#Black Media Honors

[akuma-is-here]

AHAHAHAHA NOT THE DELUSIONAL ASS BITCHES MAKING DADBASTIAN WEEK RIGHT AFTER SEBACIEL WEEK

[coffeewhiskeysleeprepeat]

I either communed with the ghost of Freddy Mercury, or I had the most vivid and detailed dream of my life.

This got long, so I put it under a cut. I could have shortened it, but this is everything I remember:

So Freddy Mercury came to my house for tea. After mocking my (american) options for tea as is his birth-rite as someone who was raised in the UK, we sat down to discuss pop culture since Freddy had passed.

A strange, and slightly disgusting transfer of knowledge went from my head to his, like he had thumped my head like a melon several times, inserted a tap behind my left ear, and slurped the knowledge out. I remember thinking his mustache tickled. This is relevant only in that Freddy was suddenly equipped with both knowledge of the media, and all of my previous thoughts on said media, and had things to say both on the combination, and the original media.

First thing he wanted to discuss was the musical RENT. He said that he was sorry that he couldn’t cover the song “glory” from the musical, but this time “for the faggots”. I could see him re-writing the verses in his head to match the original melody but make it explicitly, undeniably about queer men, but he did not share whatever was in his head with me. I told him, with more depth of feeling that I can express with words, how much I wished I could hear him sing that.

Freddy was… quiet with me about the musical other than that. He was very glad it existed, and that it had touched me, but I got the sense that I was just how he had found out about it, and he was saving his in-depth analysis for a later conversation with Andrew Larson, who wrote RENT. There was a sense, in the dream, that both Freddy and Larson needed to commiserate about not being alive to see RENT’s opening night. Freddy made a comment about Larson not dying of AIDs, but all I can remember of that comment is the wry twist his mouth made when he said it.

Next on our conversational agenda was the musical Wicked. Freddy was gleeful about it, but called them cowards for not making the love affair between Glinda and Elphaba explicit. I got up in the dream to refill our tea, and Freddy was humming defying gravity under his breath hitting notes most singers cannot hit with twenty minutes of warmup with the kind of casualness that indicated he was not fully conscious of doing it. I returned to the table to remind him that it is canon in the book, to which Freddy replied,

“Well yes, but you haven’t read the book in twenty years, so it isn’t top of mind for either of us, now is it?” And, after a pause “But I would loove to meet the Fiyero from the book.” We expressed mutual excitement at the movie, which I haven’t seen yet, and he told me to enjoy it, and report back to him. How I was supposed to do so was unclear.

We paused here, while Freddy essentially took bands/songs that exist in my head, and sorted them according to whether he liked them enough to take them back with him or not, taking my reactions to the music as guide. This was a bit fuzzy, in the dream. I essentially felt him access my personal memory of all the music I have been aware of over the course of my lifetime, and try and extract things that he wanted to take with him when he left, in order to listen to all of it.

This process would be far, far too extensive to list comprehensively, but there were a few standout moments. The song “Start Wearing Purple” by Gogol Bordello elicited a sharp grin from Freddy. The band Breaking Benjamin got a mild “Bit boring for me, but you seem to like it” and he took it with him. We debated quite vigorously about whether the original, or the cover of Swim Good was superior. I said the cover was, and Freddy disagreed. We agreed to disagree after we both raised valid points.

I never cared for boy bands, so N’sync and the Backstreet boys are simply a pack of white boys in my mind. Freddy declared half of the assembled boys “too plastic” and steered half the pack together. He declared himself “too old to truly care now, but if I was a boy when they were popular, I’d have had a good wank if these ones were out there.” And gave me a filthy grin, which I had a good laugh at. He said that Justin Timberlake (in his solo career era) was attractive, but that his solo career was boring.

He declared Chappel Roan “carried his spirit”, remarking how much he “fucking loved” Red Wine Supernova and Good Luck Babe? (is that the song title?) He added however that Chappel Roan needed to look back at Pink Pony Club, because there was something there that needed revisiting. It was unclear whether he meant emotionally, or musically, but he was confident something there was worth re-visiting.

Freddy expressed mixed feelings about the musical Hamilton. He loved the concept, but felt that it needed to pivot slightly to focus more on the Skylar sisters and Aaron Burr. He pointed out that the entire second half of the musical hinges on the death of Hamilton’s son, who we literally only hear from for the course of a single song, which to him didn’t establish enough of an emotional tie to the son. He said the first thing he would change would be to give him more stage time. I told him I had never thought of that before, and that he had a very valid point.

Then, in discussing the songs that did work in Hamilton, in which we mostly agreed, although I had a love for Satisfied that he did not share, we came to talk about “Wait for it”. And in one of the clearest moments of the dream, I said that I would have loved to hear him cover it in the last days of his life, and Freddy kind of flinched, but indulged me, and covered it on the spot.

I am going to live the rest of my life wishing I had the power to make what I heard in that dream a reality. I had goosebumps in the dream and even now as I write about it. In the musical Hamilton, the song really is about biding your time, and living and loving while still holding yourself back. Freddy said, with his rendition, Don’t you fucking dare. It became a song about grabbing life by the gonads and wringing every single drop of love and joy you fucking could, sung by a man who was taken from life far, far too soon, and it carried the pain of all of the days that Freddy could have had.

I’m tearing up just typing about it. It was transcendent. The sneer Freddy put on “wait for it” and the pain of hearing him sing “Death doesn't discriminate, between the sinners and the saints. It takes and it takes and it takes”? While standing just a few feet away from me making eye contact? My god I will never fully get over this, I am changed as a person, its fine, I am fine. Because this was a dream, Freddy was able to call the backing vocals out of the ether, and I understood, instinctively, that these were voices from his own life, starting at an early age, telling him to wait to come out of the closet, and heartbreakingly, near the end of the song, it was doctors who couldn’t help him telling him that all they could do was wait for death to take him. The chilling repeat of “Wait for it” that the song ends with took a hell of a different spin than in the show.

We took a moment, in the dream, after that in separate corners, because both of us were severely rattled. I went outside to cry and have a cigarette, while Freddy went to go look at the bookshelves.

When I came back in, Freddy remarked with some surprise that he could actually read the words in some of the books. He said that normally he could “play” music that people knew, but that books were generally incomprehensible in dreams. I timidly told him that I have at least a semi-photographic memory, so that might account for it. He said he would love to return at some point, if only to curl up with a book. I said he was free to do so, especially if I could leave him to it if I needed to. He agreed, putting a specific book which is normally in my library but isn’t at the moment back on the shelf (Fun Home, currently on loan to someone) The dream-scape lurched a little at the dissonance between those two facts, and Freddy quickly put the book down.

We got back to the music. Somehow, I summoned Gerard Way, precisely from the music video for Helena, in which he is wearing a black shirt and red tie, loosely tied. Freddy listened contemplatively to the song, then stood. He stood in front of this image of Gerard Way for a moment, then thrust his index and middle finger up, precisely hooking up under the tie on either side of the knot, while simultaneously raising his chin and staring Way down, and ever so slowly starting to guide Gerard Way to his knees. I’m a big ol’ dyke, but it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life and I could try for a thousand years and never pull that move off with so much style and that smoothly.

In my shock at just how hot and smooth that maneuver was, the image of Gerard Way vanished just as he hit his knees. Freddy seemed disappointed, but not surprised that he had vanished. He came back to the table, and we carried on talking. We discussed Glee, which he loved in theory and hated in practice, and he layed out a multiple point way to fix Glee which I agreed would make Glee amazing but I cannot remember more than a few points of the discussion.

Freddy was delighted by Living Single and absolutely dismissive of Friends. He said that if he had lived, he would have wanted to “queen it up” as the sole white re-occurring character who lived next to Max. I was skeptical, but I saw his vision.

Our conversation meandered through music, until we hit upon the career of Britney Spears. I explained the shape her career had taken, and Freddy’s face got darker and darker. He leapt up and ran out the front door angrily shouting “Elton what the fuck!” which I took to mean Elton John, but I have zero idea how or why that would connect? This is the part of the dream I find most inexplicable, but waking up and seeing a news item about how Elton John announced he was blind sure feels like Freddy went and punched his lights out.

Freddy returned, still muttering to himself, and we sat back down. I brought up my favorite TV show, Black Sails, which I think is a masterpiece, and Freddy, who had slurped up my brain, but hadn’t consciously been aware of the show, burst into sobs as he absorbed the whole thing all at once. I spent a few minutes comforting Freddy, fetching him a hanky and patting his back while he processed it.

He said “A story is true” and I followed it, “A story is untrue” and he looked up at me, as I stood with my arm around his seated form, as he said, as if in revelation,

“The story matters” I nodded, not totally understanding the point he was trying to make. Seeing this, Freddy tried again. “Our stories matter”, and this clicked it into place for me, that we were, both of us, part of a rich queer tradition. And that us telling our stories out loud in public was, by and for itself, an act of supreme love for both ourselves, and for everyone who came after us. I remember feeling awed, and humbled for Freddy to include me in that.

There was a sense that our time together was going to end soon, so I took the opportunity to have Freddy provide some (cutting) insight on the drag number I have been working on. He was totally right, I needed to play up an element I had been neglecting. The details of his critique were brutal, and 100% correct, but that stays between me and Freddy.

We sat back down at the table for a wrap up conversation before our time was up. Freddy asked after the lover he had left behind “even though I’m not supposed to”, and in the dream, I knew exactly who he was talking about, and confessed I didn’t know. My conscious mind doesn’t know the name (I haven’t looked it up yet) so I can’t hear Freddy say it either. I just hear the love and longing attached to that name.

In an effort to salvage the fact that I didn’t know what had happened to his lover (although I promised to look it up), I mentioned that I saw that Brian May had submitted his Phd thesis. This caused Freddy to burst into laughter and repeatedly say “good for him” while distractedly banging on the table . He was faintly smiling from this, when he said,

“you know, Brian and your Buddy (real name redacted, I don’t give out other people’s info on Tumblr)” I goggled briefly, wondering how Freddy knew Buddy which Freddy saw and quickly thumped his own head the same way he had thumped my head at the beginning, and I immediately understood that was how he had learned of his existence. He continued,

“They’re like sailors are to pirates. You have to have sailors, or there could be no piracy. One is a fundamental precondition of the other. They’re excellent sailors, those two. They make manhood mean something.” Here he paused and gave me a rakish grin. “We on the other hand, are pirates. We won’t ever fully understand the business of keeping a ship in tip top shape, but they’ll never fully understand what it feels like to hoist the black and go raiding either.”

I understood instinctively that the ship in this metaphor was masculinity and this struck me as a divine revelation on binary vs non-binary gender, that I was raiding the male ship (to be a drag king) and Freddy had been plundering the feminine (as a performer and a queer man) and anyone should respond to the question of “are you a pirate?” when not actively raiding a ship should always give the answer “What are you a cop?” and for the same reasons. I pointed out that Buddy was a trans man, so he had gone raiding in the past and Freddy said “who could tell the differences between the calluses better than someone who has done both?” I murmured “Different calluses” in a sense of deep wonderment, because we could tell the differences, but a cop wouldn’t know what differences to look for, because they didn’t understand the differences in how we operated.

“Darling,” Freddy stood, circling the table “There is nothing in life that doesn’t leave calluses. Make sure yours are ones that serve you.”

Recognizing that the dream was ending, I begged Freddy for proof that he was himself, and not a product of my subconscious. He briefly showed me a photo of himself holding a long haired orange cat in such a way that you could see the cats very floofy belly. He said “Brian knows.” No clue how that was supposed to prove he was in fact the ghost of Freddy Mercury and not part of my subconscious, but there you have it.

