#I think I’m legally allowed to get it where I live

[michaelnotwheeler]

The dysphoria do be dysphoriaing

Never thought I’d think about the way I stand so much but yknow. Here I am.

[blue-devil-of-the-lord]

What do you think it would be like to marry Kurt? Do you think he’d invite everyone he could possibly think of, or one with just his mothers, Rouge and Gambit? Who do you think would be the officiant?

And do you think he’d go all out for it and make it grand, or just leave it it simplistic? Because I feel like he’d want it to be more simple.

And what kind of ring do you think he would like? I think a silver one would go lovely with his skin, like moonlight casting it’s breathtaking image onto a glimmering lake.

I know that he is technically not allowed to get married since he’s a Catholic priest but I need him so badly! :( Oh my gosh I love him so much! 😭😭😭

You know, I think he could do both, actually. Of course, I also don’t really see him going all out and inviting 500 people while renting a massive hall, but I think he’d want to celebrate with family and friends, so here are my thoughts:

There are in fact two ceremonies, one for him, his significant other and his closest people, and one for celebrating with everyone they want to have there.

The first wedding would be a very small ceremony in a small chapel, probably somewhere in a forest in Germany, just with his s/o, Rogue as his "Best Man“, and one other person for his s/o’s Best Man or Maid of Honour (and of course the priest).

It’s just really small and private and intimate and absolutely lovely. They spend their honeymoon in a small cabin in the forest/mountains in Germany, just a week for just the two of them. Just existing with each other. And don’t think that this man won’t worship the ground his s/o is walking on.

After the first ceremony there is not a huge celebration. They maybe go for dinner in a nice restaurant but that’s it.

The second ceremony though…..is a bit more lively.

I’d like to say, that the wedding ceremony was held on the school’s ground, a few weeks after the original wedding ceremony. And since they’re already legally married, it’s all a bit more relaxed.

Honestly, I’m not sure who would officiate the wedding. My first thought would be Xavier, but I think that’s because he gives off this old, wise man vibes, that are stereotypical for a officiant. Now, that I think about it, I actually think that I would love to see Gambit officiate the wedding.

He’s as good as Kurt’s brother-in-law, so I’d like to think that he would do Kurt this favour, because for him, Kurt is family [though he would never say that out loud] and Kurt thinks the same way. And it’s beautiful.

It’s most likely during vacations. Not that he doesn’t love the kids, but he does not necessarily want them all around. Close ones and older ones, sure, but there will be another celebration for that. For this celebration, he sticks with the older ones.

There is a huge pavilion with beautiful arrangements and decorations and Storm makes sure that there won’t be one rainy cloud around for that day.

Kurt cries, when he sees his s/o walk down the aisle [just like the first time]. The vows are more beautiful than on their first wedding (they didn’t really do vows then, because it was just small) and even Logan shed a tear.

Gambit did a splendid job btw. Just like the rest who helped to organise this celebration, so it would be a bit of a surprise for the newlyweds.

The cake is of course chocolate, though not completely, if his s/o does not like it. The dance is just really emotional and Kurt safely leads his spouse over the dance floor. It kind of inspires the others, so there will be a lot of dancing.

Rogue holds a beautiful speech as sister of the groom and Kurt cries silentely, before just hugging her very, very hard.

It’s a long day, but an amazing one, and everybody made sure that the couple got a few more days to themselves in a cabin in Canada (sponsored by Logan) as some sort of second honeymoon.

After the holidays, there will be a summer party with the kids, where Kurt and his spouse will also be celebrated, but not that much.

In General, I think he will do both weddings, just to make sure that 1) he will have a day solely dedicated to him and his partner without too much stress and 2) everybody they care about will have the opportunity to celebrate with them.

However, no matter how the wedding will go, it will be beautiful. I mean, it’s Kurt Wagner, what are you expecting?

He will spend the entire night staring lovingly at his s/o and dance with them, kiss them and constantly call them “My wife” or “My husband” or “My spouse” as well as “Mrs. Wagner”/”Mr. Wagner”/”Mx Wagner”. Kurt just can’t get enough of it!

It’s also very sweet and it shows how much he cares about them.

It’s just a very, very beautiful affair and marrying him is one of the best things anyone could do.

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER TWO: SPIDEY LUCK (GOOD OR BAD? YOU'LL NEVER KNOW)

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ You're adjusting well, comfortable with your new life. Too bad your spidey luck came with you to this universe. He offers his arm to you, but you hold out palm. “You’re nice and all, but I’m not letting you know where I live just yet.” He gives you confused puppy eyes. “You’re cute, but not that cute,” you pat his cheek as you walk past him. He watches you walk past him, before remembering himself and calls out. “What’s your name?” “Not that cute!” You remind him. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: cursing, mentions of discrimination based on financial situation, a vague-ish sex joke wc: 2.7k

Setting up an identity for yourself is remarkably easy. Natasha taught you just about everything you need to know. To the world, you are now [Name] Stark. Tony Stark is an eccentric recluse from Queens, with a mysterious inheritance allowing for travel around the world. And you, his curious child are now old enough to find her own way in the world, starting in Gotham. It’s messy, but hopefully it can keep people off your ass for a while.

Hacking into the wealth of Gotham’s elite is easy enough, stealing little by little every day so that they don’t notice (they probably wouldn’t, anyway). You steer clear of anything and everything Wayne related. For now, at least, it wouldn’t hurt to get ahold of some of his tech down the line.

Walking down the streets of Gotham is something your sense may never get used to. It’s easy to hide feeling threatened by everything, but it’s not easy to stop feeling threatened by everything. While you are certain you can handle a few common thugs or muggers, you are not excited to face your first round of fear gas. If it comes down to it, you’ll rely on your suit to protect you from it… hopefully it can.

Getting to East End is easy enough despite all the leers you get. Selina Kyle’s territory is riddled with crime and misdemeanor as much as the rest of the city, but it’s one of the cheaper areas. You’re legally old enough to get your own place, and with the money you take and a job you can hopefully find, you’ll be able to get by alright. As a hero, you should probably feel bad about stealing, but it’s not like millionaire’s and billionaire’s need a couple hundred dollars.

You walk into the rundown building, surveying the interior. It’s certainly seen better days, if the ripped up wallpaper and stains in the carpet are anything to go by. There’s no one at the front desk, so you ring the little bell and wait. Tapping your foot, your thoughts wonder.

You’ve been thinking about enrolling into Gotham Academy. It’s risky, since Robin goes there (you looked it up earlier, he’s around the same age as you), but you know that school has damn good funding, and good funding means a good lab. A lab or workshop is essential to you as a Spider.

A hobbling old lady stumbles out towards the front desk, her smile is sweet. “How can I help you, dear?”

You put on your best unassuming smile. “I’d like to sign a lease to rent out an apartment here.”

“Sure, hun. Just give me the deposit and it’s yours.”

You’re taken aback. “Surely it’s not that easy, miss…?” You prompt.

“May. Listen kid,” she leans in. “We don’t ask too many questions ‘round here. I can spot a troubled kid from a mile away.”

Of course her name is May. You smile, awkward. “I’m eighteen.”

“Eighteen is nothing on my years, girl.”

You inhale and grasp your hands together. “Well, I know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. When can I move in?”

May grabs your arm and leads you up the stairs. “First door on the right, third floor.”

The apartment is in one piece, only some cracks in the walls. There’s a distinct smell in the air, but you’ll make yourself used to it. There’s some furniture left behind by the previous owner (a bed too, but you’re definitely replacing the mattress). It’s quaint, for Gotham.

“I should warn you, a lot of stray cats come and go. Don’t be afraid to feed ‘em, they’re already coming back anyway,” May huffs.

You smile discreetly. “I got it.

“I would’ve thought you’d lose interest in those things by now.”

Growing up you dabbled in one thing to the next. Gymnastics, volleyball, cheerleading. At one point you wanted to go to space camp, but didn’t want to be away from your aunt and uncle. Your interests come and go, never staying long, but your love for comics has always been constant.

“I’ve been fighting for my freedom since day one,” you jest.

Aunt May sits down next to you. “You know how rich I’d probably be if I got all the money back from buying you those things over the years?” She leans in, whispering, “richer than Tony Stark.”

You snort. “No one’s richer than him.” You pause, thinking. “Actually, Bruce Wayne might be.”

“Is that the Manbat guy you’re reading about?”

“ Batman , May.”

She kisses your head, grabbing the comic out of your hands. “Well, you know what they say. Bad kids who don’t go to sleep at bedtime get snatched up by Batman and his bird sidekick.”

You lean back against your pillows, wrapping yourself up in your blanket. “No one says that.”

“I do. Goodnight, tiger.”

The past week you’ve been making moves. You land a job as a waitress in a nice little cafe around the corner, and you’ve settled in nicely into your apartment. You find out May likes her coffee 2 cream no sugar and she religiously watches telenovelas. On top of that, you’ve made friends with a black cat you’ve affectionately named Nari.

“Alright K, show me past entrance exams for Gotham Academy.”

Uploading Karen into the laptop you bought allowed for you to multitask much more efficiently. You’re trying to emulate an environment you’re familiar with, like FRIDAY back at the Tower, but you have nowhere near the same budget as Tony does. You sigh. The entrance exams for GA are in a week, but you’re not too stressed. You started taking online classes when you moved into the Tower, and breezed past them like it was nothing. You graduated high school 2 years earlier than normal (you could’ve done it in one, but Tony insisted on human interaction (even if you only got it at dances and other school events)).

Looking over the options pulled up, you scoff. “This is shockingly easy for such a prestigious school,” you murmur.

“Perhaps you are just more gifted than them, [Name].”

You coo, “always my biggest fan, K.” You close the laptop, not before transferring Karen into an earbud formed from your suits nanites. “I think I got this in the bag.”

The bells on the cafe’s door ring as you enter. “Hey, cutie,” you flirt at your manager, a woman with 3 kids and a husband (but damn if she isn’t fine).

[Name],” they greet dryly. They put the spoon they’re cleaning down. “Sam’s gonna be late, some lunatic died on the tracks and their ride’s been delayed.”

