#if you don’t like someone’s opinion on it SCROLL

[barbieaemond]

Sometimes it’s hard to stay here. Hard in terms of mental energy completely burned out because of anons. When I started this blog I was not aware of this, I was not ready and that led me to nuke my old blog. I’ve learned how to deal with it and I try not to care anymore but as I said, it’s hard.

I don’t know why it is the way it is in this fandom. I find it tiresome at times, exhausting even, because I end up piling a lot of bad energy that turns my brain into mush. I post gifs, problems. I post fics, problems. I say my inconsequential opinion, problems. This is not about today, please don’t come at me saying I’m whining, I’m not whining. I’ve piled up unpleasant things over the weeks due to my nasty anons (many of them don’t even get their moment in the sun), as well as the ones my moots and friends got, and I’m simply reflecting.

Plus, it’s not about me. Sadly, it’s not just about me.

I see this happening to everyone here, especially creators, the very people who should be cherished instead of chased with pitchforks. And for what? Because you disagree with them? Scroll. You don’t like that fic? Scroll.

Please, find something more positive and imaginative to do than harassing strangers on the internet. It’s not worth it and you end up ruining someone’s day or kill their motivation to keep the very fandom you’re supposed to enjoy, funny and alive.

#liv rambles #hotd fandom

[starless-planet]

Being terminally online but only on tumblr and youtube just makes it so you’re forced to go through accidental humiliation rituals irl. Absolute lose-lose situations.

Several months back I started my first ever big person job out of college. My coworkers’ (despite most of them being my peers) exposure to the internet largely stops at Tiktok and Facebook.

It was about one month in when I looked over at my coworker’s computer and see she’s looking at pictures of the onceler on google images.

Obviously my blood freezes in my veins but I go “Hey whatcha looking at over there?” And she explains to me she is planning on putting a photo of “The guy from The Lorax” in our coworker’s locker because he looks like him.

But as she keeps scrolling she’s… discovering. She’s having an experience I wish I could have shared with her instead of looking on like I’m seeing corpses strewn about a battlefield. She’s seeing the art. She’s baffled. “Why would people draw that? What’s going on?” she wonders. She is 24 years old. “People are weird.” I say. It’s all I can say. I’m new here and we are at what is essentially a help desk where guests can come up and talk to us at any time. I leave it be. She finally chooses a normal photo to print.

Later I’m having a conversation about it with another coworker and she goes “oh yeah. Well, apparently on Reddit it was a thing to like… you know… want that guy and the Lorax to kiss.”

I almost lost it, guys. I was screaming in my head. There was an entire 2 hour youtuber essay being held back because I was unwilling to expose myself. I had to just look her in the eye and go “yeah that’s crazy lol.” There was no discussion about the self-ship art. That went right over their heads I think.

A few months later and I’m making jokes to my other coworkers about which president they would marry and my friend pipes up “we should make a tumblr about really hot presidents, guys.” Now this time I only had a moment to suffer the weight of Hamilton Tumblr before she said “It’s too bad none of us have a tumblr and it’s dead.”

(Now before you go and think she’s just doing a bit I later confided in her I have multiple tumblr accounts and she was like “Oh. Good for you!” and promised me she didn’t have one. I believe her.)

Then we come to Columbo Night. Columbo Night is when we all get together and watch Columbo. I was doing a bit where I didn’t know what drugs were (well half of a bit, because I don’t actually know too much about them).

I mentioned learning about angel dust in DARE, but when everyone asked what that was I had to admit I didn’t know which specific drug it was slang for. So they looked it up on urban dictionary. They find this:

They lose their minds trying to figure out what was going on with this definition.

I kept my mouth glued shut.

They learn it’s from Hazbin Hotel. “I think Hazbin Hotel is a web comic?” someone pipes up.

I’m staring at the floor in front of me. The handful of youtube video essays I’ve watched on the show are playing out in front of me. I’m counting my blessings I’ve never actually watched it.

They’re having conflicting opinions about the art style. I’m gripping the edge of my seat.

And then, it’s time for Columbo, and it’s all over. Just as quickly as it started, it ended. Thank you Columbo.

[i-care-4u]

QUIT | J. FÉLIX

PAIR: JOÃO FÉLIX X FEM!READER

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED | MASTERLIST

you loved joão the way he loved his past lover. from the first time dating joão, you couldn’t help but to feel lucky that you’re in a relationship with the rising star. however, it wasn’t the same case with joão. in simple terms, you were just his rebound.

during the course of your relationship, joão would think about his past relationship with his ex. everything reminded him of her where even doing the simplest tasks like going to the grocery store was a sign that he just misses her presence.

your friends noticed the body language between you and joão. while you were being too attached to him by resting your head on his shoulder, he wouldn’t lay an eye on you. rather, he would think about his ex, and a memory involving a moment like this.

you remembered the conversation you had the next day with your friend.

your friend, clara, argued, “y/n baby, that man didn’t even laid an eye on you.”

you were feeding into your delusions, believing that joão loves you, “maybe he’s just tired, okay?”

“tired? he was very much outgoing when i saw him with his friends while you were asleep on the couch,” clara sighed, “y/n, i don’t care about his status, but you can do better.”

“i can’t.”

you were well aware of the people’s opinion of you. when the internet found out that you and joão were dating, people began comparing you to his ex, where you were considered the “better” girlfriend. of course, you didn’t liked being compared to his ex, who had a history of cheating. joão had been cheated on a couple of times, therefore making you feel bad for him.

“what do you mean you can’t?”

you repeated, “i can’t let him go like that.”

clara looks at you, “y/n, isn’t it obvious? joão hasn’t moved on.”

that sentence was engraved in your head for the next month and forward.

there was a thing that people say: your first love is unforgettable.

-

as predicted, you and joão broke up the following month. around this time was when his ex came back to the city.

you had a hard time ignoring the interactions between joão and his ex. you were upset that he came back to her after what she did, but you were so defensive of joão, who will experience heartbreak once more.

everyday, you come on instagram to check up on joão to see what he’s up to. in recent events, he was seen hanging out with his now girlfriend at a nearby restaurant. that girlfriend being the same one that cheated on him months prior.

“he’s with her again?” your friend, isabel, looked at the picture of joão and the girl. you knew who she was talking about instantly.

“yeah…” your voice softened, sensing insecurity.

isabel puts her phone on the coffee table.

you sighed, “i just don’t get why he came back to her after everything she did. i just want to see him happy.”

“i know you want to see him thrive again, and it’s not your fault that he went back to his old ways. there’s going to be someone else that’ll truly love you.”

isabel was right, and you knew that. however, you were constantly reminded about the things you and joão did during the course of your relationship.

as days turned into months, you couldn’t help but to continue to view how joão was doing online. he seems perfectly fine, according to his posts on instagram. the more you scrolled down, the more you realized that you could’ve been there. spanish grand prix? that was your idea. miami, florida? that was originally a trip you planned with him.

you couldn’t help but to tear up. as you set your phone down, you thought about everything that is going on in your life. you keep agreeing with your friends telling you to move on, but the process was hard for you.

-

you flew to barcelona with clara and isabel, where you three were going to stay for a week.

the third day, you three attended the fc barcelona game. you were a fan since childhood, and you were overjoyed at the fact that you’re finally seeing your team live.

“i can’t wait to see pedri play,” isabel looked at the field where all the players are standing.

some big names showed up on the lineup. lewandowski, pedri, de jong, gavi, but one of them stood out to you. as you paid close attention to the player’s face, you felt disbelief. the number 14 jersey belonged to someone that you used to know. that face looked familiar, as it belonged to joão félix. joão, the one who dreamed about playing for fc barcelona. and it was the same joão who had left you for his cheating ex.

“oh…” you didn’t know what to say. rather than saying something about joão to your friends, you instead kept it to yourself.

however, joão is an important part of your love life. of course, your friends brought it up.

“félix is playing for barça now?” clara asked you and isabel.

you avoided clara’s question and remained focused on the field. meanwhile, isabel nods, “yeah.”

they both turn to face you. as you see their eyes staring at you, you chose to ignore them.

isabel pats your shoulder, “hey, i know joão is in the same place right now and if you want, we can leave the stadium and go explore other parts of the city, no?”

focusing on the game, you didn’t want to exit the game. it didn’t even hit half time yet. “no, i’m good where i’m at. i don’t want to waste any of our money because of him.”

