#Do Vote 🗳️
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sumanchess · 1 year ago
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నీ వేలు చివరన అంటిన రంగు!
మార్చగలదు నీ బతుకు రంగు!!
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cheolhub · 2 years ago
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i enjoy writing lower case intended fics buttttt im gonna ask one more time
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hamletthedane · 6 months ago
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Continuing my series of pretending tumblr polls are methodologically sound:
(+ bonus for the tags: how many of your friends and family do you think will vote, regardless of who they’re voting for.
And non-usamericans how are you feeling about the American election? 👀)
PLEASE REBLOG TO SPREAD BEFORE ELECTION DAY 🇺🇸🗳️🗳️
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royalarchivist · 10 months ago
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Tubbo: I do strongly believe that voting is your civic duty, and I think it's probably one of the most important things you can do, and contribute. And that's no matter where you live in the world.
Make sure you're registered to vote! 🗳️
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godbirdart · 11 days ago
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Reminder for Canadians: EARLY VOTING STARTS TODAY [APRIL 18] AND RUNS UNTIL APRIL 21!!! 🗳️
Polling station hours are 9am - 9pm for the four days
Eligible voters can still vote on Election Day [April 28]
The deadline to apply for mail-in voting is April 22.
If you didn't receive your voter card in the mail, you can find your designated polling station here. You do not need to bring your voter card to vote, just be sure to bring a valid piece of ID with you to your designated polling station.
Be sure to familiarize yourself with the parties, their policies, and most importantly: the polling trends of your electoral district.
Now is the time to vote strategically. If your district historically votes overwhelmingly for a particular party whose policies and ideals conflict with your own, it may be wise to consider voting for the candidate whose party has the best possible chance of ousting them from power; even if they're not from the party you would normally vote for.
Debates: Leader Debate [English] Leader Debate [French] * Reminder that the Leader Debates are two separate debates and not translations. Major Parties: Liberal Party of Canada New Democratic Party Bloc Québécois Conservative Party of Canada
Remember: Elections are not team sports. They are not popularity contests and should not be treated like sensationalized celebrity gossip.
Elections can have consequences, such as Alberta's health care system that has been progressively gutted down to bare bones so that the provincial Conservative Party could pocket its funding instead.
Be informed on who you vote for.
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taylornation · 3 months ago
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iHeart Awards nominations are here, and not only is Taylor nominated in 9 categories, but our beloved Taylor Swift | The Eras Tour will be honored with Tour of the Century!
We 🤍 voting, it’s ruining our life… if you do, too, today is ✌️ DOUBLE DAY ✌️so remember to vote in the below fan-voted categories at iHeartRadio.com/Awards!
🗳️ Best Lyrics - Fortnight (feat. Post Malone)
🗳️ Best Music Video - Fortnight (feat. Post Malone)
🗳️ Favorite Tour Style
🗳️ Favorite Tour Tradition (2x) - 22 Hat, Surprise Songs
🗳️ Favorite On Screen - Taylor Swift | The Eras Tour (Taylor's Version)
🗳️ Favorite Surprise Guest - Travis Kelce
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austinbutlerslovers · 28 days ago
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Wild Hearts
Label Mature 18+
Summary You’re Benny’s girl, wild and free, taking the road wherever it leads. This time, it’s a secluded lake house cabin, tucked away from the world, just you and he, lost to each other in this hidden slice of nowhere.
❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Bennys girl• Benny adoring • wild couple • adventurous couple• any where anytime• skinny dipping in a lake• sex outdoors • intuitive couple •sweet talk • praising • size kink•deep p in v• simultaneous orgasms
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📖 Proofreaders  @purejasmine        ✨Inspired by hands pinned in the grass pic 🫠              🗳️ Based on Unanimous 🔗 Poll Decision 🏆
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🏆 1st Devotion 2nd Daddy’s Doll 3rd Love/Hate 4th Wild Hearts. *Special thanks for voting 🤩 🗳️
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Wild Hearts
The sun is just creeping over the horizon, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges, when Benny Cross your Benny, rolls up on his Harley, the engine growling low and steady. 
He looks like something out of a dream, all sharp jawline and tousled hair, his leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders just right. That slight curve of his lips as he grins at you, his voice like honey over gravel. “Darlin’, you ready for this? Got the lake house waitin’ on us.”
You can’t help but beam at him, your heart doing that little flip it always does when he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. “Born ready, Benny,” you tease, tossing your bag over your shoulder.
You can tell he’s spent the morning stocking up with everything you’ll need for a weekend getaway. The saddlebags on his Harley are stuffed with cold beers, a bottle of whiskey, and enough food and snacks to last a week, though you both know you’ll be too wrapped up in each other to care about anything else.
The ride out is pure freedom as you cling to his waist, the wind whipping through your hair as the Harley roars beneath you, Benny’s strong frame as steady as ever. His scent of leather, smoke, and that faint hint of engine grease mixes with the crisp air, and you press your cheek against his back, feeling the rumble of the bike and the heat of him all at once. “You holdin’ on tight back there, sugar?” he calls over his shoulder, his voice carrying that playful edge you adore.
“Always Benny!,” you shout back, laughing as he guns it just a little faster, making your stomach drop in the best way.
When you pull up to the lake house, it’s even better than you pictured. A cozy little cabin with a weathered wood swing, wide-open windows letting in the breeze off the water, and a single bedroom that promises lazy mornings tangled up in each others arms.
The place smells like pine and summer, homely and warm, and Benny wastes no time hauling in the supplies. “Gonna take care of my girl this weekend,” he says, winking as he sets the whiskey on the counter. “No distractions, just you and me.”
You spend the day settling in cracking open beers, lounging on the porch, trading flirty glances that have your pulse racing. 
By the time the sun dips low, casting a golden glow over the lake, you’re both drunk from the alcohol and the easy vibe between you. “C’mon, darlin’,” Benny says, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the dock. “Let’s make this night somethin’ to remember.”
The wooden dock creaks under your feet as you sit side by side, legs dangling over the edge, the water lapping softly below. The whiskey bottle passes between you, and soon enough, you’re giggling, head spinning as Benny’s arm slips around your waist. “Goddamn, you’re s’beautiful,” he murmurs, his accent thicker with liquor, his blue eyes catching the last of the light. “Luckiest man alive, sittin’ here with you.”
You nudge him playfully. “Flatterer. You’re not so bad yourself handsome.” you tease, and he stands up, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and before you can say a word, he peels off his shirt. The sight of him with those tight-strung abs, and the firm curve of his biceps hits you like a punch. He’s all lean muscle and tanned skin, every inch of him screaming trouble and temptation.
“Benny…” you start, but he’s already kicking off his boots, unzipping his jeans with a grin that makes your breath catch. “What’re you doin’?” you laugh, though you know damn well.
“Goin’ for a swim, sugar!” he hollers, and with one swift move, he shucks everything off and leaps naked into the lake. 
His shout of pure, wild excitement echoes across the water, loud and free as he splashes in, and you can’t stop laughing as he resurfaces, shaking the wet hair out of his face. “C’mon, darlin’, don’t leave me hangin’!”
You stand, the whiskey pulsing in your veins as you tug your top over your head, letting it drop to the dock. 
“You’re crazy, Benny Cross!” you shout, shimmying out of your shorts and kicking them aside. His eyes darken as he watches you while he treads in the water, and you feel a thrill at how he drinks you in, like you’re a goddess he’ll never tire of worshiping.
“Crazy ‘bout you,” he shoots back, his voice low and husky, and with a squeal, you jump in after him, the cool water a shock against your skin before it turns euphoric.
You swim toward each other, bodies brushing under the surface, his strong hands grazing your sides, your legs tangling with his. The water ripples around you, alive with every move, and he pulls you closer, his hands sliding over your wet skin.
“Benny,” you breathe, and his lips are on yours, hot and hungry despite the chill of the lake. 
The kiss is messy, and desperate, tasting of whiskey and want, and you cling to him, weightless in the water. His hands roam your back, pulling you tighter, and you feel the hard planes of his body pressed against yours, slick and warm even in the cool night.