You hum, having gotten used to Gothamites and their disregard for the weird shit that happens in their city. “What an asshole.”

The morning passes slowly. You spot some stressed folks hunched over their laptops and an old red-head guy reading through the morning paper. The door chimes, signaling somebody’s entrance.

“Welcome to Carrie’s, what can I get you?” You drone, not looking up from the game of Crossy Road you’re definitely not supposed to be playing while on shift.

“Just a small vanilla latte, please.”

You hum, typing it up. “And a name for that?” you question, grabbing the small cup. The young man has wind-swept black hair. He’s got big ole blue eyes, the type that remind you of childhood innocence. His stature is casual and unassuming, but you can see the strength he hides under that big sweater he wears. He almost reminds you of–

“Jon,” he smiles kindly.

Jonathan motherfucking Kent goddammit.

You muster every ounce of will you have to prevent your heart from speeding up, lest he hear it. You scribble his name with tactically careful hands. “It’ll be right out, sir.”

Jon huffs goodnaturedly, waving his hand. “Please, you don’t gotta call me sir. Jon is fine, if you’re comfortable.”

You smile, “sure thing, Jon,” and let your eyes widen when you turn around to pass the order to Sam. They look at you odd when you hand them the cup, but make it without a fuss. They’re weirdly good at seeing through people. “Is he real cute or something?” They ask.

You’re not sure if Jon always uses his super hearing. You imagine he doesn’t out of respect and not wanting to intrude, but you know he’s probably always got an ear out for trouble. Even so, you’ll be caught dead before he has the chance to hear you geek over him.

“Mid,” you scoff, like a liar.

Stupid spidey luck, you swear. Maybe this universe is sentient and is out to get you for real. Jon Kent is, by all means, a cute nerd, but he’s also Superboy . With super strength and laser eyes. Maybe you should, like, break into LexCorp or something. Having kryptonite on hand doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

But maybe you’re just getting ahead of yourself. You take a deep breath, relax , you. You’ve got training from the goddamn Avengers . You got this in the bag! No need to jump the gun. 

Sam takes the order to the front and calls out, “Small vanilla latte for Jon?” Said Jon walks up to the counter, taking the cup and his eyebrows slightly quirk up. Your super hearing picks up his mutter of, “spelled it right…” as he walks off.

“Nervous for the exam?” Sam hums, messing with your earlobe.

“Nah,” you scoff. “It looks like real easy stuff.” You’re more worried about the kind of kids that go there. You’re not foolish enough to think that everybody will be welcoming to a scholarship kid. You’re just thankful you can afford to not look like you’re living on the streets, ‘cause you’re sure at that point you’ll get bullied relentlessly. Nevertheless, your feelings aren’t so easily hurt.

Sam points a finger at you. “Don’t let nobody bully you, those good-for-nothing rich kids wouldn’t last a day out there in the real world. They probably wouldn’t have gotten in without their parents' money anyway.” They grab your shoulders, looking you in the eye. You raise your brows. “I’ll never forget that you did my college level algebra work for me. Seriously, I’ll start paying you to do my work.”

You take their hands. “It’s not a good idea to cheat through college when you’re trying to be a Vet. Probably.”

“I’m saying that you’re way smarter than those losers. They got nothing on you, babes.”

You smile, winking. “I know.” Their smile is sharp. “What’s your beef with the rich anyway? Besides the fact that they’re cheating at life.” You ignore the fact that you technically were rich, in this life and the last.

“Until Bruce Wayne pays my tuition, rich people are useless. All of ‘em.”

Carrie lets you off early to take your exam, and you’re sent off with encouragement all around. Karen guides you along the way, speaking into your ear. Humming a song under your breath, you almost miss the hand reaching out to grab you. You grip the offender’s wrist and whirl around to face them.

It’s Jon. He’s looking at you with wide-eyes.

You furrow your brows. “The fuck, man? Don’t go grabbing people in Gotham.”

His eyes widen even further, hastily removing his grip around your arm. “I’m sorry! I’m really sorry. I just heard you talking about the entrance exams. For GA right? I know the way, I can show you.”

You look him up and down. “You were listening to my conversation? How? You were, like, across the cafe.”

He sputters. “I didn’t mean to, I swear! I just thought I could…” he hesitates, now realizing how weird this is, “...help. And I have really good hearing. Normally good, anyway.”

You stare at him. How is this absolute loser (loving) Superboy? You chuckle. “You’re definitely not from Gotham, are you?”

He relaxes at your smile. “No, is it obvious?”

“Very.” You hook your arm around his. “Lead the way, hero.”

His face flushes, but ever the gentlemen, he doesn’t shove you off. He actually seems to lean into your touch. “So,” you tut as the two of you begin walking, “where are you from, then?”

“Metropolis. I grew up in Smallville for a while though, know it?”

“Kansas, right?” He nods.

“So, was it my dashing good looks that called your name or a biological need to mate?”

He chokes on nothing. “I mean, normal people don’t approach like you did. I know you’ve never seen a beauty like me, but seriously, this whole thing is kinda creepy,” you hum.

He kind of just stares at you. You stare back, and he breaks and chuckles breathily. “I mean, you are pretty cute,” he flirts. Your brows raise in surprise, smiling pleasantly in surprise. “I don’t know, I just like helping people. I’ve always felt the need to do so.” He trails off in thought. “It’s just… who I am.”

It’s fascinating to see the very essence of Superboy in the flesh. You cough and turn your head away. “Pretty corny, if you ask me. But…” you turn back and look at him. “I get it. I like helping the little guys myself.”

“Little guys?”

“Little guys.”

You stop upon the gates of the school, looming above you dauntingly. You turn to face Jon. “How do I look?” He gives you a scrutinizing look before motioning for you to do a spin. You’re wearing a simple hoodie and sweats with slightly beat-up sneakers. Your clothes don’t have to impress anyone, just your score. He thinks seriously, before nodding.

“Looks good to me.”

You chuckle, walking towards the entrance. “See you around, hero.”

“Your heart is racing, [Name].”

“How about we stop talking for a while.”

He watches you walk off. His eyes watch the sway of your hips before he shakes himself out of it. Then, he groans.

“I forgot to get their name.”

The room is cold and only filled with a few students. Their faces are nervous, and if they aren’t, their demeanor is. They’re obviously middle or lower-class kids. You root for them in your head. They’re also in nicer clothes than you are, whoops.

Like you thought, the test is super easy. You finish it far before anyone else, and sit in silence as the clock ticks. You flick the pencil in your hand around, twirling it. Sooner or later, you’ll have to start finding a way back home. You regret not paying attention when Miguel explained things to you. There’s also that whole particle accelerator thing. You sincerely doubt you’ll be able to build something like that yourself. You don’t have access to that kind of money or material, so you’ll find a way to build a watch. Hobie did it, why can’t you?

“Time’s up.”

You blink. The test proctor makes her way around the room, picking up tests as she goes. She gives you a subtle stink-eye when she makes her way to you, and you look her head on. She huffs and makes her way to the front of the room when she’s done.

“You’ll receive a letter of acceptance or denial in a week’s time.” She emphasizes denial and looks straight at you when she does. What a hater.

You walk out the school feeling light. The sky is still cloudy, as it always is. Then, you’re eyes spot a figure waving at you from outside the gate. It’s Jon. What the fu–

You pause in your tracks as he walks up to you.

“So? How’d it go?”

He meets your incredulous stare. “...what?”

“Were you waiting here the whole time?” The test was 2 hours long!

His eyes widened. “No! I went and did some errands. I just came back like five minutes ago.”

You huff in disbelief. “How’d you know when it would be over?”

“My friend has taken it before.” He probably means Damian.

He offers his arm to you, but you hold out palm. “You’re nice and all, but I’m not letting you know where I live just yet.” He gives you confused puppy eyes. “You’re cute, but not that cute,” you pat his cheek as you walk past him.

He watches you walk past him, before remembering himself and calls out. “What’s your name?”

“Not that cute!” You remind him.

He chuckles in disbelief. He’ll find it out.

notes: i didn't plan for jon to kinda be whipped with reader but i couldnt stop my hands. apologies if he's ooc bc i have not read a single dc comic and all my characterization of him comes through fanfics ive read LOL. i imagine he'd be a little flirty once he get's comfortable with his Superboy mantle.

also he's not like immediately in love with reader or anything, he's just being a teenage boy. he'll get a grip eventually. probably.

karen: why does superboy call you babygirl

reader: how about we stop talking for a little while - jon: how did you know who to spell my name without the h? most people spell it 'john'.

reader: *nervous sweating*

[mithliya]

i’m getting spammed with anon hate and i honestly don’t think this place is redeemable so im probs not going to be posting for idk how long. radblr has given me less than nothing. since joining radblr, people have overwhelmingly been unbelievably cruel to me.

my first year on radblr, women 1-2 decades older than me viciously harassed me for asking questions as someone not familiar with certain beliefs held here. these women harassed me for months non-stop, posted my full legal name, posted homes neighbouring where i lived in bahrain, and essentially released my private information. i had to threaten them back just in hopes they would leave me alone, which they didn’t really do. they simply stopped posting my name bc they wanted to make me look like im bad for finding one of their names simply by googling her url (her full name was her twitter username). one of the people in that circle was radicaldumbass, who then came back as macroclit, and again came back as radicalstoner. i moved on but i haven’t forgotten.

then, black-diaspora repeated the same thing. she posted pictures of my mother and led people to finding my mom's facebook. to this day, i still get anons with my mother’s name and my sister’s name. my sister was about 13 when anons first started sending me her name in threatening anons. somehow, black-diaspora was rewritten as a victim of mine despite her being repeatedly racist & lesbophobic to me & posting my mom’s info.

i was being abused by my ex-gf and women on here literally picked my abuse apart and enabled TRAs like lostelvenqueen to make up lies that i was the one abusing my abuser. that vicious lie was reiterated for 4 years. while being abused, women on radblr were mocking me for needing money when my ex-girlfriend was actively stealing from me at the time. to this day people use against me the fact that i needed help in that time bc some mutuals helped finance 2 dinners & my medication, all of which i either paid them back for or drew art as payment.

