#Black audience

[sbrown82]

Y’all ‘memba that time Lisa Stansfield ATE the Apollo Theater up?! 

[babeyvenus]

My Future

Derek Hale x OC

Samantha, Stiles and Scott are always joking about the impossible. Who wouldn't when your best friend's dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills? All jokes stop when they realize the impossible is indeed possible.

Chapter 63: We Hear You

Regardless of how he was feeling, Stiles sat on a bench, keeping himself from crying. He shouldn't have to. He wasn't gone. Not yet.

He felt the bench shift and saw an old woman turned to him, smiling. "I'm waiting for a train."

Stiles nodded a bit. "Yeah, it's probably running late.", he mumbled.

"I'm going to see my grandchildren.", the lady smiled widely, her manner surprisingly making Stiles' smile as well.

The small woman laid her shaky hand on his shoulder. "Who are you going to see?", she asked.

"Uh," his jaw shifted as he swallowed. "No one."

The lady furrowed her brow, confused. Stiles looked at her confused and before he could ask what was wrong, the intercom came on, a voice speaking through it. "The following stops have been canceled, Hollatine, Batten," Stiles got up and took a few steps towards the speaker of the intercom. "Bay Burry, Deer Ridge, Red Oak Trenton, Anderson, King Springs."

Once the calls were done, Stiles' eyes tracked the wires that ran across the ceiling, wrapping themselves around different poles of each speaker.

He followed where all the wires gathered, moving into a room he hadn't seen. Peter's eyes followed him as he leaned on a pillar, his arms crossed against his chest. "Intercom.", he said. and Stiles glanced at him. "Maybe a radio?" Stiles looked back, going up to the door and opened it, walking in with Peter behind him.

Stiles looked at all the controls of the radio. Something he was familiar with in his jeep.

He frowned, his eyes widening. He has a radio in his jeep that connects to the sheriff's station.

"If I could fix this to contact the sheriff's station, I could get someone to get us out.", Stiles said, already touching up on some stuff.

"Your theory is ridiculous.", Peter spoke as he paced behind him.

Stiles noticed a black wire was broken. "Magnetic disturbances and a few pixelated photos doesn't mean that you can use a ham radio to communicate across a supernatural barrier.", Peter said, making Stiles look at him with an unimpressed face before the boy reached down, grabbed both ends of the cord and focused on putting it together.

"Ghost Riders can't be seen, heard, or remembered. You really think they're gonna leave a gadget around that you can use to call your friends?", Peter asked.

Once Stiles got the two ends together and twisted them, he turned the dial on the radio which caused a loud high-pitched feedback to come through. Both him and Peter covered their ears, groaning.

On the other side of the world, Sam, Scott, and Malia wince, trying to block out the high pitch whine coming from the jeep.

"How'd you turn it on?", Malia asked. Sam frowned. "I don't have the keys.", she said and rushed to open the driver's side door.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "A radio?" How had she not noticed that before?

While Stiles was trying to figure out the ham radio, trying new things, Peter sat relaxed. "Take your time. No rush. Only thing at stake is any evidence of our existence… soon to be lost… forever.", he mumbled.

"Okay, not helping.", Stiles retorted, turning a dial on causing and with Peter's sensitive hearing, he heard the horses, his attention snapping towards the door.

"Shit.", Peter muttered before running up to the machines and unplugged them all.

Before Stiles could ask, Peter snuck them out before the Ghost Rider could find them. The both of them hid behind the one pillar, watching the rider go in with his gun and after a bit, came back out, visibly looking angry at the passengers.

Peter leaned in over Stiles's shoulder, whispering. "In case you're keeping count, that's twice I've saved your life today."

Stiles frowned before following the eldest Hale.

Scott searched the jeep with Lydia and Sam. The noise that came from the radio suddenly stopped. Scott looked up. "Why'd it stop?", Malia asked.

"It doesn't matter." Lydia stated, trying to push on the Master Switch, but it wasn't working. She sighed, "There has to be a reason."

Scott sniffed, looking around the jeep. "What…?" He mumbled, closing his eyes to breathe in the rush of familiar scents.

"You caught a scent?" Lydia perked up. "Yeah. Uh….ours… mine, yours, all four of ours.", Scott said.

"Mine?" Malia asked, confused. "I've never been in this Jeep before."

"Neither have I.", Scott shook his head. 