Freddy stood by the side of my chair and placed his hand on my face, and said “They would never have let me kiss you when you were a baby, because of the AIDS, but I could have. (meaning both it wasn’t dangerous at all, but we didn’t know that then and I wouldn’t have wanted to risk hurting you and the moral panic that would have also kept you away was always bullshit, and also meaning, it was within the realm of possibility that our paths might have been able to cross. Just a little bit, since I died while you were so young)” He pressed a tender, lingering kiss to my forehead like a parent would to a newborn, and said “Remember that you are a bridge (and this word started distorting the dream-scape around us) but there is no destination. You’re doing smashing.”

And I woke up. Almost two and a half hours before my alarm, and less than six hours after I went to bed.

It took me two hours of puzzling why it was the word bridge that destabilized everything, until I remembered that the GSA in my high school, its official name was Bridges. That was back in 2004, one year before I came out, and 13 since Freddy died.

[heswrongshesright]

Guardian of Valor or Stolen Valor with special guest Anthony Anderson - HWSR Ep 83

Join Nona and Andrew in this laugh-out-loud episode of 'He's Wrong She's Right' featuring Anthony Anderson from Guardian of Valor https://x.com/StolenValor1 ! While discussing Twitter trolls and social media snafus, the trio dives into deeper waters with tales of veteran valor and imposters. The episode takes a serious yet captivating turn with stories about Stolen Valor and a shocking investigation into Kelsey Hoover, a woman faking her military service. From mastering social media personas to debunking hoaxes in the veteran community, this episode blends humor and hard-hitting topics seamlessly. A must-watch for comedy enthusiasts and truth-seekers alike! 

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00:00 Welcome to the Show

00:15 Introducing Anthony Anderson

00:59 Social Media Encounters

03:14 Favorite Twitter Follows

05:08 The Chuck Ritter Case

09:22 Understanding Stolen Valor

11:25 Origins of the Organization

20:22 Challenges with YouTube

31:36 Nonprofit Considerations

40:31 Implied Enemies in Movies

41:43 Starting the Organization

42:43 Challenges in Investigations

46:23 Project Management and Security

52:26 Veteran Community and Politics

01:14:37 Difficult Cases and Lessons Learned

01:20:22 Conclusion and Final Thoughts

#HWSR #AndrewLemacks #NonaPhelps #GuardianOfValor #FakeIdentities #TwitterTrolls #AnthonyAnderson #StolenValor #VeteranCommunity #SocialMediaDrama #ComedyPodcast #VeteranHonor #MilitaryStories #HesWrongShesRight #PodcastEpisodes #ComedyChat #VeteranSupport #ViralStories #BlackRifleCoffee #HoaxHunting #SocialMediaMess #TwitterDrama #LaughterAndTruth #InvestigativePodcast

[mechazushi]

Story Idea 6#

French Take The Lead but GAY, staring Michael Buble's Higher and Sabrina Carpenter's Looking at Me.

Honestly. What it says on the tin. Had this in the old file cabinet in the back for a year I think, and with the late news of Ice Adolescence being dropped and its Pride Month, here's a story for some one to take and make popular to spite Mappa execs

So I have no names for these people so its going to be Brother, his Sister, and the newcomer Hip because it stars a brother, his sister and a guy that did hip hop. Also, in case this wasn't obvious from the Take the Lead reference, they're all black. Brother is bald, btw (still handsome, just bald). And they live in France, kinda important?

Story goes as this. Brother and sister are an unbeatable ballroom dancing pair and have won several awards. There's no bitter rivalry undertones, they get along very well (with typical sibling shenanigans) but after a while, they decide enough is enough and part ways for a bit, wanting a break from the dancing scene. Few years later, they get back together and they are bored. Yeah, it was nice to get out of the spotlight for a while, but since then they have both been looking for different dance partners and have been failing miserably.

As they are discussing this on a lunch date, they walk through a local park and stumble across a live dance demonstration. It's a group of locals doing a free Hip Hop show and looking like they're just having fun. Both of them stop to watch and Sister gets really into the music. As a joke, the two of them try to make an improvised tango routine on the spot. This gathers both the crowd and the hip hop group's attention. Taking the competition in stride, the break dancers invite the ballroom dancers to a friendly dance off. The siblings agree and sh*t gets real. Halfway through the dance off, the other main character stumbles into Brother's arms and he instinctively plays it off. Hip and Brother look each other in the eyes and decide to floor it and go with the flow of the music. It's a lovely display and left the crowd feeling like the song ended too soon.

After the show, the siblings approach Hip and ask if he'd ever be interested in trying ballroom. He initially says no, but thanks anyway. They give him their number and separate. Something happens and now Hip need money (or some other excuse as to why he needs to try ballroom dancing/ add stakes) He goes back and, for whatever the reason is, explains upfront why he's doing this. (There would be no late stage misunderstanding of motives arc if I was going to make this myself, but I'm leaving this to public domain, I.e. you can if you want...I guess..) either way, he's ballroom dancing now.

How this gets gay, though, is explained by the second episode. Brother and Sister are trying to teach Hip how to dance fancily and its not going well. Hip is paired with Sister initially and he's stepping on toes and missing beats somehow. Once it becomes clear that Hip might need a different way of explaining, Brother steps in and miraculously, Hip is a better dancer now. Couple more rounds of this and It becomes clear that Hip can dance, but only if he's paired with Brother. So now the rest of the show is shipping fuel for Hip and Brother getting together and , you know, the actual plot of the story. Probably winning a competition or some typical bullsh*t. (But we're not here for that-we're here for french flavored yaoi 😁)

There is also a reason why I mentioned Michael's song Higher and its not that its a perfect tango song. I had an idea for a scene where Hip is thinking about quitting and Brother is trying to convince him not too. They're at the Arc de Triomphe and for those of you that may not know this, It's the square arch building in France and there's a massive roundabout surrounding it. And there's no lines separating traffic, its chaos.

Hip unknowingly walks out into traffic and almost gets hit by a car. Brother saves him, but is now stuck in traffic with him. Higher starts to play as the two of them find their rhythm again dancing through traffic, literally. At one point in the song, Brother manages to toss Hip into the air, slinging him one-handed over a car, and its played up as it's in slow-mo, with the two of them looking each other in the eyes in amazement, realizing that this is possible... they are possible. They make it to the other side safely and Hip reconsiders leaving behind his dream/goal.

There's another scene where the three of them walk into a more local, less stakes competition to practice in front of a crowd. The bouncer won't let them onto the floor as they're male-male partners and the rules haven't been changed to reflect the new times (This is a one off time for a joke i'm trying to set up, hold on). Hip gets pissed and has to walk away. Sister comes up with a brilliant idea and drags Hip into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, Hip and Sister changed outfits, with Hip looking deceptively feminine. Brother gives Hip a long hard look, evaluating the outfit while Sister douses herself in praise for the idea. Brother becomes lost in thought, wondering if this is possible (maybe a little questioning of his sexual identity as well). Unfortunately, he's staring right at Hip's chest in the dress.

"Excuse you, my eyes are up here." says Hip. An embarrassed Brother drags Hip to the dance floor and passes the bouncer, while the bouncer doesn't question anything. On another note, they won fourth place in the local competition.

[27moremoons]

Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine:

The Popular Front Calls for a Boycott of the Democratic and Republican Parties and Emphasizes the Need for Not Voting for Advocates of Genocide and Supporters of Colonialism

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine calls on all the free people of America, especially supporters of the Palestinian people, Palestinian and Arab communities, as well as Black organizations and minority organizations, to boycott the Democratic and Republican parties in the U.S. elections scheduled for tomorrow, as both share clear colonial objectives aimed at the genocide of our people and the reinforcement of the zionist settler project.

Both parties have been directly involved in the ongoing war of genocide against our Palestinian and Lebanese peoples, never hiding their blatant bias in favor of the occupation and their continuous support for its racist policies that target the existence of the Palestinian people and uproot them from their land.

The stances of the two American parties reflect an explicit endorsement of ethnic cleansing, legitimizing zionist crimes and massacres against our people through financial, political, and military support for the zionist entity. Statements by leaders of these parties seek to beautify and justify their imperialist policies, using colonial rhetoric that views the Palestinian people as an obstacle to their so-called "civilizational project," while their election campaigns overlook the heinous crimes committed daily against Palestinian civilians, especially women and children, in an attempt to mask the true face of the occupation and legitimize its crimes.

The Democratic and Republican parties continue their efforts to gain the support of zionist lobbies and influential powers, in pursuits aimed at reinforcing policies of mass displacement and systematic oppression against Palestinians.

In this context, the Popular Front renews its explicit call for all honorable individuals within American society not to vote for these two parties, which use American taxpayer money, drawn from the blood of the American people, to support the zionist genocide regime.

The Popular Front sees the boycott of these two zionist-aligned parties in tomorrow's U.S. elections as a moral stance no less significant than any other form of solidarity with the Palestinian people and the rights of oppressed peoples. It is also an effective means of exposing the falsity of American slogans that speak of freedom and human rights. The United States, through its political tools, seeks to exploit these concepts to justify its crimes and perpetuate its hegemony over nations, without regard for the rights of Palestinians who face the worst types of crimes.

Finally, the Front considers the boycott of the two parties a clear internal message to the U.S. administration and the international system surrounding it: those who collude in the shedding of our people's blood and their displacement should not receive the votes of the world’s free people and our communities, who refuse to be complicit in their election or serve as silent witnesses to their criminal policies in power.

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine

Central Media Department

November 4, 2024

[mentalintimacymagazine]

The "2023 Black Music Honors" are BACK!!!!!!!!

[anitalenia]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𝒄𝒘: sexual content ahead, husband!bale!batman, fem!reader on top, riding, some dirty talk, soft sex, not my best writing but fr fr don’t come for me im just trying to post things okay? ahhhhhhh 😔🤚🏻 maybe some typos 😚 i oughta be ashamed of myself fr fr 😔😔🤚🏻🤚🏻 ₊˚⊹♡

₊˚⊹♡ 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆; eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy.

Labels. These were all just labels Bruce never particularly cared for nor paid attention to, monickers used to try and simplify who he really was so he could be easier understood. Labels used to better classify him because rich men like him supposedly didn’t have depth or purpose beyond what the media claimed him to have.

They were just labels, words that barely scratched the surface of who he really was.

Bruce had been called many things in his life, too many awful and offensive things he had quickly learned not to pay attention to. Caring gave them meaning, he was told so early on, caring gave them significance. Now, he really couldn’t care less.

Throughout the course of his life, throughout all the tragedy and grief, Bruce had learned to ignore it all; the names, the judgments, the looks, the labels. His indifference had become second nature, an innate response to anybody trying to provoke him.

He didn’t really have a choice anyway. There were too many people praying on his downfall since his birth, too many people biting at the fruits of his labor to see if they were ripe enough for the taking. Selfish, greedy, money hungry men desperate for his demise.

Sharks lurking in untamed depths ready to snatch him up if he swam too far, hiding in the black shores with their sharp teeth bared and beady eyes hungry.

Despite what many people believed, Bruce didn’t have it so easy in the sense of work and spirit. When you were rich like he was, famous like he was, as powerful as he was, everyone believed you couldn’t possibly be burdened by anything.

That he was too spoiled by the grandness of life that it had gradually bled into a lack of work ethic, that it was his last name that gave him any status at all, that it was his reputation that gave him everything he had without him having to ask for it.

He had the money to fix any problem, the influence to hide any scandal, the face to get him out of any situation he needed to get out of.

He was CEO of Wayne Enterprises for gods sake, son to Thomas Wayne, a man that was great and beloved all in his own right. Yes, people had doubted Bruce’s ability to lead, to run a business after so long of being away from it, but then he came back and proved them all wrong as he usually did.

