#BUT a healthy amount of john

[johnschneiderblog]

Name your poison

Remember the good old days, when modest alcohol consumption was considered a normal, acceptable - yes, even healthy - aspect of adult behavior ...?

It calmed our nerves. It helped our blood flow.

Now, aside from advertising - "Guinness refreshes the spirit" , etc. _ you'd be hard put to find a kind, or even neutral, word about drinking.

A Gallup poll released a few days ago asserts that 45 percent of Americans believe that even one drink a day is bad for our health. That's the most ever recorded by the survey.

I believe it. In recent months three friends of mine - all very modest tipplers - have, at the advice of their doctors, jumped on the wagon, taking "dry January" to extremes.

The phrase "name your poison" was once considered a light-hearted way of asking somebody what they wanted to drink. Suddenly it's a serious statement.

(The photo shows a small sample of alcohol-related Christmas tree ornaments available at Bronner's Christmas Wonderland in Frankenmuth, Michigan.)

[feminist-space]

"Joy Spence, 21, said she visited emergency departments at two hospitals in St. John's over the course of nearly two weeks this May.

What began as weakness and abdominal pain on her right side quickly deteriorated into blacking out from the agony in her torso.

But no matter how dire her symptoms got, doctors kept sending her home.

"They would just tell me, 'Your bloodwork's normal, there's nothing we can do.' They would send me home, then same thing again," she said. "I would go back again. They would get me to do the bloodwork, say everything's normal."

Ultrasound and CT scans apparently turned up nothing, but Spence, in such severe pain, says she had no option but to keep returning to the hospital, where she says she was eventually left screaming in a waiting room, ignored by hospital staff.

"If somebody doesn't help me, I'm going to die," she recalls wailing, watching doctors and nurses pass her by.

At one point, she was dismissed outright by a walk-in clinic nurse, she adds.

"Somebody said to me, 'I don't know what you expect me to do,'" she said. "'You're a healthy 21-year-old young female.'"

One night, she says, her boyfriend had to help her into an ambulance. Spence was in so much pain she couldn't stay conscious and stand on her own.

"I remember the man in the ambulance telling me … how often he sees other young women going into the hospital and seeing them be misdiagnosed and not taken seriously," she said, speaking through tears.

"He said that he would do his best to … get things going for me."

Spence says she went to an ER at the Health Sciences Centre or St. Clare's Mercy Hospital about 10 times over a 12-day period, beginning on May 21. She also visited her family doctor, who could do little except tell her to speak directly to the surgeon at Health Sciences Centre, she said.

Each time she saw a doctor, she says, she was sent home and told to dance around her living room or do yoga to cure what physicians believed was anxiety or sluggish bowels.

"I had so many laxatives," Spence recalls. "I would tell them … nothing's even coming out anymore. It's not just this, I don't think. But no, they were dead set on the constipation and only constipation. Like, it can only be that."

...

Spence says doctors only began to take her seriously once she began vomiting in a Health Sciences Centre hallway. The contents of her stomach were green and black.

An older doctor walking past her happened to notice, stopping in his tracks. Spence says he immediately identified the issue as appendicitis.

At that doctor's urging, Spence was finally wheeled into an operating room, where she says her burst appendix — now gangrenous — was removed.

"I think when I walked into the room and they seen a 21-year-old young girl, they immediately dismissed me and thought that there couldn't be anything wrong with me," Spence said.

"I was not on their minds and not on their radar. And if they didn't have that preconceived idea of me, those thoughts wouldn't have been formed and maybe I would have gotten the proper care that I should have."

...

Spence is still struggling to recover from her ordeal. Physically, she's now fine: her appendix was removed and her stitches have healed.

But she's lost an alarming amount of weight, she says, wakes up gasping in the middle of the night and can't stop herself from crying whenever she remembers the hospital.

"I've been losing a lot of hair," she said. "Mentally, it's just been a struggle."

Spence only received an apology from the health authority after CBC News requested comment and confirmed that Spence had done an interview — a move she says felt hollow and frustrating, since the manager who called her didn't give her an explanation about why she was repeatedly ignored while waiting to be admitted.

The ripple effect from her illness, and how she says she was treated when seeking care, has uprooted her life. She's taken a year off her studies in Memorial University's social work program and has lost her job. She's looking for trauma therapy, but now doesn't have the money to pay for it, she says.

"I think as young women we're always told what we're supposed to do, how we're supposed to think, and not to trust our instincts," she said.

"But most of the time … the gut instinct is right. I knew I was sick. I knew what was happening wasn't right, and I could have died if I didn't keep going back to the hospital.

"If I had listened to those doctors and went back home — what could have really happened?""

[lostintransist]

COD Men and Bad Brain Days

This is my self indulgant way of dealing with the titanic amount of stress that is making my brain whisper of the void. I will stick around, I have to much to be a menace about but why not think about how they would deal with it? Plus if my mother (derogatory) gets to outlive me? Absolutely not.

CW: Suicidal thoughts mentioned

Johnny: Froze a bit once he understands what you are saying.

"Bonnie, why? What? I don't understand?" He holds your face so tight as he flicks his gaze between your eyes.

You laugh lightly, "There is nothing to understand Johnny, sometimes my brain just starts throwing around death as an option. I've learned to tell people so they can help me keep me present. I don't want to die, and I have no plans. I just need you to know that if I randomly start crying I'm okay. I already have an appointment with my doctor and my therapist scheduled to look at my meds."

The concern doesn't leave his face as he pulls you in for a hug. Johnny is always watchful of you but it definately takes on a new level after telling him about the thoughts coming back.

Kyle: Pulled the car over the moment he realizes what you said to him and rests his head on the steering wheel.

"Thank you for telling me, what can I do for you?"

Fighting back the tears you blink and fan your eyes.

"Nothing really? My therapist challenged me to tell someone the next time these thoughts pop up, and I trust you enough to know you won't freak out." You watch him carefully take in several deep breaths before he sits upright and looks at you.

If his eyes are a bit shiny with tears? Neither of you mention it.

"Want to get a drink and sit in the sun for a bit?" He offers.

"I would love that." The tears flow this time. Kyle holds your hand until he is forced to let it go to get out of the car.

Gary: He would find you mid-breakdown because dammit you thought you were past this? It had been years since the last time your brain betrayed you like this and life was going good for once? Yes, you were under some stress but not enough to warrent this overreaction by your brain.

He would pull you into a hug as he sits next to you on the floor and hum lullabies and the randomest collecitons of songs that live inside his head. When you can finally breath without a hitch in your breath he would ask what is wrong.

"My brain is lying to me again. Saying that being dead would be easier than dealing with all this stress," you sniffle into his shoulder.

"Being dead would be easier," he observes calmly.

When you shoot him a glare because that is NOT helpful, he smiles and rubs a thumb through the tears leftover on your face.

"But I know you don't want that, and I'll keep you present and healthy. Let's get some food delivered and then go over some of the things I can take off your plate until things settle down, alright?"

When that causes a new round of tears Gary orders dinner from his phone before coaxing you to the couch with the promise of your favorite show (He can't stand it but knows it will help.)

Simon: The hug he would give you after you hold him? Soul altering. He holds you until you feel real again and presses a kiss to your head. If you find something helpful he asks that you share because he has dealt with his own share of suicidal thoughts ravaging his already messed up mind.

He starts picking up tasks around the house, starting the shower or making dinner, as a way to help you. He checks in at least once a day. He isn't overbearing about it, knowing that the fact you told him is a huge sign of trust and he wouldn't dare abuse it.

John: Oh this man, he would be calling your doctor and therapist and setting up an appointment for you the instant you fell asleep for one of those exhaustion naps. He would book you for a hair cut, a massage, and to get your nails done before the week is out.

He's lost good friends to suicide and the idea that you might disappear? That your thoughts might get to loud to hear that he loves you? He would never recover if he lost you like that. John makes you cry again when he explains everything he has set up for you but he shows his love through actions and these are things he can control. If he could mount a full scale invasion on your brain to kick out whatever makes you think of death as an option he would in a heartbeat.

Masterlist

[shanastoryteller]

Merry bday! A continuation of Enola Holmes marrying the viscount of Basilweather would be really cool 😀

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

She wrinkles her nose when Tewksbury passes over her cup of tea with two sugars, unstirred, and she knows.

She puts down the cup too quickly, blood pounding in her ears, and Tewksbury frowns, reaching for her hand. "Enola?"

"Got to go," she says, pushing herself to standing, almost just leaves him sitting there, hand outstretched, but he's her husband and she loves him, so she darts over to smack a kiss on his lips before she's running for the door.

"Enola!" he calls out again, but now he sounds less worried and more exasperated, which is better, which is good. There's nothing for him to worry about.

She wants her mother, who's banned from London and is causing political unrest in Southern France currently, or Edith, who's doing something clever and illegal in Scotland. She'd take Victoria, but Mycroft will be there, and he's the last person she wants to see right now. Sherlock, while beloved, is useless, but his boy is a doctor.

She drops in at 221B Baker Street, picking the lock like always, and is relieved that Sherlock is still asleep and decides not to have any opinions on the various bones scattered about the kitchen table. She assumes there's a reasonable explanation for them.

"Oh, Enola!" John grins and shoves some femurs to the side to make space at the table. "Here, join me, would you like some oatmeal? Are you looking for your brother? I can wake him-"

"I'm pregnant," she blurts out, then bites her bottom lip.

John blinks once, then twice, then says with a gentleness that had made her like him in the first place - because Sherlock wanted to be gentle, but was quite bad at it, so someone had to teach him - "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Wanted seems like not the correct word, although of course it is, because she and Tewksbury had been, not trying, but not-not trying, which probably amounted to the same thing, considering how often they - well.

"I can fix it," he says, voice low and serious, "if it's something that needs to be fixed."

Enola lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "No. No, it doesn't need to be fixed."

She loves that he offered. She loves John, more her brother than Mycroft will ever be, sometimes even more her brother than Sherlock is. If nothing else, her brothers had picked their partners well. Victoria and John are a delight.

John is the functional one between them, explosions and skeletons notwithstanding. John is the one that coaxed her brother into a proper relationship and John is the one that knew they were like parents to all the Irregulars and John isn't normal but he grew up normal.

"Are you worried something's wrong?" he asks. "I can look you over."

"No," she says, although, "I mean, yes, that'd be nice because Tewksbury will go spare, but no, I'm not worried anything's wrong."

He leans back in his chair, looking her over, and after almost ten years of dealing with her and Sherlock and even occasionally Mycroft he can read them almost as well as they can read everyone else.

"It's alright to be scared," he says finally. "Lots of women are when they find out, even when it's wanted, even when the baby's healthy."