-

after the game, everyone including the three of you, started exiting the stadium. as you were on your way out of the seats, a pair of eyes looked at you. you ignored what was going on in the background and ignored that joão was playing for your childhood team for now.

on the field, joão was ready to end the night. he was giving hand shakes to the opposing team, and entered the locker room before leaving the stadium for today.

in the locker room, joão couldn’t stop thinking about what could’ve possibly been you in that audience.

“you’ve been quiet today joão. what’s up?” ferran sat down next to him.

“i saw her. she was with her friends just now.”

“joão, you need to leave her, she’s no good for you. are you aware on how many times she has cheated on you?”

“it’s not about her. it’s another girl.” joão sighed.

“please don’t tell me. y/n?”

joão nodded silently, his thoughts racing. maybe ferran was right: he needed to move on from his past, the cycle of grief and longing. however, facing reality proved more difficult than he had anticipated. ferran placed a hand on joão's shoulder, conveying concern. "joão, you should let go. you can't keep clutching onto something that isn't meant to be. i’ve seen the body language between you two, and turns out, it’s not meant to be.”

-

listening to ferran's words, joão rather ignored him. instead, he decides to navigate the crowds of barcelona. glancing around, he noticed a familiar woman standing in the crowd, her presence both comfortable and alarming. it was you.

time appeared to stand still as their gazes locked, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering feelings. joão experienced contradictory emotions, including longing, remorse, and hope for the future. joão approached you with confidence and a fast heartbeat. "y/n," he said softly, his voice full of apprehension. you were surprised and concerned. "joão," you replied softly.

you and joão were struck by the shared history and feelings while standing in the city center. It was as if time had folded in on itself, forcing you guys to confront memories from their past. joão interpreted your eyes as a reflection of his own sadness and longing. he wanted to reach out and bridge the gap between you and him, but he wasn't sure if he had the right to beg for forgiveness.

you were also suffering with your own inner turmoil, torn between the sorrow of the past and the light of hope in your heart. you hoped joão had changed and was ready to go forward, but feared disappointment. joão broke the silence with a mumbled plea. "y/n, i understand i made mistakes, but i want to make things right. i want to show you that i've changed and that i'm no longer the same person i was before."

as joão's comments hung in the air, you felt a knot in your gut, hanging down like a heavy load from your shared history. you wanted to believe him, trusting his good intentions, but you knew some wounds were too deep to repair. your voice was trembling with emotion. "joão, i've seen you repeatedly go back to her, not once, but three times, and i won't accept it. i cannot be seen with someone who has not been healed from their past relationship."

your statements broke joão and revealed the brutal reality of their situation. he wanted to protest and beg you to give him another chance, but he knew it would only exacerbate his impending sorrow. joão bowed deeply, burdened by his wordless regret. he realized he had lost you not only now, but possibly forever.

“as much as i love you, all i can tell you is good luck finding someone.”

as you turned away, your footsteps echoing in the deserted streets, joão was left alone with his thoughts, grappling with the bitter taste of regret and haunting echoes of what may have happened.

#x reader #fluff #angst #football one shot #football angst #football #soccer imagine #soccer x reader #football x reader #joão felix #joão félix #joao felix #joao felix x reader #joao felix imagine #joao felix fluff #joao felix x you #joao felix smut #joao felix x y/n #fc barcelona #fc barca #chelsea fc

[blackjacktheboss]

y’all are losing your damn minds please pull it together

#it is a children’s show man #if you don’t like someone’s opinion on it SCROLL #you’re on the scrolling website #get a fucking grip

[digital999placebo]

Bro why are you lying about getting england anons when you don't even post his art, this is a strange way to seek attention

ever since Andrew Tate urged men to restrict the amount of attention they give 2 females, I’ve been suffering

#asks #ok edit: fair ask I think I deleted some of my art of England so there’s only like 1 left but yea #if you take the time to scroll down my blog you’ll find I answered like one England anon hate #usually don’t answer hate bc my followers aren’t here to see someone’s stupid opinion theyre just here for art

[quietwingsinthesky]

Do people really use dating apps…?

#my friend made me make a profile on one #scrolling through other profiles. Patrick voice: WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE #it’s so fucking weird. she kept going ‘oh here’s one isnt she nice?’ #and I’d have to sort of nod and go ‘uh. sure.’ #when all she was showing me was. a face of someone I don’t know. and a blurb that said something like #‘my love language is physical affection.’ #am I supposed to respond to this. this is a genuine question. #lmao local idiot can’t figure out if they’re aromantic or if dating apps are just bad #it does feel weird. having to sit there and pretend I have opinions I don’t have. #she wouldn’t let me put that I write fanfic on my profile either 😔 #I guess it’s just gonna exist now. I give it a week before I either delete the app or forget it’s on my phone.

[torchickentacos]

Sorry I’m a little mia right now, I’ve got so many things I’m working on!!!! I am excited for a lot of them but I also have school and family and health stuff and my social battery is a little low but I’m working on it. Update-big venting in tags oops

#especially New Jersey. sorry I’ve been quieter last couple days #I also shared an Opinion on twitter and immediately regretted it #I mean I think I’m right and that people need to act more mature but I also kind of wish I had kept my mouth shut #but I’m not good at that lol #sigh. it just worries me to see people talking to each other the ways I’ve seen #like back in my day death threats and trigger warning-suicide stuff was on anon #but this is so public??? #like I dm’d someone who was talking about kms-ing themselves to offer support #but it’s also like. babygirl no please tell your therapist this. #honey please don’t tweet that #like it’s so hard. ignoring the fact that it could be triggering for other people it’s just not smart to do that #it is WONDERFUL to reach out for help #but idk. I just want to help since I’ve been there but I think the touya shit is way out of proportion #I feel a unique responsibility in a sense to help people in hard times. I’ve been in and out of troubled youth housing throughout my teens #so I can’t scroll past someone talking about killing themselves #but I also need to find my own boundaries of accepting that I can’t control other people #I can’t help others if they don’t want to help themselves #I’m getting off topic here but it’s weighing on me #but yeah. if you made it this far in the tags just know life gets better and I’m here if you need support

[kurunuma]

I love getting indirectly attacked just because of me saying I appreciate some parts of a fictional ship’s arc. That is not even a main ship for me or the type of ship I usually like xD

#what is this holier than thou attitude #why do you need to indirectly try to invalidate someone else’s opinion #why not just try to respect other people’s tastes and opinions #even if they like something you don’t #i’ve lost count of how many times i encountered someone praising one of my notps or posting content of them #and i’ve never gone to indirectly say something like that in the same post where they could see it #or ever went to attack them somehow #just keep scrolling and doing your own thing #why the unnecessary indirect attack. because i have a hard time believing that wasn’t a subtle indirect attack #it’s a fictional ship of a show that is almost 30 years old for god’s sake #let people be

[stuckinapril]

23 things I learned in 2023:

Breaking promises to yourself is essentially telling yourself you’re not worthy of commitment or effort.

Listen to people when they tell you who they are.

People put their best foot forward when they first meet you. If they’re already being shitty, it’s likely only going downhill from here.

Self-care isn’t always indulging instant gratification and not doing hard things. I was actually at my most fulfilled when I did hard things DESPITE not feeling like it.

If you’re clinging to other people for fulfillment or validation, you probably don’t like yourself very much.

It’s never the end of the world like we think it is.

If someone wants to walk out of your life, let them. Never be in the business of changing people, even when it comes to changing how they think about you.

Brutally honest communication is everything, but that can also coincide with tactful kindness. Neither is mutually exclusive.

Having a routine makes a massive difference.

Comparison is pointless. No one else has been dealt the same cards you’ve been dealt.

Envy is a waste of time. Instead of being envious of other people, view them as proof of concept.

Self-accountability is important. We are fallible and it’s okay to make mistakes; we just need to own up to them.

Every failure is an opportunity for growth.

Every severed friendship, failed opportunity, lost connection etc etc leaves space for better things to replace it.

We are not tethered to people’s image of us. We are free to change ourselves whenever we please.

It’s not other people’s way, but it’s my way—and that’s all that matters.