Being someone so honorably renowned in Gotham City, someone that carried the Wayne name at that, it came with its own barrel of familial obligation and responsibility outside of his own personal commitments. He couldn’t disappoint anyone, could never fathom disappointing his late father.

Working by day a normal man with a bullet on his back, a price on his head to any hungry buisness man willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. Then working by night as Batman with the bruises and scars to show for it. Someone every criminal and lowlife in Gotham City wanted dead.

Batman, not so much a label as he was a separate being entirely. It was Bruce, but he couldn’t find any similarities between the polite buisness man wearing a suit by day and the other man wearing a blood stained mask by night. One was forced to coerce with society in the manner of business and passive aggressive smiles, another undertaking the grueling task of removing the grime from it.

Bruce Wayne was all expensive cologne and hand shake deals, money hungry tabloids and self absorbed white collars. It was a life always on display, always the center of attention, always everyone else’s focus.

Batman was purely mystery and intrigue. Hidden from sight yet found in every shadow, heard in the trembled whisper of every breath. No one knew who he was yet he had somehow gotten all of their attention. Everyone eager to know who was behind the mask but no one ready to answer for why he existed in the first place.

The only similarities they shared were the cause for conspiracy. Whether it was Bruce or Batman they stole every headline — always someone trying to figure them out, bring their true identity to light and spread more moral quandary about whether they were right or wrong for every choice they made.

Pure opposite lives he juggled in the same two hands.

No, he did not have it easy. Always more enemies than friends and more snakes than family. Every hour, every minute, every second he spent left exposed there was always someone right behind him ready to push him if he faltered.

He had to be careful; always be passive and nice, diplomatic and respectful to those he knew wanted him gone, to the people who wanted his seat at the head of the table and the money in his bank. Bruce had to be the CEO his father wanted him to be, the one he was destined to be, the one etched into his history before he was even born.

He had a reputation to uphold, a legacy to live, a job to do.

But no, it was not always easy.

Being rich and handsome like he was did have its downsides, as meager as they may seem to less fortunate individuals. Many people hated Bruce Wayne just for those simple, superficial things alone. His looks, his status, his job he was so rightfully given. Apparently this made him an asshole, arrogant, narcissist.

It was looks of hatred and envy from men he’d never even met, women he’d abandoned after a steamy two hour hookup (not that he did those anymore but women loved to hold a grudge), businessmen who cursed him to hell and back for his amount of wealth and fame he had no control over.

He didn’t care about these people anyway. These rambunctious, single minded people who preyed on the weak and ate the hopeless. They were all self centered, arrogant, narcissistic. Self absorbed scum unwilling to put in the hard work necessary to be as successful as he was.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Bruce was often regarded as someone lonely, someone lost, someone desolate and pitiful. He was a coward, hiding in his soulless black mansion under thick piles of money ever since the fatal death of his parents. So sad, an orphan, just depressing.

That was hushed whispers behind his back and somber stares, awkward, harrowing smiles from coworkers and the front pages of newspapers. Bruce Wayne back from hiding after all this time… living on his father’s name… will he fail or carry on the legacy of the great Wayne fortune… yada yada yada.

Just more words. Pointless and purposeless, written to appease the swill of Gotham with no real substance behind them. Gossip, false news, attention grabbing headlines that were purely speculation.

However, as much as he hated labels — more so his — whatever names he got called behind his back, Bruce couldn’t find it in sensible reason to argue that they weren’t pieces of who he really was. Fabrics of his character torn out thread by thread and poked and needled at by societies curious hands.

They were just pieces, stretched and torn so far from the truth but yet the original strings were still there, hanging on in remembrance of what he truly was chaotically intertwined in the lies and deception of what people thought him to be. Too shredded to be properly understood but still thriving in the undercurrents of whatever he was now being labeled as and people were now foolishly believing him to be.

Yes, they were just labels. But labels that were not so far from factual truths.

However again, none of those words mattered to him as much as this did, as much as the one label that he truly cared about.

Husband.

Your husband.

The only title he held in the same esteem as Batman and Wayne Enterprises CEO, perhaps even higher. It was one of the only labels that carried a semblance of true meaning, one he didn’t shy from.

Husband. It was the only honorific that mattered to him, one of the only sentiments that made him feel actual pride in who he was. Husband was something real, concrete, not some anonymous opinion in a paper or a cruel murmur in a hallway.

It was the label that pierced him through and through especially in moments like this, moments when your hips were rolling deeply on top of his and he was buried balls deep inside your warmth.

He couldn’t think about anything in this moment. Nothing and everything at the same time as your finger nails, freshly manicured and glittering, gripped into his shoulder blades as you rolled your hips once again.

Bruce winced pleasantly, jaw clenching as his head leaned back into the softness of his black silken pillows. Brown hair frazzled and stringy, his smooth skin alight with a soft, lovesick glow.

You rolled your hips once more in a soft soothing motion, nothing too rough and nothing too fast; the evening had called for something more sensual in the delicacy of Bruce’s touch and the softness of his words just an hour prior.

“Oh Bruce…” You sighed dreamily, hands pressing into his bulky arms as he sighed out a trembled breath from his nose.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, his heavy hands squeezing your hips but not as to pressure you, only to keep you connected to him at the hilt so he was never too far out of you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, get it just like that… mmhmm.” Bruce swallowed heavily, voice low and raw as his eyebrows furrowed over darkened hazel eyes. Fingers thrumming on your skin as you pulsed around him, wetness seeping out of your full entrance and gliding down his length until it could leave a memorable darkened patch on the sheets.

You whined quietly, voice high pitched and greedy as the length of him filled you up and pressed into every soft wall surrounding him. He was always thick, always perfect, always felt so fucking good it made your muscles tense and spasm.

You rolled your body in that delectable way he liked once more, barely moving yet every part of him felt the sparks of pleasure thrum through his skin and make his thighs lock up.

Bruce groaned hotly at the action, eyes flickering down to the wet mess of where your pussy was sucking him in. It was messy, glistening, shared arousal in white strings of mutual attraction. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass from where it sat perched on his strong thighs.

“Mm, fuck, honey.” Bruce breathed out gruffly more to himself than you when the sight of your wetness smeared all over him made his heart spike.

You didn’t respond, chin down to your chest and eyes closed as you focused on the pleasure in your own lower regions, the fullness and heaviness that filled you up and refused to part.

“Ohhh, feels so good-“ You gasped as a heavy spurt of pure pleasure sparked up your tummy, hole clenching around him tightly as an obscene gush of wetness leaked down his cock and onto his thighs.

Bruce licked his dry lips, eyes staring up at you heatedly; at the tightness of your shut eyes, the sweet moans gasping out of parted lips — lips, lips that were glossy and plush from all the needy kisses you shared with him just a mere moments ago.

He was enraptured by you, by your naked physique all soft and sweaty on top of him but he didn’t care. You were just so beautiful, pussy so perfect wrapped around him, squeezing his cock so good it made his mind fog up with indescribable pleasure.

“Yes, sweetheart, god, yesss…” Bruce agreed huskily, his head resting back on his pillow once more as you bucked your hips. His thighs tensed, toes curled, a grunt sounding in his throat as his hips rose to further dig himself inside you.

He couldn’t help it; like a soul to a light he sought you out, your warmth and tightness so snug and comforting around him he didn’t ever want to be apart from you.

You whimpered at the intrusion, nails digging into his skin in a painful sting that Bruce was too fucked out to really notice.

He swallowed hazily below you, eyes closing then opening to look down at the way your pussy molded into one with his hard cock as you rocked gently against him. Deep inside you where he was meant to be, stomach and pelvis and thick thighs soaked with your gushing arousal.

Fire shooting down his legs and tummy with every soft bounce back down on him, illicit wet noises sounding in the room with every desperate grind.

He loved that sound, your wetness mashing with his thick base. But not nearly as much as your melodic sounds gasping out every so often because his cock made you feel that good.

His mouth was terribly dry from his own grunts and moans, handsome face and muscular chest flushed pink, the air so so hot he could feel his own dark hair sticking to the dew on his fevered head.

His hands, big and clammy, dug into the soft fat of your hips to help you dig into him in that way you both liked, the one that had you both gasping hotly into each others mouths as you leaned down to give him another sloppy kiss.

You couldn’t quite get it right though, too distracted by the feel of him so deep inside you that your lips stuttered on his. Moving messily against him as you whined into his mouth once more, the tip of his cock so high up inside you it almost hurt.

He was always so big, so round and tall that the stretch alone always seemed to ache pleasurably with every short thrust he made inside you.

“That’s good, sweetheart… that’s it… just how you know I like it…”

Bruce breathed heavily against your lips from where you were leaned on top of him, naked breasts mashed to his chiseled chest and hands gripping onto the headboard now.

You needed something sturdy, something unbreakable to tether you back to him when you felt the pleasure making you float too far.

His breath was hot against your sore lips, mingled with your low moans and spoken just above the subtle creaks of the bed; sounding every time you moved above him in a sensually quickened pace that had your toes curling and thighs tensing.

“So beautiful, sweetheart, so good…”

Bruce couldn’t help but compliment you even in the most nasty of times, voice clenched yet breathy, spoken through hot breaths and pressed teeth as your wetness dripped down his length once more.

You moaned sweetly at his doting words, his voice cracked and low in that gravelly salacious tone you loved so much.

You clenched around him in response, his fingers tightening on you as he let out a handsome groan from the feeling. You watched as his head sunk into the pillow beneath him, eyes clenched shut and a heavy grunt leaving his chest.

The sight was attractive, seeing him so wrecked from just a few simple back and forth motions you were carefully orchestrating.

You felt a wave of stinging pleasure spike up your thighs and down your legs, up your tummy and into your head until your whole body was tingling. Your eyes brimming with unshed tears as sweat prickled at your skin and your legs burned from sitting for so long.

You didn’t care about the pain, too drunk on the sensations of his thickness rubbing inside the most intimate part of you, your hips rolling in desperate circular motions so he was never completely apart from you. You liked keeping him inside as much as possible, to feel that fullness and that dull burn to remind you of just how big he was.

Bruce loved it too, resting inside your warmth, comfortable, letting you take him however you wanted in whatever way you needed. He was always a giver, always a good husband when you needed him to be.

“F-fuck, Bruce, you feel so good.” You gasped wantonly, voice quiet yet fragmented, needy and breathless as your nails dug into his skin.

“Yeah, honey? It feels good?” Bruce replied just as quietly, being sure to thrust up into you just a little bit harder so you’d gasp some more for him.

It was lewd, lovely, his dirty words spoken onto your quivering lips and his meaty hands gripping your thighs to help aid in your eager movements.

It felt so good, so right, being there with him in the darkness of his room with only the sound of your shared panting and moans filling the silence.

It was hot and perfect; his hands on your thighs gripping hard enough to show you he doesn’t want you to stop, your mouths ever so often pecking together in a sweet kiss you couldn’t continue, fond gazes in darkened irises.

“Feels so good, Bruce, I can’t—“ You whimpered out all cutely, sliding up from his chest until you were sitting straight up once more. You could feel him shift inside of you, hardness still prominent and throbbing. He pressed against your walls, invading every nerve point as your clit rubbed against his naval in the new position.

Bruce gripped the flesh of your ass between his hands, helping your soft rocking motions against him as he spoke, “Yes you can, pretty girl, you always do for me. You’re doing so good, sweetheart, you have no idea…”

The praise made you smile brokenly. Your skin so hot it felt burning yet every grind against your husbands hard cock made your legs go numb. You whined and bucked above him as a tightness started to stretch in your tummy.

“Always for you, baby…” You managed to mumble shakily, lovingly, hands sliding over the abs on his stomach as you sat back on his lap so not a single inch of him wasn’t inside you.

