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carriesthewind · 2 days ago

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When I first read this post, before I decided to dig in and try to find the sources for these claims, I intended this response to be a gentle correction of a very common misunderstanding about an aspect of the U.S. legal system.

And I’m still going to do that; we’re going to start with some general education about Miranda warnings – what they are, what they mean, and under what circumstances should you talk to the cops? (Spoiler: Don’t talk to the cops.) But let me do a quick skip to where we are going to end up, to hit the main points before a way-too-long post (and to just go ahead and let the conspiracy theorists block me in advance):

Don’t talk to the cops.

The cops have to give you the Miranda warnings before they interrogate you (ask you questions related to a criminal investigation/case) in a custodial setting (a situation where you are not free to leave.

If they don’t do that, you may be able to ask the court to prevent the prosecutor in your criminal case from using any of those statements at your criminal trial. (The judge cannot and will not do this on their own.)

Even if the court agrees with you and stops the prosecutor from using your statements, the case doesn’t just go away. The prosecutor can still use other evidence to try to convict you. This can include other statements you made.

The Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) did not recently say that you no longer need to be read your rights, or that you don’t have your Miranda rights, or you only have to be read your rights under certain circumstances that are somehow different from #2 above. SCOTUS ruled in Vega v. Tekoh that if the police do not read you your rights, you cannot file a civil lawsuit (aka a lawsuit where you are asking for money) against the police. This case is a travesty against the idea of justice, rights, and the rule of law, because it makes it much harder to hold the police accountable for their misconduct. However, it does not affect the application of the Miranda rule in criminal cases.

There is literally no evidence, zero, nada, none, that Mr. Mangione “was never read his miranda rights and was under the impression at that time that he was being denied the right to a fair trial, an attorney, or any legal representation," nor that his lawyer claimed this to be the case. @saint-luigi-of-fiji just literally made this claim up. Didn’t misunderstand, didn’t make a mistake, just straight up lied.

And on that point: fuck you, @saint-luigi-of-fiji, you lying asshole. How fucking dare you. How dare you farm people’s real pain, real outrage, and instead of directing it somewhere real, somewhere meaningful - instead of giving people real information about how fucked up the criminal injustice system is for the individuals - including Mr. Mangione - caught in it, or even just keeping your fanfic to yourself and your ao3 account, you decided to fucking lie, to deliberately spread misinformation both about his case and the legal system.

Right. Okay: let’s loop back to what I originally wanted this post to be about. Looking at OP’s original posts, there are three problems with them:

There is no source, and it is not true. They do give a “source” in the reblogs, and we will fucking get to that in full, trust me. But in short: there is simply no evidence at this time that Mr. Mangione’s Miranda rights were violated, much less that he hadn’t been read them at all, or that his attorney ever made that claim. This is just a straight-up fantasy made up by OP to spread conspiracy thinking. This is why I strongly advise not reblogging posts purporting to contain real-life information unless they both have a source and you have personally checked that source. It’s hard to do consistently (I know I’ve accidentally spread misinformation before!), but this post is a really good example about why you need to do both. Especially because:

This post is spreading a common misconception about what your Miranda rights are, when they apply, and what they mean. And people in the notes are really, really confused, in a way that – speaking from experience – can do real harm.

(And disclaimer up top: This post is about U.S. law. As such, I’m going to be addressing the parts talking about the law to folks living in the U.S. None of discussion about the law here applies outside of the U.S.)

(Second disclaimer: I am an attorney, but I am not your attorney. I outline some theoretical situations below purely as illustrative examples to make some of the explanations more accessible. Every factual situation is different, the law in every jurisdiction is different. Please do not avoid getting legal advice about your specific situation because you think this post is enough - this is information, not legal advice. If you are arrested and you begin a sentence to your attorney with, “I read on tumblr…,” I will personally come and haunt your dreams.)

Let’s start with a basic question: what are your Miranda rights?

(And I know, you know what your Miranda rights are! You've seen it on TV a dozen times! They're that speech the cops give you when they arrest you!...and if you just agreed with that last statement: please keep reading. Because the cops don't need to read them to you when you are being arrested, unless they are about to start questioning you right then and there.)

This post by the ACLU has a good, simple summary of what are commonly referred to as your Miranda rights, or Miranda warning:

“The Miranda rule, which the Supreme Court recognized as a constitutional right in its 1966 decision Miranda v. Arizona, requires that suspects be informed of their Fifth and Sixth Amendment rights "prior to interrogation" if their statements are to be used against them in court.”

I think it is helpful to think of your Miranda rights as two overlapping things:

The right to be informed of your rights before being asked questions.

The substantive rights you are being informed of.

That is, you have the right:

To remain silent, because anything you say can (and likely will) be used against you in a court of law.

To the presence of an attorney during law enforcement questioning.

And if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you prior to any questioning.

These rights derive directly from the constitution of the United States. They exist independently, regardless of whether you are told about them.

In Miranda v. Arizona, SCOTUS held, “without proper safeguards, the process of in-custody interrogation of persons suspected or accused of crime contains inherently compelling pressures which work to undermine the individual's will to resist and to compel him to speak where he would not otherwise do so freely. In order to combat these pressures and to permit a full opportunity to exercise the privilege against self-incrimination, the accused must be adequately and effectively apprised of his rights, and the exercise of those rights must be fully honored.” Miranda v. Arizona, 384 U.S. 436, 467 (1966).

Essentially, SCOTUS said, look. These rights exist on paper. But if there aren’t procedural protections in place, including and especially telling people that they have these rights, the cops can and will just steamroll over people.

And this is true. Even with Miranda, cops pressure people into false confessions.

So you also have the right to be informed that you have the right to remain silent and you have a right to an attorney before you are questioned by the police while you are in custody.

This is a good place to pause and look at the dependent clauses in that last sentence.

First: You need to be informed of your Miranda rights before you are questioned by the police. Like most rights in the U.S., your Miranda rights exist to protect you from government action. There is not a loophole where you can scream confessions to any crime you want and then when the police come to silently arrest you, they can’t do it because they didn’t read you your rights before you started talking. You always have the right to remain silent (don't talk to the cops, even before they read you your rights); before you are questioned by the police, it is up to you to exercise that right (or not).

Second: While you are in police custody. Again, to quote from Miranda, “An understanding of the nature and setting of this in-custody interrogation is essential to our decisions today.” Miranda 384 U.S., at 445. This doesn’t mean you have to be arrested, but, you do need to be "not free to leave." (This is also why you should also clarify, if you have not already been arrested, "am I free to leave." Because you can be "in custody" before you are arrested. Asking this question puts the burden on the police to either let you leave or trigger your Miranda rights.) For example, this is why if your new buddy Bob in your direct action group asks you all sorts of questions about your protest activities and plans, and then Bob turns out to be an undercover fed, your statements to Bob can be used against you in trial when the government says you were committing crimes. Bob, in fact, did not need to tell you he was a cop, and he did not need to inform you of your rights.

Finally, let’s talk about what happens if your Miranda rights are violated: either because the police didn’t read you your rights and obtain a waiver, or because they did not fully honor the execution of those rights. (For example, you said, “I am invoking my right to remain silent. I am revoking my right to an attorney,” and they locked you in to a room and badgered you with questions until you talked.)

Again, from Miranda: “Our holding will be spelled out with some specificity in the pages which follow, but, briefly stated, it is this: the prosecution may not use statements, whether exculpatory or inculpatory, stemming from custodial interrogation of the defendant unless it demonstrates the use of procedural safeguards effective to secure the privilege against self-incrimination.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 444 (1966).

That is: if your Miranda rights were violated, any statement you made as a result of that violation can’t be used against you in your criminal trial. Those statements would be “suppressed,” which means the jury would not be allowed to hear that you made them.

What could this look like in practice?

Let’s say you are arrested for "possessing illegal drugs" and brought to the police station. You walk into the interrogation room, and before the police say anything, you say, "I didn’t know possessing testosterone was illegal!” (Statement 1) The officer then asks, “Where did you get the testosterone?” And you reply, “I bought it on the internet.” (Statement 2).

If I was being asked to analyze this scenario on a law school exam, I would say that Statement 2 probably couldn’t be introduced at trial. You were in custody, and your statement was in response to a direct question by a police officer, asked before you were read your Miranda warnings.

So, your attorney could file a motion, asking the court to “suppress” the statement. And, assuming the court agreed, the jury at your trial would not hear that you said you bought the testosterone on the internet.

But what about Statement 1? Your attorney could still try to suppress the statement, but there is a strong chance they would lose, because when you said you didn't know possessing testosterone was illegal, it wasn't in response any question. So technically, your rights were (probably) not violated, according to the law.

Shorter version of what this means in practice: Don’t talk to the cops! Ever! Invoke your rights and say nothing else!

This is especially true because if you read Miranda, you may have noticed this line:

“If the interrogation continues without the presence of an attorney and a statement is taken, a heavy burden rests on the government to demonstrate that the defendant knowingly and intelligently waived his privilege against self-incrimination and his right to retained or appointed counsel.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 475.

This “heavy burden” element of Miranda has been, in my opinion, nearly completely whittled away. It is, in observed practice, normally sufficient merely for an officer to testify that of course he read the suspect his Miranda rights, and then the guy just kept talking after making some weird statement about a “lawyer dog.” And the courts will agree that yep, that’s a sufficient waiver! (For more, if you are interested, this publication by a California DA’s office is a bit old, but includes examples of a bunch of circumstances in which courts have found someone waived their rights. Don't talk to the cops. Invoke your rights and then shut the fuck up and keep shutting the fuck up.)

If you can’t tell from my tone, I think this is a horrendous miscarriage of justice that is both baked into our system and that is enacted against far too many people every day. It is something I care, very deeply, about. I think you should care too – as a citizen, because you should know what is going on in your country, what is being done to other people here; and because you may one day be on a jury – and because someday it may be done to you.

And spreading conspiracies about how unusual all this is, how this one saintly man is being targeted – this doesn’t spread awareness of the real problems with the legal system. It allows the impression that the system is otherwise working fine, justice is being done and the only people being treated this badly are the really really bad ones,* and the ones that are being targeted by Them.

*This is not be reading between the lines and extrapolating. OP literally straight up make this claim in another post. We will go into more detail on that later.

And if you want this all in a shorter and more digestible form: this tumblr post has a good breakdown, and I specifically recommend the video at the end.

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Right. So. Now that you have read over a thousand words of background, read a legal decision from the 1960s, read several articles and another tumblr post, and watched a 45 minute video, let’s return to OP’s posts, and the misconception they are spreading.

We are going to put aside for the moment the lie that Mr. Mangione's lawyer said he was angry “because he was never read his miranda rights, etc.” – again, we will get back to that. The underlying idea of these posts is that because Mr. Mangione supposedly wasn’t read his rights, 1) the police didn’t follow basic procedure and 2) therefore, the entire case must get thrown out.

I hope that after reading all of the above, you understand why this is incorrect. But just in case:

The police did not need to read him his rights unless they conducted a custodial interrogation. We have no idea if they did so or not (as OP admits elswhere).

Even if his rights were violated, there is nothing “defacto null and void” about any interrogation. His attorney would have to file a motion to suppress any statements that resulted from that interrogation.

Even upon motion by his attorneys, the judge would not and could not throw out “this entire case.” If he made statements during a custodial interrogation after the police failed to advise him of his Miranda rights, his attorney could file a motion to suppress those statements, and the judge would decide if those statements could be used at trial. Other evidence could still be introduced, including other statements he may have made in other contexts. The posts gesture in the direction of this reality – (“any interrogation they did of him is unlawful, and inadmissible in court”) – but this gesturing is overwhelmed by the rest of the posts (“they have failed to follow basic procedure”; “This is a major red flag of police corruption”; “that alone can get this entire case thrown out”; “[the interrogation is] defacto null and void”).

And indeed, looking through the notes, a large number of people do have this misunderstanding. For example:

“#They quite literally have to throw your case out if they don’t read you your Mirandas”

“#any 12 year old kid can tell you that the first thing that happens whene you get arrested is your rights!”

(I generally don’t recommend taking legal advice from 12 year olds, especially since most of their experience with the criminal legal system should be coming from media. That said, unfortunately there are far too many 12 years old who do have real life experience with the criminal legal system. That is one of the many fucked up things about the criminal injustice system.)

And I care, because this misunderstanding can do real harm!

I want to return to a sentence I quoted from Miranda earlier: “In order to combat these pressures and to permit a full opportunity to exercise the privilege against self-incrimination, the accused must be adequately and effectively apprised of his rights, and the exercise of those rights must be fully honored.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 467.

When people don’t have full information about their rights, when they misunderstand them, it makes it much less likely that they will be able to fully and effectively exercise those rights.

For example, someone may feel like it’s okay to talk to the police as long as they haven’t been charged, or their Miranda rights haven’t been read to them – because before the police use your words against you, they have to read you your Miranda rights! This may not even reach the level of a conscious thought, but exist as a general impression that your right to remain silent only matters, is only important, after the police read you your rights.

Or they may, like many people reblogging this post, think hey, wait, isn't it true that if you're arrested and the police never read you your Miranda rights, your case needs to be thrown out!? I was never read my rights, and so my case needs to be thrown out!

And then have to find out they are wrong.

(And if you don’t think that is a real harm – I can tell you, from being on the other side of that conversation as a defense attorney – yes. Yes it is. Part of why I’m being so vitriolic in this response is my knowledge that the spreading of this misinformation makes it more likely that more of those conversations will happen.)

Speaking of the notes: several people in the notes are repeating some variation of the claim that SCOTUS decided that “Miranda rights aren’t required anymore.” This is a misunderstanding of Vega v. Tekoh, 597 U.S. ___ (2022). As I stated up at the top of this post (remember the top of this post? I swear to god this was supposed to be a short response), SCOTUS ruled in Vega that if the police do not read you your rights, you cannot file a civil lawsuit (aka a lawsuit where you are asking for money) against the police. This case is a travesty against the idea of justice, rights, and the rule of law, because it makes it much harder to hold the police accountable for their misconduct.

Multiple people in the notes cited to an ACLU article about the case, including some who actually quoted the article.

And almost every single one of them misunderstood it.

This decision had zero legal effect on how failing to inform someone of their Miranda rights would impact that person’s criminal trial. It has to do with whether the person has any civil remedies.

