#you can't convince me this isn't what happened

[sissylittlefeather]

Your Love's Been a Long Time Coming: Chapter 9

A/N: Ahhhh, the penultimate chapter! There was so much screaming after the last one! Will your screams be satisfied?! Please keep reading and commenting. I live for it! Love you all 🩷🩷

Need to catch up? Masterlist here.

Warnings: not much, alcohol use, cussing, kissing, angst

Word count: ~2.2k

Later that night, as Sonny sleeps peacefully on his pillow beside her, Vivian cries herself to sleep, silent tears streaming down her face.

******

Elvis paces Graceland almost constantly while Sonny and Vivian are gone on their honeymoon. When they come back, he hosts a party to welcome them home, but it's a thinly veiled excuse for him to see Viv again. He knows Priscilla isn't stupid. She has to be able to tell something is going on with him, but he's not really sure he cares. There seems to be something distracting her these days too.

On the day of the party, Elvis is on edge trying to make sure everything is perfect. By the time Sonny and Viv finally arrive, he's so worked up he's chain smoking cigarillos and his stomach is filled with butterflies like he's a teenager. He stands in the foyer smiling awkwardly. She looks even more beautiful than he imagined and he's dying to take her in his arms and kiss her the way he really wants to, but all of a sudden Sonny is there shaking his hand.

"Can we talk, boss?"

"Oh, um, sure can I just... I want to-" He gestures to Viv but Sonny cuts him off.

"No, we need to talk now." Elvis looks back at Viv as Sonny ushers him into the kitchen for some privacy.

"What is it, Sonny?" Elvis asks, clearly annoyed.

"I know about the wedding." The butterflies in his stomach freeze.

"What about the wedding?" He asks, praying Sonny isn't talking about what he thinks he's talking about.

"About you and Vivian. Jerry told me." Elvis shifts uncomfortably. "You're my friend and I know you. I know you're not trying to break up my marriage. So I'm asking you to stay away. Please. I know y'all have always had a thing, but she's my wife now. Please let us be happy."

Elvis looks at him in stunned silence. He never dreamed Sonny knew, but more than that he never imagined this is how he would react. Stay away? Now, when they're so close to finally being what he wants?

"I'm begging you, Elvis."

Elvis nods slowly. Sonny has been a good friend to him for too many years to count. He hears himself agree to stay away, still not sure he'll be able to keep that promise. But he makes it anyway.

******

Vivian is shocked and confused by Elvis's distance before he eventually leaves for Vegas in January. She's not sure what she expected, but it wasn't for him to avoid her completely. Maybe the guilt of what happened between them finally got to him. Or maybe he realized that he really didn't want her. Either way, she tries to keep her mourning silent and contained, focusing on her modeling career and her new husband.

Sonny is the perfect picture of a doting husband. Something about the marriage seems to have sent him into a lovestruck tailspin and he showers her with affection and lavish gifts. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear he was trying to prove something to her. Still, she misses Elvis. She appreciates all of the attention, but she can't help wishing it was Elvis doing all of it for her.

******

At the end of February, Elvis comes home from Vegas to find Priscilla in a state. She's crying and frantic and if he's being honest, he's more annoyed than concerned. He's spent the last two months longing for Viv and trying to convince himself that Cilla is a good wife and their marriage is worth saving. This isn't helping her case.

"Calm down, Cil, what is it?" She finally comes and sits next to him on the edge of their bed. He's hoping she's not going to try to make love to him for whatever reason. She's his wife and he'll do it, but he can't guarantee he won't imagine Viv and that makes it hard for him to moan the correct name.

"I can't do this." She shakes her head and wrings her hands.

"Can't do what, Cil? Just tell me what's going on."

"I can't stay here. With you." His mouth drops. That was not anywhere on his list of possibilities for what was going to happen.

"You can't... what?" She stands up and walks away from him.

"I can't stay with you. I have to leave. I'm... I just have to go."

"Priscilla, why? What happened?" She turns back to him with tears in her eyes.

"I'm in love with someone else." His heart drops. The fact that he is too is lost in his wounded pride.

"You're... what?!" He stands up and walks towards her filled with rage. Priscilla looks up at him defiantly, her own rage bubbling to the surface.

"No! You don't get to be mad at me for this!"

"I'll be mad if I damn well please!" She stomps to her dresser and pulls something out of the top drawer, throwing it at him.

"Don't act like you're so innocent!" He looks down at what she threw. Panties. Viv's panties. "Found those in your jacket pocket when I took it to have it cleaned. They're Vivian's aren't they?"

"Cilla, you know there have been other women." He says it quietly, his mind flooded with memories of being with Viv.

"This is different! You're in love with her, aren't you?" He looks up at her, his blue eyes round and tortured.

"Yes." She sobs openly.

"Our marriage is over Elvis. You can have her." For one bright, shining moment there's a glimmer of hope. And then he remembers Sonny and the promise he made to him to stay away. He looks back at Priscilla.

She had already packed, so it doesn't take long for her to be gone. He stands in the living room as she drives away. Then he turns and kicks over a table, sending the objects on it flying. He sits with his head in his hands.

Now he has no one.

******

Vivian is home alone, pacing around her living room. She knows Elvis is home from Vegas and she's dying to call him, but she knows she shouldn't. Sonny won't be home until tomorrow and her mind is racing with possibilities. But no, she can't. He probably doesn't want her anyway. This is the last thought she has before she hears someone pull into the driveway. Surely Sonny isn't home early?

She peeks through the front curtains and watches as Elvis stumbles out of the car. He has a bottle of something in his hand and rather than walking up to the front door, he turns in the driveway and hollers at the house.

"Vivian!" She waits for a second, trying to decide what to do. He stumbles a few steps and yells again. "Viv!!"

When she realizes he can barely walk, she rushes out the front door to him. He smiles when he sees her and holds out his arms.

"My beautiful Viv. You always come when I call." His voice is slurred, his words thick. She lets him lean on her and half carries him up to the house. When they get inside and she gets him settled on the couch, she grabs the bottle. It's peach brandy and it's almost empty. "That's my second bottle."

"Oh my god, Elvis. You don't drink. What is going on?"

"I figured my wife leaving me was a good enough excuse."

"Wait, Priscilla... left?"

"Yep. She's gone." He leans forward with his head in his hands and starts to cry. Then he sniffs loudly and turns to Vivian. "After everything I gave up for her. She left."

Vivian sits on the couch speechless. For the first time since she's known him, he has no obligation to any other woman. Some small part of her leaps with hope, but she's the one with the obligation now.

"Why are you here?"

"Didn't have nobody else. Didn't want nobody else." He reaches out and cups her cheek with his big, warm hand. Then he pulls away suddenly and tries to sit up. "Promised Sonny I'd leave you alone, though. I'm pretty bad at promises."

"You promised Sonny you'd leave me alone?"

"Yep. At the welcome home party for you. He knows about us at your wedding." A lightbulb goes off for Viv.

