#this should be a big movement and i think we all agree

[bandzboy]

i’ve been meant to talk about this but a lot twt stans have been agreeing to this which is we should boycott hybe fully and genuinely! they openly work with zionists (here's a thread that explains more about scooter braun and why you should boycott) and according to what i just saw… apparently yoongi’s movie is gonna have a screening in isnotreal and even after all the protests trucks and hashtags and emails that have been sent to this company this past few months, it’s clear they don't care about what we have to say and so, as much as we all want to support our faves, we have to make this company's pockets hurt. by that i mean, not buying albums or merch or stream music from their groups until something is done! unfortunately, these companies only gaf if money is not put in their pockets! so please download music listen to music illegally wtv you need to do we need to unite this time to make them open their eyes and realize we do not stand for this

#this post is very much a summary #but i've been seeing more posts about it lately #and especially a lot of armys on twt have talked about how #they are taking action with this yoongi movie situation #if you support any hybe group you should do the same #it's clear as day that adding this screening date to that place #they don't care and will continue when something is not done #this has been going on twt and we tried to boycott last time #and yes 100% this is not organized but i just want you #to see these things and maybe rethink whether or not #you wanna support hybe in any way #and i'm hoping you think you don't want to #this should be a big movement and i think we all agree #that we don't wanna support groups especially knowing they work with zionists #and that said money might go to supporting that place and zionist institutions #so please PLEASE join this #boycotts are supposed to disturb your daily life and it's supposed to be #'uncomfortable' for you #we have to think that in the long run this is for something bigger than us #and our faves and kpop #so i'm genuinely asking to please participate and spread the word #tris.txt

[angelltheninth]

Arthur Morgan Teaches You How to Ride Him

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dick riding, guidance, encouragement, inexperience, age-gap

A/N: Can we all agree that he is the hottest cowboy dilf?

"You wanna sit on there nice and slow sweetheart. Know you're eager for it but don't hurt yourself now." That was funny coming from the man who was just in a bar fight. You can still see the bruising on his knuckles and see where his lip was split. "Did seeing me fight do it for you? So wet down there, I'm thinking it just might've."

"It's not the fight I promise you." Maybe a little but more of it was Arthur's charm and boldness. And how delicately he treated you. Sure you knew he could give you a rough pounding, enough to potentially break the bed but he was set on teaching you something new today.

Today was a riding lesson. Dick riding to be exact.

You tried to take him in right away, which proved a little painful even with how slick you were. You balanced yourself on your knees above his hips, your pussy touching the red tip of his cock, hands on his chest, feeling the chest hair and the scars from knives and bullets. This sounded much easier then it proved to be when he suggested it.

"I might not be as young as I used to be but I'll still throw my fists for a pretty young lady's honor." Arthur wanted to protect you as much as he wanted to corrupt your mind with all sorts of sinful ideas, such as meeting him night after night, sneaking out just to fuck him, "Besides I reckon none of those wannabe tough guys back there could teach you half the things I know. Ain't that right baby?" His hands pushed you down with the right amount that you felt the pressure, but not enough to bruise as the cockhead pushed just past your entrance. "There we go, right where my cock should be. Now I want you to start rolling your hips downwards, slowly, until you're able to fit the whole thing inside there."

Your hips started moving, breath hitching with every inch of his cock that you managed to take. You've taken it plenty of times in the past but you were never the one on top, and even with this newfound control you had over the movements you thought it better to listen to Arthur's advice then take him all at once. Instead on the feeling of lust you focused on how his cock stretched you open more and more, causing you to tighten and release around him, looking at his smile which grew wider and wider until settling on a permanent grin when you took his whole length.

"Atta girl." With his feet firmly planted on the bed Arthur folded his arms behind his head to enjoy himself to the fullest. "Gotta say I'm real comfy like this."

"Yeah? Am I making you feel good, Arthur?" A big, satisfied smile split across your face. Your hips were still touching him when you tried wiggling around a bit, feeling every inch of his twitching cock, perfectly angled to hit your deepest spots, "Can you tell how good you make me feel too?"

"I'd be worried if I didn't. You're gonna need to go up slowly, repeat the sliding until it goes in smoothly for you, then you can start to pick up the pace. Be sure to keep your balance too, because sometimes," He pushed his hips upwards, making you moan his name along with a deep whimper, "you might get yourself a surprise or two."

Nodding you let his body settle back down and you on top of him again, filled with his cock and the new found confidence that you could make him feel just as good as he made you feel.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 smut #rdr2 x female reader #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption x female reader #smut drabble #smutember 2023 #x female reader

[eviebane]

Neil is up to something

there is an excellent post (that I've blimming lost) about how Neil is very familiar with magic tricks but read this wonderful compilation of metas and you'll get the idea - NEW Crackpotting Theory Tracker

Magic plays a big part in Good Omens - and Neil is up to his own magic trick. Sendarya talked about how the kiss is a misdirection to the audience from what is actually happening

so let's get rid of the kiss (because I definitely find it distracting!) and let's look at what happens between Metatron and Aziraphale in 2x06

This is not an angel that wants to return to Heaven. He looks bored, like he doesn't even know why Metatron is there or why he's talking to HIM about who the next Supreme Archangel should be.

"Michael?" it's like he couldn't give less of a toss if he tried

he's just like hmm? yeah ok, super interesting, can i leave now

When Metatron suggests Azi should take over as Supreme Archangel, he looks horrified. this is not good news, at all.

Metatron tries to sweet talk him. You're so honest, such a good leader~

Azi isn't convinced.

"I've been looking back over a number of your... previous exploits, and I see that in quite a few of them you formed a-"

THAT EYE TWITCH

"-de facto partnership with the demon Crowley."

LOOK AT THIS REACTION. fear. worry. panic. guilt(?). we see that fight or flight response kick in - the eye movements, the swallow.

Can I point out, WE NEVER SEE AZI'S IMMEDIATE REACTION TO THIS OFFER. But I think we know that it's not a positive reaction - he knows what Crowley thinks of Heaven.

What we do see is the end of that conversation, and Azi is nervous and faking smiles. He is now agreeing to go along with Metatron's plan, even though the last time we saw him, he was completely resisting it. Something happened to cause this change.

It's very possible that Aziraphale has now made his own plan, but he has to make it seem like he's going along with Metatron's plan. The Metatron is very direct to Aziraphale that he knows about his relationship with Crowley, and as we know, Aziraphale is terrified of Crowley being destroyed. This was perceived as a threat to Crowley and possibly humanity, and Metatron's bombshell "the Second Coming" definitely extended that threat to humanity, which Azi is a fierce protector of.

"But what am I?" "You're just an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as you can."

This angel did not want to return to Heaven. This angel is essentially being held hostage and is trying to save the two things he loves most from complete and utter destruction.

Fell the Marvellous has saved Crowley before, in 1941, with a perfectly timed sleight of hand. Now this time he must save everything, with his own death-defying 'bullet catch'.

What Neil is up to, well. I don't think we'll know until we see it. A good magician never tells.

Edit: 'Trust Me' - Aziraphale's Season 3 'Bullet Catch'

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #goodomens #good omens 2 #gomens #gomens 2 #ineffable divorce #good omens meta #metatron #good omens s3 #good omens season 3

[nothorses]

"the public education system is intently evil and all teachers are abusive because it was the worst experience ever for me personally"

guys, look, I'm legitimately sorry that happened to you. that's fucked up. it shouldn't have happened, and it shouldn't be allowed to happen again to you or anyone else. I'm sorry.

public school was hard for me too, at times, and I'm still suffering the consequences for the harsh grading, the arbitrary deadlines, the hours of completely useless-to-me homework. I could name a few teachers who have been pretty fucking terrible. the fact that nobody considered getting me evaluated for ADHD has had an impact on my self image and academic success that I can't erase.

and also.

I grew up in an area where education, in particular, is incredibly progressive-leaning. educators are working really hard to create and try out education philosophies and practices that prioritize kids and their learning, rather than teachers and what they think kids should learn.

My sex ed was comprehensive, and came entirely from school. My gay sixth grade teacher taught me about HIV/AIDs in a useful, accurate way. In high school, I learned about the way orgasms work & I was prepared not to feel shame for normal stuff.

I learned that Communism was not what the USSR actually practiced, and what it really means. I learned about atrocities and, specifically, the genocide of indigenous people committed in/by the US. I learned about the military industrial complex, the school-to-prison pipeline, and I learned about manifestations of racism specific to my local area. I learned about Stonewall, and the intersection of the civil rights movement with gay rights and disability justice.

My creative writing teacher taught us about LSD, and the real reasons we shouldn't do it, after a hilariously ineffective assembly run by some local cops. He spoke gently, carefully, and emphatically about his friends and his own experiences. Later in the semester, he read us a story he wrote about two gay men finding each other in a deeply homophobic environment.

My sci-fi teacher made me feel safe & seen as a kid with "weird" interests. My US History teacher helped me research and put together a 10-page paper on the modern relevance and mission of Feminism. My government teacher made me feel appreciated for the work I put into the class, and the thought I put into what I said in it, even though he disagreed with a lot of it. My sixth grade teacher bought me books to read with his personal money, whichever ones I asked for. My third grade teacher made me feel safe. My science teacher in middle school made me excited for and passionate about science, and saw and nurtured the effort I put into her class.

A lot of stuff sucks, absolutely. But I am seeing new teaching methods being tried out all the time, and I am watching teachers get really excited when I teach their students about the roots of modern graffiti in US black history & to question property laws, and just...

There's hope. there are so many people doing so much work to make things better. so many people agree with you on what education should be, and are trying so fucking hard to put that into action, and so many public schools- not just teachers, but whole schools and even districts- are really doing that work. so much is getting better.

I had more to say, about necessary childcare and trusted adults and outside contacts and time away from abusive family. But like. Please just sit down and listen to more people on this, and please talk to educators and education professionals about what's really going on in this big huge world of philosophy, science, and practice.

#education

[pearlywritings]

"Bring your kid to work" day

synopsis: but sometimes it's very much unplanned.

pairing and characters: Zhongli x fem!reader, Xiao. Your family name is Rex-Lapis. Childe plays part in it too.

tw: modern AU, University AU, established relationship, fluff

word count: 2.8k+ words

a/n: Also a part of my University modern AU with history professor Zhongli

The day started perfectly. Your older daughter was already at school with your permission to stay at her friend's house for a sleepover later, you had your day off, lounging in the living room with your son cuddling to you with his most favorite dragon shaped toy pressed between your bodies, listening to your husband walking around the bedroom, getting ready for the lectures at the University, being blessed with afternoon classes.

The day was perfect indeed. Until it absolutely isn't.

Sometimes you really want to kill your boss. It must be today that you are called to work to help with an emergency, that no one knows how to deal with except for you. And the fact that your boss does not consider any possibility of you having trouble with doing what's required, makes you fume harder.

"Li, I don't know what to do!" You cry in frustration, buttoning your shirt. "We can't find a babysitter in ten minutes! You have to go to work, I have to now too, we can't just ask Ganyu to cancel her plans, she's been waiting for this sleepover for weeks, and I can't take Xiao with me - by the sound of it I won't have a single moment to look after him."