"Well for some reason, I was in there but I still don't know why.", Sam said. Lydia spoke up. "Yes, you guys have been in here. You just don't remember it."

"I thought we were done with that.", Malia said before glancing at Scott who cleared his throat.

"Parrish checked the VIN number, though. There's no record of the owner."

"Well, the jeep is here somehow. Are we just gonna ignore the fact that I somehow magically appeared in it?", Sam emphasized with wide eyes.

They looked at her with unsure faces. "Sam, he can't be real. Maybe you just sleepwalked your way inside.", Malia said.

Sam frowned at the girl. "I don't sleep walk. I never have. And how could I have gotten in the jeep, there's no signs of aggressive entry. I didn't break a handle or a window, and it was locked."

"Well we might have some type answers.", Lydia said, holding a registration form. Scott reached for it, grabbed it and read it. "This is from '96. And there's no name."

"But there's an address.", Lydia pointed out and Sam moved closer to see the address. "129 Woodbine Lane. That's–"

"The sheriff's house.", Lydia said, sadly. She took a deep breath before readying herself. "I need to go there."

Sam and Scott frowned. "By yourself?", Sam asked. Lydia nodded. "I feel like I need to."

The three gave her a nod, watching her leave the jeep and ran into her car, leaving the school's parking lot.

Sam got into the jeep, moving to the passenger side and sighed. With glossy eyes, she settled into the seat, looking down at her hands.

Where she sat felt so… real. It felt normal. She didn't feel out of place. Visions flashed through her mind once more.

She was in the passenger seat. In a dress. She went to the winter formal? She remembers that.

She remembered waking up, covered in dirt. She remembers seeing the light scar over her eyelid but never questioned why it was there in the first place.

She turned to the back seats, moving back there as she looked at the front seats, another vision flashing through her mind.

She remembers being outside the sheriff's station, watching the receptionist. Two guys were in the front seats but she can't remember their faces.

She remembers a man with a black leather jacket and a boy with a red flannel shirt talking. Who was the man? Why wasn't he here? Was he affected too? Did he know Stiles?

Moments later, Lydia had shown up and they watched as the guy from earlier backed his tow truck in front of the jeep and got out to face the teenagers. "We already paid you. I gave you all of my money for that drop fee.", Scott said.

"Yeah, I dropped it, all right? Now I'm picking it up again.", the man said.

"How much?" Lydia asked, getting into her purse. "I'll write you a check."

The man stopped her. "It's not about how much.", he said. "They want it out of here, okay? It's not up to me."

"Well, this vehicle isn't abandoned. You saw me in it!", Sam exclaimed as she stepped in front of the jeep. 

The guy scoffed, a slight smile coming to his face. "Either you move, or I move you. I'm hookin' this thing up and I am towing it away."

Sam glared at the man. "You're not touching this damn jeep.", she growled.

Scott noticed the girl's nails had gotten longer and darker and before he could say anything, the back of the tow truck squealed and gained the teenagers' attention, seeing Malia holding the hook. 

As she held it up, she yanked it off of the wire, making the guy turn around to take notice. "Your truck's broke.", she said, nonchalantly handing him the metal hook.

In shock, he grabbed it with slow hands. Malia grinned as the man left. 

Scott looked at Sam who had yet to calm down, and grabbed both her hands. "You need to relax. Breathe.", he said, softly making her fists clench before helping them unclench as he takes a breath and softly lets it out.

He had her repeat the motions, slowly calming her down and saw her nails had shortened once more.

"How'd you know to do that?", Sam asked. Scott smiled. "I think you taught me."

In the train station, Ghost Riders gathered, making the passengers hurtle into mass hysteria. Stiles jumped over a bench, crouching down behind it and Peter did the same, watching everything unfold.

Stiles saw one of the Ghost Riders drop a Beacon Hills Lacrosse player and others. "This place is really starting to fill up.", Peter muttered.

One Lacrosse player got up taking off her helmet and another girl was near, seeing her on the floor. "Gwen?" Gwen glanced up, seeing the other girl who she seemed to know. "Gwen!"

"Phoebe?", Gwen hugged her and Phoebe hugged back. "Oh, my god, you're here!"

Stiles frowned as he watched the interaction. "Wait a second. That girl — I know that girl. Her name is Gwen. She plays lacrosse." 