"That's why he's been so... and why you've avoided me since then."

"Mhmm. Didn't want to break up a happy home." He hiccups and leans back on the couch. She realizes how close he is to passing out.

"We need to get you to a bed because I won't be able to move you if you fall asleep here."

"Okay." He half whispers, half sighs. She helps him take off his shoes and jacket and stand up and then they make their way down the hallway. When she gets him onto a bed in one of the extra rooms, she watches as he looks around, noticing the pink, blue, and yellow paint swatches on the wall and the rocking chair in the corner. "Viv, are you...?"

His eyes move to her stomach and he sobs. She sighs deeply as he grabs her and pulls her to him, weeping.

"I really lost you, didn't I?"

"Elvis, I'm not pregnant yet."

"No, but you wanna be. You will be soon." Viv buries the thought that she'd rather be pregnant with his baby. It does no good to tell him that. Instead, she kneels down in front of him and holds his face in both hands.

"You didn't lose me, Elvis. It's not possible. I'll be yours until the day I die. Even if it's just as a friend." The last part cuts through her like a knife and she can tell it hurts him too. But what other option is there? She's married.

And then he kisses her. He pulls her body in close to his and presses his mouth to her. She can taste the sweetness of the brandy as she opens her lips to his tongue. He drags her up onto the bed with him and lays down with her in his arms, his mouth never leaving hers. When he finally comes up for air, she touches her nose to his gently.

"You're too drunk for this, babe." He shakes his head.

"'M not, honey."

"You said no to me twice for this exact reason. I'm not going to take advantage of you."

"I promise you won't." He kisses her softly. "Please."

"Elvis, I have a husband." She whispers as he kisses her neck.

"You're telling me you don't wish it was me?" A wave of longing and desire washes over her. That's exactly what she wishes every time Sonny makes love to her. But the guilt is about to kill her.

"I can't." She pulls away to get out of the bed.

"No, wait. Please stay with me. I won't touch you anymore. I promise. I just don't want to be alone." She looks at him, his blue eyes pleading and sweet, the same boyish look from all those years ago. Something about that look makes it impossible for her to say no, so she crawls back into the bed and snuggles into him. He strokes her hair and kisses the top of her head. "Thank you, baby."

******

The next morning, Elvis wakes up with a pounding headache, but he doesn't care when he realizes Viv has her head on his chest. The thought that this is how he'd like to wake up every day slams into him and a lump forms in his throat. Still, his sober self remembers his promise to Sonny and is overcome with guilt. At least they didn't have sex. She was right to stop him.

He slides out of the bed without disturbing her and walks back out to the living room. He slips on his shoes and throws the almost-empty bottle of brandy in the trash. Then, he goes back to the bed and kisses her cheek gently. She doesn't stir, so he leaves quietly. For the first time, going to Graceland doesn't feel like going home. She is his home.

******

Vivian wakes up when the front door opens and closes. At first, she thinks it's Elvis leaving, so she sits up quickly, but it's not.

"Hey honey, I'm home!" Sonny calls from the entryway. She breathes a sigh of relief that Elvis is not still here. A big part of her wishes he was and they could just get it over with, but she knows that's not kind to Sonny. "What the hell is this?!"

She hears him yell from the living room and she bolts out of bed. When she gets there, she finds him standing with Elvis's jacket in his hand.

"He was here, wasn't he?!" He's never yelled at her before. She doesn't want to lie, but she also doesn't want to hurt him.

"Yes. But nothing happened! It wasn't like that! He was just drunk and upset about Priscilla leaving."

"I told that bastard to stay away."

"Sonny, I promise, it was nothing."

"I'm sure. It's never nothing between you two." She stands in silence. He's not wrong. "Vivian, I'm going to ask you one question and I want you to be honest with me."

She nods slowly in anticipation.

"Are you in love with him?" She looks at Sonny with tears in her eyes. Would it be more kind to lie? Or is it finally time for him to know the truth?

"Are you?!"

"Yes."

******

Are you ready for the end?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @jhoneybees @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @atleastpleasetelephone @burnthheparaphilia @cinnamoroll-things

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis x oc #Elvis x Vivian #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x oc #Elvis Presley x Vivian choquette #your loves been a long time coming #ylbaltc

[gearbox-dollhouse]

Sometimes I just,, think about Alex

How it's implied that he had way less choice in his actions than he wants to admit

The idea that he was followed for as long as - if not longer - than Tim (given that he's older)

He was so far under The Operator's influence and you can just. Tell he was struggling. Like

He doesn't want to admit that he didn't choose this because then he'd have to confront what he's done

If he can pretend he's doing it on purpose for a good cause he doesn't have to feel guilty

I think at some point he kinda convinced himself that he *was* doing it to fix things but his words don't line up with his actions and once you notice that it's like oh. oh fuck.

He's just as much of a victim as the others. Sure you don't have to like him or like excuse his actions or whatever but I do think it's worth looking at why he does what he does and how much of that seems to be actually his choice vs him being controlled.

He makes me sad.

Like man he just wanted to be a director and all this fucked up shit happened to him.

He was just. A guy. And now look at him.

Alex Kralie the man that you were. The man that you could have been. The man that you wanted to be.

I think about him a lot. A lot of people miss it I think but there's a lot of evidence that he wasn't really in control of his actions. But he says he was.

His actions really do not match his words at times.

For example, in entry 86 he tells Tim that he killed everyone he killed to stop the spread of the Operator Sickness. But tunnel guy was never involved.

It also doesn't match up with how he acts during the tape of Amy's death, where he's trying to get her to safety. (Tim even asks him, "When you killed Amy, did you feel in control then?" Alex reaches back to punch him when he says that, which I think really fits because the whole bit of that scene is Tim trying to make Alex realize that this isn't actually going to fix things, and him becoming increasingly violent in response. Tim tells him The Operator is lying to him and he yells at him to shut up, for example.)

There's also his whole monologue after Seth's death about how he doesn't know what happened - which admittedly could be a lie, and I think it partially is, he definitely knows what happened, but I don't think he really understands it at that point.

My personal interpretation of his character is that he isn't really choosing to do what he does. I think he's largely being controlled, basically acting like a puppet for The Operator. However, he doesn't want to have to confront this.

I think his deal is that he can't mentally deal with the guilt and helplessness he'd feel if he admitted to himself that he doesn't want this. So instead he insists, both to himself and others, that he chose to do this. He comes up with a reason so he can say he's doing it for a cause, for some greater good, but deep down he knows he's lying to himself. It's why he gets so defensive when Tim calls him out on it. He can't admit it to himself because he can't deal with it mentally. The guilt would overwhelm him.

The enttry 37 video is of Alex's fifth birthday (confirmed by the creators), and it bears evidence of Operator influence, so The Operator has been following Alex since he was *at oldest* five years old. That's longer than Tim, especially since Tim is a few years younger than Alex. And yet Alex thinks Tim is the source. No one in the series ever seems to realize that Alex was the first one.