"I'm not scared," she says, but for the first time her words feel like a lie. "I shouldn't be scared. What do I have to be scared of?"

She wishes her mother was here.

Will her children miss her like this too?

Sometimes she misses her mother even when she's right in front of her, and if nothing else, she's her mother's daughter.

John gets to his feet, stand in front of her, and opens his arms. She looks away even as she steps forward, like if she doesn't look at him when she does it then it doesn't count as weakness.

His arms close around her. He smells like chai and antiseptic and it's only years of association that make the combination comforting. "I can't wait to be an uncle."

He'll be an uncle. Sherlock will be an uncle. Even Mycroft, and Victoria will be delighted to be an aunt, and to raise her children with Enola's. Of course there's her mother-in-law, and Tewksbury's uncle, who have been angling for her to have a child from the day they married.

There's Tewksbury, who loves her, who isn't going to die on her or leave her if either of them have anything to say about it, who isn't going to leave her to raise their children the way her mother raised her.

Alone.

She's been saying she wasn't going to do this alone from the beginning, but standing here in Sherlock's kitchen, with John holding her steady, she really believes it.

[fernpetals]

Boogeyman (Part II)

The second part of THIS drabble.

Masterlist

Yandere John Wick x Reader

Warning: Forced proximity, prolonged captivity, forced feeding, details and mention of stalking, patronizing obsessive and creepy behaviour.

As you are forced to spend your days with your captor, you begin to learn more about him.

I do not own this GIF or any GIFs used in any of my fics. Credit to the owner of this GIF

Unedited piece.

The narrative oscillates between the past and present.

On your first day in your new 'home', as he likes to call this prison, you were shaking and sobbing. You refused to look into his eyes. You could not. But he was patient. You were expecting an outburst–even his fist raining down on you, like in all the crime documentaries you have watched and heard of. But he surprised you with his gentle hold, touching you as if you were made of glass, coaxing you to relax.

Instead of relaxing, of course,  you were on edge. You had no idea what would make him tick. That was until you refused to eat or drink anything. He was patient at first, taking a bite from the food, trying to prove that it was safe to consume. But you felt so sick, you wanted to puke.

But then, he slammed the plate down and before you knew it, you were on his lap. You screamed and tried to scratch, but one stern look had you frozen.

"You either eat, or I will make you, whether you like it or not." You knew right away that you would not like what he would do to make you eat.

So with shaking hands and trembling lips, you emptied the plate.

John is a patient man, you have come to this conclusion in your time spent here, with him. Extremely patient. But the moment he feels that you are neglecting your wellbeing or putting yourself in danger, he is right on his feet, ready to take any action necessary to ensure that you are healthy, safe and not out of his sight.

"It's such a cruel place for a sweet little thing like you. People would tear you apart and lick the remnants."

He told you on your second day when you managed to gather courage and confront him. All you wanted was to go home. You still want to go home—except you can't anymore.

A fire destroyed your apartment and apparently, they found a burnt-down body with your hair sticking out. More or less, you are dead to the world.

You know whose body it was and that even if the authorities suspect something, you are a cold case, at most.

You cried when he made you watch the news, and while he comforted you, every touch, every word prickled. You lost it that morning, screaming at him about how much you hated him, throwing things at him, trying to keep him away.

But John was calm. Almost stoic---like he was expecting the outburst.

But then, you refused to eat again. You were burning with rage and you threw the plate across the room.

You will never repeat it.

You know the consequences now. You do not want to test his patience.

No amount of rage could keep him from overpowering you. You were in tears as soon as the adrenaline left your body with all the screaming and attempts to scratch him, you had even managed to leave a reddened mark on his bearded cheek.

But that was all, your hands were tied to the bedposts before he pinched your nose firmly, compelling you to open your mouth. Wordlessly, he shoved the food into your mouth. No matter how much you gagged or coughed, he did not let a single morsel spill out, keeping his large paw of a hand firmly over your mouth.

You have not refused food or water since that day.

He was perhaps a bit softer after that---you don't know for sure---you were reduced to a sobbing mess. But his gentle touch almost felt tender.

It changed nothing though.

You still hate him. However, with the lack of human interaction, other than John, you have not crossed the line of 'not being able to stand him'.

You try to keep up with the dates—the calendar in the hallway hall, the digital clock in the living room, and Joh's phone—anything to help you tally the days. But being mostly confined to the bedroom with a lock system customised by him makes it a challenge to keep up.

If you are not wrong, it has been a month since he took you. And you have found a lot more than the taste of his anger until now.

Like your clothes hanging in your wardrobe. Most of your closet contains the clothes and shoes you kept in your online cart or wishlist or perhaps fancied in some place months ago. You never used to be stingy with your money but could manage it well. You could because now, you have nothing to manage other than your emotions and overall mental health.

"How long have you been stalking me?" You manage to gather the courage to ask him one morning.

It is one of the rare times he has let you out of the room, bringing you to the dining table for a meal.

"Over a year."

That's that thing about him---it unnerves you how he never even denies what he has done, nor justifies it. John is not delusional. No, he knows exactly what he has done and he knows he is wrong. He simply doesn't seem to care.

He gazes into your eyes, already anticipating another question. Maybe he can read you far better than you can read him. It makes sense, he has been observing you for more than a year, and you have come to know of his existence only a month ago.

Suddenly, it is difficult to gulp down the food. Your hold on the spoon tightens. It bends so easily under pressure, reminding you how he has detailed everything to work in his favour and against yours.

"I know it is scary, and I know it is difficult for you." He speaks up "But you must understand that I will never hurt you. You are safe here, with me. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done that by now."

This is perhaps the most he has spoken in one go. He is a man of few words. The silence, the stealth, it unsettles you, but there is not much you can do about it of course.

"You know it is wrong to keep someone against their will, don't you?"

He holds your gaze for a moment of tense silence before responding.

"I have done far worse."

There, your answer and a warning, wrapped in one response.

As if sensing your rising unease and fear, he adds-

"But you don't need to be scared of me." He sounds oddly sincere. No malice or mirth.

But your lips are already trembling.

"How dare you act like this is acceptable?" You hiss out quietly, it's a struggle to speak through the tense emotions coiling in your throat.

You flinch when his hand touches your face, but it does not keep him from cupping your cheeks and wiping away the tears.

"I know this is hard, but you will see one day. This is where you truly belong to."

That makes you break into sobs once more, and you can do nothing when he collects you in his arms, holding you as if he is not the cause of your misery.

At night, you find yourself awake despite it being way past your 'bedtime' as he has fixed. You think, for once, you have been discreet enough to earn yourself some moment of peace despite his arm coiled around your waist and his warm body pressing against your back.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?" His voice is quiet and gruff, making your heart skip a beat.

Of course, he would know.

He can sense the slightest shift in your breathing pattern. He knows when you are asleep and the moment you are awake. Being forced to share the same bed as him, it has taken you a while to be even able to sleep properly.

But John never misses anything when it comes to you. He makes sure you get at least eight hours of sleep, he makes sure you are eating a balanced meal and he makes sure that you have access to every self-care item you are used to and more. It freaked you out when you first opened the cabinets to find the exact brands you use.

The make-up is a different case though. The shades and the overall type remain more or less unchanged, it is the brands that have made your eyebrows raise. They are sitting untouched. What is the point anyway? You are not leaving this house any time soon. Unless you are successful in escaping.

Not that you haven't tried. You have, and each attempt has ended in an epic failure. Finally, you have lost your privacy during bathing as well. Now, it is only a curtain that stands between you and him. And you feel no less than a camper in the middle of the forest, who has a tent between her and a bear.

But you know that a mere curtain can do nothing to save you the day he decides that he has waited enough. And you do not know how much longer he would wait. You see the way his eyes darken every time you wear the dress he has picked for you. And he chooses your outfit every day. You feel the heat of his gaze, the lingering touch, the way he breathes into your neck like he is seconds away from sinking his teeth into your flesh.

Maybe he gets a sense of claim over you by dressing you up as he pleases. You had opposed it initially, determined to stand your ground even though you cannot deny how flattering each outfit is.

"It's either this, or you wear nothing at all. I wouldn't mind that."

By then, you had understood that he was a man of action indeed, he never said anything he did not mean to. So gulping down your rage along with your dignity, you put on the dress of his choice.

And you have been putting on the dress he chooses for you every day since then.

Over a month of your 'stay', you have come to learn that John is a dangerous man, fully capable of hurting you if he wants to (as if his previous actions weren't obvious enough). You have felt it when he chased you down the the hallway on your first escape attempt. You thought you were fast, but his thundering and swift footsteps were faster than your racing heart. You felt his strength when he wrapped his arm around you firmly while you struggled and screamed. No amount of hitting or scratching could move his hold. You felt the weight of it, you felt that his arms could easily crush you if he wanted to. But when you got to look into his eyes again, they seemed amused.

"Nice try, Darling. But please do not make me chase you again, for your good."

You might have not understood what he meant had you not been pinned underneath him with his hardness pressed against your exposed thighs.

You realised that day that you need to be smarter than that. You can’t outrun him, can’t overpower him. Even the house seems to be in the middle of the woods. As far as your eyes can reach, you can only see the vast stretches of green.

Where are you?

You have no idea. He has been so thorough with everything, that it has begun to gnaw at your mind--like a beast ready to tear its way out out and destroy everything.

For now, you can only force yourself to relax in his unyielding hold and imagine that you are somewhere else, in your lover's embrace. Maybe someday, you can be smarter, you can read him without going mad.

Someday.

You tell yourself as you feel his lips on the back of your neck.

The day better come sooner than he manages to push way past your boundaries like he does so subtly now.

******

Shall I write another part? It gets only darker from here. What do you think?

Addition: I have been reading 'Bittersweet' by the lovely @johnwickb1tsch and now that I re-read this part, I see clear inspirations. I apologise for not noticing it before, it has been more or less a subconscious act. There is so much inspiration from your amazing fic, thank you for that @johnwickb1tsch

And those who have not read Bittersweet yet, what are you even doing? Go read the fic.

[peachetteprice]

WAIT i need to say this but idk where to post it but we're all Price enjoyers here so listen up

neighbour!Price or bestfriend or coworker, or whatever, being absolutely disgusted by your boyfriend/husband for not being ''man enough'' to claim you properly. Price thinks why isn't he putting a baby in you yet? haven't you two been together for months now? he's not doing a good job at it! let Price show you and your partner how it's done.

sorry, i am just weak for traditional slightly misogynistic Price, you hear me? good day

Oh... oh dear... I fear you may be on to something, anon... I'm choosing coworker!Price, because that's the first thing that popped into my head... 🧡

Naturally, coworker!Price studies you over a three-month period after the wedding, pressing his stomach against yours as he goes to hug you in farewell for the weekend, as all male coworkers do, such as he's reasoned for the past two years, analysing how your stomach never once bulges and pushes him away from the weight of a bain, despite the ring on your finger having been there for double that amount of time.