And. I think everyone who did this honestly meant well. And I know that understanding the law is really hard – there is a reason law school takes three years and rewires your brain in the process. But. It’s in the article: “While the court’s decision does not as a formal matter reduce the police officer’s obligation to issue Miranda warnings — or what individuals in police custody should do or say (or not do and not say) — it cuts off a critical means by which people whose rights have been violated can actually vindicate the promise of those rights.” (I'm keeping the link from the original because it's a very helpful know your rights article.)

My best guess is that this misunderstanding (to the extent it’s not just people remembering poorly-reported news, or other misinformed social media posts) comes from reading the quoted bit of Kagan’s dissent, where she said, “The majority observes that defendants may still seek ‘the suppression at trial of statements obtained’ in violation of Miranda’s procedures. But sometimes, such a statement will not be suppressed.” And they thought this meant that the case means that statements wouldn’t be suppressed? But that’s just no true: Kagan is just describing a thing that sometimes happens. As in, it is the thing that literally happened to Tekoh, the guy who tried to sue the officer who violated his rights. The statements should have been suppressed, but they weren’t, and so the jury heard the statements.

And, look. There is nothing wrong with not understanding the law. Or even articles talking about the law. The problem is that you need to recognize when you might not understand something, and don’t make claims about the thing you don’t understand.

Because. Again, going back to the bit of Miranda that I keep quoting: you don’t meaningfully have a right if you don’t know about and understand that right. When you go on the internet and spread misinformation about the state of people’s rights, you, in effect, are helping perpetrate the denial of those rights.

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Alright.

So that is where I originally meant to end this response. But I wanted to know what OP’s source was, so I dug through the notes.

And I found this reply by OP confirming that someone else had found their source in this post.

And. Well.

I normally would give credit to someone for actually having a source. In this case, I’m not even going to credit them with this actually being their source at the time of their original post – their post begins, “Update!," but this article is from early December, and they don't mention it until someone else links to it. But this is what they are claiming as their source.

And: The article and the attached video interview don’t say what OP says they say. They just. Literally don’t say that. So why does OP claim they do? Let’s look at their post. It begins:

“Some clarification: Miranda rights are the right to know that you have access to legal representation and that any police questioning and interrogation they subject you to are optional, that you are a willing participant of any police questioning and interrogation, that you are not being forced to speak to police or otherwise being interrogated under duress, that you confirm you are not being coerced or threatened by police into providing incriminating information, and that the interrogation can be ended at any time at your request by asking to speak with the legal representation you have the right to call upon. They also detail that if you don't have a private attorney to request, they have to appoint you a public one.”

Now, this is not a terrible description of the *contents* of your Miranda rights. But as we went through above, Miranda held that you have the right to be informed of these rights, which themselves derive from the U.S. Constitution, before being questioned. In fact, the Court in Miranda specifically held, “The Fifth Amendment privilege is so fundamental to our system of constitutional rule, and the expedient of giving an adequate warning as to the availability of the privilege so simple, we will not pause to inquire in individual cases whether the defendant was aware of his rights without a warning being given.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 468. That is, it doesn’t matter if you know your rights – you still have to be read them. (I’m nitpicking here, I know, but if you are draping yourself in expertise in order to spread misinformation, I am going to nitpick your “clarifications.”) This distinction is important, and actually OP’s next sentence is a good example as to why:

“So for Luigi to not be aware, he would have had to have not even been read those rights.”

“Not to be aware”? Not to be aware of what? Presumably that he had a right to an attorney, I guess?

But the cited article and interview just show his lawyer saying that he didn’t have legal representation until he went into court. (Again, fucked up, especially under the circumstances - but also, many of the clients I had as a Public Defender met me for the first time a few minutes before their first court hearing. Far less unusual than you would hope.) It doesn't say he wasn’t aware that he had the right to an attorney!!

I could go through the poor reasoning here, of assuming that because Mr. Mangione (supposedly) didn’t know he had a right to attorney, that means he wasn’t read his rights, when (again, even if that was true) there could be plenty of other theoretical explanations. Some much worse scenarios, in my opinion! For example, maybe he was read his rights, and asked for an attorney, and was told one wasn’t available and the thought…AND OH MY GOD WHAT AM I DOING – this goes beyond speculation! This is just fanfic! We have literally zero reason to believe any of this happened! The poor reasoning and jumping to conclusions is irrelevant because the thing you are jumping off of is literally just a fantasy you made up in your head!

“It's not clear if he has been interrogated or questioned by police, but it's likely.”

And you know it! You know you are just making stuff up!

“It does mean that if he was questioned or interrogated without being read those rights, anything he said at that time is inadmissible in court and cannot be used against him.”

This is true! It’s also fucking proof, @saint-luigi-of-fiji, that you are a fucking liar, purposefully spreading misinformation. You KNOW what the remedy for a Miranda violation is. You know, or should know, it doesn’t mean “that alone can get this entire case thrown out.”

“Luigi's attorney is explaining that Luigi is fearful and stressed in this footage and during his initial arraignment because he was somehow able to be lead to the conclusion he wasn't going to have legal representation or his own right to a fair trial whatsoever.”

That’s not what he says.

Just.

You can listen to the audio yourself. I’ve roughly transcribed the relevant portion below, but please, please check it out yourself. Don’t take my word for this either. The speaker is Mr. Mangione’s attorney:

“Yeah - that - so, first of all, about this outrage. Uh, you know, he’s irritated, agitated about what’s happening to him and what he’s being accused of. He never had any legal representation until he walked into that building yesterday. Um, and I talked to him. And if you notice - look at the film - look at the difference between when he went in and when he come out. So once he got in, he finally had legal representation. I’d like to think that he had somebody that he can trust, and has faith in. And now he has a-a-a spokesperson. Someone that’s gonna fight for him. Um. And so I think you’ll see a big difference in the demeanor. And I think that part of that - uh - whatever you want to interpret that as yesterday was a lot of the frustration of being a young man thrown in jail, uh, and being accused of very serious matters.”

[News archer speaks, asking if the attorney met Mr. Mangione after the video clip of Mr. Mangione shouting.]

“That’s correct. I...[speaking over each other]…no actually, that was in the holding area. And I was on the other side of that. So my first contact with him, visually, was before I even had the chance to speak to him, was him coming through that door, and you, you saw the interaction between he and the sheriff’s department. And – and – then, look at the, look at the video of him coming out, and look at the difference. He’s now had legal counsel. I, I was upset that he didn’t have any legal counsel prior to that. That extradition hearing came upon pretty quick. And he hadn’t talked to anybody.”

(emphasis added by me)

The claim that OP is making is specifically about why Mr. Mangione was upset. So I added, for emphasis, every time the lawyer made a claim about someone being upset, and the reason. His attorney says repeatably that Mr. Mangione was upset because he has been arrested, held in jail, and been accused of very serious matters. The lawyer also says that he, personally, is upset that Mr. Mangione did not have an attorney prior to their meeting.

There is not even a whisper of an implication of a suggestion that Mr. Mangione “was under the impression at that time that he was being denied the right to a fair trial, an attorney, or any legal representation.”

This is just a fucking lie. It isn’t in the article, it isn’t in the video, it is literally just stuff you made up, and are pretending is reality. This isn’t a misunderstanding, this isn’t a game of telephone - it’s just a lie.

YOU ARE LITERALLY STRAIGHT UP LYING. AND FOR FUCKING WHAT. Is it because you believe that the injustices of the criminal legal system are fucking fine when they apply to other people, people who aren’t “saints”? (Because actually the bad people, the really guilty people, should just be killed.) Or because you have decided to form a parasocial bond with a man experiencing some of the worst things this country does to people, making up fantasies about him, and his personal life, and how he really feels.

Other people’s real suffering is not a playground for you to write your fanfic* and pretend it is reality, especially when in doing so, you spread real misinformation and harm.

*To be upfront on my biases and clear on my objection: RPF is very much not my cup of tea, but I don’t think it is inherently immoral. My specific objection here is that this person is collapsing reality into their fanfic, specifically spreading misinformation and encouraging conspiracy theories to make reality more like their fun, consumable escapism.

And again, to be clear: OP knows they are making this up. In another post, they say, “Source is CNN, and here's daily beast reuploading the CNN interview. It might not be coming up because the words "Miranda rights" weren't used, but they are the rights that haven't been given to him if he was not at any point aware he was going to have access to attorneys or legal counsel.”

OP could try to argue they misunderstood, but again, in his interview, at no point does his attorney even suggest something that could be reasonably construed as implying “he was not at any point aware he was going to have access to attorneys or legal counsel.”

“Thankfully he now has four attorneys, including Dickey, who are defending him and you can see he is no longer having 'outbursts' out of fear.”

Point me to the time stamp in your "source" where his attorney suggests Mr. Mangione was doing anything “out of fear.”

“Whatever happened during his arrest and detainment, he wasn't given any indication of his rights. But he thankfully does have those rights, and attorneys.”

Again, this is just…fanfic. There is no other word for you. You are writing fanfic (fine) and passing it off as reality because…it matches the dramatic narrative you want? It makes your uwu hotboy a real martyr, unlike all those vicious “cannibals” who are usually charged with crimes?

And yeah. That’s really what OP thinks. From another post by this asshole: “Was then placed in solitary confinement for weeks. Something extremely damaging psychologically to be exposed to for even just a few days. Something usually reserved for cannibals.”

Fuck you.

Look. I actually went back and revised this post to make it less vitriolic, OP, because my goal is not to hurt you.* I hope you have no idea of the kind of harm you are causing. But my god, you are saying and doing monstrous things, and you need to fucking stop.

*I will also haunt the dreams of anyone who harasses OP. Don't even think about going into their inbox.

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Ok.

So just to round things out, I’ll quickly address the rest of the claims in OP’s second post above:

“You didn't DNA test him because New York sidewalk is too contaminated, didn't fingerprint him because you don't have usable fingerprints at the scene,”

According to the police, they did take his fingerprints. I don't trust statements by the police, but this is a routine part of booking, so I would be surprised if they didn’t.

I don’t know if they took his DNA. But for what it’s worth, it’s currently not legal in Pennsylvania for the police to collect routine DNA samples upon arrest. So I’m not sure what the objection is here..?

As far as I can tell, although I don’t know where OP is getting this because they don't cite a souce, this claim appears to originate from people misunderstanding the “Defendant Identification Information” section of the Pennsylvania complaint.

“you have no way of knowing he's even the right guy, no one can identify that it's him in the footage, even fbi facial recognition software can't recognize him as the cctv suspect”

Look. To give you an idea of the problems here: let’s say this is all true. All of the reasons the police have given as to why he is the person who killed that evil CEO are dismantled by his legal team.

The place to do that, in our legal system, is the trial. These are questions of fact, which are decided at trial. I don’t want to say trials are a good way of finding fact. In fact, they often result in miscarriages of justice. But in our legal system, facts are decided at trial. Even if the judge agreed with all of the above, they wouldn’t and couldn’t throw this entire case out, because that’s not how this works!

I also want to emphasize, again, that this isn’t the system targeting Mr. Mangione. There are people every day who you don’t care about (“nobodies,” to use the term OP used to refer to ordinary people who are shot in the post linked above - because literally they don’t care about anyone except their fantasy version of Mr. Mangione) who are charged, and held, and convicted, on very little evidence. Which is a grave injustice that should frustrate and incite you, not lead you to post conspiracies and misinformation.

“you interrogated him under duress, and that's the ONLY thing you have on him? The thing that's defacto null and void because none of you can follow even basic procedure?”

And we’ve gone through this exhaustively, but Jesus fucking Christ.

You l know that you’re just making the “interrogation” up. Like, yes, maybe there will be evidence in the future there was an interrogation! And maybe there will be allegations or reason to believe there was impropriety and/or illegality in that interrogation! But right now, this is just your fantasy, and you're passing it off to thousands of people as real information

And like, I agree with his defense attorney! I take claims of evidence, especially from the police, with enough salt to brine a boar! But there is a massive difference between, “I will wait for confirmation of actual evidence before I believe any claims” and just…claiming the opposite is true without evidence.

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I will end with this coda:

There is plenty of bullshit to talk about regarding this situation. Both in how it is being talked about by the news, and how it is proceeding (and especially in how he is being charged). But part of that bullshit is this rampant conspiracy theorizing.

If this situation leads to people recognizing the problems with the criminal injustice system, great! But:

Conspiracy thinking is bad, no matter where it is directed. And there is reason to believe that thinking conspiratorially (in general) is strongly predictive for believing in other conspiracy theories.

The impression I’m getting from many people, not just OP, is less, “it’s terrible that people accused of crimes are treated this way” and more, “the fact this [both innocent and morally good] person is being treated this way indicates that he is being specifically targeted by the System.” [Implied: it either doesn’t happen to other people, or it does happen to other people and they deserve it.]

And on that note, I do not "hope [it] is true" that Mr. Mangione’s rights were violated. Because he's a human being, not just a guy who represents something people support; their uwu hotboy; their real life blorbo.

I hope that if he did not do it, he is not convicted. Regardless of whether or not he did it, as someone who believes in prison abolition, I hope he does not have to spend one more day incarcerated. I wish all of the attention and resources being dedicated to catching and prosecuting and covering him in the media (and more) were being dedicated to doing something – anything – against the murderous for-profit healthcare system in the U.S.

And in conclusion:

Check the sources before you believe or spread a claim.

Don’t make claims about the law if you don’t really understand it.

Don’t make up facts.

Don’t talk to the cops.

Update! Luigi's Attorney Dickey confirms that his "outburst" where he tells the cameras that this is unjust, was because he was never read his miranda rights and was under the impression at that time that he was being denied the right to a fair trial, an attorney, or any legal representation.

He is angry and terrified in that footage because they have failed to follow basic procedure to inform him that he has any rights at all. This is a major red flag of police corruption. This is UNACCEPTABLE and further means any interrogation they did of him is unlawful, and inadmissible in court.

#the criminal injustice system #also: I warned you this post was too long up front #misinformation #conspiracy theories #don't talk to cops

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unreachableniy · 2 days ago

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(Who is stalking you? PAC) I will posess your heart..

I will be focusing on the energy that this person gives in general and also their potential Astro big three! Remember that if it does not apply let it fly!

Pile 1

Pile 1, you definitely know this person. I’m picking up a strong what goes around comes around energy. This could be someone from your past, perhaps a person you wronged or even an old romantic connection, like a failed talking stage. Signs Virgo, Aries rising, Mercury energy, for some of you even Gemini.

They’re watching you, whether online, at your workplace, or somewhere you frequent. And here’s the thing you found them attractive, didn’t you? Maybe even really attractive. There’s still an unspoken tension lingering in the air. For now, they remain in the shadows, observing from a distance, possibly even fantasizing about what could have been. They aren’t ready to step forward just yet, but their presence lingers.