(This is also how we know what year Alex was born - 1986. Fun fact, Jay is older than him by just under a year.)

We don't really know why The Operator didn't attack Alex the way it did Tim, but my personal theory is that Alex was being like, subtly affected so that The Operator could get into his mind easily once he was older and use him to further its goals, whatever those are.

It fucks with me. Like. That's a child. That's a preschooler. That's a baby.

That's not an adult who was making his own choices and got in over his head. That's a kid. A kid who was manipulated and had his mind broken down so that his body could be hijacked by an eldritch being once he was old enough to be useful. Fuck, man.

I have,,, many thoughts about him.

He's such a tragic character, but because he's the "villain" (he's not even really a villain he's just an antagonist) people don't give him the same grace they give the others. Even though Jay broke into Alex and Brian's houses and stole stuff and showed Tim's medical records on camera. Even though Hoodie stole Tim's meds and tried to kill Alex in return.

Just because he doesn't seem to feel guilty doesn't mean he doesn't. He's a complex character. You have to look at his words and actions in the context of everything else that's happening.

Hell, Tim was even willing to work with him and help him, even after all he had done, if only he would let Tim do so. Tim, who knew he killed Jay, Amy, Seth, and Sarah. Tim, who was taunted and stalked and threatened and blamed by him over and over again. Tim, who had every reason to hate him, was still willing to try to help.

But Alex couldn't do it. Maybe because he was too far under The Operator's control. Maybe because the guilt would have killed him if he slowed down and felt it. But I don't think he refused because he genuinely believed what he was saying. He was a victim too, just as much as the others.

Shout out to @anxious-mess19 for putting the idea of Alex's thoughts getting warped too in my mind, to borrow punk's words:

"what if you spent your whole life with a costant, something you're instincitvely scared of and puts you on edge so you try to block it out and then you see the tangible proof that that fear was real and hurtful

Like, how can you deal with the monster under your bed beign real and hurting people and you might be patient 0 and your very fucking thoughts get warped into violence"

You've made me go even more insane about him and I think your thoughts deserve to be shared here too.

Anyway. Yeah. Alex Kralie, everyone.

#long post #alex kralie #marble hornets #alex mh #marble hornets alex #alex marble hornets #character analysis #as you can see I am deeply autistic about this man #meta analysis #analysis #rambles

[twitteringnerdsneverfly]

Am I the only one that hates when this fandom tries to make doumeki the bad guy every chance they get? Like some people blame him for every single bad thing that has happened to yashiro since he entered his life and as someone that is really emotionally attached to doumeki I can't help but feel sad anytime I see them slandering him.

People are saying that he should stop pretending not to care that it's damaging yashiro's mental health more but what about his? I don't think people are being realistic about what's happening like imagine getting shot at and abandoned by confessing your feelings in the first place, even if you do manage to forgive that person you would never wanna do that again especially knowing how sensitive they get to that, yes I admit I hate what's happening between them and I wish they just talk it out but that's not happening anytime soon.

I honestly just want doumeki's pov I want to know what his thinking, how his feeling, is he still angry, what his next move is, how he really feels about the whole fuck buddy thing.....people are saying his caging yashiro but is he really? They are caging themselves, yashiro not willing to let go of doumeki again that's why he willingly gives himself to him and doumeki just wanting to be near the man he loves even if it means just sex it's sad.

Sorry for the long text😭 What do you think about this? I may be just sensitive because I really feel for doumeki

Hi Anonymous! 👋🏼 I wonder if you're the same Anonymous who asks me questions or if you're a different Anonymous every time? Either way, I'm happy to be asked questions, thank you for asking me for my opinion 🤗

So I also really feel for Doumeki. I fortunately have not come across the posts you've referenced. I will say however that everyone is entitled to their own opinion. So if people don't like Doumeki that's their choice and that's OK.

So people saying every bad thing has happened to Yashiro since Doumeki entered his life: I mean tbh a shit tonne of bad things have already happened to Yashiro without Doumeki. And that whole arc with Hirata wanting to take Yashiro out, had nothing to do with Doumeki. People targeting Yashiro is part of the Yakuza life, Doumeki or not.

Re: Yashiro's mental health - this is already fucked tbh. Doumeki or not, Yashiro has convinced himself he loves his trauma and almost died post timeskip in how brutal and messed up his sex has become. Yashiro is not OK. He never has been. I see no evidence for Doumeki in just coming to Y for sex having any detriment to Yashiro's mental health.

The only thing this is going to do, is make Yashiro question what he wants and this is a good thing.

I personally think Doumeki is a fucking genius. He has completely understood how fucked up Yashiro is, that any indication of sentiment of love, spoken or expressed in any way other than sex, will repulse Yashiro (in fact the tender sex already repulses him). Yashiro hates and wants the tenderness. Yashiro wants to be loved but can't let himself be loved because what is love? Doumeki has found the sweet spot: a way of being together without being together.

Doumeki is in love with Yashiro but any hint of this or pressure from Doumeki's side, as you rightly said, could lead to Yashiro shooting him or doing something reckless.

At the very least, Doumeki knows now that Yashiro's body reacts to him and only him. Y's body knows love and tenderness and now craves to taste more, though he isn't used to this new sweet taste when he's had such bitter experiences.

I can't see at all how Doumeki is caging Yashiro; in fact the opposite is true - Doumeki is on the cusp of setting Yashiro free. But Doumeki can only open the birdcage. Yashiro needs to choose to fly. Yashiro needs to choose to accept this tenderness, this devotion, this love and accept the rough punishing sex isn't actually what he wants.

Doumeki is the necessary catalyst to make Yashiro question. But at the end of the day, the only person who can save Yashiro is Yashiro.

I'm fortunately unbothered by others' negative opinions of Doumeki. If people don't like him that's OK.

I trust my own opinion here and I love both Doumeki and Yashiro. I want both to receive the love that each other can give more than just the sex.

Yashiro needs to accept that he is in love with Doumeki and right now, Doumeki has accepted that for now, Yashiro can't love him.

But in the unspoken plains of sex, both can love and hide their true feelings at the exact same time.

#saezuru tori wa habatakanai #twittering birds never fly #yashiro x doumeki #saezuru meta #saezuru ch 58 #saezuru fandom

[that-weird-mime]

More murder Geeks, except it's the wholesome not-murder geek stuff This au has it all. FireyFaith AND Roy getting found family (and teaching them how to put on eyeliner because you can't convince me that boy ISN'T wearing eyeliner.) Won't say what happened to his parents, but.. it's not pretty.

#fanart #spooky month #spooky month fanart #spooky month gregor #spooky month ignacio #ignacio x father gregor #spooky month roy

[unhingemyheart]

Prime Video: So, Good Omens Season 2 

Neil Gaiman: Yes

Prime Video: What‘s the Story? 

Neil Gaiman: No story, just vibes.

Prime Video: Neil, we need a little more to work with. 