He looked at Peter before looking at the Ghost riders. "How long has this been going on?", Stiles whispered to Peter. 

Peter glanced at the Arrivals and Departures board, seeing how Beacon Hills was listed first and he turned back, realizing what was happening. "This isn't a train station, this is a way station.", he said, now frustrated. "It's not gonna stop."

He looked back at the board once more. This was it. Beacon Hills was going to be a big hit within a few days and there wasn't much they could do. Peter sighed harshly as he placed his forehead in the side of the bench. 

"What is it?", Stiles asked, noticing Peter's sudden behavior. "What are those places? Bannack? Canaan? I know you know something."

"We gotta get out of here. Nobody is safe.", Peter said.

"Yeah, in here?", Stiles asked, sarcastically.

"In Beacon Hills. Your friends, your family, everyone. Everyone that you've ever known.", Peter said, crouching. "They're gonna be taken.", he said before hurrying off into the tunnel.

"Where are you going?", Stiles called out, before following him.

He caught up with Peter, panting. "What did you see up there? The towns. What did it mean?"

"I just told you. They're never gonna stop.", Peter said. 

Stiles frowned. "Okay, so what's the plan then?"

"I'm goin' through the portal.", Peter simply said.

"Wait, wait, wait.", Stiles stopped him. "No one gets through the portal. You said that yourself."

"No human can. But I'm better than a human, remember? I'll heal.", Peter reminded him.

Stiles moved to stand in front of Peter. "If you survive, you have to find my friends, okay? You have to tell them about us, 'cause they're not gonna remember me, so you have to tell them that I'm here—"

Peter cut him off. "Stiles, lemme make this perfectly clear. When I survive—if I survive, I'm going to get as far away from Beacon Hills as I possibly can," Peter told him.

"And, if I happen upon one of your below-average friends and it doesn't inconvenience me, I might mention your name.", he says and walks around him.

"Yeah? What about Malia?", Stiles asked, making Peter come to a stop. "Even after all the shitty things you've done, I know you're doing this for her. You're risking being incinerated for her. And I'm okay with that."

Peter turned to Stiles promptly, only to get cut off by the sound of neighing in the distance. "You need to stall them.", he told Stiles.

"W-What? How?", he asked, knowing he didn't stand a chance against those things.

"Use your head.", Peter said, rushing to hide behind a pillar.

Peter shifted his foot and felt something hard underneath it. He looked down and saw Stiles' keys to the Jeep. With a frown, he picked them up, watching as Stiles threw a bench into the middle of the tracks, which slowed the horses down a little.

After the one passed, Peter jumped from the platform, grasping onto the back of the horse, fighting with the rider on the way out. 

Stiles watched the interaction, a weird sense of relief flooded his body as he saw Peter go through before looking at the rider who looked up at him.

Before Stiles could run, the rider cracked his whip, wrapping it around Stiles' neck, and pulled him down to the tracks before leaving through the portal.

Stiles groaned as his back hit the wall behind him, rubbing his sore neck. His eyes widened as he saw a light shine from his wrist, seeing the illuminated crescent moon on the corner of his wrist.

He remembers that Sam had linked him to her whenever something went wrong. Either she got the message, or something was wrong on the other end.

He hoped it was the former.

The four that sat in the jeep, almost lulled to sleep, had jumped at the loud, ground shaking roar they had heard.

Once it stopped, they looked at each other. "What the hell was that?", Sam asked.

"You guys heard that too?", Malia asked. Lydia frowned. "I think all of Beacon Hills heard it."

"Who is it?", Scott asked, looking at both Sam and Malia.

"I'm not sure, but I think I recognize it.", Malia said hesitantly.

"It does sound scarily familiar.", Sam said. Impatiently, Lydia snapped at them. "Go!"

The three rushed out of the jeep, the two following the burnt scent while Sam followed them.

"Hey, any luck?", Scott asked, finding Sam and Malia in a small clearing.

"No.", Malia said. "He hasn't roared again. I've got a scent, but…"

"There's something wrong with it," Scott finished for her, knowing what she meant.

They heard another loud roar, weakening as they got closer. After a moment of looking, they spotted a charred body on the ground.

They could barely recognize the body but Sam paused as she saw it. Another vision flashed as she remembered red eyes. She remembers being chased into the woods.

"I hear a heartbeat.", Malia said, glancing between Scott and Sam.

