, just lay back against me and let me stretch you out on my fingers.”

 “Yes, I know they’re so big, aren’t they? Bet you never reached this deep in your own before.” “Bet those boys before couldn’t even dream of reaching this deep with their dicks, huh? I’ll show you what a real man is made of soon enough, darling.. “

You find purchase by holding on to his biceps while he fingers you, your arousal coating his palm while he smacks it against your puffy clit. The wet squelching noises made you try to cover your face and ears in embarrassment. But he couldn’t have that, oh no, no…

His free hand will pinch in your cheeks if you try to hide any of those sweet noises he loves. Scolding you gently for being embarrassed as his fingers plunged in faster and faster. If you still feel like fighting and escaping his hold on you. He’ll take it a step deeper, shoving two fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. He doesn’t care if you drool or even try to bite down on him. As long as you keep on making those cute and sweet whimpers and moans unhindered.

You scratch and claw at his biceps as he flexes under your hands. Your pitiful attempts at damaging him barely did a dent to his muscular form. His mouth next to your ear, hot, heavy, laced with desire and need. Your pussy pulling in his fingers, sucking them in so sloppily.

“Fuck, maybe this slutty pussy can take me already. Look at how she’s crying out for me.”

Once he pulls one, two, maybe even three orgasms from just his fingers, your body quivering and twitching, only held down by his big encompassing arm around your waist. Depending on the mood he would pull out a small vibrartor bullet pressing down on your abused swollen clit, ignoring your cries to stop and attempts to push his hands away. His free hand trapping your wrists together, forcing your thighs to go over his own thick ones, spreading you out fully for his assault. Letting the vibrartor roam around your lips, just teasing you for a bit, he loves watching you twitch and struggle, licking the tears from your cheeks as he prods the bullet against your clit until the bed sheet underneath gets completely soaked. 

If he doesn't care for toys or is feeling a bit hungry that day, he would kneel down on the bed but keep his back straight, his height still towering over you even in this position as he flips you upside down. Throwing your legs over his broad shoulders as he delves down for his feast. HIs fat tongue lapping at your juices like a starved dog, his arm squeezing at your soft chest and waist, sometimes yanking you back up to crash into his mouth when you slip a bit. Sucking and rolling his tongue and mouth over your sensitive little nub unless your cries become voiceless and your head gets dizzy from the position. 

Then when you’re finally in that dumb state, nothing but incoherent babbles spilling from your lips, your body too exhausted to fight back. Turned into nothing but a toy for him to ram his cock into, He’ll pick you up once more, bringing your legs together and locking them in under one bicep. The other arm around your neck, not choking but pushing your head back so he can whisper filth in your ear as he lowers you down on his length. Your pussy so weak and wet, still struggles to fit him in all fully. Whines still come out when he’s halfway in, your breath gets hitch in your throat when he fully bottoms out. When he starts rutting into you, his balls slapping against your ass heavily with each bounce, he’ll press a hand down on the bulge protruding in your stomach. 

“Full enough yet, love?”

“Pussy still so fucking tight, gotta train her better.”

“Oh, little one, you’re nothing but a toy for me to fuck, aren’t cha?”

“So pliant, you’ll let me do whatever I want to you, right? Cause you love this cock so much..” 

#toji smut #konig smut #softy talks to you​ (·•᷄ࡇ•᷅ ) (•᷄ •᷅ ;) #softy write #kidd smut #one piece smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #simon riley smut #uhh who else is huge #zoro smut #softy spice #idk tag ur fav huge man

[jennelikejennay]

Today I saw a comment saying that slash "erases friendship." Which, yeah, we've all heard it, it's stupid because you can still watch the original show that doesn't have the slash in it and interpret it as friendship if you want. (Though it may be difficult with TOS.)

But what about the ways that heteronormativity erases friendship?!

Are we going to forget that Spock and Uhura had a long-standing platonic friendship that the new movies tried to erase by making them kiss?

What about how in SNW Spock was building up a beautiful friendship with Chapel where they relied on each other for advice, until the writers decided to ruin it by having some aliens decide friendship wasn't a good enough relationship for them to care about?

Is Lower Decks going to ruin Rutherford and Tendi's beautiful platonic partnership by making them date? I don't think so but I do worry about it a little!

Remember how Picard and Crusher had a beautiful platonic relationship for seven years and that got ruined in ST: Picard?

How many genuine, close m/f friendships do you see in all of television and cinema where they don't get together at any point?

Look, to be clear, I don't think it ruins a friendship if the people end up pursuing a romance later, and you can definitely still be bffs after you get married.

But in terms of friendships that are fully platonic and given lots of screen time and development...we get those all the time with m/m, once in a while with f/f, and almost never with m/f.

It's not the gay shippers who are taking friendship away from you, look somewhere else!