Neil Gaiman: Okay, do you remember Sister Theresa Garrulous and Sister Loquacious from Season 1?

Prime Video: Yes?

Neil Gaiman: They‘re in a coffee shop AU.

Prime Video: Aaaand?

Neil Gaiman: And they need to fall in love. 

Prime Video: But Neil what about Crowley and Aziraphale?

Neil Gaiman: Oh, don‘t worry. They‘re already in love. 

#you can't convince me this isn't what happened #good omens #neil gaiman #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #anthony j crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #good omens season 2 #prime video #ineffable idiots

[lurking-latinist]

.

#after uh. not enjoying hornblower: loyalty all that much I finally watched hornblower: duty #and enjoyed it a lot more. I think there's meta there with mutiny/retribution #I gather they were sort of not allowed to mention kennedy but you know that makes sense in-universe. #horatio isn't allowed to mention him either. not really. and I do think he'd clam up about him. that's horatio all over #but you can't convince me that survivor's guilt of his is only over bracegirdle #(bracegirdle makes it worse obviously) #also his letting doughty off really makes me want it to have been him that pushed sawyer #I always want it to have been him just because so much of his later career either makes more sense or has additional dramatic irony #if he knows himself to be an unhanged mutineer #BUT he doesn't have to have actually done it. he just has to THINK he is guilty #for instance - recently aubreysmaturin made a pretty good case for it having been Wellard in the books #but if it's Wellard--then Horatio's gone down a path of 'I was his senior officer I was responsible to have stopped him I wanted Sawyer dea #so basically I am guilty' - because again that is what it is to be a Horatio Hornblower. #(in fact another clue pointing to Wellard is that the universe always seems to bend to keep Hornblower's hands clean #like that time he lied that the war was over only to later find out that in fact unbeknownst to him it was over. #he gets the thing he guiltily wanted and he gets it without actually doing the guilty thing and so no one will blame him #except his own conscience) #anyway that's the books. I don't think it was Wellard in the show #I'm not sure what I think happened in the show #but whatever it was Horatio *feels* responsible #I'm not saying that's *why* he let Doughty off but I think there's a kind of secret symmetry there #hornblower

[blujayonthewing]

well I just spent an hour digging through my own dnd notes and social media and also almost cried because I mentioned, in passing, something justin had said about one of his NPCs and he, completely lightheartedly, was like '?? I don't remember that at all. [I mean I'm not making it up?] I think you might be making it up 😏'

#me-- instantly stressed and near tears: I know you're joking and it's not even important but. that isn't funny. to me. #I really wish there was a term for 'gaslighting but they're not doing it on purpose' #this is distinct from simply 'being wrong' because 'that's definitely not what happened 🤨' is a key part of it #the other person trying to convince me that I'm wrong and I must be crazy-- not for manipulation purposes but because THEY forgot #and are MUCH more confident in the possibility that I'm completely full of shit than that they maybe can't remember exactly #this is an extraordinarily specific thing that nonetheless happens to me ASTONISHINGLY OFTEN. #I mean clearly often enough that I'm now hair-trigger sensitive upset about it #AND TO CLARIFY QUICKLY-- that's not what justin even did (this time) but 'well I don't remember that' is still... #OKAY WELL I DO. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE EVER BELIEVE ME. #trembling and crying searching for Receipts while explaining to my husband that it's not even that I don't think he believes me (this time) #I just. I just. I just. I'm not fucking crazy. I know you don't think I'm crazy. but I still feel like I Have to prove it. #my mom sending a package to the wrong address and then saying-- confidently and irritably-- 'you never GAVE me a unit number' #when I can scroll back up through texts to where I sent her our new address when we moved and it was complete and correct #my friend during our big stupid fight saying 'no one actually AGREED to that [dnd] plan except you and justin 😒' #going back into my audio recording to that conversation where everyone BUT him agreed #including his fucking pick-me 'yeah jay's being shitty right now' brother whose character said 'this sounds like a good plan' verbatim #like. I KNOW it's not just 'my memory vs theirs and we both assume we're right' #because SO OFTEN when this happens I have FUCKING RECEIPTS. that I'M NOT WRONG OR CRAZY. #no one ever wants to entertain the notion that I might know what I'm talking about. #I can't stress enough that I'm not mad at justin right now he was very much 'no I believe you! it's weird that I don't remember though' #which is fair! honestly! but I'm a LITTLE. sensitive. of the fact that everyone always ALWAYS automatically assumes I'm incorrect #and very often in a way that's a mark against my competence or character. #'well *I* couldn't *possibly* have gotten the address wrong so YOU must have fucked it up' #you know. it's like that. it's like that a lot. #maybe this only happens to me so much because I happen to be cursed with remembering things better than most people #or maybe I'm uniquely viewed as incompetent. who can say. #about me

[ladyhavilliard]

So. I think I do fixate on people, huh.

#i think part of it is that when i notice ppl paying attention to me #i get very conscious of it and start thinking about them a lot #i am pretty sure that is what happened the last time i convinced myself i had a crush #now i definitely think it isn't a crush #but that person was actually paying attention to me and remembers so much random shit that I didn't expect 😭😭😭 #it was a bit of a creepy realization ngl. but it was all things i have either said or posted on my insta story so it's not “stalker creepy” #just... unexpected and weird ig #anywaysssss #now I keep on thinking about stuff he said yesterday #or things I could have said #and the fact that he was paying so much attention to me is just... doing things to my brain #i don't know if i like it #HSBSHDHSUA I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HE KNEW WHAT THE GRISHAVERSE WAS but he remembered my love for Wylan #and said that I am probably a big wesper fan and that I love wylan cause I relate to him and am probably a hufflepuff #which... none of it was wrong or difficult to see. just wtf SINCE WHEN DO YOU KNOW SIX OF CROWS #i was too curious about his analysis of me to actually ask about that #but know i can't stop thinking about it. got me totally flabbergasted. has he read soc??? or did he watch the show???? none?? both???

[in-tua-deep]

wait i just remembered. on friday we has a "awesome committee" staff meeting which is apparently just a meeting for staff to like. bring food. play games. and bond with each other? and this week we played two truths and a lie

mine were i have only broken one bone and it wasn't even my fault (lie), i'm the youngest of five children (true), and i dislocated my arm six times before the age of seven (also true)

so many people picked the youngest of five children as the lie. one person commented that they thought i might have four sibling but i don't give off youngest child energy or something

what does that mean

what. what energy do i give off. what birth order vibe do i have. i just remember this happened and it has been haunting me ever since