When the office Christmas party comes around, it's a secret-santa sort of affair. There's one final gift under the tree in the foyer. It's small, neatly wrapped, placated with a bow and a tag with the words 'from your secret santa' in luxurious cursive. It seems a thoughtful gift for anyone, and you haven't had yours yet - it's been two hours, and you just want to go home so you can shower and determine whether your husband's cock needs caring for - so, when your boss pinches it from the ground and plops it in your lap, it's a momentous occasion.

Sacrificing its beauty for curiosity, you rip open the wrapping paper to reveal a box, a cardboard one, and inside the box... one pink rattle with a cotton bunny tailing the end of it. It would have made a fine gift for an expectant mother, like the receptionist, Emma, for example, except that you're not pregnant, and you voice exactly that to whichever stranger in the cohort was responsible for the gift, expecting to hear a hushed giggle from Ian, sodomised Ian, the creep, who's always ogling the fold in your cleavage whenever you enter the breakroom.

A voice pipes up. It's not Ian's.

"You're not?" It says.

John says, instead of saying 'that bastard', like he wants to.

"No. But... I suppose if I'm ever thinking of having kids anytime soon, I'll... I'll hold onto it." And mutter a very sarcastic 'thank you, Ian,' under your breath.

Which John hears. And it angers him.

Without you even knowing, after everyone leaves the office, he's tagging you on the motorway home, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to wrench it from its socket with thoughts of running you off it, careening you into the barrier and heroically coming to your rescue, using the ruse of having just popped to the shops before home, before sweet-talking you like that bastard never did, bending you over the bonnet and stuffing a baby inside you like a true man should with his darling wife, cock fat with semen and weeping cum into that tight, velvet cunt of yours, too cock-drunk to even speak, drooling onto the metal plane of the front of your car as he cements your marriage with a baby, a chubby, healthy one, born from his cum and his cum only.

But you depart from the motorway via the next junction to stop for petrol, and he's too enraptured by the thoughts of fatherhood that he continues straight, right hand in his underwear, eyes dazed as he bursts his load, pretending its you and not his boxers to which he's gifting his precious cum.

| Masterlist |

[dragonnarrative-writes]

just to add more fuel to the fire.. I want to let you know how happy I am that you are working on giving us more of the masterpiece autumn embers is.

i jumped, screamed, hollered, rolled in my bed, jumped up and down in excitement when I saw the slightest mention of autumn embers, MY BODY HAD AN AUTOMATIC REACTION IM SORRY😭 your writing is just so beautiful and it never fails to make me feel giddy.

you’re free to ignore this of course and I apologize in advance for ranting but I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you babes. please stay safe and healthy!! <3

Kinkvember 13 - Biting/Marking

Autumn Embers - Alpha Price x Alpha Gaz featuring Ghost and Soap

Autumn Embers Masterlist

Read on AO3

CW: Biting, implied permanent marking, blood and bodily fluids, frottage, omegaverse dynamics, dominance and submission

Notes: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR PUTTING MORE FUEL ON THIS FIRE. I've missed Autumn Embers so much. Have another pre-Wildfire piece.

Rut with a pack is always a workout. And Kyle? Has more than a little bite to him. John doesn’t bother to stifle a laugh as he shoves his bracered arm between the other man’s teeth and feels an almost concerning amount of pressure.

“There y’ go,” John snarls into the side of his neck as Kyle drools around soft leather. “That’s what you needed, eh? Set your teeth into your alpha? D’you think because Simon goes all sweet for a knot that I’d roll for you?”

The younger alpha bucks beneath him. He smells like sex, like rut, musky and spicy and potent. If he wasn’t under John, if he hadn’t already had a go on top of Simon, where would he be now? Probably mounting some sweet smelling little O, pumping them full of pups. Certainly, the week leading up to his rut had seen him picking too many fights for him to roll with other alphas.

Except, of course, for his pack.

Off to the side, Johnny is panting and whining for his own turn to slam around with Kyle on the living room floor. John swipes half-heartedly at him so he’ll go back to cuddling Simon, a distraction that Kyle twists to take advantage of. He’s clever in ways John keeps failing to remember, so instead of slipping away, he sets his teeth higher on the bracer and heaves John up over his shoulder.

Even with the padded mat set up, the breath whooshes from John’s lungs as he lands on his back. He has no time to recover before Kyle is on him, pupils blown. He slams his arms down on one of John’s biceps and ducks down with a snarl.

“Ow, fuck!”

Kyle growls around his mouthful of thick pectoral muscle and doesn’t let go when John grabs at the back of his neck and yanks. Sharp teeth break skin. The taste must be something nice, because Kyle moans and starts grinding his hips into John’s thigh through his joggers like he’s locked.

John barks a laugh at the feel of a solid knot against the inside of his thigh. He digs his nails into the glands on the side of Kyle’s neck with intent and bucks his own hips as he bends his restrained arm to grab at the man’s hair.

One thrust, two, and Kyle keens as his whole body shudders. His muscles stay engaged for a few seconds, and then he collapses. Even his jaw goes slack, which is Johns cue to roll him, none to gently, onto his back.

He goes, docile, before his rutting brain remembers that there’s another alpha on top of him, but his body is too slow to react in time. He can only keen and wriggle as John crushes him with his own body weight and sets his teeth into curve of Kyle’s shoulder. The first burst of blood on his tongue has him blowing his knot. Luckily, he has the wherewithal to reach between them and free himself from his pants.

He doesn’t let go until Kyle submits, body going pliant as he whimpers, “Alpha, alpha, alpha.”

John has to work his jaw for a moment before he can speak. “I’ve got ya, good boy, Kyle.” He swipes a wide palm over Kyle’s face, smearing blood and spit up into his hairline.

Johnny makes a more than interested sound and belly crawls toward them, chin tucked down to his shoulder. Price hums and pushes red finger tips between his other sergeant’s lips as Kyle purrs and chews idly at the stretched collar of his shirt.

Later, bandaged and bundled up in Simon’s arms, Kyle rasps. “There’s an omega on base. Smells like woodsmoke ‘n oranges.”

“Was wonderin’ why ye went off like a rocket,” Johnny laughs from Simon’s other side. “Bonnie thing in Intelligence? Smells like an alpha might be courting her, but if they’ve left nae marks by noo, we should snatch her up.”

John lets himself make an interested noise as he runs his fingers through Simon’s hair from Johnny’s other side. Kyle’s not really shown much interest in anyone outside of the 141, crush on Farah notwithstanding. Over the past year, they’ve all settled into their dynamics, a volatile but beloved push-pull that marks an all alpha pack. An omega’s softness, though? Especially under any one of them in rut…

“No poaching,” John grumbles. He presses his lips against the bristly side of Johnny’s head at his disappointed grumble. He chuckles and concedes. “We can introduce ourselves. See if she might be able to handle us.”

[mxltifxnd0m]

you did what? ── . ✶ sam and dean winchester

summary: dean has the bright idea to play never have i ever

pairings: platonic winchesters x afab bi! reader, implied past! ruby x afab! reader warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', reader is afab but no pronouns are used, fluff, humor, drinking, mentions of sex, reader is bisexual, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own word count: 2.0K a/n: was supposed to be a silly blurb but its a one shot lol. also this is so self indulgent lmaoo and i was talking about this with mari on the phone, i just love bi!reader fics and shocking the winchesters with information i also love love ruby and i need to write her so bad so if any one wants me to to write the aforementioned event mentioned i will LOL winchesters masterlist

YOU HONESTLY DON’T know how you got here. Well, you do, but you’re slowly regretting your decision to ever befriend the Winchesters, wanting the ground to swallow you whole as they stared at you incredulously. But it wasn’t your fault that their dad would use your Mom’s house as a dumping ground for the two of them when he was on a hunt in your state. While your Mom graciously took them in every time, you knew, even from a young age, that she had her gripes with the elder Winchester, who dragged his kids across the country hunting monsters. 

Growing up with the Winchesters was certainly interesting. You liked hearing the stories that Dean would tell you and Sam about hunting since your Mom retired as soon as she had you. You remember any time that they came over, the three of you were like peas in a pod (your Mom’s words, not yours) and would play and mess with each other each chance you got (typically, it was Sam and you versus Dean most of the time).

As the three of you got older, you saw each other less. Still, you tried to keep in contact—but eventually, Sam went to college, and you guys stopped talking to each other altogether. Until they ran into you on a hunt while trying to find their dad. After the hunt, you guys reconnected at the bar in town and traded numbers. 

Throughout the years, you would run into them on hunts and help them out if they needed it as their lives increasingly became crazier and crazier. 

Currently, you were sat at the map table next to Sam and across from Dean in the bunker that they had found due to their grandfather coming from the past looking for John (which was the weirdest thing that they told you when they invited you for the tour of their home base, but then again, weird is normal for those two). The three of you were having a lazy day due to there being nothing in the news that seemed to be your brand of weird and would warrant the three of you to have left the bunker.

You spent most of the day lounging in the clothes you slept in. After dinner, Dean pulled out his good scotch and three glasses, poured each of you a healthy amount, and started to talk about old hunts and reminiscing on the past. You were about a glass in, now on your second one, when Dean suggested that the three of you play Never Have I Ever, which Sam protested against. When Dean looked at you for the tiebreaker, you shrugged, saying why not since you had nothing better to do. 

Dean grinned at you and sent a smug look to his brother while Sam rolled his eyes at him. 

The questions were pretty tame until they started to venture into the types of conquests that either of you three had throughout the years, which made you learn a little too much about their sex lives (you already knew enough about Dean’s, but now you had to hear Sam’s which was very interesting, to say the least). 

Dean had just finished taking a sip of his dwindling glass. “Okay, my turn.” He had a mischievous glint in his eye as he shot a look at his brother.

“Never have I ever slept with a demon.” Dean had an arrogant smile on his face as he leaned back in his chair. 

The question was clearly a dig at his brother, to which Sam had scoffed and shook his head. Sam lifted his glass off the table and took a healthy sip of it before putting it back down. His brows furrowed when he saw Dean’s mouth agape in shock. He glanced at you, setting your drink down on the table as well. 

Sam looked at you, confused as to why you took a drink before it hit him, his confused expression morphing into one that mirrored his brother’s. 

You felt warm, slightly embarrassed by their gazes on you. You knew that this was the reaction they would have toward you, but it still didn’t feel the best. 

“Wh-what? When? How?” Dean sputtered out as he looked at you like you were crazy. 

Sam stayed silent, the questions flooding his brain, but Dean had vocalized most of them for him. 