#slash #shipping #friendship #platonic relationships #star trek #spirk #heteronormativity

[starrystevie]

it's 2004 when steve finds himself back in hawkins for the first time since he moved away for good. he has a master's degree under his belt, a mortgage on a house outside of st. louis with a dog and picket fence, and a rockstar that wormed his way into his heart next to him in bed every night. he's closer to 50 than he is to 20 and life feels good, life feels settled, figured out in a way he never thought he'd get to see.

"you gonna tell me why you're shakin' like a leaf?"

but sitting across from wayne munson and his sharp gaze is enough to make him feel like a teenager again.

steve takes a sip from his glass of water before setting it down on the end table next to him and watches the way wayne's finger taps against the side of his coffee cup. it's like he's keeping rhythm with something that steve can't hear, like a drum beat in his head that proves that he's the reason eddie has musical talent.

"i'm fine," he responds back to wayne, a stilted smile crossing his face. wayne's gaze deepens like he he doesn't believe him. "i'm fine!"

there's a clock ticking somewhere in the living room and the faucet in the kitchen is dripping quietly and it makes the silence that falls between them even more deafening. steve takes in a deep breath and nods absently as he rubs his palms over his denim clad knees.

"is he in trouble?" wayne asks in a gruff voice, low and to the point. steve shakes his head immediately, stutters out something that sounds like no, and wayne looks at him with his eyebrows pinched together. "are you in trouble?"

"no, it's not-" steve stands up and paces out some of his nerves, hands shoved into his pockets so that he stops waving them around. he sighs and looks back at wayne. "it's nothing bad."

"if it ain't bad, then just say it."

steve groans and runs his hands through his hair. it's harder to do this than he thought it would be, quite possibly the hardest thing he's done in years and that's including having to admit to eddie that he does indeed like the stupid beard he grew as a dare from jeff. wayne is still staring at him with a determined look, like he won't let steve get away with any of his usual charming bullshit, and looks so much like eddie that it makes something in his heart explode.

"fine! i'm asking eddie to marry me and i need your permission or something. happy old man?" he finally says, or well, shouts. it's too loud in the quiet house and he can see wayne wince from the decibel he reaches but it's out. it's off his chest and he's finally said it.

and wayne is smiling.

seeing him smile is strange, not because he doesn't look good with a smile, but because it's not often that steve gets to bear witness to it. it starts off slow, clipped at the edges before it spreads to his cheeks and crinkles his eyes. steve's breathing hard when wayne stands up and wraps his hands around the tops of his shoulders. he can feel himself shaking under wayne's grip and from this close, he can see the tears that he knows wayne is fighting against.

"it's about damn time, boy. took you two long enough to pull your heads outta your backsides."

getting hugged by wayne is almost weirder than seeing him smile. it's short, to the point, with pats on backs and chuckles that break loose from steve's too tight chest. part of him wishes eddie were here to let him be a part of the moment, but it would ruin the surprise he's so carefully planned, so he revels in the rare time between just the two of them.

"had to wait for somewhere to allow it first, wayne," steve mutters as they pull apart and he feels hope unfurl somewhere within him when he says it.

"well, alright, i guess you're off that hook then. but y'know," wayne's sitting back down in his arm chair and steve does the same, matching grins plastered on their faces. "you don't need my permission. that boy is crazy over you and if you think you ain't a part of this family already, then you're crazier than he is."

steve looks around at the pictures on the shelf behind wayne's head. sees young eddie and wayne with arms around each other, sees a makeshift graduation picture, an out of focus one of the two of them outside their house in missouri, one of all three of them around the chritmas tree in '99 when they had wayne come down to see them, and he thinks, yeah. they're already a family. at least now it'll be paper official.

#don't ask i just wanted to write about wayne okay #bee try to not write wayne as if he is uncle bobby from spn challenge failed #steddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #wayne munson the man that we have made you........ #this is long but i didn't want to ruin the flow with a read more so pls forgive me #crush the idea that a man has to ask permission to marry u but steve absolutely still would because he thinks it's what a gentleman does

[scwheeler]

— happiness is a butterfly

luke castellan x fem!daughter of ares!reader

warnings: SPOILERS FOR TLT + angst ha ha ha

summary: ‘if he’s a serial killer, then what’s the worst that can happen to a girl who’s already hurt—i’m already hurt—if he’s as bad as they say, then i guess i’m cursed—looking into his eyes, i think he’s already hurt—he’s already hurt.”

a/n: inspired by lana del ray’s ‘happiness is a butterfly’

taking another step forward, you let your body fall with the weight and let gravity take its course. before you could even skim the blades of grass below, a familiar pair of hands caught you. with the playful catch, you were spun around to meet the eyes of your savior.