#personal #two truths and a lie #birth order #what does this mean. #my energy is 'adhd golden retriever who is too eager for their own good and also can't stay still for too long' #like even if i excluded my half siblings i'm still the youngest of three kids #i mean i think i give off a very confident vibe (false) because my fellow interns do seem to come to me with questions #i've always blamed the false competence vibe on my english accent though. americans just assume english = smart for some reason #which is super funny bc my family is from northern england #which is traditionally a very working class accent #not the smart posh southern one #also idk if i play two truths and a lie differently than other people but. i was prepared for cross examination. #no hesitation i was expecting people to ask questions. what bone? when? how did you break it? #but apparently that isn't how other people play this game #idk to me it's an improv game!! you have to convince people of all three! #also rip sorry to bill who worked in DCS for a time i promise i was not an abused child i was just clumsy as fuck with weak ass joints #he was like 'uhhh i hope that last one is the false one bc my work history means i get worried!!' #m8 the only time i actually remember dislocating my arm happened when my sister literally just. pushed me off the arm of the couch #i just landed wrong #we were watching tom and jerry and did the game kids do. where i sat on the arm of the chair. she pushed me off. #i sat back on the arm of the chair. she shoved me off. rinse and repeat until i dislocated my arm #sometimes you're a child and you just like being surprise shoved off of things onto the floor #some of the other times were just like. i tripped while holding my mum's hand. my mum did not let go of my hand. #and my arm joint decided to side with gravity i guess #actually the six times before the age of seven is a slight exaggeration. it was before the age of 5. #5 or 4 #shoutout to the 'click clack moo' book i had that received the high honor of getting my from-the-doctor-panda-sticker attached to it #ALSO do people play two truths and a lie with their lie being like one (1) tiny detail in an otherwise true fact being the lie?? #i just straight up lie. i just say something that has never once happened to me #if i say something you know to be MOSTLY true about me then the whole thing is probably true

[halfbakedmuon]

How do people do this career thing. I'm gonna cry

#I don't understand why this is happening to me #I was so sure of path in stem and now I'm so conflicted #how do you choose this thing and why is it so painful #I've had to peel myself just to glimpse at what lies beneath and I DONT UNDERSTAND #why is it so tough #why can't someone just tell me what to do #I literally have body ache thinking about this #and this is all I think about #maybe physics just isn't for me? but I've spent so much of my life in it's service #maybe I was just overcompensating so that I could convince myself that I did love physics when it was just the attention I got from my #family when I was reading that hawking book something that I've always craved. they saw me as somebody worth something finally. I wasn't #the dumb sibling anymore. I was the one with the unconventional career choice? #I was the one who wanted to study physics. the stuff of people's “nightmares” #I was in the 8th grade. How do you recover from that. #who am I?? what do I want??? outside of my family's expectations and impositions??? I've set and worked for this impossible fantasy of me #becoming an astroparticle physicist and I don't think I love it. I wouldn't give myself up for it. I wouldn't sacrifice myself or my friends #or my family for it. maybe I've just been doing well because I've had to work hard. I work harder than all of the other people in my classdo #for a pretty average position #maybe I'm wrong but what if I'm right??? what if I'm going in the wrong direction??

[prismatoxic]

hanamusa artist: (puts screenshots of the wiki pages for jessie and delia under several comics to prove their ages are 25 and 29)

me: surely this isn't necessary. it's in your FAQ, and people can't really be--

me: (looks at the comments of one such post)

me: (look at the comments of yet another one)

me: i think i give the internet too much credit sometimes

#the amount of people freaking the fuck out about delia having ash when she was 19 is doing permanent damage to my psyche #i don't know how to tell you this. but women have children young A LOT #sometimes because they want to and sometimes when they don't #acting like it's some moral evil isn't fucking helping anybody #like anti/fancop/etc mindsets are bad enough but this is such a weird thing to be nitpicky over when it happens irl ALL THE TIME #my mom was 33 when she had me but serzh's mom WAS 18 or 19 iirc #and i went to an independent study high school bc of my mental health and let me tell you #all the pregnant teens who can't/won't get abortions that you think aren't an issue #ARE IN THOSE SCHOOLS. #i made friends with one she was very nice. felt bad about what she was going through but it wasn't my business #like has the internet really poisoned people's brains so much that they just up and forgot pregnancy is a thing that can happen at any time #and a lot of women can't abort/don't want to abort/are convinced not to abort/think they can handle a baby at 19 #maybe this isn't surprising. i don't know. i really didn't think this was an issue people had. #they're not even making disparaging comments about ash's deadbeat dad who would. you know. be the one who knocked her up at 19. #like it reeks of a moral judgement on DELIA? ARE YOU HIGH? #remind me to not read post comments #tox.txt

[mellowsmuses]

#welcome to our family #toh the collector #toh #hexside squad #amity #willow #gus #hunter #luz #// you can't convince me this isn't what happened!

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

--

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #cod #cod smut #simon riley x you #simon riley #pornstar!au #simon ghost riley x you

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x slytherin!fem!reader

Summary: When your "friends" play a dangerously stupid prank on you, James is the last person you'd think would help you.

Genre: Fluff, hurt and comfort <3

Warning: swearing, mentions of being drugged/drunk, violence, mentions of blood, protective!James

When James sees you walk into the classroom with an unusually cheery smile, he can't look away.

"Sirius," he pauses and leans in closer to his friend, "does she look unwell to you?" James whispers, clearly concerned for you. Sirius lets his chin rest on his palms as he looks over at you nonchalantly.

You almost trip on your shoe-laces as you make your way to your desk and you laugh a little too loudly, but only James seems to notice that particular detail.

"Y/l/n? She seems quite happy to me," Sirius's smirk is heard in his voice but James doesn't look amused. 

"No, something's wrong. She's usually quiet and she," he doesn't finish his sentence when he sees your friends in the corner of the classroom.

Some of them look as concerned as he is while most hide smiles and snickers behind their hands as they look at you. James's eyes bounce back to you and his frown deepens. Something is wrong. Instantly, he's on his feet.

"Prongs!?" Sirius sounds surprised but it's no use trying to stop him because James is already on his way to you.

Just as you raise your arm to run a hand in your – already annoyed – desk partner's hair, James quickly swoops in and catches your wrist. You pause and when you turn your head to look at him, your smile widens. 

"Potter!" you slur.

James can be an idiot sometimes, but he does know you're not drunk. He's never seen you drink. You look dizzy and he comes to the conclusion you must be under the influence of some kind of spell. He looks you over and sees the nasty cut on your knee. Anger bubbles in his stomach as he remembers how your friends somehow found this all incredibly funny. 

You tilt your head at him slightly and say, "You have pretty eyes, did you know that?" you smile a smile James usually loves and was never directed at him before, but by now the entire classroom has their eyes on you and, because he knows you would hate all this unnecessary attention, James helps you stand.

You let out a breathy giggle when his hands find your waist and hold you steady.  

"What are you doing?" a shrill voice asks from behind him and James clenches his jaw. He turns around. It's one of your friends. She's also in Slytherin and as hard as he tries, James can't remember her name.

"Helping your friend," he says blankly, "She seems a little out of it, doesn't she?"

"She's fine," your friend rolls her and tucks her dark hair behind her ear. "Aren't you, Y/n?" she asks you with a faint smirk.