Keep your enemies close and your friends closer because this one is watching.

Song Rec: Carmen-Lana Del Rey

Pile 2

If you’re like me and choose Pile 2, buckle up, you’re in for an interesting time.

The first image that flashed in my mind was a tiger. Something…or someone predatory is headed your way. They’re hungry, famished even, ready to consume you whole. And yes, that could mean exactly what you’re thinking. 😏

This person exudes an intense, flirtatious, magnetic energy. They want to hold you close, let you rest on their chest, and run their hands down your back. I see them cooking for you, guiding you, wanting to take control, not in a suffocating way, but to ease your burdens. They crave to lead, to protect, to devote themselves to you.

I’m getting major Capricorn Mars, Scorpio Rising,Scorpio Sun,and Taurus Sun energy here. And oddly enough, you may not even know them yet. Their energy feels playful, confident, and almost *too* good to be true at first. I keep hearing:

"Everything I do is for you."

"Baby, please don’t be like that."

It feels like, at first, you resist maybe even challenge them. There’s a push-and-pull, a power struggle. But soon, you realize… they aren’t here to overpower you. They’re here to help, to hold you up, to love you.

Song: High By The Beach-Lana del Rey

Pile 3

Alright, cuties, I'm picking up some serious co-worker energy here. Maybe it’s a colleague, a higher-up, or even your boss. Take a moment to reflect you probably already have someone in mind and just need confirmation.

This person stands out, but in an offbeat, effortlessly cool way. I’m sensing strong Pisces or Aquarius placements, perhaps a Neptune or Uranus-dominant chart. They move through life with a unique rhythm, and yet… something about you unsettles them. I keep hearing the word “hate”, but not in a simple, surface-level way. It’s layered. They might resent how freely you exist, how your kindness isn’t calculated but instinctual. It could even be the kind of “hate” that’s tangled up with admiration—or, dare I say, love? On the flip side, maybe you secretly can’t stand them.

I’m also getting the image of a train, which hints at movement physical distance, a commute, or even the idea of paths crossing at the right (or wrong) time. There’s an unfinished conversation here, a lingering “why?” hanging between you two, like a question left unanswered or feelings unspoken.

Oh, and one last thing… someone here *might* have a thing for feet. Do with that what you will. 👀

Song: You Found Me- The Fray

Thank you for stopping by Kitty’s Manifestation Pawlor🌙 Nya~ come back soon k!

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lover-of-mine · 2 days ago

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soooo 👀 the fit of buck's clothes in that bts video 👀 👀 would love to know your thoughts 👀 👀 👀

I know, right? The way his clothes keep getting more oversized is making me vibrate. Usual shoutout to @stagefoureddiediaz, Kym talked about the fit of Buck's clothes changing back in season 7 and we were talking about it earlier, so Kym 🫶🫶

Okay, so before season 7, Buck's clothes were too tight a lot of the time, we all joked about how his buttons were about to pop off or how his arms would rip through his shirts, or how we can see the outline of his muscles perfectly. Like, sometimes it would honestly look like he was one wrong movement from ripping those.

But they changed to putting him in more oversized stuff for season 7 (and started shortening his pants, but I digress) and gets more obvious in s8.

It is partially attached to Tommy and how tommy gives him the right path but isn't the right person, since his clothes start to get looser when he starts dating him. The shirts don't fit right on his shoulders, they don't sit right on his chest, they have the wrong fit in his arms. So his overall aesthetic still doesn't fit exactly right.

The whole thing with the changing the way his clothes fit in the other direction is very indicative of how Buck still doesn't fit in his own skin, he thought dating men was the answer but he was Buck dating Tommy, he didn't look further than that, and he is spiraling further with what we know, spinning like a top one would say lol, and both scenes we saw of his clothes (yesterday's uniform possibly included), include VERY loose shirts.

I keep being drawn to the fit around his arms because my god, for a shirt to look that big on Oliver's biceps it has to be BIG lol. And while his shirts have been looser, they haven't been this big yk? And today's video, with the cropped fit, how lose it is, like, Buck is GOING through it, which makes me think this fit is from 810, just to add the emotional distress of the kidnapping to his abandonment issues being extremely triggered between the breakup and Eddie leaving.

It's all about the way Buck still hasn't gotten it right. We know Buck is on his way to figuring his feelings for Eddie out, and therefore finally understanding the final piece of the puzzle that allows him to stop over-correcting. But he's not there yet. The choices he's making don't fit exactly right. And his clothes will be the wrong size until he's ready to fight for Eddie.

But Anna what makes you think all this means buddie and that Buck's clothes will fit when Buck is ready and buddie is coming?

Well, I believe there are clues about the general idea behind buddie going canon hidden in the coming out scene. I have talked extensively about the blue and yellow elements, the way I believe this is Buck's shade of blue. I think all of it is indicative of what's to come.

And that includes how perfectly that shirt fits. The seams are resting on the right spot on his shoulder, they are the perfect length for his arm, they're not overly tight around his chest or biceps, nothing looks too big or too small.

And this isn't an accident, everything about the show is very intentional, so the clothes getting looser as he lets Eddie go even though he doesn't want to? It makes me very !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Because the oversized fit also plays into the way we haven't exactly seen Buck in his signature jewel tones, the bright reds and blues, this season yet. And I think that once buddie happens he will be walking around with his brighter colors in shit that fits right lol.

So we are on the lookout for Buck in clothes that fit right and in this shade of blue.

As always, if you read all this I love you 🫶

#911 #911 spoilers #anon 😌#i really need a tag for asks #911 meta #911 speculation #buddie #this got longer than expected oaksaoskasokasa

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aureatelys · 18 hours ago

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can't lose when i'm with you

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 7k a/n: happy valentines day! this idea came to me as a joke but then i couldnt stop thinking about it. also i know nothing about golf or country clubs so sorry in advance if i got anything wrong.

summary: You work as a beverage cart girl at your local country club and your dad ropes you in to make him look good during a business meeting with his new best friend.

content warnings: 18+ MDNI PLEASE, dbf!hotch so age gap, kinda flirty!reader, porn with no plot, dry humping on a golf cart yessir, semi public sex, m masturbation, some dirty talk, men (not hotch) being gross and touchy

read below or here on ao3 here <3

You’ve been working as a beverage cart girl at your dad’s country club for the past several months to save money for school. At first, the bluntness of some of these older men flirting with you caught you off guard, but after you got your first $100 tip just from serving a group of three men a couple of beers and flashed them a smile, you were hooked. Flirting was part of the job, which became easier and easier for you the more shifts you took.

After all, it was easy money—refilling the drinks in the coolers, driving around a well-kept golf course while underneath the shade of the cart, and handing out drinks with a little smile and a hair flip. Sometimes, you even sat nearby and cheered Ted on as he hobbled over to take his shot.

You even got to add some personal touches to your beloved cart—a pink fuzzy steering wheel cover, a blush pink sheet covering the leather seats so your thighs would stop sticking to them, a pillow in the shape of a heart for your back, and a cute miniature disco ball hanging from the roof because old people love to pretend like they can party again.

And the men weren’t too bad. You’ve had a few run ins with some on the handsier side, or ones that straight up asked to have sex with you, but luckily your manager dealt a swift and heavy hand and you never saw them again. Otherwise, the customers were mostly decent, as long as you were okay with some heavy flirting and generous eye-fucking.

It’s a typical busy Saturday when you meet Aaron.

You knew your dad was having some sort of “business meeting” with the highly decorated FBI agent he’s been recently obsessed and hanging out with, and he knew that you were mentioned the most in the country club’s Google reviews. He wanted you to put him in a good mood, which was basically in your job description. You didn’t mind since your father promised a hefty tip for you at the end.

You spot them a few yards away—your father’s lucky red hat, muted in color due to wear and tear, and another man nearly a foot taller standing near him. You call out for them and speed your way there in your rickety little cart when your dad waves to you.

When you pull up next to them, it looks like they’ve just finished Hole 2, which means this would be absolute prime time for you if they were typical customers.

“Hey boys,” you call out. You’re about to ask them if they’re thirsty when you get a good look at your dad’s friend.

He’s tall, almost outrageously so with how far you have to crane your neck to look at him. He’s also ridiculously handsome; strong brows, intense eyes, and floppy hair that looked so soft you craved running your hands through them. Wide shoulders, thick arms, and a little soft around the middle in a way that made something flutter in your stomach.

He was definitely not your typical customer.

“Hey sweetie!” Your dad comes to give you a kiss on the top of your head. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

He’s such a good actor, you think as you beam up at him. “And I didn’t know you were going golfing today. You guys thirsty?”

“Absolutely! I’ll take a beer, how about you, Aaron?”

“A water is fine.” Christ, even his voice is hot—low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine despite the summer heat.

You make your way to the cooler in the back, squinting as soon as you’re out from the shade and into the blazing sun. “A beer and a water for my two most handsome guys coming right up!”

As always, your dad laughs, but when you peek a glance out of the corner of your eye from where you’re bent over, half of your body basically in the cooler as you fish out a water bottle, Aaron was wearing an obviously practiced neutral expression.

You finally find the bottle, your hand nearly going numb from how much ice you had to dig through, and hand it to Aaron with a grin. “Here you go.”

He meets your gaze and you’re drawn to the pretty brown sugar shade of his eyes. “Thank you.” He’s polite, not even a smile gracing his lips before he’s twisting the cap off and tipping his head back to take a long swig.

You swear your throat goes dry at the tantalizingly long line of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You’re able to get a closer look at him this way— the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the tight red polo was stretching over his broad shoulders, and the way his hands were so large it made the water bottle look almost comically small.

Your father’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “Aaron, this is my daughter. Sweetie, this is Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief of the BAU I told you about?”

Boy, have you heard about him—your dad hasn’t shut up about him over the past month, talking about how he’s such a great guy, how he’s been at the Bureau for over a decade, and how he’s been bragging about his golfing skills and that the two of them just had to play some time.

You don’t exactly remember what today’s meeting was about, something about implementing a new training program to his agents? Either way, he had hoped you would use your spectacular customer service to help his odds, but you’re sure he wasn’t hoping for you to have the thoughts you were currently having that involved his hands on your hips and your mouth pressed against his throat.

A ringtone blares, nearly making you jump, and you watch as your father steps away to take a call.

You put on your best customer service smile and put your hand out, pink nails glinting underneath the sun. “Nice to meet you, Aaron. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Something quirks at the corner of Aaron’s mouth as he puts his hand in yours. You try not to pay attention to how his hand nearly dwarfs yours or how you could feel the rough calluses on his fingers. “You as well.”

“Unit chief, huh?” you ask, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. “I bet that’s a really stressful job. You should come visit me more. To de-stress.”

And it’s like Aaron’s face transforms into something softer, younger. You watch in delight as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, mouth twisting in an effort to hide an amused smile. “Should I now?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, leaning your hip against your cart. You’re suddenly glad you wore your shortest tennis skirt and sleeveless top that emphasized your cleavage quite well today. “I’m here almost every day and we close at 6.”

His body turns towards you, stepping in closer. You think you catch the faintest whiff of his woodsy cologne, breaking through the freshly cut grass smell. “Is that why your dad was so adamant about going golfing today? So his daughter could flirt his way into me approving his training curriculum?”

An incredulous laugh nearly bubbles out of you at his instant ability to read through you despite only knowing each other less than 5 minutes. You assume he’s the unit chief for a reason.

“Is it working?”

He says nothing for a moment, just looking you up and down in a way that made you want to shift, though not uncomfortably. He studies you and your pristine white sneakers, the hem of your tennis skirt brushing against the warm expanse of your thighs, and your hair in a high ponytail. He glances at the cannisters of edible glitter and mini umbrellas on your bev cart. You see his eyes dance with amusement when he notices the mini disco ball swinging from your roof.

When he looks back at you, eyebrows relaxed, the professional flat line of his mouth was gone and instead replaced with something more private. “Yes.”

Excitement settles in your chest, light and golden. You feel your face flush out of your own accord and hope you can blame the summer sun beating down on you and not your father’s coworker, no more than 20 years older than you, flirting with you.

Your father suddenly appears right around Aaron’s shoulder, always with impeccable timing. He looks just as flushed as you feel, sweat building at his hairline while Aaron looks impossibly dry despite the humidity. “Ready to move onto the next hole, Hotch?”

And just like that, Aaron’s face smoothly changes to polite professionalism and not like you were seconds away from throwing your arms around his neck. He nods and gives you a courteous smile, something playful tugging at his lips. “It was nice to meet you.”

When your father fishes through his wallet to pay for the drinks, and hopefully your tip as well, Aaron lays a hand over his before he’s pulling out his own from his back pocket. “I got it,” he says, before handing you two crisp $100 bills.

“Oh,” you say before you could help yourself. And because it’s Aaron, whom you’ve never met before and not like your other customers, you didn’t feel quite comfortable in taking his money. Yet. “This more than pays for the drinks…”

He shakes his head and pushes the money towards you. “I know.”

You take his money, solely because you don’t want to cause a scene when your father was already stuttering over himself in an attempt to still cover the bill himself. You notice how thick his fingers are over the folded bills and ignore the warmth tingling up your spine when your fingers brush against his.

“Thank you, Aaron.” You don’t miss the way his eyes barely narrow at the sound of his name from your lips or the imperceptible clench of his hand at his side.

You try to hide the smirk threatening to show on your face when you get back into your cart, your silly keychains hanging from the ignition clinking with the action. You put your cart in drive and look over your shoulder at Aaron, your father’s attention already enraptured by the phone in his hand.

“See you around, handsome.”

You think you see a faint hint of pink at the tips of Aaron’s ears before you drive away.

You don’t see Aaron for several weeks.

You try not to let it bother you, starting to come to terms with the possibility that he just wasn’t interested in you or that you were too young and juvenile for him. So what if you’ve been picking up more shifts lately, just in case he decided to show up? Or spending your entire paycheck on cute outfits that hug you in all the right places? That isn’t anyone else’s business except yours.

So it’s totally because you’ve been bored all day when you let out a squeak of excitement at the text you get from your dad letting you know that him and Aaron were on their way to the country club.

It’s a slow Thursday afternoon, which means the men that do show up to play, clearly avoiding their wives, believe they can keep you around at their beck and call. A group of 3 older gentlemen who were somewhat regulars had asked you to drive them around in your golf cart despite regulations not allowing customers to catch a ride, but they’ve already racked up hundreds of dollars in drinks, so you’re sure your boss wouldn’t mind.