You cleared your throat. “Well, I think it’s my turn anyway. So never-” 

“Nope, we’re not playing until you answer the question.” Dean cut you off and stared at you intently. 

“It’s not any of your business, Dean.” You said through gritted teeth, wanting to move on from the conversation. 

“If you don’t tell us, I’m just going to assume the worst and think you slept with Crowley.” Dean pointed at you before taking a sip of his drink. 

Your face screwed up in disgust. “EW! No, I didn’t sleep with Crowley. I’d rather be chewed up by a wendigo than even kiss him.” 

“Did you know they were a demon before sleeping with them?” Sam questioned. 

You whipped your head to stare at Sam in disbelief. “Really Sam?” 

He shrugged. “Sorry, but can’t blame me for being curious. You’re the last person I’d expect to sleep with a demon.” 

“Has anyone told you curiosity killed the cat?” You snarked as you narrowed your eyes at the shaggy-haired man.

“Yeah, well, satisfaction brought it back.” Sam quipped back as he shot you a smug smile, and you were debating on escaping to your room, but you knew that they would not give up the interrogation until you told them. 

You let out a defeated sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Yes, I knew they were a demon before I slept with them.” 

“Okay, who was it? Was it anyone we knew?” Dean asked. 

You sighed before nodding. You took a sip of your drink before glancing at Sam. “Uh, it was Ruby.” You mumbled into the rim of your glass. 

Neither man heard you. “Sorry, we didn’t exactly hear that.” Sam said. 

Dean nodded. "Wanna say it louder for the the two of us?"

You scrunched your nose, placing your glass on the table. “I slept with Ruby.” You said louder than before, avoiding their gazes. 

Both men were rendered speechless. You and Ruby infamously didn’t get along. There was an animosity between the two of you from the moment you spotted the brunette in Sam’s room when Dean came back from Hell.

Yeah, Sam tolerated her most of the time, and Dean didn’t trust her at all and kept her as far away from him as he could, but the two of you butted heads like no other. There were a couple of times when they thought you were going to kill her, but apparently, that wasn’t the case. 

Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to find any words to say before shutting it. 

“Oh." Sam cleared his throat. "But I thought the two of you hated each other?" 

“We definitely did.” You nodded. “But, it was only once. Well, maybe it was like a couple of times actually now that I’m thinking about it.” 

Dean looked at you wide-eyed. “I have so many questions.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Just ask them.” You wanted this conversation to be over and done with. 

“How did it even happen the first time?” 

“Do you remember that haunting a couple of hours away from Bobby’s place? In Topeka?” You asked them, trying to jog their memory. 

“Not really.” 

“Well, the two of you were a little busy with the seals so I went and checked it out and I wrapped it up pretty fast. But when I went back to my motel room after burning the bones, she was there.” 

You remember it like it was yesterday. You were exhausted from digging up the grave, used to having one of the boys helping you, or even better, they were doing it while you held the flashlight. But they stayed behind at Bobby's. So you were left to do it yourself. You were tired and covered in dirt, and all you wanted to do was shower and fall face-first into the rickety motel bed and sleep for twenty hours. 

But when you opened the door, you saw the irritating smirk stretched on Ruby’s lips as she sat at the table near the kitchenette in the room you were staying in. 

“She was being annoying as per usual and I was trying to get her out of my room, but then of course she had to provoke me and we started to argue, then the next thing I knew, I had her pinned against the wall and kissing her. And you can probably guess the rest.” You scratched the back of your neck sheepishly as you looked down at your almost empty glass, avoiding the burning stares of the Winchesters. 

You decided to down the rest of the liquid in your cup before placing it on the table. You looked at Dean to see a faraway look in his eyes, and you squinted at him before realizing what he was doing. 

“Hey!” You clapped your hands to try and snap him out of his daydream. “Stop imagining it dude, that’s gross, not to mention really weird.” 

You shook your head and glanced at Sam to see the same look on his face. Then, you scowled at him, snapping your fingers in front of his face as well. 

“Are you kidding me Sam?” 

Sam blinked and shook his head, having the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry, it’s just…” He trailed off. 

“It’s hot. You know, that you and Ruby fu-” 

“Finish that sentence Dean and I swear that I’ll make sure that you’ll have a black eye in the morning.” You cut him off as you glared at the man sitting across from you. 

Dean raised his hands in defense. “I was just saying. Besides Sammy here was thinking about the same thing, probably even more considering he slept with her too.” 

“Shut up Dean.” Sam shot a scowl at his brother. 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you actually were though.” 

Sam’s silence spoke volumes, and you just shook your head at him. 

“So, are we done with this interrogation or can we continue on with this stupid game.” 

“One more question.” 

You groaned at Dean’s words. “What is it?”

“Did she ever tell you who was better in bed, You or Sam?”

“Really Dean?” Sam sighed tiredly (but secretly, he wanted to know).

You couldn’t help the smirk on your face at the question before you shook your head and got rid of it. “Not gonna answer that one.” 

Dean grumbled before finally moving on from the subject. The three of you stayed up pretty late before you retired for the night. You were about to get into bed after getting ready to sleep, but there was a soft knock on your door. You padded over to it and opened it to see Sam in the entryway. 

“What’s up Sam?” You asked softly, wondering why he was at your door this late. 

He looked a little nervous as he ran a hand through his hair. “Did she actually tell you?” 

You furrowed your brows. “Who?” 

“Ruby.” He murmured. 

Oh. Oh. You sent him a playful smile. “Why? Did you want to compare notes?” You teased, and you could see the slight blush grow on Sam’s face. 

Sam started to stammer, and you couldn’t help but laugh gently at him. You reached out and rested a hand on his arm to stop him from stuttering out a useless excuse. 

“She never told me who was 'better'. Ruby never stayed long after we would sleep together.” You told him with a slight smile on your face. 

He nodded in understanding, his shoulders relaxing at your answer. You squeezed his arm before telling him ‘goodnight,’ and he did the same before walking down the hall towards his room. You closed your door and smiled to yourself. 

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

[join my taglist !; read rules before sending in an ask]

[dailyrothko]

Hello,

So I know you usually post Rothko, but since you have a healthy amount of delectation towards art, I was wondering if you have any favourite art books that you enjoy and would like to share? Rothko or non-Rothko related. I am slowly building my own art book collection and would love some recommendations. Thanks a lot!

Sure.

I think books are kind of split often between art monographs aimed mostly at giving you a lot to look at and books that have a wider throw but (Usually) fewer pictures.

One very old book but one of my sentimental favorites is "A treasury of the world's great prints" by Stephen Longstreet. It's a large book that covers the printmaking of Goya, Hiroshige, Durer etc. but I think the bref commentaries on the artwork are informative and interesting. I had this book from a young age and maybe that's why I like it, but I felt like I learned a lot from the selections.

Anything by Robert Hughes but start with American Visions: The Epic History of Art in America. Hughes is extremely bright and grumpy but offers a huge cultural context to the history of art most other people are simply not capable of. Even his reads on early American art, art that often find dull, add fascinating context to the movement. Shock of the new (mistakenly credited earlier) is certainly a staple as well.

Ways of Seeing by John Berger is still a great read all these years later and About Modern Art by David Sylvester is great because he has a great mind for the task.

I also recommend,

Women, Art, And Power And Other by Linda Nochlin and Ninth Street Women: Lee Krasner, Elaine de Kooning, Grace Hartigan, Joan Mitchell, and Helen Frankenthaler: Five Painters and the Movement That Changed Modern Art, by Mary Gabriel, two books which add much needed context art history books often leave behind.

A World History of Art by Hugh Honour and John Fleming is a good general book but if you have specific interest maybe I can be more help.

-for Rothko, the new books like the Rizzoli book, The LV foundation book and the paintings on paper book, if you like scans these all have far better scans than any previous Rothko books, however, the bio stuff is probably best in the Breslin book which has all the facts of his life and not tons of insight or for more insight with fewer facts "About Rothko by Dore Ashton.

This is just a smattering I'd also read Against Interpretation by Susan Sontag, who, as one of the very smartest people in the world, had some great takes on art.

I was in a hurry writing this so feel free to add or ask more.

[gulnarsultan]

Can you do Separately what The Yandere Tudors Men (Edward Seymour, King Henry VIII, Charles Brandon and Thomas Boleyn) would give their Wife a really, REALLY expensive necklace either as a wedding present, a just because present or something following the birth of one of their children?

Hello. I hope you like it.

King Henry had passed many difficult trials to marry you. You will never forget the moments of lust and desire you experienced on your wedding night throughout your life. King Henry shed tears of joy when he received the news that you were pregnant. He took very close care of you throughout your pregnancy, unlike usual. Not even a minute was left outside the door of the room where you gave birth for hours. He was praying to God for you and the baby to be delivered safely. When the birth was finally over, he quickly entered the room. You were tiredly smiling at your husband with your newborn son in your arms.

"My King. We now have a male heir."

King Henry came to you and kissed your forehead. It wasn't hard to understand that he was happy and proud from the look on his face when he held your son in his arms.

"My son."

King Henry proudly kissed his newborn son's forehead.

"Our son's name will be Edward. Prince Edward."

You smiled at your husband's words. King Henry gently placed Prince Edward in his crib. He handed you the box in his hand. Surprised, you take the box and open it. Inside the box was a necklace decorated with Tudor symbol roses and made of expensive jewellery.

"My King. This is beautiful."

"Not as much as you."

King Henry took the necklace out of the box and placed it around your neck elegantly.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

You were Charles' third wife. Honestly, you never thought that an arranged marriage would turn into love. Charles was a possessive and passionate husband. Even though his love was suffocating at times, you had learned to cope. Charles did not yet have a son. This meant that a big task was on your shoulders. You got pregnant shortly after the wedding. You honestly thought your husband would move away from you and take mistresses. But it didn't happen as he thought. Months later, you gave birth to healthy twin boys. You would never forget the smile on Charles' face. He held his sons in his arms and wasn't afraid to talk about how proud he was. One of your sons was named John and the other Edmund. After naming the babies, Charles gave you a very dazzling necklace as a gift. From what you heard from your bridesmaids, Charles paid a really large amount of money for this necklace.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Your wedding to Thomas Boleyn was modest. You came from a noble and powerful family. Frankly, your mother and father were not very keen on this marriage. After all, Thomas Boleyn did not promise great possibilities. After months of conversations, you had finally managed to gain your family's approval. You were getting ready in your room on the wedding night. Thomas slowly pokes his head through the door.

"I got you something, honey. Your wedding gift."

"There was no need, my dear. It is a great gift for me to know that we can spend our lives together now."

"My beautiful wife. I am truly a very lucky man."

Thomas holds out the box he keeps behind his back. You slowly take the box and open it. There is a really expensive necklace inside the box.