Your body sways and James's arms move from your waist and swoops around you to hold under your armpits. "I'm okay — y-yeah, I'm okay. I feel better than fine," You mutter, eyelids fluttering slightly as you giggle at his touch.

James isn't at all convinced you're okay. 

Your friend's cruel smirk and the mystery of how you've bruised your knee leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"She's bleeding," he states as calmly as he can. 

"She's just clumsy." 

"She's obviously been hexed or something," James narrows his eyes.

Your friend laughs at his accusatory tone. "What? And you think I did it?"

"Yeah, actually, I do."

At this point, it's obvious you aren't paying attention to their argument as you start to play with James's collar. His cheeks flush pink as your hair skims his chin and the smell of your shampoo fills the air.

"Well if you won't tell me what happened to her, then I'll find out myself," he says and his hand moves to hold yours. "Come on," he whispers sweetly and you let him lead you out of the classroom.

James is extremely careful with you. He makes sure you don't trip in the hallway, or run into any doors and walls, and more importantly he stays with you when the nurse comes to make sure you're okay.

He leans over the hospital bed as his hand hover over your knee as he asks, "What's happened to her?" 

"Veritaserum," the nurse says as she presses her palm on your forehead. 

"The truth serum?" James is confused. "Doesn't that make someone tell the truth? Why would it make her act so," he turns his head to look at you and conflicting emotions creates what feels like an empty pit in his stomach. You look so beautiful with your eyes blown wide as you glance around the room. "So ditzy?" he finishes in an endeared whisper.

"It isn't uncommon as everyone can have different reactions," The nurse explains as she gently inspects your knee, "I think whoever made this potion must not be particularly skilled."

James clenches his fist around his cloak and tries to remind himself that you probably wouldn't want him to beat up your so-called-friends.

"What's happening to me?" your voice comes out strained as you try and focus on their conversation as you catch on to their confused faces. 

"Nothing, honey, you're fine. Your friend was worried and he," 

You interrupt her, "James Potter? Oh, he isn't my friend." You look up at James and his smile disappears. He's embarrassed as he searches your face for any indication that you're joking but clearly you aren't because you ask him. "Potter, do you even know my name?" You sound serious.

James hesitates to answer, "Of course I know your name, Y/n," he finally admits.

He doesn't expect your eyes to light up but they do and you turn to the nurse, "He does know my name," you whisper with a smile.

James's heart swells at how happy you seem and he smirks a little. Amused, the nurse lets you continue, "You'know," you lean in closer and mutter just loud enough for James to hear without you knowing, "I really like him."

Surprised, his heart jumps and the nurse panics as he quickly shuts you up. "Alright honey, let's clean up this nasty little wound and then wait for the potion to pass, ok?" you nod and focus on her as she waves her wand across your knee and the cut disappears. 

Once she's done, the nurse turns to James and says, "I know you must be curious, Potter, but I think Y/l/n should be alone while she recovers," the nurse turns to you again and looks at you sympathetically.

"He can stay!" you insist, "I want him to stay."

James looks into your eyes and he wonders how he can even think of disappointing you.

But, when he looks at the nurse again his heart sinks. He can't stay, he knows he can't. It would be unfair. You deserve to keep your secrets — all those feelings you wouldn't share with him normally — hidden away in your pretty little head. 

James knows he can't take those away from you so he nods, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and sends you a lopsided smile. "I'll see you around, mmh?" 

He leaves before he can focus on the way you called his name because if he does, he knows he'd feel compelled to rush back in and stay by your side. On his way back to the classroom, he can't help but smile as he remembers your words. Only, his smile disappears the moment he hears your friends in the hallway. 

James stops in front of them and they do the same. The girl from earlier crosses her arms. "What's your issue, Potter?" she snarls, "Where's Y/n?"

James refuses to answer her question. "You gave her the Veritaserum, didn't you?" he accuses and some of your friend's squirm guiltily. The dark-haired girl just smirks.

"So what if we did? She isn't dying, is she? It was funny," she turns to your other friends with a grin and they nod meekly. "You should have seen her stumbling around, she wasn't even fazed when she fell and scraped her knee on the cobblestones. It was hilarious," she continues.

James's face burns from the points of his ears to his cheeks. "Hilarious?!" he repeats, his voice stern, "What kind of friends find it funny when their friend hurts themselves? She didn't know about the Veritaserum, did she?" 

The girl shakes her head but one of your other friends interrupts. He's a tall, lanky Slytherin with icy blue eyes and vibrant auburn hair.

"Of course she didn't know, Potter. It wouldn't be as fun if she did. I would think you would understand," he admits with a grin.

James's hands shake as he stares at your friend rambling. The boy only chuckles and turns to his friends, amused, as he taunts, "Slipped the potion in her drink myself this morning."

He doesn't finish his sentence as James punches him. He stumbles back into the girls, cupping his hands around his nose, as they shriek in surprise. James shakes his hand out a little and narrows his eyes. "You don't spike someone's drink, asshole. And don't fucking insinuate I would ever do something like that to anyone!"

"What the fuck? Why do you even care?" The boy hisses as one girl holds his shoulder and tends to him. "You're crazy." 

And sure, maybe James was crazy but he won't tolerate someone hurting you. 

Ever. 

* * *

"James, just give the poor girl some space," Remus sighs as he tries to concentrate on his essay. "She's gone through enough these last few days. Haven't you heard the rumors going around? They're brutal."

James resists the scream that bubbles in his throat. "I know. I know. I just want to be there for her," he whines and Sirius wraps his arm around his shoulder.

"You'll just make things worse," Sirius says, "Last rumor I heard is that she faked it all for your attention." 

James clenches his jaw. "How would I make this worse? It's all so fucking cruel, Pads. She's all alone," his heart has been slowly breaking whenever he thinks of you sobbing in your dorm or sitting alone during your classes and meals. 

He shuts his eyes a moment and then sits up abruptly and says, "I know what to do."

Remus looks up and with a worried expression, his eyes widen. "Prongs," he starts but James is already standing. "Sirius! Don't let him leave!" Remus insists but it's too late because their friend is already out the Common Room door. 

When James enters the Great Hall, he pauses and searches for you. He sees you sitting alone and he becomes so angry he can't think normally.

He storms up to the Slytherin table and jumps on top of it. Some cutlery and food falls to the floor and students turn their heads. James just clears his throat, making a show as he stumbles on his feet. 

If everyone wants to gossip about something, they can gossip about this. 

With a grin, he spreads his arms and shouts, "Can I have everyone's attention?" The Great Hall turns silent and James struts down the table until he's much closer to you. You feel your cheeks heat up and you hold your breath.

Remus and Sirius run into the Great Hall, calling James's name but it's too late because James is now standing in front of you as he holds out his hand. "Y/n, will you go out with me?" He asks, his voice loud and calm.

Whispers break out as your heart thumps in your chest. You look into James's eyes, searching them and when you reluctantly take his hand he nods a little and pulls you up onto the table with him. 

Quickly, he pulls you closer and then whispers in your ear, "Say no. Trust me." 