They’re also a little touchy, wanting to teach you how to play so they have an excuse to put their hands on your hips and not so subtly cop a feel, but their usual tips at the end of the day easily pays for half of your rent. So, you play along by flipping your hair over your shoulder a bit, maybe even acting a little ditsy when they talk about golf as if your dad hadn’t thrown you in lessons as soon as you were able to hold a club.

That’s why you’ve been sitting behind your wheel entertaining grandpa for the past 30 minutes, his friends actually focused on the game, as he rattles on about his ex-wife, how he’s currently looking for a younger girl to take out, and the best way to move your hips when you shoot.

“If you stand up, I can show you how,” he says hoarsely, standing so closely you can smell not only the acrid scent of beer that he’s been sipping on but also the general musty smell of old people you’ve unfortunately become familiar with.

You fake a laugh, even playing it up by leaning forward and patting his wrinkled hand from where it’s inching closer and closer to you on the headrest. “Oh, Jerry, I don’t think we have time for that. I have to make my rounds.”

When you spot Aaron and your father driving over the hill, the rattle of the shitty golf carts a familiar tune, you immediately lock gazes with him. It’s like watching a movie in slow motion the way you’re able to discern when Aaron notices the older man’s close proximity and your clear uncomfortable posture— his eyebrows drawing up in barely concealed shock before knitting in concern, eyes narrowing.

You let out a breathless laugh at the silent rage, plain as day, before scooting out through the other side of the cart and away from Jerry and his beady eyes.

“Where you going, hot stuff?” Ew.

You put on your sweet customer service smile, often used to placate the rowdier men, before you brush away imaginary dust and start throwing away the trash left on your cart. “Jerry! I still have to do my job!”

You’re relieved when Jerry finally takes the hint and shuffles away towards his golf bag that he left near the teeing area just as Aaron and your father pull up next to you with a screech, giving you a slight breeze. When Aaron steps out of the cart, the most mundane action in the world, he looks unfairly attractive. You stare at the slight flex of his biceps when he holds onto the roof of the cart before tearing yourself away and turning towards your dad.

“How are my two favorite guys?” you tease, giving your dad a hug when he opens his arms out.

“I don’t know about Hotch but I’m ready to kick his ass,” your dad laughs, patting Aaron’s back like they’re suddenly best friends. Which is almost true, seeing as how your dad has somehow become even more obsessed with him, having not stopped talking about losing to him several weeks ago and has evidently somehow roped him into another day on the course.

“Well, I don’t think I should choose sides,” you giggle and glance at Aaron. He’s squinting at you, as if you’re speaking a completely different language, his expression still strained and posture tense.

You smile at him and give him a cheery little wave. “Hi Aaron.”

“Hi,” he says slowly, shoulders slowly relaxing, and hearing his voice makes you breathless all over again. “Are you okay?”

And it’s sweet, the obvious way Aaron is checking in on you as if you don’t do this every day. Truthfully, you’re used to it and it’s not like the men take it too far. You’re more focused on the fact that this is your second time meeting Aaron and he’s already concerned about your wellbeing and personal space like the true gentleman he is.

You almost want to tease, poke fun at him, but then you remember your father standing mere inches away who probably wouldn’t like you flirting so unabashedly with his friend/coworker.

Instead, you roll your eyes and head towards your cart. “I’m fine. So, what can I get for you, handsome?”

You’re pulling up the POS on your iPad when you notice Aaron hasn’t answered yet. You turn to lean your hip against your cart, meeting his gaze steadily from where he’s studying you.

You decide to blatantly look him up and down— drinking in the fitted dark green polo, showing off the veins decorating his forearms, and black slacks, making him appear taller and hanging enticingly low on his hips. His hair is tousled from the wind and you notice some gray dusting at his sideburns. And then there’s something about the Rolex on his wrist, God, he’s so hot.

Aaron notices you checking him out, because of course he does. His eyes barely flicker down your body, not quite taking the same liberty as you, but you feel want curling in your stomach when he licks his lips.

“A gin and tonic sounds great, sweetie,” your father says, once again interrupting your thoughts, before he’s immediately launching into a ramble regarding what you assume is some office gossip.

“A water is fine,” Aaron says in between your dad’s breaths. He gives you a sheepish little twitch of the mouth that you shouldn’t find so endearing before he turns to give your dad his full attention.

You make your dad’s drink, the motions automatic and familiar, before you’re opening the cooler and bending over to reach a water bottle at the very bottom. You weren’t really doing it on purpose this time, too focused on getting the coldest bottle at the bottom of the cooler for him, but you still feel a thrill run up your spine when you hear a choked cough behind you.

At least you chose a skort today and not a skirt, though you’re sure it still doesn’t leave much room for the imagination with its flimsy white fabric.

A smirk tugs at your lips, hidden by the cooler, before you turn around with a polite smile and drinks in your hands. Maybe you weren’t wrong about being too juvenile for Aaron after all. “Here you guys are.”

When Aaron’s fingers brush against yours, something hot twists itself into your stomach and settles in between your thighs. You meet his gaze and notice his eyes, dark and almost predatory, pupils nearly completely blown.

You distantly hear your name being called through the blood rushing in your ears. When you break from the hold Aaron’s stare has on you and turn to where the sound came from, you spot Jerry still standing near his golf bag. He and his friends evidently still haven’t taken their shots and moved on yet, instead beckoning you over with a wave as if you were some bumbling waitress.

“Well, duty calls,” you feign a sigh. When you turn back around, Aaron’s wearing an almost petulant frown as he watches Jerry continue calling for you.

“We’ll see you around, pumpkin,” your dad says before slapping a $50 dollar bill in your hand, tutting at Aaron when he starts to pull out his wallet. “Let’s get a move on.”

And then he’s walking away, once again leaving you and Aaron alone.

You move to clean up your cart from where you made your drink, expecting Aaron to silently follow your father and not seeing him for several weeks again. You’re pleasantly surprised, maybe even a little smug, when you hear Aaron clear his throat, as if unsure what to say. And wouldn’t that be something—causing a unit chief of the FBI to hesitate.

“You get off at 6, right?”

A lazy grin blooms across your face as you meet Aaron’s eyes. He appears composed, stoic, but you can see the uncertainty swimming in his eyes, the frown still tugging at his lips as if he can’t get the thought of you with Jerry off his mind. He’s rubbing his thumb across his fingers and you wonder how it would feel on the bare skin of your hips.

“I sure do,” you chirp. “I’ll see you then?”

You can tell that Aaron wasn’t expecting you to give him another chance at backing out. His eyebrows raise in surprise, similarly to how they did when he first met you, like he thought he had you all figured out.

“See you then.”

Although you’re stuck with Jerry and his friends for the next 3 hours, you can feel the heavy weight of Aaron’s watchful eyes on your back the entire time. There were even several moments where you thought he was going to burn a hole in the back of your head, or especially Jerry’s, every time he put his clammy hands on yours to help you with a swing or at the small of your back.

And so what if you played it up a little, knowing that you barely knew Aaron but you were already digging your way under his skin?

Knowing Aaron was only several yards away, you laughed extra hard at Jerry’s jokes and bent over a little more every time you set the ball on the tee. It was exhilarating, playful in a way you’ve never felt before. You couldn’t deny that noticing the carnal way Aaron reacted to you, how he stared at you like he wanted to eat you alive, didn’t get you all hot and bothered. You’re sure the wetness between your legs was proof enough.

By the time 6 o’clock finally rolls around and you’re pulling up to the extra storage shed at the back of the country club, your wallet has grown a couple hundred dollars more and your cart’s glove box has gained a couple more slips of paper with phone numbers to gather dust in.

You’ve just finished unloading your cart and cleaning out your shelves when you hear another cart pulling up behind you. When you turn and realize that it’s Aaron, that he actually showed up, you feel giddy in a way you haven’t felt since you were a teenager.

“Hey you,” you say over the stack of crates you’re trying to organize. “Let me finish up real quick and then we can go.” Go where, you have no idea, but you’re sure the two of you will figure it out.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, standing so close to you now you can get a full whiff of his cologne. It’s something woodsy and warm that settles comfortably in your chest.

Any other day, you would’ve taken up his offer if only as an excuse to see him lifting crates of drinks and drooling over the way his arms would surely nearly burst out of his sleeves, but you’re honestly almost done and ready to get the hell out of here. “I’m almost done, I promise. But next time you can help so you can show off.”

Aaron immediately rolls his eyes, but you watch with glee as something quirks at the corner of his lips. “Yes, I sat in my car in the parking lot and waited for you just to show off.”

Damn, he is so cute when he’s actually making jokes with you.

You put away all of the cleaning products and lock the door before you’re stepping out to stand in front of Aaron where he’s hovering near your cart.

When you crane your neck to look up at him, you’re suddenly aware of how alone the two of you are, tucked away in a secluded area at the back of the country club where only employees have access to. The two of you are surrounded by trees, thankfully shielding you from the sun, and there’s only one path in and out of the area. The near constant drone of cicadas would be almost annoying if your attention wasn’t all focused on Aaron.

“So, why did you wait for me then?”

And just like that, Aaron’s eyes darken and he clenches his jaw. Now that there was nobody else around, teasing him almost felt like you were poking at a grumpy bear. A cute and very hot bear, but a bear, nonetheless.

“So I can do this.”

And then he’s placing a gentle hand on your waist, hot despite your already sun-kissed skin, and leaning in slowly, as if giving you the chance to back out in case he was reading your signals wrong.

You don’t think you could’ve laid it on thicker, so you meet him halfway to finally press your mouths together.

His lips are soft and he smells like sunscreen, and the way he kisses you is so tender it makes your chest tighten just a little. But it’s not enough.

You step closer into him, throwing your arms around his neck, and deepen the kiss. You catch him by surprise, detecting the exasperated smile against your mouth, but then his hand tightens its grip on your hip and he’s pulling you until you’re pressed flushed up against him.

You can feel the muscles in his chest and the softness of his stomach this way, and it’s so fucking delicious you can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth and into his.

It’s like a dam breaks loose because Aaron groans into your mouth, now causing you to smile, and then he’s spinning you around until he’s sitting in your golf cart and you’re planted right on his lap, straddling him with your knees on either side of his hips and the steering wheel digging into the small of your back.

You gasp in surprise, nearly dizzy with the action, but it melts into a breathy moan when Aaron’s hands run all over you—down your back, your hips, the flesh of your thighs, and then grabbing onto your ass so hard it just pushes you further into his lap. The barely there friction of his belt buckle against your pussy from the movement has you rolling your eyes back into your head, causing you to cant your hips forward again to chase the sharp pleasure twisting in your stomach.

“You’re so,” he mutters under his breath, face tucked between your breasts as he attempts to press open-mouthed kisses against the skin exposed by your black work polo. “Pretty.”

Then he’s lifting up your shirt until it gathers underneath your arms, just enough so he can move the band of your sports bra up so he could put his warm, wet mouth on the underside of your breasts. You know you must smell like sweat and sunscreen, your clothes still sticking to you, but that seems to just spur Aaron on as he moves up to suck a nipple into his mouth, flicking it repeatedly with his tongue.

“Aaron…” you exhale, pushing your chest into him to chase the wet heat of his mouth as he continues alternating sucking and licking at your nipples, hardening nearly immediately under him. It feels so fucking divine, you don’t think having your nipples played with has ever felt this good. You don’t even want to think about where else he can use his mouth. “Not here…”

He pulls back from your breasts and you’re mesmerized by the spit-slick shine of his lips as he meets your gaze from below you. His hands immediately come to replace his mouth, initially groping at you until thick fingers are grazing over your nipples before gently pinching. “There’s a banquet going on at the front of the club so no one’s coming back here.”

You have to bite your lip to prevent a whimper at the hot pleasure-pain from your breasts, your own hands coming up to tug at the damp hair on the back of his neck. Aaron groans at that, a sound coming deep from within his chest, and he jerkily thrusts his hips up as if they moved of their own accord.

You can feel the line of his hard cock against your inner thigh, so close to where you desperately want him, and your patience wanes thin for just a moment. Of course Aaron checked out the club first before coming back to meet you, as if he was planning on ambushing you behind the country club the entire time.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Aaron says, voice tight as if he was holding himself back from taking you right there on your golf cart with the fuzzy pink blanket on the seat and fairy lights hanging from the dashboard.

You’re tempted take him up on his offer and stop; climbing off his lap and inviting him back to your apartment so you can moan and scream all you want in your very comfortable bed, because Aaron seems like the type of man to want to hear every single noise.

But the thought of both of you being so desperate that you can’t help but rut against each other behind a fancy country club, where you’re at risk of anyone walking around the building and finding you? With your shirt rolled up and Aaron’s fingers nearly pressing bruises against your hips? You really should not find that as intoxicating and hot as you do.

It’s going to be uncomfortable, with the summer sun just barely moving to set over the horizon and your golf cart sometimes being too small even for you. You feel sweat already forming on your upper lip and hair sticking to your neck, internally hitting yourself for not buying that $5 fan that mounts on your dash.

Yet, as you look down at Aaron from where he’s propped his chin on your chest to meet your gaze, somehow looking both cute and ridiculously hot, you knew you couldn’t back out.

“Okay,” you whisper, grinning down at him before your fingers intertwine with his hair again to lean his head back and kiss him.

You think Aaron chuckles but you’re already swallowing it, shuffling somehow closer until the entire line of your body is against his. The top of your head keeps bumping into the roof of the cart and your thighs are already burning from the uncomfortable position of sitting up, but just then you angle your hips differently when you drop down and his bulge rubs against your clit in a way that has you sucking in a sharp breath.

“Fuck, you’d look so pretty riding on my cock,” Aaron breathes against your lips, the grip he has on your waist tightening as he starts to move you up and down on his lap. “I bet you’re so wet for me.”

His left hand trails down your thigh, moving inward, and you squirm when you feel his thick fingers pressing against your cunt, wetness already seeping through your panties and the shorts of your tennis skirt. He briefly rubs through down your slit, spreading the wetness around and causing the fabric to cling to you.

“Is this all for me, pretty girl?” he murmurs, not even giving you the chance to answer before he’s moving the fabric aside to press his hot fingers against your soaked cunt.

You let out a long moan at finally being touched, the ache between your thighs becoming unbearable. You try to angle your hips in an effort to get more of his fingers on you, maybe even inside of you, but Aaron annoyingly avoids your hole and instead intently traces them gently through your folds before moving up to rub circles against your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, eyes nearly fluttering shut and your thighs trembling as the tight coil in the pit of your stomach builds so fast it knocks the breath out of you.