Someone denying you love does not erase you.

Piggybacking off the last point—someone not acknowledging the virtues you have doesn’t mean that you don’t have those virtues.

All that really matters are the opinions of the handful of people who truly love you, as well as your opinion of yourself.

Waiting at least 15 minutes before reacting to something. Never trust yourself during the moments when something just hits (learned this the hard way).

Situations are complex and almost never a one size fits all. Asking for advice is okay, but take it with a grain of salt/ultimately follow your own judgment.

Social media isn’t the devil, but scrolling endlessly is. Make an intentional effort to supplant screen time with books and hobbies and friends and tangible, real life things.

We all die one day. None of this is that deep and none of this really matters. Stop taking things so seriously and just enjoy the process 🤍

#happy new year #text

[sugarcult]

.

#every time I see somebody call someone else an alt-right whatever or a nazi or something like that in the notes on a post or whatever #I am like hm. I wonder if this person is Actually That or just a conservative. because some people kinda throw those terms around now #and I go click on the blog and I’m like hm okay this definitely an alt-right/nazi/terf/whatever #OR I’m like huh. it seems like this person is just a Christian/conservative #and then I’ll see a post that has some kinda weird vibes so I’ll be like huh okay. and keep scrolling #and EVERY FUCKING TIME after like 5 minutes I happen upon - actual example from today! - something like: #’some people may think this is odd but so what if someone actually is a Nazi as long as they’re not actively hurting anyone’ #and I’m like oh okay. okay got it. WHAT THE FUCK and block them #like only twice ever have I seen someone accuse someone of being a terf/fascist/Nazi sympathizer/alt-right person and they were wrong #it’s ALWAYS true if you go back far enough. and I don’t mean like 2 years ago I mean like last week #it is so exhausting. like I don’t have a problem with people who are Christians or super hella feminists or and are Normal About People #so I don’t want to label someone as something they aren’t in my head and block them for being different than me (Christian) or blogging- #-about feminism without openly stating they’re pro-trans (like some feminists) #like I block pretty liberally to prevent unhealthy interactions with people I’ll want to fight with. but I don’t mind seeing posts from- #-people who have a different background than me or just don’t blog about ALL their opinions or whatever #but it’s really fucking annoying to spend my time reading someone’s blog like ‘idk it seems like this person is just a Christian or wtv #and then have to be like oh wait! you ARE a fucking fascist. excellent! great work everyone! #this place is fucking wild #like omg

[teapartyprincess4two]

Talkative- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Yapper!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: SFW & NSFW headcannons

inspiration: request

warnings: some 18+ content, use of y/n, established relationship

summary: head cannons of Matt with a talkative, yapper girlfriend!

Talkative- C. Sturniolo (Chris’s Version)

Talkative- N. Sturniolo (Nick’s Version)

—

☆ SFW

It’s no secret that you love to talk, you can ramble on about topic after topic and never run out of things to say. Matt loves listening to you, whether you’re retelling your day or just discussing a topic you find interesting.

☆ you always ask him rhetorical questions in between your stories, “Okay, but can you believe she said that?” But you never give him enough time to respond.

☆ he just nods his head and hums in response, confused with all the characters of the story.

☆ when you’re watching a movie you always start asking questions about the characters or commenting on the scene.

☆ “why did they do that?” or “wow that’s a cute dress, I really like that.”

☆ most times he responds just so you know he’s listening, but other times he’ll ignore you because he’s too immersed in the movie.

☆ “Y/n I don’t fucking know, this is my first time watching this movie too,” and “That is a cute dress, baby. You’d look nice in it.”

☆ you’re ALWAYS last to finish your meal, mostly because you keep talking in between bites.

☆ he listens intently, responding in between mouthfuls of food with small “uh huh’s” and “yup’s.”

☆ by the end of your stories you’re usually not hungry anymore, so he eats your leftovers while you start yet another story.

☆ when you guys go through drive throughs he knows to just sit as far back into the drivers seat as possible.

☆ you’re leaning over him, chatting with the worker and somehow managing to learn their whole life story before you can even order.

☆ or when you’re going somewhere new and he needs the GPS you’ll constantly talk over it

☆ after missing like five exits, he begins to find it annoying

☆ “Babe, shhhhh,” he’ll smother your mouth with his hand while he grips the wheel with the other.

☆ that never stops you though, you just mumble from behind his hand.

☆ you’re such a good story teller that he can imagine everything you say.

☆ your stories have him dying of laughter, and it’s even funnier that you don’t laugh, you just continue telling the stories like normal.

☆ by the end of your story his face and ribs hurt from laughing so much, “Holy fuck that was hilarious.”

☆ when you say outlandish things he stares at you in shock, “Y/n! You can’t say that!”

☆ you just stare at him blankly and continue voicing your opinions.

☆ he looks at anyone who tells you to shut up with the ugliest, meanest stank face.

☆ you talk to EVERYONE whether it be in the checkout line in the grocery store or in the waiting room at the doctors office.

☆ Matt just turns away for one second and then when he looks back at you, you’re talking to an elderly lady and walking in the complete opposite direction.

☆ “Aw Matt, she said her cat died.”

☆ “Y/n, the cashier asked for your card.”

☆ “Oh, right! So sorry about that-”

☆ “You know what? I’ll pay for it,” he cuts you off before your rambling can distract you again.

☆ on the odd days that you’re quiet, he’ll know somethings wrong.

☆ you’re just sitting on the couch, scrolling through Netflix on the TV or typing away mindlessly on your laptop.

☆ “What’s wrong with you?” he says abrasively, like if he’s upset that you’re quiet.

☆ you’ll just shake your head, choosing to remain silent.

☆ “Did somebody do something to you? Why are you so quiet?” he’s ready to fight whoever made you upset.

☆ “I’m just tired,” you mumble, followed with a quick shrug.

☆ He doesn’t pry, he just lays with you and waits until your mood picks up so he can listen to more stories.

☆ if he ever starts telling someone a story you’re quick to interrupt, “no that’s not what happened!”

☆ he playfully rolls his eyes and lets you take the spotlight.

☆ NSFW

Although Matt loves listening to you talk, sometimes it becomes too much. So, he has to get creative and think of ways to shut you up.

☆ the movie is getting good and you won’t stop talking, asking about the characters and the storyline.

☆ next thing you know you’re on your knees with Matt’s dick in your mouth.

☆ he’ll let you do all the work as he continues to watch the movie in silence.

☆ sometimes you’re a little too friendly with strangers.

☆ Matt’s not usually the jealous type, but he knows that guys get the wrong idea when you’re talking to them and that they mistake your friendliness for flirting.

☆ he’ll pull you away and take you to a secluded area, “we gotta go.”

☆ “Wait but I wasn’t finished talk-“

☆ “we gotta go, Y/n.”

☆ then he’s fucking you and making you talk to him through it, “C’mon, I thought you weren’t finished talking.”

☆ you’re forced to babble your way through it, each thrust fogging your brain more and more.

☆ other times he’ll let you use your words to praise him.

☆ like when he’s eating you out, he just wants to hear you say how good he’s doing.

☆ “Yes, baby, right there. You’re making me feel so good.”

��� after, he’ll make you ride him and whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

☆ “You feel so good, baby. So big, I can’t take it.”

☆ your words are always enough to send him into a frenzy.

☆ he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and bucking into you until he cums.

☆ when you guys are done having sex, he’ll cuddle into your side and lay his head on your chest while you play with his hair.

☆ these are the moments when he talks and you just listen, only chiming in occasionally.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

YAP 🗣️YAP 🗣️YAP🗣️

thank you for this request I luv that I’m cementing my legacy as a certified yapper 😏

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

#teapartyanonreqs✨💗 #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x y/n #matt x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo headcannons #matthew sturniolo x y/n #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo oneshot #matthew sturniolo fanfic #sturniolos #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo fanfic #nicolas sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x y/n #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris x y/n

[chimielie]

cw: and they were roommates

oikawa has another date tonight.

you’re well used to it, the parade of people who he’s gone out with blurring together after years of friendship. especially now that you’ve moved in together and he bothers you every time someone says yes, like an excited puppy with a bone. and who wouldn’t say yes?

you’re lying on your bed, idly scrolling past cat pictures and outfit inspiration, while he blows in and out of your room, begging your opinion on every item in his closet. you don’t know why; you’ve gone through the whole thing a million times at this point and he always chooses just-slightly-too-tight jeans and a button-up open one button too far.

you’ve had nightmares about his collection of silky shirts. nightmares. only occasionally featuring the triangle of exposed chest.