“why, hello there.” you smiled and looked up at your charming boyfriend with the rays of sunlight behind him highlighting his dark brown curls. they were scattered, with how much running he had to do to catch up with you.

“done running?” he carefully asked, cocking one eyebrow and a tedious squeeze of your waist.

his actions forced you to start laughing, a sound luke could’ve listened to for the rest of his life.

“stop! st-stop! ok—okay, i surrender!” you choked out, in between giggles.

he finally stopped his torture, instead picking you up off the ground and spun you around. your hair following the way of the wind and your hands now placed on his shoulders.

his firm grip on your waist wasn’t hard enough to make you have a laughing fit again but to ensure that you wouldn’t fall.

he would never let you fall.

your footsteps quickened with each worrying thought clouding your head. all of the possibilities of what the campers were informing you mid-lunch were only ending in a cursed fate.

disregarding the occasional call out of your name by your friends or half-siblings, you only pushed harder towards the infirmary.

finally reaching big house, continuing to ignore the apollo kids and their protests of entering the room, you pushed them aside and rushed inside. the moment the door swung open, you were met with three faces: percy, annabeth, and chiron.

however, percy’s unconsciousness instantly caught your attention. you rushed to his bedside, kneeling down and taking one of his limp hands into both of yours.

“no—no no no, what happened?” you demanded, urgency detected in your voice.

“it was luke.” annabeth muttered, anguish and sorrow lacing her whispered words.

if he’s a serial killer

from running down to the house, you heart was racing both out of breath and full of concern. yet, once annabeth’s words slipped from her lips, the pounding stopped.

your heart stopped. but only for a moment.

the pressure in percy’s hand went still, your hold loosening and now your body falling limp. lips parted, you tried to speak. luke? your luke? he was the one trying to kill percy? not save him?

but opposing to your wishes, no words came out. you couldn’t even bear to face the two standing behind you. tears spiked the corners of your eyes, refusing to stay and rolling down your flushed cheeks.

then what’s the worst that can happen to a girl who’s already hurt

“hey, what’s wrong?”

his right hand cupped your face, wiping your trickling tears with his thumb. his reassuring smile reminded you of the trust that lied in your relationship.

“what’s wrong with me?” you admitted but regretted it the second the words came out of your mouth.

i’m already hurt

momentarily, your tears had stopped but after answering the question you couldn’t help it. trying to look away and avoid his longing stare that was overwhelmingly comforting, you turned your head but he gently brought you back.

his left hand now resting in your shoulder. but then he wrapped his hand around the back of your head and brought you into his chest.

stroking your hair on the back of your head, he spoke lightly, careful to not provoke you once again.

“nothing is wrong with you. nothing. from head to toe, inside and out, you are the most perfect girl in the entire world. heaven to hell.” he whispered, his lips almost pressing against your ear. his sweet words were like honey, easing you into him.

you would’ve never believed that his words would be the very thing to betray you.

overcoming your emotions, the realization of annabeth saying luke’s name hit you. rising to your feet, with no words to spare, you took annabeth into your arms. at first, she hesitated, the tough, resilient girl she had always presented herself to be.

but you knew annabeth. annie.

her and luke were siblings, not by the blood they were blessed but the love they shared. even though she would never admit it, annabeth looked up to him as both a mentor and an older brother.

thus, you knew that this hit her as hard as hit you. all you could do was hold her in your arms as she finally let you in, resting her head in the crook of your neck.

“i’m so—so sorry.” she mumbled, muffled by your hair.

“no—no, don’t.” you pulled back to face her. there were tears streaming down her face, already wetting her shirt.

“this is not your fault. this is no one’s fault but his and his alone.” you continued, refusing to even utter his name though.

you tried to be strong for her, because throughout the years you had become an older sister figure to her, percy, and most of the other younger campers that usually trailed behind luke.

people would joke how you two were the ‘parents’ of camp half-blood, always ready with open arms and tissues, band-aids and patches, words of encouragement and advice.

that left the only people to provide those things for you and luke to be: each other.

“y/n?” a voice sparked from the door, your attention following.

immediately putting the photos in your hand back into your chest, you looked up at the figure approaching. it was the same guy from before, the one that promised a tour of camp. you had reluctantly agreed, mr. d continuously urging it honestly to get you off his hands.

“oh…hey.” you spoke and pushed on your knees to get up.

there was awkward tension between you two, unknown strangers that met after such a troubling night of arriving to this place for so-called ‘demi-gods.’ he seemed friendly?

but after seeing some girl push a kid down for simply just bumping into her? you couldn’t tell.

“i’m luke, head counselor of hermes cabin.” he introduced and held out his hand. you disregarded it instead replying with a question.

“hermes cabin? is that where i am?” you questioned, looking around for any indication or sign that stated where you were specifically.