"Thomas. This is too expensive."

"I couldn't have a big wedding that suits you. I should have at least bought you a gift that suits you."

"Thank you, Thomas. I will keep this necklace for the rest of my life."

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Your wedding to Edward Seymour was beautiful. It was literally like a fairy tale. Queen Jane had spared no expense for her brother's wedding. The wedding hall was decorated very beautifully. A luxurious wedding dress and a wonderful flower bouquet were prepared. After you put on your wedding dress, the bridesmaids did your make-up and hair. You were waiting for the ceremony to start. There is a knock on your door.

"Come in."

Edward comes in. Edward has a look of admiration on his face.

"Oh my God. You look like an angel."

"Edward, you're embarrassing me."

"I came to give you a gift. I hope you like it."

When you open the box, you are surprised to see the expensive necklace inside.

"Oh. Edward, that's beautiful."

"I'm glad you liked it, my beautiful."

[coryosbaby]

Your Face .

Fandom: “Saw (2004)”

Pairing: Adam Faulkner Stanheight x fem! Reader

Synopsis: you’ll never leave him again.

Cw: angst, mentions of past murder, injuries, money struggles, mentions of past sex work, night terrors, codependency, attachment issues // nsfw . hand jobs, nipple play, cum eating, praise, mommy kink, oral (f recieving)

🪚

Couple’s therapy really isn’t easy when the both of you were victims of a fucking serial killer.

If you can even call it couples therapy— talking about how you feel towards each other and trying to fix your relationship is some sort of therapy, you guess.

Maybe it’s not healthy to stay with the person you were held in captivity with. But even before that, you were attached at the hip. Even if you were both on and off before the incident, you were still both incredibly infatuated with one another. You would never be able to escape that face: Adam’s beautiful, almost angelic face. It’s been that way since the end of high school graduation, and it’ll be that way until the end of your life.

You know why Jigsaw had chosen you. It was obvious, wasn’t it? Your money situation had been terrible before he had taken you, and in his mind, you were a whore, a dancer, a prostitute. But never in your mind could you ever contemplate why he chose Adam: your sweet boy, your best friend, your sweetheart. Adam.

You still dream about the last day you were there, sometimes. When you had carried out the plan Adam had come up with: just shoot me. Shoot me in the shoulder so he thinks I’m dead. And then get us both out. And when you had, trying every desperate attempt to find the key to the chains, you had reached your hand down into the sink drain. It was a wonder you had somehow escaped those chains without having to cut your own foot off. Adam’s cries sounded a lot in your ears, now. In your own haste to go and get help you had left him there with John Kramer. Even when he had begged you not to. Even when he almost died.

It was a wonder you both got out alive. It was a wonder you had managed to come back, fight the man off, and get him out of there.

And ever since, it’s like Adam has only ever though about that. The moment you left him in that room. The fear he felt, the impending doom.

Maybe you both need an actual therapist .

Some nights, nights like these, Adam has problems sleeping. When he does, it’s like he’s placed back in there in that room with you— being tortured, shot, and humiliated. And on some nights like these, he wakes you up for your affection and assistance. Eyes shooting open, an extreme amount of fear goes through the poor boy’s tired body. He’s there.

He’s quick to shake you awake. Your eyes open with confusion, and then once the situation settles in you understand it’s one of those nights. Lifting yourself up, you frown when you see the tears beginning to well in Adam’s eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

He sniffles, trying to cover his face now that he’s being half brought back into reality.

“I just woke up. I don’t—“ his hands grab at his hair, pulling, as he cries. “— I don’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, sweetheart..”

You push his hands out of his hair and replace them with yours instead. You soothe his scalp with your fingernails, and kiss him. You used to have night terrors for this same reason, so you understand how this must feel for him. He moves down so he can lay on your thighs. He feels sad and embarrassed and scared. You stroke the outline of his face with gentle fingers: beautiful, strong nose, sharp jawline, gorgeous eyes, plump lips. Any woman’s dream.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You murmur to him. He quickly shakes his head. He lets out a pained little moan, almost like a scared little rabbit. You lean down, and kiss him on his nose.

“I know, honey. I know it’s hard. But you aren’t there anymore, okay? You’re right here. I’m right here.”

He nods, but you know he’s just trying to stop you from seeing how deeply the night terrors affect him. He’s always been such a strong boy.

Your forehead pressed against his cheek, you whisper to him.

“Do you want something to drink? Some water, some tea? I can make you some..”

“Y-Yeah. Maybe some water, momma, if that’s okay.”

That sweet little nickname you adore so much from him. You smile.

“Okay.” You lift him off of you, rounding the bed to make your way out of the bedroom. “I’m gonna go into the kitchen—“

“Please don’t leave me!”

It’s immediate, the way you freeze up and stop at the end of the bed. You almost start to cry yourself.

Adam is embarrassed at his outburst, and he sobs, all of his emotions flooding out. He crawls over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. He rests his head against your thighs. You know now that the glass of water will have to wait a bit when he utters that familiar set of words. The same tone, same amount of fear lacing his cracking voice. It brings it all back to you, just as Adam’s dreams bring it back to him.

You let him cry out for a few more minutes, stopping to grab some tissues from the bedside table and clean him up when he’s calmed. Your fingers settle into his hair; soft and wavy under your fingertips, you shush him with a gentle hum.

“I’ll never leave you, Adam,” you whisper, soft. “Never. I swear.”

And you know that it’s true. Your fingertips move down to his jaw, lifting his face up so he can look at you. He’s coming back down from his nightmare, and real life is starting to seep in. He isn’t in that bathroom anymore. He’s in his apartment— our apartment, including you, in his brain. Not the one he got taken from. Not the bathroom. This is new, this is safe— and jigsaw is dead.

You sit down next to him on the queen sized mattress you had bought together. He buries his face in your neck, breathes in the familiar scent of vanilla, laundry detergent, and sweet strawberry perfume. Unadulterated bliss.

“Promise?” He sniffles, sticking his hands in between the valley of your breasts and traveling down to your tummy. He rests it there, soft.

“I promise.”

And when he’s calmed, when you’ve wiped all his tears away, you go and get him a glass of water. Only this time, his arms are wrapped around you from behind tightly the entire way to the kitchen.

Safe.

He drinks about two glasses. When you guide him back to your shared room you sit him down on the bed.

“I don’t think I can go back to sleep,” he murmurs, embarrassed. You make sure that he doesn’t become ashamed of nights like these.

“It’s okay,” you reply. You smile as you kiss his forehead “Im off tomorrow. We can just stay up and go to sleep when you feel like it.”

Adam is now thankful that you’ve moved on from your life of sex work and into retail, because that means that he doesn’t have to worry about you as much. So it puts him in a good mood to remember that, and also to remember that he’s gonna have you for the rest of the day. He leans forward, plants a kiss to your lips. He smells like cigarettes.

You kiss him again. Harsher, a bit. Tongue slipping inside the warm canal of his mouth. Perfection.

You don’t want to urge him to do anything sexual with you right now unless he doesn’t want to. So you pull away, thumb brushing over the scar on his shoulder. It’s a spot you’ve come accustomed to— one that he’s sensitive about, but not with you. Never with you.

He leans in again and his kiss is heavy. He’s desperate, now, not only craving your body but also craving a distraction.

“Wait,” you breathe against his lips. “Are you sure, baby? Sure you wanna do this right now?”

“I want it..” he whines. His hand grabs yours and places it over his bulge. “Please? It hurts..”

You can’t resist him when he gets like this, and you know it helps him forget the things that plague his thoughts. So your palm grinds down into that spot that he laid your hands on. He breathes out a small breathy sound, one that makes him grind up into your hand. His body is slowly making its way down onto the bed. Laying down, he can see the lace slip adorning your body starting to fall down, down, down. Your cleavage is pretty, he thinks. Nice and soft enough to stick his cock in between.

He’s wearing one of his white shirts, and you lift it up to his shoulders to expose his bare torso. He’s gained a bit of weight since that wretched room, a little bit of his tummy beginning to fatten up. You find it absolutely adorable. Kissing there, you make your way up to his chest and pepper small bites on his chest. Marking him there is your favorite activity.

Your tongue laves over one of his areolas, kissing and scraping your teeth on it. He mewls, a small little “‘s good.” leaving his pretty lips. He’s always had sensitive nipples, and you love to play around with them.

He lifts himself up so he can slide the rest of his shirt off. Pretty muscled biceps replace the white fabric of the sleeves, and on one of them the gunshot scar sits. He’s still so perfect.

“My perfect boy,” you coo. “God, look at you. You’re gorgeous.”

He blushes, a thank you making its way from him. You move away from him, farther up to the head of the bed, and lean against the bed frame. He knows instantly that you want him up against your chest. You reach towards the bedside table and reach into the drawer where you keep your special things. When you pull out a vibrator, Adam crawls towards you with morbid curiosity.

You’ve used toys on him before, but for some reason, not this one. He leans back against your chest and adjusts so you can take his cock out of his pajama pants. It slaps against his lower belly, wet and dripping. He’s always had such a pretty cock, all thick and hard and red. He’s got a lot of girth, enough to make it hard to close your fist around him.

The vibrator has a lot of power to it; you know this because you’ve used it on yourself many times. You hold Adam’s cock with one hand, and with another you switch it on. He gulps as he watches the toy in your hand.

“Okay?” You ask. He nods, pretty lashes fluttering shut as you watch his confirmation. His head tilts back and his mouth falls open in ecstasy when you press the vibrator to his aching tip.

“Oh, god.” He moans.

You move it down to his base, rubbing teasing circles into the soft skin there. Adam wraps his hands around your arms, desperate to have something to grab onto.

“So pretty like this,” you praise him. You move one of your hands up to his hair so you can rest it there. You kiss his neck gently. “My sweet Adam. Your cock is so hard, isn’t it? So hard for mommy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He chants, whimpering. “It’s ‘s good.. love you so much.”

Your heart flutters, breathing in against his neck. He smells so nice that it almost makes your head tingle.

“I love you too, sweet boy.” You say. You move the vibrator down to his balls, and a moan rips through his throat. He sounds so heavenly that you can’t resist reaching down in between your thighs and rubbing your clit. When you pull away your slick coats your fingers, and you rub them up against the boy’s lips. He accepts them greedily, keening at the taste of you on his tongue. Crooking the digits, you make sure to keep them flush against Adam’s teeth; he loves having them in his mouth.

“Never gonna leave you again, honey. Gonna stay with you forever and ever, gonna make this fat cock cum… ”

And god, if that doesn’t make Adam’s balls draw up tight then he doesn’t know what will. Precious noises spew from his lips as his orgasm approaches him.