“what about this one?” you roll to your side, blinking.

“i haven’t seen this one before,” you say thoughtfully. “do you still have enough money for rent? i swear you cycle through more clothes than i do in a year in a week.”

“shut up, do you like it?” his ears are burning red, and you smile. you like making him blush.

that’s a dangerous thought, so you turn your attention to his outfit, and—oh.

the new shirt is a cool, pale blue, complimenting the pink hues of his skin perfectly, looking like ice caps on winter waves. it’s tucked loosely into black pants, followed by black boots, laced up and tied with a perfect knot.

he looks like a million bucks.

“it’s perfect,” you say, after a beat too long of drymouthed silence. “um—when do you leave?”

he shoves the sleeve of the shirt up and checks his watch in one smooth motion, and you’ve seen his forearms a billion times, but encased in blue silk you kind of want to bite them? what a bizarre impulse.

“now,” he says, tone rising in panic. “shoot, i was gonna brush my teeth—how’s my breath?”

“how am i supposed to—” you start, but then he’s crossing the room, and you’re sitting up, spine straightening in confusion, and then he kisses you.

one long, hot press of the mouth over yours, his lips soft and open but claiming in a way that sucks every thought out of your head.

the silk of his shirt is cool in contrast to the heat of his skin, too.

“it’s—still fine,” you stammer when he pulls away. “minty. um.”

“perfect,” he says, adjusting his collar like he hasn’t just thrown your world off its axis. “see you later!”

you wave vaguely at his back, still scrambled as he exits your room, though not without turning to shoot you a cheeky wink and a peace sign. once you hear the front door slam shut behind him, you jolt out of your frozen state to fall back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, just one thought running through your mind.

“what the fuck?”

part 2 here.

#shorts! #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #oikawa x reader fluff #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tōru x reader #oikawa toru x reader #?;&:?3&?;&3!;?/8:

[ms-demeanor]

i’m curious what your opinion is on the finer points of the case mentioned in the JSTOR post you reblogged earlier. the two sources in the post say that JSTOR didn’t press charges against him and had already settled with him by the time he killed himself. from what i read on wikipedia, the concern seems to be that JSTOR complied with a subpoena, which i don’t believe they have a choice to ignore? if anything it seems like the us government had reason to want him dead for wikileaks and public court records reasons, so they took a terms of use violation and blew it up into a dozen federal crimes.

is there more context i should be aware of? i have no particular affection or malice for JSTOR but the sources i found don’t exactly implicate the database or its employees in murder.

That's from page 175 of this document. This line: "The activity noted is outright theft and may merit a call with university counsel, and even the local police, to ensure not only that the activity has stopped but that - e.g. the visiting scholar who left - isn't leaving with a hard drive containing our database" is where I think the culpability starts.

If someone is downloading 1000s of articles (what seems like reasonable threshold for us to take action), what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc. Our content is extraordinarily valuable and hard to replicate by the sweat of one's brow, but can be duplicated by savvy hackers and who knows what they want to do with the content?

Page 379: "Does the university contact law enforcement? Would they be willing to do so in this instance?

From page 1296:

I think the important thing to note here is that JSTOR had worked with MIT and had plans in place to prevent future similar downloads, but remained focused on identifying the person responsible for the downloads and ensuring that their data was deleted.

"I might just be irked because I am up dealing with this person on a Sunday night, but I am starting to feel like they need to get a hold of this situation right away or we need to offer to send them some help (read FBI).

And there it is. Page 3093 of the document.

JSTOR can hem and haw about it all they want, but you can't un-call the cops.

MIT was working with JSTOR on preventing future incidents of pirating, but JSTOR repeatedly said that they weren't going to let it go, that it was unacceptable to drop the issue, that they were going to continue to pursue the pirate.

You can scroll through the document and see the JSTOR tech department and abuse team talking about Swartz as a script kiddie, and a hacker. You can see someone talking about how this was real theft - making the comparison to stealing books even while admitting that piracy doesn't close others out of access.

You can see the thread starts with a joke about punching someone in the face for hacking their system, and includes the tech team ominously considering whether they should threaten the MIT librarians with the FBI.

There's something really important to note here which I don't think that people who aren't PRETTY DEEP into hackery shit aren't aware of: US law enforcement is absolutely rabidly feral about prosecuting hackers. People may be more aware of this now because of Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden (and perhaps a bit on tumblr because of maia arson crimew), but people who work in tech and who are in infosec - like the people joking about calling the FBI in these emails - would be aware of the bonkers disproportionate punishments faced by hackers. And knowing that, they kept pushing and pushing and pushing for identification of the hacker. They kept digging with MIT, they kept saying that simply preventing future incidents wasn't enough.

Early in the exchange someone from JSTOR asked "what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc." and the answer is what happened to Aaron Swartz.

It is absolute bullshit for JSTOR to say "we arrived at a solution privately and didn't want to press charges" after law enforcement has gotten involved with a hacking case, especially one where they're talking about "real theft" and are attempting to quantify and emphasize the amount that was "stolen" from them.

The *public* may believe that private individuals or institutions are the ones who "press charges" but that's simply not the case. It's prosecutors who decide whether or not to go ahead with charges; they do it based on what cases they think they can win and what their office's perspective is on the crime. When you hear about people choosing to press charges it simply means that they decided to tell the prosecutor they wanted the case to go forward. It's up to the prosecutor whether or not that happens.

And the tech team at JSTOR had to know that law enforcement wasn't just going to wag a finger at an academic hacker.

There's a parallel here that happens sometimes when people have their identities stolen by their parents. If you mom takes out a credit card in your name, that's identity theft. That's fraud. That's illegal. If you reach the age of 25 and realize that your credit is ruined because your mom has been defaulting on cards in your name, you've got two choices to fix that: one is to accept the debt and pay it off and build up credit, and the other is to report the identity theft - which will end up with your mom in prison for a decade or so. Ruin your own personal finances, or your mom goes to jail for ruining your finances. So if you find out that your mom stole your identity you can't just call the cops to pressure her into transferring the debt to her name or something. That's not an option. The cops are not a threat to wave over people, they are not a way to get people to fall in line or act right. They aren't someone you can send to a college student's dorm room to retrieve a hard drive and have the matter drop.

When you call the cops on someone you are sending the full force of the law after them, and the full force of the law falls really heavily on hackers, and how heavy that blow can be is something that the JSTOR team must have been aware of when they were making snide comments about calling the FBI because they were frustrated with the noncommittal responses they were getting from librarians.

Ultimately it was the carceral state that killed Aaron Swartz, but they would not have been involved if JSTOR didn't think that what he did constituted theft.

Taking an *EVEN LARGER* step back from that, the idea that information can be owned and locked behind a paywall is what killed Aaron Swartz, someone who fought for information to be free.

Like. JSTOR is a licensing company. At the end of the day, cute social media posts and all, they're the same as the RIAA and ASCAB. They exist to extract a fee from people attempting to access information.

Aaron Swartz and all that he stood for are an existential threat to their core function.

Are JSTOR's hands as dirty as the federal prosecutors? Absolutely not. But they operate on a model that puts them in opposition to open information activists and it ended up with a hammer falling on Aaron Swartz that they dropped.

#long post #very long post

[buryustogether]

lilac - chapter 1

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: the father of one of your students is acting rather strangely - but when he smiles at you, you can’t help but forget your own name.

wc: 6k

warnings/tags: mentions of blood and violence, swearing, pining, stripping, strip club, sex workers, sexual fantasy, smut, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f! receiving), pet names, dom!miguel, single father!miguel, teacher!stripper!reader

author’s note: set in the universe where miguel replaces his father!variant with himself. ps - planning on turning this into a series/full fic.