It's been no longer than five minutes since you received that call, but you are already as stressed as after a week of non-stop work. Why must've the stars aligned this way!?

Your husband - bless his soul - is fully dressed and is holding your little son perched on his arm, supporting his back with a hand, watching your frantic movements with sympathy.

"I don't think I'll have many spare moments either, my love. Only breaks between lessons. Let me think," the man hums, leaning Xiao’s body more onto his shoulder and reaching for his phone with a free hand. The boy wraps arms around his neck, watching you brush your hair with a pout. The plan was to spend the whole day together with mama, watching cartoons, playing, maybe going for a walk or, ideally, taking a nap, finishing it all with making dinner and welcoming papa home. Now, it seems to him, all these plans are thrown out of the window.

However, Xiao was always a very perceptive and patient kid - he sensed somehow when the situation couldn’t be helped and him throwing a fit - not like he would - would only cause more trouble. That is why he is quietly waiting for what comes next.

And finally Zhongli finds a solution.

“I’m calling Ajax. He mostly spends time at the teacher’s lounge. As far as I know he really loves kids and has several younger siblings, he should be able to handle our son. And during breaks I’ll be taking over” “Oh,” as good as it all sounds, there is an instant hesitation in your mind. “‘Li, you sure you can ask him that? It’s a big deal after all…” “I know, dear, I know. That’s why I am calling him now in advance to make sure it’s alright,” your husband dials the number of his department’s secretary and puts the phone to the ear. “I don’t even mind paying him if he agrees.”

In reality you had nothing to worry about. The gingerhead was more than willing to watch your five-year old son. Maybe willing isn’t the right word even - the young man is excited.

Zhongli is lucky to arrive before the current class ends - the less attention is drawn, the better. He collected everything he could think of to occupy Xiao during his time at the lounge in a bag, which he passes to Ajax the moment his son and him are introduced. However while the secretary is wearing a wide and kind smile, the boy is glaring up at him from under the brown bangs, boring his strikingly golden eyes in the tall figure.

“Dad, I don’t like him,” the little boy pouts, hugging his plushie even tighter and throwing daggers at the gingerhead from behind the dragon’s mane.

“Ouch, little guy,” with a dramatic gasp, the young man clutches the shirt on his chest and presses the back of his hand to the forehead. “How will I live? Hated by Mr Rex-Lapis’ son…”

“Now, now, Xiao,” Zhongli gently pats his head, bending down to look into his eyes and finding displeasure there. “It’s only for today, baby. Me and mom are really sorry for not spending time with you today. I promise that soon I’ll be home for two whole weeks.”

To that the boy’s eyes widen.

“Two weeks… That’s fourteen days?”

“That’s right, sweety.”

“That’s a lot!” He jumps, elated by the news, no trace of dissatisfaction written over his cute smiling face.

“Haha, it is, dear.”

“Wow, Mr Rex-Lapis, your son is really smart!” The secretary stopped playing hurt, instead clapping his hands together in praise and nodding his head in approval. “How old is he?”

“He is five. Yes, he learns really fast.”

“No wonder, he has you and your wife as parents.”

The remaining 20 minutes before his first lecture Zhongli spends in attempts to make his son comfortable not only around Ajax, but also at the new place as well. All that time Xiao doesn’t let go of his ever-present companion - a toy dragon, which he is hugging close to his chest. He politely greets every professor that comes to the lounge, which makes the secretary’s jaw drop since he is the only one who’s been initially rejected and, Zhongli can swear, he saw his boy smirking in the toy’s fluffy mane.

Other professors can’t help but mention how much the son resembles the father, even making small talk with the boy, whom they’ve only heard about before or seen in the framed picture of your family on Zhongli’s desk. By how polite (sorry, Ajax) and shyly sweet he is Xiao quickly becomes everyone’s favorite, pockets currently full with all kinds of treats.

When it’s time to go, the man kisses Xiao’s forehead goodbye, promising to be back in an hour and a half for a break, and grabs the materials. Once he leaves alongside his colleagues, Xiao sighs and, ignoring his temporary caretaker, moves to the bag his dad left, starting to dig out all the candies to put them into its side pocket.

“Whatcha doin’, little guy?” The young man is at his side in two long strides, curiously watching the boy’s actions. Xiao gives him a side eye, before deeming the question plausible and turning back to his task.

“I don’t want them right now. I’ll bring them home and share with mom and dad.”

“I am sure they’ll like that,” Ajax hums, busying himself with the contents of the main section. “Oh, would you look at that! It seems that your dad packed some coloring books, toys and… oh, puzzles! You like puzzles?”

The boy quietly nods. Tiptoeing, he tries to see the two boxes his temporary caretaker is holding, and the young man immediately crouches down to let him look.

“This one is new,” Xiao finally points to the box in his left hand. Ocean blue eyes skim over the picture of a phoenix, drawn in a simple yet elegant style. Yes, that definitely looks like something Mr Rex-Lapis would’ve bought for his child’s entertainment.

“Alright, let's get you behind your dad's desk,” golden eyes sparkle and a glimpse of wonder appears on the boy’s face. Dad showed him his own space at the lounge; it's tidy and organized, with all the necessities sorted inside the drawers and some notes and pictures pinned to the corkboard on the wall to the left. He wants to see them closer!

His caretaker drags the chair back, but climbing on it Xiao performs himself. As Ajax is humming something while tearing off the tape on the puzzle box, the boy turns to look at the photos Mr Rex-Lapis has on display. It’s so funny, really - not so long ago this little fella’s father was an image of reserve to students, no one knew who his wife was or the fact he had two kids. The secretary remembers how just half a year ago he used to be among those only ones who knew of the professor’s secret (which, in reality, wasn’t a secret at all). Why hasn't he ever spilled any info to the students who adore him?

Well, what fun would’ve been in it?

“Is that your big sister?” Xiao quickly glances up, taking notice of how the tall (but not as tall as dad) man hovers over where he is sitting and points at one of the pictures. The boy looks at it again.

“...yes. It’s Ganyu.”

“I have a sister too,” the fond expression on that freckle-covered face and a seemingly lightened color of those ocean-blue eyes disarms the five-year old a little. He blinks, waiting for what more he can tell. “Not one actually. Oh, and I have brothers too. One is your age, by the way!”

“Doesn’t it get too… loud?” Small hands reach for the carton box, lifting the lid.

“It does, in a good way though. But when our two huskies join in on the fun… Let’s just say it’s a good thing we have our own house.”

“You have dogs? That’s so cool! I want to have a pet too,” Xiao unceremoniously empties the contents onto the table, yet carefully places the lid with the picture against the monitor of the computer. “Mom promised that when I get older, they’ll buy me a bird.”

“Oh? You love those?”

“Mhm… Maybe we’ll buy something as pretty as…” he pauses, looking at the fiery bird. Ajax quickly realizes the struggle.

“A fo-nuhks,” Xiao prompts.

“Yeah… A fee-niks.”

As the minutes tick by, the boy’s initial hostility seems to evaporate. He still doesn’t talk unnecessarily much, but he does talk to Ajax, so that's progress. He is quite quick to finish the puzzles, and his temporary caretaker makes sure to praise the child. They talk a bit more about their respective families, Xiao even introduces him to his dragon companion. And the gingerhead picks the small fox-shaped keychain his elder sister knitted for him to play toy pals.

For another half an hour it manages to entertain the boy, but as the end of the class is nearing, he grows more and more distracted, glancing either at the door or the clock hanging high on the wall. It’s not hard to guess he is missing his father and is anticipating his return, but both Zhongli and Ajax can do nothing to just speed the time.

What professor can do though, is excusing his class ten minutes earlier, quite happy they got to get through all the material he prepared for this lecture. Bidding the students goodbye, he locks the door of the auditorium with his suitcase inside and puts the key in the pocket of his fancy vest to come back in twenty minutes.

When Zhongli enters the teacher’s lounge, he finds the secretary showing his son something on his own laptop. However, once Xiao’s eyes spot his dad’s figure in the doorframe, the little guy is down from his chair and running all the way to the man.

“Dad!” Mr Rex-Lapis barely has time to close the door and scoot down to catch his son, who nearly bumps into his legs, threatening the man’s balance. Finally in his arms, with his own tiny ones tightly wrapped around strong neck, the carbon copy of Zhongli happily smiles and Ajax has to rub his eyes to make sure he is not hallucinating. Wow, this boy can smile like that (sorry, my guy, you are just not his favorite, though now tolerable at least).

“Hello, Xiao,” Zhongli plants an affectionate kiss on his son’s cheek. “I see you’ve missed me,” the words are answered with eager nods. “Did you have fun with Ajax?” At least some of it.

The gingerhead lifts his eyebrow when the boy looks back at him, holds the gaze of ocean blue eyes for a moment, and then turns to his father once more.

“I suppose.”

The older man has to clear his throat with a polite cough so as not to break into a smile at the image of the assistant's slack jaw.

“That’s good, my dear.”

“Are we coming home now?” His son wonders, fingers playing with the longer locks of dark brown. Unfortunately, the answer is a dejected sigh.

“I am afraid we are not yet, sweety. But mommy texted me recently that she’ll be able to come get you after my second lecture. And then I’ll have one more.”

At the promise of you soon arriving to take him home, Xiao’s just building pout quickly disappeared. It’s okay, he can wait for a little bit longer. And that fox-like man isn’t bad, his company is quite nice. He even showed him some pictures of his family - almost all of them are ginger. Oh, and he promised to download some simple games onto his dad’s computer so he could play. And he still has his coloring books back there and he believes he saw you packing a small book - there is plenty to entertain him with.

Only for all these thoughts and motivation to be shuttered when someone knocked on the door and a second later some student’s head pushed through the gap. None of the three people currently present in the room could’ve anticipated what a black hole is about to be opened.

“Good afternoon, is Mr Rex-La- Oh, professor, you are here! We were wondering if we could take the key to leave our bags inside? As always? Oh, hey kiddo- Wait, a kid???”

“Dad, who is it?”

“DAD!?”

Before anyone could do anything, loud gasps break their way into the lounge. It appeared that almost the whole group was standing in the hall and heard everything crystally clear. Of course students are curious. Of course, they know about professor Rex-Lapis’ kid - the news and that cute picture from an online lecture were still the talk of the whole faculty just a couple of months ago. Of course, they want to see those sweet cheeks for crying out loud!

Ajax is the one who has to get everyone who does not belong in the room out and calm them all down as more than a dozen youngsters beg and plead with Zhongli to bring his baby boy to the lecture. And the said baby boy doesn’t help the situation either, looking at his father with those striking eyes, silently asking to stay with him. “I’m gonna sit very-very quiet,” he even promises.

Is it really a surprise that Xiao ends up sitting at his dad’s desk with his coloring books while the man is reading a lecture? (Students almost crumbled when their tall, handsome, enigmatic history professor walked into the auditorium with his son’s tiny hand clasped in his? Look, he even had to bend his body a little to do so!)

And, as much as students want to gush all over their favorite professor’s small-sized carbon copy, they keep their best behavior, because the situation gives the “once in a century” vibes and they’d be damned to destroy the magic of the moment.