"Who is that?", Scott asked.

"I don't know, but I know the scent. Even through the barbecue.", she told him.

Sam frowned at her. "You don't remember who it is?", she asked as she knelt by the body.

Malia frowned in confusion and kneeled at Peter's other side. Scott looked around for any signs of fire. "How do you think he got here? There's no tracks, no fire…", he said.

Peter's eyes flashed open, the light blue the only color against the black remains of his body. Malia and Sam gasped and flinched away.

"Oh, my God!", Malia exclaimed, looking up at Scott. "Peter!"

Scott came and knelt near Peter's head, still confused. "Who's Peter?"

"Peter Hale — my dad.", Malia clarified.

"Peter….?", Sam muttered as she looked at the man before looking in his eyes. Her memories of the man flooded her brain, making her gasp softly.

She remembered his snarkiness, his sarcasm, even him defending her and vice versa. She especially remembers him biting her. "He bit me…"

Scott nodded. "Me too.", he muttered, remembering every moment specifically with Peter. "How could I forget him?", he asked, looking down at the man.

"How did I forget him?", Malia asked, frowning. She glanced down, seeing Peter trying to move his hand. "He has something."

Peter tried his best to speak, but he couldn't. His wheezes spoke for him. Sam quickly grabbed Peter's hand, shocked at the pain she absorbed.

It seemed to be helping him heal faster, but still. Where had she learned to do that?

Groaning at the pain she absorbed, she watched as her arms darkened as she looked at the charred man.

Scott and Malia helped, wincing in pain as well, helping the eldest Hale ease into relief as he teetered his way in and out of consciousness.

Malia checked his hand again, and she grabbed what he was holding.

"What is it?", Sam asked. The three frowned as she held up what he held tightly.

It was a set of car keys.

Before any of them could say anything, a bright light shined in Scott and Malia's face as they looked at Sam.

Both of them looked at the girl in shock, while Sam looked at them in confusion. "What?", she asked.

Scott hurriedly pulled out his phone and showed Sam her reflection, showing that a bright crescent moon was shining on her forehead.

Her eyes widened. What the hell…?

A quick vision flashed once more. She saw the jeep toppled over with fire near it. Why was the jeep toppled over? What happened? Who was in it?

She shook her head, watching the crescent moon dim into a black print now. She pulled her hood over her head, covering it and looked at the two in front of her. "We gotta get him help."

They nodded, looking at the man who slowly passed out. It was easier to pick him up now, helping him to the hospital.

After Malia went with her father to the hospital, Scott, Lydia and Sam sat in the Jeep. Lydia sat in the driver's seat, holding up the key to the car, looking at it intently.

The one question bothered Sam. Why did Peter have the keys to the jeep in the first place?

Lydia put in the key and turned it, only for the Jeep engine to sputter, refusing to start.

"This damn jeep.", Sam sighed.

Lydia huffed before trying again, pressing on the gas pedal repeatedly while twisting the ignition. The car sputtered, but it wasn't enough to turn on.

"Don't flood it.", Scott told her.

Lydia looked at him confused. "Do you even know what that means?"

Scott shook his head. "Not really." Sam looked at Lydia's foot. "Ease up a little."

Letting out a breath, Lydia turned the key one last time, suddenly hearing the rumbling of the Jeep. The headlights of the car shined the graveled ground below them, making them let out relieved laughs.

However, that didn't bring back any memories. They got one thing done, but they were far from finished. "Now what?", Sam frowned.

"No clue—", Scott was cut off by the radio in the car cutting on loudly, the static hurting their ears.

"Hello?"

Scott reached to turn it down, but Lydia quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him. "Wait, wait, wait, wait!" she said quickly, her eyes wide. The car went silent.

"Hello?", they heard. "Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?"

Their eyes widened.

Lydia grabbed the radio and held it to her mouth, shaking before she spoke. "S-Stiles?", she asked. They waited in anticipation for an answer.

Scott leaned in close as well. "Stiles? Are you there?"

"Scott? Lydia? Is that you?", Stiles asked, the relief in his tone clear.

Everyone's face brightened into relieved smiles. "Oh, my God, Stiles! We can hear you!", Lydia exclaimed. "I told you guys he was real!", Sam exclaimed.

"Sammy!? Oh, my God. You know me? You guys remember me?", he asked, excited.