“yeah—and the signs’ outside, you probably can’t tell from inside because every newcomer stays here until they’re claimed, so we don’t have much hermes identification like a huge flag like ares cabin.” he rambled, trying to lighten the mood and lift the difficult air.

“so that’s what i am, unclaimed?” you ignored his joke, immediately interrogating him.

“well yes, for now that is.” he specified.

“for now?” you shot back, crossing your arms and stepping forward.

luke felt his body tense up all of a sudden. not out of fear, but of something else. something that had never happened before. why was he so nervous around a girl he had just met?

“y-yeah, until you get claimed by your godly parent.” he continued with a friendly smile, a hitch in his breath.

you narrowed your eyes at the boy in front of you, with his tall frame with broad shoulders and defining muscles, he seemed unsure of himself. somewhat on edge, hanging off of every word you had spoke.

“and when do i get—claimed?” you asked, now with a rather worrisome tone.

he detected your sudden shift in both your question and mood, the confidence from moments ago faltering within seconds. you stopped stepping forward, now almost retreating.

luckily with all of the introductions and camp tours he had given to the newcomers in the past years, this question was easy as pie for luke. he knew the fret that came hand in hand with the anonymous whereabouts and whole claiming process. he had felt it the first time arriving at camp.

even with knowing he was the son of hermes, he resented it. whenever the topic of the gods had come up, especially in the nature of praising them, luke would disappear from the conversation like thin air.

people assumed it was because of the lack of relationship he had with his father, always keeping it in mind after various campers witnessing him swinging his sword, backbiter, across the dummies at the training grounds.

“well…it’s hard to say, it could be tomorrow or next week or next month or next…” he stopped himself before completely obliterating your hopes in getting claimed.

however you caught onto the slow trail of his words and how he tried to avoid your eyes before ending the sentence.

“have you been claimed?” you swiftly asked before he could start making random conversation or switch the topic. with your question, his attention was easily caught, facing you instantly.

“yes.” he briefly answered. no less, no more.

he seemed closed off about it, his smile wiping off of his face once you brought it up. but he first saw your dissatisfaction with his answer.

“hermes is my father. but that doesn’t matter, we’re all family here.” he insisted, brushing off the beginning of his words.

getting the message, you nodded and finally gave him a smile. now you were the one trying to cheer him up, dismissing your previous question.

“family.” you repeated, now holding out your hand which luke eagerly took with a grin. once the hands joined, his thumb caressed your hand, giving reassuring pressure.

at that moment, you both knew you two would be a lot more than family.

trailing through the deep forest used to be a sense of enjoyment, observing the beautiful nature or making your way to the strawberry fields, but now it had seemed more of a distraction. your chest heaving, you stumbled into a large oak for some stability.

unable to tell if it was from the running or crying, you felt your throat close up, choking sobs. tears continued to well up in your eyes, eyelashes already soaked. you sighed heavily, letting your head drop and catch your breath.

one hand grabbed onto your shoulder, hooking onto your body. fully out of fear, you dropped down and back up to turn and pounce on the attacker. but once you faced them, the thoughts dissolved.

it wasn’t an attacker. it was your boyfriend.

however, unlike the hundreds of other times when he’d sneak up on you, you froze in your position with hands slowly retreating back to your sides and only the occasional hiccups breaking the silence.

you didn’t jump into his arms or playfully slap his chest before pressing your lips onto his. your face didn’t brighten up at just the flash of his smug smile, knowing the power he held over you.

instead you just stood there.

you resisted the tears attempting to escape your eyes, so you looked off into the distance. knowing your tactics, he stepped forward. you were to afraid to move. why? it was luke. he had seen you at your worst, he had seen all of you.

so why was it so heartbreaking to face him now?

as if on command, his fingers grazed your cheek, wiping the loose tear from earlier. it was like all the memories had came back the moment his body connected to yours, the warmth you’d been so familiar with, the scent you could recognize from miles away, the soft touch he would instigate when he was around you.

now caressing your cheek, he drew another step closer and cut down the gap between you two.

“i’ve been looking for you.” he gingerly brought up with a notion of care in his choice of words.

if he’s as bad as they say

you promised yourself not to get convinced or sucked in like chiron reminded back in the infirmary. the image of percy’s unconscious body lying on the bed flashed in your head, snapping you back into reality.

shaking out of his touch, you stepped back and kept a boundary. he seemed surprised, his hand lingering in place for a second after. keeping your composure, you looked straight back at him, dead in the eyes.

then i guess i’m cursed

“how could you do that to percy?” you broke the silence, visible anger rising in your voice.

“don’t you understand? percy was never going to get it—h-he’s not like us! he would only get in the way!” he exclaimed, stepping towards you again. backing up, you found yourself grasping for a tree behind you.

“not like us?” you asked, confused with luke’s scramble of convincing.