then, again, another woman dug through an old blog i ran as a teenager and found some posts here and there to make it seem like i, as a 15 and 16 year old, definitely loved being totally controlled by someone and physically abused whenever i didn’t follow his exact commands. i spoke openly about this trauma years prior to this person “exposing” me & arguing that i actually wanted that abuse by pointing to random innocuous posts and forming a story out of it. i think every abuse victim can imagine how difficult it is to still face trauma from something and instead of being allowed to heal, having it brought up to you several days a week to taunt you and having “feminists” tell you that you actually wanted it and are lying when you say otherwise. to this day, i get daily anons mentioning my name because this woman also put my legal name out there.

women here have put me in physical danger, they have made up the vilest lies about me, they’ve called me racial slurs, they’ve been outright racist to me, they’ve speculated about my rape & abuse, they’ve joked about lynching me, they’ve questioned things as minuscule as what i had for dinner. and despite that, i haven’t returned that same treatment. i remained relatively consistent, i simply criticised what i thought was wrong and provided evidence to my statements.

i made some nice friends on here & i’ll keep talking to them. but i’m going to be reevaluating why i’m wasting my time in a space that has overwhelmingly caused me stress, a space where countless unbelievable lies have been spun about me and a place where people have said & done the vilest things and in the end, i was always framed as a bad person based on half-truths or outright lies. now, people falsely claim that women who unfollow me or block me risk having their private information exposed, when i have met at least a dozen women from radblr and run a server with hundreds of women from radblr, have seen hundreds of faces, and have never exposed such information even if we end up disliking each other. i could tolerate many ridiculous lies, but why should i? i’m pretty fed up of tolerating this.

enjoy spinning this however you want and lying about me further. idk when i’ll be back or if i’ll want to be back. it’s pretty clear to me that this space prioritises lesbophobes & racists (& sometimes even downright misogynists) over people who calmly criticise it. i joined this space initially bc i thought it was somewhere where i could freely be a lesbian without being hassled for it, but radblr doesn’t even offer that anymore.

[mariacallous]

Since the conversation, if you can call it that, about trans people always seems to come down to bathrooms, I am sure of one thing.

I would much rather share a ladies’ room or a locker room with Sarah McBride than with Nancy Mace.

McBride, of course, was just elected to Congress and, in January, will be the highest-ranking elected official in America who is transgender. The 34-year-old comes to the US House of Representatives after serving in the Delaware legislature; before that, she was the national press secretary of the Human Rights Campaign.

Mace, a member of Congress from South Carolina since 2021, has been on an ugly campaign in recent weeks clearly intended to belittle and marginalize McBride – and to get on TV as much as possible doing so. She has filed a resolution, and the House speaker, Mike Johnson, has given it his nod of approval, that would somehow force trans people to keep out of the congressional bathrooms that reflect their gender identity.

“If you think this bill is about protecting women and not simply a ploy to get on Fox News, you’ve been fooled,” wrote Natalie Johnson, Mace’s former communications director. She added, pointedly, that a real effort to protect women would involve “a bill to bar Matt Gaetz, a sexual predator with an affinity for underage girls, from ever walking those halls again”. (Trump, as you know, tapped the far-right former Florida representative as his attorney general as part of this month’s parade of appalling cabinet choices. Gaetz later withdrew from consideration.)

On Wednesday, McBride reacted with dignity to all the performative insults and abuse. She simply responded that she would follow the rules and that she’s in Congress to represent her Delaware district; I’m sure she’ll eventually find ways to continue her admirable advocacy.

Mace, on the other hand, can’t be described as dignified. She’s running around pasting the word “biological” on restroom doors for photo ops, and snidely tweeting in McBride’s direction about International Men’s Day.

And she’s getting plenty of the media attention she craves.

On one level, this is all part of the unending circus of the Trump era.

On a human level, it’s scary, wrong and damaging.

“As a trans person myself, I’m really worried about where this is headed,” wrote Parker Molloy, who writes incisively about politics and media in her newsletter the Present Age. “I spend each day worrying about whether or not the healthcare that keeps me alive will remain legal, whether I’m going to face new restrictions on where I’m allowed to exist in public, what would happen to me if (god forbid) I wound up in prison for some reason, and whether or not my identity documents like my passport will be retroactively made invalid.”

She added poignantly: “Now, more than ever, I feel alone.”

Trans students may have it even worse. Again, it often comes down to bathrooms.

A lot of children, especially transgender and gender-nonconforming children, avoid bathrooms all day, since that’s where the bullying can be most intense. Thus, advocates say, trans kids often are prone to urinary tract infections or eating disorders because they’ve avoided eating and drinking.

As for the right’s obsession with trans students on sports team, the vast majority have no unfair advantage on the playing fields (or courts, or pools). They are just trying to reap the same benefits of sports as do other kids – leadership, teamwork and friendship.

The meanspirited and misinformed narrative about transgender people makes it difficult for them to feel cared about and to live full lives.

But don’t try to tell that to Mace, whose preoccupation is not with kindness or decency, but with getting attention and winning the culture wars.

As the Daily Beast reported last year, Mace’s staffers were given a handbook that outlined just how intensely this mattered to their boss; they were told to book her on TV multiple times a day, amounting to nine times a week for national outlets and six times a week for local outlets.

In 2021, Mace depicted herself as supportive of LGBTQ+ rights. That was before the tide turned so forcefully and, as Philip Bump of the Washington Post put it, before “the Republican base had been fed a steady diet of anti-trans rhetoric, making trans issues fertile ground for anyone willing to engage in the fight”.

Mace, clearly, is more than willing.

If that means being cruel, then so be it. As writer Adam Serwer observed about Trumpian politics: “The cruelty is the point.”

Meanwhile, vulnerable and marginalized people are made to suffer for trying to be true to themselves. And despite the progress shown by McBride’s election, the world around this milestone seems to be getting increasingly harsh.

[budbuddnbuddy]

Little obey me headcanons (pt4)

(Pt5)

A/N: This probably like the second longest series of writing I’ve done fanfic wise. Lol anyway same stuff is here. Headcaons and world building, maybe once I get everything done with the masterlist I’ll show you guys my MC’s (yes I have 2 MC’s in the same verse) but I’m still not sure. Let me know what y’all think. Happy new year!!!

Everyone is super nosy about your life in the human world, some are more obvious and pushy then others but regardless they still want to know about every detail of your life, what kind of job do you have? What’s your family like? Do you live in acountryside or in City? Where’s your workplace? What’s your address? What’s your full legal name? What’s your blood type? Do you own any pets! Tell them all about it.

The Devildom and the Celestial realm have small populations. Devildom:50 million+ Celestial realm:45 million+ mainly because lots of people would rather not have kids because it would probably get in the way of what they were doing in their lives currently however it’s not uncommon to see families out and about. Nobles are the main ones who have families in the devildom.

Do you think that like a week after Diavolo was born his father did that lion king thing that Royal family does whenever they have another kid? Just basically raising him up for everyone to see? 💀

As I’ve said before Mammon has a great ass, you can’t help but grab it anytime you can, just coming up behind him and grabbing his cheek. It mainly happens in your room, both of y’all are laying in your bed with him on top of you resting his head on your chest and you’ll just unconsciously reach down and give it a squeeze. He used to loudly whine about it but he secretly loves it lmao.

When it comes to relationships and Virginity, I feel like I have a pretty decent grasp on who’s had what and who hasn’t.

Relationship+Experience: Lucifer Mammon Asmodeus Barbatos Solomon

Relationship+Virgin: Beelzebub Satan

No Relationship+ Experience: Belphegor only like twice though cuz I fucking hate him [affectionate]

Neither: Leviathan, Diavolo

Diavolo kin’s Pops from regular show unironically.

If you ever heard about the Mariko Aoki phenomenon good but if not it’s basically the need to take a crap in bookstores however if you leave before you do then the feeling goes away. Whenever you go into Satan’s room you automatically get the urge to take a shit, you haven’t told him about it the confused look on his face is too funny. 💀

Speaking of Poop. If any of the brothers can’t get into the bathrooms available on their floor/rooms they’ll come down to your room and ask if they can use your bathroom which you used to be fine with AT FIRST however you eventually banned them from coming into your bathroom because Beel took a massive shit in your toilet and it stunk up your bathroom for DAYS and Lemme tell ya, handling demon shits from GROWN ASS MEN are not for the weak.

“Phew…Thanks for letting me use your bathroom, MC.”

“No problem Beel I-“ *Turns into fucking dust*

Okay that’s not what happened but you did pass out. Beelzebub did say sorry and bought you a cupcake as compensation so I guess it’s okay for now, still not allowed to use your bathroom though.

[seresinhangmanjake]

And, Honey, I’ll Make It All Okay

Dad!Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female reader

Summary: Jake might be getting used to his mother being around you and his baby girl, but he still had zero interest in allowing his father within a hundred miles of his family. Sometimes, though, things happen that aren’t in his control, despite how desperately he needs them to be. 

Warnings: Alcohol, hints of alcoholism and past abuse (not physical), cursing. Protective Seresins working together like the damn power rangers. 

Notes: Suggested by an anon / Part of the Oh, Baby Universe. A follow up to It’s What You Make It

Words: 4060

------

“So, this little one is a Seresin, huh?”

Jake looked up from the book in his lap—the one he’d bought when he realized he was two whole months behind you in parenting knowledge and felt a desperation to catch up quickly before he ruined his daughter's childhood. He set it aside, meeting his mother's raised brow. 

“I was told you legally changed her name,” she continued as she bounced Eve on her lap, gentle jolts up and down making the girl giggle.

The memory of his birthday present that held within it so many promises of the future you’d share was still strong. He thought of it every morning, loving how it entered his mind like clockwork the second he looked down at your sleeping face beside him. You were in it with him for the long haul—you and Eve—and you’d made it so wonderfully known in a way that could not be outdone. 

Jake smiled, not just at the reminder of your gift, but for many reasons. For the happiness on his daughter’s face as she sat with her grandmother, for the ease with which you and his mother got along, for the way she proved to so seamlessly blend into his family over the last four days. He smiled because he had every right to. Just as he had every right not to tell her about his daughter’s change of name. 