“Yes! Please, mommy, pleasepleaseplease, gonna cum—“

And although he didn’t last long this time, it doesn’t matter to you. Once his cock is dripping white, you set the vibrator aside. Your fingers scoop up some of his creamy spend, and with a lolling tongue you lick it all up. He tastes amazing, just perfect. Your perfect boy.

Sighing, he leans against you for a moment. He turns around, gives you a sweet little sultry smile, and returns to you the same perfect amount of pleasure. He does this by shoving his magnificent tongue in between your thighs. And skilled, the boy is— he loves to please. He thinks your pussy is the best he’s ever tasted or smelled in his entire life, and while he rubs his soft wet muscle against your clit his eyes roll back and small moans leave him. When you cum he makes sure you have two more orgasms— one from his fingers, another from his cock that had somehow gotten hard for you again.

And in the scene where his cock is inside you, you’re on top of him while he lets out little grunts and moans. You bounce up and down on him until your slick is white and wet, dripping down his thighs and onto the sheets. He had lit a cigarette somewhere between three fingers inside you and now, and his lips are wrapped around it while he watches you ride him. Holding it between two of his fingers, he exhales smoke at the same time that your teeth scrape along his nipple and your nails dig into his shoulders. He gasps— angelic. Then he tilts his head back, and cums.

That face is another one you’ll never forget— his pretty eyes shutting, mouth agape and cheeks ablaze. You don’t think you could ever leave this pretty thing ever again.

© 2023 bratty-lxndry444 🤏🏻 all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, repost, or claim as yours !!!

[jeridandridge]

Send Me An Angel

Continuation of my College years series. Can be read on its own, but is sweeter when read with the rest. The first time you see Melissa in a couple years is when her nana dies.

It’s one in the morning on a Thursday when your phone starts ringing off the hook. Waking up to the high pitched beeping you wipe your eyes not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Yeah?”

Hearing sniffles and a staggered breath on the line you immediately perk up knowing exactly who it is on the other end.

“Mel?”

“It’s me,” she croaks out. “I need you to be here I need you to get to me as soon as you can.” She lets out in a sob.

“Mel, honey what happened?” You ask tucking the cell phone between your cheek and shoulder as you get up and move to pack a bag.

“It- it’s nana,” she breathes. “She died.”

Feeling your heart drop into your stomach you freeze where you stand. Maria Schemmenti had been sick for a little while, refusing most treatments despite you and Melissa begging her to, even offering her a blank check to cover the costs. The old school Sicilian woman declined, saying she was as healthy as a horse.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Red. Hang tight, okay?” You say tossing clothes into your carry on.

“Be careful,” she sniffles. “I’ll see you.”

As soon as Melissa hangs up you’re calling a pilot friend of yours offing him a crazy amount of money to get you across the country as soon as possible. Forty five minutes later with a bag slung over your shoulder you walk with your friend onto the tarmac. The flight from San Francisco to Philly would be long and excruciating not only because of the reason you’re going, but because you haven’t seen Melissa in person in two years.

The first time she came to visit you in California was ten years ago and it had been a yearly occurrence up until recently. You were nervous to see your person again after so long, but she needed you and you needed to pay your respects.

The sun is just coming up when the private plane touches down at the Philadelphia airport. “Thank you, John. I owe you big time.” You give him a hug and a big check.

“Go take care of your woman and you can buy me a drink when you get back,” the man pats your shoulder. “I’ll be at the hotel if you need me.”

Hustling through the airport like you’re about to miss a flight, you get to the pick up location hailing a cab panting as you speed dial Melissa on your cell phone.

After two rings, a groggy voice answers.

“Hey, Red. Im in the city on my way.”

“You’re here already? Hon, how?”

“I know a guy.” You smirk quoting your best friends famous excuse as you ride through the streets of Philly. “Are you at home or your mom’s?”

“I’m at home. I’ll get started on breakfast.”

“Don’t even. just get dressed and we’ll go to that diner I’ve heard so much about.” You smile against the phone hoping the little outing would help her.

“Okay, hon.” She lets out a weak chuckle.

“I’ll see you soon, Red.”

In the cab you tuck the phone into your carry on and reach for your make up compact hoping you looked presentable after the long night and the nerves you felt eating away at you. When the cab pulls onto Melissa’s street you sit up taking a breath. Paying the driver you hop out jogging up to the door lightly knocking.

Not even ten seconds later the door opens and you’re being hugged by Melissa. As always, it’s as if the time apart doesn’t matter. Her face is hidden on the crook of your neck and her arms are around your shoulders.

“Walk backwards, honey.” You instruct walking carefully inside, hand rubbing her back. Sliding your bag off your shoulder it lands on the floor with a thud, discarded for the time being. Wrapping your arms around the redheads frame you let out a sigh just standing there with her, her walls always broken down with you.

“Thank you.” Is all Melissa says keeping her arms around you in a warm hug not willing to let go yet. You had always been a safe place for her, that much you knew, and you loved it.

“Have you eaten at all?” You ask with your lips against her hair.

“Not since yesterday morning.”

Reluctantly pulling back you keep her at arms length running your hands up and down her arms. “Cmon, let’s get something to eat and when we get back I’ll help you with whatever you need.”

Melissa looks up at you with a wobbly lip wiping her eyes as she moves to get her shoes. “God I look awful.” She pouts looking in the hallway mirror.

“No you don’t, Red.” You meet jade eyes in the mirror. “And if nana heard you say you haven’t eaten she’d chase you with a wooden spoon.” You tease getting a weak laugh out of your best friend.

As she always did, she hands you the keys to her car silently asking you to drive and you happily accept. Getting in the vehicle you drive her through the familiar streets smiling when you see all the old spots you haven’t visited in many years.

“Turn left up here, hon.” She points resting her hand on yours as it dangles off of the center console. Flicking your signal on you relish in the feeling of warm skin on yours happy to provide her even just a little bit of comfort. Having known Maria Schemmenti yourself since you were a freshman in college this death hit you hard. She was a confidante for you when visiting the family with Melissa, and you were going to miss her.

In the cozy mom and pop diner you sit across from Melissa adding sugar packets to your coffee when the server comes over.

“Melissa, I was so sorry to hear about your nana. My condolences.” The young woman says gently.

“Thank you, hon. It’s been a rough 24 hours.” She gives the girl a weak smile. “This is my friend I was telling you about.” Melissa smiles at you reaching for your hand across the table.

“Oh Melissa talks about you all the time! Let me hook you guys up with some comfort food.”

As the server takes the order you can’t help but glance down into your coffee cup biting back a smile. Of course Melissa talked about you. Despite how you left and how you reconnected, it was no surprise she told other people about you.

Through a nice breakfast, you sip your coffee picking at your own plate while making sure Melissa actually eats a full meal. It’s mostly a comfortable silence unless your server comes over, and at the end of the meal Melissa meets your eyes.

“I can’t believe how fast you got here.”

“You needed me.” You shrug sipping your coffee. “And I loved your nana too you know.”

“She loved you a lot.” The redhead cracks a smile thinking about her wedding and how her nana held her as she cried for you after the ceremony.

You smile tightly playing with a sugar packet on the table feeling guilty. “I wish I came sooner. Got to visit one more time.”

“Oh, hon. None of us knew it would happen so fast.” She reassures you reaching across the table again for your hand.

Fingers laced together you give her a soft smile as your arm rests on the table. “I can stay here as long as you need me to.” You offer after a moment of thought. “After the funeral and everything, you could- you could come back to San Francisco with me. Even for just a couple days.” You shrug.

Melissa looks at you surprised, biting her lip in thought about the idea. She hadn’t seen you in so long and phone calls weren’t scratching her itch anymore. She was already hurting and needed you. “I’ll go with you, hon.”

“Yeah?” You smile in surprise.

Letting out a content sigh Melissa smiles at you. “It’s been too long and my phone bill is outrageous.” She teases you.

“I can’t argue with you, Red.” You chuckle leaning back in your chair, an odd relief hitting you at her answer.

After arguing over who gets the bill, you happily pay and tip the young girl generously before resting your hand on the small of Melissa’s back as you two leave.

“All that coffee and I could still sleep.” Melissa yawns.

“You didn’t sleep did you.” You say more as a fact than a question knowing how she is when she’s upset. When she was going through her divorce she would call you every night staying up until the late hours of the morning on the east coast.

“‘Course not. I was goin through family photos after I got the call.” She hums climbing in the car.

Driving back to her house you glance over at her seeing her start to look sleepy. “Koala time?” You ask referring back to the dumb joke between you two from college. Quickly into your friendship you learned that Melissa loved to cuddle. So much so that even when drunk she would wrap herself around you.

“Yeah.” She smiles getting the key out to unlock the door. Inside your bag still sits on the floor next to the door. Kicking your shoes off you lift your arms in a stretch ready for a nap yourself. Looking at the clock it was hardly nine o’clock, and it was obvious the redhead needed sleep.

“Cmon, Red.” You hum wrapping your arm around her shoulders as you both go upstairs. When you enter Melissa’s room, the environment is completely her. More family photos are on the walls, a massive bookshelf loaded with books, and a signed eagles jersey hangs above the bed.

“That’s amazing.” You chuckle looking at the jersey as you stand there, a little nervous to climb into bed with her. You’d thought about being in bed with her ever since you left, and now you were here and she was right in front of you.

“Do ya need a formal invite, hon?” She teases snapping you out of your trance.

Getting under the blankets you shift with Melissa, wrapping your arm around her as she hides her face in your neck letting out a content sigh. She needed this comfortable bubble as much as you did.

After years of being apart, the feeling of your legs tangling with the redheads and her steady breathing lulls you to sleep faster than you even remembered.

Waking up to knocking and a voice that isn’t Melissa’s you bolt up keeping your arm over the redhead ready to jump out of bed, Melissa jolting awake beside you.

“Ain’t this cute? Bout time you came back, world traveler.” Kristen-Marie leans against the door.

“Jesus Christ, how’d you even get in here?” Melissa huffs, you lay back down letting out a breath trying to calm down.

“I have a key, genius. You weren’t answerin the phone, I came to see if you were okay. And I found letters from nana.” The blond woman shrugs in the door way. “If I knew lover girl was here I woulda stayed outside.”

Rolling your eyes you turn over burying your face into the pillow.

“What letters you talking about?” The redhead looks at her sister. No one had gone through any of nanas stuff yet.

“They were in her purse.” Kristen-Marie clears her throat handing two over.

“This one’s envelop had a stamp on it and everything.” She gestures to you handing it over to Melissa. Confused, you sit up looking and the white envelopes, one completely addressed to you.

“Why would I have one?” You ask quietly, almost afraid to open it.

“Alright, hold on, let’s go downstairs and read these, yeah?” Melissa looks between you and her sister.