Well, maybe a little, because the smallest interactions between Zhongli and his son as the man lets his students finish writing down information from the current slide are mind-blowing. Groupchat-blowing too.

Even cuter the whole occurrence becomes when the boy stops drawing and lifts his head, curious of what his dad is speaking about. He turns slightly in order to see the presentation, golden eyes skimming over the pictures and words, though he does not understand most of it. But it’s alright though - he can listen to his father instead.

Zhongli is pleasantly surprised when no one can answer one of his revision questions and Xiao lifts his hand, giving him the answer he wanted (he misspells the word a little, sure, but he knew the right response nonetheless). Aaaand that’s probably when the students finally lose it.

By the time the lesson is over and Zhongli meets with you in the teacher’s lounge to pass your very happy and very proud son to you so you two could be on your merry way home, the man feels a little drained. Nothing that can’t be fixed by your tender cheek kiss and soft rubbing on his back, but he still exhales heavily and swears that when he comes home, you are in for a new story.

And by what Ajax had time to tell while you’ve been waiting, you're sure it’s going to be a hilarious one.

taglist: @meimeimeirin Cause I remember how you once said you'd love to see more of this AU

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x fem!reader #zhongli #xiao #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact modern au

[woso-dreamzzz]

Breakfast II

Ellie Carpenter x Daniëlle van de Donk x Child!Reader

Summary: Your pitch check is interrupted by someone familiar

You rub your eyes as your Mamma unwraps the sandwich she'd packed for you. Honestly, it's a bit too early for you to be fully awake because you and Ellie went out to the cinema last night while Mamma did media stuff for the club.

You didn't particularly want to join in on the pitch check (it was the same pitch as usual) but Mamma had lured you with the promise of food and a nap before the game started.

"Ellie, no," You whine when Mamma's girlfriend tries to take a piece," It's mine."

"What?" She jokes," You can't share?"

You wrinkle your nose at her. "No."

"Oh, come on!"

You stick your tongue out at her and she laughs, mushing your hat further down on your head so it almost covers your eyes.

"Ellie!"

"What, I didn't do anything!"

"Mamma! Ellie's eating my food again!"

"Daan, don't listen to her! I was only joking!"

Your Mamma made a point of ignoring you both and letting you squabble between yourselves. You had gotten better with Ellie as time went on and now all of your arguments were small and over little things rather than what the big battles they used to be.

"Alright! That's it!" Ellie grabs you suddenly, flipping you over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, making sure to bounce more than necessary as she runs to catch up with Daan.

You shriek at the movement and Mamma smiles fondly at you as you try to reach out for help. She just holds your hand in hers, swinging it between your bodies as Ellie munches on your sandwich, leaving half it for you.

"Ellie!" You laugh as she spins around quickly before dumping you on the floor, where you stumble around dizzily for several seconds before slumping to the ground.

"Mamma!" You say," Ellie's being mean again!"

"And what do you want me to do about that?" Mamma teases.

You pretend to think for a moment. "You should tell her off! Or...Or do the same to her!"

Both Mamma and Ellie laugh at you.

"I'm being serious!"

Mamma runs a hand through your head and offers you back your sandwich. "We'll see," She says finally," If Ellie's being mean later I'll definitely tell her off."

You stink your tongue out at Ellie in triumph, who just rolls her eyes at you.

"I'm bored," You declare not even five minutes later as you walk between your mother and her girlfriend," Can I get a snack?"

"Is the food I feed you not enough?" Mamma asks with a wry smile and you give her a deadpan look.

"Snacks? Please?"

She sighs like you've greatly inconvenienced her even though you all know that she's joking. She fishes some money out of her pocket and send you on your way.

"I want a chocolate!" She yells after you.

"And get me a drink!" Ellie yells too.

"Get your own, Ellie!" You answer her with your own joking smile as you scamper back inside to the nearest vending machine.

You have to stand on your very tiptoes to reach the higher numbers but you manage to get your snacks, Mamma's chocolate and Ellie's drink - although you know that you won't be letting her get it off you so easily.

"Well, well, well," A familiar voice says from behind you," If it isn't the littlest van de Donk. Fancy seeing you here!"

"Leah!" You exclaim, running into her arms.

"Hey, there!" Leah hugs you back tight and ruffles your hair. "Long time no see."

"You're playing Mamma soon!" You tell her and the other Arsenal girls who yell out their own greetings to you.

"We are," Leah agrees before nodding to the treats in your hands," Is that for me?"

"Actually, Leah, I'm pretty sure they must be for me," A very familiar voice joins you and you turn to look at Beth.

Mamma and Beth were together a long time before Mamma got with Ellie. Beth used to take you to school and help with your baths at night.

When you and Mamma left and they broke up, you didn't hear from Beth anymore.

You're not too sure how to react to her so you just smile politely and scamper off back onto the pitch. You break out into a sprint the moment you can't hear the Arsenal girls. You can't find Mamma anywhere.

It's like she's disappeared on you.

So, you run to the next best thing.

Ellie is talking with Lindsey and she almost loses her balance when you crash into her.

Lindsey laughs. "Alright there, roadrunner? Meep, meep!"

But Ellie just looks at you with a frown, taking in the way your shoulders are rising and falling and you send worried glances back at the tunnel.

"Whoa, whoa," Ellie says," What's going on?" She follows your gaze. "What happened?"

"Where's Mamma?" You answer with your own question," I...I want Mamma."

"Daan's doing an interview," Ellie answers," Why?"

You look up at Ellie with wide eyes. "Mamma and Beth used to date."

"Yes?"

"Beth's here," You continue," But I haven't talked to her in a while. Do I have to be friends with Beth because she and Mamma used to date?"

Ellie pulls you into her arms, squeezing you nice and tight against her. "You don't have to be friends with anyone you don't want to."

"Who isn't she friends with?" Mamma appears behind you, looking a little confused. The snacks you got are scattered on the floor and you're hugging Ellie just as tight as she's hugging you - something that never really happens and never in public like now.

"Beth's here," You say," Do I have to be friends with her?"

Mamma misunderstands you. "You can still be friends with Beth if you want."

You shake your head and try to explain more but Beth's approaching and you find yourself sliding behind Ellie.

"Hey, Daan," Beth says, hugging Mamma, who hugs her back," Ellie." She smiles at you. "It's good to see you, y/n."

You smile politely again and busy yourself with opening your packet of sweets. Your hands are shaking slightly and you can't think why.

You know Beth.

You like Beth.

But her presence and smiling face still makes you feel nervous.

You lean some of your weight against Ellie, whose hand immediately clamps onto your shoulder in comfort.

Mamma and Beth talk for a while but Ellie keeps you busy and distracted by letting you take long chugs of her drink - even though it's very sugary and Mamma would never let you have it if she hadn't been talking to Beth.

"She's gotten so big," Is what Beth's saying when you tune back into their conversation," I remember when she was tiny. Does she still like being carried on your hip?"

"She likes riding on shoulders," Ellie cuts in when she notices you tense at Beth reminiscing," Don't you?"

You nod. "I'm too big to sit on Mamma and Ellie's hips."

Beth looks at you a little strangely for a moment before nodding with a little laugh. "God, you used to follow me around all the time. I miss my little shadow sometimes."

For you ears early, Ellie mutters," But not enough to call every once in a while." She spoke a bit louder for Mamma and Beth to hear too," She doesn't really like following anyone around anymore." She pokes at your cheek teasingly. "She's too independent."

Mamma rolls her eyes. "Independent?" She gives you a toothy smile, leaning down to kiss your head. "You crawled into bed with us last night because Ellie took you to a scary movie."

"It wasn't a scary movie!" Ellie defends," It just had a few freaky parts! It was animated!"

"Ellie told me too!" You say quickly," She said that I could sleep with you!"

Mamma laughs, ruffling your hair. "So I have Ellie to blame, huh?"

"We're partners in crime," Ellie says and you burrow into her side with a silly grin," Me and her forever."

You catch Beth's eye. She looks a little misty-eyed and you can just tell that she's thinking of the little girl you used to be and not the you that's standing in front of her now.

But you're not that little girl anymore and you look away to face Ellie, who is happy to meet your eyes and take your head in hers.

You're very clearly still feeling awkward around Beth, especially as she reminisces about how little you used to be when she first met you, so Ellie pulls you into her side.

"Hey, Daan," She says," Me and my partner in crime are going to head back inside. My drink's done."

"Are you getting more snacks out the vending machine?" Daan teases and you look up at her with an innocent smile. "Oh, don't give me that look!"

"What look?" You tease.

Mamma pokes at your cheek. "That look. You want me to bankroll your snack spree."

You bat your eyelashes at her. "Is it working?"

Mamma laughs, slapping a small wad of cash into your hands. "Don't go crazy. You'll get a stomach ache." She points at Ellie. "I mean it."

Ellie winks and presses a kiss to Mamma's cheek before hoisting you up onto her shoulders. "Bye Daan!"

"Bye Mamma!" You say, waving as Ellie carts you away," Bye Beth!"

#woso x reader #ellie carpenter x reader #ellie carpenter #danielle van de donk #danielle van de donk x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

[female-malice]

AMELIA STRICKLER: Trans TikTok star Dylan Mulvaney's offensive parody makes a total mockery of female athletes like me 

It Is so offensive, it reminds me of a routine by a chauvinist male comedian from the 1970s. Dylan Mulvaney, a TikTok influencer and performer, leaps around wearing Nike leggings and a sports bra. Their exaggerated movements seem to me to parody a woman’s exercise routine.

Mulvaney, a biological male who first openly identified as ‘transgender’ in March last year, has been signed by the world’s biggest sports company to promote women’s clothing. I am a GB shot putter who has won the British title twice and competed in the Commonwealth Games. I am a European finalist and world championship finalist.

I know how many years of training it takes, often at great personal cost, to reach the top levels of sport.

And I know what it is to be a woman.

In the video advert, Mulvaney frankly appears to be laughing in the face of female athletes like me – and any other woman or girl who wants to better themselves physically.

I’ve been a shot putter since I was ten. Life in professional athletics requires grit and determination. It doesn’t involve dancing around, grinning inanely.

It means getting up at the crack of dawn to train, keeping going when every muscle in your body is screaming at you to stop, forgoing time with friends and family and being utterly single-minded. And because so few female athletes attract sponsorship from giants like Nike, we often have to fit training and competing around other paid work.

For many years, I had two jobs to support my shot putting career. Recently I found a private sponsor through my athletics club Thames Valley Harriers, which enables me to keep competing.

But most female athletes don’t have that advantage. Women get 1 per cent of all sports sponsorship money – and yet to see Nike willing to shell out however many thousands it is to Mulvaney – who, remember, has not fully ‘transitioned’ to female – is utterly demoralising.

Nike likes to harp on about how it champions women: last year it announced an ‘Athletes Think Tank’ to help ‘serve today’s women athletes’, while a 2021 campaign praised mums for being ‘the toughest athletes’.

All well and good – but contrast these warm words with Nike’s actions towards the female athletes it actually sponsored. Women such as Olympic runner Alysia Montano were subject to ‘performance-based reductions’ – amounting to a 70 per cent pay cut – when they were unable to race due to being pregnant or having just given birth. In other words, penalised for being a woman.