Despite obviously gaining your trust, she had yet to fully gain his. He wanted to let that door stay open, but she’d be back in Texas within a day, and there was no guarantee she could keep his secrets upon her return home. And if his father knew the choice made over Eve’s name, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away. 

That was the last thing Jake needed. The last thing you needed. 

“Yea,” he said, swallowing, sitting up a bit straighter in the leather armchair. “We did.”

“Anyone else’s name you plan to change soon?”

Jake hesitated. He hadn’t planned to tell his parents. Not about any of it. Not where or how or when he chose to propose. Not about the ring he had made months ago. Not about his wedding, his marriage. Not anything about the details of his life after the bridge they’d set aflame. And he still wasn’t sure his mother had earned the knowledge, but Jake couldn’t deny how obvious he made his intentions without so much as uttering a single word about it. He wanted you, forever, and not a soul with two eyes would think otherwise. 

“Um—I’m working on it.”

“Do you have a ring?”

“I do.”

“Good.” His mother gave a firm nod. “She’s perfect for you.”

That was an understatement, he thought. It was not enough. Perfect for him, truly, but somehow more, too.

Shaking his head, he said, “She’s everything. She and my baby girl are absolutely everything.”

His mother was silent. Her wide grin traveled from her son to the girl in her arms when a tiny hand reached high to touch her cheek. 

“Sweet girl,” she sighed, taking the little hand in hers. 

Eve was the first to accept his mother. 

From the moment their eyes connected a bond was formed that Jake could never fairly break, whether he eventually learned to give his complete trust to his mother or not. Though Eve was so young, there was no doubt in Jake’s mind that she would feel the absence of his mother if they were no longer in one another’s lives. But maintaining that relationship would come with conditions—requirements—mostly along the lines of keeping his father away from you and Eve at all times, in every way possible.

Of course, there was an additional possibility; one his Gram had suggested despite it going against the will of her own son. And you hadn’t argued it, instead leaving the choice to him. A choice that once offered, he really couldn’t go back on. But it was also an opportunity that if taken would actually mean something—a massive leap in the right direction. 

Jake leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on the tips of his knees and clasping his hands. They wrung slowly, nerves exposed through the subtle act. 

“Mom,” he began. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled lightly on the chapped skin. She took her eyes off the girl. He released his lip. “You should stay,” he finally said.

There was a brief flash across her irises. She was just as surprised at hearing his suggestion as he was when deciding to speak it. Her lips quirked a tad, but a moment later they fell back into their natural line, the slight downturned shape making the pinch between her brows seem all the more disheartening.

“Sweetheart…” She sighed again before hugging her granddaughter closer. 

“Let me help you. I can find you a place close by,” he said, finding himself rushing his words from a sudden need to convince her. “You and Dad separated once. You can—”

“Jake, stop.” She stood fast, sharply, impressively without stirring Eve, and closed the few steps between her spot on the couch and Jake’s chair. Carefully handing the infant over, she said, “I think I’ll find your Gram and take her to lunch.”

Her voice was meek on that last bit, too much like her approach with him days before when she showed up out of nowhere begging to be a part of his life. She smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles of her skirt and turned on her heel.

“Just think about it,” Jake said to her back, and from her stuttered step he knew she heard him. “Alright?”

She said nothing. And walked on.

—

You’d been itching to get him alone all day. Jake saw it in your consistent stare that wandered from his grandmother to him whenever he was in range of his mother. But his Gram had occupied your time—his mother Eve’s—and he wasn’t able to give you the chance to drag him away like you had so clearly wanted. In your shared room, though, nothing kept the two of you apart. And while Jake had plans—plans that would definitely require him holding his hand over your mouth from your inability to keep quiet (which, without his mother and grandmother in his house, he would’ve loved)---you had other ideas. 

“Did you ask?”

His brow arched at the childlike curiosity you were trying to contain; at how you were a fraction away from bouncing on your toes in anticipation for the answer. Not with excitement, but with an anxious intensity that seeped through the innocence of your question. He nodded. “She didn’t give me an answer.”

And in that same childlike theme, your face fell into a pout. You sighed and plopped down on the mattress, the nightie that barely covered your mid-thighs rising higher. Jake’s fingers twitched to slide along the smooth expanse of skin, but you sighed again and your hands slapped down on those thighs in some odd form of defeat that Jake didn’t understand, and he couldn’t help but notice the distress on your face. 

His mind switched within an instant. Your worry his worry. And he crouched in front of you, taking one of your hands in his. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head but he didn’t buy it.

“You really want her to stay?” He examined your face. The frown, the pinched brows, the bitten lip. It was not a look he ever cared to see. “Why so badly?”

You rose quickly, unintentionally knocking him off kilter. You reached a hand out to help steady him, which he took and refused to release even as you tried to begin your pacing. It was only one step that you took before Jake twisted you, wrapping you in his arms to calm you down. 

“Honey…”

You were staring up at him, waiting; for what, he didn’t know, but he waited just the same. Until you were ready.

“Jake, with Eve I felt so alone. I had her and I loved her so much—so much—but my mother wasn’t easy on me. Living with her wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be with you. I wanted my family to be with you. And I just…” You took a breath, looking away from him. His knuckle under your chin made gazes lock again. “I see that in your mother,” you continued. “She’s told me about your dad, and I thought if she had the choice she would stay here, with us…with Eve.”

The tenseness in his shoulders from your distress loosened a tad. “It was your idea? I thought—”

You shrugged. “Your Gram knows your mother better than I do. I figured if she was the one to mention the idea then you’d be more likely to consider it.”

He couldn’t find his words. Jake's heartbeat sped at a pace he instantly recognized. The pace he'd felt when he first saw you behind the bar at the Hard Deck. The same pace when you walked into Rooster's house with Eve. The pace that told him he was in love with you, then and now. 

He pulled you closer, and with a hand sliding behind your neck, he kissed you. You squeaked into the unexpectedness before settling into it, letting your fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt at his waist. Jake was thorough, savoring. Your lips sweet against his, tongue lightly teasing, hand weaving into your hair the way he knew you liked. He wanted to give you everything in that kiss. Because in you was that “more” he wasn’t quite able to explain. Perfect for him…but somehow more. It was the part of you that other people didn’t have. The part that took on responsibilities that weren't yours, and tried to protect people that hadn’t done the same for you. A kindness that was so fucking rare. So unbelievable.

You broke the kiss well before he was ready, a question on your face.

“I love you," he said, cupping your jaw, thumbs stroking your cheeks. He shook his head, like he always did when he paused for a moment to take in his life. Never would he have imagined the luck that had washed over him. The luck to have found you, to have you want him as much as he did you, to share a daughter with you. Jake wasn’t known for picturing much of a future with any woman until he saw you, and the very idea of not having met was a tight knot in his chest. It was impossible now. No one could go back in time and change the course set, but even the thought of what might not have been was too much for him to take. "You are so—"

A knock on a door silenced him. 

Jake counted three seconds and the sound repeated. He hadn’t misheard.

His hands fell away from your face as both your heads whipped to the bedroom door. 

His daughter was asleep—that was his first concern. His baby girl was trying to get her rest and that booming through the walls of the house might've been enough to wake her. 

Then he recalled the hour. 

"Who in the—"

"Stay here," Jake ordered as he stepped toward the door, a hand extended behind him, palm up and facing you to try to stop what he knew was coming. 

"No way." You were already tying the strings of your silk robe at your waist.

He sighed, looking back. "Honey—"

"No."

It boomed again. 

Jake winced, waiting for the high-pitched wails from down the hall. They didn't come so he left the room and began down the stairs with you at his heels. 

"Will you at least stay in the kitchen?"

"No, Jake."

"Jesus, woman,” he huffed. The hall?"

He could feel your glare at the back of his head. "...Fine."

"Thank you."

That created at least twenty paces between you and whatever was on the other side of that door. He wouldn't be able to get you any farther away, so that would have to do. 

The noise grew louder with each bang—a beast trying to break through the door as Jake walked closer and wrapped his fingers around the knob. A piece of him screamed to turn back, pretend it wasn't there until it went away, but the territorial part in him said this was his house, his woman, his baby, his family, and he wasn’t going to be hiding in his own home. 

He eased it open just the slightest. But even that was too much. 

His father shoved his way into the house in such a flash of movement that there wasn’t time to react. Jake stumbled, his back hitting hard against the wall. He grunted and looked up. His father stood still, chest rising and falling heavily under a tailored, buttoned jacket while his eyes scanned over the length of you. 

Jake didn't have a second to take in the shock of his father's presence. He shifted into defense. "Don't you dare look at her," he growled.

His father gestured lazily in your direction before meeting Jake's murderous stare. "Your whore, I'm guessing?" 

The hitch of your breath practically echoed, the soft whisper somehow strong enough to bounce off the walls. 

Jake instantly felt the shame of it; of failing to keep the secret of his father's disgusting opinions from revealing. And that sound that left your throat cracked his heart right down the middle. 

His father tsked. "So transparent."

Jake stepped forward and slammed his hand into the older man's shoulder, forcing his stance away from you and towards him. "Get the fuck out of my house."

"Nope," he chuckled, or something mildly akin. It was sloppy, jumbled together. An odd sound barely recognizable as a laugh. 

And then Jake could see it. He could hear it. Could practically feel it. "You've been drinking," he said.

"Airlines are generous for men like me; you know that. Now, I'm here for your mother." He cupped his hands around his mouth. Took a deep breath. "Eliza!"

"Jake…" 

Your voice quivered, drawing Jake's eye. Eve began sobbing upstairs from the incessant screams of his mother's name. Panic coursed through his veins at a rapid rate.

"Honey, go to Eve."

"But—"

"Please," he begged, but you hesitated. "Honey, please."

You'd barely made a move before his mother was walking into the room, her granddaughter tucked in her arms and mother-in-law following behind. His mother's face didn't alter at the sight 

of her husband.

"Here," she said, handing you a hiccupping, wet-faced Eve. "She needs her mother." 

She made her way down the hall and smiled sadly when she reached Jake. Her hand rested on his bicep and she lightly squeezed. "And they need you." She nudged her head in your direction.