“his fatal flaw. it’s loyalty, there was no use in trying to persuade him, he would’ve only turned against us in the end—joining the gods and doing all their bidding i bet.” there was a flash of aggression tied in with envy.

you had never seen him like this. maybe once at the campfire when a guy flirted with you only footsteps away from him. before he could show the guy the stars though, you swiftly turned him down and proceeded to go to luke with your sweet demeanor.

luke was impressed and found himself lucky for how loyal of a girlfriend he had.

a trait you always believed he adored.

“what do you mean against us?”

his head titled at the sound of your voice, with furrowed eyebrows and an innocent look that showcased his confusion.

“us: you and me.” he answered with ease as if you two had planned or even talked about this before.

but with the evident dumbfounded expression that lied on your face, he knew he was mistaken. the lack of response only further urged him to explain his answer.

“y/n, you’ve always despised the gods. your father has shown you nothing but hatred. he’s dismissed your entire existence for the majority of your life, visiting only when it’s convenient for him.” he egged on, now closing the distance between you two and forcing your back against the tree trunk.

taken aback by his harsh words, you looked away. you had told him all of this in private when you had chased him right after percy’s claiming. he obviously was upset, turning back to the woods without another look at the glowing trident hovering above percy’s head.

even though they had gotten close over the first days percy had arrived, luke taking on the ‘big brother’ role, he couldn’t handle this.

running after him in the woods, he didn’t slow down. you called after him over and over again, until he finally reached a clearing.

“luke? are you okay?” you inquired, putting your hands on each side of his face, making him look at you so you could determine if he was lying or not.

“it’s nothing.” he tried pulling away from your hands but you didn’t let him, now raising your eyebrows as you easily detected his lie.

“luke.”

“why—” he stopped moving, surrendering to your grasp and fixing eye contact. his eyebrows were knitted together, eyes blinking away tears from forming.

“why is percy’s father poseidon? why does percy’s father acknowledge him after just a few days? after what?! what did percy do that was so…so amazing that poseidon—one of the big three—claimed him after a few days?! he’s not even the one with glory—i am!” he announced, without the care of anyone hearing.

his lip quivered with every word he said, gritting his teeth to calm himself, a tactic he used every time the topic of his father would come up.

you had sympathized with him, revealing your patchy relationship with your father: ares. hand in hand with his absence, his lack of being a loving, caring father should’ve shaped the type of person you became.

but you refused to let it.

you didn’t want to be controlled by your temper or anger, blinded by your own overwhelming emotions and acting irrationally. you were not your father, far from it and you would refuse to turn out the same way.

thus, the two of you created a pact to become different people than your parents to show them that whatever they did was not to your concern.

“but luke—this is wrong.” you intervened, now leaning back onto the tree.

“i know you’re angry but there’s another way. you cannot do this, please i need—” you started pleading for him to come to his senses. but he was far over his head, underestimating the potential consequences of his actions.

“there is no other way.” he muttered, fixing his gaze on the dirt beneath you two.

“aren’t you tired? tired of them getting to come and go as they please?! because i am!”

“it’s not their fault.” you mumbled, afraid of the rising fury in his tone.

“stop defending them! what have they done that you have to defend them for?! i used to pray every single night for my father to just show up.” his words were escalating, tears welling up and clouding his brown eyes as a result of wrath and exhaustion.

“when my mother was loosing her damn mind and throwing fits day and night or when i was constantly getting attacked by monsters chasing annabeth, thalia, and i for simply existing—where was he?!” his voice trailed off into sniffling and hiccups as you habitually grabbed him closer.

he didn’t fight it, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck, muffling his sobs.

“where was he—y/n…where?” he choked out, allowing you embrace his body and let the familiar warmth of yours comfort the lonely feeling that simmered within him.

you swallowed, as if you were taking in the lump that had been sitting in your throat ever since he approached you. petting the back of his head, you rubbed his back, giving him the reassurance that you weren’t going anywhere.

looking into his eyes, i think he’s already hurt

pulling him back, you searched for his now glossy eyes that revealed the anguish that was caused from his pent up frustration. he didn’t blink away the tears this time, naturally rolling down his right cheek where the pale scar of the painful reminder he was burdened with lied.

he’s already hurt.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #pjo series #lc #pjo tv show #pjo x reader #percy jackson #percy pjo

[ellecdc]

💰jingle jingle💰

how much for you to continue the barty shirt fic where they make it up to the tower and tell the marauders🤭

I'll give you this one for free but the rest will cost you

Barty Crouch Jr x potter!reader who tattles on Jegulus

CW: making fun of only children, siblings insulting one another, platonic Prongsfoot drama, no real angst - just chaos Continuation of this one shot

The trek from the Slytherin dungeons up the Gryffindor tower in a full sprint was unideal for even the most athletic and fit quidditch player in the castle; but if there was one thing a lifetime worth of living with James Potter and his pranking ways prepared you for, it was running.