Following a public outcry, Nike amended its policy to allow women 18 months off around pregnancy, but this latest publicity stunt reveals just how little the company really cares about women in sport.

It would be better to invest some of the money given to attention-seeking influencers such as Mulvaney to develop better sportswear for biological women.

In nearly a decade of competing at the top level, I have yet to find a decent sports bra: I have to wear two at once.

Modelling a bra on someone who has a male torso is an insult to those of us with female bodies.

At the track yesterday, many fellow female athletes were deeply upset by Nike’s apparent contempt for our sport. As one said – and I agree – ‘I’m glad Nike isn’t my sponsor.’

Women are still fighting for true equality in sport – we’ve made progress, but there’s a long way to go. We don’t need a big brand such as Nike to bring it down with crass campaigns. I agree with Sharron Davies – women should boycott Nike. If they refuse to support women in sport, then why should we support them?

[tanadrin]

RE "revolutionary leftists are revolutionary because they know they can't win electorally."

It astounds me a little that there are leftists who think that a communist revolution is more likely to work than, like, fifty years of community-building and electoral politics. Sewer socialism, union activism, and other boring activities have brought much more success in the U.S. than agitation for a revolution.

What I mean is, setting aside the moral concerns (violence is bad, even when it's necessary, and if there are practical alternatives then we should pursue them), I am not a revolutionary leftist because I think we would lose a revolution. For one thing, there is a considerable right-wing element in the country that is much better prepared for this kind of thing, and I think that the majority of the institutions in the U.S. would pick fascism over communism if they had to choose, but also, prolonged violent action is ripe for breeding authoritarianism.

Goatse is concerned that "the party" might "abandon or neglect its primary ends," but what is leftism if it is not, at bottom, an attempt to improve the living conditions of all people, et cetera et cetera? To the extent that social democratic parties successfully pursue this end to some degree, they're better than than an ostensible communist party that talks the talk but commits human rights abuses. And, more than the fact that U.S. leftism has some pretty fierce opposition that would probably fare better if The Revolution happened tomorrow, I think that, even in winning, we would lose, because what came out the other end would look a lot more like Stalinism.

I think one thing the hardcore revolutionaries in OECD countries don't realize is that the reason they can't marshal support for their revolutions is that the socialists won most of the issues that were salient in the early 20th century--workers got more rights, better pay, unions were legalized, etc., etc. But it didn't take restructuring the whole political economy to do it, which is immensely frustrating if you believe that any society without your ideal political economy is inherently immoral and impure, so in order to justify an explicitly communist platform you have to rhetorically isolate it from the filthy libs and feckless demsocs who it turns out have been pretty effective within the arena of electoral politics in which supposedly nothing can ever get done, and treat them as of a piece with the out-and-out fascists and royalist autocrats of the 1920s and 30s.

Which, you know. Is not persuasive to most people! Most people understand intuitively the vast gulf between the SPD and the Nazis; they see that, milquetoast and compromising though they may be, the center-left can deliver substantive policy improvements without the upheaval of a civil war or political purges, and this is attractive to people who are not of a millenarian or left-authoritarian personality.

Which isn't to say that communists don't often make important points! It sucks having to fight a constant rearguard action against the interests of capital rolling back the social improvements of the 20th century, and it sucks that liberal governments in Europe and North America have historically been quite happy to bankroll and logistically support fascists and tyrants in the third world against communist movements (which invariably only exist as communist movements because these same fascists and tyrants have crushed more compromising movements and only the most militant organizations have managed to survive).

But I agree with you: communists also talk a big game about how liberalism is the real fascism (what's that line from Disco Elysium I see quoted everywhere about how everybody is secretly a fascist except the other communists, who are liberals?), while also being awful at democracy. Suppressing dissent because your small clique of political elites is the only legitimate expression of the people's will (which you know, because you have declared it to be so) really is some rank bullshit. A system with competitive elections is still, well, a system with competitive elections, even if those elections are structurally biased in certain ways; all the bloviating that attempts to justify communist authoritarianism cannot really obscure the fact that authoritarian systems are cruel and brittle, regardless of the ideology being served.

#world's worst leftist #i'm not a huge fan of capitalism #but i am a huge fan of democracy #liberalism rules actually #and its highest expression is probably democratic socialism

[blackopals-world]

Motherly Advice

Angst to hurt your feelings

Malleus: Do you think you will ever stop loving Lilia? Even when he dies?

Celestial!Yuu: My dear, a time like that will never come to pass. Because even in death he will be with me. One of those perks of my being. Though we will be saddened to not all be together at once.

Malleus: But what if that wasn't the case? What if he died and you have to live without him?

Celestial!Yuu: Then I would still love him. I will love his memory, the joy we shared, and the precious treasures he gave me. When I look at you, Silver, and Sebek I will see him. In your movements, your expressions and hearts he will be there.

Malleus: And you won't love anyone else?

Celestial!Yuu: That is a heavy question. An answer I can't predict. Lilia and I are mature adults. We understand what obstacles we could face and have discussed them. But that isn't something for you to ponder. You do not have the maturity to understand that yet. Malleus I know this is about that human you've developed feelings for but I will tell you now to be careful. Lilia and I can handle anything right now but it isn't easy. Love is complicated and I know you don't want to hear that but you need more than love to make things work. Love alone isn't enough, even true love requires work and effort. Malleus you have a long life ahead of you. Longer than any human. You must weigh the risks of this fate.

Malleus: Mother, it's fine I understand.

Celestial!Yuu: No, you do not. You have yet to grasp what love really means child. I understand your loneliness and your desire to hold on to the one person who treats you as a dear friend without fear. But, love that does not make. It is like that of a child holding onto a comfort blanket and refusing to let go. You know that human desires to return home yet you'd consider keeping them with you. You both will be miserable when they die of old age and never see their home again. We have filled your head with too many tales.

Malleus: Mother, I know I love them. They will be happy with me. Lilia agrees! He said I should marry them. Do you not like them?

Celestial!Yuu: Just the opposite. I care for them as my own. That is why my heart breaks for them. Lilia and I aren't in agreement on this matter. He has always been shortsighted and seeks instant gratification. That is how we go Silver after all. But I look at the big picture. Malleus I'm a goddess. I know how the human feels. I know they have feelings for you but more then that they are full of grief and longing for their home. That is something you can't change.

Malleus:...

Celestial!Yuu: Malleus I am your mother and I know what you're thinking. And no. You can't use Magic to stop them.

Malleus:Mother don't you want me to be happy?

Celestial!Yuu: Not at the expense of others. We raised you better than that.

Makleus: What can I do?

Celestial!Yuu: Think. Consider what you really want and if this is real love you feel or just infatuation. Tying both of you down in something you may not want ultimately will only bring pain. And be honest with your answer for your sake. I want what's best for you.

-later-

Malleus: Your wife said not to listen to you.

Lilia:(shrugs) She's probably right.

Malleus: How did you get her to marry you?

Lilia: Tricked her with a convoluted bet. I think there is a myth about it now.

#celestial!yuu #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malyuu #twisted wonderland lilia #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge #lilia x reader

[whore-for-chris-evans]

What if we start a petition (aka protest/movement/pressure building) for Marvel to release the Stevebucky scene from CATWS?

We know that scene in the Quinjet had been filmed. Chris mentioned it. All we need to do is pressurise @marvelentertainment enough. They've got to listen at some point, if we keep insisting strongly enough and for long enough.

If released, it may not undo the atrocity that Endgame was, but it will provide much needed to these two characters and their dynamic after being reunited.

If it is still not released, we will still have made a statement - that we're still an active and thriving fandom and we can come together when needed for a good cause, to do the things one or two of us can't alone.

I know it looks hopeless, and I don't blame you for losing faith. But believe it or not, each of us Stevebuckies have the power to change that. All we need to do is come together, and stay together.

Think about how big we are as a fandom. All we need is unity and reach. I don't have the number of followers needed to get this post to enough people at once, but I can try regardless. Somebody has to start, and if it must be me, I'll do anything needed. It's going to be worth it.

I'll be making this post everyday, or at least as often as I can. I'll be tagging some of my Stucky shipper mutuals here, and I need everyone who sees this and agrees with me (whether you ship them romantically or just care enough about their friendship) to reblog this as many times as you can. Flood their social media.

This protest needs a special tag, so let's call it #ReleaseStuckyCWScene (don't forget this tag; we want those who just want fics or other posts to be able to filter this out if they don't want this)

Should you choose to join me, please make this post frequently and tag Marvel in every post. Do this on all platforms where you're active, regardless of how many people you know and how many followers you have. And please use tags where they're applicable.

Taking one day out of each year to jointly talk about Stucky is not enough. We need to be consistent. I need patience and perseverance from all of you.

I believe in every single one of you. Let's fucking do this. Starting right now.

@mainly-marvel @oneofstarkskids @jjmaybanksgun @slut-for-henry-cavill @stuckyfingers @amarriageoftrueminds @imposterogers @artwinx @capibuck @uninspired-platypuss

(reply here if you want to be on this taglist)

#stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stevebucky #civil war #we were robbed but we can rob them back #right? #please? #ReleaseStuckyCWScene

[thegainingdesk]

On Again, Off Again

As soon as I saw Mark I was head over heels. He was tall and naturally broad, a frame improved with well-honed muscles from years of manual labour. A mop of thick dark hair framed a broad, almost blocky face with dark brown eyes and a thick moustache, and mirrored tufts of hair poking out from the top of his shirt and at his cuffs. His voice was deep, but soft, with a slight Bristol accent.

He’d suggested we go to a local museum for our first date - I’d mentioned that I did art history at uni when we were talking on tinder, and there was an exhibition on the early impressionists. I spent a while pointing out some of my favourite paintings, explaining some of the techniques, the use of light, how the movement was different to what had come before but quickly noticed how quiet he was being and my initial attraction started to wane.

“Sorry,” he said after I asked him for the umpteenth time if everything was okay. “I don’t mean to- it’s just, I mean…”

I looked at him, expectantly. Despite myself, despite how flat the date was falling, I found myself crushing on him all over again, looking up into those big puppy dog eyes.

“I wanted to impress you a bit,” he said finally, running his hand across his moustache nervously.

I laughed reflexively, and felt awful as I saw him wince. “What do you mean, impress me? You don’t need to impress me.”

“I know, it’s not… You just said that you were into art and stuff, and that you work with this charity and-” He stopped and sighed. “I’m just this knob-head builder, you know? I didn’t think someone like you would really want to go out with someone like me, and I thought you were cute and the lads at the site said I should do something a bit fancy and… I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I?”

I shook my head. “You’re great. Really. I chose to go out with you, didn’t I?” He shrugged those gorgeous hulking shoulders, somehow looking like a scolded schoolboy, despite his size. “Go on, where would you usually take me on a first date, if you weren’t trying to go all fancy on me?”

“No, no, really,” he insisted, unconvincingly. “I’m enjoying myself here.” He pointed at the nearest painting, a Turner painting of a choppy sea, a bright red buoy at the centre. “Go on, tell me about that one.”