Holding the envelope your arm feels like it weight about a hundred pounds as you file down the stairs with Melissa and her sister. Melissa is already tearing up as she sits on the couch, envelope unopened. Curiosity getting the better of you, you carefully peel the paper open. A piece of stationary with Maria Schemmenti’s beautiful cursive handwriting sits on the page. As you begin to read wonderful compliments and praises from the now gone woman, tears begin to flow down your cheeks when you get to the very end.

And you my dear, need to make this old lady happy and take care of my Melissa. I know you two love each other more than friends, more than sisters. I held her during her wedding reception in tears because she knew she made a mistake. I remember those glances you two tried to hide during family dinners. Please, tell her how you feel.

I’ll be watching.

Love, Nana.

Sniffling you re read the words over and over again letting them soak in. She knew. Of course Maria Schemmenti knew.

“Hon? Hon?”

Your head snaps up to meet watery green eyes, Melissa holding her sisters hand on the couch.

“What did yours say?” She asks through her own sniffles.

“It uh, she just reminded me of some things.” You shrug with a smile.

Maria Schemmenti, the matriarch of that entire family, was right and you intend to do as she says.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Early Riser (John Price x Reader) Smut

Based on the prompt: "Keep kissing me like that and we're gonna end up back in bed."

AN: Semi-inspired by the end of Season 1!Hotch who is excited to spend annual leave doing chores with his wife. Love it when a man enters malewife mode.

In other news, I'm gonna start a Price x Reader series soon! It's gonna be a lot of angsty pining so if that's your jam, I can't wait for you to read it!

Requests are open! Here's my guidelines to read before you send in a request and a list of kiss prompts if you're stuck for ideas.

Content warnings: Smut (18+ only, minors DNI), basically Price goes down on you in the kitchen. Reader is gender neutral and genitals described are gender neutral. No use of Y/N.

Masterlist // AO3 Version

Palms pressed into the cool granite countertop, you idly watched the space to the left of your kettle as it boiled. You had barely scrounged up the energy to leave your warm bed to get this drink; you did not have anything spare to be aware whilst you prepared it. The few aspects of your mind that were awake hoped this would fit the loophole of “a watched pot never boils” so that you could return to your room as fast as possible.

Finally, the water bubbled loudly and the switch flicked off. You poured a healthy amount into both your mug and the spare one you had for guests. Steam wafted up whilst carrying the strong scent of coffee; a splash of milk sweetened it before you prepared to stir in some sugar.

Something clamped down onto your right hip. You drew in a sharp inhale before it slid out slowly, relaxing as another hand mirrored its partner and the rest of John Price folded him up against you.

“Good morning,” You whispered.

“It is now.” John’s voice rolled off his tongue like a growl, deepened by his recent rousing from sleep. He paired his reply with a kiss on your shoulder. Briefly allowing his forehead to rest where his lips had been, he then kissed your aching neck. Your heart’s eager pulse greeted him.

“Keep kissing me like that and we’re gonna end up back in bed,” You warned, despite allowing his arms to trap you in a grip a boa constrictor would be jealous of.

John let out a gentle hum; he swayed you both from side to side in time with the clink of the spoon against your mug.

Then he mumbled, “Don’t need the bed.”

The teaspoon clattered on the countertop as his hands found their marks. Instinctively, your body keened against John’s, allowing him to rut into you whilst tenderly squeezing over your pyjamas.

Your voice came out a little whinier than expected, “Don’t want breakfast then?”

“Actually, I’m famished,” John said and his coarse facial hair tickled against your cheek, “Figured I should help myself.”

A laugh tripped over your tongue into a moan before you replied: “You’re horrible. Didn’t you get enough last night?”

“Never enough. Just ran out of steam.” Calloused fingertips found the gap between your sleep shirt and trousers. They spread warmth up your torso, cupping your chest, your shirt caught on his forearm.

“John,” You let your head fall back against him, “We have time.”

“Never enough,” he repeated. “Hate waking up and you’re not there.”

“You need me now?”

“Please.”

Freed from his grasp for a split second, you pushed the coffee cups into the sink, not caring about the spilt steaming liquid that glugged down the drain, then you shoved back the sugar pot and milk. John spun then lifted you onto the cool countertop. His body was drawn back against yours, returning his lips to your neck and the evidence of his affection he’d left last night. Your hips rose up as he yanked down your pyjamas and slid down on his knees. A grunt stuck in his throat; you held back a comment about his aging joints but not the smirk.

Instead, you scratched your nails through his hair, giving it a tender tug whenever he kissed your thigh. “You’re gonna clean this up after.”

His words were half lost against your skin, “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the gutters need clearing.” You could feel his lips twitch with mirth against you before he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. “And the oven could use a scrub.”

“Make me a list.” His hands squeezed the meat of your legs to close them around his head.

A gentle sigh escaped you, “You’re so good to me.”

Looking up at you with bleary blue eyes, John whispered, “Nothing you don’t deserve.”

And, to prove his point, he rewarded you with his tongue, talented and tenacious.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading updates: august 2024

the good news is that I did a lot of reading this month, the bad news is that honestly? I think that my birthday month has had the biggest percentage of literary letdowns, duds, and outright bullshit than any other month of this year so far.

but at least there's plenty to talk about, so let's get going!

Unlearning Shame: How We Can Reject Self-Blame Culture and Reclaim Our Power (Devon Price, 2024) - uh oh gamers, we're starting on a doozy! I've enjoyed both of Price's previous books very much, but with Unlearning Shame I couldn't help but feel like I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I wasn't getting what I had signed on for. the issue, I think, could be corrected by an adjustment to the title, which seems to be promising a very broad tackling of the concept of shame and is therefore making some pretty big promises. in reality, the book is much more narrowly focused than that, interested primarily in the shame that arises in the activism-minded when they feel overwhelmed by the sheer amount of awful things in the world and their perceived inability to do anything about it. fairly early on Price introduces an apparently relatable anecdote about himself and a friend having mutual breakdowns in a grocery store because they were both so paralyzed by the conundrum of trying to buy the most ethical groceries possible, and I realized this book was maybe not really for me or my particular experiences with shame. I think this book will be really helpful for a lot of people for sure, would love to pass it on to a lot of my freshmen, but overall it did not live up to the expectations I brought to the party.

A Separate Peace (John Knowles, 1959) - so I wanted to reread this because someone on here sent me an ask about, I don't know, my favorite required high school reading or whatever, and I said it was A Separate Peace but then I realized it's been over a decade since I read the book and I had to go see if it still actually held up. and god, does it EVER. this is such a brutal and heartbreaking novel, beginning in the last carefree summer that best friends and roommates Gene and Finny will experience before their final year at their boys' private school and their seemingly inevitable draft into WW2. although Gene is seethingly jealous of Finny's seemingly effortless charisma, popularity, confidence, and athletic prowess, the two boys are also inseparable - until a tragic injury changes the course of Finny's life forever. this book is a mess of unspoken pain, from the looming end of innocence on a global scale to the intimate ache of loving your best friend so, so much and having no healthy way to express it because you're a repressed little rich boy in the 1940s.

Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea (Rita Chang-Eppig, 2023) - Chang-Eppig's debut novel follows the career of Chinese pirate Shek Yeung, also known as Zheng Yi Sao, immediately following the death of her husband, fearsome pirate Sheng Yi. you've probably seen a post or two about her floating around on this very hellsite, calling her a pirate queen and accompanied by this image:

Chang-Eppig isn't interested in portraying Shek Yeung as any kind of heroine or feminist icon; over and over again it's acknowledged that she's simply a woman who has survived massive hardships and will do whatever she needs to do to survive. manipulation? spying? extortion? torture? murder? you name it, she's done it, and she does not feel remorse. while the novel wasn't a knockout for me either in terms of plot or prose, it's nice to see an entry into the trend of "retelling" stories from history and mythology centered on women that isn't determined to justify every step a maligned woman ever made. Shek Yeung is what she is, and her story makes for a gritty, bloody adventure.

Victim (Andrew Boryga, 2024) - this book is pure sleazeball fun; if you've ever wondered what I consider a romp, this is it. Victim follows our manipulative king Javi Perez as he builds a writing career for himself by turning in one essay after another about racial discrimination that he never really experienced, inventing stories of hardship caused by racism and poverty from his college application essay to his school newspaper to the story that finally brings the whole lie crashing down when he stretches the truth too far. the novel is written like Javi's apology in the wake of getting #canceled, and while I do sometimes feel that this premise makes some of the writing seem a bit implausible (why would you admit that!!!) it's a fun setup for a scandal that would have been a bloodbath on the twitter of old. come get your mess!!!

Bad Girls (Camila Sosa Villada, trans. Kit Maude, 2022) - this is my first time reading Sosa Villada's work but OH BOY, do I need to seek out more. this is a skinty little novel following a dramatized account of the travesti (or transgender) women who live and sell sex in Córdoba, Argentina. the women build an unsteady but beautiful and magic-infused family under the protection of the ancient Auntie Encarna. the protagonist (who is named Camila Sosa Villada, no relation I'm sure) watches as her unconventional family grows, changes, and frays over time, struggling to find ways to stay afloat in a world that see them as disposable. Sosa Villada's turns of phrase are brilliant and searing, and she weaves fantastical elements so nimbly into her narrative that it's utterly believable to see women becoming animals and courting headless men in the streets of a modern city. strongly recommend for fans of Kai Cheng Thom's Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars.

Talkin' Up to the White Woman: Indigenous Women and Feminism (Aileen Morteon-Robinson, 2000) - this book serves as a scathing literature review indicting Australia's white women anthropologists and feminist scholars for the ways in which they've dehumanized and discredited Aboriginal women, stripping them of the right to be authorities of their own experiences and barring them from a white-centered feminist movement. Moreton-Robinson's account is excellent, contrasting the wok of white women academics with the accounts of Aboriginal women to reveal exactly how massive the disparities in understanding are. as a USAmerican previously aware of Australia's colonial history but unfamiliar with the specifics, it was jarring to discover exactly how similar the mechanism of colonial violence are between my country and Australia, with countless genocidal parallels to be drawn. one particular highlight of the book comes via my purchase of a 20th anniversary edition, which includes a new post-script by Moreton-Robinson in which she dissects and responds to various criticisms of the book at its time of release, taking several critics to task for the belittling tone they used to describe her work and the tools white feminists use to absolve themselves of blame in the face of critique from women of color. fascinating and thorough articulation of Moreton-Robinson's point, and deservedly blistering. I love when academics call each other out by name.