Your frown deepens but the words leave you without thinking, "No?" 

James smirks and just subtle enough for no one to see, he kisses your cheek and pulls you away from him. Dramatically, he stumbles backwards and covers his heart. "Ow, you're killing me here, love. What will I do without you?"

If you didn't know he had just asked you to reject him, you would think he sounds genuinely hurt. As he stumbles, he trips on someone's glass and with a loud crash, he falls to the ground.

Students gasp loudly and so do you as you cover your mouth with your hands and rush to the edge of the table and peer down at him. When you see him sitting on the ground he suddenly blows a kiss up to you, a small paper bird flutters up to you and then turns into rose petals.

Your eyes widen and you can't help but laugh when James continues to make a scene and the petals fall in your hair. "You're breaking my heart, darling. Criminal," James whispers and winks dramatically. 

"James Potter, detention. Now," McGonagall's voice booms and when James sees you hide a smile behind your hand, he smiles too.

A while later, as James sweeps up McGonagall's classroom floor, all he can think of is your happy smile.

"James?" Your voice interrupts his memory and he jumps a little, turning towards the door. You stand in the doorway, a flustered look on your face as you hesitate to come inside. James drops the broom and rushes over to you. 

His knuckles hover over your cheek as he says, "Y/n, are you okay?"

Your eyes widen and you touch his hand. Gently, you pull it down to his side again as you whisper and ask, "What was that all about?"

James searches your face for anger. "I wanted to take the embarrassment off of you. You don't deserve anything that's been happening to you, love. None of it is your fault."

You look at him more seriously. "Yeah, it's been a little hard but I can handle the teasing. You shouldn't have done that," you say and James's heart clenches in his chest. 

"I'm sorry if I upset you, Y/n. I just wanted,"

You interrupt him, "No. I mean you shouldn't have asked me to say no," you pause and look up at him, "unless, you don't actually want to go out with me. But, I know you know how I feel about you and I,"

Your sentence dies and you don't know what else to say. 

James's expression softens. You look up at him, almost pleading with him, "Please don't make me repeat what I said in the Hospital Wing. It's so embarrassing, and I know you heard me. I wasn't exactly quiet."

James smirks. "When you said you like me?" he holds up his finger and pretends to ponder, "No I'm sorry, you really like me," his smile widens as he looks at you. You feel warmth in your cheeks and look away.

"Yeah, that."

"Well, I really like you too."

Your eyes widen and you look up at him. James uses his thumb to lift your chin. You realize how close your body is to his and your breath hitches in your throat. James's hand moves to your cheek, caressing it softly as you whisper, "You do?"

James lets out a breathy chuckle. "Of course I do. You're beautiful, kind, incredibly smart it's annoying," his eyes are full of admiration, "What's there not to like, darlin'?"

You frown, glancing quickly at the emblem stitched onto my robes and then you look at him again. "But, I'm a Slytherin. I didn't even think you ever knew who I was until last week. We've never really talked."

James's smile falters and his thumb moves behind your ear as he holds your cheek. "That's my fault. I should have said something sooner but with my reputation and all," he looks away, his face twisted in shame, "I didn't want to scare you away."

You see the sincerity in his eyes but ask wearily, "So it doesn't bother you?" 

"That you're in Slytherin?" James smiles a little. "No, it doesn't, love. I don't care. I've seen how you are and I think you're absolutely lovely," he catches himself, "I mean, I'm not saying Slytherin's aren't lovely,"

You shut him up with a kiss. It's confident and startling but James doesn't complain. He simply pulls you in closer and lets his mouth explore yours with a passion he didn't know he had. He didn't know how starved he was of your taste until now.

Fuck, he's fucked. 

You pull away, lips wet and stare at him. "Sorry," you mutter.

"Sorry?" James frowns and leans in to kiss you again, "Don't you dare be sorry. Just kiss me," his words leave you a mush in his arms and you're happy for his hand around your back because otherwise you would fall over. 

When he finally disconnects your lips, he leans his forehead on yours and whispers what he'd been thinking, "You'll kill me, love."

You smile and hold his arm. "Thanks for saving me by the way, when I was under the potion," you say. 

James leans away and studies your soft expression with a small smile. "I'd be an asshole not to help you. I didn't want to see you get hurt." 

"Still, if you hadn't seen that something was wrong I don't know what would have happened."

"Nothing would have happened because I was there," James insists and kisses your forehead, "I'll always be there." He adds in a whisper into your hair.

It's only for him to hear. He doesn't want to just tell you he's there for you, instead he wants to show you. Everyday.

#james potter x reader #james potter #marauders #james potter fluff #james potter smut #marauders fic #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter x you #marauders imagine #james potter imagines #james potter imagine #james potter blurb #james potter fic #james potter x y/n #marauder james potter #hp marauders #marauders era #marauders imagines #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp #maraduers harry potter #marauders fanfiction

[astraltrickster]

What frustrates me about disability advocacy is that...of all the people I've seen talk about it, 99% of them - even ones who are disabled themselves - have eventually proven that their support has limits. Really stupid and arbitrary ones, at that.

You support disabled people...but if you see an adult with a DIAPER BULGE in their pants in public it's ON SIGHT, get your kink out of my face! Actually, even if it's not a kink, that's still gross and, like, it's not like the diaper exists to CONTAIN waste, you're a biohazard! Just stay home!

You support disabled people...but, ugh, you're so sick of masks, they feel so icky, the CDC isn't advising them anymore so really how bad can it be, if you don't want to be permanently disabled even worse than you already are then why don't you just stay home forever?

You support disabled people...but if you see anyone using a non-conventional straw that someone's billed as "anti-aging" on TikTok you proudly declare that you'll smack them, because what do you mean it might be a motor control or sensory thing?

You support disabled people...but no one is REALLY so disabled that they can't manage their lights conventionally, clean their homes by themselves, or hold a pen for extended periods of time or at all; that's just something people make up as an excuse for Bad Tech and exploitative luxury services.

You support disabled people...but, god, control your by-definition-uncontrollable tics, they're SOOOO annoying and rude!

You support disabled people...but when someone stops masking or runs out of spoons and starts speaking in a choppy, hard-to-understand way, it's a joke.

You support disabled people...but AAC is, like, sooooo annoying and hard to understand, learn to talk like a normal person instead of pointing like a baby or whatever, geez.

You support disabled people...but you hate image descriptions and video transcriptions because they're, like, sooooo ugly and transcriptions SPOIL things. (Not to be confused with "frequently not having the spoons to translate images and videos into text, which is a skill; one which everyone should try to develop, but a skill nonetheless" - I get that, it happens to me, but if you take issue with OTHER people adding them to your posts for Aesthetic Reasons, you're...kind of a dick! I'm not sorry for saying it!)

You support disabled people...but you think teehee funny joke annotations are a much more valuable use of caption tracks than, you know, actual captions are.