New York

Earth - 9193

Since you could remember, the sky above the city, flecked with struggling stars and choking on itself over clouds of smog like cigarette smoke, had been deep purple. Some called it violet. Others named it plum. They were trying to make a prettier picture of an ugly reality, desperately ignoring the real world that held them captive. The purple held every soul in this city on a taut leash; each time someone was given a little slack, they wandered too far and discovered that, really, they hadn’t ever wanted to stray in the first place. Car bombings every week. Shootings. Back alley guttings. Innocence all but a foreign language to the citizens of New York.

You wished with every bit of you that one day you’d be able to escape and see the real color of the sky. Because deep down you knew, wanted to believe, wished and prayed… that it was not this shade of dark.

Your classroom was one of the only lit rooms here in Washington Elementary School, a beacon through dimly-lit hallways and the even dimmer streets outside your windows. A long, silent exhale managed to escape your lips as you continued to grade your third graders’ spelling tests, using a pink pen to correct their mistakes instead of a red one. You figured it was less harsh, more inviting to be open to learning from where they first failed. Your back was beginning to cramp from sitting in these damn little-kid chairs, your knees practically hugged to your chest due to how low to the floor you were. You would have been at your desk - hell, you would have been home getting ready for your second job right about now - had it not been for the young girl sitting across the table from you.

Gabriella O’Hara was, in your opinion, one of the most intelligent children you’d had the pleasure of teaching. She was quick and clever and friendly, not to mention, captain of her little soccer team funded by the taxes of PTA parents and the grumbling millionaires of the city. She was a frequent flier on your good-behavior list, and her name had made a home for itself on the principal’s honor roll long before she’d landed in your class.

She was a sweetheart, to say the least. She had been raised well by her father - who, uncharacteristically, had been a no show when it came time for pick up two hours ago.

Glancing up from your papers, you smiled gently at Gabriella as she scribbled along her homework page. “Briella, honey,” you said and leaned your chin in your hand. “Why don’t you check to see if your dad texted at all.”

Obediently, Gabriella dug her phone - a little flip-type, despite there being hundreds of smartphones out these days - and clicked the button to scroll through her recent texts. You watched as her face fell, thick brows and full lips pulling downward. “Nothing,” she said and placed her phone back. She looked to you, and it was obvious from the way she squirmed in her seat that her nervous stomach was starting to get the better of her. “I’m kind of scared, Miss Y/N. My daddy’s never late.”

Setting down your pink pen, you reached across the table and placed a hand on her small forearm. You’d stayed late before when parents were late for pick up, or they forgot, or they were too stoned out of their minds to bother, but you had to admit, you were rather worried, as well. Her father had never been late once, not even by five minutes. So two hours was, really, something to bat an eye at. “I’m sure everything’s fine,” you assured her and offered a gentle smile. “He probably just got held up at work. Maybe his phone died.” Your gaze flickered briefly to the windows behind her, strung across with colorful drawings and decorations, as a number of wailing police cars zipped past. When she started to follow your eyes, you added quickly, “I bet he’s on his way right now. Why don’t you finish up your homework so you can have the rest of the evening free when you get home.”

As she went back to her work, you found yourself tapping your fingernail against the table, your gaze stuck to an empty corner across the room. Miguel O’Hara was nothing but punctual, not just to everyday events like after-school pick up, but to every single thing he did. Soccer practice and games. Parent-teacher conferences. Hell, you wouldn’t put it past him to be an hour early to that fancy job of his at Alchemax every Monday through Friday. He was a perfectionist, signing every grade card check and permission slip with the neatest signature you’d ever seen. And it was a feat to marvel at, considering he was a single father.

Once, at a soccer practice, you’d heard from a few of the mothers who had nothing better to do than gossip that he’d moved himself and Gabriella over from Queens years ago when he was hired as a geneticist. Her mother had apparently left them when she was born, and he’d done everything from that moment on for the good of his little girl.

You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself he was, by far, the best-looking man you’d ever laid eyes on. Cheekbones placed high on his face, wide, broad shoulders, a sinewy frame that nearly challenged the doorframes he walked through. He was friendly, sure. But that was all you knew. You’d never been able to get close enough to know much else. An enigma to your curious mind, Miguel was nothing short of a puzzle that you desperately wanted to put together and see the bigger picture for yourself.

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to wind back into the present. God, you needed to get a fucking grip. Crushing on the father of one of your students? Fucking pathetic. You had a boyfriend, for God’s sake.

You had just begun to grade your papers again, nearing the end of your stack, when there came the sounds of footsteps pounding against the tile floor of the hallway outside. They were jogging, approaching your room at an alarming rate. You stood, thinking it was the janitor having locked himself out of his closet again, and prepared to fetch your keys when a much different - yet no less welcome - figure filled the doorway.

“Hi, daddy,” said Gabriella as Miguel O’Hara entered your classroom.

You looked up, lips parted as you took him in. God, he was stunning. Somewhere around six feet with dark, somewhat-tamed hair that matched his tan skin and the thick brows sitting above his sloped eyes, he stood with a chest that rose and caved rapidly, like he’d run through the entire school searching for your room. Which he shouldn’t have - he knew the classroom his own daughter was in. Didn’t he?

“Oh, baby,” Miguel said and rounded the table so quickly you could have blinked and missed it. He hauled her up into his arms like she was nothing but a sack of flour and hugged her tight to his chest, almost like he was trying to mold the feeling of her to himself. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I lost track of time. I’m so sorry.” As if just realizing you were in the room, watching the pair with a small smile, he set his daughter back down and pulled her backpack from the back of her chair. “Pack up your things, okay? We’ll go home in just a minute.”

He approached you where you stood beside your desk loading your purse, and you swore your heart skipped a beat as he towered over you. Thick, corded muscles and a frame that made your stomach churn excitedly, he was the perfect picture of a fucking masterpiece. “Hi,” he said in a low tone, meant for you to hear and not Gabriella. “I’m so sorry for keeping you here. Time got away from me, and when I got here, the front doors were locked.” He took a breath. “Thank you. For watching her, I mean.”

Forcing your heart to calm its thundering in the confines of your chest, you grinned up at him brightly. “It’s not a problem, Mister O’Hara. I was happy to.” You decided to say nothing about the fact that it was unlike him to lose track of time. He wore a watch that you recognized as one of the latest, expensive versions that were magnetic, not electric, so it was incapable of stopping. How exactly did time get away from a man who revolved around it? “I’m sure she’s going to crash when you get home, anyway. She had a big day.”

Miguel blinked a few times and placed a hand on his hip, jutting it out slightly. Fuck, you wished he wouldn’t do that. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. We had a soccer scrimmage against one of the other classes today and she pulled the winning goal. Then there was the assembly over fire safety, but I’m sure you saw that in the handout last week.”

His lips remained parted for a long moment as his dark, umber gaze traveled across the stack of next week’s announcement handouts. “Right,” he said after a moment or two. “Right. Do, uh… do you think I could have another one of those? For this week. And maybe next week’s, too. Has that been sent home already?”

Giving him a rather crooked smile, you opened a drawer in your desk and produced the light green paper with last week’s announcements. Then you stacked it beneath next week’s and extended it toward his hulking frame. “Sorry if this seems a little… personal, Mister O’Hara,” you said as he took the papers, “but are you feeling alright? I really don’t mean any offense, but you seem a little… off.”

Tilting his head slightly, Miguel seemed to hesitate, fumbling with his answer in his head. He was frozen for a brief moment before your attentions were drawn across the classroom, where Gabriella zipped up her backpack and began to trudge toward the door. “I’m alright,” he said as he turned back to you. “I just, uh… I hit my head this morning. Been a little out of sorts, but I’ll be alright.”

“Daddy,” whined Gabriella under her breath. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, princesa,” he said and met her at your door. After slinging her backpack over his own shoulder and taking her hand, he glanced back at you. “Thank you again…” You watched as his eyes flickered to your name written across the whiteboard. “...Miss Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Mister O’Hara.” A few more words sat on your tongue, desperately trying to fight against your lips and jump out before the moment escaped. You tried to fight them down, but eventually they won the battle and spilled forth. “And - and you can just call me Y/N.”

Miguel stared at you for a moment, and you thought briefly that you had crossed a line you had been unable to see. Then he smiled gently, his full lips spreading into a gentle grin. He opened his mouth to say something in return before Gabriella pulled him out the door and into the hallway. You listened as their voices and the sounds of their footsteps grew quieter before silencing, then turned away and finished gathering your things.