Lydia hesitated again, looking at Scott and Sam. "Stiles, is this… you? Is this actually you?", she asked.

"Yeah.", he said, sniffling. "Listen to me. Do you remember the last thing I said to you?"

"You said…", Lydia closed her eyes, faintly remembering his voice echoing in her mind. "You said, 'Remember I love you.'"

Stiles was quiet, but where he stood he was relieved, more hopeful than he was before. Peter had done it.

Sam grabbed the radio from Lydia's hand. "Stiles, where are you? Are you okay?", he heard.

He smiled. "You have no idea how good it feels to hear you guys. Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. You guys have to remember me."

"Everything's in bits and pieces for me, but I'm remembering.", Sam says with a smile. "Did you see the moon? Did you get it?", Stiles asked.

"The moon?", Sam asked, confused. "You made a link to me whenever something was wrong, whether I was sick or hurt.", Stiles explained quickly. "It's a crescent moon on my wrist."

Sam frowned as she realized what he meant. "We saw it on my forehead. That was you?"

Stiles nodded, though she couldn't see him. "Yeah, it's a long story, but–"

"Where are you?", Lydia questioned.

"We're comin' to get you.", Scott said quickly.

"No, no, no. You can't. You won't be able to find me.", Stiles told them quickly.

"Stiles, what – what are you talking about?", Scott asked, shaking his head. "Just tell us where you are, and w-we'll come and—"

"Look, just remember this," Stiles interrupted him, rushing. "Canaan. Okay? You have to find Canaan. Just find Canaan."

Then the radio cut off on his end, sending the three into unsettled silence. "The Nogitsune…", Sam said, suddenly, making Scott and Lydia look at her in shock.

"I remember hearing his voice. He sounded so scared and alone… it was so sudden. He kept hanging up and we couldn't find him.", Sam said, her eyes glossing over.

Scott placed a hand on her arm. "We're gonna find our best friend." He looked at Lydia who looks at him with glistening eyes. "We're close.", he says, nodding at her.

[contactlessdrivethru]

just finished opla mood

[aethersea]

I do think Blazing Saddles handled its one depiction of native americans very poorly, and the full extent of its representation of chinese workers on the railroad is they were literally just there. not even one single speaking line. unclear if this is worse or better than the redface.

it's fucking phenomenal at lampooning antiblack racism though. extremely blatant, extremely funny satire, which is constantly and loudly saying "racism is the philosophy of the terminally stupid at best and morally depraved at worst, and we should all be pointing and laughing at them 24/7"

plus the main character is a heroic black man who has to navigate a whole lot of bullshit but is constantly smirking at the extraordinarily stupid racists and inviting the audience into the joke. the one heroic white character is a guy who was suicidally depressed until he met the protagonist and they just instantly became buds, and he's firmly in a supporting role the whole time and happy to be there. the protagonist saves the day with the help of his black friends from the railroad, and uses the position of power he was given to uplift not only those friends, but all the railroad workers of other minorities too, in an explicit show of solidarity.

anyone saying "Blazing Saddles is racist" had better be talking about its treatment of non-black minorities. it had better not be such superficial takes as "oh but they say the n-word all the time" or "they have nazis and the kkk in there!" because goddamn if that's the full extent of your critique I very seriously suggest you read up on media analysis. there is too much going over your head, you need to learn to recognize satire.

[mtcloudsworld]

𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | +18, mdni, oral (p receiving), messy, black!fem intended BUT it can be anybody, pudgy!reader, thick!reader, chubby!reader, put that pussy to sleep, pet names: love, baby, I did edit it, but in case of any errors, ignore it :)

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 | this was originally intended for Red hood but it could honestly be anybody you have in mind. I hope everyone is doing well. Stay safe, remember to drink lots of water and eat. Like, comment and reblog. Enjoy lovebugs!! 🦠🩷

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

"Mm, you taste so good, love." Laid up underneath him in your white babydoll. Dressed in lingerie, and wrapped in lace and mesh like a present on Christmas day─ it revealed the most sacred parts of your voluptuous physique. Exposed to his body heat, he warms you up like a fireplace as his hands adventure towards your hips. Bracing yourself to the contact of his mouth, it sends shivers down your spine when you feel his tongue lick long stripes up your center. You whined lowly, clinging to the stuffed animal that was on your bed. You bury your face into the plush teddy to muffle your moans. For the sake of those who are sleep, you didn't want to disturb anyone's slumber with your raunchy sounds─ your boyfriend didn't really give a damn but he proceeded to eat you out sloppily anyways.