He breaks away just long enough to whisper, “Let’s get you out of this water, baby,” and he guides you to the bank, bringing you up onto the grassy edge with him like you weigh nothing. The air feels warm against your soaked skin as you lay down beside him giggling, the sound echoing into the night. 
Droplets slide down his chest, and his hair drips as he props himself on his elbow, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, his touch so tender it makes your heart ache.
“Every time I look at you, I can’t believe you’re mine,” he says under his breath, his finger tracing along your cheek, and he leans in, kissing you slow and deep, savoring every second of tasting you.
The grass is soft beneath you as he settles on top, the warm night wrapping around you both, feeling the heat of him, as the weight of him, grounds you.
“Benny,” you whisper, your hands sliding up into his damp hair. “I love you,” the words slip out easy and true, and his answering groan hums against your chest as he kisses you again.
Your bodies press together warm and wet as the kiss grows heavier, needier, your fingers tangling into his hair as his rough hands caress your sides.
“Never gonna get enough of you,” he rasps, his breath warm against your neck as he kisses along your jaw. “My girl, my everything.” He says and your heart swells as you pull him back to your lips, lost in him, the taste of him, the feel of him, the love he gives that burns so bright it could light up the whole damn lake.
As he breaks the kiss, you look up at his handsome face, the depths of his blue eyes shimmering like the stars above, and your body immediately softens beneath him. 
His calloused fingertips glide between your thighs, brushing your clit in teasing circles before pushing them deep inside. 
He works you open with slow, knowing strokes until you whimper, your body growing heavier from his touch.
“C’mon, sugar,” he whispers, pulling his fingers away, and he grips his cock, the tip pressing against your slick heat. “Let me feel all of you,” he breathes, his voice rough with longing. 
You nod, gazing into his eyes and he parts you with a slow, steady push, guiding himself deeper until he fills you completely. The stretch and the depth hit you both at once, your sounds of pleasure, mingling in the still night air.
“Goddamn, you feel s’good,” he praises, his forehead dropping, his breath ragged. He starts to move, slow and deep, each thrust driven with a possessive grind, marking you as his on every stroke.
“Benny—oh God,” you manage, staring up into his eyes, losing yourself in the storm of them, blue and wild and so damn intense it feels like he can see right through you. “Don’t stop,” you plead, and his eyes light up full of need.
“Couldn’t stop if I tried sugar,” he promises, his voice rough with restraint as he picks up the pace, the slap of skin on skin blending with the soft lapping of the lake.
Your lips part in soft, desperate moans as his thrusts hit just right, and he groans, feeling your walls tighten around his cock. His rough palms slide up your wrists, pinning your hands in the grass as he drives deeper making you feel every inch of him as you surrender to this wildfire passion.
The pressure builds low in your belly, sharp and hot, and you arch into him, chasing it. His biceps flex as he holds you down, damp hair falling into his face as he thrusts, but his blue eyes never leave yours, drinking you in like your a vision.  “S’damn pretty… so perfect like this,” he rasps, his thrusts growing urgent, erratic.
“Benny, I—” Your words dissolve into a moan as he hits the spot, relentlessly, repeatedly his body glistening in the moonlight on every thrust. Your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him deeper, and he groans, loud and unrestrained, the sound echoing off the trees. “Benny, I’m so close,” you whisper, your voice trembling, and he nods, eyes blazing.
“Same time,” he pants, and his hands tighten on your wrists, his thrusts pounding harder, deeper, your walls flutter around him as the tension snaps in a white-hot rush. You come beneath him, a cry tearing from your throat, and he follows right after, shuddering as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a broken groan. 
Your hands clench into fists under his grasp, your core pulsing around his cock until he stills, leaving you both trembling and breathless.
He lies on you, warm and heavy, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, your breaths slowing as he releases your wrists and interlaces his fingers with your hands.
You look over at him, still dizzy, your body throbbing where you’re pressed together, satisfied on the grass.
“I love you, Benny Cross,” you confess, your voice sure and sweet, cutting through the haze.
“I love you more, my wild girl,” he smiles, his voice soft and adoring as his eyes gaze into yours, warm and steady. “Always will.“ He says bringing you into his arms, the night wrapping around you both like a blanket as you stargaze listening to the lake whisper its quiet song nearby.
END 🏍️
🔗 Masterlist
🏷️ Always Tag Me List
@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @unicoo @thejoywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2 @skulliecadaver-blog @jjubilee-fluff @laurenmcquilty
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kiss-me-muchoo · 4 months ago
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quépedoamores I’m about to cook a new salesman x reader fic but I don’t know what to do, vote vote vote and listen my gongyooplaylist ♫ ♪ <3
𖦹°⭒˚。⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆。𖦹°⭒˚。⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆。𖦹°⭒˚。⋆ 𓆇𓆸
option a. bf! salesman x gf!reader where she discovers he’s a little freak and tries to leave him but fails (dark ending)
option b. enemies to lovers salesman x reader where she has to keep an eye on the little freak (he survives the russian roulette) while the gang tries to find the island and gi-hun leaves 4 the games
𖦹°⭒˚。⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆。𖦹°⭒˚。⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆。𖦹°⭒˚。⋆ 𓆇𓆸
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whenweallvote · 8 months ago
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On August 26, 1920, the 19th Amendment was certified, granting women the right to vote in the United States. However, it took decades of marching and organizing to help ensure ALL women could vote — and our work is not done yet.
104 years later, we are still fighting for equal access to the ballot box, because we know that our vote is too powerful to give up. When All Women Vote, we can change this country. 
Join us now by checking your voter registration status at WeAll.Vote/register, and remind everyone in your life to do the same. #WomenVote2024 🗳️
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lura-valentine · 22 days ago
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Choose Your Own Adventure!
MHA / BNHA Writing event
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Part 2: The cool place
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This will be an interactive writing event where you decide what happens next!
How does it work❓️
🐵 Character choice - completed 📖 First part of the story Post - concluded 🗳️ At the end of the story there is a survey on how it should continue 🌐 The majority decides what happens next 🔄 The cycle repeats itself until the story ends
Thank you so, so, so much to everyone who liked ❤️ and shared 🔄 the latest part.
There were a surprising number of votes and I really didn't expect such a high turnout. I hope you enjoy this project as much as I do and participate diligently, because the event lives from your votes‼️
To make things more interesting, feel free to give me some suggestions as to what else could happen.
If the suggestions are good, they will be included in the next survey! You can do this anonymously or simply write in the comments😊
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Vote 1 Part 1 Part 2
#lura mha/bnha CYOA_1
–> To Kaji's Profile #kaji black character profil
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Dabi pushed open the door, stepped inside, and stopped. His gaze slowly wandered around the living room as he ran a hand through his hair. Manga volumes lay scattered on the floor, some open as if someone had simply dropped them carelessly. DVDs were stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, some open, their cases buried somewhere in between. And then there was the collection of empty energy drink cans – a veritable fortress of caffeine and sugar, piled up around the controller in front of the screen.
In the midst of this chaos, Kaji sat, completely relaxed, with one foot propped up on the coffee table, a headset in his ears, his fingers flickering over the controller. The giant screen flickered with explosive images of a game that was way too loud, but Kaji didn't seem to mind.
Dabi leaned against the doorframe and took a deep breath. Not out of anger, not out of frustration – but because he was damn proud.
"Shit," he muttered with a crooked grin. "That's a work of art."
Kaji, who only now noticed him, turned his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you're back? I thought you'd stay out all night."
"I might have, if I'd known I'd be coming back to a post-apocalyptic battlefield." Dabi entered the living room, knocking aside an empty can, which rolled into the corner with a quiet clatter. "Should I laugh or slap you for that?"
Kaji lowered the controller, stretched, and yawned pointedly. "Stop pretending you're not celebrating. We both know you're feeling the same way."