I took his hand, and felt my heart flutter as a smile spread across his face. “Seriously, I agreed to go on a date with you because you were a good laugh while we were texting.” A blush spread across his stubbled cheeks. Fuck, he was hot. “Where we going?” I pulled him towards the exit.

“A pub or something, I dunno,” he mumbled. “We can stay, really.”

“Not a chance,” I retorted. “It's your round - you can’t wriggle out of it that easy.”

A couple of drinks in, the date was thoroughly back on track. Mark was funny, charming and charismatic - I’d go so far as to say he was gregarious, but trying to keep up with the way Mark drank turned that into a few too many syllables for me at the time. A few more drinks and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other - looking back, I cringe at the scene we must have made in that pub. Charitably, you could say we were somewhat hidden away in a corner; realistically, it was a Saturday evening in the city center and people were probably gawping.

“I told myself I wouldn’t fuck you tonight,” he grumbled into my ear, while his big square hand pawed at my achingly hard dick. “That I’d wait a couple of dates.”

I was practically gnawing at him at this point, my mouth deep into the soft crevice between his thick, strong neck and his strong, yard-wide shoulders. “This is basically our second date,” I told his neck. “The museum was number one, the pub is number two.”

I heard him laugh into my hair. “I’m serious, I’m trying to break some bad habits. Trying not to have so much casual sex.”

I moaned. “I’ll give you permission to make an exception.”

“I don’t want this to just be sex,” he whispered. “I really like you.”

“It doesn’t have to just be sex,” I whimpered back. “But it could also be sex.”

I heard him - felt him - practically growl. “I suppose if you came back to mine, we wouldn’t necessarily have to have sex.”

I nodded, and lifted my head to look him in the eyes. “Absolutely, no sex.”

The sex was phenomenal. It was like something out of an 80s romance novel. It was animalistic but sensual, passionate but slow. I think I actually swooned. Mark could throw me about like a ragdoll, and he made good use of that ability. His body was covered almost top to toe in dark, wiry hair, and his cock was so thick I could barely get my mouth around it - but by god I gave it a go.

We spent all of the next day together, nursing twin hangovers and cuddling up on his sofa. Mark explained his philosophy that the only worthwhile hangover cure is as much food as you can manage to keep down. While I nibbled on bread and butter and sipped on water all day, there was barely a moment where he didn’t have some food on the go - bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast, clearing his fridge for lunch, a string on deliveroo drivers.

By the time I felt well-enough to go home, he tried to convince me to call in sick to work the next day. Tangled up with him like that, I almost did. Even so, I managed to drag myself away, with the promise of seeing him on Friday.

We didn’t make it to Friday. We met up for dinner on Tuesday. Lunch on Wendesday. On Thursday I packed a bag and decided I could just go into the office from his flat in the morning. We were inseparable. Insufferable, most likely. But we couldn’t stop ourselves, didn’t want to stop.

The dinners out, the takeaways, the long days spent cuddled up without a thought of the gym started to add up - on Mark at least. And yes, maybe I encouraged that a little, but I’m allowed a type aren’t I? Okay, maybe more than a type - a predilection, if you were being fancy, a full-blown fetish if you were being honest. So I like them big! Is that a crime? I never went overboard - never stirred butter and double cream into all of his portions, never tricked him into gainer shakes, never slipped him appetite enhancers or miraculous weight-gain pills - I’m not the protagonist of a gainer story, after all.

All I did was nurture that healthy appetite of his. Gave him my unfinished portions, asked him if he wanted seconds, encouraged him to get dessert, muttered into his ear that no, he can’t go to the gym and leave me in bed, cold and alone, that I’d give him all the work-out he needed. He never complained, and I never made any real secret that I didn’t mind him putting on some weight.

It was subtle at first. He’d never had any abs to cover up, but there was a general loss of definition - muscular limbs got smoothed out, pecs started to go puffy, his belly started to permanently bow out into a little arc. His body, already big, sailed past 220 pounds easily enough, and you could barely tell that he’d put on any weight at all, not really, until he’d hit 240 or so.

But then, my god. It’s like some magical fat threshold was reached, almost overnight, like all the gaps in his body had been filled with fat, his whole body lightly covered with a thin sheen of chub, ready for the real work to build up over it. Smooth limbs got soft, puffy pecs drooped, his little distended belly curved out in all directions to form a proper little pot belly. Not six months into our relationship, he was sitting fat and happy at 260 pounds, a firm ball gut at his center, and all traces of that muscular hunk that tried to impress me at a museum were buried under soft, gorgeous flab. If he ever got self-conscious, he never said anything. Still, I told him how gorgeous he was, how sexy the extra weight made him, how he looked more manly, more mature.

We settled into a routine; huge dinners, hot sex, movie nights spent cradling his growing gut, an occasional date night at some new restaurant before moving onto a pub or a bar. We spent so much time at each other’s flats we both assumed we’d move in together sooner rather than later, that this would all last forever.

“Australia?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“I know, I know,” he said, pacing and stroking his moustache nervously. “But the money’s so good, I can’t really pass it up.” I closed my eyes. Gripped the table. Tried to wish it away. “It wouldn’t be forever,” he said, lamely.

“It would be for a year though,” I whispered, opening my eyes.

He slumped down into the chair opposite me. One hand continued to stroke his moustache, the other sat on the shelf of his belly, stroking it ever so slightly. Even while I was distraught he could still drive me wild without even trying. “I’m sorry,” he said simply after a while. I knew there wasn’t any point arguing. That I wouldn’t want to stop him taking the opportunity. It just hurt.

We agreed we’d not wait for each other. We’d stay in touch, but we’d be free to date, and if either of us met someone over the year, or if we’d changed as people, no obligation to go back to how we were.

I spent a full week moping. I became a walking cliche - I barely ate, I barely slept. I sustained myself on a diet of Carole King songs and Richard Curtis films. Mark never had any social media - barely used his phone for anything really - a fact which I was, in turns, thankful for and furious about. On one hand, at least I couldn’t obsessively stalk his profiles all year while I missed him, on the other hand, I couldn’t even stalk his profiles all year while I missed him.

I still can’t decide if that year went fast or slow. There were points when it felt like I was going through the same old bored routines for decades, and days when I’d realise how soon I could see Mark again and it would feel like seconds. I did my best to get on with my life - I met with friends, picked up hobbies I’d let fall to the side while I spent every day with Mark, even plucked up the courage to go on a date. It was nice. He was nice. But it wasn’t Mark. I’m not even sure I could tell you his name. After that, I resigned myself to waiting.

I’m back! The text said. My heart fluttered. Want to meet up for a drink?

I tried to not reply immediately. Wanted to come across as cool and unbothered.

Amazing!!! I replied, not two minutes later. Yes! Where?

As a cucumber.

The Goose? Or maybe your flat? Up to you.

My heart pounded. Meeting at my flat was not the act of an uninterested man. Meeting at my flat was not the act of a man who’d fallen in love with some gorgeous Australian surfer.

My flat’s fine! I responded.

Great. I’ll be like an hour?

My flat was already impeccably clean - I was a bit of a clean freak as it was, but I had it practically sparkling in anticipation of Mark’s return to the northern hemisphere - but still, I busied myself cleaning every nook and cranny. I hoovered my spotless carpet, smoothed my immaculately smooth bed, dusted corners that I previously didn’t know existed.

I had just decided that the flat was too unnaturally clean, like I’d gone out of my way to clean it for Mark or something, and was in the middle of pulling various items just slightly out of position, when my doorbell rang. I yelped, and hurriedly crumpled a throw blanket, before breathing slowly and making my way to the door. It was just Mark, I told myself. Everything would be just the same as it was before. It’s just Mark. It’s just Mark.

I opened the door to a man I barely recognised. Mark was buff. Beyond buff. The fat I’d so deviously piled on him over all those months had disappeared without a trace. He’d not simply returned to the naturally broad, built figure he’d had when I’d first met him, either - he’d added hard, shredded muscle - at a guess I’d say 20 pounds easy. His face was thinner, sharper; his arms were vascular, and I could swear I saw the stitches on his sleeves almost pulling themselves apart; when he raised his arms and his t-shirt rode up, I could make out a defined six-pack even through his dense pelt of body hair. Worst of all though - he’d shaved off his moustache.

I just stood blinking for a while, until I realised that tears were welling up in my eyes. Despite it all, despite the time, despite the body, despite the fucking moustache - it was Mark. It was really, actually, fucking Mark.

Neither of us said anything, he just stepped through my door, held my face in his hands and kissed me, deeply and desperately and hungrily. We stumbled backwards through my flat, knocking perfectly placed objects as we went, pulling at each other’s clothes, never once stopping kissing, until he picked me up and tossed me onto my bed. This time, I definitely swooned.

We didn’t properly talk until the next morning, while I lay with my head on his chest, my fingers lazily pulling through the curls of his chest hair. “Go on then,” I said. “What’s all this?”

Mark yawned. “What’s what?” he asked.

I lightly slapped his six-pack. “Who invited He-Man over here?”

He laughed. “I bet you had a thing for He-Man didn’t you?” he said, running a hand down my back and squeezing my bum, avoiding the question.

“No really,” I insisted. “What happened to my sexy teddy bear I sent off?” I steeled myself. “I bet it was for all those sexy ozzy men, eh?” I forced myself to laugh.

Mark was silent, and didn’t move.

I held my breath. “It’s fine, you know. We said. Date whoever.”

He shook his head. “No,” he said simply, after a while. “I umm… couldn’t bring myself to. That’s why I spent so much time in the gym actually. To take my mind off of…” He trailed off. “Did you? You know…”

“One guy,” I said. “Just a date, you know, nothing…" I added quickly, keen to reassure him. "It was awful.” I sighed. “No, it was probably fine, it just wasn’t…” I looked over at him, took in his chiseled jawline and perfect cheekbones. “It wasn’t you.” We stayed like that for a while, just smiling at each other. I shuffled up his body to kiss him, and rolled over. “I might have to change my stance on that if you don’t grow your moustache back though.”

We were back to our old routine almost immediately, illicit feedings and all. By the time Mark had regrown his moustache, his abs had been hidden by soft fat and he was on his way back to the Mark I knew and loved. It’s like his body missed the fat - it piled on faster than it had the first time, and within a few months he’d put on all his lost weight, plus extra. His newfound muscles clearly faded a little, being neglected so thoroughly by time spent away from the gym, but they provided a firm base for all the fat to cling to, so that all his fat was perkier and bouncier than last time - I was in heaven.

“I need to lose some weight,” Mark murmured around one of his breakfast donuts one morning. I looked over to see him trying to tug a pair of scruffy work jeans closed, but there were several inches of soft fat between the button and its hole. I inhaled and set my shoulders - it was time to bite the bullet.

“I don’t think you need to lose weight,” I started, nonchalantly.

Mark laughed and shook his gut. I fought to stop myself from getting hard. “Look at me - I’m 20 stone and can’t fit into 40 inch trousers. 40 inches! I need to lose weight,” he repeated.

I stood up and walked over to him, putting a hand on each side of his middle. “I like it,” I told him matter of factly, before kissing him.