Fortunately for you, this was not a universal experience and you were quickly able to leave Regulus and Barty well enough behind you.

You screamed the password at the Fat Lady who shrieked in fear when she saw you barrelling towards her causing her to open so quickly that the portrait thwacked against the stone walls and you all but dived into the common room. 

You stood up straight as your chest burned to survey the patrons of the common room only to find that the entire common room was already doing the same to you.

“Circe’s tits, Potter.” Lily said with a smirk. “You look like you were trying to outrun Peeves.”

Your smile turned devious as you continued panting. “Better.” You answered quickly, turning your sights towards your brother, Peter, Remus, and…

“Sirius!” You greeted as you speed-walked over to their sofas.

“Hey Trouble; get tired of the snakes?” Sirius teased as he moved a chess piece with an air of nonchalance.

You were eager to change that.

Before you could open your mouth, two Slytherin’s came spilling into the common room before the portrait had a chance to close behind them.

“I’m so glad you could join me for this.” You taunted Regulus who’s jaw tightened as he straightened himself up and shook Barty’s hand off his shoulder.

“Isn’t this a nice shirt, Siri?”

Sirius looked up at that as he considered your form. “Yeah, actually; that’s designer, right?”

You look down at it with a smirk when you heard Regulus whisper a cautionary, “Potter.”

“I’m not sure…it’s got a little crown on the sleeve.” You explained innocently.

Sirius’ eyebrows widened at that. “Shit. Yeah those are super expensive; but great quality and super soft. Great choice, Junior.”

“Thank you!” Barty accepted eagerly. “See Treasure? Black gets it.”

You smirked as you looked over at James who you could see by now was clearly sweating. “Right…but I actually stole this from Jamie’s trunk.”

James’ eyes shot to Regulus as yours moved back to Sirius who was staring at you bemusedly.

“That is not Prongs’ shirt, and didn’t Junior just admit it was his?”

“Nope.” Barty answered with a pop of the p. “I admitted buying it.”

“Why are you buying clothes for James?” Remus asked cautiously then, eyes darting nervously between your mischievous form, James’ anxious form, Regulus’ tense form, and Sirius’ confused form.

“Oh, I’d never buy clothes for that Potter.” Barty scoffed. “That shirt was Reggie’s birthday present last year.”

The sound of Peter’s hand slapping against his mouth as he stared at you all wide eyed was the only sound in the entire common room.

Remus was holding his book in front of his face like a shield as he watched the spectacle that was his friend group.

Finally, Lily let out a long suffering sigh. “Potter, you might want to take this chance to get a head start.”

“Right.” James agreed quickly as he took off towards the portrait hole, pausing as he passed Regulus, seeming to decide since he was already going to die tonight, he may as well go big or go home.

He paused long enough to pull Regulus into a searing kiss before ripping away from him and taking off out of the common room.

The room continued to sit silently as everyone digested what they just saw.

“Did we seriously lose both Potter’s to Slytherin’s?” Marlene asked finally, causing Regulus to scoff.

“Like you’ve got a leg to stand on here, McKinnon.”

“At least I’m not fucking my brother’s best friend!” She volleyed back, causing Sirius to let out a dramatic gagging sound.

“You lot really need to spend less time worrying about who your siblings are shagging.” Peter said with an air of finality.

“Thank you!” You and Regulus chorused, causing you to glare at one another.

“You’re taking this rather well, Pads.” Remus chuckled, tapping Sirius’ knee with his book as Sirius continued staring unseeingly at the portrait hole.

“Mhm.”

Remus and Peter exchanged a worried glance. “What are you waiting for?” Peter asked finally.

“James will get lonely when he realizes no one is chasing him.” He replied in monotone. “He’ll be back in a few.”

“Sirius, please be cool about this; I’m happy, alright?” Regulus sighed in exasperation.

Sirius’ eyes flit over to his younger brother as his brows furrowed. “Listen, am I particularly pleased about…this? No. But that’s not what I’m going to kill him for.”

“What are you going to kill him for?” You inquired, wondering if it was worth writing home to your parents about.

The second your sentence finished, James cautiously stepped back through the portrait hole to find the common room in much the same state as he’d left it.

Suddenly, Sirius stood from his spot on the sofa. “ALL THOSE TIMES YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE TOO BUSY TUTORING TO PRANK WITH ME, YOU WERE DITCHING ME FOR MY BROTHER!?”

The room collectively grimaced as they looked over at James. 

“Listen mate, it’s not what it looks like.” James pleaded, earning him a scoff from his best friend.

“It isn’t what it looks like!? Because the way it looks to me is that you lied, and you kepy secrets! You know, there was a point in this relationship that trust and honesty meant something!” Sirius shouted back.