Bruce clenched his jaw at that, hands digging into your hips as he thrust his own up to meet your soft grinds. Sparks, electricity, all of the cliche metaphors for how good he was feeling shooting down his cock and into his legs as his knees tensed up.

He felt lightheaded yet completely grounded, here to his mattress. Floating in the skies yet simultaneously stuck on earth with you, his gorgeous wife who always made him feel sane and normal.

Your hair was tangled around your shoulders and falling over your flushed cheeks as you stared down at him with a fond glimmer in your eyes, bright and burning under the lust so boldly wanting.

The stretch of him inside you was so good, his gravelly moans so good, the way he was making you feel so so good.

You exhaled as you settled your weight down on his pelvis, pussy sore yet eager as you squeezed around him once more. Love struck eyes looking down at him passionately as the moon cascaded a light gray glow behind you.

Bruce felt the air escape his lungs, lips parted as he stared up at you in utter devotion; you were so beautiful, so sweet, felt so fucking good around him he couldn’t even think straight. Brain numb and thoughtless, only you and your perfect pussy, you, you, you.

You took a moment to stare back at him. Unspoken love was whispered in the shadows of your eyes bright and glittering as your movements picked up into polite, subtle bounces that had Bruce digging his hands into you, breathy sounds escaping his lips.

“Ah, Bruce…” You mumbled weakly, voice soft and needy as you tossed your head back and moved your hips up and down so his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you he usually loved to tease.

“Such a good job, sweetheart, so beautiful like this…” Bruce spoke huskily, staring at your heaving breasts as they jiggled and beckoned him forth, beautiful and pure as you rode him to high heaven in your most organic form.

You hummed into a delicate moan, a smile quirked on your lips at his praise as you felt his hands slowly start crawling up the exposed expanse of your waist.

Warm and big and tender as they moved up, up, gentle fingers tracing over your ribcage as your flesh prickled at the touch. He was delicate, always intent on your pleasure over his as he admired your form above him, the feel of your skin under his textured hands that had hurt so many.

You trusted him, your husband, enough to see you like this. Trusted him enough to have you like this, to allow his bloodstained hands to wash over you like he himself was something pure and untainted, bestowing him your presence like a merciful deity to their promised worshipper.

You bit your lip as his palms enveloped the fat of your breasts into them, molded perfectly into his larger hands as he squeezed and admired them in a fashion so familiar for him; he always loved your breasts, enamored with the softness and weight of them in his greedy hands.

You stared down at him with a heated tenderness, the look of a wife irrevocably in love with their husband as he stared up at you with the same fervor.

When he was here, with you, there were no labels, no obligations and no judgments. With you he was just yours, another body made of flesh and blood and bone melded to yours in the conjunction of where his body ended and yours began.

He was no one but he was your everything, hands on skin and lips on collarbones, sweat amongst sweat and heady moans breathed in the gasps of kisses shared between two lovesick spouses.

In this space, in this moment, with you on top of him and his hands all over you any remnants of shame and Wayne inspired obligation was vacant. All he needed to do was sit and let you take him, sit there and be of use when you wanted to use him.

He was a good husband, the best husband to you, his perfect and lovely wife who never addressed him as anything more than yours. He wasn’t this, he wasn’t that, he was just everything and more in the confines of silken sheets under the safety of his mansion.

No cameras, no gossip, no press and no watchful eyes. Serene, tranquil, just you and him and the great love you shared that transcended any label or common sense humanity could fathom.

Yes, he was Bruce Wayne. Eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy. But those things did not define him, did not set his reality in stone so easily as your love did. He was all those things but he was so much more.

You never judged him, looked at him as anything more than the most important thing. You regarded him with love no matter his past, his present, and hopefully and most likely your shared future.

You didn’t care for labels or surface value lies like everyone else did. You ripped him at his seams, tore him apart to see what was inside and he was ever so grateful for it, for that loving animosity that bared his soul to yours. You were straightforward, heart to heart or nothing at all because then what was the point?

There was no purpose without pain, without pleasure, without love. You suffered, you loved, and you were most definitely bringing him pleasure. All blunt and raw emotions too passionate and loud to ever try and hide or make lies about. No secrets, no deception, no labels.

This night, every night just like this one — nights spent in your arms deep inside where he needed to be most, were nights where his mind was bare and he was just yours. Nights when he didn’t have to put up a face or make up a lie or tell a tall tale.

He was Bruce, he was yours, he was just this. And most importantly, he was just your husband. The only label that really mattered and the only one he ever really cared about. ₊˚⊹♡

tagging , @little-miss-chaoss , @ghostslillady , @boobaeri , @prayingal

[natsaffection]

heyy this is my first time making a request and idk if it's okay but what if reader is like an anti-hero or villian and when reader gets hurt she shoves up to Natasha's apartment thinking she would maybe help her? idk if it works but I've been thinking about something like this and it would be great if you actually write itt😭😭😭

Lines crossed. | N.R

Avenger!Natasha x AntiHero!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Gore and injurys

Word Count: 2,6k

A/N: These are the stories I like the most. 🙏🏻 And I feel honored, that I can write your first ever request! 🏆

The city of New York was no stranger to chaos, but in recent months, a new shadow had begun to loom over its streets. This shadow was not the kind of evil the Avengers were used to dealing with..This was different. And this, was you, a name whispered in fear among the criminal underworld, a vigilante with a taste for vengeance and a history stained with blood.

You had risen to the top of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most wanted list, a place usually reserved for supervillains and global threats. Your methods were brutal and unyielding, your sense of justice unwavering. To some, you were a hero. To others, a menace. But to the Avengers, you were a problem that needed solving.

“Another one,” Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, murmured as she stood over the lifeless body of a notorious gang leader, his blood pooling around him in a grotesque halo. “It’s her again.”

Clint joined her, shaking his head. “She’s getting bolder. This is the third one this week.” Natasha's eyes scanned the scene, taking in the familiar hallmarks of your handiwork. The precision, the brutality, the unmistakable sense of finality. "She’s not hiding anymore. She wants us to know it’s her."

Nick Fury appeared behind them, his expression unreadable as ever. "We need to bring her in. She's crossed too many lines, and now the media's starting to pick up on it. The last thing we need is a vigilante making us look incompetent."

Natasha nodded, her mind already running through the many encounters she’d had with you. Each one had been a battle of wills, fists, and wits. You were good, damn good. But Natasha was determined to be better.

You wiped the blood from your hands, your breathing steadying as you looked at the man you'd just eliminated. He had been a monster, a predator preying on the weak and innocent. You felt no remorse. In your eyes, justice had been served.

You knew the Avengers were close. You could feel their presence like a storm on the horizon. Especially Natasha. Your fights had become a dance of sorts, each trying to outmaneuver the other, each knowing that one day it would come down to a final, decisive confrontation.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. You glanced at the message: another target, another mission. Your work was never done.

Back at the Avengers' headquarters, the team gathered around a holographic display of the city, pinpointing the locations of your recent activities. "We need to be strategic," Steve said, his voice calm but firm. "She’s not just any criminal. She’s trained, skilled, and she's got a mission."

Natasha’s eyes never left the display. She knew you better than most. She understood your motivations, your drive. And she knew that stopping you would require more than just brute force.

"It’s personal for her," Natasha said quietly. "And if we’re going to bring her in, we need to understand why she’s doing this." The team nodded, each member resolving to bring an end to your bloody crusade. But for Natasha, it was more than just another mission. It was a challenge, a test of her skills and resolve.

You moved through the city like a ghost, your mind focused on the task at hand. You knew the Avengers were watching, waiting. You relished the challenge. Each encounter with Natasha had pushed you to be better, sharper.

But you also knew that the game couldn’t go on forever. One day, it would come to an end. One way or another.As you prepared for your next mission, you couldn't help but wonder: when that day came, who would be the one standing? You or Natasha?

The city was alive with the sounds of sirens and distant traffic, but your focus was razor-sharp. You moved through the shadows, your target's location clear in your mind. You knew the Avengers were closing in, but you thrived on the edge, where danger and adrenaline fused into one intoxicating rush.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your target, a corrupt businessman with ties to multiple criminal organizations. You slipped past his security with ease, your movements precise and silent. As you stood over him, your eyes cold and unyielding, you knew this would send another message to the underworld and the Avengers alike.

Just as you were about to strike, the window shattered, and Natash swung in, landing gracefully on her feet, guns drawn. "Y/n, this ends now," Natasha said, her voice a mix of resolve and urgency. You smirked, stepping back to assess the new threat. "You always know how to make an entrance, Romanoff."

The two of you circled each other, the tension thick in the air. You made the first move, lunging forward with a series of rapid strikes. Natasha countered, your fists and feet a blur of motion. Each move was calculated, each strike intended to find a weakness.

The fight spilled into the hall, your movements fluid and fierce. You were relentless, your skills honed by years of training and combat. But Natasha was no less formidable, her experience and agility a match for your raw power.

In a desperate bid to escape, you knocked over a set of shelves, creating a momentary barrier. You dashed down the corridor, but your path was blocked by Steve. "Going somewhere?" Steve asked, raising his shield.

You didn’t hesitate. You launched yourself at him, your attacks relentless. Steve defended himself with his shield, but your sheer ferocity pushed him back. You knew you had to move fast. Every second counted.

A blast of energy struck the ground near you, and you turned to see Tony Stark hovering in his Iron Man suit. "You’re surrounded. Give it up."

With a quick glance, you calculated your options. You grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher, using it to create a cloud of smoke. In the confusion, you darted through a side door, your escape route planned to the last detail.

In the aftermath, the Avengers regrouped, frustration evident in their expressions. "She’s good," Clint said, rubbing his bruised arm. "We almost had her."

"Almost isn’t good enough," Tony replied, scanning the area for any sign of you. "She’s always one step ahead." Natasha looked at the ground, her mind replaying the fight. She admired your tenacity and skill, but she also knew that each encounter brought them closer to a dangerous tipping point.

"We need to change our approach," Natasha said. "She’s playing a game of survival. We need to make her see that we’re not the enemy." Steve nodded. "Agreed. We need to understand her motivations. If we can reach her, maybe we can end this without more bloodshed."

Weeks turned into months, and the chase between you and Natasha became legendary among the Avengers. Your reputation as a formidable adversary was solidified, but so was Natasha's determination to bring you in. Every encounter became a game of wits and skill, a deadly dance with an undercurrent of something more.

One night, Natasha found herself on a stakeout at a high-end nightclub. Her sources had tipped her off about a major criminal deal going down. She knew you would be there, drawn to the opportunity like a moth to a flame. Natasha blended into the crowd, her eyes scanning for any sign of her elusive target.

Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. "Looking for someone?" your familiar, flirty voice whispered in her ear. Natasha spun around to find you, dressed to kill and wearing a mischievous grin.

"Yes, you." Natasha said, her voice steady despite the surprise. "You're getting bold." You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And you're getting predictable, Romanoff. I knew you'd be here."

Natasha moved closer, lowering her voice. "This ends tonight. You're coming with me." You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Are you asking me out on a date, or is this another one of your attempts to arrest me?"

Natasha couldn't help but smirk. "Depends on how you look at it." Before Natasha could react, you leaned in, your lips brushing Natasha's ear as you whispered, "Catch me if you can." Then, with a swift movement, you disappeared into the crowd.

Natasha's heart raced as she pursued you through the crowded club. The thrill of the chase was intoxicating, and she couldn't deny the electric connection between you. You were always one step ahead, leaving clues and taunts that kept Natasha on her toes.

The chase led them to the club's rooftop, the city lights sprawling beneath them. You stood at the edge, the wind whipping through your hair. Natasha approached slowly, her eyes locked on you.

"You can't keep running forever.“ Natasha said, her voice a mix of determination and something softer. You turned to face her, your expression unreadable. "I'm not running, Natasha. I'm fighting. Just like you."