"Mom—"

"Go to your family. This is not your responsibility."

Jake glanced at his father; at the smug look on his face ever so slightly veiled by an alcohol-induced haze. 

Looking back at his mother, he said, "It's not yours, either."

"We're leaving, Eliza." 

His father was growing impatient, and his mother continued on as though she wasn't concerned with the ticking time bomb just feet away from her. She was, as usual, handling him the way she did best. Calmly. Cleverly. A true professional in an art no one would ever have ambitions to hone. 

She nudged Jake over until he relented and did as she asked. "John," she sighed, turning to him, "you do not want to be arrested in a different state. You'll be fired within the week."

"You're not calling the police."

"Jake will," she replied. "He won't give it a second thought. You're scaring his family."

"His family." Jake's father scoffed, crossing his arms. "An insignificant woman and a child that isn't his."

Your eyes snapped up to Jake's and he hugged you tighter, Eve nestled between your bodies. He knew he'd have to explain it all because you'd undoubtedly demand it of him. And he owed you that, at the very least. Even though the very thought of speaking it aloud stirred his stomach and made him wish there was something, anything, he could sacrifice in return for not having to tell you. He’d willingly snap one of his own bones if it meant he didn’t have to see your face twist in pain and anger and shame, but it was too late for that. 

"She's his, John," his mother insisted. "And you need to go."

"Then get your things."

"I'm staying."

"The hell you are!"

It was then that Gram shot herself out from the sideline, a short ball of fiery fury, hands clenched at her sides. "Enough!"

Jake’s father squinted as if there were a true flame assaulting his vision, but when his altered brain caught up with him, his eyes widened, his head jerked back, he stared at his own mother like he was seeing her for the very first time. As he was, Jake understood then. His father hadn’t sensed her there amidst the scene he was making. 

Jake didn’t know how his father came to learn of where his wife had gone, but he clearly hadn’t expected the same betrayal from the woman who raised him. And such an older man—a man who had always embodied power and force, determination and demand—was just barely restraining himself from shrinking where he stood. 

“I tried so hard,” Gram said, practically shaking, from anger or angst Jake couldn’t say, “to keep you from being like this. I didn’t want you to be like him. I tried so hard and I failed so greatly, and I don’t know how, because I put everything I had into it,” Tears were streaming down her cheeks, one of them dropping onto the hardwood floor. She sniffled. “Jake is not like you, or the men who came before you. And thank god he has always been strong enough to keep you from ruining that.” You buried your face into Jake’s neck as she spoke. “He’s a protector; He does his job. And I will do mine. So you aren’t taking anyone home, I am taking you home.”

Shock fell across her son’s face too quickly to have the chance to be concealed. His lips parted, then they curved to form words. “You don’t—”

“Jake, dear,” his Gram started, head turned to the side to help carry her voice over her shoulder, “Would you call us a car? Surely there is still one available at this hour.”

You took a sudden step forward and Jake instinctually wrapped his fingers around your arm to keep you and his daughter close. “Eve, we aren’t going to let you sit in an airport until you find a flight back to Texas,” you said.

“Eliza I and were leaving first thing in the morning anyway. We will take her ticket. She will stay. We will go.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Jake’s father snapped. He hadn’t bothered to notice his wife making her way closer to their son. He hadn’t so much as glanced at his new granddaughter. Jake wasn’t surprised. His father rarely paid attention to anything. Giving something attention meant acknowledging it was real which meant deciding whether or not to care. He didn’t care. He never did. And it had been decades since much attention had been paid to anything other than himself and the control he refused to relinquish. 

“Then Jake can call the cops instead,” Gram stated. The tears were gone, dried in lengthy lines down her face, but her tone conveyed her heartbreak. “As your mother, that is not what I would prefer, but one way or another you are leaving this house. Tonight.” She inhaled, expelling the heaviest of sighs through her nose. “So, what is it going to be, son?”

—

He watched you from the doorway as you leaned over your daughter’s crib, brushing her wispy hairs out of her face before running your finger softly along the plush cheek. You hadn’t said a word when his Gram and father left. You let him kiss your temple and the top of his baby girl’s head, then you were slipping from his arms to put your child back to sleep as if the night were any other. 

Jake felt lost in the mess—everything he didn’t want you to witness accompanied by the man he never wanted you to meet. The man he came from that he was terrified would make you question just who the father of your daughter might be capable of one day becoming. It would kill him…losing you. Like pliers yanking out chunks of his heart bit by bit until he was left with nothing.

You finally straightened your spine and Jake stepped up behind you, curling his arms around your waist and pulling your back flush against his chest. Need your touch, he thought. As much of your body against his as could be managed. Your hand settled on his forearm when he began to press slow, gentle kisses from your jaw to your neck to your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between each meeting of lips and skin. “I’m so sorry.”

Leaning your head back into his shoulder, eyelids closing, you said, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“He came into our home. Insulted you. Scared our daughter.” His hold on you tightened. He inhaled you. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t let anything like that happen.”

Your eyes opened and your head lifted and you met his close gaze. “Baby, we’re alright,” you swore. “We’re safe.” 

He wanted to shake his head. 

“Look at her,” you said, shifting your line of vision to the baby girl in her crib. “She’s safe. She’s perfect.”

“And you?”

Lightly chuckling, you said, “Intact, if you can’t tell.”

Any other day, he would’ve laughed with you. He would have smiled. He would’ve kissed you and taken your teasing for unintentionally getting carried away. He would’ve led you back to your shared bedroom and you’d have fallen atop the mattress and continued kissing and stripping clothes, and you’d get lost in enjoying one another as you so often easily did.

But this wasn’t any other day. 

“I’m not like him,” Jake whispered. “I won’t ever be.”

Despite his hold on you, you spun harshly in his arms. Your brow furrowed. Anger? Confusion? He guessed both. “No, you won’t,” you stressed. “That goes without saying, Jake.”  

When he didn't respond, your hands cupped his cheeks. “Jake, I know you better than anyone. Had that man not shared your eyes, I would never have believed you came from him. Do you understand me?"  

Your soft palms, warm and gentle, and your sweet words, nice and thick like a coating of honey over his body, completely threw him off the edge of the cliff he’d been teetering on all night. His nose stung. His eyes felt pressure under the threat of tears. So many tears were shed in his home in such a short period of time. A new one escaped and your face shattered. 

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, swiping the droplet away with your thumb. “Come here.”

You unraveled yourself from him and he hated it, but then you took his hand and encouraged his steps closer to the crib. Reaching in, you lifted your sleeping daughter, nestling her against your breast. “Kiss our girl,” you said, “Because she’s safe.”

Jake sniffed and swallowed and leaned down to press a long kiss to Eve’s forehead. You nodded and returned her to her little bed, then took his hand again and led him to your bedroom. When you closed the door you faced him, dropped your robe, and walked back into his space, into the cocoon of his arms. 

“Now kiss me.” Your voice was low in the nonexistent space between you. But there was a neediness woven through the words. A neediness he understood incredibly well. “Because I’m safe.”

Lips met. Your arms circled his neck. His fingers slipped under the hem of the silken fabric you wore, thin material rising as his hands moved further up your body. More skin, that’s all he wanted. Just…more. 

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead on yours. 

“We’re always safe with you Jake,” you muttered. "And we won’t forget it."

----

A/N: Turn on notifications for this blog or @seresinhangmanjake-library if you would like to keep up with my writing :)

[judasofsuburbia]

could be something as simple as this || argyle week day two: favorite tropes

rating: teen and up || pairing: argyle/jonathan || word count: 1951 || read on ao3 here

day two of @argyledaily 's argyle week: favorite tropes (friends to lovers)

“That’s gonna be us one day,” Argyle whispers in Jonathan’s ear.

Jonathan chokes on his own spit. “What?”

“That,” Argyle gestures to Hopper and Joyce holding hands as they read their vows. 

Jonathan stares at him with a look so incredulous while a smile tugs at the edge of his lips.

“It’s not legal,” Jonathan points out, still keeping his voice down enough to not disturb the ceremony.

Argyle glances his way and smirks, “Sorry, are we law-abiding citizens now?”

“We’re not dating,” Jonathan counters with a whisper. 

“I like how that was your second thought,” Argyle responds, his smirk growing wider. 

“I‒” Jonathan stutters and shakes his head. “You’re messing with me.”

“I’m not,” Argyle says simply. 

“What makes you think we’re getting married?” Jonathan asks. Not in a cruel or mean way, based on the blush lighting up his whole face.

Argyle shrugs, “I just know.”

Jonathan watches him with that same questioning look for the rest of the ceremony and into the reception but doesn’t refuse when Argyle offers his hand for a dance. Jonathan thinks for a moment that they’ll do some kind of exaggerated, stupid dance to offset all the couples on the floor but instead, Argyle pulls him in close, clasps their hands together, and holds his lower back firm and steady. Slowly twirls him around the floor in smooth movements. Jonathan laughs for a little while but soon, he’s in deep. Allowing himself to be held and maybe romanced for the first time in a long time.

It’s not like anyone’s staring at them, they’re around all their closest friends and family. 

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” Jonathan asks, a little breathless.

“My parents,” Argyle says. “They loved dancing around the living room when they would come home from date nights. My sister and I would watch from the banister when we were supposed to be in bed.”

“Did you ever get caught?”

Argyle smiles fondly, “Almost every time but it was worth it.”

The song cascades into another slow song and Argyle hasn’t let go so Jonathan won’t either. It’s really nice if he’s being honest.

“You’re good on your feet.”

“I know, dude,” Argyle says with a righteous huff. “It’s what will make me a good husband… amongst other things.”

Jonathan ducks his head and laughs but doesn’t quip back. He knows he hasn’t had enough champagne to make everything feel so floaty around him. He chalks it up to it being a long day of celebrating but the fluttering of his stomach when Argyle tightens his hold on his back would beg to differ.

The next wedding they attend is for one of Argyle’s uncles. Jonathan is a little surprised to be asked to tag along as his plus one but he doesn’t protest. He loves Argyle’s family and they love him.

Again during the ceremony, Argyle whispers, “That’s going to be us one day.”