Aaron hums. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod, at a loss for words as you chase the building pressure. He rubs your clit agonizingly slow, like he wants to prolong this as he intently studies your reactions.

You’re about to beg him to hurry up when he stops and removes his fingers from underneath your skirt. Your breath stutters at the loss of sensation until you notice Aaron holding his hand up to eye-level.

His thick fingers are obscenely drenched in your wetness, nearly glistening. You should feel embarrassed, that you’re so horny for him that you’re getting off at the possibility of being caught, but you don’t. In fact, noticing just how much Aaron is enjoying you enjoying yourself makes you feel even more flushed, more needy.

You lean in to bring his two fingers into your open mouth, swirling your tongue around the rough callouses as your own musky taste infiltrates your senses.

When you look down to meet his eyes, yours no doubt glossed over, he nearly growls as he yanks his fingers out of your mouth and kisses you, tongue prodding against yours. You feel a rumble from his chest as he chases the taste of your pussy in your mouth.

When he pulls back, he has a wild look in his eyes that does nothing to quell the fire in your stomach and the growing ache in your pussy. He runs his hands up and down your sides, nearly reverent, before thrusting his hips up so his cock presses against you. “Do you think you can come like this?”

Honestly, you think you could come in 30 seconds, with the way he grabs and moves your hips so deliciously you swear you could feel every inch of him, staring at you as if he couldn’t believe you were giving him the time of day.

“Yes,” you breath, and then Aaron is giving you a wicked grin, something dangerous in his eyes.

He moves you until you’re fully seated on his lap, giving your knees a break, and then moving you back and forth against his cock, the drag of his slacks against the fabric of your shorts rubbing deliciously against your clit, causing you to nearly choke on your own saliva.

You rest your forehead against his, both of you panting, as you start grinding against him. Even through the several layers of fabric, you can feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing in between your cunt and against your clit. You nearly feel dizzy, like the heat was getting to you, as your hands scramble to find purchase on his broad shoulders.

“Just like that, honey,” Aaron pants as you watch a droplet of sweat run down the side of his face through half-lidded eyes. “Make yourself come just like that.”

You’re shamelessly whimpering in between your moans now as you grind against him faster, the tightness in your core growing at the lewdness of his words. Aaron just lets you rut against him, essentially sitting still besides his hands on your hips helping you move back and forth. You feel the stickiness on your inner thighs, a mixture of sweat and your arousal, and you bet if you glanced down, there’d be a wet spot on his slacks. That image in your head sends you reeling and nearly over the edge, your thighs squeezing around his hips.

“Come on, sweetie.” Fuck, even the low tone of his voice adds to it, the raspiness giving away how just as equally turned on he was. Your chest is heaving, thighs trembling, and you’re so fucking close. “I can’t wait to fuck your pretty pussy later, make you come, over and over on my cock.”

Aaron rolls his hips then, and the new angle has the head of his cock pressing against your clit just so that has you gasping, back arching, and you finally fall over the edge as your orgasm hits you like a fucking train.

Your breath is knocked out of your chest, your eyes squeezing shut as you desperately chase the feeling of his cock against your clit as your clench around nothing. You distantly feel Aaron still grinding your hips back and forth as you ride it out, the tight hold he has on your hips just adding to your bliss. The repeated motions eventually become overstimulating, almost too much, but it deliciously adds to your aftershocks and causes you to release a choked whimper.

When you blearily blink your eyes open, Aaron is staring at you like he’s drinking you up, memorizing every little detail about you. The hair at his forehead is curling from the sweat and his face is tinged pink, but his eyes are a pretty molten brown and there’s something soft tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey handsome,” you say breathlessly, giving him a weary smile as you bring your hand up to wipe away the sweat on your own forehead. When you purse your lips, Aaron huffs a laugh and immediately leans in to give you a chaste kiss that does nothing to calm your racing heart.

You feel Aaron languidly move his hips up against you, making you hum against his mouth. When you look down, not only do you see the line of his cock where he’s still impossibly hard, but also a barely visible wet spot on his black slacks. From you.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, embarrassment burning hot on your ears.

“I’m not,” Aaron says before his hands come down to swiftly unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants and briefs until his cock springs free.

Your mouth instantly waters because fuck, is he big. He’s thick, a drop of precum beading at the slit with a delicious-looking prominent vein that runs on the underside that you can see when he wraps his left hand around his cock and starts jerking himself off.

“Do you want me to…” you trail off, your hands twitching from where they’re still on top of his shoulders and eyes zeroing in on his large hand on his cock.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he huffs. “I’m close, just sit there and look pretty.”

You think your brain short circuits, because no way is this man not only okay with you rutting up on him, but also got close enough to coming from watching you come? And now he doesn’t even want you to touch him, he’s okay with just looking at you as he gets himself off?

Your heart thumps erratically because Aaron looks like the absolute definition of sin; hair slightly damp and tousled, his bicep flexing from where he’s erratically jerking himself off, and his chest heaving deliciously. His lips are parted and he’s watching you with half-lidded eyes, your shirt still bunched under your arms and exposing your breasts and your aching thighs wrapped around him.

You lean back against the steering wheel, ignoring how it digs harder into your back, as you decide to flip up your skirt until your clothed cunt is exposed. The piece of fabric is nearly see-through with how wet you are, and you bite your lip when you bring a hand down to move the fabric aside and angle your hips up until your bare pussy was exposed.

Aaron lets out a strangled noise, and you watch in awe as his hand around his cock pumps faster until it’s nearly a blur. You look up to see his eyes trained on your pussy, wet and puffy. The squelching of him fucking into his own hand, so turned on that he was steadily leaking precum from the slit of his cock was so fucking filthy that you felt the beginning sparks of arousal tugging in your abdomen again.

“Are you going to come all over my pussy?” you whisper.

Aaron suddenly lets out a deep and guttural groan, his breath stuttering and hand stilling, before he comes with his head thrown back. You watch, mesmerized, as hot spurts of his come land on your bare pussy, some even catching on your folds as you clench around nothing.

It’s so fucking hot, he’s so fucking hot.

It’s silent while you both catch your breath, the mindless chirping of birds dwindling down as the sun finally starts to set and the air begins to slightly cool.

You pull your shirt down before you lean over to reach for the tissues you usually keep in your purse on the floor. The way you have to twist your body while still on Aaron’s lap is uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he helps you sit back up with hands on your sides.

He wordlessly takes the pack of tissues from your hand to clean you up. He’s meticulous, eyebrows almost comically furrowed in concentration as he makes sure you’re presentable again. When he’s done, he looks around for a trash can and, upon not finding one, he stuffs the tissues in his pocket. You give him a teasing disgusted look, to which Aaron responds by rolling his eyes.

When you climb off his lap with a groan, your hips and knees pop. You stretch your back out a bit by twisting your body back and forth and notice Aaron getting up as well, watching you with a confused, yet fond, expression.

“You’re too young for your body to crack like that.”

You laugh. “Whatever you say, grandpa.”

You’re suddenly being pulled into Aaron’s embrace with a squeal, an arm snaking around your waist, instinctively putting your hands up on his chest as you steady yourself.

“I think I’ve more than shown you that I’m not a grandpa,” he mutters, lowly and directly in your ear, making you nearly swoon against him.

You clear your throat, using him as leverage to push back at him until you’re able to meet his eyes. “Well, not-grandpa, would you be able to wash my cart blanket? Since it was your idea to dirty it up.”

You can tell Aaron is holding himself back from rolling his eyes again. Instead, he chuckles, letting you go so he could grab the fuzzy pink blanket that is actually most likely devoid of any suspicious stains.

“Can I ride in your car?” you ask, giving him a shy smile. “So I can… see how efficient your washer and dryer is? The material for that blanket is very expensive, you know.” Never mind the fact that you got it from Target nor the fact that you drove yourself to the country club.

Aaron obviously sees right through you, not bothering to hold back a soft laugh. Witnessing him joking with you, his guard down, has your heart thumping just a little bit harder.

He stretches his hand out to you, palm up. “Come on, let’s go inspect my house appliances then.”

You place your hand in his, silently giggling to yourself when you notice how large his hand looks compared to yours, and sidle up next to him despite both of you still damp with sweat.

“Let’s go, hot grandpa.”

The laugh that Aaron lets out, soft and sweet, makes you so grateful to your dad for getting you this job.

taglist <3 @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover lmk if you would like to be added!

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #dbf!hotch #dbf!aaron hotchner #mine #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader smut

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fionacle · 1 day ago

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okay but that is crazy though. like when you take t there’s bottom growth right? i’m not read up enough on that stuff to know how far you can go without surgery, but that all means that humans have a general neutral blueprint, and then the hormones you give it determine whether it’ll grow a penis, or a vagina and breasts. (though technically since everyone is at one point female in the womb and that’s why even people assigned male have breasts, i guess the default is female? but i have no idea what the hormone situation is like in the womb maybe there’s an influx of estrogen from the mom at some point for some reason which causes that idfk)

i know the chromosomes are there yadayda, but then of course we have exceptions of women born with the “wrong” chromosomes and other types of intersex people.

so anyway new number 1 on Experiments I Would Do If I Was A Crazy Scientist and Morals and Didn’t Exist is inject babies assigned male with estrogen, and babies assigned female with testosterone, and see how this affects their growth. obviously there’s safety concerns will how such a small thing will take a new hormone but that’s not my problem given this is only theoretical.

It always fascinated me that when trans people took hormones, they. Worked. I mean this PURELY from a biological standpoint. We think of "male" bodies and "female" bodies as so different, but the reality is they just aren't. A human body will know what to do with the tools you give it, even if it's never had those tools before.

Put testosterone in a "female" body, and it'll know how to grow a beard. It just will.

Put estrogen in a "male" body, and it'll know how to form breasts. It just will.

It doesn't matter what the "original" sex was, a human body is a human body and it knows what to do. We were never different. We just think we are because we think it makes more sense. But it doesn't. I make way less sense, actually.

I think that's fascinating and kind of beautiful. Honestly

And I never thought the place to explore this line of thinking thoroughly would be a Hazbin Hotel mpreg fanfiction but HERE WE ARE

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sp0o0kylights · 2 days ago

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Steve has no idea how he got talked into this.

Actually, that’s a lie, he knows how it started: a phone call, his mother, and a sudden way for her to be in the spotlight for her yearly fifteen minutes of Hawkins fame. He just can’t recall why he agreed to it.

“It's an opportunity, Steven." She says, heels clicking against the department store tile.

An embarrassment is what it was, but Steve knew better than to tell his mother that.

"You should be honored that Wendy--that’s the head chair of the charity board, you remember her don't you? She used to attend your piano recitals--she asked for you personally." His mother expertly plucked a shirt from the rack, holding it up to the light.

"Those were your parties mom, not my piano recitals." Steve reminds her as she holds the shirt out to him. He took it, adding it to the stack he had in his hands.

The parties were the exact same kind of shit this as this “Valentine's Day Fundraiser” a way for rich people to celebrate themselves by making others uncomfortable.

Only instead of being forced to play piano so his mothers friends could wine and dine with the famous Harrington's, he was being hauled up in front of the entire town (or whoever was attending this stupid event) and auctioned off as a “date” to the highest bidder.

(“It’s for one day, Steven, don’t be so dramatic. Why is your generation entirely incapable of taking a joke and having fun?” His mother had said, when he tried to tell her he wasn’t comfortable with the idea.

Of course there was no answer that would please her; soon enough, Steve found himself dragged about town as his mother played dress up.)

"You'll be standing alongside the Mayor, the fire department, even that idiot, Mary Marie--"

She stops for a moment, eyeing a jacket with a critical eye.

Just as quickly she dismisses it with a hum, prowling on to the next section.

"--the point is that there will be plenty of candidates for the children to pick from, but you’ll be the only hero up there."

That same critical eye turns on him, appraising him like he was no more than a horse in her stable, adding up imperfections and dividing amongst his best qualities.

(Despite a lifetime of training, it still takes everything in him not to squirm.)

"Not to mention a Harrington.” She purrs, taking a step closer to run a manicured hand down the front of his shirt, smoothing away a stray crease. “Women will be throwing money to win a day with you."

Steve has to fight not to outright shudder.

"Which means you have to look your best. Now stop whining, we’re almost done.”

Steve doubts that, but it doesn’t matter; he never had a choice to begin with.

xXx

Four hours, one shower, and several rounds of his mother’s nagging and meticulous styling, ,Steve finds himself back in Hawkin’s High, staring at the gym.

His mother had long swept past him, having spotted some high school friends and gone over to lord her lifestyle and general wealth over them.

For a fundraiser, the charity board in charge had spared no expense in dressing the gym up. Red, pink and white balloons decorated the doorways and a large stage hauled to one end.

Tables with thick, white table cloth are artfully arranged about the floor, caterers swiftly moving between them.

This is probably the fanciest this gym has ever looked, and Steve wants to be anywhere but inside it.

“Oh--Steve.” A gentle voice says next to him, and Steve turns his head in surprise to see Chrissy Cunningham look nervously up at him. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Me neither honestly.” He tells her, watching the way that makes the younger woman smile. “But I’ve been volun-told to be auctioned off. What about yourself?”

Chrissy runs her hands down her dress, a modest if not beautiful blue halter dress , wincing as she snags a nail on it. “The school held a vote at lunch about who would represent the school tonight. All of the varsity cheerleaders and basketball players were involved.”

“I see.” Steve says, keeping his voice gentle and playful. There had always been a part of Chrissy that had reminded him of El. Someone who needed kind words in their life. “You got voted as tonight’s sacrifice, huh?”

Chrissy laughs at that, hand flying to cover her mouth. “I guess you could say that.” She says, and seems surprised at herself for it.

“Did Jason get picked too?” Steve asks. It would make sense if he was, the guy was the basketball Captain after all.

Chrissy nods, then chews on her lip. “Yes but--he’s not happy about it,”

Steve snorts and tries to cover it with a cough. “None of us are.”

“It’s more that I’m being auctioned off.”

Chrissy must catch the look on his face because she rushes to add; “You know, like any boyfriend would be! I know it’s just supposed to be a fun silly thing and they’re not really dates but…” She trails off, voice growing quieter at the end. “He worries.”

The word “worry” sounds like it means something else entirely.

Steve feels for her.