Natasha took a step closer, her heart pounding. "We don't have to be enemies, Y/n.. Let us help you." Your gaze softened, and for a moment, Natasha saw the vulnerability beneath the tough exterior. "You don't understand. I've crossed too many lines. There's no going back for me."

Natasha reached out, her hand brushing your arm. "It's never too late to make a different choice. You can Trust me.“ You looked at Natasha, your eyes searching for something. Then, with a sigh, you pulled away. "Maybe in another life, Romanoff."

Before Natasha could react, you leaped off the rooftop, landing gracefully on a fire escape below. Natasha rushed to the edge, but you were already disappearing into the night.

—

One fateful evening, you found yourself cornered by a gang of criminals. You fought valiantly, but the numbers were overwhelming. By the time the dust settled, you were grievously wounded. Blood soaked your clothes, and every step sent waves of agony through your body.

Desperation set in as you stumbled through the dark alleys. You knew going to a hospital was out of the question. The police would arrest you on sight, and SHIELD agents were everywhere. You tried to treat your wounds in an abandoned building, using whatever you could find. With shaking hands, you attempted to stitch a deep gash on your side, but the pain was too intense and your vision blurred.

Realizing the severity of your injuries and your inability to treat them alone, you remembered, „You can Trust me.“ You had placed a small tracking device on Natasha’s shoe during one of your fights, anticipating you might need to find her someday.

The rain pelted the city in relentless sheets, washing away the grime of the day. You stood in front of Natasha's apartment door, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You leaned heavily against the frame, your vision swimming. Despite the pain, you forced a playful smile onto your lips. You had to get inside. You had to see Natasha.

With a trembling hand, you knocked on the door. It felt like an eternity before it finally swung open. Natasha stood there, her expression a mix of surprise and annoyance.

"How did you find me?" Natasha asked, her voice cold. You tried to straighten up, wincing as you did. "Miss me already, Romanoff?" you said, your voice weak but carrying a hint of flirtation. "Couldn't stay away.."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here. Why are you here?" Ignoring the question, you leaned against the doorframe, your legs barely holding you up. "Thought I'd drop by... see your lovely face," you managed, your vision beginning to darken around the edges.

Natasha's patience snapped. She grabbed her phone, her fingers quickly dialing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s number. "Enough with the games. I'm done with this."

Your heart sank, your body swaying. You tried to take a step forward but stumbled, your strength failing. You collapsed into Natasha, who caught you out of reflex. As your full weight pressed against her, Natasha's eyes widened in horror. Blood soaked through your clothes, warm and sticky, covering Natasha's hands.

"Oh my God.." Natasha whispered, her phone slipping from her fingers as she cradled your limp body. "Y/n, what happened??" Your head lolled to the side, your eyes struggling to stay open. "Guess I... pushed it too far this time..“ you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Natasha quickly assessed the situation, her mind racing. "We need to get you inside.“ she said, her tone urgent. She half-carried, half-dragged you into the apartment, laying you on the couch. Blood pooled on the floor, and Natasha's hands shook as she grabbed her first aid kit.

"Stay with me, Y/n," Natasha urged, tearing open your shirt to reveal a deep, gaping wound along your side. The sight of old scars crisscrossing your chest made Natasha's heart clench. "God, what did you do?!“

She worked quickly, her training kicking in. She poured antiseptic over the wound, her hands moving with practiced precision. Your body trembled with pain, your fingers digging into the couch. "God, that burns," you whimpered, tears streaming down your face. "F-Fuck, Natasha, it h-hurts..“

"I know it does," Natasha said, her voice softening. "But I need you to stay with me. I don't have any narcotics, so this is going to be rough."

Your eyes were glazed with pain, your breathing shallow. "Just do it…" you managed to say. Natasha threaded a needle, her fingers slick with blood. She began to stitch the largest wound, her focus intense. Your body shook with each stitch, your teeth clenched to hold back screams. The raw pain was almost unbearable, and low moans of agony escaped your lips despite your best efforts.

"You're doing great," Natasha said, her own voice trembling. "Just a few more." Your fingers clawed at the couch, your knuckles white. "Natasha... please, hurry," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper.

Natasha's heart ached at the sight of your suffering. "I'm almost done," she said, her tone soothing. "Just hold on a little longer."

Your eyes fluttered, your strength fading fast. "Sorry... for your couch...and for everything," you whispered, tears mixing with the blood on your face. "I never wanted it to be like this.."

Natasha's eyes were full with understanding. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Right now, I need you to hold on." She finished the stitches, then bandaged the wounds as best she could. Your body relaxed slightly, your breathing still labored but more steady.

"It's done," Natasha said, sitting back and wiping her forehead. "You're going to be okay." Your eyes closed, exhaustion overtaking you. Natasha grabbed a blanket and covered you, then sat beside you, holding your hand gently. "I'm here," Natasha whispered. "You're safe now. Rest and we’re sorting everything tomorrow out, okay?"

You whimpered softly, your body shaking from the pain and the cold. Natasha gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, her expression tender. "I never thought I'd see you like this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes fluttered open, focusing on Natasha with difficulty. "Guess... I can't always be the strong one.“ you murmured, a weak smile playing on your lips.

Natasha's heart tightened. "You don't have to be strong all the time," she said softly. "It's okay to let someone help you." You nodded weakly, your eyes drifting closed again. "Thank you, Natasha.“ you whispered.

Natasha squeezed your hand gently, "You're going to be alright," she said, her voice filled with determination. "I won't let anything happen to you."

As she sat there, watching over you, Natasha knew that this was a turning point. You had come to her for help, and that meant there was still hope. She would find a way to bring you back from the edge, no matter what it took.

Part 2

[pickingupmymercedes]

Of thorns and blooms - Lewis Hamilton

request: "Can I request a Journalist reader, who lewis has his eye on and she interviews him and smexy antics ensue after the gathering. She wears a light up floral crown which lewis finds so cute and when they they celebrate an anniversary, he gives her an actual crown." - @omgsuperstarg

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fashion Journalist! Reader!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: It took me sooo long to get the tone to this one right, but I hope it was worth the wait.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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Y/n adjusted her dress for the hundredth time as she waited for the next person she would interview, the humidity in the air boiling them all in the enclosed paradise the famous steps of the MET. The buzz of the Gala was like a living entity. And tonight, she wasn't just a fashion journalist, she was a guest, courtesy of a hand-delivered invitation from Anna Wintour herself.

A small proud smile played on her lips. It had been a long road, from the early days working in college fashion blogs to the owner of her own digital media platform. She had conquered every step on the ladder the had envisaged for her career, and the MET Gala was the cherry on top.

Her gaze swept the red carpet, catching a flash of black that snagged on her breath. Lewis.

They'd met a few times before, most notably for his iconic Vanity Fair cover in 2022. Shot in pink, in none other than Valentino, it had been a bold choice, and she had made it justice in the interview. I was a peek into the soul of a man who rarely had let himself be seen that way. It was raw, honest, and had garnered her more praise than any piece she'd ever written.

On the human level there had also been something else, a connection beyond the professional aura, but it had remained just that – a spark.

Over the years, they'd stayed in loose contact. She would congratulate him on a good race, he would message whenever he read one of her articles, a selfie once, holding her printed fashion annual he'd found at an airport in Dubai.

It felt like a secret language, a shared appreciation in their vastly different worlds.

And that night, he looked…untouchable.

A vision in a custom Burberry creation. Although not far from the usual black, his overcoat was anything but ordinary, adorned with hand-embroidered floral motifs that shimmered under the camera flashes, the thorns in his necklace a powerful statement. Heritage and resilience.

As Lewis neared her corner of the press pen, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on her, a flicker shone within them. He diverted his path slightly, heading straight for her.

"Y/n!" he boomed, his voice surprisingly warm for someone who always tried to maintain his stoicism.

"Sir Lewis Hamilton" she replied, offering a professional smile. "Looking sharp."

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "You clean up nice yourself, Voltaire."

"Voltaire?" she raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Your floral crown. You quoted Voltaire on gardens being the only art that imitated nature in your preview of the met" He gestured towards her head, where a crown of intricately woven white flowers sat, each petal tipped with tiny LED lights that cast a soft glow. "It looks incredible by the way."

Her smile widened. "Maria Grazia Chiuri and I had a blast designing this piece. We wanted to honor the history of the floral crown, worn for centuries, but with a modern twist."

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You always manage to find the hidden meaning, don't you?"

She met his gaze, the intensity surely not lost to her. "Fashion is all about meaning, Lewis. It's a language, a way to express ourselves." His gaze holding on to hers as she continued “Your statement in this Burberry. It's a powerful one”

He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes, but just as he was about to answer back a microphone was thrust in front of them. A reporter, eager to get a quote looking impatient.

"Mr. Hamilton," the reporter began, "your outfit is quite…unexpected. Can you tell us the inspiration behind it?"

Lewis straightened his shoulders, slipping back into his professional persona. He launched into a detailed explanation of the Burberry design, his voice smooth and practiced. Y/n listened, captivated by his words and by the way his gaze flickered back to her every few seconds, a silent promise of something.

When the interview ended, the reporter scurried away. Lewis turned back to her; his smile warm. "They only gave me a few minutes," he said with mock disappointment.

"Well," she teased, "perhaps you could tell me the "real" story later," she finished, mirroring his playful tone.

A slow grin spread across Lewis's face. "Perhaps" he replied winking, a gesture that would have sent a lesser woman reeling. "I’ll find you later." He gestured towards the throng of celebrities and socialites milling about.

As Y/n wandered into the museum, she navigated the wave of guests with small talks and greetings alike. Her platform had gained traction over the past months, and her presence was becoming increasingly sought-after. But tonight, the glamor felt secondary as the show stoppers stood behind glasses of exhibitions.

As she stood and admired one of Balmain’s first collections, a familiar figure caught her eye. Lewis, leaning casually against a pillar, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was alone, just observing her, a smile breaking across his face as he saw she had noticed him, he made his way towards her, his movements graceful.

"There you are," a low rumble in his chest. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Hardly," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.

"So," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "tell me about this secret language of fashion."

"Where do I even begin?" she laughed, a genuine, carefree sound. "Every stitch, every embellishment, every cut – it all tells a story. A story of who you are, where you come from and how you want to be perceived."

The conversation flowed easily, a back-and-forth about the art of fashion, their contrasting worlds, and the subtle messages woven into every outfit. Lewis, she discovered, was surprisingly well-versed in fashion history, his knowledge going beyond the surface. He spoke of iconic designers, groundbreaking trends, and the evolution of style through the ages, his voice filled with genuine passion as he recounted how he had learned so much from her own words.

"You know," Lewis said, his voice softer now, "you're not like anyone else I've ever met."

" This one is not gonna cut it" she asked, her heart skipping a beat.

"Right…" he said, his gaze locking on hers. "But I meant it though. You look at the story behind people. That’s rare."

His words hit her like a sucker punch, laying bare a truth she hadn't dared to public admit. She had always craved for connection with people, and fashion, she had discovered, was her way to reach for those who held their stories and dreams in their eyes and heart.

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, breaking the intense eye contact. "Perhaps you see the same," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He leaned closer; his breath warm on her ear. "Tell me about your dreams, Y/n. What stories are you trying to tell?"

And then, when she couldn’t avoid his gaze on her anymore, when the silence of his question had almost drowned her, a booming voice cut through the air. "Lewis! There you are. We have to get going."

Lewis sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. "Right" he said, a touch of regret in his voice before he turned abruptly to Y/n, as if he had just decided to take a jump "I have a proposition for you."

Intrigued, Y/n raised an eyebrow. "A proposition? Do elaborate, Hamilton."