You support disabled people...but you still concern-troll people with armchair diagnoses of heavily stigmatized disorders for harmless weirdness, or try to paint them as icons of some kind of horrible social ill.

You support disabled people...but you're still convinced that every asshole is mentally ill, probably A Narcissist, and what do you mean that's a loaded thing to call someone when a heavily stigmatized disorder is rudely misnamed as such too, isn't it easier to, like, change the name of the disorder throughout the whole system than it is to just stop using that word as your go-to Bad Person Pathologizing Word, which you definitely need? (Or worse, you see no problem with this clash because you're convinced it IS Bad Person Disorder...)

You support disabled people...but you see someone mumbling to themself on the bus and you get as far away from them as possible because it's "scary".

You support disabled people...but you constantly try to pull "gotcha"s about people telling you not to touch people's assistive devices.

You support disabled people...but someone being okay with their delusional disorder and talking about that is BAD and PROMOTING SELF-HARM.

You support disabled people...but your body positivity still focuses exclusively on "people can be healthy and fat at the same time!" as if people who ARE fat because of health issues and/or have health issues BECAUSE of their weight don't exist or deserve support.

You support disabled people...but you declare that advocates who want us all to have more access to things that improve your quality of life are the REAL ableists for acknowledging that those things that you currently can't do tend to improve quality of life.

You support disabled people...but your advocacy for yourself involves distancing yourself from people with more support needs than you.

You support disabled people...but you treat addiction of any kind, or use of anything with known addictive tendencies, as a moral failing.

You support disabled people...until the accommodations they need clash with your own, then it's not just a benign incompatibility that sucks just as much for them as it does for you; no, you are an innocent victim and they are a horrible ableist.

You support disabled people...until it's too inconvenient. Too weird. Too scary. Once that line is crossed, it's not a disability issue anymore, they're, conveniently, just a Bad Person.

It's fucking exhausting and I'm sick to death of it.

#disability #serious tag #bitching #and even after i posted this i keep thinking of more shit people have said #not gonna edit them in because this post is long and has already been reblogged a couple of times #but might keep track of them in the tags or add more in a reblog #because. i can keep going.

[ssahotchnerr]

What if a drabble about this https://twitter.com/bxnksi_/status/1754954693329998141?t=QfzPSplktYI04Owlt-gzSg&s=19 I just know hotch's gonna be taking that kiss IMMEDIATELY like no thoughts. He'll be like, "screw my point and kiss me".

priorities

this cw; bau!reader, established relationship, kissing, light suggestion, brief arguing into fluff, 6x22 references - this relates to aaron coaching jack's soccer team <3

the team's prying eyes couldn't help but be directed upwards as they attempted to work, due to the visual of you and aaron going at it through his office window. your hurried and raising voice also drifted out his slightly ajar door from time to time.

"it's not fair to you aaron." you insisted, mentally urging him to stop being so stubborn and understand your point. "i get that they need a coach, and it's wonderful they thought of you, but you're too preoccupied."

aaron scoffed lightly, crossing his arms as he leaned back against his desk, "preoccupied?"

you gave him a look - c'mon. it was a rather accusatory word, you'd admit it, but he knew what you meant. "the league should be resolving their own problems."

"isn't them asking an attempt to do so?"

"but it's not your problem, or is it your responsibility to accept. i know you feel obligated to and," you reached out to touch his arm affectionately, reminding him you were on his side. "it's so sweet of you to jump at it. but please think about it realistically."

aaron exhaled a breath of his own, turning his eyes away from yours in a subtle eye roll.

"aaron," you gaped at him, your frustration quickly turning into annoyance. "you're in the fbi. you're a unit chief, for god's sake. don't you think they should ask someone who's not on such a strict, unpredictable schedule? what happens when you can't make it to a practice? to a game?"

as you fired off all the reasonings, even throwing in the example that jessica did swing by once to pick up jack upon getting a call for a case - aaron fell quiet, knowing you were right.

he felt obligated; being unreservedly himself, he wanted to be the one to step up and take the initiative. jack's soccer team deserved someone willing and wanting to provide their undivided attention as coach, given majority of the parents were more preoccupied by their phones than watching their own kid. focus - he could provide such.

another convincing factor, being coach would provide him more time with jack. these days, the fact jack was growing up, rapidly, was slowly sinking in. before he knew it, aaron would blink and jack would prefer to do anything else than to hang around his father.

but again, from a realistic standpoint, you were right. trying to navigate a soccer team with his crazy schedule would be extremely difficult; the potential aspect of not being around, and then potentially not being able to find reliable cover - an inevitable, ongoing complication, despite how badly he wished he could manage it.

aaron hadn't meant for this to turn into a disagreement either. to be fair, he had just returned from a meeting with strauss, which always amp'ed up his disposition in one way or another.

but now you were getting heated, and as you thoroughly stated your case, aaron's eyes involuntarily kept flicking down to your lips. the more he attempted to avert his eyes away, they only lingered more.

and not wanting to argue further, he quickly surrendered to his own argument, the only thought beginning to maintain importance was how badly he wanted - no, needed - to kiss you.

"go ahead, say it."

your remark regained his attention, "say what?"

"i know that look, so go ahead." you crossed your arms, huffing a frustrated breath of air out of your nose. you had mistaken his lack of focus for another impending, contrasting detail of his, "say it."

"kiss me."

your expression changed at once; irritation shifting to a softened confusion. "what?"

"what? do you want me to beg?" aaron tossed out, a glint surfacing in his eyes and warming you from the middle out, "fine, you're right, forget about it. now kiss me."

you opened your mouth to respond, but aaron took that as an opportunity to weave his fingers through the belt loops of your pants, pulling you strictly against him and pressing his lips to yours.

once your initial surprise wore off, and focusing on how soft aaron's lips felt on yours, you kissed him in return with just an equal amount of gentle vigor.

you pulled away, your mind attempting to resist his everlasting temptation, bringing your index finger to his chest. "this isn't resolvin-"

but aaron chased your lips, immediately pressing his back to yours and stopping you mid-sentence. you reciprocated eagerly, sighing softly against his lips in content as your fingers found hold on the sides of his suit jacket.

"you're absolutely ridiculous." you laughed against his lips, providing one more chaste kiss before successfully pulling away, your cheeks flushed.

"am i?" he quipped back, rather playfully as his eyebrows rose, a cheeky expression plastered on his face - one of which only made you want to kiss him wildly.

"yeah, you are." you bantered back, exhaling to ease yourself back to the real world, which aaron also assisted in with his next statement, dropping the matter yet again.

"i'm still expecting your supplementary report on the houston case by the end of the day." he said, his hand sliding down your back and patting your ass, playfully urging you to get a move on. "get back to work."

you nearly released an audible groan but instead rolled your eyes, bringing yourself to peck aaron's lips once more. on your way out, you tossed over your shoulder. "this discussion isn't over, you know."

due to your restrained line of vision, you missed the small smirk of his lips. "and if it ends similarly, i'll be looking forward to it."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader