#AND SHE FLOATS DOWN AT THE END

[chloecherrysip]

They just released what looks like the full clip of Peach completing the training course! LOOK AT MY GIRL GOOOOO

[turtleblogatlast]

I am once again reiterating that Leo could and should be a figure skater because what are ice skates if not twin blades? What is dual blade swordsmanship if not a dance-like performance? Using the skates as blades themselves could let Leo make portals be his ice rink no? I rest my case. ⛸️

[mumblelard]

silly skeletons discussions sérieux or the water-method man

[deva-arts]

zomg... the girls! Sketched out! And a few characters I never showed designs for! haha! I keep thinking about the beach, so this is their swimwear.

I hope to make a full fledged drawing for all of them soon~ then the guys~~

Some newbies are: Aura (blue!) Katya (Gold!) and more of Verra (Green!) We'll eventually see more about them as I draw more things and doodles.

[fujii-draws]

hey fujii do you wanna hear about a silly little thing i thought of earlier. so you know how in red/blue rescue team, eevee used to be in the "naive" category, whereas in explorers of sky, it's in the "jolly" category? it made me think about ribbons, specifically because of how the rescue team personality test describes the naive trait.

in rescue team, the naive type is described to be someone whos highly curious, and someone who likes rare things. their cheerful and carefree make everything fun for the people around them, but they also have the flaw of being childish, never sitting still, and always being on the move. (it also says that they might be selfish but i dont see that applying to ribbons tbh..)

it seems so oddly fitting for ribbons because her personality does show those traits in particular. she's a silly little thing and her bright cheery personality, and she is childish to some extent. and of course, can't forget her curiosity. especially with how curious she got when it came to dusknoir. and of course, we can't forget about the *actual* definition of naive. naivety in the sense of choosing to believe that dusknoir, despite how his aura flared with malice, bared no ill intent. to think that someone who is so great, so wise, so kind and caring could ever be capable of shattering her world apart.. that was naive. because she believed he was what she thought he was, and because it was her naivety that nearly got her and aimilios killed. you'd think she'd have learned from the drowzee incident where two kids displaying trust in a spur-of-the-moment stranger who coincidentally showed them kindness in their misfortune was a mistake, but i suppose that's what being a naive little child does to you.

(anyways im sorry if this sounds incoherent and out of the blue. have a good day)

DONT YOU DARE APOLOGIZE FOR THIS. THE JOLLY AND NAIVE NATURES FIT MY GIRL SO WELL. (Unhinged rant in tags)

[variousqueerthings]

i feel like the funniest thing about the bear s2 for me vis a vis the odd romance plot (and trying to figure out why it was done in the precise way it was) is that the closest we got to a sex scene if I'm remembering correctly was a strange purple-lit under the covers couple of flashes of difficult to decipher limbs. they coulda just been wrestling or hanging out, hell it coulda just been him in there or a piece of his imagination or a very windy day. the lack of attempting to inject sexual passion or chemistry into their relationship was fascinating and not because they were trying to give us ace carmen (rip that would be actually great). just threw out A Girl Template and did the absolute barest minimum to remind us she exists and "is great" according to occasional reviews from other characters and completely neglected to write. chemistry.

[website-com]

that billie eilish barbie movie song is so bad it makes me crazy

[azurajay]

having a normal one about lucretia tazbalance on this good evening

[impossible-rat-babies]

1.0 making Direct Eye Contact and breathing heavily while [redacted] makes a giant mess of her house like

[mayakern]

Things are bad right now.

As many of you know, way back in 2020 we weren’t sure if our business was gonna make it. Our factory was already on break for Lunar New Year–a month-long holiday for many businesses in the area–and with the announcement of COVID19, everything shut down indefinitely. We knew immediately we were in for a bad time. Despite our fears, our sales grew so far beyond anything we ever expected, to the point where we had to hire two employees just to keep up with demand! 

Unfortunately, even after our factory reopened, our problems were not over. Their quality drastically declined almost immediately, to the point that a significant amount of our  fabric would literally fall apart in transit between the factory and our office. Because of this, we discovered that our sales rep had no idea what she was doing and knew nothing about the factory she was representing, so when we told her the fabric was garbage her response was “👍 factory said it’s good!” At the beginning, only roughly 10% of our new product was defective and we were able to sell the affected items with a reasonable discount. By the end of our relationship with that factory, 40% of our midi skirts and 70% of our miniskirts were defective, some affected so severely that they practically fell apart when touched. And still, our rep said everything was fine and there were no problems and the fabric composition had not changed.

So in 2022 we changed factories. We hired Ash to handle this since I was way too busy managing fulfillment to do the amount of research and communication necessary to find us a factory that met our criteria. Finding clothing factories that can make clothing over a size 2-3X is significantly more difficult than one that can’t because it often requires larger and more expensive machinery. But Ash did it: she got us set up with a new factory that has excellent certifications for both their labor practices and their methods for textile production, that delivers consistent, high quality sewing on well made fabric that can be printed without suffering loss in detail–and she was armored with the knowledge for what makes a quality garment so she could check them if they tried to screw us on quality. Their minimum orders were way higher than our previous factory’s, so we decided to focus on ordering more units of fewer designs. We ordered way too much our first round–some of those designs were in stock until the 2024 blowout sale! But it worked out, and slowly we had a warehouse full of stuff to sell.

Fast forward to 2024, business is slowing down between the economy being bad and what seemed to be a general skirt fatigue amongst our customers. We tried expanding into shirts, which would’ve been successful if our minimums were lower. In the late spring we realized we were in trouble if we didn’t make drastic changes and we ultimately decided to end in-house fulfillment and transfer to a third party fulfillment center that would support domestic shipping in Canada and eventually the UK, EU, and Australia. In order to make that transition affordable we drastically discounted everything and that sale was super successful! We were able to begin shipping from the fulfillment center with an almost clean slate, even if it did mean having to close the store for almost two months and thereby missing out on two very important months of sales.

Unfortunately, we were stupid. We continued to order new designs on an every other month schedule instead of switching to an every month schedule, forgetting that having a backstock in a variety of designs is what previously helped us float between orders and now we quite literally didn’t have enough inventory to match the sales we made for last year’s holiday sale.

That brings us to now.

We’re a little stuck. We have a round of skirts in production (yay!) but they won’t get here until February (boo!). To get back on that monthly cycle we would need to order the next round of skirts right now, but we can’t pay for production until that next round of skirts gets here; if the current sale goes well, it’s paying payroll, not production. We are currently in the very difficult, horrible situation of not having enough money for next month’s payroll unless we are somehow able to make significant sales with our very sparse inventory.

We’re scrappy and we do our best to adapt to disasters and I’m sure we’ll find a way to adapt to this one as well, it’ll just take us some time to get there. Basically we’re going to be okay eventually–hopefully later this year–but in the meantime if we seem frantic, now you know why. 

If you’re been considering trying out our viscose shirts but haven’t been able to justify paying full price, they’re on clearance PLUS half off right now! That’s $9-$15 for the viscose tops, and other tops on clearance are $20-$45. Some of the shirts we’re having a LOT of trouble selling are now priced below cost to help us recoup some of the money we spent making them.

Any amount of support helps right now. Sharing posts, telling your friends, buying a $9 shirt–all of it helps. If our clothing isn’t your thing, we also have a Patreon you can support for as little as $1 a month. https://www.patreon.com/mayakern

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great rest of your day and that 2025 is a brighter, kinder year for us all.

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[billymayslesbian]

Before Lionblaze could argue, another shape burst through the billowing smoke to stand beside Squirrelflight. His eyes glared; his gray fur was matted together and stuck with bits of burnt leaf and twig. Confused by the smoke and flames, Hollyleaf almost thought she was seeing one of her warrior ancestors, until she recognized Ashfur.

Squirrelflight dropped the branch. “Help me push it into the fire!” she yowled.

Grabbing the branch in strong jaws, Ashfur thrust it past the wall of flame and into the ever-narrowing patch of ground where Hollyleaf and her brothers huddled. But Hollyleaf didn’t feel any sense of relief. There was a look in Ashfur’s eyes that she didn’t understand: the look of a cat who had just spotted an unexpected juicy bit of prey.

The branch made a bridge through the flames, but Ashfur stood at the other end of it, blocking the way to safety. Lionblaze nudged Jayfeather to his paws; Hollyleaf took a step toward the branch, then paused. She felt a cold weight in herbelly when she looked into Ashfur’s glittering blue eyes.

“Ashfur, get out of the way.” Squirrelflight’s voice was puzzled. “Let them get out!”

“Brambleclaw isn’t here to look after them now,” Ashfur sneered.

Hollyleaf felt her fur beginning to rise. What did Ashfur mean?

Lionblaze’s golden pelt was bristling, too. “What have you done with my father?” he howled through the flame.

Ashfur looked at him pityingly; his eyes were twin points of fire amid the burning forest. “Why would I waste my time with Brambleclaw?”

The main branch was too solid to catch fire easily, but the leaves on it had shriveled and the twigs were beginning to smoke. Hollyleaf realized that they didn’t have much time before their bridge to safety would be ablaze.

Squirrelflight staggered up to Ashfur. Hollyleaf had never seen her mother so angry. Her fur bristled with fury; she looked like a warrior of TigerClan. Yet it was obvious that the climb to the top of the cliff, followed by her struggle with the branch, had weakened her, and she was exhausted.

“Your quarrel with Brambleclaw has to stop,” she hissed. “Too many moons have passed. You have to accept that I’m Brambleclaw’s mate, not yours. You can’t keep trying to punish Brambleclaw for something that was always meant to be.”

Ashfur’s ears flicked up in surprise. “I have no quarrel with Brambleclaw.”

Hollyleaf exchanged a shocked glance with Lionblaze. “That’s not how it looks to me,” he muttered.

“I couldn’t care less about Brambleclaw,” Ashfur continued. “It’s not his fault he fell for a faithless she-cat.”

Faithless? A growl began to build in Hollyleaf ’s throat, but then she stopped and watched the cats on the other side of the blazing branches. Something ominous was taking place in front of her, and even with flame roaring around them she felt a sudden chill. She shrank closer to Lionblaze and Jayfeather, whose head was up, his sightless eyes intent, as if he could see the confrontation between his mother and Ashfur.

“I know you think I’ve never forgiven Brambleclaw for stealing you from me, but you’re wrong, and so is every cat that thinks so. My quarrel is with you, Squirrelflight.” Ashfur’s voice shook with rage. “It always has been.”

Horrified, Hollyleaf took a step back and felt her hind paws begin to slip on the edge of the cliff. Her head spun as lightning stabbed out and thunder drowned all other sounds, even the roaring fire. For a heartbeat she dangled over empty air, and she let out a strangled yowl.

Then she felt firm teeth meet in her scruff; blinking against the smoke, she realized that Lionblaze was hauling her back to safety. But there was no safety: only the hungry flames, and Ashfur blocking the end of the branch with fury in his eyes. Fiery sparks floated down on all three young cats, scorching their fur, and flames licked the underside of the branch; fear flooded afresh through Hollyleaf when she saw that it was already beginning to smolder.

Ashfur has to let us get out! But Hollyleaf couldn’t find any words to plead with him. What was happening here didn’t have anything to do with them, even if they died because of it.

“All this was moons ago.” Squirrelflight sounded puzzled. “Ashfur, I had no idea you were still upset.”

“Upset?” Ashfur echoed. “I’m not upset. You have no idea how much pain I’m in. It’s like being cut open every day, bleeding onto the stones. I can’t understand how any of you failed to see the blood. . . .”

His eyes clouded and his voice took on a wild, distant tone, as if he could see the blood spilling out of him now, sizzling on the burning ground. Terror burst through Hollyleaf and she pressed closer to her brothers. This cat was more dangerous than the storm or the fire, or the fall lurking perilously close to her hind paws.

Desperately she tried to step onto the end of the branch. At once Ashfur rounded on her, fully conscious again, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“Stay there!” Turning to face Squirrelflight but keeping one paw on the branch, he hissed, “I can’t believe you didn’t know how much you hurt me. You are the blind one, not Jayfeather. Who do you think sent Firestar the message to go down to the lake, where the fox trap was? I wanted him to die, to take your father away so you’d know the real meaning of pain.”

Hollyleaf ’s shocked gaze met Lionblaze’s. “He tried to kill Firestar?” she gasped. “He’s mad!”

Determination glittered in Lionblaze’s eyes, and he bunched his muscles for a giant leap. “I’m going to fight him.”

“No!” Hollyleaf fastened her teeth in his shoulder fur. “You can’t!” Her words were muffled now. “He’ll just push you into the fire.”

“Brambleclaw saved Firestar then,” Ashfur went on to Squirrelflight. “But he’s not here now. He’s not here—but your kits are.”

Squirrelflight’s eyes blazed. For a heartbeat Hollyleaf thought she was going to pounce on the gray warrior, but she knew that exhausted and in pain, her mother would have no chance. Squirrelflight seemed to realize it, too. She drew herself up, head high; she was trembling, but her voice was clear and brave.

“Enough, Ashfur. Your quarrel is with me. These young cats have done nothing to hurt you. Do what you like with me, but let them out of the fire.”

“You don’t understand.” Ashfur looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time; his voice was puzzled and petulant. “This is the only way to make you feel the same pain that you caused me. You tore my heart out when you chose Brambleclaw over me. Anything I did to you would never hurt as much. But your kits . . .” He looked through the flames at Hollyleaf and her brothers, his eyes narrowing to dark blue slits. “If you watch them die, then you’ll know the pain I felt.”

The flames crackled threateningly closer; Hollyleaf felt as if the heat was about to sear her pelt into ashes. She edged backward, only to feel the edge of the hollow give way under her hind paws. The three of them were pressed tightly together, so close that if one of them lost their balance, all three would be dragged off the cliff. Hollyleaf couldn’t control the trembling that shook her whole body as her glance flickered between the cliff and the fire.

Jayfeather was crouched close to the ground, looking tinier than ever with his pelt slicked flat by the rain. Lionblaze’s claws were unsheathed, glinting as the lightning flashed out again, but the tension in his haunches didn’t come from preparing to leap at Ashfur; it came from the effort of keeping himself on the top of the cliff.

Squirrelflight raised her head, her gaze locked on Ashfur’s crazed eyes. “Kill them, then,” she meowed. “You won’t hurt me that way.”

Ashfur opened his jaws to reply, but said nothing. Hollyleaf and her brothers stared at their mother. What was Squirrelflight saying?

Squirrelflight took a step away from them, and glanced carelessly over her shoulder. Her green eyes were fiercer than Hollyleaf had ever seen them, with an expression she couldn’t read.

“If you really want to hurt me, you’ll have to find a better way than that,” Squirrelflight snarled. “They are not my kits.”

[carnivorousyandeere]

Going back to a pool boy darling idea I had - Selene [Housewife Yan] and the friendly neighbor who offers to take care of their pool in exchange for using it as they had with the last residents that lived there. They're on a swim team and could really use the practice at home. Her husband is hesitant to use their services, but Selene insists and he's often not even in the house to complain anyway. The two hit it off quite fast with Reader stopping by to use their pool every other day and even trim their hedges as thanks for the fresh goods she sends them home with whenever they stop by.

Selene loves watching them swim. They're such a natural in the water almost like it's better suited for them than land. She feels so dirty whenever her eyes wonder elsewhere, yet she steels her guilty consciousness by telling herself she's just getting a indepth look at their technique. Those confirmations don't help much when her thoughts start to wonder to fantasies of them stepping out of the pool - strolling right through the open back door and up behind her in the kitchen. They mention something about forgetting to dry off, lips pressed to her neck and Selene playfully teases they're getting her dress all wet. Might be better to just take it off then-

Selene immediately scampers off to clean something she's already scrubbed spotless ten times by now and take care of another wetness Reader has plagued her with. Selene also can't swim, and is rather bashful about it considering her age - She nearly combusts when Reader offers to give her swimming lessons. They'll surely be the death of her if she doesn't cause the demise of her husband first and finally get them into her bed

[maaarine]

'We Can Bury Anyone': Inside a Hollywood Smear Machine (Megan Twohey and Mike McIntire and Julie Tate, The New York Times, Dec 21 2024)

"Last summer, as the release of “It Ends With Us” approached, Justin Baldoni, the director and a star of the film, and Jamey Heath, the lead producer, hired a crisis public relations expert.

During shooting, Blake Lively, the co-star, had complained that the men had repeatedly violated physical boundaries and made sexual and other inappropriate comments to her.

Their studio, Wayfarer, agreed to provide a full-time intimacy coordinator, bring in an outside producer and put other safeguards on set.

In a side letter to Ms. Lively’s contract, signed by Mr. Heath, the studio also agreed not to retaliate against the actress.

But by August, the two men, who had positioned themselves as feminist allies in the #MeToo era, expressed fears that her allegations would become public and taint them, according to a legal complaint that she filed Friday.

It claims that their P.R. effort had an explicit goal: to harm Ms. Lively’s reputation instead.

Her filing includes excerpts from thousands of pages of text messages and emails that she obtained through a subpoena.

These and other documents were reviewed by The New York Times. (…)

Mr. Baldoni was best known for the CW satirical romantic dramedy “Jane the Virgin.”

Wayfarer provided the resources for bigger ambitions. It was bankrolled by the billionaire Steve Sarowitz, who is co-chair of the studio with Mr. Baldoni.

They and Mr. Heath, the chief executive, are all deeply involved with the Baha’i religious organization, which promotes unity, peace and gender equality.

Mr. Baldoni has presented himself as an ally to women, writing books, co-hosting a podcast with Mr. Heath and giving talks on toxic masculinity. (…)

She claimed Mr. Baldoni had improvised unwanted kissing and discussed his sex life, including encounters in which he said he may not have received consent.

Mr. Heath had shown her a video of his wife naked, she said, and he had watched Ms. Lively in her trailer when she was topless and having body makeup removed, despite her asking him to look away.

She said that both men repeatedly entered her makeup trailer uninvited while she was undressed, including when she was breastfeeding. (…)

As the film release neared, Ms. Lively and other cast members informed Sony and Wayfarer that they would not do any appearances alongside Mr. Baldoni.

So did Ms. Hoover, the author, who had her own dissatisfactions with him and had become more upset after he told her about Ms. Lively’s allegations, according to text messages from Mr. Baldoni and Mr. Heath.

By the first week of August, Wayfarer and Mr. Baldoni had retained Ms. Nathan, who had worked with high-profile clients including Mr. Depp, whose ex-wife, Amber Heard, accused him of physical abuse. (…)

Three days later, Mr. Baldoni texted Ms. Abel, flagging a social media thread that accused another celebrity of bullying behavior and had generated 19 million views. “This is what we would need,” he wrote.

Ms. Nathan soon floated proposals to hire contractors to dominate social media through “full social account take downs,” by starting “threads of theories” and generally working to “change narrative.”

“All of this will be most importantly untraceable,” she wrote. (…)

When Ms. Abel wrote to her Aug. 4 that “I’m having reckless thoughts of wanting to plant pieces this week of how horrible Blake is to work with. Just to get ahead of it,” Ms. Nathan replied that she had spoken off the record to an editor at The Daily Mail.

“She’s ready when we are,” Ms. Nathan wrote.

A flurry of articles followed the Hollywood Reporter piece. Many made it seem as if the only rift was over creative control.

Some journalists had gotten wind of complaints about Mr. Baldoni’s behavior, but none of the most serious ones were published.

“He doesn’t realise how lucky he is right now,” Ms. Nathan texted Ms. Abel. (…)

It is unclear exactly how Mr. Wallace operated.

There are references in emails to “social manipulation” and “proactive fan posting,” and text messages cite efforts to “boost” and “amplify” online content that was favorable to Mr. Baldoni or critical of Ms. Lively.

“We are crushing it on Reddit,” Mr. Wallace told Ms. Nathan, according to a text she sent Ms. Abel on Aug. 9.

The next day, one of Ms. Nathan’s employees texted, “We’ve started to see shift on social, due largely to Jed and his team’s efforts to shift the narrative.”

Ms. Nathan wrote to Ms. Abel: “And socials are really really ramping up. In his favour, she must be furious. It’s actually sad because it just shows you have people really want to hate on women.” (…)

On Aug. 16, Ms. Nathan shared the Daily Mail article headlined “Is Blake Lively set to be CANCELLED?” with references to ‘hard to watch’ videos and a ‘tone deaf’ promotional Q. and A.

“Wow. You really outdid yourself with this piece,” Ms. Abel responded.

“That’s why you hired me right?” Ms. Nathan replied. “I’m the best.”"

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 1st. theodore — size kink, big dick.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | 2024.

summary: there’s a rumour going around that theodore nott has a big dick…..why not see it for yourself?

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, hogwarts uni (obviously), big dick!theo, size difference, size kink ofc, fingering, PIV, dirty talk, slowish sex, put on your fantasy cap for this one bc it’s a little wild, also, anyone know any wheelchair providers?

How the hell did you end up here? How had a night meant for celebration, for laughter and drinks and the triumph of a Quidditch victory, lead to this—

Fevered kisses, teeth clashing—your breath catching in the dim, muted glow of Theodore Nott's dorm—spine pressed against his door as his lips attacked yours, moving to your neck with a hunger that had your knees weak. There was a party, still alive somewhere down the hall, warmth spilling into the corridors, the echo of cheers and laughter floating past—but it was all a distant memory now. All of it blurred, lost in the way Theo's hands roamed over your hips, tugging you closer like he was starved.

Oh, right—the rumours.

Rumours have always had a way of creeping into places they don't belong. A whisper here, a careless word there. Stupid little fires, barely a spark until someone fans the flames. You've seen it before—how a single rumour can grow, how it can warp a simple night into something bigger. Something chaotic.

And now, well, you're living it.

Curiosity was what pulled you into his orbit tonight, what sparked the embers that had been burning between you two for far too long. Because Pansy Parkinson—loud, exaggerative, and far-too-tipsy—couldn't resist spilling some gossip mid-party, something about Daphne, something about Theodore and nine goddamn inches.

You know, the usual Quidditch post-match talk.

And it should have been nothing. It should have got lost in all the other Slytherin boy ramblings but instead, it stuck. Gods, it fucking stuck. Pansy's little comment sparked the fire in you, a fire that led to a conversation over drinks, your hand grazing his, and before you knew it, you were leaning into Theodore Nott at the punch bowl, asking questions you had no blasted right asking, yet went ahead and did anyways.

Something about...well—

"You've heard, then," he'd replied, voice low as those blue eyes watched you over the rim of his glass.

It wasn't a question. It was a challenge. For all the audacity you had—Theodore had just as much.

"I have," you leaned closer, your voice almost teasing as you whispered against the curve of his ear. "Big rumours, Teddy...huge, even."

He tensed, just slightly, the kind of reaction you noticed only because you were watching him so closely. You're pretty sure he wasn't expecting something like that to come out of your mouth—and you couldn't blame him, because truthfully, you weren't expecting it either.

That was, what you'd like to call, the point of no return.

There was a response from him. Something cocky enough—something like; "and do you make a habit of believing everything you hear?"

"Not everything," you said with a shrug, though your heart was in your fucking throat. "But I'm open to proof."

There weren't very many words exchanged after that—maybe some slight teasing—maybe another brush of his hand—but Theo was never a man to waste time, and it was clear that whatever curiosity you held for him had bubbled up now—heady and bold—and created a mess between you that couldn’t be contained.

The party, the victory, the cheers—it all became static as his hand slipped around your waist, his lips at your ear in a whisper. "Then let's put these rumours to rest."

You barely had the chance to nod before Theodore moved—grabbing your wrist and moving you through the crowd like you were something to be expedited, the sea of students parting before him. Pansy spotted you leaving, her eyes gleaming as she threw you a wicked smile and a drunken thumbs-up. You rolled your eyes, smirking back, but everything else blurred into the background as Theodore led you out of the common room, and before you knew it, you were inside his dorm.

The door slammed shut behind you, the cold surface meeting your back before his lips found yours—urgent, consuming. His hands moved with purpose, sliding under your shirt, lifting it over your head before you even realized what was happening. His own shirt followed, discarded carelessly onto the floor as he pressed his body against yours.

The memory blurred as the urgency of the present took over. You gasped at the feel of him, his entirety—hard, aching, massive. The outline of him was impossible to ignore, the mere suggestion of what was to come already making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

The rumours had seemed absurd at first, but now...now, they felt terrifyingly real. He was huge.

"Tell me," he breathed, his voice a low rumble against your lips as his fingers worked deftly at removing your skirt. "About those rumours..."

Your head fell back against the door, exposing the line of your throat as his mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Whimpering, you caressed his shoulders, up his neck, finding his hair, fingers teasing the warm, hidden shell of his ears. At this, his back crested, and he moaned, pitching forward, hips working to fuse you with the door.

"I—I heard..." you tried to speak, but his mouth was on your neck, and the words tangled in your throat. "Gods—something about...nine inches..."

Theo hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, sending blood pooling low. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his lips hovering over yours, his breath hot and heavy as he wrapped his hands around your thighs and lifted you up—carrying you toward his bed.

"What else." He muttered against your mouth.

"Daphne..." you panted, barely able to think straight with the way he was touching you, the way he was looking at you. "She...she said she couldn't take it all..."

"And if I say that's true?" He rasped, laying you down onto his comforter. "What then?"

A shiver shook you from the base of your spine, and you curled your legs around him, core clenching hard—he sprawled over you, his body massive—engulfing yours, roving his hands up and down your bare thighs as his lips left wet, warm kisses across your breasts, teeth digging into the sheer fabric of your bra—you were gasping, whimpering under him, your chest rising and falling so rapidly you'd think you'd ran a marathon.

"Gods—that's...an odd question, Teddy..." your hips bucked, seeking his touch, and he grazed your pussy over your underwear, thumb ghosting your clit through the fabric. You squeaked, and he silenced you with his mouth, tugging at the fabric until he'd fit his thick fingers under the hem. "Are you...mm..asking if I can handle it?"

"Fucking soaked already," Theo peeled away, gasping, watching you as he slid a digit through your hot slit, his breath hitching. "Yes—I'm asking if you can handle it."

"Fuck—I don't—I don't know..." he dragged a slickened finger over your clit—you quivered, biting your lip until you found your words. "Only one way to find out."

"You're right," he breathed, swirling his finger, your body pulsing underneath him—every nerve within you roaring to life. "I'll be easy on you...I'll go slow..." his thumb took over, his middle and fourth finger teasing your entrance, lips hovering over your ear. "Let's stretch you out first."

"I—" you began, and he plunged into you. "—fuck."

Theo crooked his fingers in your cunt, eyes focused on your flushing face, the flow of your moans, his breath shallow as you clenched and pulsed around him. His thumb traced rapid little lines around your swollen clit, two long fingers filling you full. He wet his lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a brief kiss as he snapped his wrist, curling and scissoring inside of you. His hips rocked with his rhythm, and you caught sight of his erection straining against his jeans—

"Tight little thing," he growled, head dipping low as he watched his fingers disappear inside your dripping cunt. "I might fucking break you."

He jutted his erection against your thigh and you moaned, clenching around him. "Mm—Theo—"

His eyes followed yours toward his crotch—you couldn't help yourself, your fingers burned to feel him—to stroke him—to feel the weight of him in your hand. He nodded, and amidst your gasps and moans you reached for him, grasping at his zipper and undoing the button, tugging his jeans and boxers down his thighs—

Theo groaned and your mouth watered. Those rumours—Gods, those fucking rumours—

"Fucking hell—" you breathed, wrapping your fingers around his thick, heavy cock—he choked, digits pumping you deep—your thighs shook, your pulse in your throat. You tightened your fist and stroked him, watching him from half-lidded eyes. "Theo—holy fuck.."

His lungs sputtered. "That enough proof for you, Bella?"

You nodded and he throbbed—twitched under your grip, blood biting his cheeks when you coated his head with the bead of his pre-cum, his breath uneven, tattered from the weight of lust—but so was yours.

You moaned. "Oh—Gods—I'm—"

Theo circled your stiff nub, pumping his fingers into your pussy, and pleasure wracked you, pouring into your pulse, your orgasm charging toward you at light speed—his lips found yours, softly, muffling your moans.

"You're close, I can feel it..." he muttered against your mouth, fingers dragging at your walls, groaning as you clenched—as your free hand gripped his hair harder. "Cum on my fingers, Bella, go on..."

You shuddered and snapped—pleasure pulsating from your core and through your limbs, your orgasm lighting up your spine. In its intensity, you bit at his bottom lip while your cunt clamped down around his fingers, a feral energy coursing—the need for more—the need for every goddamn thing he was willing to give you eating away at your sanity—all coherent thought gone, only dissipating further as Theo pulled his fingers from your soaked cunt and sucked them clean with a growl.

"As fucking delicious as I'd imagined," he cooed, drifting his other hand up your thigh, fingers kneading the trembling flesh. You swallowed, lungs still working to find their rhythm. "I don't think you have any idea how long l've wanted this...any idea what you do to me..."

Gods—you almost wanted to laugh—this felt like a fever dream. You'd been friends for years, the fact it took this to get you both here was astonishing. His blue eyes peered down at you—wide and waiting.

"Look at you," you muttered, eyes dipping down to his throbbing dick, still twitching insistently in your hand. "I think I know exactly what I do to you."

Theo snuffed a groan in his throat, but his cock twitched again, despite himself—there was no preventing that.

"Cocky as ever," he whispered, lips curling in a teasing grin. "But now's not the time, principessa..."

"I can handle you," you breathed out, though a tremor in your voice hinted at the uncertainty you felt.

"We'll see." He said. "Lay on your side."

With a flush creeping up your neck, you complied, turning to face the window. The moonlight filtered through the glass, casting a silver sheen over the rippling surface of the Black Lake. Theo moved behind you, his body flush against yours, the slickness of sweat making your skin cling together—one arm slipped beneath your head, cradling it, while the other slid under your thigh, lifting it with a deliberate, practiced motion.

His dick slid against you, the girth daunting enough if not for the sheer fucking length of it—his body was massive behind yours, dwarfing you, a solid wall of heat at your back. You'd never felt so small, so fragile in a way that screamed breakable.

Theo teased your slit, covering himself in your juices—

"Just the tip, yeah?" He whispered, and fuck—you almost moaned. His voice was ruined. "For now."

"Theo—I—I think I can handle it..." you were trying to convince yourself as much as him. You wanted him to enjoy himself, too. "Just…fuck me, please.."

"Merlin help you..." Theo groaned and it almost sounded pitying—dragging the swollen head of his cock against your clit before dipping lower, pressing against the folds of your greedy cunt— "you don't know what you're saying..."

His arm under your head curled inward, wrapping around your neck and holding you in place against him—his other hand guiding his length to your entrance and pressing in—shushing you softly as the first inch breached you and you cried out—as your mind blanked.

"Theo—" you gasped through the chokehold he had you in, his free hand holding your thigh up as it trembled. "That's—you're—fuck—"

He pulled out and rocked along you again, testing you, offering you centimeters of his length at time. Gooseflesh flooded you.

His lips pressed against your ear. "Shhh, you said you could handle me, yeah?"

His hand on your thigh shifted lower, resting on the crease. He rutted against you a few more times, dragging this out for everything it was worth until he brought the tip back to your entrance and pushed in—slowly, inexorably—spearing you open, splitting your cunt and prying you wide in a way that rid your breath.

You whimpered, hand scrambling for purchase on his hip behind you. "Ohhh—h-holy fuck.."

"Fucking hell...you're tight..." his arm around your neck tightened, holding you against him and he pressed in deeper. "That's barely half..."

You fought for air and found absolutely none, every muscle in your body tensing, your limbs trembling, your mind fizzing with staticky pleasure. You felt as though you could break in two.

"Fuck," he drew out again, and pressed back in. "You can barely take it."

He was right. You could barely fucking take it. A revelation that you weren’t surprised by—but that made all the blood in your body pool low, walls fluttering around him in protest.

"Gods, Theo—T-theo—" you grasped his wrist, nails digging into his skin, eyes squeezed shut. "Wait—"

"Little more...you're doing so good, Bella..." he was cooing now, pressing kisses to your cheek. "I'll make it fit...we'll make it fit, won't we?"

You couldn't find a fucking modicum of sense to articulate a response. All you could do was feel—take and feel—the way he slid out, only to drive into you again, slowly, with a hiss of air through his teeth—drawing out loud, shameless groans from your chest.

"Mmm—breathe, Bella..." it was soft, soothing, like he was trying to coax you open with words. "Relax for me, yeah? Let me in...let me in..."

You obeyed without even thinking, pulling in shaky breaths, forcing your body to comply, even as your muscles screamed to stay tense—to fight the overwhelming fullness of him. You felt as though he couldn't possibly get deeper, but then he did, and he continued to until he bottomed out—his cockhead kissing your cervix, forcing a sound out of your chest that was more a sob than a moan.

Your eyes were shut so tight. "That's—"

"All of me," he interrupted, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. He rolled his hips, grinding against you, barely pulling out before pushing back in, and your whole body clenched in response. "Does it hurt?"

Every movement proved indefinitely that he was as long as he was thick—your core stretching to accommodate him. You felt him in places you'd never felt before—moulding and carving you out just for him, digging out new space inside you that only he could occupy.

"A little—“ the words were a whimper, and your walls tightened around him instinctively, fighting to adjust, to accommodate the impossible size of him. “Gods—“

"Then why are you making it worse?" He hissed through his teeth, strain bleeding into his tone. You could hear the shift—wrecked, ruined, like he was barely holding onto himself. "Fuck, you're squeezing me...too tight...relax.."

He pulled out and thrust back in, harder this time, sucking in air through his teeth as he worked you wider with each plunge into your soaked cunt. Your body rebelled, clenching down around him again, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you, his hips snapping against yours in response.

"That's not going to make it easier, you know." His voice was a tight growl, but there was a grin in it, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. "Keep that up and I'm going to leave you sore all day."

The thought made you clench again, your body betraying you as a broken apology fell from your lips—pain giving way to pleasure. "I'm—ohh—sorry-"

"Oh, you're going to be sorry." His pace quickened and you were seeing stars—bright and flashing and blurring your vision. "When you're spending all day in bed tomorrow...recovering..."

It only took seconds before he was grunting behind you—lost in your tight heat as he held you against him, hooking your thigh up toward your chest as his arm tightened around your neck, cock ramming your cunt—colliding with your cervix, pushing screams from your lungs. You couldn't think—couldn't catch your breath as he drove into you over and over.