Dabi raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, kid, you're right." He slumped onto the sofa, casually pushing a manga page aside with his elbow, and grabbed one of the half-full cans. He took a sip, then grimaced in disgust. "What the hell are you drinking? Tastes like battery acid."
"Caffeine. Sugar. The only energy source I need." Kaji grinned, put his feet back up, and grabbed his controller.
Dabi studied him for a moment, then leaned back, a cigarette between his lips. "Rain would kill us both if she saw this."
Kaji laughed. "Then we have a week to fix this. So relax."
Dabi let the smoke drift out slowly as he surveyed the chaotic scene. It was a damn disaster – but a catastrophe that reminds him suspiciously of himself.
"Well," he finally muttered. "You fucking have more of me than I'd like sometimes."
Kaji shrugged without looking up from his game. "Well then, Dad... make yourself comfortable. I'll give you the second controller if you want to get beat up."
Dabi's gaze fell on the controller, but instead of reaching for it, he just leaned back against the couch and snorted. "As much as I'd like to convince you otherwise, kid, I have another plan."
Kaji raised a skeptical eyebrow, pressed a button, and paused the game. "Oh?"
Dabi twirled the cigarette between his fingers, his gaze casually wandering through the chaos that had accumulated here in just one day. "I need your help with something."
Kaji laughed softly, took another sip of his energy drink. "Then it's going to be difficult, because I definitely don't feel like it."
Dabi grinned crookedly. "Oh, just wait a minute. I'm planning to show you a really cool place."
Now it was Kaji who really burst out laughing. Loud and dry. "Cool? Dad... I doubt you can even define cool."
Dabi quirked his mouth mockingly. "So you're really going to pick a fight with me about style? Kid, I was cool before you were even born."
"That was at least a hundred years ago."
"Shut up and move your ass. I swear, you won't regret it."
Kaji tilted his head back and studied his father through half-closed eyes. He knew that look – it was the same one Touya always wore when he was planning something that was either incredibly dangerous or incredibly crazy. It was probably both this time.
"Fine," Kaji finally sighed, throwing his controller onto the couch. "But if this turns out to be a complete failure, I swear I'll be teasing you about it all night."
Dabi stood up, stretched pointedly, and shrugged with a grin. "Well. I've survived worse."
Kaji's mouth twisted slightly, then finally stood up and stretched, his black wings fanning out wide before folding them loosely again. Then he casually picked up the controller and turned off the console and TV.
"If this isn't worth it," he muttered, turning to Dabi, "I'll turn the apartment into a damn winter wonderland."
Dabi laughed softly, straightened his coat, and looked at his son with a mocking glint in his eyes. "You don't have to. You do it every time you dream in your sleep anyway."
Kaji just growled softly as he pulled on his jacket and followed Dabi outside.
The streets were bathed in an unsteady glow from the city lights, billboards flickered on the walls, and people bustled around. Dabi walked with his usual casual stride, his hands in his pockets, while Kaji walked beside him with a critical eye.
They crossed several residential areas, passing narrow alleys and wider main roads, while Kaji became increasingly skeptical. "Tell me, where exactly are you dragging me? This isn't exactly the route to a cool place, if you ask me."
Dabi just grinned mysteriously. "Patience, kid."
Finally, they stopped – in front of an old, run-down underground parking garage.
Kaji blinked. Then he frowned. "Seriously? An underground parking garage? This is your big, cool place?"
Dabi pushed the door open with a gentle push and stepped into the dim entrance. "Wait and see. Sometimes the most interesting thing isn't what you see immediately, but what's underneath."
Kaji snorted, but his interest was piqued. Without another word, he followed his father into the darkness of the underground car park.
As the door closed behind them, absolute darkness enveloped them. The contrast to the neon-lit city outside was so abrupt that for a moment, Kaji saw nothing but blackness. Then a blue flicker hissed through the darkness – Dabi had lit a flame in his hand, making his features dance sharply in the light. The long, narrow corridor before them was bathed in a bluish glow, the shadows on the walls trembling in the restless glow.
"Damn," Kaji muttered, scanning his surroundings. "It's a bit like a bad horror movie."
Dabi grinned crookedly. "If you want, I can give you the role of the first victim."
Kaji snorted in amusement but said nothing as they descended the stairs. The stairs seemed endless, each step echoing dully off the cold walls, accompanied by the faint crackle of Dabi's hot flames.
But then, Kaji heard something. At first, it was barely perceptible, a deep, vibrating sound that echoed through the floor. Kaji pricked up his ears. It was a dull rumble that grew louder with every step they took. There was a strange rhythm to it – not just noise, but... cheers?
He frowned. "What the hell...?"
The closer they got, the clearer it became. Voices, loud and euphoric, interspersed with shouts that echoed in the walls. It was a crowd, and they were celebrating something.
Dabi stopped just a few steps from the stairs and turned to Kaji with a crooked smile.
"So, kid... ready? I told you I'm going to need your help right now."
Kaji raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Help with what?"
Dabi didn't answer. Instead, he pushed open the heavy metal door in front of them.
A bright light exploded into the room, blinding Kaji so much that he automatically threw a hand over his face. At the same time, a wave of pure noise hit him – the roar of a cheering crowd, mixed with screams and cheers, so intense that it momentarily overwhelmed his senses.
As he slowly lowered his hand and opened his eyes again, he saw it.
A huge, makeshift arena stretched out before them, surrounded by stands where people stood tightly packed. The floor was brittle concrete, enclosed by a tall steel cage covered in scratches and dents. In the center, two men fought, their Quirks in close combat and their clothes tattered, while the crowd celebrated each hit with an ecstatic roar.
Dabi stepped forward and spread his arms, grinning. "So, kid? Still sure I don't know what cool is?"
It took Kaji a moment to process all this. "This..." He exhaled slowly. "This is a damn underground fighting arena."
"Right on target." Dabi shoved his hands in his pockets and scanned the fighters. "So-called underground fights take place here. Usually organized by Overhaul or a few other guys with too much money."
Kaji crossed his arms. "And why do the heroes allow this?"
Dabi shrugged. "Well, officially, such places are illegal, but in reality..." He grinned crookedly. "Let's just say the heroes and the cops tolerate them. Because they keep us villains happy and supposedly prevent us from doing even bigger shit outside."
Kaji scanned the crowd. There weren't just villains here – he recognized some shady businessmen, a few inconspicuously dressed people who looked like rich clients.
"So?" Dabi pushed past him, looking over his shoulder. "Are you impressed now, or do I need to show you something better?"
Kaji clicked his tongue and let his gaze wander over the roaring crowd. He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed in mock annoyance. "Okay, I admit it. This is... not bad."
Dabi laughed softly. "Not bad? Kid, this is real life. No heroics, no rules, no stupid uniforms. Just strength against strength."
Kaji turned his head toward him. "That's all well and good, but what exactly do you need my help for?"
Dabi stretched, relaxed, as if he'd just been waiting for that question to come. "Well, you know, the League's keeping its feet still right now. No major chaos, no missions – AFO wants us to keep a low profile." He grimaced briefly, as if he didn't particularly like the idea. "But staying still isn't my thing. I need to stay in shape. And that's why your mom and I regularly fight in team battles here."
Kaji raised an eyebrow. "Team battles?"
"Two on two." Dabi scanned the arena. "The rules are simple: Fight until one of you can't fight anymore or gives up. Rain and I have already won quite a bit of prize money."
Kaji snorted. "Prize money? I thought she was already filthy rich."
Dabi shrugged. "Well, you can never have enough money. And let's be honest, for us, this is less about the money than about having fun."
"I see." Kaji eyed him skeptically. "So where exactly do I come into play?"
Dabi's grin widened. "Rain's gone. Normally I'd fight alongside Shigaraki, but AFO's keeping him on a short leash right now. That means I need a replacement."
Kaji blinked. Then he shook his head in disbelief. "Wait. You want me to get in the ring with you?"
"Exactly."
For a moment, Kaji said nothing. Then he laughed quietly and shook his head again. "Dude... you're really stupid."
Dabi just grinned. "Come on, kid. I know you want to. And if you're being honest – you want to see if you can keep up with me, don't you?"