On your way out of the building, while slipping through the front doors, you noticed the steel bolt lock keeping them shut after dark had been snapped entirely in two - as if someone had pulled on the door hard enough to break the lock on their own.

You figured it to have been a couple students who got their hands on their parents’ bolt cutters and made a mental note to ask the janitor for a replacement.

Once you got to your car and flipped the engine, you took a breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. In that breath, you willed yourself to switch into the alternate persona you took on after the school days, after the sun had set and the night really came alive from its demented, hungover state during the lightest hours. You pushed your students into the back of your mind, your plans for tomorrow and upcoming projects and due dates into the recesses of your brain. You shoved back thoughts of Miguel O’Hara and everything about how much you wanted to fucking reverse time so that he could smile at you like he had tonight all over again.

It was time to really work, now.

The Menagerie was a club on the northeast side of the Financial District, where the warehouse fires and muggings weren’t quite as common. Police forces cruised through here more often than, say, Harlem or Queens; the people who ran the city had to keep their most well-paid workers protected and thriving, right? Who else would steal from the hands of the poor and throw it all away the first chance they got?

Thrumming, thundering music like a pulse, like the club itself was alive with the blood of money and alcohol pumping through it, pounded from speakers and shook the walls in their very foundations. Neon lights like jilted, water-colored sunlight shone from corners along the ceilings, creating shadows like both nightmares and dreams along the walls and the faces of the patrons. The bar was overflowing. Security was chasing their own tails. The place was packed. Everyone who was anyone wanted to get into The Menagerie, because between its four walls and roof, you could be anyone you wanted to be.

It was law in this gilded cage that everyone was to wear a mask, its paint and diamonds and ribbons designed to depict animals. Security wore the full-bodied faces of lions. Bartenders and servers played dress-up with rimmed eye gaps as raccoons. Guests were allowed to pick a mask ranging from creatures that roamed the sky to those that crawled the earth. And the girls - the girls were exotic, majestic things that no one would mistake for anything else. They were tigresses and peacocks, they were arctic foxes and lynxes, any animal that had long since gone missing or extinct in this world of yours. Why go searching for the real thing, when they could come here and find the women?

The Menagerie was not a club. It was a cage, for animals so desperate to get out they had bent the bars in an attempt to escape.

Staring at yourself in the mirror of the dressing room, you gingerly affixed the golden mask to your face so that it would stay spread across your features while you danced and entertained. The hard, fake porcelain covered your forehead and nose, leaving your mouth free for the lips and tongues that would attempt to claim yours as their own. Orange and gold butterfly wings blossomed from the center of the mask, disguising you as the endangered insect everyone else seemed to have forgotten about; the Monarch. Fluttering and beautiful upon the wind, never easy to catch.

That was, unless they flew right into a spider’s web.

To your left, a few of the other girls were perfecting their makeup and adjusting their outfits - what little outfits you all had. Zara, known throughout the club as the Panther, caught your eye in the mirror and flashed you a sharp smile.

“You seem quiet tonight,” she said and ran a stick of gloss over her lips. She examined herself close in her handheld. “Something on your mind?”

A few of the other girls tried to inconspicuously listen in, able to sniff out gossip from miles away. Perhaps in here, you all were a little bit more animal than human, after all.

Forcing yourself to smile gently, you waved a ring-garnished hand in Zara’s direction and turned back to your reflection. You hardly recognized yourself like this, despite seeing this version of you all week long. You hoped you never did recognize it. “Oh, it’s nothing,” you brushed off.

Across the dressing room, Shawna, the Owl, tisked her tongue and hummed from deep in her throat. “You know you’re an awful liar, girl,” she said from where she sat scrolling through her phone. “We all noticed when you came in an hour later than you do. Something happen tonight?”

Well, fuck. Now everyone was waiting for your answer, waiting to see if it was worth listening into or not.

Pursing your lips in an attempt to show that it was no big deal, despite how much your stomach and your heart and your brain screamed that it wasn’t, you shrugged a shoulder and tried to avoid their gazes. “Nothing too big,” you replied and began to absentmindedly twist the ribbon keeping your mask in place. “Just… had a student stay a little later. Her dad lost track of time.”

“It couldn’t be that Alchemax hunk you’ve been telling us about.”

Fuck - you really learned to keep your cards closer to your chest.

Your silence must have been enough for them to connect the pieces, because a few of them tittered and giggled. A newer girl, who was still earning her way up to being on stage, piped up. “Have you ever talked to him?” she asked. “I mean, besides school-related stuff. Find out if he’s attached?”

“Absolutely not,” you forced out and stood to straighten out your costume. Your breasts were barely covered by the flimsy top and your ass hung out of the bottoms, both orange and black and white, like a monarch butterfly’s designs. Gold fishnet stockings lined your legs, leading down to a set of heels that had taken weeks to not tip over in. You were supposed to wear a cape, a gown-like train, but it was stepped on too much for you to bother with it. “He’s not there to cruise teachers, he’s just trying to help his kid through the third grade.”

“More than you could’ve asked from my dad,” Zara puffed.

God, you thought, yours, too. And your mother, while you were at it. They’d never come to meetings and games and plays like Miguel did. Hell, they hardly ever even remembered to pick you up from school on their good days.

Gabriella really had hit the father lottery.

Shawna shrugged her shoulders as she rose from her seat and picked up her own mask. “Even if that’s all he’s there for,” she said, then pulled the owl-designed porcelain over her face and fixed you with a stare through the eye holes, “doesn’t have to hold you back from at least trying.”

Her words rang in your ears as you carried on with your work that evening. They stuck with you as you danced for drooling men and women who oggled at you from behind their masks, as you ran your fingers down arms to chase bigger tips, as you followed a man who paid top dollar for a private dance.

Her words rattled like bells in your head as you mindlessly ground yourself against your customer, allowing yourself to get lost in your own imagination while you willed yourself to work. You shut your eyes behind your mask and let yourself fall into a dangerous little scenario you cooked up just for yourself.

You imagined not your boyfriend, who was out there in the city somewhere playing with his stupid fucking band to a crowd of three, not of any celebrity crush or model, but of Miguel O’Hara. You imagined him beneath you instead of some man whose breath smelled like expensive alcohol. You thought of him, and his hulking frame, and his powerful thighs you had found yourself staring at anytime he entered your line of sight.

Mind running away with this little fantasy of yours, you ground yourself a little harder against the lap beneath you, pushed your chest further against the chest parallel to yours. In your head, Miguel let out a huffy breath and rested those large hands of his on your hips, slowly but surely guiding your movements until you were riding his thigh. You tried to imagine, so intensely and desperately, how such an event would go.

He would gently, but firmly, help move your hips so that your exposed clit rubbed perfectly against the rough fabric of his jeans. You would keen and arch your back into him, hands running over his sinewy shoulders, as he hitched his leg and sent a powerful jolt of pleasure running through you and right to your core.

“You like that, pretty girl?” he would murmur in your ear, lips brushing along the shell before his tongue, warm and soft and pink and wet, licked against your lobe. “Ride, querida. ‘Til I say you’re done, and then I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

You would grind your hips against his leg, moaning aloud and unabashedly when he tensed his corded muscle so that you’d have something to hump into. His hands, wide and spread, would wander along your bare back, memorizing the skin there like it was his and his alone, and he would dip his head to attach his lips to your nipple. He’d suck the nub into a hardened bud, then kiss and lick and nibble the skin around it until it was marred with love marks that would darken the following morning, and then he’d switch and give the other one the same kind of attention.

“Miguel,” you’d whimper in a certain kind of tone, and suddenly you’d be on the bed, pulled to the edge so that the globes of your ass hung off and when he kneeled he had access to your cunt bared for him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he would say as he pressed open-mouthed kisses up and up your inner thighs, getting closer to where you needed him most. “All for me and me alone. Isn’t that right, bebe?”

You wouldn’t be able to give him a clear answer at first, not when he would lick a long, wet stripe up the center of your folds and up to your clit. He would expertly find that little bundle of nerves, wrapping his lips around it and fondling with his tongue until you couldn’t do anything but sigh and moan and card your fingers through his dark hair to pull him closer. He would suck on your sweet spot for a while, alternating between licking stripes and adorning it with kisses, before he would slowly drag his long, thick fingers toward your sopping folds.