“It does!” James offered quickly. “It does, Pads! Swear it!”

“Right, forgive me, but your word means nothing to me right now.” He spat as he went storming up towards their shared dorm, James quickly following behind.

“Please don’t shut me out like this; you’re still my other half!”

But the rest of the argument performance was silenced when the door to their room shut behind them.

“Well, Regulus.” Remus sighed with a tired smile. “Welcome to the family; our boyfriend’s are each other’s boyfriends, and this happens every three days.”

“Salazar’s fucking balls.” Regulus groaned as he threw his head back. “This is why I didn’t want it going public.”

“Oi!” You shouted as you lobbed a throw pillow at your new future brother-in-law. “If you’re going to love my brother, love him with your whole chest, coward!”

“You take that back.” He hissed at you.

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“I…I don’t know what to do…should…should we get a professor? What’s happening?” Barty started, looking around the Gryffindor common room with a look of panic on his face.

“Oh, relax, Junior. Your only child is showing.” Remus sighed as he pulled his book back out.

“Aren’t you an only child, Lupin?”

“Yup.” Remus responded as he turned a page of his book. “But I’ve lived in the same tower as the Potters for seven years, and dealt with Sirius and Regulus for the past two; you pick up a few things. Things like this-” he explained as he pointed towards you and Regulus who were still throwing insults back and forth. “Is what siblings call bonding.”

Lily chuckled as Marlene, Barty, Peter, and Remus watched as you called Regulus a “spoiled rotten toerag” to which he replied that “even listening to your voice made him feel like he was losing brain cells”.

“Siblings are weird.” Barty decided.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #barty gate #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #barty #slytherin skittles #the slytherin skittles #barty crouch jr imagine #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch jr x you #fluff #comedy #siblings #ellecdc fics

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

TWST boys with a Diana! Reader?

The reader's a really and I mean REALLY popular and a captivating woman from Siodonna, many rumours were spreading of a beauty from Siodonna yet the TWST boys decided to ignore the rumours, taking them as only bluffs until they met the reader performing in the streets for the poor children. The boys quickly fell head over heels for they're kind nature, and alluring looks. The way those crystal like (Colour) eyes gaze into theirs sending their hearts pounding again their chest. Being lucky enough to marry the woman of their dreams was a big accomplishment but they're happiness was short lived when they found out the risk of the reader dying during childbirth, the TWST boys being selfish asked her to choose them over the child yet the reader didn't have the heart to do so and decided to give her life for the child, only doing as much as witnessing how they're child grew as a wandering spirit and visiting them in their dreams to interact with they're child. How would the guys react when their child(or children) mentioning they're mother's name when they've actually never met or heard of her?? <3

- M. Draconia ; V. Schoenheit ; R. Rosehearts ; L. Kingscholar ; I. Shroud ; L. Vanrouge

"I'm sorry for not choosing you, but I couldn't bare giving it up ( sacrificing an innocent life) either..."

- (Name)

SORRY IT'S BAD, I'M RUSHING THIS 😭😭

Mentioning Your Name | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Its an average day your child casually mentions some advice you gave. It takes them off guard and the problem with lovers as in love as they are suffering from your loss–this can be received very differently:

Malleus Draconia 

“What did you say?”

“I said (Y/n) told me I should try harder to talk to you because your socially immature.”

“....when…when did they say this?”

“In my dream last night, I asked how I was supposed to get you to smile at me and they told me to be ins-st-i-dent?”

He remembers what you said to comfort him before the birth

And honestly if it hadn’t been for that and this child having your smile

He would’ve smited him long ago

But to hear that you’re still here in some capacity

He smiles more 

Speaking into the quiet of the room 

Practically serenading your lingering spirit

“Thats…just like them…”

Vil Schoenheit 

“Wearing those two patterns is a travesty, we won’t be doing plaid with polka-dots–”

“Noooo! B-but I said I would!”

“...To who?”

“To (Y/n) of course I was telling them all about how I’d wear them-”

“Wait wait what did you say?”

He doesn’t believe that you’re meeting in their dreams

Its more than likely one of his close friends slipped up while babysitting

And now they’ve taken the name of their mother for some imaginary friend

Needless to say he’ll get to the bottom of this

Even if it takes a forceful kind of truth serum

“(Y/n)...my half is dead…so whoever they’re speaking to is something else.”

Riddle Rosehearts

“My RULE IS ABSOLUTE TO YOUR ROOM!” 

“(Y/n) would hate you so much!?”

“H-how do y-you–!”

“They said I should be free! That I should be allowed to play with others!”

“Where?! Where did you hear that?!”

He thought that he wouldn’t need to be hurt again

But here you were showing up in your child’s dreams 

But since you’ve left him…what do you words mean now

“You’re not appearing to me and you aren’t here to parent…therefore you’re words barely scrape the height of a suggestion.”

Leona Kingscholar 

“(Y/n) doesn’t think I’m weak!”

“WHAT?!”

“THEY said I’m plenty strong and that you don’t know everything!”

He’ll continue to lock the child away 

Scratching at his post some interloper as he thinks about what his child has said 

“Even across the grave you’re fighting me…can’t do much from where I’m at now can I?”

Idia Shroud 

“Papa I made my own drone…”

“Mmmm.”

“Uhm and uh (Y/n) says that you should maybe look at me when I show you mystuff so…”

“...”

Is floored

Since your departure he’s been torn with hating this child and eliminating anyone who interacts with them

So consumed with grief he shuts himself in his workshop and watches his child relentlessly

He knows them well in fact he’s sure he loves them 

but he can’t stand to speak to them without wanting to cry

So this is all the more painful to him and in his desire to reach out he might end up inventing something meant to capture your wandering spirit

“Just you wait (Y/n), I’ll have you soon.”

Lilia Vanrouge

“Just trust Papa on this you stay inside, my little bat.”

“(Y/n) says you should let me outside more.”

“Oh yeah they really–said…that?”

“Yeah! And that you need to properly comb out my hair you can’t leave it a tangled mess.”

“Hahaha yeah.”

He believes in ghosts, well he knows they exist

So he believes thats what that is about 

And if thats the case than maybe if he suggests somethings for your kid to recite

Maybe he can still reach out to you

“Hey! Hey! Maybe the next time you see them can you tell her how much Daddy loves her?”

#yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia x reader #yandere lilia #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle roseheart x reader #yandere idia shroud #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil schoenheit x reader #yandere leona kingscholar #yandere leona kingscholar x reader #yandere leona x reader #yandere leona #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Lauren Bacall (To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Key Largo)—"Just put your lips together...and blow" excuse me ma'am i'm briefly going to turn into a kettle. She's the quintessential Femme Fatale who may betray me in the end but I'd let her it'd be worth it

Pearl Bailey (Carmen Jones, St. Louis Blues, Porgy and Bess)—vintage crush of all time, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and my GOD the PIPES! She wasn't in nearly enough movies, but every time I see her I'm aghast all over with what a gorgeous woman she was. Vote Pearl for diva glamor like no one else! (also....she was on the Muppet Show!)

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Lauren Bacall:

"She is soooo neat. And hot. And everything. That one scene in To Have and Have Not where she says "you know how to whistle don't you? You just put your lips together and blow" altered my brain chemistry during media archaeology class and here we are."

"The VOICE, the SLINK, the EYES. Woof."

"Lauren Bacall was a major lesbian awakening for me. Every picture of her makes it look like she’s about to destroy you physically and emotionally (why is that so hot, I may need help). She had incredible long running chemistry with her husband, Humphrey Bogart, but was an absolute star in her own right. I’ll never be over my crush on her."

"She's got that confident, no-nonsense air about her. She's a boss babe who knows what she wants and gets it DONE. Staunch liberal Democrat her whole life. Campaigned for RFK. From Wikipedia: "In a 2005 interview with Larry King, Bacall described herself as "anti-Republican... A liberal. The L-word". She added that "being a liberal is the best thing on Earth you can be. You are welcoming to everyone when you're a liberal. You do not have a small mind."" Beautiful hair. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful lips. She's just beauty. LISTEN TO HER VOICE. TELL ME THAT'S NOT THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF."

"HER VOICE. Like yeah, she was absolutely stunning but oh my god, I'm obsessed with her voice"

"A gorgeous lady inside and out. One half of an absolute power couple with Humphrey Bogart, tended to him and other actors suffering from malaria whilst filming the African Queen, generally radiated grace and poise throughout her life. Also her last role was in Family Guy so she needs justice for that"

"She was stunning. Tall and beautiful with a distinctive voice and able to carry her own in a male dominated field. She won the heart of millions, including one of Hollywood's most iconic leading men, Humphrey Bogart. Their story was the stuff of legends, and the chemistry between them was apparent in the multiple films they started in together. She personified the film noir dame and yet she also adapted as Hollywood changed. Her career spanned decades, and she was honored multiple times."

Pearl Bailey propaganda:

"Pearl Bailey was an absolute POWERHOUSE! She's best known for her career in music and theater (she's a DIVINE singer, and very funny). But she also did several feature films, including a controversial adaptation of Porgy and Bess (controversial because of the story; the actors were pretty much coerced into it). She's got a style all her own, you can recognize it from a mile away. She's got you chuckling and crying from one phrase to the next. I love her <3"

"Cheekbones to die for"

#pearl bailey #lauren bacall #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 5 #Youtube