“Hey, if Jason’s an ass about it, let me know.” Steve says after a moment of shared silence. “You don’t deserve to deal with him being a kid about this shit.”

Chrissy blinks up at him at that, hand almost to her mouth as though she’d subconsciously raised them up to chew on her nails. “Thanks Steve. That’s nice of you.” She whispers it, and Steve nods and smiles at her.

“There you two are!” A woman says, rushing over with a clipboard. “Steve Harrington and Chrissy Cunningham, right? We’re gathering all the dates behind those doors.” She turns and points to the opposite end of the gym. “If you both would follow me please?”

Steve motions for Chrissy to go first, and moves to follow her when a flash of curls crushed down by a blur of white, blue and electric yellow catches his eye.

He turns automatically, seeking it out and sure enough, ducking down the hall is Henderson, Sinclair hot on his heels.

A familiar mixture of emotions lights up Steve’s spine, and he knows immediately he won’t be able to rest until he figures out what the gremlins are up to--because their Hellfire Club was supposedly canceled today on grounds that Munson had stolen a microphone, or some other crap.

“I’m really sorry, I’ll join you in a second!” Steve calls, before darting down the hall, after them.

xXx

Here’s the thing about the kids.

Mike can be downright squirrely when he wants to be.

The guy is all long-limbs and ever-changing moods, and the second he spots Steve he vanishes around the corner and leaves no trace of himself behind.

Dustin, similarly, is catty.

The kid’s not fast, but when cornered, he has a tendency to do the most insane, ridiculous things.

Currently Steve is ninety percent sure he just saw him jump out a window, and the only reason it’s not one hundred is because his eyesight isn’t the greatest these days, and it’s entirely possible Dustin found something to put that stupid Weird Al shirt on and threw that out the window instead,

It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.

Knowing this, Steve automatically goes for the easiest target: Lucas.

See, Lucas is, of course, the most athletic and the only one likely to give Steve a run for his money should he too, decide to bolt.

He also was the most likely to stop and actually talk to Steve, because unlike his friends, he possessed some emotional maturity.

Or just maturity in general.

“Come on Luc, what’s going on?” Steve calls out, the second he rounds the corner and spots the kids. “You’re freaking me out.”

That makes Lucas stop and come to him, while the other two dipshits bolt.

Steve leans against a wall, eyebrow raised as Lucas slinks forward, but knows instantly from the grin the kid’s trying to hide that whatever’s going on right now, is their usual kind of bullshit.

(An internal part of him, the part that has to deal with the unusual bullshit every six months or so, sighs in relief.)

“Okay, you have to swear not to be mad.” Lucas starts, which is never a good sign, but at least it’s coming from Steve’s second most trustworthy kid.

(Will still holds first place, after the time he ratted out Mike for dumping nail polish all over Max’s jacket.

“She was super rude, but she didn’t deserve that.” Will had said with a stubborn set to his jaw.

Steve had ruffled his hair and together they had plotted a way to get revenge on Mike without letting Max outright murder him.)

“We uh, might have heard that you were being auctioned off tonight.”

Which was not at all where Steve thought this was going to go.

“Okay?” He hedges, waiting to see where Lucas spills the part that makes Steve worry.

“So you played D&D with Erica and Dustin, and neither of them will stop bragging about it.” Lucas says, a slight pink coloring his cheeks, “--and Mike won’t say it, but I know it bothers him too so we thought we could, uh, buy you. For the day.”

Lucas sends out his gigawatt grin, the one he uses when he’s trying to be his most charming. “To make you play D&D with us.”

Something warm and soft blooms in Steve’s heart. A kind of love he’d never had before hauling the little shits out of the line of fire the first time.

These kids were gonna be the death of him, he just knew it.

“If you ever tell the others I said this I will deny it ” Steve says, pulling out his wallet and forking out a handful of twenties. “But I would be happy to play your dungeons and dipshits game with you.”

Lucas doesn’t even correct him as he accepts the money with a grin--a real one this time. “Really?” He says, and it's so stupidly hopefully it makes Steve’s heart squeeze.

He reaches out, pulling the kid in for a hug for a second. Claps him on the back a few times before pushing fondly at his head.

“Over being taken on a date by some middle aged woman? Absolutely. But like I said,” He playfully shoves Lucas away, “You tell anyone and I will deny, deny, deny.”

“Sure Steve, whatever.” Lucas says, before running off to go find his friends.

Steve watches him go for a moment, smile on his face, before turning back to the gym.

He’d rather play D&D with the kids any day over dealing with this farce.

(The shocking thing, he finds himself thinking as he wanders over to where the other dates are situated, is that he means it. Even if a hot, beautiful girl bid on him--he’d rather spend the day with the kids.

Doesn’t that just say something about his life these days?)

xXx Eddie xXx

His club was going to kill him.

Normally, missing a game would be downright heresy. Betrayal of the highest order, particularly considering he’s the damn dungeon master. Sure, other people can DM, but not for the current ongoing campaign, which means Eddie landing his sorry ass in detention disrespected the sanctity of both his club and his people.

A fact he will need to beg on hands and knees to makeup for.

The siren song of the microphone, nevermind the idea of having an honest to god stage to prowl around on at lunch was simply too much for Eddie to resist, particularly when it came to his anti-Valentines Day speech.

Not that he was the type of guy to roll his eyes at all the lovey-dovey crap floating around, but more that people could be so stupid about it.

…and maybe he was a little bit jealous.

Eddie convinces himself it’s fine. He plans to have a session for the missed game on Sunday, when he knows his friends had planned to hang out at his place anyway.

Still feels bad about it as he walks down the halls of Hawkin’s high, annoyed that detention took as long as it did.

There’s people milling around, in the kind of stupid dressed up clothes that wasn’t formal, but could be described by evil words like “business casual.” The best skirts and knitted tops, slacks for the men paired with button up shirts or polos.

Like a fucking swarm of Steve Harrington’s--without any of the guys charm.

Not that he had any charm.

Definitely not.

Eddie gives an overactive shudder to clear his head, making his way out of the school as fast as he can.

Because life, the universe and everything in it hates him, he’s interrupted.

“Eddie! Oh thank god, look guys it’s Eddie!”

For the briefest of seconds after hearing Henderson’s voice, Eddie’s worried no one thought to tell the kids that Hellfire had been canceled.

Or, considering Eddie’s over the top response to the first time one of them had tried to miss a campaign night, they might be worried he’s dying (rather than simply an “unbearable idiot” as Jeff had called him earlier.)

His freshman lambs quickly swarm him, three pairs of eyes staring with weird amounts of hope (Sinclair, Henderson) and awkward embarrassment (Wheeler.)

“Eddie! Eddie, they're only letting Juniors and Seniors place the actual bets!” Dustin sounds frantic, practically vibrating in place before him. “They won’t let any of us bid on Steve!”

Any fondness Eddie felt evaporates in a puff of vexed smoke.

“That sounds like a you problem.” He challenges, raising an eyebrow.

For once, the freshmen don’t cringe back.

Instead he’s treated to steel sliding across Henderon’s face, Sinclair right behind him and Mike, who refuses to meet Eddie’s eyes, but stands with his friends anyway.

“Come on, think of all the chaos it’ll cause!” Dustin is pleading, his hands waving in the air in a way that reminds Eddie of himself. “Isn’t that like, you’re whole thing? Going against ‘the Man’!?”

Yes, because publicly buying Harrington for a date in front of Hawkin’s self-proclaimed elite was a great way to stick it to ‘the Man’, instead of, say, painting yet another target on his back.

“I don’t think getting into a bidding war over taking Steve Harrington on a date is going to go over well.” He deadpans.

Dustin throws his hands in the air. “It doesn’t have to be a date! ”

“Jennifer’s mom’s friends bid on her. For a girls night.” Mike adds so quietly it takes a minute for the words to process.

“Just saying!” He adds frantically, as though Eddie is going to call him out for this betrayal.

Considering the downright fearful look he’s wearing, Eddie might just do it for shits and giggles in his next campaign.

“We’re begging you, don’t you want to see Steve play D&D? We promise you can even watch the whole thing and embarrass him or whatever!” Dustin continues, hands clasped together in front of him.

“There you idiots are.” A judgey, annoyed voice calls, cutting into the conversation.

Eddie has never met Sinclair Jr. but immediately assumes the girl walking towards them with her arms firmly on her hips must be her “Steve’s up next, idiots. I know you know how auctions work, so I shouldn't have to remind you about having to physically be in the room to bid on him.”

She stops, cocking her head challengingly. “Unless one of you is going to call in from a payphone?”

Cheeky.

Eddie loves cheeky.

Even if she is eleven.

Muted calls ring out again from the gym. Apparently Hawkin’s middle aged women have started their fight for a day spent with one of the “young, local heroes”.

The very thought of Steve, all scraped up in the stupid Scoop’s Ahoy sailor uniform, guiding kid’s out of the mallfire with his broad chest and buff arms and--

“Eddie.” Dustin whines, bouncing frantically in place.

‘Head out of the gutter, Munson!’ He thinks, annoyed at himself (and perhaps, a little bit more understanding of the ladies shouting out numbers in the gym).

“Do you still only have five dollars?” He says, and it's not defeat, not yet, but he can see the hope reignite in their eyes.

This was stupid. A stupid, stupid, stupid idea!

“We have a hundred now.” Lucas says firmly, which is at least a lot more than five.

The calls from the gym are playful but there’s a catty undertone now. Those women really want that date with Steve, and Eddie knows walking in there, bidding on Harrington is a death sentence.

Dustin’s done something to his eyes. They’re wide, shined over like he’s about to cry. Like this fucking matters to him.

It drills into Eddie in a way he hates. How the three of them, (even Mike who is still trying his best not to act like he wants this) are handing him all their dreams. He’s someone they look up to, someone who can make things happen, and he’s always liked that feeling--but this?

This was asking a lot.

“Eddie man, please. You’re our only hope.” Dustin says it softly, and goddamn him, it’s like he knows Eddie is weak for this shit. That under all his leather and chains that he cares.

About them.

He just wishes what they didn’t care about was fucking Steve Harrington.

He knows they think the guy hung the moon. Just as he knows he'll need more than money to fend off the competition and actually win Steve: he'll need a plan.

Knows, even, just how he’ll do it.

“Baby Sinclair, a word?” He crooks a finger, walking a few paces backwards as a plan rapidly forms.

She flicks her eyes over to him, and with an appraisal that says she had already judged him and found him lacking. “It’s Erica.”

Eddie bows low to her, arm brushing the floor. “My deepest apologies, Lady Erica.”

She rolls her eyes but comes over anyway and lets Eddie whisper in her ear.

Read the rest on A03: LINK

#valentines day is coming around #so Im posting this again #buy a date #get a date #Steve Harrington #style #steddie #in which steve participates in a charity auction by force #the Party intervines #and Eddie ends up having to DM a one shot with Steve #that totally isn't a real date #no matter how much Steve is acting #like it is very much a real date #getting together #0o0 fanfics #robin buckley #steve harringtons smooth moves which in this case involved learning a magic trick

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ohnoitstbskyen · 3 days ago

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What do you think of Fighting Game character designs, in how their appeal functions to people when selecting characters?

Very broad question - not sure there's a single answer, honestly. One thing I will say is that "appeal" seems to often still mean something much more interesting in fighting game design than it does in, just picking a random example out of a hat for no particular reason, gacha games.

In gacha (broadly speaking, of course there are exceptions) "appeal" in design is largely constructed along lines of beauty. So a very limited range of bodies, a very limited range of facial and physical features, and generally a high focus on elaborate costuming, flashiness, sleekness, "coolness," cuteness, etc. The commercial foundation of the genre, the need to induce the players to roll extensively for a new character, creates a design pressure to reach for lowest common denominators of appeal in order to produce "successful" designs within its metric of measurement.

In fighting games, more commonly, "appeal" is understood to take a much broader range of forms. There is the appeal of the beautiful and the sexy for sure, and in fact I think fighting games often do some of the best horny, sexy, thirsty, kinky character designs in gaming. But there is also the appeal of the monstrous, of the fucked-up and the weird. I think of Dr. Faust who is one of the few characters from Guilty Gear that I know, for example, or characters like Dhalsim and Blanka from Street Fighter, or Double and Painwheel from Skullgirls. Fighting games, generally, get more benefit from having a broad and varied roster with high diversity of character shapes and sizes, and can often dip into caricature and exaggeration in a way that things calculated for broader appeal just can't. They are more likely to let you play as a fucked up ugly weirdo, and also to revel in their fucked-up ugliness and weirdness, to enjoy it rather than play it for abjection and disgust.

Fighting games tend to go hard on strength and power fantasies, obviously (although not always - hello Dan from Street Fighter), which creates its own set of constraining genre limitations on its design space, but broadly speaking when I see character design from fighting games, I tend to see a much broader and more interesting range of ideas on display than I see in a lot of other mainstream and especially triple-A gaming.

That being said, with the major caveat that I am not a fighting game expert or deeply dialed in to the genre, I feel that fighting game rosters in more recent years have felt more and more like they, too, are bowing to the pressure of the gacha design wave, and more and more prioritize beautiful/cool characters wearing elaborate costumes over other, more interesting ideas, and fall more and more into the same narrow ideas of sex appeal.

That's just a vibe, though, not a serious criticism of the genre, I might be entirely off base with that.

#tb answers #averagefungus #character design #fighting games #fgc

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saxophonesir · 3 days ago

Text

Smallville had seen its fair share of oddities over the years—tornadoes, meteors, the occasional scandal—but nothing, nothing, compared to the two figures standing at the edge of the Kent family cemetery that afternoon.

Bruce Wayne and Diana Prince were unmistakable. Even if you didn’t know who they were (and everyone did—you don’t just waltz into Smallville looking like that and go unnoticed), their presence alone was enough to command attention.

Long black killer trench coats, shoulders sharp and tailored within an inch of their lives. Face cards so lethal they could kill a man. Standing in the distance, half-shrouded in shadow, murmuring in low, dramatic voices. They weren’t mingling with the crowd, weren’t comforting Martha Kent or shaking hands with the local pastor. No, they were watching, observing, whispering.

The theories started before Clark was even in the ground.

“Government agents,” murmured Mrs. Dunleavy, peering over the rim of her sunglasses. “CIA, probably. You know Clark was always a little too curious for his own good.”

“Aliens,” Mr. Higgins countered, adjusting his suspenders. “Look at ‘em. No one looks that good and human at the same time.”

Maggie the waitress had a different idea. “Secret lovers,” she whispered, eyes wide. “Maybe a throuple. I mean, you heard about that reporter in Metropolis, right? Lane? Betcha she’s in on it, too.”

Pastor Williams overheard and sighed. “Lord, give me strength.”

They weren’t wrong, exactly. The truth was just…more complicated.

The funeral had ended, but the town was still buzzing. Not about the tragedy, no, but about the two figures standing off in the distance radiating aura so severely it felt like a thunderstorm was brewing.

“Who are they?” Linda Whitaker whispered to Susan Langley as they stood outside the general store.

“I heard the man’s some kind of billionaire,” Susan murmured back. “Bruce Wayne—owns half of Gotham or something.”

“And the woman?” Linda pressed.

Susan hesitated, lowering her voice as if the statuesque woman might hear her from across the cemetery. “No one knows. But look at her—she’s somebody.”

“Whatever they’re talking about must be important,” Linda said.

“Obviously,” Susan scoffed. “They’re not out here discussing the price of corn.”

“Maybe they were Clark’s secret friends,” Linda mused.

Susan shook her head. “Nah. They’re city people. Powerful people. Look at them—people like that don’t just ‘befriend’ farm boys.”

"Then they were fucking!" Linda gets a smack to her arm.

In the distance, Bruce said something, and Diana responded with the faintest tilt of her lips. Not quite a smile, but enough that the weight of their conversation momentarily lifted. The wind ruffled Bruce’s hair as he exhaled sharply, and then they both turned, walking toward a sleek, black, expensive car that had no business being in Smallville.

Susan and Linda watched them go, their departure leaving behind an even bigger mystery.

“Well,” Linda said, crossing her arms. “I don’t know who they are, but I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?” Susan asked.

Linda exhaled. “If those two showed up at my funeral looking like that, I’d sit the hell up and ask what the hell’s going on.”

Bruce and Diana standing off in the distance at Clark’s funeral in BVS looking cunty as fuck with their long black wool coats and sharp jawlines talking to each other dramatically must have been TOO MUCH for the small-town gossip mill, I’m telling you.

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essektheylyss · 2 days ago

Text

I am certain that this has been said before, by myself and others, but because we're talking about it, let's look at the Trent situation in some depth, shall we?

I will admit, I was among those who was of the opinion that there might be another arc of campaign 2 to deal with the Assembly, since they were positioned as the entity pulling strings in Wildemount, they had been tangentially associated earlier with a plot to release Tharizdun, and because they were of minor to major interest with regard to character backstories, not least with multiple members being involved in the Aeor arc (and when it was still believed that Veth might've had some relationship to Doolan Tversky). Nevertheless, in hindsight, I don't feel that there's any issue with the positioning of the Assembly by the end of the campaign. They are a problematic entity that continues to exist in the world as grounding, because such entities are not generally one-note villains to be killed and destroyed; they are generally systemic and entrenched, and require sustained and systematic collaboration to dismantle. The same can be said of the Clasp, or the Myriad. And indeed, Caleb will be focused on this dismantling for at least the next six years.

Looking at Trent in particular, though, requires considering Caleb's narrative arc in full, and in particular, the shift that he undergoes from the beginning to the end. He begins the campaign specifying that he is seeking to take down Trent, "among other things", which we know from his later wishes entails turning back time and undoing his parents' deaths—though, given he doesn't give details on the matter at the time, we can't say then whether or not his plan entailed attempting to leave the timeline unaltered, essentially leaving his younger self to succumb to the guilt and subsequent trauma of the Asylum. It's possible that he had considered that then, and it was simply a pragmatic attempt to preserve the timeline and prevent a paradox, but it's also possible that that element only came later, when Caleb found that he was capable of forgiving himself.

By the time he gets to the point of telling the whole group about his history, before they have dinner with Trent, he specifies that his intent was to atone, but "that idea has evolved quite a bit over time, and I'm not sure what the exact answer is. But I mean to atone." It is worth noting that in this conversation also is the exchange with Caduceus about the goal being no more kids on the pyre. This also only comes after the Nein have shifted from their early extreme murder hobo mercenary tendencies to a group with diplomatic ties who have already navigated a minimum of two governments to end a war, so their methods have changed and their options have expanded, not only in terms of their personal abilities but their social influence as well.

At this point, we know, he has not let go of the potential to turn back time—he admits to Essek later that he doesn't know what he would choose if the thing that he wanted was placed in front of him (incidentally, mere hours before it was). Which means that his idea of atonement has shifted in other ways. In that first conversation with Beau and Nott, Beau says that, "There are two options here: you can selfishly try and go after this guy for your own vendetta, or you can use your motives to keep others from getting hurt in a very similar way," and Caleb admits in response that both are appealing. We must infer then, based upon this information, that what has shifted over ninety episodes later in his idea of atonement is that he is no longer motivated by a selfish dedication to his personal vendetta.

In fact, he seems to slip back into that vendetta later, if not in the asylum (where it is unclear how much he is acting out of necessity than due to a regression, but I would suggest it is a bit of both) then when he attempts to convince the Nein and then Essek that they should invite Trent and the scourgers to join them in Aeor, in an effort to eliminate Trent beyond the view of the rest of the Assembly or the Empire. Even as they prepare to go to the asylum, he admits that he wants Trent dead for ruining his life, though only after extensive pressing from Veth as to whether he is avoiding confronting Trent out of fear, and he adds that he does not want to risk the rest of the Nein in the pursuit of it. I've argued previously that Caleb realized when Essek challenged him on it that he was willing to jeopardize their true mission—to prevent Cognouza from wreaking havoc on Exandria in Lucien's hands—in pursuit of this goal, and this was truly his final wake-up call about the dangers of the path he had been on.

The Assembly has a habit of distancing themselves from the responsibilities of their fellow members; the Assembly as a whole turned on Delilah the moment she ran afoul of the law, Ludinus and Vess both distanced themselves from Trent, and later Astrid distances herself from Ludinus, even though we know she is part of the reason he remained untouchable through the trials against Trent. When members are expelled or eliminated, they are framed as fringe criminals, whose actions and activities were unsanctioned by the Assembly and therefore beyond the control of the others, regardless of the truth of that.

Caleb recognizes that there is plenty of evidence to tie Trent's activities to the Assembly, but likely also understands that Trent will not be tried or convicted in death, and as such the scourger program will not come to the attention of the Empire's legal system if he takes revenge before he gets justice. And by this point, what he wants is justice, because only with justice can he prevent further harm. He admits to Essek that, "I know what it means to have other people complicate your desires and wishes," and frames this as not only a good thing, but indeed the only thing that might save either of them. He ultimately neither kills Trent nor returns to the past, and this is what allows him to move forward out from under the weight of his sins and sorrows.

So by the end of the campaign, what Caleb has attained is this: a reorientation of his priorities, a commitment to his own future, and the means to not only gain justice for himself but to ensure that what happened to him will not happen, in this manner at least, again in a manner that is sanctioned by the Assembly.

To argue that the "Assembly plot" was not wrapped up by the end of campaign 2 is to fundamentally misunderstand both the nature of the campaign, which was one driven by character interests and histories rather than external plot, and to additionally further misinterpret Caleb's actual goals. There was no Assembly plot in campaign 2; there was only Caleb's plot. The end state of that plot is determined not by the elimination of one unchanging villain (though it does, technically speaking, still satisfy that requirement, the Solstice blast notwithstanding), but by reaching a point at which Caleb can begin to recognize that he can live with himself and the efforts he is undertaking—but also, more fundamentally, to recognize that he can live.

#critical role #caleb widogast #trent ikithon #cr meta #I'm sure all of this has been said in piecemeal and possibly even delineated before somewhere but like #while we're getting it all out this has always been a fundamentally wrong claim on the c2 finale #and I will be reblogging this long ass post if people want to try it again. just as a warning #anti-intellectualism is a scourge inside and out of fandom and this is the words website

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horsefigureoftheday · 1 day ago

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hello sorry if this is a stupid question and if it is feel free to ignore this ask, but how do you go about starting a horse figure collection? like, i know the best answer is probably to Just Start ! but the whole thing is kinda overwhelming, and I'm from a country where figurine collecting of this kind isn't really A Big Thing so the overseas shipping alone would be A Lot lmao,,,

that being said seeing these guys on my dash everyday always makes me smile, so if all else fails i can just live vicariously through this blog HSJJDJS thanks for ur work o7

Disclaimer: This is the opinion of one horse collector, it's not the objective truth of horse collecting. That said, it's an opinion I very strongly believe in.

The thing is, you don't really "start a collection." You just buy the horses you like and within a few weeks or months or years you'll have a small collection. And some day, if you keep surrounding yourself with horses you like, you'll have a big collection.

Gonna get a bit preachy here, but it's something I keep seeing, so I feel like I have to talk about it: I think entering this hobby with the mindset of "wanting a collection" can make you very impatient and vulnerable to fomo and completionism. You get so into the idea of Collecting Everything that you end up wasting $1000s on overpriced listings because you didn't even stop to think if it's gonna get relisted, if the seller is a scammer, or if you even really want that particular horse/doll/pokemon/model car/trading card/memorabilia/etc., or if you only "want" it because it's part of a set.

Collecting hobbies aren't really about having a collection. They're more about the act of collecting continuously. Maybe you take a break from it (I'm a Bella Sara collector who hasn't actively collected for 3 years), but you never really have a "complete" collection. And you need to accept that you'll never have a complete collection, otherwise you're gonna burn out and the hobby won't be fun anymore.

I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, I really don't mean it to. I'm trying to warn you because I'd hate to see yet another potential fellow collector burn out and leave the hobby after a few years. Collecting can be a wonderful lifelong hobby that creates lasting friendships. But only if your center your hobby around the act of collecting, rather than the idea of your collection itself. (I also find that people who focus more on their collection than the act of collecting are often a bit jealous or self-important, but I might just have run into some bad apples).

If you wanna get into a collecting hobby, the best place to start is to go out (to the thrift story, toy store, ebay, craigslist, you name it) and scour the market for things you like. And then buy a handful of cheap ones. Display them, photograph them, tell your friends about them, look up what other figures/cards/etc. are in that series, and in general just... sit with them. Get a feel for them. Are they satisfying you? Do they spark joy? Did you enjoy hunting them down and do you enjoy taking care of them and looking at them?

If yes, they spark joy, you can start looking at more specific brands, styles, colors, etc., and try to focus on what kind of horses you wanna collect. Maybe you wanna focus on palominos. Maybe you love Barbie horses. Maybe you find a really fun community of glass horse collectors that keeps you coming back. And maybe you fall so deeply in love with the hobby that you wanna collect every kind of horse figure you come across. Just be patient and focus on the act of collecting, rather than having a collection.

#ask #not horse of the day #collecting 101 #let me put it this way:#i have completely a few collections. it did not bring me even a fraction as much joy as working on the collections did.

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pokemonshelterstories · 2 days ago

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Out of curiosity, do you get many adults adopting their first Pokemon at the shelter? It feels like everyone I know grew up with at least one Pokemon in the house at some point but my parents were very strict about never having Pokemon in the household. Now that I’m older I’m interested in getting a Pokemon and even after doing research I still feel out of my depth. Can I ask the people at the shelter about things I should keep an eye on (I am a fairly anxious person and can’t always tell when I’m working myself up over things that aren’t that serious)? Is that a normal thing people do? Can I ask for advice in general or is that not something I’m supposed to do?Is this a common problem for people new to the idea of caring for a Pokémon or am I getting way too worked up about this?

absolutely, we get plenty of adults getting their first pokemon at our shelter! sometimes it's the first time they're raising a pokemon on their own rather than someone doing most of the care, or sometimes they weren't allowed to have a pokemon growing up, or this is the first time they have the means to take care of a pokemon. we get all kinds of stories here!

absolutely feel free to ask your shelter employees for advice. it's what we're here for! our job is to help you find a pokemon that suits your needs and that you can provide a good home for. no pokemon is an easy pokemon- even the "everyday pets" like meowth and maschiff can still use moves and have issues you need to watch out for! many shelters will have care guides you can look and can recommend toys, food, online resources, and veterinarians to you. most people do just fine with their first pokemon, but it's normal to feel anxious about it and want to ask questions. honestly, helping people get settled with their new pokemon is my favorite part of the job!

#charlietalks #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #pokemon shelter life

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iamgonnagetyouback · 9 hours ago

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hi! congratulations on 2k ivy! i've only recently stumbled into your acc but i'm loving all of your works so far!

you write so good i feel like im actually in it, iykwim!

anyways, if it's okay with you, can i get a 🧸 teddy dust for mattheo or theo with the prompt; "look, i know i probably should have backed off and i apologize." "no, honestly it was kind of hot." "what??" (from the 2nd angst prompt list)

i love your works sm you're amazing! cheers to 2k again!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ reckless

synopsis: ever since you met mattheo, you knew he had a temper. but when some creep at a party gets too close to you, he completely snaps. now you're in his dorm, everyone yelling, but all you can think about is how pretty he looks when he's angry content warnings: violence, fighting, blood, suggestive tension, possessive!mattheo, mutual pining author's note: hi love!! ୨ৎ omg first of all, thank you so much for your sweet words, you have no idea how much that means to me ♡ hope you love it, darling—mwah!! ‹𝟹 nav. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀2k celebration. ⠀

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 705

The party had been going fine—better than fine, actually. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and the Slytherin common room was packed with students laughing, dancing, and generally causing trouble. But then, of course, someone had to ruin it.

You’d been trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of some Ravenclaw’s hand lingering too long on your wrist, his body crowding too close as he slurred something about how you were “too pretty to be this stuck-up.”

You were this close to hexing him when someone else stepped in.

More specifically—Mattheo. And more as in swung in.

The shift in the room was immediate. One second, you were glaring up at the guy, and the next, Mattheo was right there, shoving himself between you and the Ravenclaw.

His voice was low, lethal. "Touch her again, and I’ll break your fucking hand."

The guy scoffed, clearly thinking Mattheo was all talk—right up until Mattheo’s fist connected with his jaw.

The impact was loud. Gasps echoed around the room.

"For fuck’s sake, Riddle!" Draco groaned, already marching over.

Draco and Theodore had immediately shoved themselves between Mattheo and the guy before he could do worse. Lorenzo grabbed you by the wrist, tugging you back as Blaise and Pansy tried to calm the situation down. The guy scrambled away, cursing, but Mattheo still lunged after him, only stopped by Theodore gripping his shirt and yanking him back.

"Fucking hell, Riddle," Blaise hissed. "You wanna get expelled?"