But he would stop just short.

“Say it,” he would tell you, dark, impenetrable gaze fixated on you from where he kneeled between your legs like a devout believer praying to his one and only love - his goddess. When you would whine and cry from the pausing of his ministrations, he would take his mouth, his wonderful, hot breath, away from your aching cunt. He would cock his head, allowing a bit of hair to fall across his face. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to, chica.”

“Miguel,” you would say again, because, really, that was all you could think of to say. “Miguel, please… need you, please…”

He would pull his fingers from your heat, gaze stony and immovable as a mountain standing tall in the midst of a storm. God, not even that could sway him. “Tell me,” he would demand again, this time in a low baritone that made your cunt clench around nothing because goddammit, even his fucking voice could send you into heat like a damn dog. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to. Now.”

“You,” would come the small, high-pitched answer, tumbling from your lips without another thought that did not involve him. “You, Miguel. Belongs to you. All for you, no one else.” You would babble, desperate to reach your climax before he let you fall back down that incline so, so cruelly, yet so, so deliciously. “Please, Miguel, need you. Need your fingers, anything. Just fuck me, please, handsome, fuck me ‘til I can’t remember my own name.”

He would tilt his head even further, like a predator toying with the prey he’d been chasing after for miles upon miles, before placing a gentle, feather-light kiss upon the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl,” he would say, then attack your clit with his full, thick lips, plunge two of his fingers into your heat, and begin to fuck you into oblivion.

The sound of his fingers constantly edging in and out of your dripping pussy, so wet you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs and your ass, would pull the most wonderful and pornographic-sounding moans and whimpers and whines of his name from your throat. Your own slick would coat his digits like honey, so sweet that for a moment he would stop his assault on your divine bundle of nerves and crane his neck to lick up a bit of it from where it dripped down your ass. The flat of his muscle would raise goosebumps along your skin as you cried out for him, one hand gripping his hair and the other buried into the sheets of the bed.

“Miguel,” you would cry and begin to rock your hips to meet the thrusts of his fingers, practically humping his face. He would take it like it was his last meal, returning to his sucking and licking and circling of your clit to send bolt after bolt of pleasure and heaven and everything else in between. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“That’s it,” he would murmur between licks through your soaked folds, feeling as your slick dripped down his wrist. “Say my name, bebe, tell them who’s making you feel this fucking good.”

He would angle his fingers then at just the right angle, his fingertips hitting that perfect, fucking perfect spot deep inside you. Stars would dance in your vision as your mouth would open in a silent scream, unable to get anything out but a tiny wail of heavenly pleasure. You would swear you’d never felt this goddamn good in your life, like you would gladly trade everything in the whole world just to stay here forever. His pace would pick up, aiming for that spot inside of you, and he’d lap at your cunt in a feverish craze, like it was the only thing that would save him from losing his mind.

All too soon, your thighs would begin to tremble and you would feel that beautiful, familiar coil tightening and winding deep within your soul. “Miguel,” you would cry out for the whole world to hear. “Miguel, m’close, I’m so close!”

“Come on, pretty bebe,” he would say between your thighs that would try to wrap around his head in a feeble attempt to pull him closer. “Cum f’me. I want it. All of it.”

His words would send a shockwave of pleasure through you, one that would white out your vision so intensely you would have thought he’d killed you and sent you on your way to the pearly white gates, and you’d have been okay with that. He continued to work you through your orgasm, his pace slowing but never stopping, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along your thighs, your hips, your naval.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl. Taking it so well, all for me. Look so pretty all laid out like this, like I could just eat you up. Would you like that, hmm? You want me to just devour you ‘til you’re left shaking and crying my name?”

“Miguel. Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“...My name’s not Miguel.”

Your eyes flashed open, suddenly brought back to the real world, pulled away from your fantasy. Through the holes in your monarch mask, you looked down to find your customer staring up at you with wide eyes and popping a boner put there by your mindless rocking against his hips. Feeling your cheeks flush, you slipped off of him and consciously tugged your outfit lower over your ass.

You pursed your lips, attempting to hide how mortified you were. “...That’s going to be another twenty bucks.”

It wasn’t until around one in the morning when you got home to your little apartment squished in a dilapidated little building wedged between two office towers because the landlord had refused to sell the place when they steamrolled the others ten years ago. The lights were off when you slipped inside, and a little piece of yourself inside wilted.

At once, you threw up a wall and dismissed that sinking feeling. Of course he wasn’t going to wait up for you. He’d had a show tonight, and he had another one tomorrow. He was tired.

Not nearly as fucking tired as you, though.

After wiping off your makeup and pulling off the fake little diamonds stuck on your temples, after changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth, and after pinning a new drawing from one of your students on the fridge despite the fact you knew they’d never see it, you tiptoed back to the cramped little bedroom. You poked your head inside. Ferris, your boyfriend of six months, was spread out across the entire mattress, snoring gently into the fabric of the crumpled sheets.

You swallowed thick. You didn’t want to disturb him. He needed his rest.

You grabbed your phone charger from the wall and your pillow from beneath his arm, then slid on your socks back into the tiny living room. Plopping yourself down on the couch and plugging in your phone, you rolled yourself onto your side and stared at the dark screen. Willing something to happen. Something to come up, someone to reach out.

Because in reality, though you would rather throw yourself off the Brooklyn Bridge than admit it… you had never felt so alone.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #spiderman #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #sony spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv miguel

[bigfatbimbo]

saw ur post ab the vees and i wasn't sure if u wanted nsfw rambles or sfw rambles so like... i'll send the sfw rambles in a separate ask 😭

anywaysss im thinking ab putting them all in their place.... maybe they're all arguing over you or being pissy to eachother in general so you punish them all- seperately ofc, u cant have them getting off in eachothers pleasure bc ik damn well they'd be into watching you fuck someone else especially another one of the vees

i am always willing to rant about the vees🙏🙏🙏

summary — The Vees being humbled by the reader in the form of loose, unprofessional headcanons and vague thoughts.

warnings — dom reader, sub… everyone else, very messy, not proofread, read at the risk of incoherence

a/n — I HATE THEM SO MUCH!! THEY’RE THE WORST!! Let’s as a society fuck them to tears.

So, unpopular opinion, I’ve see a few ideas of being the vees collective lay or ‘plaything’ fucktoy, and the idea is so much more fun with a dom reader.

And i’m saying that objectively too, like not just as a dom reader blog. Because these are three people who make up the worst aspects of society, and lowkey are basically just manipulation tactics personified. Propaganda the trio!

Looking at these cocky assholes, who are the embodiment of what is considered terrible people, and who all have unmatched mathematically impossibly high egos, would it just be so fun to fuck the pride out of them?

Especially, for example, let’s say you’re around a lot and you’ve become a trusted person a good fuck for the Vees. They all have terrible attention seeking tendencies, so it would be safe to assume they’d be all over you.

Vox would be trying to talk to you about whatever particular subject he thinks is most interesting (about himself) to capture your attention, while Velvette would be close to you as well, flicking her phone your direction to show you something she finds funny or hot, but mainly as a subtle power-play to get your attention off Vox and onto her.

Valentino would be much less subtle, of course, by nature. He’d be all up around you, touching you, running his hands along your shoulder blades as he walks past, and probably the type to ‘drop something’ and bend over to flash you his fishnets and panties.

Needless to say, they’re all pissing each other off immensely. Obviously, being short tempered people, this leads to an argument because Velvette was ‘talking to you first’ but Vox had ‘actually important things to say’ and according to Valentino ‘the two of you were boring them out of their minds’ and he had to ‘spice your day up.’

Unfortunately for the Vees, you don’t do your one ‘job.’ Your attention isn’t given to any one of them. Yet. You just simply sit on the couch, scrolling through your phone and flicking through channels. Maybe you even actually leave the tower and go eat out or something.