He leaned in again, close enough for his lips to brush against her ear. “Are you, by any chance, willing to pass on those other after parties and come to mine?”

Y/n seemed to be taken aback, but just like before, when she was about to answer him, he shot her a look “I’ll text you the details. I’d love to know your stories.”  And with a final lingering look at her, Lewis offered a charming smile. "Until later."

The afterparty held a low-key energy, a contrast to the frenzy of the Met. Y/n found herself at Lewis's expansive New York City apartment, surprised by the choice of venue. It wasn't the club she'd thought of, but a tastefully decorated space that felt more like a home than a celebrity crash pad.

Lewis had introduced her to a motley crew of people. Some of his friends, but mostly, a mix of young, up-and-coming designers, photographers Y/n knew by reputation, and even a couple of journalists she had came across an article or two. The air buzzed with conversations, a refreshing change from the interactions of the Met.

As the night wore on, the crowd thinned. Y/n found herself gravitating towards a corner where Lewis stood, deep in conversation with someone she remembered to have seen at some shooting before.

"That's Kelly," Lewis said, noticing Y/n's approach. "A design prodigy. Just landed a gig with Channel"

Kelly's smile widened as Lewis introduced them. "It's an honor to meet you, Y/n," she said, her voice brimming with excitement. "I've been a huge fan for a while now."

They chatted for a while, the struggles and triumphs of breaking into the fashion world. Looking at the young woman's vibrant energy, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the platform she'd created.

But as Kelly was whisked away by another group, a comfortable silence settled between Y/n and Lewis.

He gestured towards an empty stool beside him. "Mind if I steal you for a bit?"

Y/n accepted the invitation, a playful glint in her eyes. "Only if you answer a question for me first."

"Shoot," he said, taking a swig from his drink.

"This isn't exactly the afterparty I expected," she said, gesturing to the relaxed setting. "Why here?"

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that made her feel inadequately naïve "Maybe this is the real me," he said. "The part that doesn't crave the constant spotlight."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conversational whisper. "I thought you'd like this kind of party. I like to distance myself from the buzz when I can"

Y/n nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "A safe space."

"Something like that," he replied, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long.

"So," Lewis began, breaking the building tension "I’m still waiting to hear about your dreams"

And so, for some ungodly pull, at a rather uncomfortable stool, she opened up to a man she had never really expected to create any kind of connection. Maybe, exactly because she never so that coming, it felt so easy to tell him her most guarded hopes.

She spoke of her platform as a way to democratize fashion, to give a voice to those who felt unseen, unheard. She spoke of empowering individuals to express themselves through who they really were, regardless of social status or bank balance.

As Y/n talked, she noticed Lewis's eyes gleaming with genuine interest. He wasn't just listening politely, he interest genuine, his questions insightful and thought-provoking. And she wondered if it was really that unexpected to find this depth hidden beneath him.

"That's incredible" Lewis said, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re giving people the tools for them to tell their stories."

"Exactly" Y/n said, a sense of understanding as he smiled with her. "It's about self-expression, about telling the world who you are."

A thoughtful frown etched itself onto Lewis's face as she leaned into the counter. "You know," he said, pausing mid-sentence, "you're quite a puzzle, Y/n."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Me? A puzzle?”

"There's this incredible fire in you" he continued, his voice low and husky, "a passion for giving others a voice. But then there's this… " he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

"What?" she scoffed playfully. "I always thought I such was an open book."

Lewis chuckled; a dark, sexy sound that surely didn’t go unnoticed. "You talk about empowering others, yet I get the feeling there's a whole story you haven't shared of where that desire comes from"

Their connection had been simmering throughout the night, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Now, with Lewis's gaze holding hers captive, it threatened to tip over.

The conversation around them seemed to fade away, swallowed by the growing awareness between them. Y/n felt his unspoken questions echoing in her mind, a challenge she couldn't ignore.

As the night wore on, the guests gradually dwindled. One by one, they bid farewell to Lewis, leaving him and Y/n alone amidst the empty bottles and scattered laughter.

Y/n found her gaze drawn to him again. He stood by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, his profile sharp and captivating. The urge to break the silence, to bridge the growing gap between them, became overwhelming.

She rose from the stool, her movements deliberate, and walked towards him. He turned, his surprise evident in his eyes.

"Everyone's gone, I should go" she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don’t. Please" he replied, his gaze still locked on hers. "I’d love if you could stay and"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Y/n cut him off, stopping just inches away from him. The air crackled with electricity, the unspoken desire a tangible force between them.

She glanced at the faint outline of his abdomen in the fabric of his Dior shirt, her fingers tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric. Then, in a bold move, she let her nails lightly scratch across his chest, sending a jolt of heat through him.

Lewis's breath hitched. He pulled her closer by her waist, his eyes burning into hers.

Their lips met in a heated kiss, a clash of urgency and teeth. Lewis's hands roamed freely over her back, his touch numbing her to the surroundings. He was hungry for all of her.

Y/n found herself caught in the current, her own desire rising to meet his. His lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

A dark part of her, a voice fueled by the intoxicating aura of him, entertained the idea of becoming just another name on his long list of conquests.

But then, as his hand reached for her thigh, a wave of clarity put an end to the haze. This wasn't a one-night stand she craved. This connection, potent and undeniable, deserved more.

Y/n broke the kiss, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. "Lewis," she whispered, her voice husky.

He stared at her, confusion, concern and desire evident in his eyes.

"Dinner first," she said, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Then maybe we can explore this mystery you see in me."

A slow smile spread across Lewis's face, the heat in his eyes softening to amusement. "Dinner it is," he agreed, his voice raspy. "But consider this a warning. I don't give up easily."

Sunlight danced across the Aegean Sea, glowing through the large round window of the yacht's cabin. Y/n stood before the vanity, applying a final touch of lipstick, her reflection a picture of contentment.

Five years. Five years since that MET and Lewis's afterparty, a whirlwind that had swept them off their feet and turned their world upside down.

A soft knock at the door startled her. "Come in," she called out, her voice filled with a hint of anticipation.

The door creaked open, and Lewis stepped inside. He was a vision in his crisp white linens, his hair free from the braids.

But it was the velvety box in his hand that held her attention.

"There you are," he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he walked towards her.

Y/n watched him through the mirror, her heart still skipping a beat whenever he was around. He stopped behind her, his warmth radiating through her back.

"What's that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"A little something for my favorite fashion journalist" he replied, his breath tickling her ear as he leaned close.

He opened the box, inside, nestled on a bed of white satin, lay a breathtaking piece of jewelry – a floral crown crafted from delicate diamonds. Each petal was meticulously designed, some adorned with tiny thorns, others bursting into bloom.

It was both graceful and powerful. And it wasn’t quite a necklace, nor quite a tiara. It was a piece of art.

"Lewis," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "It's…incredible."

He took the crown from the box, his touch gentle as he held it up to the light. "Anne Wintour helped me design it," he admitted, a hint of pride in his voice. "She said it reminded her of your outfit at the Met Gala, all those years ago."

Y/n held her breath as she looked at the jewelry. The floral crown, a memory of their initial spark, now reimagined with diamonds. The strength and beauty of their love that had blossomed despite adversity.

"The thorns," he said, her voice barely a whisper, "they represent the challenges we've faced, the distance, the different worlds..."

"And the flowers," he finished after clasping it to her neck, his voice husky with emotion, "represent our love, always blooming, even in the face of those challenges."

He adjust it to her skin, his touch gentle. "It's meant to be worn by someone who sees the world differently, who tells stories with every thread" he said, his gaze holding hers.

He cupped her hand in his, his eyes brimming with love. "Someone who wears her heart on her sleeve," he continued, his voice low and husky.

She turned and their lips met slowly, a lingering kiss that spoke volumes of their love and shared journey.

"Happy anniversary, Y/n," he whispered, pulling away but not letting go, his eyes shining brighter than any star.

"Happy anniversary, Lewis" she replied, the diamond floral piece catching the sunlight and reflecting a thousand tiny rainbows in their eyes.

______________________________________________________________

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[xclowniex]

I want to talk about this article here.

I think it has completely missed the mark.

To sum it up, it talks about Israeli government led and individual jewish/Israeli led memorial projects for Oct 7th.

It's main criticism is that everything happened to quickly for it to be a genuine thing so it must be pro Israel propaganda.

And whilst I do agree that some of what Netanyahu has done isn't really memorial, I disagree with it being pro Israel propaganda, I would say it's more so pro Netanyahu stuff, to prime him as a good candidate for next election. I also disagree with all of the things from the israeli government not being genuine memorial, as some stuff is.

I also disagree with non Israeli government aka jewish and/or israeli led memorials such as the Nova exhibit being pro Israel propaganda. It just feeds into the whole antisemitic tropes of jews doing something nefarious behind the scenes and dual loyality tropes and jews control the media tropes. Sure a few may have ulterior motives, but acting like they all or even the majority do is just gross.

I also vehemently dislike the "the memorials happened too quickly to be genuine" because the reason for the quickness is right there.

People widely believed it didn't happen

Or that it didn't happen to the extent Israel said it did. And well, we know it was as bad as Israeli media reported it to be. But people didn't believe the reports.

And we see this all the time with holocaust denial. How could a country where the majority ethnicity experienced a genocide which still gets denied by people to this day, see the biggest massacre of jews since the holocaust and see it being denied and not go "fuck we need to do something".

Is the way it was went about tasteful? In some cases yes, and some cases no. But that is not what the article is saying.

The trauma of the holocaust is still ingrained in us. Holocaust survivor's are still alive. It ended 79 years ago. How can one not get worried when the history of denial repeats itself?

Then you also have to factor in that people don't dwell as long on history as they once did. Look at how fast the Russian invasion of Ukraine left the front page of the news. Look at how many people online no longer post about it. Look at Congo, Venezuela, Bangladesh. Those countries have all recently had important historical events. Yet how many people online post about them? How much attention did the media give to them before moving on?

How much time do we have to make an Oct 7th memorial before people who aren't jewish or Israeli don't care about it anymore? And it tied back in to the Oct 7th denial. Not to mention the fact that we have not been allowed to mourn Oct 7th. We have not been allowed to grieve.

It is not weaponizing trauma.

Would you dare say the same to black people about slavery? Queer folk about the aids crisis? Because it is very obvious that in those situations and in the current, it is not okay to claim that.

Jews and Israelis are not weaponizing our trauma. We do not have some secret agenda. We are just trying to grieve, to mourn, to honor those lost, using past experiences as a guide.

[daytaker]

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[arkhammaid]

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ OF BROKEN RECORDS AND A GOLDEN FUTURE.

fandom. formula one

pairing. max verstappen x stunt woman fem!reader (fc: giulia steingruber)

about. y/n l/n is one of hollywood's best stunt women and her boyfriend is the biggest fan of her work

content warnings. social media au, not edited/proofread

notes. we're back with yet another max smau, y'all really love him (i do as well). unlike my first smau, i'm not completely satisfied with this one but better this than nothing 😭

VOGUE has posted a new video!

Y/N Y/L/N answers 10 Questions | Vogue

user woah, i didn't know y/n was training for the freaking olympics??