Kaji twisted his mouth, his pride flashing in his eyes, sharp as the edge of a sword that's been sheathed for too long. "Tch. If I step into the ring, it won't be to be your damn sidekick."
Dabi laughed, deep and throaty, as if he'd been waiting for this exact reaction. "Then prove it to me." His eyes sparkled in the glow of the arena lights, as if there was something in there that reignited not only his muscles but also his fire.
Kaji stood there as if he were glowing. The wings on his back twitched, flexed, a few of the feathers fluttering like glittering shards of frost as he trembled with energy. "Come on, old man. Show me where I sign."
Dabi just grinned broadly and gestured for him to follow. The two moved through the milling crowd of fighters, onlookers, and dealers conducting their own business in the half-shadows until they stopped in front of a table that looked as if it had been hammered together from old metal sheets. Behind it sat two men who looked like walking gas grenades – broad shoulders, heavy jackets, and both wearing gas masks whose lenses gleamed dully in the neon lighting.
"Two on two. Straight in," Dabi growled as he leaned forward, flashing the flame in his hand briefly, just as a calling card – a reminder of who they were dealing with.
The guys exchanged a brief glance, then one of them wordlessly handed over a clipboard. Kaji scribbled his name on it, his gaze sweeping over the remaining fighters, who were chatting, testing their Quirks, or warming up.
It only took a few seconds for Dabi's presence to be noticed. Some of the men who were just tightening their bandages or putting grilles on their teeth suddenly turned pale. Two even started to quietly retreat from the line, but then their gaze fell on Kaji, who was now standing next to Dabi like a shadow slowly taking shape.
"Shit... Dabi's here."
"Do you want to unsubscribe?" a skinny guy whispered to his partner, neither of whom was clearly built for a real fight.
"Wait... Rain's not with him. Neither is Shigaraki."
"Who's the other one?"
"I don't know... looks young. Maybe a newbie."
"If he's just some rookie, we might have a chance..."
Dabi heard every word. A barely perceptible smirk twitched across his lips as he turned away from the registration desk. "Can you hear that, Kaji?" he murmured as they moved toward the benches. "The wolves are already sniffing around, thinking I have a lamb on my side."
Kaji gritted his teeth. "Then let me bite them first."
Dabi laughed softly, proudly, without having to say it. "You may. But you'll fight with me. And you'll stick to my rhythm. If you step out of line, you'll burn your wings."
"And if you get too hot, I'll cool your ass," Kaji growled back.
A quick look – hard against hard, heat against cold, pride against pride – then a nod. They understood each other.
A man approached them, a loudspeaker around his neck, distorting his voice. "You're match six. Two against two. You have ten minutes, then it's time to get in the ring."
Dabi put his arm loosely around Kaji's shoulders, as if he wanted to whisper something to him. "Ten minutes, huh? Plenty of time to warm up."
Kaji's eyes glowed in the reflection of the arena lights. "I'll freeze them before they even see where the blow came from."
Dabi grinned. "That's my son."
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The entertainer stepped into the cone of light as Dabi and Kaji slowly made their way through the vibrating darkness toward the arena, a heartbeat of light and shadow, punctuated by the dull rumble of the music that danced in their ribs like an alien pulse, impetuous and urgent. Every step echoed heavily on the concrete floor, as if their soles wanted to warn the stage.
The crowd roared, a chaotic sea of ​​shouts, stomping, and wild whistling, but the entertainer, all in black with a glittering tie, raised his hand imperiously. The microphone pressed to his lips, his grin cutting across his face like a razor blade, his voice coaxing, sweet as poisoned honey.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between – tonight we welcome a new duo to our arena... on the one hand, an old acquaintance. The burning madness with a pure desire for destruction – Daaabi!"
A torrent of howls, stomping, and burning ecstasy shot through the arena as if someone had lit the fuse of a powder keg. The name was as familiar as a threat, his presence a myth that burned beneath the skin.
"And by his side – well, let's just call him Blue, the Rookie!"
A murmur ran through the crowd, a mixture of mockery and curiosity. Kaji twisted his mouth as if he'd been spat in the face. "Blue, the Rookie? Seriously?"
Dabi laughed softly, his shoulders shrugging beneath his leather. "Well, you're completely unknown, not a file, not even a footnote in the villain world. Of course they call you Rookie."
"That's changing now," Kaji growled, the crackle of his ice flame suppressed but palpable in the air, like the first tremors before a blizzard.
A mischievous smile crossed the entertainer's face, but he remained silent, instead turning dramatically to the other side of the arena. The gate there opened with a metallic groan, as if the underground itself were sighing.
"And their opponents: Two of the toughest dogs from the underground! Atlas and Crank – pure brawn, no brains, but enough force to tear down a house!"
The men who stepped out of the gate looked like nightmares come to life. Atlas, broad-shouldered, metal plates on his chest and arms, rigid as a fortress. Crank, smaller, wirier, but wrapped in chains that rattled with every movement as if they were alive. Their gazes were aggressive, their movements snarling, but in their eyes, a brief twitch of uncertainty flashed – not because of Dabi. But because of the stranger at his side.
"You both are due!" Crank yelled, the chains creaking as he tightened them.
The gong ripped through the air.
And suddenly, there was only movement.
Kaji and Dabi moved like mirror images – a fluid, perfect choreography of instinctive unison. Their flames ignited simultaneously, Dabi's fist flared up, a seething blue that seared the air even before he struck, while Kaji's ice flames sliced ​​sharply and coolly into the air like a blizzard freezing flesh.
Their fists struck their targets in sync, a double impact like a thunderclap that rippled through bone and marrow. Their opponents had no chance. Crank was caught by Dabi's fist, a scream, a twitching flash, and his body was thrown against the cage wall like a wet sack. At the same time, Atlas flew, trembling from Kaji's icy flame, against the bars and lay gasping, steaming, unconscious.
And then, there was absolute silence. The audience, frozen in motion, as if someone had stopped time. Then the microphone clicked, a feedback screeched.
The entertainer stepped forward again, his smile now wider, almost enjoyable. "...oh, how embarrassing of me. I almost forgot to mention something important..."
He held out his arms theatrically. "This is our very special father-son duo! A fiery devil and his frosty heir! Bow down to... Dabi and his son Blue!"
The crowd exploded.
Cheers, screams, whistles, cardboard mugs flew into the air and someone fired a flare at the ceiling. There was whispering, bets, some were already calling for a rematch, for more – more heat, more power, more of that look between father and son that danced between respect, challenge, and a touch of madness.
Dabi stood there calmly, letting the flames lick their way out on his arms, while Kaji still stood slightly bent over, his wings half-spread, his shoulders shaking with the euphoria of victory, and yet there was no pride in his eyes, but hunger – not for blood, but for meaning.
"Okay..." he muttered, almost to himself, and glanced sideways at Dabi. "I admit... this is fucking fun."
Dabi stepped closer, placing his hand on his shoulder, heavy, warm, and honest.
"I told you," he grumbled as they retraced their steps down the corridor, away from the light, into the dim heart of the underground.
"So?" Kaji asked quietly as they headed toward the preparation room. "Was it enough to step out of your shadow?"
Dabi casually lit a small flame and let it dance across his fingertip. "You didn't step out of my shadow," he said without looking at him. "You made your own. And that's fucking frosty."
Kaji laughed softly, a ragged, almost surprised-honest sound. "Maybe it's time they got to know me."
Dabi looked at him, really at him. Something rare flashed in his eyes for a moment – pride, yes, but also worry. A hint of fear. And something dark, quietly scratching at the door of his consciousness.
"Yeah... I guess it is."
But as soon as they entered the room, Dabi felt it. A tug in his stomach. Not painful, not exactly– more like a premonition. A shadow slowly spreading across his insides, like a wing of black smoke.
He knew there were men out there, as well as organizations… eyes waiting in the darkness. People like Overhaul, and others like them, unspoken of, who were interested in powerful sons. Very… interested.