"Fuck—so good…so fucking wet..." Theo moaned, the sound of his cock slippery and lewd, broadcasting evidence of your arousal. Face on fire, you tossed your head back against his shoulder and closed your eyes, chewing your lip, rocking with the force of his strokes. “You like that—being filled like this...greedy little thing..."

You whinged; he was boring into your stomach, delight gushing through your veins. You had never been with a man this endowed, and this fucking ruthless. It made you throb, set you aflame, whirled your brain with desire. Words eluded you.

"Ohh—yes,” you choked out between moans. "Gods—you're huge—"

"I am," he groaned in your ear, the hand on your thigh shifting to your belly, palm pressing against your pelvis—he eased his pace, offering you deep, slow strokes, letting you spasm around every goddamn inch. "That's how deep I'm in you."

At that, you moaned, shamelessly. Cocky bastard he was. You knew now that he was more than entitled to it.

"Can...fuck—can I cum in you?" His fingers slipped to your clit, slowly swirling over it—you didn't even have a second to process that question before the pleasure wracked you so hard you cried out, and he growled. "Fuck—let me cum in you...in this pretty little cunt.."

Somewhere in the blur, you registered his words—low, rough, pulling at the frayed edges of your sanity. Contraceptives. You were on them. It was the last rational thought you had left, buried deep under layers of heat and want. You knew you were fine, but the way he asked, in that voice—Gods—

His fingers increased their pace and you wailed. "Theo—holy f-fuck—yes—yes please!"

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt throbbed and milked his dick, your thighs twitching, and your back reached for the wall but his arm around you kept you in place, pleasure possessing your nerves. It seemed an eternity—he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, and then he shattered too—breath washing over the back of your neck, chest heaving and lungs sputtering as he spilled his release into you, deep and sticky and hot.

You were still floating between realms of sensation and reality—your mind struggling to tether itself back to consciousness when Theo finally pulled out, releasing you. Both of you were heaving, chests rising and falling in tandem, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.

A moment passed, your breaths slowly steadying, when you felt his arm snake around your waist, pulling you effortlessly against his chest. You shot him a weak, lopsided smile over your shoulder, still catching your breath.

"You okay?" He murmured, his voice a quiet hum in the afterglow.

"More than," you nodded, though your body still hummed with the remnants of pleasure. A hollow ache replaced where he'd been, leaving you startlingly aware of how empty you felt without him. "That was...you are...

"I know," he purred, lips grazing the sensitive spot behind your ear, the smirk practically carved into his breath. You could feel his smugness radiating off him, a tangible thing. "Hope your curiosity was sated."

You let out a breathy laugh, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. "That, among other things."

"Good," he whispered, "I went easy on you."

You huffed, a slow smile creeping across your face. "Is that so?"

"Extremely so," he murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip. "Took all the willpower I had."

"Sure," you teased. "You're just saying that because I took you so well."

He chuckled, low and sinful, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your spine.

"Oh, she's cocky," he drawled, lips brushing your shoulder. "We'll see about that after I put you in ten different positions."

Your heart stuttered, your muscles tensing at the sheer boldness of the statement. Heat pooled in your belly once more, that insatiable curiosity sparking again. You knew this night was far from over.

Perhaps a little more proof wouldn’t hurt...

You turned your head just slightly, voice breathy but wanting. "Please do."

[tartarusknight]

Steve Harrington who doesn't die. No matter what, he'll wake up afterwards. He learned it young when he survived a car crash that killed his mom. And he struggles after her death, not knowing why he survived when she didn't. As he grows up, he can't relax and parties to try and be full of something lighter. But he drinks too much at one party and he doesn't have a good friend to rely on.

As time goes on, Steve dies by Billy and by the Russians. He doesn't really understand but he begins to accept it. But he also becomes more careless. Which is how Eddie finds him.

Eddie had been able to see ghosts since he almost died from his dad. The first ghost he ever sees is his mom and she passes on after getting to hug him goodbye one last time. After that Eddie sees the few elderly people who died at the end of their lives. And the people who died too early. He got stuck as the freak for all the times he's accidentally talked to someone who wasn't there.

He had talked with Benny who was worried about that young girl. Barb who was so mad about being left behind by her friend. But he hadn't seen Will Byers and it made sense when he was found eventually. But he did hear some things from the agents stuck at the middle school who looked torn apart. Eddie learned of the Upside Down earlier but promised Wayne he'd stay out of it.

Until he saw Steve sitting on the edge of the pool, looking at his body floating in the water. There was some blood swirling in the water and it made Eddie sick. But Steve just stared blankly at his own body before sighing and standing. He froze when Eddie locked eyes with him. He glanced at the pool than Eddie. "Hmm," he gave him a small smile and moved past him.

"Wait!" Eddie called afterwards and Steve paused, "aren't you, like, I don't know needing something? Most ghosts-"

"Oh," Steve chuckled, "this won't last much longer." He stated and walked away but before he even reached the door back into the party he blinked away. Eddie let out a scream when Steve's body spasmed and his head flung up out of the water. There was still blood on the side of his face but he was alive. Steve groaned as he pulled himself out of the pool. "See," his came out hoarse and Eddie was just so confused.