They hadn’t brought up Joyce and Hopper’s wedding since it happened: The way they danced that entire reception, Argyle's simple declaration, nothing. Everything felt as it had been.

Although, they had become roommates in the interim. They shared meals. They shared a bathroom. They shared laughter and heartache. They shared blunts on a couch that was picked up from the side of the road. They shared their independence from adolescence.

But they were still just best friends.

Jonathan peeks around to make sure no one’s paying attention to them.

“You don’t think we’ll find anyone else?” Jonathan whispers.

Argyle tilts his head from side to side. “I don’t really want to. Do you?”

Jonathan blinks at him, opens his mouth a few times to say something, but ultimately doesn’t. They return their attention to the ceremony.

They don’t slow dance together at this reception and Jonathan tries to swallow his disappointment with a few fingers of bourbon. Not that he doesn’t have a good time letting loose with Argyle’s family and celebrating but there’s this tug in his chest the entire night. He's not sure where it came from.

He wonders if Argyle feels it too. 

They’re in the elevator on the way back to their shared hotel room when Jonathan blurts out, “You think we’re getting married?”

Argyle gives him a lazy grin. “ I do , man.”

They both start giggling at the double entendre and the elevator door opens to their floor. They stumble sleepily to the door and get inside. Argyle starts to get ready for bed until Jonathan tugs on his arm.

Argyle raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

“You’re gonna marry me someday but you’ve never kissed me.” Jonathan meant this more as a question than a statement but he does his best to stand tall and not back away from his feelings. Whatever his feelings might be right now, he's not entirely sure. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Argyle mumbles.

Jonathan hasn’t really thought this far but finds himself nodding before he can think otherwise.

Argyle takes a step closer, shaking Jonathan’s grip on his arm to hold his hand instead.

Jonathan intertwines their fingers, inhales and all he smells is Argyle, Argyle, Argyle .

“Are you going to remember me kissing you?” Argyle whispers, his breath hitting Jonathan’s face.

Jonathan checks in with himself. He’s not as crossfaded as he is just exhausted from the day. He can’t think of how he wouldn’t remember something like this.

Jonathan nods.

Argyle kisses him so tenderly and sweet that it makes his heart burst behind his ribs. Still, Jonathan kisses back and soon they’re up against the door. Jonathan’s free hand reaches up to hold the side of Argyle’s throat while Argyle’s free hand holds Jonathan’s waist. 

Argyle finds he likes the way their slight stubbles rub against each other. He likes the way Jonathan smiles into kisses like he’s just happy to be included. He likes the way Jonathan presses up against him like he can’t wait to get closer. 

They eventually stop kissing a little after subtle tongue and teeth have been involved. Argyle kisses either cheek and steps back. He observes the hazy look in Jonathan's eyes when they open, huffs an amused sound through his nose and walks off to the bathroom. 

“Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?” Argyle calls out.

Jonathan is frozen against the door, holding a shaky hand to his lips. “Uh,” Jonathan calls out. “Good.”

“Glad to hear it,” Argyle says with his head popped out the door. He closes the door and Jonathan hears the shower running. 

Jonathan slowly changes into his pajamas, still shaky and mushy from that damn good kiss. He eyes the bed he was supposed to sleep in with disdain and decides that he’s going to crawl under Argyle’s sheets instead. 

Jonathan’s out like a light within minutes. Argyle exits the bathroom in just some boxers and crawls in beside him. He kisses the top of Jonathan’s head and wraps his arms around him. Jonathan snuggles into his warm, freshly cleaned body, tucking his head into his neck. 

Jonathan does remember the kiss the next day and wants more. Argyle is happy to give them to him. 

A few years later, Max and Lucas are getting married. Argyle and Jonathan have been dating since the last wedding so Jonathan’s not caught as off-guard when, like clockwork, Argyle leans in to whisper, “That’s gonna be us one day.”

Jonathan squeezes the hand that’s resting on his shoulder, tangling their fingers together. 

“Do you want a big ceremony like this?” Jonathan asks. 

“Hmm,” Argyle hums. “Maybe something more lowkey.”

“Courthouse?”

Argyle’s face scrunches up. “I don’t like government buildings.”

“Church?”

“Do you believe in God?” Argyle asks with a disbelieving look. 

Jonathan chuckles under his breath. “Sure don’t.”

“We’ll find somewhere just for us,” Argyle promises. 

Jonathan smiles and kisses the square of his jaw. “We will.”

At this wedding, Jonathan and Argyle can dance the entire time. They can dip and kiss and be wrapped up in each other’s arms. Argyle even lets Jonathan lead a few of their dances, though he’s garbage at it. They can allow themselves to feel the gushy romantic feelings when people give their speeches and when they see the way Lucas and Max look at each other. 

Towards the end of the night while people are calling cabs and giving long, midwestern goodbyes, Argyle and Jonathan are seated at their table, messing with the ice in their empty drinks. Argyle holds out his hand and Jonathan places his hand in his.

“I don’t think I can do another dance,” Jonathan says with a yawn. “Plus I think the DJ is packing up for the night.”

Argyle quietly turns Jonathan’s hand so his ring finger is out. Argyle ties the paper from his straw around the finger in a little knot and kisses it gently. Jonathan’s breath is taken away.

“A placeholder,” Argyle explains with a soft smile.

“If you say so.”

“I’ve been saying so,” Argyle teases.

Jonathan picks up his straw wrapper and does the same to Argyle’s ring finger. Kisses it gently and everything. Whispers, “Then I’m saying so too.”

The promise is made at every wedding for the next few years. The whispered dialogue during the ceremony, the paper rings, the closeness during slow dances. Sealing it and sealing it over and over.

It’s not a Surfer Boy Pizza van anymore, but rather the lookalike van Argyle bought himself after he quit working there. The hunk of junk that holds his entire heart. Jonathan and him drive it all over the country, fluff it up with pillows and a camping mattress, and sleep under the stars. They’re currently in Mexico on a beach, watching the sun start to set behind the miles of the bluest ocean water you’ve ever seen. Jonathan is busy unwrapping their food from the restaurant down the street when Argyle clears his throat. 

Jonathan looks up and sees Argyle holding a ring box. He lamely sets the cardboard tins of food behind him and gives Argyle his full attention. 

“Jonathan Byers,” Argyle starts, “The most radical dude in the entire universe. Will you do me the honors of being my husband?”

Argyle opens the ring box and it’s stunning.

“When did you‒?” Jonathan asks.

“While you got dinner. Found this adorable little jewelry vendor when we were walking around yesterday and told her to hold onto this for me. I got myself one too but…” Argyle looks at him pointedly, his dark eyes vulnerable and pleading for an answer. 

“Yes, dude, yes, of course,” Jonathan laughs, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. 

Argyle slides the ring onto his finger and kisses the knuckle. Jonathan slides the other ring onto Argyle’s finger and another laugh bubbles out of him.

“All those years ago, at Joyce and Hopper’s wedding, how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That we were gonna get married.”

“I didn’t,” Argyle admits. “I just wanted it to happen.”

“But you were so confident,” Jonathan admires. “So sure I’d say yes.”

“I was never sure of that,” Argyle explains. “I just thought if I said it enough, maybe one day, you’d feel the same way. I never really expected you to. I was just a hopeful man.”

“I mean, you threw me for a loop but then, you did start to make some sense. I was starting to think maybe I didn’t want anyone else. Then you kissed me and it was all over,” Jonathan admits bashfully, leaning his head on Argyle’s shoulder. 

“So my plan worked,” Argyle states with a confident smile.

“It did, you relentless bastard,” Jonathan sighs as Argyle hugs him close and peppers his face with wet, smacking, ridiculous kisses.

[kaelidascope]

Fandom and LGBTQ Hostility and My Experiences Trying to Exist in Both Spaces Online

I came into these spaces with a very strict rule that I would not react or do anything cancel-worthy out of an overabundance of caution. Digital footprints are dangerous. The things you say online will follow you around forever. I know that first hand. I’ve bottled up and stayed silent about a lot of things I’ve either witnessed first-hand or experienced because I was trying to maintain a clean online persona. I’m not an ‘airing out dirty laundry’ type person. 

In light of recent events however, it’s gotten so bad that I can no longer sit here and not say something about how I feel. I’m disappointed and frustrated with the experiences I’ve had both in fandom and LGBTQ+ spaces and I can’t be complacent. I’m tired of getting treated like this, I’m fed up and I’m not going to put up with it anymore. I feel it’s important I voice what I’ve been watching and what’s happened and how I’m not going to tolerate it anymore by calling it out first hand. 

This is a two-topic rant. They overlap in some instances, but it directly has to do with how fandoms behave in general towards each other on Twitter and Tumblr, and also how absolutely hostile LGBTQ+ individuals are nowadays to each other on the same platforms. 

I come from a different generation and a different social media platform. I wasn’t on Twitter and Tumblr until last year. I’m not dismissing the fact that I may have missed out on decades worth of culture and social expectation. The places where I come from aren’t exactly fantastic either, but at least here, more queer people are interacting with each other with shared interests much more widely than in places like DeviantArt. The amount of culture and information I’ve absorbed in one year is more than I ever had within the past twenty years. It should be a good thing, and I’m disappointed that it wasn’t. 

This is not the way I wanted to come out online to anyone. I’ve been figuring out where I sit on the gender and sexuality spectrum for a while now. I will not document a specific timeline for anyone because that’s nobody’s business but my own. Within the last year, I took a massive stride forward in exploring things I legally didn’t think I was allowed to. I expected backlash from cishets and the usual thing I see LGBTQ+ folks write essays over, about how the world hates us, but at least we have each other. Shockingly, the backlash didn’t come from straight people. It came from other queers. 

I am 27 years old and I am entirely self-sufficient. I’m mixed Puerto Rican living in a red state. English wasn’t even my first language. I don’t have a network, so I’m teaching myself these things. I'm asking questions. I'm reading materials and expressions of self-experience and self-identity through fanworks and other autobiographical content. I'm actively trying to seek community and support through transgender and non-binary individuals with shared interests and so far all I've been met with is hostility and assumptions. So much so that I've now been made to feel like I'm on a timeline to figure it out so I can have a well-practiced, short introduction to copy and paste to every person who comes across me. And the only reason I even need one is so that they can make the decision to pass judgement over whether or not I'm allowed to speak, write, draw, wear, act, breathe the things I do. I'm disappointed. I'm anxious. I honestly feel more shoved into the closet now than I ever did before and I shouldn't be. Nobody should be treated this way when trying to figure out who they are. I probably won't even get an apology for the things that were said to me, either. I pride myself on the extraordinary caution I take to be politically correct, vetted through reputable sources, and as close to authentic as possible. And yet somehow I’m still getting called things like terf, transmisogynistic, triggering, when I’m fucking trans myself and all of my content gets vetted/REQUESTED by trans individuals. I get promised up and down that people are kind and welcoming in these sorts of spaces and honey, they aren’t. The people you choose to be friends with aren't as inclusive and friendly as you think they are. You don’t even know me and what body parts I have. The fact that you need to know in order to decide whether or not to treat me with respect is telling of an internal issue that has nothing to do with me. 

I have no reference point. I live in a place where laws ban anything gender and trans. I have no local resources or community. I've barely met any LGBTQ people in person. If I have, they never came out publicly. Most of my queer exposure has been online, and the fact that I've seen nothing but angry, mean, exclusive and discriminating behavior without any sort of reasoning why other than selfish defensiveness, I don't know where else I'm supposed to go for support. Something a lot of you guys need to take into retrospect is anyone who identifies as LGBTQ gets shot where I live. We have sundown towns here. If you don’t even know what that is, good, but also that’s telling of your privilege that you need to consider when talking to others not from blue states. I didn’t grow up in an environment where we had these highly liberal culture points and the word ‘gay’ was never allowed to be said out loud. We did not have gay clubs in school. I'm about as fucking late to this as you possibly can get. The only reason I know anything about our history, representation, and barely anything about what's socially acceptable and what's not, is because of the internet. So many of you had the privilege of being exposed to this information as young as under the age of 10. I didn’t. Sue me for not immediately knowing what every gender label means right off the bat. Half that stuff isn’t even legal here. 

I can't believe it's boiled down to the fact that I have to somehow justify my existence on this Earth and give an explanation that fits into predetermined boxes just to do anything to engage with other people. I have no time or space to figure it out. I’m disorganized and overwhelmed because I can’t ask questions about ‘can butches do this?’ ‘How versatile is transmasc/transfem?’ ‘Am I more genderqueer or do I fit under the trans umbrella?’ Gender and identity is fluid and ever changing. I have actually seen people harp and attack individuals for "defaulting" or "detransitioning" when they change their mind after giving this big coming out speech. It’s like support on these platforms is entirely conditional and a one-time thing. Y'all really expect people to wear the first style of shirt they buy for the rest of their life? Are we not allowed to do anything unless we know for sure? How’s college working out for you, for those who believe this mindset?

The vocally aggressive ones who use big words that contradict their statements can do, say, and be whatever they want.  But people like me can't. The ones who have to straight pass in public to keep their jobs and maintain their life safely. Some of us have been on our own since 19 with no family support. Consider the environment someone lives in before assigning your harsh assumptions. I can’t just change myself on a whim without doing significant damage control. Half the jobs I work for don’t even allow unnatural hair colors. If we list our pronouns as anything other than our assigned sex at birth, it causes legality issues with taxes. The way I have to navigate how to explore my identity and also keep a roof over my head and my bills paid may seem highly conservative to most. It’s in no way shape or form meant to reflect disrespect on how others live and express themselves. I am doing the best with the environment I have. The way I do things is not meant to be read as a message of ‘you’re doing it wrong because you’re not doing it the way I do.’ None of us are wrong. That should not be the subliminal message here. 

You know someone actually challenged me on that? Saying I was being harmful for purposefully straight presenting in public? Please research your country and state specific laws before you say that to me. If I could afford to live somewhere safer and queer-friendly, this conversation would be different. I am working on getting the fuck out of this state. But I don’t have a partner or parents money to default on. I’m doing this by myself. It’s not impossible, just a slow process. 

I'm disappointed and fed up. I've reached my limit, and I don't really care anymore if someone uses this essay to try and cancel me 5 or 10 years from now when the world goes through another gender renaissance of terms and identities. I will not put up with being treated like this when you refuse to listen to anyone else other than the sound of your own voice. I’m trying my best to learn, adapt, and express myself. I do not need to be lectured or be called derogatory things just because you think I’m coming from a malicious place.  

It’s not just about the hostility and gate-keeping behavior exhibited in online queer spaces. The same exact thing happens in fandom spaces too. People get pissy about queer headcanons and presentations so much to the point of taking it upon themselves to police the fandom and scrub it clean of “impurities.” I’ve watched y’all go through people's social media pages for any type of ammunition for justification of a personal grievance. It shocks me how much hyperfixation gets put on specific and morally harmless things when there are people out there writing diabolical shit way worse than what I have to offer. And y’all happily support them too but bark at me about what I make cus that author fits your social criteria and you assumed I didn’t. Don't think I'm ignorant to every single scrap of hate mail and harassment I've gotten over the past year and a half in my inboxes. Including the passive aggressive posts about my work, vague tweets, and discussions about me in discord servers. Over what? Have you actually read my work? If it’s actually as problematic as you say it is, provide me with a modern and unbiased example why this particular scene and execution is harmful. And not because you got triggered or disliked the kink, or read the summary/tags and assumed it was something it’s not. I don’t know how much more caution tape, massive warnings, obvious clear-cut tags (that were provided to me by queer individuals to PUT on there in the first place) out of insane amounts of caution I can do. I have always been willing to provide spoilers and explicit details in case someone is unsure how they’ll be affected by something I make. If you already don’t like it based on my warnings, that’s always been more than okay! My work is not for everyone. I’m getting tired of politely and respectfully saying please move on, because the message seems to be getting lost in translation. So let me be clear; 

Get off my pages if you don’t like what I make. It’s not for you. It will never be for you. Dead dove. DO NOT EAT. PREFERRED DEMOGRAPHIC 25+ ADULT CONTENT RATED E FOR EXPLICIT. I can recommend so many other fantastic creators with better suited content for you! If I could hide my content behind a roped off section deliberately keeping you from seeing it, I would. BLOCK ME. 

If your response to this section is ‘well then just don’t write it’. Honey, there’s people out here in the RWBY fandom writing trans incest actively commenting on all your shit and you respond back. A magic grimm-goo strap and monster smut featuring a transfem character (again, requested by literally 3 trans people and WRITTEN by one) should be the least of your worries. 

I have actively chosen not to address the harassment and hate mail, because it's sad that half of you hate me so much you need to make a point of telling me so regularly. I sincerely hope moving on with your lives will grant you peace of mind. Truly.

This is why I barely interact with anyone. Nothing but hostility, harassment, and expectation to behave in ways I cannot emotionally commit to. I am exhausted, uninspired, and have such a bad taste in my mouth it's proving extremely difficult to want to do anything creative. It’s been worse with my recent exploration of my gender identity. Opening one door to write about certain things somehow, miraculously, closes ones I previously existed in. I’m practically getting kicked out if I’m not 100% one way or another. I don’t go out of my way to shove my content down your throats. Why you feel the need to come to me and tell me you dislike my existence because you read it, despite me stating this is not for everyone and probably not for you, doesn’t have anything to do with me. Idk what else I can do. Disappear off the face of the planet, I guess. That seems to be what the overall solution is when y’all find something you don’t like. I can't believe I witnessed grown adults in their mid twenties with self-proclaimed senses of rightness start a trend on Twitter to go through people's mutuals and their likes to see if they’re socially acceptable in Fandom spaces or not. That was fucking ridiculous. And especially not fair to those who had their private accounts leaked and put on blast when it was already behind an vetted follower wall. Believe it or not, people draw weird, lewd, diabolical shit. They’re actually being responsible by putting it behind a paywall, or some type of ‘proof of age before following’ requirement. It falls on the people who go on there, take screenshots, and post them publicly for minors and non-consenting individuals to see without filters what was previously hidden. It’s irresponsible and immature. 

For fear of getting canceled by the Fandom, I moved all 600+ accounts I was following onto a private alt. I don't interact with my main anymore. I went so far into hiding and didn’t dare share anything about liking content made by people I wasn’t allowed to like, because that’s how cruel it is out here. It's honestly stupid I even felt like I had to do that. For what? People glazed over the brief moment of drama within a few weeks and went right back to posting the same shit they always have. They find new things to gossip about on their privs. New enemies to cancel on Twitter. New things to deem problematic and attack. 

I will be heard with this letter. I don’t care to be associated with anyone who treats people like this. I don’t believe in it, I won’t support it, and I’d rather have a small circle of people who won’t be rude or attack other people for existing. I’m not going to sit here and take the abuse any longer. Leave me in peace. There is no reason any of this should be happening. 

This is not meant to undermine the support I have gotten from the few who know what I'm going through and have given me the space to figure it out. I appreciate every question answered and insight provided as much as your abilities allow. I'm so grateful for it. I just wish it wasn't 2 people while everyone else is an asshole.

[wandussyfantasy]

Free Use (WandaNat)

Summary: After the events of Feeling Twenty-Two, Wanda invites you to stay with her and Natasha as long as you please. With the condition that they can have you whenever they want.

Word Count: 2.1k

WARNINGS:

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!!

bottom fem reader, g!p Wanda, g!p Nat, oral, threesome, legal age gap, praising, degrading, creampie, and freeuse

𝐌��𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

“I just don't understand why you won't tell us where you're moving to?” Kate gripes as she moves a box of your things into the moving truck. Wanda was happy to pay for it and even offered to hire movers but you didn't want to explain something you couldn't afford to your friends. After your trip to your home town, you returned to start a new semester at school. But you couldn't stop thinking about the women who made your twenty second birthday the most memorable birthday ever. They even took care of you the next morning and you never wanted to leave but you told them you had a flight a couple days from then that you couldn't miss. They understood and Wanda made you an offer that she allowed you to think about. She didn't want an immediate answer. She wanted you to think about it.