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The following battles felt like a rush of adrenaline. Time passed more slowly, flames hissed, and the air reeked of scorched metal. Those brave enough to even face them were brought to their knees within seconds.
Some tried tactics, ducking, retreating, but Kaji's eyes flashed like cold steel, his silhouette vanishing in a sudden storm of frozen embers. Those who tried to dive to the side to avoid the direct blow were mercilessly met with a fiery kick. His legs a swirl of icy fire that hurled bodies across the arena like toys. His every move was a dancing slash of ice and cold, no mercy in his kicks, only the precision of a fighter finally allowed to prove himself.
Dabi, on the other hand, was the storm. He moved with a nonchalance more dangerous than any scream. Its flames did not blaze in wild fountains, they crawled, they licked, they waited. When he struck, it was an act of determination, as if saying with every movement: You are not worthy of feeling my full fury.
Two teams had already given up before the bell sounded. They had heard the names, seen the flames, the glow of the wings, and realized this fight wasn't meant for them. Some cursed, others bowed their heads silently as they retreated, the bitter taste of fear and shame on their tongues.
And so, father and son moved through the arena like forces of nature, leaving nothing but charred shadows and frozen silhouettes in their wake, until only the finale remained.
And then, they stood before him...
Dabi recognized him before the light fully hit him. The broad shoulders, the grotesquely proliferating muscles, as if tendons and skin had been stretched too tightly over his body. The manic grin that knew no joy, only hunger — Muscular.
He stood there like a monument of flesh, covered in a grotesque armor of his own tissue that pulsed with every movement. At his side was a man, gaunt, with thinning hair and sunken cheeks, little more than a shadow. Apparently, Muscular had simply dragged him along. The guy wasn't a partner, merely a means to compete.
"Dabi..." Muscular roared with a grin too crooked even for death. "Missed you, dude. The scars from back then still itch."
Dabi took a step forward, his eyes narrowed, his flames still hidden, but the air already vibrating. "I thought you'd rot long ago."
Muscular laughed, a dry, vicious bark that echoed through the arena. "You took my Arena title back then. Today I'm taking it back. And that one…" his gaze fell on Kaji, slowly and curiously, "I'll take him down right away."
Kaji didn't answer. But the beat of his wings was answer enough. A soft, sharp hiss as the ice crystals formed on the ground, his flames flickering restlessly, like a waking demon.
Dabi gritted his teeth. "You're not touching him. Not a single hair."
Muscular grinned even wider, took a step forward, the floor splintering beneath his feet. "Then show me what the father-son miracle is really about!"
The gong fell like an axe through the silence.
Muscular's body tensed like a rope about to break, his veins bulging beneath his skin, his muscles pulsing, grotesquely exaggerated like the caricature of a god who knew nothing but violence. With a deep, rumbling roar, he charged forward. No tactics, no hesitation, just pure force. The ground shook beneath his steps, dust swirled, and each of his thunderous kicks sounded like a sledgehammer on concrete.
Kaji barely had time to his breath. His pupils narrowed, his body tensed instinctively, but he didn't retreat. He raised his arms, and at the same moment, a flame blazed from within him. It crept over his shoulders, spreading out like a living cloak of light, shimmering between blue and white, flickering like flaming frost.
With a single, powerful movement, he threw his arms forward – the flames shot out in a fan-like arc, and in their center, a wall rapidly formed. Rising and icy cold, but barely had it reached its full height when it began to change.
A crackling sound ran through the fire, the light faded, the blue brightened. It crystallized until only a shimmering, translucent wall of ice remained, veined with fine, luminous lines. It was no ordinary ice, but the kind only Kaji could create – flames frozen in mid-motion.
Muscular slammed into it with unchecked force. A dull thud, a disgusting crunch, and then the wall shattered with a single sound passing through Mark. Shards of ice flew through the air like missiles, slicing into skin and dust. Kaji threw himself to the side – not gracefully, but quickly, instinctively, his body rolling along the ground, wings tucked in, ready for the next leap.
But Muscular was faster, faster than his massive frame would suggest – he whirled around like a force of nature that knew no time, a colossus programmed only for destruction. The fist rushed in, accompanied by a throaty laugh that sounded like rusted iron.
A scream – not from Kaji, but from the air itself – for suddenly there was heat.
A blinding light cut through the gloom of the arena, and a flaming fist, deep blue and angry like the suppressed embers of decades of hatred, struck Muscular full force in the side. It wasn't a direct hit – Dabi wasn't aiming for his body, but for his momentum, his direction. The flames enveloped him like an electric shock, throwing him to the side and making him stagger.
"You're fighting both of us, you ogre," Dabi growled, his voice hoarse, his eyes burning like two narrow rips in the darkness. The flames on his arms licked hungrily, ready for more.
Kaji was back on his feet, his gaze a single, focused cut. Adrenaline pumped hotly through his veins, and somewhere between anger, respect, and a hint of satisfaction, a smile twitched on his lips.
"Nice save, dad."
Dabi huffed. "You can thank my later. Now we'll burn him away."
Muscular spat on the ground, a smacking sound followed by a ragged laugh that echoed in his massive chest like the rumble of a volcano before it erupts.
"What's wrong, Dabi?" he sneered. "You used to give a damn if your buddy got hit by a bus." His eyes flashed, adrenaline pulsing through his oversized body, every tendon straining, ready for the next explosion. "And now? Now you're jumping around this kid like a guard dog. What happened to you, huh?"
Dabi was silent for a moment, his chin slightly lowered, his eyes fixed on Muscular. The words struck a chord within him, but not in the way Muscular had hoped. No anger, no sting of guilt. Only this faint, burning glow, blazing in the depths of his iris like the remnants of an old fire that had never quite gone out.
"It was never completely meaningless to me," he murmured finally, backing away slowly, his step deliberate, gliding like smoke, until he stood behind Kaji. "I just couldn't afford it. Not then, not at Shigaraki's side. Not with Rain storming through the front lines with flaming feathers. We couldn't afford to be soft. Not with the whole world trying to crush us."
He paused for a breath. "But this... this is different. This isn't about missions. This isn't about contracts or a damned rebellion. This is about my son."
Muscular grimaced, the smile falling, giving way to dull confusion, a palpable incomprehension. "Son? Tch."
He didn't need any more words. His legs tensed, the ground cracked beneath his weight, and with a primal scream, he charged straight at Dabi. His fists clenched, his body like a living battering ram.
Dabi didn't move. Not a flinch, not a retreat. Only two small words came from his lips.
"Now, Kaji."
The air changed in a single heartbeat. Kaji raised his arms, his eyes blazing like the northern lights in the night, and his wings spread like those of a demon finally freed from its cage.
Flames erupted from him – not as before, not cautious or tamed, but wild, with a primal force that was barely controllable. They shot in all directions, punched the air, licked hungrily at anything that moved, like a pack of predators finally unleashed.
The cold exploded. The arena was engulfed in a blinding blue inferno that engulfed every corner – the bars, the concrete, part of the stands. It was as if someone had brought the sun down to the ground and chained it.
And then – the break.
The flames changed. Their edges froze. The colors shifted from blazing blue to an almost painfully bright white. In a split second, everything froze – as if frozen in another reality. The arena became silent, a single, rigid cage of frozen fire.
Muscular's body was trapped inside, frozen in motion, his partner barely recognizable as such. A distorted shadow behind the frozen wall. Only Muscular's head remained exposed, panting, steaming, his face contorted with exertion, his muscles twitching, fighting to resist freezing.
"I'll get you... I..."
Dabi stepped forward, calmly, his hands in his pockets, his face cool as ash after the fire.
"You'd better not do that," he said quietly, but his tone cut like a knife. "Or have you forgotten what happens to cold muscles when you strain them too much?"
Muscular's eyes widened as the truth dawned on him – the trembling, the tingling, the beginnings of pain deep in the tendons.
Dabi grinned crookedly with satisfaction. "They tear."
The gong echoed through the arena like the dull beat of a massive heart – a metallic echo that was lost in the icy silence, bringing the world to a surreal standstill.