Careless that he was making a mess, your juices dripped on the side of his face─ enjoying the very meal he missed out on for almost a week. He was relentless, hungry and quenching of thirst, for a taste of you. Popping, smacking sounds filled the room as he latched his mouth to your lower lips. The vibrations sending a tickle to your clit. His hands gripped around the fat of your ass to press you further down. You squealed in surprise. Shooting up in your kneeling position, you looked down at your boyfriend slithering his tongue between your folds. You nearly clenched your legs closed at the weird sensation of his tongue entering your leaking hole and instead of running away from him, you practically sat yourself on his (your) heavenly throne.

"Mmph, baby." He grunts in approval, eyes nearly going cross eyed at how your chunky thighs veiled his head. Loving how you were suffocating him with the very thing he would kill for. It was warm and tight, sticky, lewd and soft. The wetness of your arousal soaked around your inner thighs as he devoured your sweet center. You gripped at the sheets, clenched your eyes shut as you started to rock back and forth. Your breathing grows heavy as you begin to ride his mouth at a moderate speed. Heart eyes rolling and head lulling back, your lips part at the wave of fulfillment overwhelming you.

"Oh, baby, m'gon cum." You moaned, voice quivering a little. He hums in acknowledgement, tapping your thigh for you to quicken your pace. He starts to make out with your cunt, sucking and flicking at your clit till your movement was still. There was a silence that had fallen over the room. Your chest rises and falls once your upper body has met the mattress with a tired huff. Moaning softly, his tongue licks up the mess he had made, your juices dripping along his chin, he sucks you off the rest of the way. Giving your pussy one last kiss, he moves from under you. Turning to grab the towel that was on the floor, he glances over you about to wipe your thighs when he hears soft grunting sounds escape from your lips. He chuckles, realizing he put your ass to sleep.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Unsolved Mysteries.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[mollysunder]

The thing I never got about the fan reaction to Mel and Jayce's relationship (in general) is that people were incensed on Jayce's behalf that Mel used him for political gain, but like... that's what happens when the government sponsors your research. Obviously the funding mechanisms aren't the same because Piltover is an oligarchy where civic functions such as the Enforcers and even Zaun's ventilation system are privately funded instead of through a common pool of taxpayer money, but the purpose is the same, which is to benefit from the conclusions drawn from the results of the research.

I don't understand how anyone in the audience could be shocked or angry that when Mel, a high ranking representative of Piltover’s government, chose to invest in hextech it wasn't clear that she and Piltover would benefit. And it's not like this foreign concept to Jayce, he was originally being SPONSORED by the Kirammans', which is almost the same relationship except it's more explicitly private to the Kirammans' benefit, but I didn't see any pitchforks out for Tobias and Cassandra.

It's just such a double whammy headache to end up reading posts where Mel is hypervillainized while Jayce is practically infantilized because as an adult man in his 30s he simply can't understand complex relationships or make his own decisions. The way some fans have been offended on Jayce's behalf straight up erases any agency or even intelligence he has.

[braceletofteeth]

have you consider that to him maybe it is

[g3othermal3scapism]

Sirius: I don’t like that Crouch kid Regulus is hanging out with all the time…

James: He’s literally the minister’s son it’ll be fine. He can’t be that bad

Meanwhile in some alleyway in Hogsmeade:

Barty: Okay regulus now hold the flame under the spoon like this. Yeah I’m sure this is safe

[mariusslonelysoul]

In black friday, wiggly's baby talk could be easily explained by the fact that his vessel is a children's doll. In npmd however, he explicitly states that the lords in black are holding court in the teens' tongue and form, and if there's one thing teenagers hate is feeling or being perceived as children; still, wiggly uses the same baby talk, though not as much. Therefore, the only logical conclussion is that wiggog y'warth simply talks like that, in this essay i will-

[dingyuxi]

丁禹兮

[lunathrix]

little mershade for the end of mermay 🐟🐟

random art thoughts under cut

it's actually a watercolor painting, but i'm not a big fan of the paper texture i get when scanning them. imo they look a lot more finished after getting rid of it with a filter, but it may just be me having looked at my own drawing for too long

any thoughts on the unfiltered version vs the above?