Of course, until later when you pick them off one by one. And no matter who you decide to fuck senseless first, they will be so obviously loud just to be petty because, after all, you did choose them first. Like they would be being obnoxiously vocal about how ‘full they are’ or how ‘you’re going so fast!’ or some other fake shit like that. It’s honestly a whole show. Now, I feel like fucking all of them at the same time is kind of inevitable, because they’re all deprived horny freaks on the lowkey. (Except for Val it’s very highkey.) But I think there would be little mannerisms that appear on one on one sessions that they would NEVER show during a foursome. For example, Vox’s certain… titles he uses. mommy kink mommy kink mommy kink. Because he would literally die before calling you mommy or daddy in front of Velvette or Val. It’s okay when it’s just you because it’d be easier to be vulnerable around someone he trusts to set his dominance fully aside for.

And like, yeah, the other Vees know he gets fucked just like the rest of them, but it’s simpler for him to keep his illusion of dominance and respect out side of the bedroom, if the more shamefully submissive aspects of himself stayed hidden.

Also, I think Valentinos would have an easier time actually giving into to subbing during one on one sessions. Like yes, he does sub when it’s with you all the time. That’s the point of the fic.

But he’s less of a power bottom, and his flirtatious, incredibly disgusting remarks subside much faster into whimpers and whining.

Because, although less professional than Vox, he does still have an image. And when it’s just you fucking him, his vile horny comments disappear into whines for your attention in no time. Well actually a lot of time, but the point is that they actually do. And similar to Valentinos, Velvette’s confidence when bottoming alone with you is increasingly less apparent. Yea, she’s still bossy and definitely a power bottom, but there’s more of a recognition that she isn’t in charge. Honestly, she’s such a princess I think she’d actually have a very hard time going into subspace, even when alone. Because degradation just pisses her off. Why aren’t you worshipping her like you should be? But then it’s, what the fuck, why aren’t you worshiping her like you should be?? It makes her brat out even harder, which she does show in front of the other Vees, until she’s actually just needy to be pleased and given pleasure, making her twice as whiny. That aspect she does not show in front of the vees. But let’s talk about group sex with the Vees. Probably only used as a severe punishment, or a surprisingly giving reward. I have a very particular scene for the severe punishment aspect, however. So they’ve all been bad, but let’s say, for the sake of specifics to set the scene, Val has been worse. It is still a punishment for Vox and Velvette, but punishing them all to the same extent when Val has misbehaved clearly more would be wrong, would it not? They’re all greedy, selfish assholes, so you’ve concocted the perfect form of torture for your useless brats; they don’t receive anything until they’re good. Especially Val. Velvette has a strap on, so she can’t even feel anything but minor friction when you slide your worked open ass onto the plastic dick and open your legs, exposing your empty pussy to none other than Vox. He eats you out reluctantly, while rutting into the mattress as fast as he could, all while you cockwarm (and sometimes roll your hips to press the strap against her pussy uncomfortably) Velvette. Oh, and where’s Valentino? Tied up in a chair in front of the bed, getting a perfect shot while being totally naked and hard. You have a gag in his mouth too, because otherwise he’d be complaining the whole time. Because that’s just not fair, is it? He does this all day for a living. Seriously, he watches people fuck all day. It was his turn to feel something! And you would only have punished him more if he’d done something about this at work today. (Yikes..) I mean, this sounds like complete and utter bullshit. A lose-lose situation! But, it actually is completely fair. And as you’re receiving all the pleasure, from Velvettes feelingless, fake dick, Vox’s tongue while he humps the bed pathetically, and Val’s whines in complaint, you know the punishment is working. You’ve bothered them behind belief, you’ve hit a spot you knew would leave a message. Because none of the attention is on our poor little trio at all. These naturally selfish, greedy people, have to finally give. And god, they’re becoming more desperate for your attention and praise by the second.

a/n — We all know I love sub Vox. But this opened by eyes to how much I love sub Velvette and Valentino. REQUEST THEM ALL MORE.

Also, Rose, I CAN ALWAYS COUNT ON YOU FOR A FIRE ASF PROMPT.

if this flops im throwing myself out of a window btw

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #inbox open #hazbin hotel smut #dom reader #vox x reader #valentino x reader #velvette x reader #vox smut #valentino smut #velvette smut #sub vox #sub velvette #sub valentino #vox x you #velvette x you #valentino x you #the vees x reader

[leovenuslatina]

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒆 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

why/how you became famous?

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

this is the first in my fame series! this series is all about what your life of fame will be like !! enjoy !!

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧ this is just a reminder that tarot isn’t permanent or set in stone YOU decide how your life goes no one or nothing else now take a deep breath and choose the pile that calls to you ‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。

🎀 pile one 🎀

four of cups, page of cups, eight of wands

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

pile one i see you being famous like an over night thing. maybe you post a silly video or something while you’re bored at home and out of nowhere you blow up!When it comes to massing a following, being genuine with a big personality can be an irresistible combination for you. People are drawn to your authenticity, and you are someone that exudes genuine qualities coupled with a larger-than-life personality you’re magnetic. you are refreshing and invigorating to encounter. you are true to yourself and unapologetically embrace your unique qualities. This authenticity shines through in your posts, words, and interactions, creating a sense of trustworthiness that undoubtedly attracts others. A big personality adds another layer of charm as it infuses excitement and enthusiasm into every moment. People are naturally captivated by you who radiates positive energy and have the ability to bring joy into everyone’s life. Ultimately, it is this winning combination of genuineness and a big personality that draws people in and makes them love you so much. Suddenly, your follower count skyrockets, and notifications flood in from people all over the world. It's surreal, to say the least. Comments pour in praising your humor or admiring your beauty. Your inbox is flooded with messages from brands wanting to collaborate. From being an ordinary user scrolling through memes and cat videos, now everyone wants a piece of you - interviews, guest appearances, sponsorships - it seems endless.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ extra ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

boredom

disappointment

re-evaluate

announcement

birth

good news

hasty action

motion

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡

🎀 pile two 🎀

two of swords, ace of pentacles, ten of wands

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

you’re famous pile two because of what you say and what you talk about what you say and the things you talk about really resonates with others! you may be a motivational speaker or writer someone who really gets to people deeply with just your words. i see you a lot in the spot light and on like red carpets in fancy dress and dripping in diamonds. you have a beautiful smile so you might be funny or a comiden actor/actress. pile 2 people are so obsessed with your mind i don’t know what it is about but the way you think is remarkable to others. you’re constantly pulling people in with your opinions on whatever topic . you could be a talk show host ! giving wendy but better. you’re so welcoming and sun shining all over everyone who is a fan of yours. pile 2 if or when you become famous your recognition and success will be extremely abundant ! you’ll be so well loved and very well known.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ extra ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

balance, bambi, deer 🦌, red, red carpets, peace of mind, cameras, emotional stability , finical, gain , luck , talk shows , recognition, success

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡

🎀 pile three 🎀

seven of cups, temperance, the tower

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

pile 3 you’re famous for something you’ve always wanted to do something you’ve dreamt of doing for your whole life. this career is something you definitely manifested. this maybe something you wanted to do ever since you little. i’m seeing your inner child guiding you to this career. you’re famous because your life is inspiring! people see how hard you work and have been and all you’ve been through. people from all over are drawn to you because of you being so true to yourself and not ashamed to be who you really are. you may become a actress i see you might have a flare for the dramatics and or performing on a sort of broadway stage. you become famous pile 3 because you’re a very ambitious person who goes after any and everything you want.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ extra ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

dreams and ambitions , stars ⭐️ , inner self, capable, control, dramatic change, new start, blue,

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡

🎀 pile four 🎀

the well, three of pentacles, eight of pentacles

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

you’re definitely an artist !! you’re extremely comfortable with your medium whatever it is painting or music or whatever you make your art with your extremely skilled ! whatever it is that you create resonates will millions. and you’re praised heavily for your incredible art work. everyone is so impressed how you can be so skilled you are at such a young age. people are truly amazed by your talent. if you’re an artist can see your artwork being displayed in huge museums in from of crowds of people. i see opportunities falling right into your lap so if you do desire fame and fortune simply remain indulgent in you passions that will lead you to true happiness

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ extra ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

nurturing

opportunities

creative

excellence

satisfaction

mastery

success

teamwork

purpose

new skills

apprentice

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡

#black tarot readers #pick a card tarot #pick a pile #tarotcommunity #daily tarot #tarot #tarot cards #tarot daily #tarotblr #famous #tarot online #free tarot #tarot witch #tarot pac #tarot deck #tarot reading #latino tarotblr