⤷ user it makes sense, gymnastics gave her a solid foundation, if not an advantage over other stunt women/people

⤷ user no wonder she's so highly sought after

user in another universe i just know she won the olympics

user until today, i've never heard of y/n but her achievements are crazyyyy. and to think of, she has at least another ten years if not more in the industry

⤷ user right?? she's absolutely insane, always going up to her limit and still surpassing herself everytime. her work is really admirable

user MOTHER Y/N IS IN VOGUE, WE WON

YOURUSERNAME

liked by maxverstappen1, dc, angelinajolie and 108'337 others

yourusername I'm proud to announce another project for 2025! I'll be working alongside @/dc to portray Black Canary's stunts in the newest Green Arrow movie. We still have a long way to go, but we've already achieved so much. If you're interested in some BTS scenes, watch out for the newest video, where I take you all on a small tour on set!

user MOTHER IS MOTHERING AAAAAHHH

user SHE'S BLACK CANARY FUCK YES

user oh i just know the fighting scenes will slay

dc We couldn't imagine a better stunt woman for our Black Canary!

user we have to wait a whole year 🫠

angelinajolie It's always a pleasure to work with you, Y/n! To an Oscar-worthy movie 👏

⤷ yourusername To an Oscar-worthy movie and other awards 🙌

user y/n is so fucking broad 😳

⤷ user she could choke me with her arms- *gets shot*

⤷ user no no, please continue

maxverstappen1 So, so proud of you, schatje ❤️

⤷ yourusername Right back at you, my champion 💙

user THE RED/BLUE HEARTS MADE A RETURN

load more comments

YOURUSERNAME

liked by maxverstappen1, chrishemsworth and 199'563 others

yourusername I can't believe it... Furiosa has been nominated for 7 Taurus World Stunt Awards and won 5 of them. It has been an absolute honor to work alongside my collegues for this movie

user SHE WON BEST OVERALL STUNT BY A STUNT WOMAN AND BEST WORK WITH A VEHICLE THAT'S 2 OUT OF 5 AWARDS FOR A WHOLE MOVIE OH MY GOOOOOODDDD

maxverstappen1 I never doubted you. So incredibly proud of you ❤️

⤷ yourusername I couldn't have done it without you by my side, Maxy 💙

⤷ maxverstappen1 Doubtful.

⤷ maxverstappen1 Just accept the compliment, schatje

⤷ maxverstappen1 You're the most incredible woman I know, your drive and passion are admirable- why do you think I love you so much?

⤷ maxverstappen1 I love you and I'm very proud of you❤️

⤷ yourusername And now I'm sobbing... I love you too, so so much

user i came here to have a great time with y/n winning awards but now i'm in fetal position, rocking myself I FEEL SO FUCKING SINGLE

user STOP THIS, WHY DOES HE HAVE TO BE SO JSADFHJBJH

user there is no bigger y/n fan than max verstappen...

⤷ user if y/n has no fans left, max verstappen is dead...

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MAXVERSTAPPEN1

liked by redbullracing, yourusername and 1'487'729 others

maxverstappen1 Nothing better than ending a glorious season with you by my side. Schatje, to more broken records and a golden future ❤️

yourusername To more broken records and a golden future with you 💙

yourusername Love you, love you, love you so so much 💙💙💙

comments on this post have been limited

taglist. @lilypadlover, @adorablezhui , @peqch-pie , @namgification , @keyz-writes , @obsidianjewel , @aimixx , @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @lupicalbestwolf , @akiraquote

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE TAGLIST? please send a non-anon ask to be added to the taglist. taglist can be general taglist (all fandoms and all works), fandom taglist (all works within the fandom), series (all works for specific series) or nsfw taglist (all nsfw works and all fandoms).

ARKHAM MAID 2024

[hotguycalendar]

Please welcome our talented artists, who are contributing to the Hermitcraft Heartthrobs 2025 calendar! We're honored to have them. Check out their social media through the links below.

Artists for Hermitcraft Heartthrobs: 

Front Cover: Black Cat on tumblr, instagram and twitter 

January: NoahIslands on twitter and tumblr  

February: Jayce tumblr 

March: Anndy Oddissey on twitter and tumblr  

April: Myke on twitter and tumblr  

May: Galaxystt on tumblr and twitter   

June: Orphelia on twitter and tumblr  

July: Mooshroomterrarium on tumblr 

August: Eirian on tumblr, ko-fi, twitter, and caard    

September: Kazehita on tumblr, instagram, and twitter  

October: Otse on tumblr, twitter and bluesky    

November: Syneester on twitter, tumblr and instagram 

December: Isjasz on tumblr, and tumblr

Back Cover:  Avi on instagram and tumblr 

[if-whats-new]

What's New In IF? Issue 1 (2025)

By Aj, Dion, Briar and Peter

Now Available!

Itch.io - Keep Reading below

If you read the zine, consider liking the post: it helps us see how many people see it! And sharing is caring! <3

~ EDITORIAL ~

New year, new edition of WNiIF!

We’re excited to continue this project through out the new year! Check out Announcements to read about some changes we’re implementing.

Check out the Events!

Are you looking for new exciting projects to play? Then don’t forget to check out the Events!

Games featured in jams are usually not included in New Releases because there would be too many of them. So if you’re trying to find something new, check there too!

Small Talk with Harris Powell-Smith! @hpowellsmith

We had the absolute pleasure of talking to Harris Powell-Smith and discussing their work. Check out this post to read about their new release Honor Bound and more!

We hope you enjoy this new issue!

AJ, DION, BRIAR AND PETER

~ ANNOUNCEMENTS ~

Most importantly:

WNiIF? is switching to a bi-weekly schedule!

Keeping up with news and releasing a new Issue every week is exhausting. We have decided to change it up a bit, hopefully preventing a possible burnout. We also hope that this will give us more time to make every Issue a bit better.

We thank you for your understanding.

What else?

Our X/Twitter account is no longer active. Please check out our other social media to keep an eye on releases and news.

We plan on releasing a special What’s 2024 in IF? Issue summing up all Issues that came out last year. This will include New Releases, Event Highlights, Columns, Game Highlights and more, making it easier for new readers to check out the Zine. The date of release is not set yet, but hopefully soon!

More exciting stuff is to be unveiled in the upcoming Issues!

~ ENDED ~

Did the start of the new year leave you somber and melancholic? Then check out the Dying Year - Visual Novel Jam to match your mood!

Winter Visual Novel Jam 2024 is here! You have until January 1st 2025 to submit your projects.

Are you familiar with Decker? Then why not take a part in the Deck-Month 2?

Velox Turbo 2 - The Eye of the Beholder is now over and results are in! Check out the results!

The Interactive Fiction Showcase is a year-long "jam" meant to collect and showcase Interactive Fiction games completed in 2024, and show how diverse the Interactive Fiction scene is! This year had an unbelievable number of 270 entries!

Partim 500 numéro 9 is a French language interactive fiction jam, this time with a theme: Dénanti!

~ VOTING ~

Feeling nostalgic about the golden age of text adventures? Relive those days by participating in PunyComp 2024!

IF Short Games Showcase 2024 is a great way to shine some new light on projects made in the past year (Jan 1, 2024 to Dec 31, 2024). You now have until January 15th 2025 to vote.

~ ONGOING (SUBMITTING) ~

Media depicting healthy examples of polyamory isn’t that common. The PolyJamorous 2024 is trying to break the status-quo!

The Queer Winter Game Jam is in full swing. Those interested can submit their work until January 16th 2025.

ShuffleComp is a musical interactive fiction competition where you make games based on songs, which are submitted by other entrants. Creators have until January 20th 2025 to upload their works.

Once upon a time, a game jam was held to create stories around the theme of fairy tales… and that game jam is the Once Upon A Time VN Jam. It’s running from October 1st to January 31st.

Concours de Fiction Interactive Francophone 2025 is for all French-speaking enthusiasts. Submissions are accepted March 3rd 2025.

The Black Visual Novel Jam is all about working with creative professional developers who work in visual novels to bring more Black stories to life. The goal is to create a space where Black creators can show their unique storytelling through visual novels.

SeedComp! is a 2-round interactive fiction game jam, focusing on creativity and the growth of ideas and the Sprouting Round has just started! Check out the Planting round for inspiration.

BL stands for Boys' Love, a genre that focuses on romantic and emotional relationships between male characters. The Ultimate BL Visual Novel Game Jam is all about that!

~ NEW RELEASE ~

Over a year has passed since asking too many murder-related questions online (for your book) got you invited to a serial killer chatroom. You’re now a bestselling writer, desperately in love, and have come to think of the server as family - it's like a dream come true. Sure, most of them still think you are a serial killer, your boss needs you to write another hit ASAP and your one true love is definitely technically a murderer, but look on the bright side - it’s A Very Killer Chat! Christmas!

Jessica Jane Has a Crush!? (Ren’Py) And to make matters worse, a crush on her best friend Rena! Follow Jessica as she navigates these complicated feelings, all while dealing with the struggles of attending an art university and coping with her mum's strict parenting.

Hamlet meets Sharknado. Not Your Mother’s Shire is a dark romantic comedy set in a fantasy world ruled by unusual dragons. Comparables: Dragon Age, Rick and Morty, Monty Python, Discworld, LotR.

Your world is a desert, both figuratively and literally. Speech is prohibited, books are outlawed, and any meaningful human interaction is nonexistent. Humans are reduced to the job they do for The City. There are no names; instead, everyone is identified by a number. You are H-313, a healer. - Viatica (Twine) @fir-fireweed

When the clock strikes midnight, The Dance of the Red Rose Begins (Ren’Py). - Princess Briar is finally of age to attend the illustrious Dance of the Red Rose, having dreamed of taking part since she was a child. There is just one problem, she does not have a dance partner! Will you help her confess her blooming feelings to one of the guests and secure a place on the ballroom dance floor?

Scales of Justice (CScript) - Rumours circulate the streets of Capital. Rumours of an artefact, as dangerous and powerful as one can only fear. Some claim it’s capable of twisting one’s true nature, shaping it much to the owner’s whim; others say that it can identify a soul’s essence, putting the Ritual of Fate in a tight spot for the first time in centuries. Many want to get it; many others, to destroy it. You? You are none of those–you just want to live. And yet, your (almost) safe and peaceful life as a humble adventurer is threatened by a letter with today’s date on it, written in your mother’s hand… @myimaginedcorner

It wasn't long ago that the Mother Superior dragged her out of her cell, forcing Hedwig to break her oath to God as an Anchoress and face the outside world. Acting as a spy for the leader of Linbarrow Abbey, Hedwig was given one seemingly simple task: Discover who really murdered Sister Catherine. In Misericorde Volume Two: White Wool & Snow (Ren’Py), Sister Hedwig must steel herself. Time is running out, and so is sympathy for her situation.

An unexpected apocalypse takes you away from your hi-tech metropolis, sending you to a distant, very different world. In this new fantasy world, elemental magic permeates the soil, Buddhist philosophy leads people’s lives, and Hindu demigods (Devas and Asuras) fight for supremacy. Why did you get here? Is there a way back home? But most of all, is this reality, or is it just a dream? Play Last Dream (CScript) to find out.

It's nearing the holidays and you find yourself with less plans that usual to fill your end of year schedule, as friends are out of town and most of your family is delayed in travels. Being in a season of giving, your bestie is at least appreciative to have you around to cover her shift for one day before she is back from vacation. Serve customers as a barista at the Brewspout -- filling in on one of the busiest days of the year, the Holiday Mixer (Ren’Py) special.

The fledgling Union Army is yet to meet the Confederates in a major battle. The north expects a swift and decisive victory, but they are overconfident. They will soon discover the brutal, drawn-out nature of industrial warfare. As a regimental commander in the Union Army, you must navigate a series of desperate decisions to keep your men alive and prevent military disaster. Serve alongside the real officers and regiments who fought at First Bull Run (CScript) in this historically accurate depiction of the battle.

"The wildest journey begins with a single step. Sometimes that step is straight down into an open trap-door. Commit or stay home!" - Advent Window (Inform 7)

A coincidence lead you and Marley to both find each other online at the old chatroom from when you first met. You had been waiting and trying to get him to listen and talk properly for a long time...

Will your separation be amicable, or will things go too far in Divorce Chatroom (Ren’Py)?

As always, don't forget to check out the submitted entries to the events mentioned in the previous pages. They deserve some love too!