Not the usual roaring yelling, not deafening cheers. Just a breathless silence that settled over the stands like fog. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on the huge block that took up three-quarters of the arena.
Kaji stood in the middle of this ghostly still life, his shoulders still slightly raised, his breath smoking in the cold air left behind by his own flames. Dabi stood beside him, his hands in his pockets, as if refusing to let the force of the moment get to him too much – but there was a gleam in his eyes that was rarely seen there.
Then, as if someone had suddenly turned up the volume on the world, the crowd exploded.
Shouts, screams, and applause erupted like an avalanche, raging from the stands like a storm of pure enthusiasm. Names were shouted, feet drummed to the beat, and in the midst of it all, they -father and son- stood the undisputed victors.
Dabi took one last look at the block of ice, a mocking twitch in the corner of his mouth, then turned slightly to the side, scrutinizing Kaji with a look that said more than words ever could.
"Not bad, kid," he murmured, and it sounded almost too casual to be real. "For your age... pretty impressive."
Kaji snorted, running his hand through his slightly sweaty hair, his feathers still had a slight glow in them.
"If I weren't impressive, it would be embarrassing. After all, you trained me." He grinned broadly and glanced briefly at the crowd, which was still roaring like a disturbed swarm of bees. "You know what? I'd love to do that again. There's something about arena fights... something so raw and honest. No ambushes, no politics. Just you, your opponent, and your fire."
Dabi raised an eyebrow, the flickering flames long since extinguished, but his expression remained serious.
"Enjoy the moment, Kaji. Because that was the last time for a long, long time."
Kaji blinked, surprised. "What? Why?"
Dabi grimaced slightly, lowering his voice, as if he didn't want to say the words out loud.
"If your mother finds out you've already been to the arena, now, without prior agreement, without her..."
He paused, took a deep breath, as if the very idea caused pain.
"She'll bury us both alive. Grounded forever."
Kaji laughed softly, half nervous, half incredulous. "You're exaggerating."
Dabi looked at him. "I was ten minutes late for training once. She banned me from using fire for a month."
Kaji trailed off. "...Oh."
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My moral supporters
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I mention accounts that my works ❤️ and 🔄. If anyone no longer wishes to be mentioned, please let me know.
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hkthatgffan · 1 day ago
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It's election day here in Canada! 🇨🇦
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Remember, if you're a Canadian citizen aged 18 or above, you can vote. So, get out there today and do your civic duty as a citizen of this great country!🗳️
Dipper and Mabel from Dana Terrace's promo art for The Stanchurian Candidate but I Canadian-a-fied them cause I mean, having them in US attire wouldn't be right, lmao.
Anyways, go vote, Canada!!
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remotewatch · 8 months ago
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make that mfer BAM 💥🥣
Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1k wc
Summary: Jack doubts his speechwriting skills. You tug that nonsense right out of him.
cws: emergency handjob, food play, cum eating, he cum in he got damn soup idk what else to tell ya !! dear readers please make sure you’re registered to vote and do try to get involved with the Harris campaign in any way you can (it’s what Jack would want, after all 😁)
hats off to my darling editor @mystardustmelodyyy as always 🩵🗳️
minors dni in fact don’t even glance at it
Light-footed staff weave around your path as you track the length of the house to check on tonight’s finishing touches. Your shoes clack against the mirror-polished foyer tile in time with the cadence of your speech repetition.
A text had just come in from your assistant: everyone was having a splendid time, they were on their way to your place now, and a smidge of traffic might push the start of dinner back, ten minutes at the most. Everything was falling into place, but you couldn’t turn down a free moment to go over your words one last time.
“As you all know, my grandparents were lifelong patrons of the arts… honored to present our new exhibition at my fiancé’s library… we thank you all for your generous…” you lose your train of thought when you spot Jack pacing frantically in an alcove, hands twitching as he stifles reflexive hang loose signs. He jolts at the hand you place on his shoulder and defaults to an uncharacteristically strained smile when he sees it’s you.
“How’s the rehearsal going?”
“Well, I think I hate it.” He bites a knuckle and squints exasperatedly at the tiny font on his phone. “There’s so many jokes in here. Why?!” Jack getting cold feet was the only thing you hadn’t planned for; usually he’s the one swooping in when you’re in such a state. There’s absolutely no time for rewrites, so you need to shut this shit down before he decides to start editing anyway. You squeeze his shoulder a little bit, and his head snaps up to see your most convincing faux-worried face.
“Can you help me with one thing real quick, and then we can get it sorted?”
That breaks him out of the fog long enough for you to drag him through the dining room and into the kitchen abuzz with steam and roving caterers.
A curt “Out!” scatters them, and then it’s just you two and the gentle hum of the convection ovens. You guide Jack over to where tonight’s soup is already plated, then to his bowl placed off to the side, accompanied by a post it stuck to the counter: “JS NO SWEET POTATO”.
He’s still lost in thought as you nudge him closer and move behind him.
“I already tasted it, it’s fine,” he mumbles as you start undoing his pants. His voice trails to a sigh when you take his cock out.
“You loved that speech all last week. What’s going on now?”
“I just-“ he doesn’t comment when you start stroking him, but you can feel the muscles in his back loosen slightly, and some of the tension leaks out of his voice. “I really want this to go well for us.”
Your unoccupied hand slides up his lapel and grasps his to stop the fumbling with his tie.
“It’s already going well, and we’re going to keep it that way.” His brow is still furrowed, but that cute little fuzzy edge his voice gets when you take control is seeping in.
“Won’t they be here soon?”
“Not for at least twenty minutes.” The slippery noises your movements make as he starts to leak echo off all the stainless steel and sound almost amplified in the empty space. It’s just warm enough in the kitchen for your brain to flirt with the idea of calling the whole thing off and spending the night here. “Don’t worry. I won’t let the clock run out on you.”
You can feel his grip on his doubts loosening with every deliberate stroke, and soon he’s bucking into your hand as much as the space between you and the counter will let him.
Jack’s posture sags as he relaxes against you, the sudden movement nearly bobbing him close enough to dip his tip into the soup.
“Keep moving around like that and you’ll burn yourself.”
“Sorry.” He sounds a million miles away from the ball of nerves you found a few minutes ago.
“On your toes. You’re making a mess.” And he does, of course, so you have a proper angle to aim him down at the bowl and prevent the twin rivulets of precum from sliding down your wrist onto his trousers. His mouth falls open when the first drops break the surface tension.
“That’s all I want you to focus on. You know you’ll do well, I know you’ll do well, just do this for me, okay?”
He nods wordlessly.
“Say it for me,” you croon softly into his ear, watching the goosebumps blossom down his neck when your lips graze it.
Jack’s head slumps to the side for a better look at you, but his irises are wandering like bumblebees and working against him.
“I’m focusing.” he slurs.
“I know, I know.” Your hand speeds up to match his breathing as he white knuckles the counter. It’s hard to keep your wrist steady when you feel his ass start tightening up.
“It’s gonna make a mess,” he gasps out.
“No it won’t. Stay still for me. You’ve got this. I know you do.”
Jack’s whole body tenses up, and his protests fade into little pants at your ambiguous encouragement. He throbs in your hand one, two, three, four times as you hold him just a whisper above the steaming bowl. No splash; the rest of him is trembling with the effort, but his hips stay locked in place to neatly spill into his meal.
As soon as his heels are back on solid ground, you’re stretching up to kiss right above his eyebrow. A hand cradling his jaw eases him back to reality.
“It’s a great speech.”
“It’s a great speech.” He can't stop himself from smiling, finally relaxed enough to let it reach his eyes.
-at the table-
From the beginning you’d insisted Jack should speak after you; he was much better at settling everyone into dinner conversation following your more formal remarks. Of course, your guests are utterly captivated by him; he manages to get even your sternest donors chuckling in under five minutes. So captivated, in fact, that you’re free to ogle at him from the other end of the table without worry. You’re crossing and recrossing your legs watching his mouth move, realizing for the first time tonight how fucking hungry you are. When the soup is served, you scarcely blink watching his first mouthful. He stares back just as entranced, completely forgetting his table manners and using his thumb to swipe an errant drop into his mouth.