[doberbutts]

"It is not enough to say 'We must not wage war.' It is necessary to love peace and sacrifice for it. We must concentrate not merely on the negative expulsion of war, but the positive affirmation of peace."

Martin Luther King Jr. Anti-War Conference, Los Angeles, California, February 25, 1967.

As written on the north wall of his memorial in DC.

[mintyspacecadet]

Tried a new rendering style and going insane about these freaks

[mtcloudsworld]

𝐷𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑁𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | +18, mdni, making out, fingering, I did edit it but in case of any errors, ignore it :)

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 | like, comment, reblog, enjoy lovebugs!!! 🦠🩷 Also, check out RED HOOD'S MASTERLIST

"When's the next time I can see you?" You were hesitant to ask, considering he had a busy schedule and the last thing you wanted was to sound so desperate and needy or trying to squeeze herself somewhere in his busyness.

But Jason, however, was willing to work around that, for you.

"Whenever you want to see me," he observes you fishing through your purse for your keys.

When you've already had them in your hands, you lock eyes with him about to say something in response. When you look up and lock eyes with him, you feel stuck underneath his striking gaze. Your head tilts in adornment. The beautiful sparkling blue was darker than before. Striking and alluring all at once. You wanted to look away, but were too drawn in. He gave you the kind of look that should intimidate you. The kind of look that makes you feel like you're seen thoroughly.

The kind of look that should warn you that now may not be the time, that you should wait it out, see if this is something you both want. If you were something he truly wanted. It was the kind of glare that admired every little detail along your face, the kind that made one's mind think of unholy thoughts when put under a spell of attraction and lust. And while removing the curl from your face, the feeling of his fingertips brushed along the side of your face made you want to lean into his touch. Your eyes begin to shift between orbs.

"Stop looking at me like that." You whispered, not intending to but by the proximity you both were in you felt so shy and small before him. A light smile curls to the end of your lips as you feel his hand smoothly slip into yours, his long digits slipping between the space of your own to then grip your hand gently, his thumb rubbing along the back of your hand to ease your jumbled nerves.

He cocks a brow in amusement. "Like what?" He was acting clueless now, innocent, as if his eyes weren't just undressing her and thinking about pinning her against this damn door.

"I'm just looking." He states, with feign innocence.

There was a hint of mischief in his eyes, one that knew exactly what he was doing but simply wanted to tease you just to see you squirm and act all shy.

"No," you shake your head slowly, smiling a little, "you're not just looking, you're looking... catch the difference?" You ask with a squint tilting your head like a dog trying to figure out the puzzle.

Can he tell the difference?

He chuckles.

"Could you honestly blame a guy? It's kinda hard not to when you're looking like this." He says lowly whilst eyeing you entirely.

"Mm, mhmm," you nodded slowly, humming in understanding and feeling your cheeks heat up as you rubbed your glossy lips inward.

He wanted to kiss you.

Your mocha glossy lips were just calling his name.

The night was only young, and so far, a simple hug, hand holding and brushing of the shoulders and knees were the only contact you had both received.

You were enticing, tempting in the most intoxicating way.

He didn't have the right to force you into anything if you weren't ready, he had self control but he was trying his damn hardest not to smash his lips on yours. You were so beautiful and he loved everything about you from the inside out. You were pure, genuine and sweet. How could he pass on an opportunity like this.

You were the prime example of treasure.

He didn't want to come off as pushy or crude, eager, he wanted to still figure you out, sense if the vibes were there or if he was just imagining things...

But...you wanted him to, just as badly as he wanted you.

This tension between you was getting out of hand, it was making your body weak, anticipating for him to just take the lead.

All night, any time he did something so sexy of the bare minimum or his hand was along some part of your body, your thighs were clenching and unclenching like clamps. Your mind swirling like a tornado. Heart beating at a 110.

If you were being honest this whole "taking it slow" thing was starting to fade in the background.

The more y'all stood before each other, staring into each other's eyes. Hunger and thirst, consumed you. The more you wanted him to touch your sizzling body and take you right here, right now.

The more you were deeply invested at the idea of his touch and the taste of his mouth.

You wanted to know what his hands would feel like roaming all over your body, up the split of your dress to the band of your black lacy thong where he could possibly dip his fingers between your soaking folds and feel the heat cupping at the palm of his hand.