~ NEW RELEASE (WIP) ~

Buried beneath the sprawling castle at the heart of Minare is a room most think is legend: the Library of Souls. As a member of the royal cleaning staff—and one with Fae-blood—sneaking into The Eternal Library (CScript) is a dangerous idea, but you risk it for a ritual that gives you the skills of your warrior ancestor and a mission that spans lifetimes. Destiny calls your warrior spirit to wake. Assassins are infiltrating the castle. The kingdom is ripe for change, and it needs your help. Your soul has waited lifetimes for the chance to put things right. Now, it’s time.

You play as a 13 year old girl desperate to get back to her big brother who will protect her in a zombie apocalypse. - Zomrizen (CScript)

Get to know two characters from the upcoming dating sim Love Life + NIGHT LIFE (Ren’Py)! Through this demo, you'll have the chance to ask the characters questions, go on two dates only available in the demo, and even...access their computers?

~ UPDATES ~

After Dark (CScript) has updated their demo. @dalekowrites

Ashenmaw - Dragons of Marrowoods (CSscript) added new content to their demo. @ashenmaw-if

High School Revenge (CSscript) released Chapters 3 and 4.

Lost in your eyes (CSscript) released Chapter 3.4 and 3.5. @kathrinesadventures

Merry Crisis (CScript) released Chapter 5. @merrycrisis-if

Sense & Sorcery (CScript) added new content to their demo.

Shattered Eagle: Fall of an Empire (CScript) updated Chapter 5. @shattered-eagle

Spire, Surge and Sea (CScript) added new content to their demo.

Unneeded Script (Twine) released Part 2 of Chapter 1. @unneededscript-if

Villain Intern (CScript) updated their demo. @villainintern

Voiceless: Siren’s Song (CScript) released first part of Chapter 3.

War of Beasts (CScript) updated their demo.

Exit Through the Gift Shop (CScript) added new content to their demo.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - An affair of the heart (CScript) updated their Patreon demo. @doriana-gray-games

Grey Swan - Birds of a Rose (CScript) added new content to the demo. @reinekes-fox

The Second Sight (Twine) released Chapter 6 on Patreon. @spoiledblogif

The Wroth Ode (CScript) added new content to their demo. @thewrothode-if

~ OTHER ~

The Retro Adventurers - Episode 13 - 2024 Year-End Chatisode is out! Hear about Tim Gilberts' Heathkit, Scott Adams' next professional moves, adventures in ADABAS / Natural, and a long-overdue callback to the Clarion Beauty Computer!

Saturnine (CScript) has received its final content update and it will now enter an “open beta” stage. @satur9-if

@hpowellsmith just released a rundown of CScript releases, new WIPs, and updated WIPs for the whole of 2024!

@interact-if is officially back in business! Good luck to Allie as the new mod!

When Twilight Strikes (Twine) released a Christmas short. @evertidings

~ SMALL TALK… ~

> WITH HARRIS POWELL-SMITH @hpowellsmith

Joining us is an award-winning narrative designer and writer: Harris Powell-Smith, Author of the Crème de la Crème series, “Blood Money” and many more!

⟶ Hello, Harris! Welcome to Small Talk. We are absolutely thrilled to have you here with us! Before we officially begin, would you mind sharing with us a bit about yourself?

Hi! I'm a narrative designer and game writer who's worked on a few indie and mobile games including the multiplayer King of the Castle and the mobile Love Island tie-in game. Currently I'm freelancing and mostly creating choose-your-path text games with Choice of Games, which I've now been doing for eight years.

I'm most known for my dark academia Crème de la Crème series, and most recently released Honor Bound, the fourth standalone game in the series!

⟶ To read the rest of the Interview, check out the Itch version or the separate post! (A new thing we're testing out to make these posts more readable. Please let you know what you think!)

~ MAYBE YOU NEXT? ~

We did not get a submission this week. But if you have an idea for a short essay, or would like a special space to share your thoughts about IF and the community...

Shoot us an email!

~ HIGHLIGHT ON ~

A couple of games that we thought were cool.

Exit/Corners by Moon Moth Games (???)

A suspenseful VN with puzzles à la Zero Escape. It's got a lot of heart for a death game story.

//submitted by Sera//

Your favourite game here?

Do you have a favourite game that deserves some highlighting?

An old or recent game that wowed you so much you spam it to everyone?

Tell us about it! And it might appear here!

WE LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU ALL! WHETHER IT'S GOOD OR BAD, OR EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN...

Have something to say? Send us a message titled: Zine Letter!

As we end this issue, we would like to thank:

Sera

For sending us a Highlight!

And everyone who participated in our end-of-the-year survey for their feedback and lovely messages.

And as always, huge thanks to all you readers who liked, shared, and commented on last week's issue! What might be tiny actions are huge support and motivators to us!

Thank you for cheering us on this journey!

See you in two weeks!

AJ, DION, BRIAR AND PETER

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2025-ISSUE 1

THIS ZINE ONLY HAPPENS WITH YOU!

Want to write 1-2 pages about a neat topic, or deep-dive into a game and review it in details? Share personal experiences or get all academic?

WRITE FOR THE COLUMN!

Prefer to be more low-key but still have something to share? Send us a Zine Letter or share a game title for Highlight on…!

WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

Came across something interesting? Know a release or an update announced? Saw an event happening? Whether it's a game, an article, a podcast… Add any IF-related content to our mini-database!

EVERY LITTLE BIT COUNTS!

Contact us through Tumblr asks, Forum DMs, or even by email! And thank you for your help!!

[recreationaldivorce]

🚨🔴 Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine: — The Popular Front Calls for a Boycott of the Democratic and Republican Parties and Emphasizes the Need for Not Voting for Advocates of Genocide and Supporters of Colonialism

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine calls on all the free people of America, especially supporters of the Palestinian people, Palestinian and Arab communities, as well as Black organizations and minority organizations, to boycott the Democratic and Republican parties in the U.S. elections scheduled for tomorrow, as both share clear colonial objectives aimed at the genocide of our people and the reinforcement of the zionist settler project.

Both parties have been directly involved in the ongoing war of genocide against our Palestinian and Lebanese peoples, never hiding their blatant bias in favor of the occupation and their continuous support for its racist policies that target the existence of the Palestinian people and uproot them from their land.

The stances of the two American parties reflect an explicit endorsement of ethnic cleansing, legitimizing zionist crimes and massacres against our people through financial (https://t.me/PalestineResist/65448), political (https://t.me/PalestineResist/66338), and military (https://t.me/PalestineResist/66172) support for the zionist entity. Statements by leaders of these parties seek to beautify and justify their imperialist policies, using colonial rhetoric that views the Palestinian people as an obstacle to their so-called "civilizational project," while their election campaigns overlook the heinous crimes committed daily against Palestinian civilians, especially women and children, in an attempt to mask the true face of the occupation and legitimize its crimes.

The Democratic and Republican parties continue their efforts to gain the support of zionist lobbies and influential powers, in pursuits aimed at reinforcing policies of mass displacement and systematic oppression against Palestinians.

In this context, the Popular Front renews its explicit call for all honorable individuals within American society not to vote for these two parties, which use American taxpayer money, drawn from the blood of the American people, to support the zionist genocide regime.

The Popular Front sees the boycott of these two zionist-aligned parties in tomorrow's U.S. elections as a moral stance no less significant than any other form of solidarity with the Palestinian people and the rights of oppressed peoples. It is also an effective means of exposing the falsity of American slogans that speak of freedom and human rights. The United States, through its political tools, seeks to exploit these concepts to justify its crimes and perpetuate its hegemony over nations, without regard for the rights of Palestinians who face the worst types of crimes.

Finally, the Front considers the boycott of the two parties a clear internal message to the U.S. administration and the international system surrounding it: those who collude in the shedding of our people's blood and their displacement should not receive the votes of the world’s free people and our communities, who refuse to be complicit in their election or serve as silent witnesses to their criminal policies in power.

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine Central Media Department November 4, 2024

[holylulusworld]

New year, new life

Summary: On New Year’s Eve your life changes forever.

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, Alpine x fem!Reader 😉

Warnings: general cuteness, fluff, I got this idea from a post on social media (the chat)

A/N: Let’s start the new year with Bucky…shall we?

Divider by @firefly-graphics

“Bucky,” you giggle as another message pops up on your phone. He left your home to get something important for your little party. “Look what your Daddy sent to me.”

You show the phone to Alpine, who resides next to you on the couch at the moment. The cat ignores the heart emoticon Bucky sent to you. He moves closer to you to curl in your side.

“Don’t be jealous, Alpine. Your Daddy just saw me first, is all.”

You reply, telling him you love him, along with a heart emotion. You smirk as he immediately replies, telling you he loves you more.

“Alpine, let me try something,” you snicker and take a picture of Alpine sleeping soundly on the couch. You sent the picture to Bucky, asking him if he loves you as much or more than his cat.

Bucky takes his time replying. When he finally does, you laugh at his response. 'Know your limit. 

“Aw, Daddy loves you more than me. What shall we do about it, Alpine?”

“Doll, I’m home!” Bucky chuckles as you walk toward him, a grim expression on your face and your arms crossed over your chest. “I give up!” He raises his hands in surrender, still, that stupid smirk on his face that he wore this morning.

“I don’t know if I want to spend New Year’s Eve with you,” you sniff. “A man who loves his cat more than me.”

“Baby, we both know if the building was on fire, you’d save Alpine before me,” your boyfriend points out.

“Yeah, because the poor sweet cat cannot save himself,” you coo as Alpine walks toward you to rub his head against your left calf. “Aw, just look at him. He’s so pretty, and soft.”

“Sometimes I believe you agreed to go out with me because of my cat.” Bucky searches your face, waiting for you to disagree. “Baby doll?”

You giggle.

“Aw, poor Bucky believed for a second that I only love you Alpine,” you say while glancing at the cat rubbing his head against your leg. 

“That’s not funny, Y/N,” Bucky grunts. “I hope you know; you won’t get your surprise if you keep on being a bad girl.”

You peck his scruffy cheek, smirking as you nuzzle his cheek. “You love that I’m a bad girl, Sergeant. Now, let me check if we got everything for our party.”

“Five, four, three, two, one,” you and Bucky count the last seconds of the year. You smile at each other and when the last second ticks by, you share a passionate kiss to welcome the new year.

“Happy New Year baby,” Bucky whispers against your lips. “I love you.”

“Happy New Year, Bucky,” you kiss him again. “I love you.”

“Wait here, I got something for you.” He steps away and calls for Alpine. “Come here, punk. It’s your time to shine.”

You laugh as Alpine trots inside the living room. He meows loudly and sits next to Bucky. 

“Punk, do your job,” Bucky points at you. “Go and get our girl.”

“What?” You crouch down to watch Alpine. He’s wearing a black neckerchief. ‘Will you marry my dad? Stands on the neckerchief. You reread the words, gasping loudly.

You look at Alpine, his neckerchief, and then at Bucky who crouches down next to Alpine to offer you a beautiful diamond ring. “Doll, as Alpine already asked, would you give me the honor to become Alpine’s mommy and my wife?”

“What? I…I,” you are speechless and a little shell-shocked. “Of course, I want to be Alpine’s mommy,” you grab Alpine to pepper kisses on his head.

“Doll…Y/N!” Bucky grunts as you cuddle his cat.

“Oh,” you smile softly and place Alpine on the ground. You scoot closer to Bucky to cup his face and kiss his nose, “and I’d be honored to become your wife.”

“Punk,” Bucky dips his head to glance at his cat, “you’re lucky she said yes. You almost screwed things up for us.”

“Aw, he could never screw things up,” you fist Bucky’s shirt to bring him closer. “But if you put that ring on my finger you can screw my brains out later…”

Tags in reblog.