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dicapiito · 7 months ago
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A starter guide for how US politics work
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🗳️ More below 🗳️:
Legislative Branch:
House of Representatives is GOP controlled. Want bills passed? There needs to be 218 in favor of said bill and since the House Speaker is Mike Johnson; he and the GOP are up Trump’s asshole
Senate is Democratically controlled. However, for bills to pass there needs to be a 60 Senate Majority and the Senate is 51-49.
Executive Branch is self explanatory. That said, no the President can’t do whatever they want when it comes to bills because this isn’t a monarchy but a democracy
The Judicial Branch:
SCOTUS. A 6-3 Conservative majority with three seats that will be replaced. Vote so Roe V Wade can be restored and protected. Also want the court expanded and 18 year term limits? Vote Kamala Harris and vote Blue down ballot.
Also all those pesky ass judges that keep helping out their fellow pervs and assholes in the states? Vote Blue and make sure to check out your local elections.
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And once again a reminder about third party candidates:
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And let’s stop the cycle as to why things don’t get done
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glittter-vamp · 8 months ago
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I do wish Kamala did a better job explaining some things and stopped playing both sides on the Palestine issue but damn did that man bomb this debate. It took him absolutely no time to get angry and start using the same buzzwords & rhetoric he’s been using since 2016.
I don’t understand how we got here again but unfortunately here we are. Let this motivate you to research things, register to vote and to actually go out and vote this November 🗳️
Have a good night friends 🖤
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whyeverr · 6 months ago
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popping in from my accidental semi-hiatus to share something that’s been on my heart lately…
my sims story / gameplay / whatever-you-want-to-call-it — the world I’m building in Rebuild A City — is about picking through the bones of society post-collapse and rebuilding something better. (sorry if you actually thought it was about zombie townies! it was socialism all along 😩)
I started this save because I was in a place where I didn’t feel a whole lot of hope, and I wanted to spend my free time and creative energy on something healthier for me than what I’d been doing previously (that is, killing sims slowly, on an island, with Nietzsche). I wanted to reinforce my faith in the best of humanity — mutual aid, community care, imagination, perseverance — and my belief that a better future is possible, in stories and in real life, even when the idea collapse starts to feel more and more inevitable…
and you know what, friend? I think it’s working 😳
and here’s the thing… in the endless discourse™ about the US election — and all the ways our candidate may or may not fall short of our own ideals as individuals, mine included! — I hold tightly to this hope I’ve worked to nurture, this feeling of promise that I’m excited about, but I refuse to let fantasies of building a better society from the ashes — in my silly sims story or in some hypothetical American future —to cloud the truth that we don’t have to burn it all down to begin with in the first place!
when voices say there’s no hope, or there’s no substantive difference between Trump and Kamala, or there’s no point in voting because we’ll keep arming Isr*el either way, or that we should all vote third party to “send the Democrats a message,” or that it’s actually somehow better if Trump wins because the US will collapse faster… look at who is saying these things 👀 perhaps a white person in a blue state…? someone speaking from a place of privilege, using their platform to accelerate their political revolution fantasy at the expense of minoritised and vulnerable people living in red states across the country? too many people my age made this same mistake in 2016 and we are still reaping the consequences today.
say no to accelerationist thinking. say no to purity tests, say no to voting third party as idealist self-expression or political aesthetic.
say yes to mutual aid and community care. say yes to voting as harm reduction, and organizing under a president who doesn’t want to outlaw political protest entirely. say yes to protecting people with uteruses, trans folks, queer people, disabled people, people of color, living in red states.
say yes — deep breath — to the reality that you as an American were born in (or decided to move to and become a citizen of) a powerful, expansive, and deeply flawed empire, and accept your collective responsibility to vote strategically. and the only acceptable strategy — the only strategy that does not lead directly to the outcome of a second Trump term, doubling down on the worst political outcomes here and abroad, and the promise of the end of free elections in the US — is voting for Kamala Harris on or before Nov 5. 🇺🇸🗳️
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austinbutlerslovers · 1 month ago
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Love/Hate
Label Mature 18+
Summary Austin becomes a hotshot model with an even hotter temper, paired with your spark of an attitude it makes you both destined to ignite.
⚠️ Hardcore Smut⚠️ mean Austin • cocky Austin• love/hate relationship •toxic couple•taunting• name calling• lying• aggression • insecure reader • hot head reader • dirty talk • slut shaming • dubcon •rough sex against a wall• clit pinching • taming with male dominance • objectification •sexual pacification•make up sex •orgasm •creampie • kiss it better
🔗 Masterlist
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📖 Proofreader @peggyao3 🗳️ Based on Unanimous 🔗 Poll Decision
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🏆 1st Devotion 2nd Daddys Doll 3rd Love/Hate 4th Wild Hearts *Special thanks for voting 😍 & enjoy the upcoming fic!🤩 🗳️
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Love/Hate
The moment Austin walks through the door, you know he’s in one of his moods. His long blonde hair sways perfectly, styled from whatever shoot he just came from, his sharp jaw set in that familiar smirk that makes your stomach knot…but there’s an edge to it now, something crueler than before.
His success is getting to his head. 
The modeling gigs, the money, the attention. It was fine when you were just another couple of broke teens in a bad apartment, when you’d fight over who got to use the hot water first. But now? Now…he thinks he’s a god.
And maybe he is. Maybe he always was.
You lean against the kitchen counter arms crossed, watching as he tosses his backpack on the couch. 
He’s wearing some designer leather jacket, black and expensive, and when he shrugs it off, his shirt rides up just enough to tease his tight abs and the sharp V-line of his hips. 
His fingers rake through his long blonde hair as he eyes you up and down, slow and assessing, and you already know what’s coming.
“What are you wearing babe?” he mocks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he strides past you toward the fridge.
Your favorite crop top clings to your chest, showing off your midriff, paired with low-rise jeans hugging your hips in a way that should make his mouth water, should make him stumble over his words like he used to.
Your jaw tightens, a hot flush of shame burning through you. “What, you don’t like it?” you respond, the uncertainty of your words sinking in.
He knows you wore it just for him, he loves this outfit on you, and as his smirk deepens, it’s as if he wants you to snap, like he thrives on watching you get worked up.
He twists the cap off a drink and takes a long swig, his throat bobbing with each swallow, his full lips wrapping around the bottle’s edge.
When he lowers it, his piercing blue eyes, cold and cutting, drag over you again, intense and unyielding, stripping you bare with a single look.
“You didn’t used to be like this,” you grit, your voice shaking with a mix of hurt and fury. “You’re different now, huh high off being some big-shot model” you snap.
“Not my fault you’re insecure,” he taunts, his blue eyes glinting with something cruel as his full lips curve into a knowing grin.
“And it’s definitely not my fault you can’t handle how famous I am now,” he says, the words decimating whatever confidence you had left.
You inhale sharply, your blood boiling as tears well in your eyes. “You act like I’m supposed to worship you or something, and I’m sick of it,” you retaliate, your voice hushed and trembling.
“That right?” he says, tilting his head, savoring the way your emotions flow unchecked.
“You’re sick of it” he repeats, stepping closer, his blue eyes gazing into yours with a possessive intensity.
“Didn’t seem that way when you were all over me last night,” he adds softly, his voice lifting as his eyes glint with quiet amusement.
Your face burns from how much you hate what he’s become, the way this shadow of your boyfriend, who once adored you, now takes every opportunity to point out your insecurities.
“I can’t do this anymore,” you lash out, turning away, but his hand nabs you first keeping you firmly in place.
“Nah-uh, I don’t think you wanna do that,” he says, slow and knowing, leaning in until his breath ghosts over your lips.
“You don’t get to decide when you leave me,” he says, his fingers sliding up your throat, firm and unyielding, tracing the frantic pulse there before pressing just hard enough to tilt your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his.