You were curious of how his lips would feel against yours. On your neck, where he could feel the pulsating surface against his tongue as he tastes your coco butter lotion along his buds. To hear your whiney wishes and breathy moans sing in his ears as his fingers thrust into your sobbing hole.

To feel your warmth surround him, coat him with your arousal and treating you with delicate care.

Shit, you were dripping just at the thought of it.

You didn't realize your eyes were nowhere near his face as you felt your body heat up by the promixety of his body. You noticed his fingers gripping your chin gently to push your head up and meet his gaze.

Of course there was lust and longing pooling in his but there was also a deep need for you that you couldn't describe in words.

His thumb brushed along your bottom lip as he examines the gloss smearing with each swipe, he hums, "They're so pretty." He addresses subtly, not caring that something so sinful might slip from his lips or that his words might be blunt for the moment.

He could practically hear your breathing become irregular, not out of fear, but expectancy.

"They would be even prettier with your lips on them." You say bluntly, not expecting those exact words to spill from your mouth and speak in such a soft and sultry tone...

But it gained his attention, didn't it?

A subtle smirk arises to his lips.

"Is that what you want, sweetheart? For me to kiss you?"

"yeah, but...you want it just as much as I do, don't you?" Your bodies were pressed against one another with his hands planted at your hips, wanting nothing more than to inch closer to the roundness of your ass but keeps it respectful.

"Hm," he groans, clenching his jaw, "I don't wanna rush." He says leaning his forehead against yours, watching as your noses bump against one another.

"That's fine," you promised, "we don't have to, we can take it slow." Your smile is appreciative, glad that he was still considerate, stroking your thumbs along his pink tinted cheeks, "and if we do, then...that's okay too, I give you permission to be gentle and caring with me and making me feel good."

With acceptance and consent, he leaned in to attach his lips to yours. Jason didn't feel you hesitate nor flinch at the soft, plush of his lips. You completely welcomed him, invited him to take the lead. It was deliciously slow and deep, you could taste the white wine on each other's tongue as he slithered between your lips.

God, did his tongue feel heavenly on yours, I mean everything felt heavenly to you but this felt different.

You felt your back press against the door. Your hands dragging along the plains of his shoulder blades, fingers wrinkling his button up with their grip to eventually move towards the napes of his hair. His hands, calloused and warm, venture near the split of your dress, just how you predicted it.

Your leg creeps up around his hip pulling him closer when you feel his hand caressinc up underneath your thigh to then knead up around it towards your hip bone.

He frowns.

At first, he thought you weren't wearing anything, but the more he investigated beneath your dress, the more he felt the band beneath the pads of his fingers. You detect the way his fingers drag closer and closer to your center, the prolonged feeling made you antsy and eager for him to just touch you already.

"Jason--"

"Shh, I know." He smirks chuckling to your pleas.

He starts to run along your clothed center, feeling a wet patch of your arousal stick to your clit. Just like his lips, his fingers roamed. Consumed by his warmth and affection, you neglected the fact that you were still in the hall way of your apartment complex.

Clearly neither of you cared if anyone spotted you getting fingered down by the most charming yet feared man in the city. Or that you were calling his name between bated breathes, letting him know just how good he was making you feel, how badly you needed him.

And you would whine, beg for him to just take you.

And although he wanted to react in shock, he plays it cool. Planting a kiss to your lips, he pulls away with the simple instruction to "Open the door, baby" before licking your juices off his fingers.

The moment the door was open welcomed by dim lighting from the lamp by your couch you squeal in surprise by the feeling of his strong hands hosting you up over his shoulder, kicking the door shut with his foot and carrying you to the bedroom.

Piece by piece, articles of clothing are discarded. The room was filled with loud moans of his name stuck on repeat, the headboard banging against the wall, rounds upon rounds, you were positive your neighbors were probably fed up with your shenanigans by now. Cursing underneath their breaths. Wondering who in the hell this "Jason" could be and why he was fucking you at this time of the night.

By the fifth round, you were both fucked out. Sheets in a disarray, skin to skin contact with their bodies aligned, breathes calmed down.

With the window cracked open for the city's noise to seep through, the warm wind blowing past the curtains and the fan blowing lightly on rotation. You were both in and out of sleep, in a daze, contently satisfied with knowing this was gonna be a forever thing.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