"Expelled?" Pansy cut in, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she grabbed your hand. "More like murdered—if Snape finds out, he’s going to skin him alive."

"I’d like to see him try," Mattheo muttered, wiping his knuckles on his shirt.

"Are you dense?" Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you ever think before you act?"

Mattheo scoffed. "Oh, please. You lot would’ve done the same."

Theodore rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. "Doesn’t mean we’re not going to call you an idiot for it."

Eventually, after much grumbling, the boys dragged Mattheo upstairs to their dorm, with you and Pansy following close behind.

Once inside, the scolding resumed.

"If you break every guy’s nose who flirts with her, you’re going to run out of people to fight," Lorenzo pointed out.

"And fists," Blaise added.

"And brain cells," Theodore muttered.

"Bold of you to assume he has any left," Draco deadpanned.

Mattheo huffed, plopping onto his bed. "Whatever. Worth it."

Pansy shook her head before turning to you. "You okay, love?"

You nodded, offering a small smile. "I would’ve handled it, but..."

"But he had to go full knight-in-bloody-armor," Draco finished, rolling his eyes.

Blaise smirked. "Our resident guard dog."

Mattheo flipped him off. "Shut up."

Eventually, after much scolding (mostly from Pansy and Lorenzo), everyone trickled out, leaving you alone with Mattheo.

You exhaled, arms crossed as you leaned against the wall.

"Look, I know I probably should have backed off, and I apologize."

You let out a breathy laugh. "No, honestly, it was kind of hot."

Mattheo blinked. "What??"

You smirked, watching realization dawn on his face as he tilted his head at you, eyes darkening with mischief. "Ohhh. So you like watching me throw punches, huh? That’s a bit concerning, love."

You shoved his shoulder. "Shut up."

"No, no, this is good information. Noted." His grin was all teeth, but there was something softer in the way he looked at you now.

The air between you shifted. You could still see the adrenaline buzzing under his skin, the way his jaw flexed slightly, his lips still slightly parted like he had more he wanted to say.

So you decided to shut him up another way.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss. His hands immediately found your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as he responded instantly, tilting his head and deepening it like he’d been waiting for this.

When you finally pulled away, Mattheo was grinning like an idiot. "So, just to clarify—if I get into more fights, do I get more kisses?"

You rolled your eyes. "Try it and find out."

"Merlin, I love a challenge."

And just like that, Mattheo Riddle was absolutely, hopelessly gone for you.

#⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ivy writes ༄.°#𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ ivy's 2k celebration ༊·˚#𓍼ོ teddy dust 🧸.ᐟ #divider by im4yeons #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle blurb #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheoxreader #mattheo x you

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babybearnation · 3 days ago

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arthur, jack, dino and lance with a soulmate au thing - pref tattoos but idm - spoon

(also i’m sorry i didn’t submit anything, i didn’t think it was open yet 😭)

all good, mx. spoon!!

gn!reader (soulmate tattoo au)

arthur leclerc:

the tattoo & the placement: three interlinked hearts on the back of your left shoulders

arthur hates that his soulmate tattoo isn't in a visible place because it means it'll be really difficult to find his soulmate but he can't help but fantasise over the idea of his soulmate and who they are and all the other details that could possibly make up the person he is destined to be with

so he goes through life not expecting to ever meet you, but then, as luck would have it, he somehow manages to meet you one day

how? he takes his shirt off in the middle of the paddock after being doused with champagne and you slowly approach him and shyly tell him you think you're soulmates

with your permission, he checks the back of your left shoulder and, sure enough, there's the three interlinked hearts

it's a bit awkward and shy for a few minutes before a tipsy charles wanders over and asks to know what's going on with his baby brother

jack doohan:

the tattoo & the placement: a sun with 7 rays on the back of your left hands

jack is obsessed with his soulmate mark - he's constantly touching it and staring at it and even sometimes doodling it when he zones out

when he sees the all too familiar mark on your hand in the paddock one day, he doesn't even hesitate to cut his team off to sprint over to you

he barely even manages to spit an introduction/greeting out before he's telling you that he thinks the pair of you might be soulmates and comparing the designs on your hands together

you're stunned because not only has one of your all time favourite f1 drivers all but sprinted up to you, he's just told you he thinks you two are soulmates

and sure enough, the designs match perfectly and you're mentally cursing yourself for having never noticed how similar the designs are before

dino beganovic:

the tattoo & the placement: a spiral on the right side of your necks

dino hates his soulmate mark as he thinks its stupid and that the design is specifically a curse designed to ensure he never finds his soulmate

as his best friend, you have no idea how to tell him that you two are soulmates and you've known that since you first met him and saw the familiar swirl on his skin

it's thanks to a frustrated paul and a clumsy ollie that the truth is finally revealed and ultimately, dino isn't sure how to feel because on one hand, why didn't you tell him? but on the other hand, he has had feelings for you for a while and he's a bit excited that you are his soulmate after all

when you explain that he's always hated his soulmate mark for as long as you've known him and that you thought he'd hate you as well and that's why you kept quiet, dino feels awful

however, when he apologises, you shush him and say its okay and you've accepted your rejection, but then he kisses you before saying he'd never reject you and you're regretting not telling him before hand

lance stroll:

the tattoo & the placement: a ring of thorns around your left wrists

lance didn't always hate his soulmate mark, but as he entered the world of formula 1 and started to get more and more hate, he felt like his soulmate mark was some kind of cruel joke

you didn't know much about formula 1, or motorsport in general for that matter, but your best friend at university ended up working for a formula 1 team as an engineer and invited you along to a race

it's here that you meet your soulmate after quite literally walking into him and knocking his drink from his hand - you panic and fret and offer to buy him a new one but lance isn't listening

instead, he's staring at your wrist, at the ring of thorns lining your skin, and before you can say anymore, he snags your wrist up, comparing it to his

you're stunned at this turn of events and you slyly turn your offer of buying him a new drink into an offer of a date and, let's be honest, lance isn't going to refuse now, is he?

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slapthosewilliessilly · 3 days ago

Text

The shit these drugs will do to you

Josh Washington x AFAB Reader

Warnings; MDNI 18+, smut, AFAB reader, Asthmatic Reader, Stoner Josh, Weed smoker Josh, Josh is a fucking muncher, begging, oral receiving (fem), drug use, body worship if you squint, semi established relationship, partying, awkward situation

I wrote this while I was insanely stoned and sipping chocolate milk hope y’all enjoy! Requests are still up just send a message whenever!

Photo credit to anti.huntress on instagram!

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

“You uh- you ever smoke before?” Josh asked, his back turned towards you as he seemed to dig around in his drawer for something.

Your eyebrow arched as you watched him, sat criss crossed on Josh’s bed. Swirling whatever bright blue concoction Jess poured for you in the cup in your hand. God that was forever ago- hard to forget it’s 3AM and all the others were passed out for the night. “I mean I’ve taken a hit off of Jess’ geek bar before. Almost died.” That made Josh chuckle.

“No I’m not talking about a geek bar.” Josh said before turning around, showing a small baggie with some joints inside making your eyes widen slightly. You never knew he smoked pot. “Can’t say that I have.” You answered.

“Do you…” Josh started before taking a seat on the bed. “Want to have some? With me?” First time you’ve seen Josh almost nervous.

“I mean sure but-“ you hesitated. “I have asthma Josh I don’t know if it’s the smartest idea for me.” You felt almost disappointed by your own answer, it was embarrassing sometimes.

“We can shot gun it.” Josh suggested almost too quickly, the faintest blush on his face. You chuckled, unfamiliar with the term. “Shot gun a joint? Dude what does that even mean?”

Josh grinned slightly again as he opened the small baggie and pulled out one of his joints. “Well would you rather me tell you about it,” Josh spoke before setting the baggie to the floor and holding the joint between his thumb and index finger, looking at you with an expression similar to one of endearment. “or do you want me to show you?”

That made your cheeks flush slightly, his usual cool and collected tone seemed sweeter- excited almost. You felt your thighs twitch absentmindedly, you could always blame it on the alcohol.

“Show me.”

You spoke with a breathless whisper, surprised that Josh could even hear you. But he did. He grinned before scooting closer to you, “Just relax, I’m taking care of you- just follow my lead.” He reassured you, once you nodded he brought his joint to his lips and dug in his back pocket for his little flip lighter.

Watching Josh smoke was definitely doing something to you, you weren’t sure exactly why but seeing how his lips were wrapped around it and inhaling was sending heat straight to your core. You wondered how good he’d look with his lips wrapped around something else.

God you sounded like Mike.

Josh gave you a sideways glance as he exhaled through his nostrils, a small smirk tugging on the corners of his lips. He brought the joint to his lips once more, inhaling deeply before turning to face you. The joint in one hand, his other hand gently caressing the side of your face. A look on his face seemingly asking ‘you ready?’

You nodded, suddenly your mouth felt dry. Josh leaned forward- his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he gently began to blow the smoke into your mouth, lips just an inch away as your eyes fluttered shut and you inhaled what Josh was so generously giving you.

Your skin felt hot from the proximity alone, tingles and electricity covering your body. God your core is damn near pulsing on his bed with the thought of how easy this would be to take it to the next level.

When the heat of Josh’s presence faded and your eyes fluttered open, face feeling hot paired with an indescribable need for Josh Washington to be inside you right now. When your eyesight focused you were met with Josh’s red tinted eyes all but gleaming at you with a smug grin on his face. It makes you cough in a brief awkward manner at the realization of how you were looking at him like you wanted to jump his fucking bones.

“Woah hey girl easy-“ Josh comforted as he placed a hand on your back, rubbing circles onto your now sensitive skin. “Take a breath, we’re cool. You actually did really well.” He soothed in a soft and subtle tone.

Oh god the praise.

You were already half soaked you didn’t need him to add more fuel to the fire. You recovered from your coughing only a moment or two later, sometimes once it started it was hard to stop. Josh only continued his sweet slow circles on your back, carefully watching you to see if he needed to grab your inhaler for you.

“Sorry.” You blurted, eyes on your lap in embarrassment.

“Dude for what?” Josh asked quietly, his hand feeling lower on your back than what it did when he first touched you. Maybe you were imagining things.

“I just- I feel like a weirdo for looking at you like that. I’m sorry.” Jesus this was humiliating. “Hey-“ Josh’s hand moved to your knee, making your skin jerk slightly in surprise.

“We’re cool, you’re totally fine. Promise.” Josh soothed. How could he not feel how hot your skin was? “In fact…” Josh whispered, his eyes focused where your plush thighs were clenched. A faint smirk on his face before his eyes moved up to catch yours.

“You want some help there?” He asked, referring down to your slightly grinding thighs. You were going to cry if you couldn’t get more friction.

You felt caught red handed. You felt lightheaded, giddy, nervous, and soaked- you bet your face was hot red. “Please Josh?”

Josh’s eyes widened slightly, jaw slacked as he studied your expression carefully in case you weren’t being serious. He didn’t actually think you’d entertain what he said, but neither did you.

You didn’t know what josh did faster- shove his lips on yours or put out the joint in his ashtray of the bedside table. His hands felt like they were everywhere, trying to devour you by touch. Your thighs, your hips, the side of your neck, your breast- leaning you back further onto his bed and climbing over top of you.

His lips felt everywhere too. Your lips, your cheeks, your jaw, up and down your neck. His lips meeting with your own once more after you whined when he kissed your breasts through your shirt. God he was making you feel dizzy but you never wanted it to stop.

“Can I taste you?” Josh whispered his question, his fingers almost pawing at the waist band of your shorts. His breathing heavy and almost ragged, you shivered at the idea of him holding back.

“Yes-“ that was the only thing Josh needed to hear before kissing you passionately once more as his fingers hurriedly began to slide your shorts off. After your shorts then it was your shirt, nipples being met with his soft kisses as well before adjusting you both.

Your legs dangling off the edge of his bed as Josh moved you carefully with a strong touch, moving your knees to rest on top of his shoulders as he got on his knees.

Josh took his time, wanting to make you squirm and beg for him to fuck you with his tongue. He left soft kisses all over the inside of your thighs, his hot breath fanning against your clit making you shiver in anticipation.

“Please-“

“Please what baby?” Josh’s eyes interrupted your weak plead with a question. Blue eyes glinting something smug from their place between your thighs. “Tell me pretty girl.” He purred before lowering his head and blowing soft cool air against your heated entrance.

“Fucking-“ you whined. Tears building in the corner of your eyes. You didn’t know what to say- you forgot how to beg. Laying there soaked waiting for Josh to just devour you was just torture. “Don’t tease me anymore please I need it so bad.” Your voice shook slightly as you pleaded for the wait to be over- you wanted to cum on his face and you wanted to do it now.

“I’m so sorry baby.” Josh cooed- you could feel that smirk of his radiating off of him. “Let me take care of you pretty girl.”

You nearly squealed when you felt his lips wrap around your clit and began to suck and lick you apart. Thighs squeezing Josh’s head closer as he devoured you entirely. The sounds of wet slurping and his panting combined with your moans and mewls of pleasure echoed through the room.

“Holy fuck! Oh shit baby-“ you moaned, “so fucking good Josh holy shit-!” Your squeals only seemed to make Josh more determined in his mission of having you cum all over his face.

You felt so close to the edge already and he barely started. Josh’s hands roughly gripped onto your thighs, not minding at all how you were squeezing his head so tightly. Lightheaded and eyes rolling to the back of your head as Josh pushed you closer and closer to the edge- eating you out like a man fucking starved. Did having sex stoned always feel this good?

Your hips grinded absentmindedly against Josh’s face, seeking just the slightest bit more friction to cum. Your words slurring as you moved your hips against his face faster, Josh’s hands holding your pussy tight against his face before he sucked on your clit again.

You squealed one more time as you felt yourself soak Josh’s face in your fluids, looking down at him between your thighs already looking up at you with half lidded eyes. Your breathing hitched slightly at the sight. Josh waited until you were shivering and body twitching for him to pull away. Josh made his way up to your lips once more, you could taste yourself on his tongue and it was almost addictive.

When Josh pulled away he rested his forehead in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily, seemingly trying to steady himself. Glancing down you see a wet mark on his jeans from your current position. “Josh did you- did you cum in your pants from that?”

Josh could only answer with a slight scoff. “Shut up.”

#josh washington #until dawn #chris hartley #18+ mdni #i need him #mike monroe #x reader #riding him until dawn #mdni #fanfic #fanfiction #josh washington x reader #smut #smoke blunts #Spotify

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