The End of Love: Racism, Sexism, and the Death of Romance (Sabrina Strings, 2024) - so the thing about this book is that there are really good PARTS. Strings is still an excellent historical writer, and I found a lot to appreciate in, for instance, the segments on the history of Black American pimp culture and the analysis of Playboy and Helen Gurley Brown's Sex and the Single Girl. the more personal segments, where Strings contorts herself to fit her own failed relationships into the narrative she's building, are decidedly less consistent in their quality, with some feeling like they would have been better off staying between Strings and her therapist. there's a long and convoluted digression about Sex and the City, and a strange anecdote towards the end in which String recounts a phone call with a friend's college-aged son who, String believes, was masturbating during the call. a yucky experience, to be certain, but I'm not sure it justifies Strings filing a police report against the youth and his mother, who she accuses of having groomed her on the son's behalf. she also casually drops in the same chapter that she considers herself pansexual because she's attracted to trans men in addition to cis men? idk man!!! this book was so uneven that I found myself genuinely questioning whether Strings' first book, Fearing the Black Body, is actually as excellent as I remember it being. I'm pretty sure it is, but god it sucks to get shaken so hard that you have to wonder!

The Diary of a Teenage Girl: An Account in Words and Pictures (Phoebe Gloeckner, 2002) - another book that I had to read for class, years ago! I read Diary of a Teenage Girl in one of my gender and women's studies classes in my undergrad, for a class with a title along the lines of Girlhood Stories in Fiction and Film. Gloeckner's novel (though heavily informed by her own life, she insists that it's a work of fiction) sees its young protagonist, Minnie, navigating a great deal of sex, alcohol, drugs in 1970s San Francisco. I started thinking about the book because I was listening to a trio of episodes of You're Wrong About in which Carmen Maria Machado guests to talk about the pervasive sham that is Go Ask Alice (great series, check it out) and I started thinking about Diary, which is so much less preachy and didactic and is, you know, actually drawn from a real teenage girl's diary, unlike Go Ask Alice, and lacking Alice's preachy didacticism. as a diary based on a real diary this book is largely lacking in any particular plot (the most consistent through line is Minnie's ongoing and tumultuous sexual relationship with her mother's 35 year old boyfriend), but if that's not a turn off then you'll find yourself rooting for Minnie to find her way all the way to the uncertain but ultimately optimistic conclusion.

One and Done (Frederick Smith, 2024) - okay, so. this is a romance novel that I picked up because I saw a review talking about how it's an incredibly realistic depiction of working at a university. now that's obviously an insane thing to look for in a romance novel, but I like romances, ESPECIALLY gay romances, and I work at a university, so I figured sure, I'll bite. spoiler alert: it's not great. I posted some examples of the prose here, and even if the two protagonists talked like actual human beings it wouldn't make up for the stale-ass plot or devastating lack of chemistry they have going for them. more like One and Glad to Be Done With This Book That Isn't Very Good, am I right, ladies?

Seduced (Virginia Henley, 1994) - guys, I'm gonna be so fucking real with you. this is the most batshit novel I've ever read, period, let alone the most batshit romance novel. this book was the winner of a poll I ran on patreon last month in which my wicked patreonites got to nominate romance novels of their choosing for my next reading project and voted amongst themselves to crown a winner, and against all odds and my own light attempts to sway the voters, Seduced won it all. this book has everything: a historical setting, a bold young lady disguising herself as her own brother, wildly unchecked orientalism, a murderous cousin, high society scandal, and some of the most torturous sex scenes I've ever encountered in my life. truly this write-up cannot do justice to what I have experienced; I've already promised by patreonites that I'll have to do a little youtube live in order to fully express the extent of my dissatisfaction.

and that was the month of August, babey!!!

[discoscoob]

YOUNG DONNIE BARKSDALE HEADCANONS

ִ ˙ ✩°˖🍂⋆｡˚ Note: contains upsetting and distressing themes involving teen suicide, murder, abuse and parental neglect. This is angsty as hell, fellas :(

Note ii: I do not intend to romanticise or excuse any of the following, these are merely thoughts and ideas inspired works of fiction. I do not support or defend men like Donnie in the real world. If you think the following will be upsetting or triggering, I strongly advice not reading. You are responsible for your own choices. Thank you!

I’m using Keanu’s character Matt from the film River’s Edge as inspiration and a template for my headcanons for young Donnie Barksdale.

Family Dynamics

➤ Donnie never had a proper father figure in his life growing up and he never knew his real father.

➤ His mother suffered with alcoholism, leading to her neglecting him and his younger siblings.

➤ She would drift between different relationships, often with toxic boyfriends that Donnie would frequently get into verbal or physical fights with in an attempt to defend/protect his mother and younger siblings.

➤ As the oldest sibling, he felt responsible and pressured to fulfill a paternal role for his younger sister and brother.

➤ Prematurely stepping into this paternal role, without any healthy or positive guidance to draw from, meant Donnie didn’t possess the emotional maturity needed in order to fill that role properly.

➤ Donnie received little to no experience of healthy discipline himself growing up, which resulted in him mimicking the only discipline he ever experienced, which came from his mother’s toxic boyfriends.

➤ His first experience of using violence and aggression as a form of control and punishment began with his younger brother.

➤ When his younger brother started heading into a rebellious and reckless phase, without any sign of growing out of it, Donnie attempted to take control of his behaviour by using violence and aggression.

➤ Donnie’s softer side came out towards his little sister, the youngest sibling. He tried to be more protective and nurturing towards her. Despite his intentions being good natured, his attempts to overcompensate for the emotional and physical neglect she faced from their mother, lead to his protectiveness over his sister to become increasingly more controlling.

➤ This overprotectiveness would later extended to his romantic relationships with women and evolve into more possessive and controlling behaviour.

➤ Because Donnie never had a proper, healthy role model to look up to, he was never taught how to properly manage his emotions, leading to an inability to manage conflicts healthily.

His Friends Influence

➤ Donnie’s high school friend group became the only male influences in his life he had any positive association with. His friends were the only thing he had to fill the emotional voids within his life, this made the sense of brotherhood he felt he had developed with them incredibly sacred to him, something which he would protect no matter what.

➤ His loyalty to his friends was put to the ultimate test when one of his friends, John, murdered his girlfriend, Jamie. Donnie was pressured by his friend group to stay quiet in order to protect John.

➤ This had an everlasting detrimental impact to Donnie’s moral compass and desensitise him to violence, especially violence against women.

➤ The fear of losing the only sense of belonging he ever had on top of his fear of abandonment was enough to convince him to overlook John’s crime.

➤ This is the point in Donnie’s life where loyalty vs betrayal became more important to him than right vs wrong.

Prospects and Substance Abuse

➤ Struggling in school would often lead to Donnie skipping class or not showing up to school altogether. His poor performance in high school, on top of the poor amount of opportunities in his rural town, left Donnie with very few options.

➤ Donnie was already pretty disillusioned by life at a relatively young age, due to the lack of opportunities in his rural town and any dream of escapism he had seemed unattainable.

➤ He would smoke weed with his friends when they skipped school and when Donnie became older and accepted any, usually low-paying and physically demanding, job he could find, he would turn to alcohol and other harder substances as a coping mechanisms and a form of escapism.

➤ His drinking and substance abuse would only contribute to his violent and abusive behaviour.

His Sister’s Suicide

➤ Matt was in his mid to late twenties when his little sister took her own life. She was still only a teenager. She was struggling to cope with her own issues that developed from growing up within her toxic and dysfunctional family dynamic.

➤ At this point in his life, Donnie was already struggling with alcoholism and substance abuse as a coping mechanisms for his unfulfilling life, but it would become far worse after losing his sister.

➤ None of his romantic relationships were ever healthy, thanks to a combination of factors such as his abandonment issues, his relationship with violence and his inability to handle his emotions in a healthy manner (to name a few.)

➤ Most of his relationships failed because any potential threat to the relationship or lack of control triggered his anger and insecurities, usually caused by his jealousy or controlling behaviour.

➤ But losing his sister only worsened his toxic and unhealthy behaviour within his romantic relationships.

➤ He would cling tighter to his partners than ever before and that would manifest as manipulation and control. He would isolate his partner from their friends and family, forcing them to be completely reliant on him. Any hint of disloyalty or emotional distance from his partner would trigger violent outbursts.

➤ Donnie views his sister’s death as another one of his failures in life. Blaming himself for not protecting her enough, even though his protection of her had already developed into something that was toxic and overbearing, unknowingly contributing to the number of issues his sister was struggling to cope with.

➤ Donnie always perceived his intentions towards his sister to be good natured, as that’s how they began and honestly she was the one person he genuinely loved the most. Although he never learnt how to nurture and maintain healthy feelings and emotions, resulting in them all becoming warped and toxic. In his mind, he never hurt his sister or contributed to her turmoil.

➤ Therefore, when she took her own life, part of him saw it as a betrayal after all the sacrifices he made to protect her.

➤ The fragile relationship Donnie developed with masculinity, due to the major influences from his high school friends, his mother’s toxic boyfriend’s and the old rural town’s dated attitudes, left him unable to process his grief in a healthy manner—perceiving sadness as weakness. His grief would instead be channelled in bouts of uncontrollable anger and deep, depressive episodes.

Jamie and Jessica parallels

➤ When Jessica’s body is pulled from Donnie’s lake, it gives him flashbacks to seeing Jamie’s body at the river’s edge.

➤ When Donnie becomes a suspect and later charged with Jessica’s murder, questions about his involvement in Jamie’s murder resurface.

[anotherwellkeptsecret]

Silly and probably very obscure thing but I just wanted to mention because it's so wonderful to me :) [with additional overanalysis because I'm incapable of liking something a normal amount]

This is, without question (or context lmao), my FAVORITE panel of any of your comics (The scene as a whole is among my favorites too). It conveys the moment and the feeling and the context really well, and to top it all off he looks kinda silly :3

He's tired. Exhausted. Hurting. Frustrated. In this moment Sherlock is more vulnerable than he usually allows himself to be.

He has put his entire trust into John. He almost looks half-asleep, dazed, and leaning into the hands holding him. He has resigned all sense of instruction and control, and offered it solely to John. It's a sweet and incredibly gentle moment, conveyed almost entirely without words, expressed through gesture and poses alone.

Beautifully done, I love this silly man and everything you do with him :]

(Also I hope you have a great day, hope Baby is doing well too 💜💜💜)

Thank you so much! You encapsulated exactly how I felt when my mom had to bathe me when I got home from the hospital. Weird thing to realize how much she loved me in that moment, at my weakest. And my now husband coming to entertain me when I was laid up. I felt so tired and beaten down, but so loved. So I'm happy that feeling came through!

(Baby Secret is doing good! She is a TINY thing! 1st percentile baby, but healthy as ever! I hope she has that ah ha moment in her life--how much I love her when I'm taking care of her. <3)