He smiled and returned my kiss. “You’re sweet, and I know that you’ll love me no matter what size I am, yada-yada-yada, but come on,” he slapped his belly again. “This is getting ridiculous.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I like it. I…” I inhaled deeply. “I prefer it. Actively prefer you fat, actually.”

He stared at me and blinked, not speaking for almost a whole minute. “You… like me fat?” he asked, finally.

I nodded. "Mm-hmm," I said, as casually as I could pretend to be.

He squinted his eyes at me. “Fatter?” he continued.

“I… wouldn’t complain,” I said slowly, studying his face.

He took a few steps away from me and looked down at himself, as if seeing his body for the first time. He hefted his gut a couple of times, almost experimentally. His hands drifted upwards, squeezed his soft pecs. I just watched, knowing he needed some space. Finally, he raised his head to look at me. “Why?” he asked simply.

I shrugged. “Why is anyone attracted to anything, you know? Big guys have always just done it for me, I guess,” I explained. He carried on looking at me inquisitively, clearly expecting me to continue. “I mean… it just seems more manly, you know? Like you’re tall and you’re hairy and you’ve got this great moustache and hot face, and being bigger is just one more thing that just makes you even more masculine, you know?” He nodded and I saw him subtly flex, as if in admiration of himself. “So you’re okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “I mean, if it means I don’t have to diet or go to the gym, why not?” he laughed, and carried on getting ready for work. “You might need to pop out today to buy me some new clothes though,” he added.

I nodded and smiled, happy that inevitable, awkward conversation went as well as could I could realistically hope. I started to get set up for my day working from home, and brought Mark a donut as he was about to leave, kissing him on the cheek as I passed it over.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked carefully at the donut. “Did you do this Ben?” he asked, after a moment or two.

“What?” I asked. “Yes Mark, I brought you the donut. Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “No. Not the donut. Me. Did you make me fat?”

I swallowed. Hard. “What? Mark. How could I make you fat? I can’t eat for you,” I pointed out.

“No,” he agreed. “But I put on weight almost as soon as I met you. You’ve always given me half of your dinner, told me to get dessert, stopped me going to the gym.”

“Mark, you can’t seriously be accusing me of manipulating you into gaining weight,” I told him, feeling myself shake a little. "You have a big appetite." Was I trying to convince him, or myself?

“But did you?” he pressed.

I paused just a little too long and he sighed, burying his face in his hands. “It’s not like I forced you to eat anything!” I protested. “You enjoyed the food, you wanted it, you never cared about putting on weight, never enjoyed the gym. I just tried to give you permission to let yourself go a bit.”

“But you didn’t Ben!” he snapped. “You didn’t give me permission because never had a choice!”

“Mark, come on,” I reached towards him, but he knocked my hands away. “I’m sorry for being sneaky, but that’s all it was - a bit sneaky. I never lied, I never convinced you to do anything you didn’t want to, I just made the choice a bit easier.”

He opened the door. “I’m going to stay at my parents for a bit,” he said.

“Mark, no,” I pleaded.

“I just… I just need some time to think.” He moved through the door.

“Please Mark, I love you.”

He sighed. “I love you too,” he said. “It’s just a lot.”

The door closed. The day was a write-off. I spent the whole day cleaning and tidying, scrubbing floors and counters and remaking my bed. I thankfully didn’t have any meetings, and the only work I needed to do was busy-body work that no-one would notice was getting done badly. I fell back into old routines - didn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, Carole King, Richard Curtis.

Staying at his parents “for a bit” meant a couple of weeks, as it turned out. I was mid-Notting Hill when I heard the door open and I turned to see Mark walk in, an old band t-shirt riding up to reveal the bottom of his gut. I rushed over to him, but stopped before I reached him, unsure of what was about to happen. He closed the distance and pulled me into a hug. I melted into him, and we stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other.

“I’m sorry,” I said eventually.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I overreacted. I… freaked out.” He scratched his gut. “You were right. It could have happened in any relationship, I just…” He closed his eyes. “I’ve been fit for a really long time, you know, and I’ve never done a proper relationship, and I always felt like people just use me for sex and all of a sudden I find out that you’re a big part of why I’ve put on so much weight and it just felt like… Like you were changing me.”

I shook my head and hugged him again. “I’m so sorry,” I said into his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to change. You’re exactly what I want, any weight, I promise.”

He hugged me back. “I want to change for you,” he murmured into my hair. He pulled away and held my shoulders, smiling. “I spent a lot of time trying to figure stuff out and… you're right. It’s hot.” He slapped his gut. “I get it, I think. I like being big and I like eating and I like that you like it.” I must have looked skeptical because he carried on. “Okay, I’m not, like, thrilled with putting on quite so much, but I also don’t care enough to lose you over it, and I can see where you’re coming from.” I didn’t know what to say, so just kissed him, running my hands under his t-shirt and up his love handles. He pulled away. “I want you to get fat as well though,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“I think you should put on weight as well,” he said again. “To see what it’s like.”

“Mark, I… I thought you’d forgiven me. I said I was sorry.,” I said.

“I’m not saying it as some kind of punishment or whatever,” he said, and patted my own flat stomach. “I’m saying that I think you’ll like it. That I’ll like it.”

“I think you might be confused,” I told him. “I don’t want to gain weight,” I explained. “I just like fat guys. It’s a different thing.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I didn’t want to gain weight either, and it turns out I kind of like it.” He squeezed his gut for emphasis. “You already like all this stuff, and I just think you owe it to yourself to see whether you like all the aspects of it.”

“Really?” I asked. “You want this?”

Mark shrugged. “Why not? Maybe it’ll be hot, and if you don’t like the first twenty pounds, you can lose it all faster than I’ll be able to lose all this.” He slapped his gut and sent it shaking.

“I uh… okay,” I agreed. “Yeah, I’ll try it out.”

The changes to our classic routine were unsettling at first. No more subtly suggesting dessert or quietly giving extra portions, now Mark would quite happily take seconds and snack throughout the day. He also made sure he wasn’t alone though - everything he ate, he would make me match, to the point that most days I’d end the day cradling my too full stomach while he gently rubbed it for me. Being more open about my preferences meant that we could start introducing food into the bedroom as well - sex now meant ice cream and chocolate and whole-cakes, all eaten off each other’s bodies or while Mark was deep inside of me.

While Mark’s gains kept up a good pace, especially for a man his size, the weight hit my body like a freight train. Without the base of muscle that Mark had, my gains were much softer, and spread across my body as opposed to Mark’s firm core ball gut and fat covered muscles. I found myself loving it - I'd get distracted by the way my flesh would slide past itself, the gentle restriction of clothes just on the verge of being too tight, and the pillowy softness of my body. I would find myself in work-meetings slipping a finger between shirt buttons to stroke around my navel, and it became one of Mark’s favourite jokes to point out when I’d mindlessly pull my shirt up while at home so I could play with my underbelly.

"You not going to lose too much weight while I'm gone, big guy?" Mark asked, kissing me on the cheek as he hoisted his bag on his shoulder.

I swallowed the last of the custard slice I was eating. "You're only going for a week," I pointed out. "Besides, you've managed to put nearly a hundred pounds on me in less than a year, I don't think I'm likely to stop losing weight anytime soon."

"Oh, I see," Mark said laughing. "It's me who put all that weight on you is it? You didn't have anything to do with it?"

"I should be more worried about you!" I said, changing the subject. "Going with all those skinny twigs - they're hardly going to make sure you're eating right."

He gripped his gut with both hands and lifted it. "It's a stag do," he said simply. "My diet's going to consist of beer and kebabs. I don't think you have to worry."

I kissed him goodbye, our guts melding into one another, and he left to get his taxi. I made my mind up to give him something special to come back to - as much weight as I could conceivably gain in the week he was away. I was sure I could put on five pounds (we both did that easily in the week between last Christmas and New Years), but how much more could I do?

Me and Mark were both used to four enormous meals as standard by now, so I added multiple tubs of ice cream and gainer shakes each day on top, to really kickstart my growth. I spent the next week bloated, groggy and uncomfortable - it was one of the hottest things I've ever done.

By the time Mark was back, I'd managed to push eleven more pounds onto my body, bringing me up to a cool 267 pounds. He walked into me lying prone on the sofa, shirt off, fresh stretch marks covering my gut, melted ice cream dripping onto soft moobs. I struggled to sit up to greet him, burping through a smile.

"Uhh, hi," he said, not moving from the doorway. His gaze hovered somewhere over my head.

"How was Berlin?" I asked, finally managing to sit up with a soft "ooft".

"Yeah it was…" he trailed off. "You know, fun. Good to see the lads." Still by the doorway. Still no eye contact.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, the ice cream sitting less comfortably in my stomach by the second.

"Yeah, no, it was just…" He finally moved away from the doorway, pacing around the room, eyes looking at everything except my expanded form. "They kept on taking the piss out of me," he said eventually. "You know, for being so fat."

"Right…" I said slowly. "But you're… you're okay with that, right?" I stood up with some effort and moved towards him. He moved towards the kitchen, still not meeting my eyes. "You've said you find it hot?" I felt self-conscious now, and looked around for a t-shirt I could put on.

He sighed, and finally looked at me. "Maybe not everything has to be hot," he said simply. "Like, yeah, it's great for sex but… Christ Ben, I'm over 24 stone now! Look at me!" He gestured down to his body, swollen with fat in every direction. "Every fucking day was just me trailing behind everyone else, completely out of breath, putting up with fucking jokes every other minute about my double chin and moobs and rolls-"

"Okay, your mates are arseholes!" I said. "Does that matter? Your workmates make jokes like that all the time."

"It's not my mates!" His voice was growing louder. "They're right! We've- I've-" He sighed and rubbed his face, his double chin moulding under his fingers. "We've taken it too far." He looked at me in the eyes. "This," he gestured down at himself and looked guiltily at me, "isn't just 'being a big guy' anymore. It's really, properly fat."

We tried to avoid talking about it for a few days. Then talked about dieting, going to the gym, building muscle, what weight might be a good compromise. Every conversation turned into an argument. Every meal, every shopping list.

I'd gotten so used to over-eating that I'd sneak off in the middle of the night or when he was at work to gorge. The couple of times he caught me turning into raging arguments. The times I caught him doing the same weren't much better.

Three weeks later, he'd packed his bags and gone to his parents. Whereas in the past I'd have stopped eating, I'd now fundamentally rewired my brain. Comfort eating was now de rigueur and every day seemed to overshadow the last. My snacks would have left a grown man satisfied, my meals turned into feasts, ice cream filled the time between like it filled in gaps in my stomach.

I ballooned. My tits drooped, my stomach swelled, my thighs chafed. I was grateful my job was mainly work-from-home, since my old clothes became restrictive to the point of pain. Buying clothes became a matter of adding the biggest size available to my cart and hoping for the best, waiting for the day I had to move to big-and-tall shops. Whenever I did have to go into the office, button-ups strained, my belt dug in, ties became comedically short. I saw my coworkers talking to each other, jokingly at first, then with concern. How could they not? I took up twice the space that I had done not long before, my face was round and jowly and soft. HR sent an email asking if I'd like a stronger chair. Emails were sent round reminding people about the gym memberships that the company offered, ostensibly office-wide, but I knew who they were targeted at.