You push at his chest, but it’s useless, he’s solid muscle, immovable against your feeble attempts, and his eyes only grow darker at your retaliation.
“I hate this,” you whisper, your voice trailing off as you look into his eyes.
“You love it,” he rasps, his full lips curving into a slow, smug grin.
Your pulse thunders in your ears as fury burns in your stomach. You hate how gorgeous he is, how unfairly pretty he looks when he’s like this.
You want to wipe that smirk off his face, make him feel even a fraction of the insecurity he makes you feel and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out.
“I hate you,” you breathe, the words laced with hurt.
“Yeah?” he challenges, his voice low, his blue eyes unyielding as they lock with yours, his jaw muscles clenching tight.
You hesitate, your mind racing deciding what to do, and in one swift motion, before you can react, his hands grab your wrists, forcing your back against the wall, his body pressing in close.
You tilt your head up to meet his gaze and your body betrays every ounce of composure as your resolve weakens in his strong hold, and he notices, of course he notices.
He leans in, his mouth ghosting along your jaw, his fingers tightening around your wrists.
“You talk a big game,” he whispers, his breath brushing your skin, “but we both know the truth, don’t we?”
You bite your lip, trying to suppress the arousal surging through your core, but he sees right through you.
His mouth lowers onto yours, all heat and hunger, swallowing the moan that slips out.
He kisses you like he owns you, like he’s taking his claim all over again, and you hate how easily he unravels you.
You hate him.
You love him.
And the worst part? He knows it.
Your teeth bite his bottom lip in defiance, but he only pulls back, his grip on your wrists tightening.
He yanks your wrists higher above your head in one hand, keeping them firmly against the wall. His body presses against yours, forcing you to feel every inch of his long hard cock as it strains through his jeans, pushing insistently between your legs.
“You act like you’re so tough, like you don’t need me,” he muses, his mouth skimming along your jaw, hot and teasing. “But look at you.” His knee slots between your legs, the pressure against your clit just enough to make you gasp. “You’re already wet, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”
You try to resist how hot he is as his mouth trails down your throat, his tongue licking just enough to make you squirm, savoring the way your body betrays you.
“You gonna admit it yet?” he taunts, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “Or do I have to fuck it out of you?”
You glare at him, but it’s weak, your body already giving in, and he knows it. He lives for it.
His free hand lowers to pop the button of your jeans, teasing the zipper down and pushing them low on your thighs. His eyes lock on to yours before flicking down to watch his fingers press the fabric of your panties feeling the slickness of your heat.
The sensation is maddening, light, fleeting, and nowhere near enough, and as you push forward seeking more his smirk deepens.
“You’re so fucking easy,” he whispers.
Your stomach clenches, anger and arousal twisting together into something volatile. You want to slap him, to shut him up…but more than anything, you want him to finish what he started.
“You’re such a dick,” you retort breathlessly.
He hums, his long hair tickling your skin as he dips his head lower. “And here you are,” his voice drops to a whisper, smug and knowing. “So fucking wet for me.”
His fingers stroke the front of your panties until the squishy wet sensation makes your thighs clench as a choked sound escapes you, half a curse, half a plea.
And that’s all it takes for him to ruin you.
He frees your wrists to grab your hips, spinning you around and pressing your chest firmly to the wall, his body flush against your back.
His breath is hot against your ear as his hands roughly drag down your panties.
He lowers them on your legs, leaving your ass exposed, the slickness between your thighs betraying every ounce of defiance you have left.
“You must hate your boyfriend so much” he taunts, his voice a low tease as his fingers deliver sharp smacks on your pussy, your hips jerking as the wet, slick sounds prove just how much your body craves him.
You moan as his fingers spread you open, dipping into your soaked core, circling your entrance with slow, torturous strokes until your hips tilt back from the sensation.
He pushes them inside, two at once, plunging in deep, pumping his fingers hard, curling them just right to hit that spot that makes your walls spasm, his palm grinding against you with every rough thrust.
A ragged moan tears from your throat, your hands clawing at the wall as your body tenses, caught between resistance and surrender.
You fight every second, biting your lip hard trying to hold back the sounds he’s ripping out of you, but it’s impossible when it feels so good, his fast, brutal thrusts pounding into you, making a slick mess.
His fingers slip out, leaving you aching and he hums, the sound dark and triumphant, as his lips trail up to your ear.
“You wanna fight?” he breathes, his voice low and rough, his fingers squeezing into the soft flesh of your ass. “Or do you wanna fuck?”
You don’t answer…because you can’t.
He unzips his jeans with a slow, teasing pull, guiding his hips forward until the tip of his cock presses hard against your slick heat.
Your core throbs as he pushes in, your walls clenching his cock tight as an eager moan escaping your throat. He thrusts in deep, stretching you open with several fierce strokes, and it feels so good you want to scream.
Your body jolts against the wall, the rough surface scraping your cheek as his hips clap against your ass with a possessive force.
You pant heavily eyes fluttering in a haze of pleasure as he increases the pace, his thigh smacking the back of yours with every thrust, the rhythm relentless, driving you up the wall until your toes barely touch the floor.
“Say it,” he demands, one hand snaking up to grip your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse race under his touch. “Say you love this.”
“I …hate you,” you curse, but it’s shaky, and breathless broken by the way he’s fucking you senseless.
He laughs low and mocking as his hips snap harder. “That’s not what I heard last night.” He says as his other hand slips between you and the wall, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, torturous circles. “Say it, baby. Say you’re my little slut.”
The pleasure is unbearable, his cock hitting so deep, his fingers circling relentlessly, and you hate how much you love it. “I’m yours,” you gasp, the words spilling out before you can stop them.
“Louder,” he taunts, thrusting so hard your body rocks against the wall, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the room. “Tell me what you are.”
“I’m your little slut,” you choke out, repeating it as he drives into you, each word punctuated by a thrust that makes you see stars. It’s humiliating, intoxicating, and it only makes you hotter, wetter, tighter around him.
“That’s right,” he rasps, his breaths ragged now, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to dizzy you. “You love this, don’t you? Love how I use you.”
You do. You let him. Your body trembles, pinned and obedient, every thrust shoving you closer to the edge. His hands are everywhere, gripping, bruising, teasing, like you’re nothing but a fuck toy for him, a mess of moans and pleas. “Austin,” you whimper, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.
“Again,” he demands, his voice intense as he fucks you harder, his fingers pinching your clit in a way that’s both agony and ecstasy.
“Austin,” you cry, louder this time, your voice breaking as the pressure builds, coiling tight in your core.
“Beg me,” he taunts, his thrusts turning brutal, his thigh slamming against yours so hard it stings. “Beg me to let you come.”
“Please, Austin, let me come,” you sob, repeating it like a mantra, your pride shattering under the weight of how good he feels, how much you need him.
He groans, low and primal, and you feel him twitch inside of you, his control slipping.
“Come for me,” he demands, and it’s all you need. Your orgasm crashes over you, so intense it whites out your vision, your body convulsing against the wall as waves of pleasure rip through you.
He feels it as he groans, burying his cock deep, his thrusts punishing, riding out your climax as he chases his own. “I’m gonna come so fucking hard,” he grits, his voice strained, as he feels the slick warmth of your release coating his cock and dripping down your thighs.
You can’t respond, too lost in the aftershocks, your body going limp against the wall as he finishes with a final, shuddering thrust, spilling inside of you with a guttural sound.
Your legs shake, the fight completely drained out of you, leaving nothing but breathless exhaustion.
He leans into you, his breath heavy at the side of your neck, savoring how satisfying he feels in the aftermath.
“You good?” he asks, his voice softer now, as the tension fades.
You nod, still panting as he runs a hand through his long, sweat-damp hair pushing it back. “Knew you couldn’t resist me” he breathes as smug as ever.
You manage to turn your head just enough to glare at him. “I fucking hate you.”
He grins, leaning in close, his nose flicking against yours. “Yeah?” he says, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing and familiar. “Then why do you love me so much?”
END ❤️‍🔥
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