When I reached 325 pounds I realised I almost weighed as much as Mark had when he left. Would I celebrate, I wondered, once I passed that milestone? Eat a cake to myself? Would that even register at this point?

I heard the door open and close, and I twisted around as best as I could. My flexibility had reached a critical point - now every action came with resistance, as fat bunched against fat and stretched around the sheer bulk of me. I looked around desperately at the mess around me, the ice cream cartons, cake boxes, tubs of cake frosting eaten straight.

"Ben?" Mark asked. I stood up as quickly as I could, tried to pull down my t-shirt so it covered the rest of my gut, did my best to button my shorts. I felt his hands on my arms before I even had a chance to get a good look at him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

I looked up, finally. "You've lost weight," I said. It was true. His gut, his double chin, his tits, all were still there, big, but diminished.

He chuckled. "The lads at the site still call me a fat bastard," he said and shook his belly. It was true, I supposed - by anyone else's standards he was still obese. "You, erm, haven't," he added, quietly. "Lost weight, I mean."

I felt huge. Disgusting. "I can lose it," I promised, tears welling up in my eyes. "I just missed you so much and-"

"No," Mark said.

"No?" I asked.

"No," he repeated. "I don't need you to lose weight, I don't need…" He sighed. "I thought I needed to get fit again. Lose all the weight. I started going to the gym, dieting. Started seeing results. Got down to two-sixty."

I peered at him. "You're not…" I began.

"No, I'm about two-eighty now. Probably a bit more," he answered my unspoken question. "I realised being smaller wasn't making me happy. Once I stopped dieting, the weight piled back on." He ran a finger across his moustache and looked around nervously. "Then I realised the reason I wasn't happy was because I wasn't with you." I noticed for the first time that he was holding back tears.

I moved towards him and help him for a while. He gripped me tight, his strong arms sinking into my soft back.

A while later, we were sat at the table, a chinese takeaway in front of us - a small attempt at normality.

"So," Mark said, looking at me sideways and speaking slowly, as if to test the waters. "What are you weighing at these days?" he asked.

I sucked air through my teeth. I knew this was coming. I wasn't upset as such - by this point, our relationship was defined by fat. It was a shock though, him coming back having lost so much weight, me having put on so much. "Three-two-five," I said, as calmly as I could. "Well, a couple of weeks ago at least."

Mark whistled and reached over to slide a hand across my belly, as if in admiration. "God, did you ever imagine you'd be the bigger one in the relationship?" he asked. I felt my face go red, and I started to stammer a response. "I've got to be honest," he continued. "I'm pretty jealous."

I choked. "Jealous?" I managed to spit out. "Of being this big?"

He sighed wistfully. "I've always been a big guy, you know? And then when I started going out with you I got used to being the biggest guy in most situations. And I definitely never thought I'd be smaller than you."

I smirked. "Fancy changing that?"

He chuckled. "Just you wait," he said. "I'll be the bigger one again in no time."

I grinned and picked up a rib. "Good," I said. "No man of mine is going to be under three hundred. You'll have to hurry up and catch me though," I told him. "I'm going to be a moving target."

He smiled. "Sounds great." He spooned some food onto his plate. "See you at three hundred and fifty pounds?" he teased.

I grinned. "At least."

#gaining fiction #weight gain story #weight gain #gainer fiction #gainer story #on again off again #no one other than me will ever find it funny that he took him to an impressionist exhibition to impress a date and I'm at peace with that

[sir-fluffbutts]

Many artists hate AI

Why? I did not get it from your latest ask

Because its meant that it will get artists "Job" or why?

Sorry if you dont wann talk about it

i thought i should talk about it someday so here we are

----------------------

its not just about "AI will steal artists jobs", the advance of technology means it'll happen with everything someday.

im against AI because of how they do it

-------------

the way AI image generation works is

gather as much data (in this case, images) from a original sorce (aka "training")

when the prompt is written, the AI use the data it collected to create whatever prompt its given

but the thing is, the original data sorce (aka artists who draw the art AI used to "train") usually don't know or agreed with their art being used to train AI

and most AI "artists" don't openly tell people that their "art" is created with AI. which is the reason why "AI that creates fake timelapes and layers for AI art" is a thing now

so while the programers of the said AI and the ones who uses it to sell their "art" gains profit, the ones who've been extorted (aka the artists whos art was used to train the AI without their permission) don't get SHIT

---------

think it like this.

you own a pasta shop where a dish is 5$ . its not much but making pasta and watching people enjoy it is your passion, and it pays the bills that helps you keep going

one day, someone walks in, grabs every dish you made and walks out without paying or even asking

then, they dump everything into a big pot that can magicaly copy everything in it, stur it a few times and start to serve it to other people claiming they "made" it cause they used their pot to "cook" it

not just that, they start to sell it for 2$ per dish and wrote a whole book about "how to make delicious pasta FAST". and when the "big pot is bad" movement started, they quickly say "but i DIDN'T used the pot, its all made from my OWN SKILL"

so while the company that produces the "muliply big pot" and people who serves from it gains profit , you, the original cook don't get anything from all out of this

--------------

i agree that AI is just a tool, however, unless theres a forced rule that

• protects / pays the original artists properly

• have AI "art" to be clearly labled as one

then i, alongside with many artists will continue to be heavily against the use of the tool.

#which i do not think it'll be in the near future as laws don't get made easily. especially about non-physical propertys #ask #same goes with “AI voices” #we support real artists in this household 🫡

[the-offside-rule]

Mason Mount (Manchester United) - Theatre of Dreams

Requested: yes

Prompt: 10) Baby's first game

Warnings: none

The sun hung low in the sky as Mason, his wife Y/n, and their son Joshua approached the iconic Old Trafford stadium for Joshua's first ever football match. Excitement buzzed in the air, and little Joshua, donned in a mini version of his dad's jersey, couldn't contain his giggles. "Daddy, are we going to see you play?" Joshua asked, his eyes wide with anticipation. Mason chuckled, holding onto his son's tiny hands, carefully leading him into the stadium. "Yes we are, bossman." He replied, lifting him up as he spotted the few reporters and photographers, not wanting to reveal his son, nevermind startle him. Whilst everyone knew the couple had a child, they didn't know what he looked like or anything about him. "Can you score? You haven't scored in ages." Mason looked over to Y/n who attempted to hide a grin. "Yeah, I'll try."

Mason showed Y/n and Joshua up to the box where most of the WAGs stayed, telling them about where everything is and how to leave after the final whistle blew. "So I'll wait for you in the car park?" Y/n asked. Mason nodded. "Yeah, just-" He was cut from his wrds as he felt a small tug at his trousers. The couple looked down to see Joshua pointing out the window. "Daddy, it's so big!" Joshua exclaimed, his voice filled with awe. Mason grinned, sharing a look with Y/n and once again lifting Joshua up. "Yep, it's one of the biggest stadiums, buddy. You're going to have a great time." Mason placed a gentle kiss onto his son's cheek. "Now, you sit with Mummy and I'll see you after the game, yeah?" He suggested, handing him over to Y/n.

"Bye, Daddy!" Joshua smiled, pulling at his mother's jacket. "Oh, before I leave-" He paused and reached for a black Manchester United bag, pulling out a small box and handing it to Joshua. "I got you a quick pressie." Joshua examined the box carefully before pulling the lid off and being confronted with a bright red jersey. He lifted it and looked at the back, his father's number staring back. "What do you think?" Mason asked gently. "It's not blue." Joshua replied. Mason couldn't help but feel his heart drop a little bit, the thought of his son not supporting him lingering in the back of his mind. "But red is my favourite."

Mason beamed with joy and ruffled his hair. "Good man." He grinned. "I'll see you after the game." He stood up and leaned over to Y/n. "Love you." He whispered. "Love you too."

As the players took to the pitch, Y/n and Joshua cheered with unbridled enthusiasm, their voices merging with the chorus of supporters around them. "I see daddy!" Joshua exclaimed, clapping his hands. "No, baby. Daddy is number 7, not 19." She explained calmly. "Oh. Okay." He searched the pitch again before turning back to his Mum. "What number is 7 again?"

As Mason walked back to the car, he smiled gently upon seeing Y/n leaning against the car. "Missed you." He said with a tender smile, grateful for her unwavering support. She giggled as he practically fell into her arms. "Ot has been 2 hours." He shrugged. "I dom't care. Couldn't wait to get off the pitch for once." He said, pulling away and looking behind her. "Was he okay?" He asked, referring to Joshua who was asleep. "He was fine. He's just a bit sleepy now." Mason nodded. "We should get home and get him to bed."

As the couple reached home, they stopped in silence for a moment. "This is mad, you know." Mason arched a brow. "I mean, I remember my first match as your girlfriend and now we have our son coming with us. That's all I mean." Mason smiled sleepily. "It is mad when you put it that way." Mason undid his seatbelt and hopped out of the car. "Would you mind bringing in my kitbag and I'll bring Joshua to bed?" Y/n agreed before grabbing his bag and heading inside.

With tender care, Mason unbuckled Joshua's seatbelt, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to disturb the tranquility of sleep. He marveled at the innocence that radiated from his son's peaceful countenance, a sight that never failed to fill his heart with a sense of warmth and pride. Gently cradling Joshua in his arms, Mason stepped out of the car, the cool night air washing over him like a soothing balm. As Mason made his way towards the house, his footsteps were soft and deliberate, each one a testament to the love that guided his every move. He savored the weight of Joshua in his arms, the bond between them forged in the quiet moments of tenderness and affection.

Mason kicked off his shoes upon reaching the front door. He loved home. The warmth of the house enveloped them like a comforting embrace and each step on the soft carpet adding to the comfort. Mason tiptoed up the stairs, his movements fluid and effortless as he navigated the familiar terrain of their home.

Mason opened the nursery door, hushing Joshua as he stirred in his sleep. Mason gently laid his sleeping son down in his crib, tucking the blankets around him with infinite care. He lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on Joshua's innocent face. "You doing alright?" He turned to see Y/n leaning by the door. "Just fine. I'll be right back to you in a minute and we can go watch a film or something." He replied. "Or try for baby number 2." He almost jumped at the suggestion. "Do you mean it?" Y/n chuckled softly at her husband's reaction. "Maybe. Don't leave me waiting too long." She said before heading away downstairs.

"Goodnight, Joshua." Mason said as he brushed a gentle kiss against Joshua's forehead. With a final glance, Mason tiptoed out of the room, the door closing softly behind him, and for his son to sleep after spending his evening in the Theatre of Dreams.

#football #football imagines #football blurbs #mason mount x oc #mason mount x you #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount imagines #mason mount imagine #mason mount blurb #mason mount fic #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount

[cybrsan]

[12:47 AM]

SUMMARY: A late night in Hongjoong’s studio takes an interesting turn.

PAIRING: Kim Hongjoong x GN!Reader

RATING/GENRE: M ; smut, pwp

WORD COUNT: 652

WARNINGS: Blow job, cock worship, D/S dynamics, face fucking, (slight) spit kink, studio sex

A/N: Yes, yet another Hongjoong studio smut, and my first timestamp. A big thanks to @yourfatherlucifer for inspiring this. This one’s for you ♡

No one man should be allowed to look this good.

For the love of God, Hongjoong is literally just sitting there. In his studio, at his desk, working on the same song he has been for the last three hours. You don’t know what happened. Maybe it was the way he groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Maybe it was the way he leaned his head all the way back, exposing that beautiful neck of his. Maybe it was how his fingers moved, tapping along with the beat on his thigh. But something in the air changed. Something made your entire body heat up, overwhelmed you with the urge to rip off his clothes and screw him into oblivion. 

But you can’t. 

You know that if you interrupted his work process, even if you begged him to fuck you, he’d withhold himself from you as punishment. Don’t interrupt him—it’s the number one rule. So you won’t make him stop working. You won’t even say a word. But surely you can still have a little fun? After all, you have to satisfy this craving of yours somehow. 

Stealthily, you move from the couch to the floor, crawling on your knees. You sidle up to his desk and settle yourself underneath it. You gently touch his knee, and he jumps, cursing under his breath. 

“Y/N?” He asks, looking down at you. “What are you doing?” 

God, that angle. Something about how he looks from this position makes you squirm without him even having to do anything. You’re desperate for him. Your fingers trail up his thigh, and he smirks, beginning to get the idea. 

“I thought we agreed you weren’t allowed to interrupt me while I’m working, sweetheart.” It’s not worded as a question, so you don’t respond. “Though I guess you aren’t actually stopping me from working, are you?” To this, you nod. “Go ahead.” 

Emboldened by his permission, you get to work undoing the button of his jeans, smiling to yourself when you see the hint of his arousal tenting his boxers. You palm it, mouth practically salivating as you feel it continue to harden underneath your hand. You glance up at Hongjoong once again; besides the slight flush to his cheeks, he continues working as if nothing is amiss. 

You pull his cock out of his boxers, pupils immediately dilating when you see the way it curves up against his abdomen. Pre-cum pools at the tip, and you stick your tongue out, licking it off. Hongjoong’s body jerks slightly, but you’re the one who moans. Digging your fingers into his thighs, you sink down, enveloping him in your mouth.

You could do this for hours; just sit here with the weight of him on your tongue, unmoving. If you weren’t so impatient, you would. But you are, and so you begin bobbing your head. You take him in all the way to your throat, choking around him, spit dripping out of the corners of your lips. It’s messy, it’s fast, but god, how you love it. 

Apparently, Hongjoong loves it, too; you finally get him to the point where he can no longer focus on the work before him. Pushing his keyboard aside, he brings his hands down to your head. He tangles one in your hair and uses the other to control your movements. It doesn’t take much longer for him to start fucking your mouth without reservation, filthy praises tumbling from his mouth like prayers. Once he finishes, you eagerly swallow it all. He has to practically pry you away from his cock, so eager to go for a second round.    

“Y/N,” his voice is husky, his chest heaving from exertion. “Give me five minutes to wrap this up, and then I’m going to fuck you into that couch. After that, I think we need to have another discussion about our rules, yeah?”

NETWORKS: @cromernet @kflixnet @pirateeznet

TAGLIST: @nebulousbookshelf @ad0rechuu @seonghwaddict @sanniesbunnie

#kim hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #ateez smut #hongjoong drabble #ateez drabbles #hongjoong imagine #ateez imagines #hongjoong timestamp #ateez timestamps #kpop writing #kpop writers #ateez scenarios #hongjoong scenario #my fic

[drewsbuzzcut]

https://www.tumblr.com/drewsbuzzcut/737096003153461248/nick-and-dallas-have-a-lot-of-morning-sex

Can we get a blurb

Love In The AM

nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg

a so it goes blurb

warnings: SMUTT

The insistent pounding of Dallas’ bed frame hitting the wall and Nick fucking her into her mattress is enough to wake up anyone else in the girl’s apartment. Good thing Sienna is always leaving early to start her day- she’d be scarred.

Dallas is clung onto Nick, arms looped around his neck and legs haphazardly wrapped around his waist as he holds her by her hips to fuck into her with a controlled ease. Their morning usually starts like this- Nick nestled in her pink blankets and her hands wandering all over his bare chest until he wakes up to satiate her.

“Fuck. Fuck. Oh my god, Nicky. I’m going to cum,” she whines, body arching up off the bed.

Her fingernails start to dig into his skin, and Nick feels the tightening of his balls as he feels his orgasm start to approach. When Dallas finally gains some control over her pleasure, she raises her body as much as she can so she can attach her lips to his neck. She sucks his skin into her mouth, nipping and licking at him until he’s whimpering just as she is.

“Cum baby. Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so tight and so wet. I love it,” he moans, a stray finger circling her clit, making her writhe and cry out as she finally cums around his cock.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop,” she begs, hips meeting his movements- thrust for thrust.

He grabs her hands, pinning them down next to the pillow below her head, his hips moving at a sickening pace. She continuously flutters around his length, her cum dripping onto the bed sheets.

“Cum in me. Please, baby. I want your cum,” she releases her hands, locking them around the back of his neck as she whispers hotly in his ear. Her bare breasts press into his chest, and he can feel his sanity start to slip away.

He quickly pulls out, ripping off the condom and flipping them over so he’s on his back now.

“Uhhhh, you’re so big. I feel so full,” she whimpers when she sinks down on him, feeling his thick head prod at that spongy spot.

“If you keep squeezing me, I’m not going to last too long,” he warns her.

“I don’t care. Cum in me, baby,” she responds, rocking her hips back and forth with her hands pressed to his chest.

She knows he’s close, she can tell by the slight trembles in his body and the way he keeps tilting his head back. She grabs one of his hands, placing it on her lower abdomen, so he can feel just how full she is.

“You feel that, Nicky? That’s your big cock making me feel so full. Now, I just need your hot cum filling me up, marking me as yours. I’m yours, always, but just think about the way I’ll be dripping. When you’re at practice, I’ll be here in bed, in your shirt, dripping your cum from my pussy. Cum in me, baby,” she leans down, whispering in his ear and kissing down his neck.

His hips drill up into her, getting off on her cries and moans. He keeps her still on his length as he paints her insides, feeling another orgasm start to bubble with the way her pussy contracts around him.

“Oh my god,” he breathes out, forehead lined with sweat and a spent Dallas draped over his body. They’re both boneless.

“You’re so sexy,” she says, picking herself up with a wince at the feeling of his half hard cock stirring inside of her. She cards her fingers through his hair, leaning down to kiss his lips.

“I don’t think I can go to practice now. There’s no way I’m moving. Not when you’re warming my cock, and definitely not when I know my cum is inside your pretty, little pussy,” he says in between kisses.

“We should start every morning like this,” she suggests playfully.

“I’ll get kicked off the team,” he retorts.

“I don’t know. I think I’m worth it,” she muses, rocking her hips at a teasing pace.

“Hell yeah you are,” he agrees, flipping her back on her back, ready to go another round until his alarm clock eventually goes off. Maybe then, he’ll peel himself away from his insatiable girlfriend.

a/n: I really love this! Enjoy!

#nick moldenhauer #nick moldenhauer x oc #nick moldenhauer x reader #nick x dallas #so it goes au #umich imagine #umich hockey

[bowtiepastabitch]

Let's talk costuming: Avaunt!

So I think we can all agree that Aziraphale looks his most traditionally angelic in the Job minisode, no? In fact, all of the angels' costuming increases in drama for this particular episode. This is, obviously, a very deliberate choice on the part of wardrobe, so let's discuss.

On a technical level, the biggest thing that stands out to me about this fabulous robe is the draping. Oh, the draping. It feels like a classic angel 'fit because on a very fundamental level, it is. A lot of what we think of as angelic draws on Renaissance artists' depictions, with flowing robes, fluffy wings, and glimmering halos. In art from this era, there is a strong attention to detail on the natural flow of fabrics that makes Renaissance sculpture so breathtaking, such as here: (The Ecstasy of St. Teresa, Bernini, 17th century CE)

It's this ability to make solid marble look like fine silk rippling with movement that leaves such a strong impression in my mind when I look at these kinds of works.

In painting, too, there is a similar effect. Something about the material culture of the Renaissance really lent itself to this style, perhaps fueled by the rise in new textile luxuries that occurred in vaguely the same period. This is seen especially strongly for angels, such as in the sculpture above, and in this painting: (The Annunciation to the Virgin, Botticelli, 15th century CE)

There's a stark contrast between the dress of the two figures. The virgin Mary is no less ornamentally or expensively dressed, but her style is rather minimalistic next to the angel's voluminous robing. It paints a very clear impression of angelic dress, and the designers for Good Omens would have been aware, in at least a small way, of the art history precedence for such a thing.

The poof of the sleeves, the tucks down the front, the little belt with the train tucked in, the gathers, the weight of the fabric, everything about this robe is constructed to carefully recreate the rather fantastical imagery of renaissance art. It's not necessarily an easy texture to nail down, given that the artists themselves had no concerns of gravity, comfort, or the way it would look in actual 3d motion, while our brave costumers were dealing with all three as well as a budget, time constraints, and the constant consideration that white fabric just gets dirty so easy.

Here's some of the other angels as well, so you can see how theirs reflect those same dramatic themes.

And then, of course, when costuming a show you have a second question: What does this mean for our character? Or rather, we know how, but WHY did they make him look so traditionally angelic?

Well, thematically, the Job minisode centers around Aziraphale's struggle with being a good angel and Crowley's struggle with being a good demon. Aziraphale is learning how to be an angel that follows along with heaven as far as we can, and he's so terribly torn up about it. He spends a lot of his time fretting about doing what's expected demanded of him, even if perhaps he doesn't believe it to be the right choice. Natural, then, that he should look the part of the perfect angel whilst sorting out these ethereal woes.

Crowley even draws attention to it himself, giggling a bit at the suggestion that Aziraphale, with his fluffy hair and flowing angelic garb, could possibly become a demon. And it is a rather silly mental image; the garment itself would be comically silly in really ANY other context at all. In the same manner, his performance of angelic archetype borders on excessive:

He's trying so desperately hard here to be the angel he wants to and is supposed to be. He's dressed the part, he's using his big scary angel voice, but deep down he's clinging to an identity that doesn't quite fit.

(You'll notice in this shot the distinct difference between his and Crowley's dress on the level of silhouette as well as color. We see this a lot from the two of them, but with the points I made above it felt worth pointing out in this particular scene)

Here at the end, as he's coming to terms with the cracks in his heaven-given identity, his robe is largely in shadow, blurring out its startling whiteness. We do not see him dressed this way again. (He continues to wear white, obviously, but from here on out his style of dress mimics the human trends of the time rather than that classical angelic imagery)

#good omens analysis #art history #sometimes I am an academic weapon but only when it doesn't count #aziraphale good omens #job minisode #costume design #good omens #good omens costumes #aziraphale #michael sheen #historical clothing #good omens 2 #neil gaiman #also I love the little human touch of that little bend in his fucking sleeve cuff when he says avaunt #like that's a fully real piece of clothing that he's wearing not something animated and sometimes you just have to sit and appreciate it #it just makes me laugh a little #I'm sure someone somewhere agonized over it and wishes they'd fixed it but it just feels so human to me