Which you did, every moment of every day. It was an unusual offer. But it was also a very beneficial one. It took her until the end of her summer break to feel confident in an answer. She had gone on several bad dates within that time and no one caught her eye enough to have a one night stand with. But she had plenty of nights by herself, masterbating to the memories of that night. 

“Kate, will you please drop it? I’ll come visit when I can. Besides, we have a few classes together. It's not the end of the world,” you say to comfort your friend. When you finally called Wanda and agreed, she invited you to her office. She is a lawyer, so she had a few legal documents of the arrangement drawn up. There is a discretion clause, meaning that you couldn't just parade around that you agreed to be a sex object for the couple. She said that you are allowed to have outside relationships and even have friends over at the house. But until you could figure out a way to explain your situation without explaining it, you didn't want your friends and family to know anything.

“Alright, I guess I can't say anything to make you stay,” Kate throws her hands up in defeat. “Just know, it's your fault if I end up in prison.”

You laugh at the thought of her blaming you for her actions. “How would that be my fault?”

Kate shrugs, “You keep me from doing stupid stuff. Now I can do all of the stupid stuff I want.”

You shake your head, “I’m sure your new girlfriend will supervise you.”

“Yelena will be in the cell with me, excuse you,” she pretends to be offended. 

The two of you share a laugh. You look around to see that everything you own is inside of the moving truck. “I’ll see you in class next week,” you pull your now former roommate into a tight hug. 

“I’m not going to see you for a whole week!” she is upset by the idea, but you couldn't promise any sooner. Not when it's your first week on the job. 

Live-in Nanny, is your official title. They don't have kids or even pets for that matter. But it looks good on paper for when you have to get a job after graduation and employers won't ask too many questions. “You’ll be fine without me for a week,” you say as you shut and lock the truck. 

You pull Kate into a quick hug before getting into the cab of the vehicle. You are anxious to get to Wanda and Natasha’s. Wanda had messaged you that they have a special welcome home celebration planned. You wanted to be there several hours ago. 

Arriving at the mansion again, your pussy gets wet at the first memories made here. The night of fucking and the morning of aftercare. Oh how excited you are to be back here. Once you park the vehicle, a moving team is ready to unpack the truck. You climb out and look at Wanda and Natasha with confusion written all over your face. “As excited as we are for you to move in, we aren’t going to waste time with that,” Natasha explains. 

“It’s not a waste of time,” Wanda corrects her wife. “We would have been happy to help you move in,” Wanda guides you into the house with an arm around you. “We just thought it was to preserve our energy for… other things.” You shift as you think about what the energy will be spent. 

“The little whore wants to ride our dicks while the movers work,” Natasha says to her wife in a low tone. Wanda shakes her head.

“Well, she will have to wait. I made a special dinner.” Wanda surprises you with a kiss on your neck. “But don't worry, babe, we'll have fun as soon as your stuff is moved in and the audience is gone,” she promises. 

“Of course, uh, what are we having?” Walking into the dining room, your question is answered without either having to say a word. Displayed among an extravagant dining table is a full spread of delicious looking food. “You really didn't have to,” you say to Wanda. 

“We know,” Natasha says as she pulls a chair out for herself. “But that's what makes Wanda so amazing,” she blows a kiss to her wife. She blushes and you love the way the couple interacts with each other. Wanda informed you that they've been together for close to eleven years but only married for four years. You asked her why they wanted to include you if they were happy with each other. Wanda told you that they have always wanted to have a more polyamorous relationship. But never could find someone that worked for both of them. Sure, there were people that were okay with being with a married person. But there weren't many that were okay with being with both Wanda and Natasha. You are the first. 

The meal is fun and easy. You were worried that although there is a great sexual chemistry, there might not be any other connection. But, those fears fade as the three of you engage in conversation for hours without an awkward silence. The food was amazing and you made sure to compliment Wanda. She flushed and asked you to stop raving, “You can thank me later,” she continued suggestively.

“I most definitely will,” you say as you imagine what you're going to do with her once you can. 

The three of you move to the living area to watch a movie. They insist that you sit in the middle and snuggle up to you shortly after the film starts. Halfway through the movie, the manager of the moving crew informs you all that they are finished. Wanda gets up to pay the man and his team. She leads him away and once the front door shuts, Natasha nudges you onto her lap. You comply out of curiosity and feel her erection at your entrance. She tries to pull down your yoga pants but finds it difficult to do so. Annoyed, Natasha rips the pants open so that your ass and pussy are exposed. She roughly massages your ass as you continue to watch the movie while getting increasingly aroused. 

Then, Natasha unzips her jeans and pulls herself out. She rubs her cock along your entrance, getting it covered in your juices. “Of course, you're ready for me,” she slips inside and you let out a low moan. Natasha bounces you on her cock. “Oh I hate this part of the movie,” she says. 

“Yeah, it's, it's, it's not my favorite,” you respond. When Wanda returns, she has a bowl of popcorn and she sits comfortably next to you and Natasha. You get turned on even more as they go about things as normal while Natasha is fucking you. When you had signed the contract and agreed to the FreeUse clause, you had no idea just how much you were going to enjoy it. 

Natasha cums inside of you and plops you back onto the sofa. She tucks her softening cock away and they pick the next movie. Wanda takes your hand and places it over her bulge. You hungrily release her penis from the tightening pants and put it in your mouth. You love the taste of her cock, especially her cum which you are working hard to earn. Already on your first day, you have cum dripping from your pussy and cum in your mouth. You are going to love it here.

A few weeks later, you are laying on your bed as you study for an exam when Wanda enters the room. Her cock is standing out of her pants and she climbs onto the bed, hovering over your body from behind. She enters you without warning and you gasp. “Hey Wanda,” you greet as she slowly humps into you. 

“Hey darling,” she kisses your neck. “What are you working on?” 

“I have an exam at the end of the week, just getting some studying out of the way,” you say. Wanda reaches around your body to play with your clitoris, causing you to clench around her thick cock. 

“That’s great, I love how studious you are.” Wanda praises. “You’re going to make a great business woman one day.”

“Thank you, baby. That means a lot coming from you. Oooh,” Wanda picks up her pace a little bit and you start to lose focus on your notes. She rubs your clit harder and harder until your body is spasming around her cock, milking her cum out of her. 

Wanda doesn't leave before eating out the mess from your pussy, giving you another organism. She kisses you and wishes you luck with your studying. You thank her and she is gone. 

A couple days later, you are making breakfast when Natasha walks in with her morning wood. “Wanda already left for work,” she says as she roughly enters you. She doesn't have a lot of time so she pounds into you until she is ready to cum. She pulls out and shoots her sperm on your back. “That looks good, have a plate ready for me when I come back down, please.” 

“Of course,” you say as you finish making the meal. 

One day, you arrive home after class to find Wanda and Natasha fucking on the kitchen table. You drop your things to join them. Gravitating to Wanda’s cock to suck on her as Natasha rams her cock into the woman's pussy. “Welcome home,” Wanda says through gasps. “How was your day?”

You pop her cock out of your mouth to answer. “It was good, I'm happy to be home though.” You take her cock back into your mouth and Wanda's head falls back at the over stimulation of her cock and pussy at the same time. When she is cumming, Natasha swiftly pulls out of her and pulls you off of Wanda by your hair and shoves her cock into your mouth. Wanda's cum continues to shoot out, making a mess on her stomach and table. Natasha fucks your face ruthlessly until she is releasing her orgasm in your mouth. 

“We’re so happy to have you back,” Natasha says through her grunts. She pulls out of your mouth breathlessly and looks at her dirty wife. “Clean her up,” she orders you as she walks away. 

Dutifully, you nod and start to lick up all of Wanda’s cum. “Thank you, baby,” she says as she lazily strokes your hair. You kiss her belly once it's only glistening with your saliva. She looks so beautiful and delicious splayed out naked on the table. You can't help kissing the rest of the way down to have your tongue in her sensitive pussy. “Ohhh,” Wanda says as you lick her just the way she likes. “I’m so happy you agreed to love us,” she says. 

“Not as happy as I am,” you reply sweetly. “Besides, it's easy loving the two of you.” 

Your words make Wanda emotional and she sits up on the table, requesting that you stand up. She pulls you into a deep kiss as she wraps her legs around your middle and her arms around your shoulders. “Please don't leave us.” 

“Never,” you promise, because you have no plans on ever doing so. 

“Nat and I have been wondering,” she starts a little nervously. Suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “Would you start sleeping in our bedroom, with us?”

You grin, feeling giddy as the relationship progresses, “Of course!” 

Wanda mirrors your expression. “I’m glad because,” she pulls your ear close to her lips, “I want to wake up with your tongue inside of me,” you get wet at the idea of how much more access the three of you will have to each other now. You never thought when you agreed to go home with her almost a year ago that this would be your life. But you are so grateful that it is.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

I’m new here so I’m sorry if I missed an FAQ about rec lists instead of general fic locate requests. If you do regular rev lists on your fave fics but can you do a list of your favorite Stackson Brotp fics? Like it’s still endgame Sterek but still has a healthy dose of Stackson brotp please. I’d really appreciate it

joonniverse asked:

Hey there ! Would you happen to have any fic recs where Jackson and Stiles are/become really close? Any Stiles centric pairing is fine

AND

Anonymous asked:

May i get some fic recs for Jackson and stiles friendship? Either childhood friends or became friends post Canon or anything in between. If stackson happens that is also ok as is any other ship.

Alright friends. It took me a minute but here's some of my favorite Stiles and Jackson friendship fics. (alternatively this could be renamed " A list of mostly isthatbloodonyourshirt fics")

So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? by RedRidingStiles

(1/1 I 10,146 I Mature I Sterek)

“Are you my sugar daddy?” Stiles blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth when his brain catches up to his mouth.

The man lets out a soft laugh, making his way around the couch till he’s standing just feet away from Stiles.

Stiles can smell his cologne from here, it smells heavenly, Stiles kinda wants to bury his face into the guy's chest so he can figure out exactly what it is.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” The man smiles.

Stiles doesn’t think he should be allowed to smile like that. All soft and gorgeous and way too pretty to be legal.

He’s still not convinced any of this is real.

Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it.

Quack (Stiles Stop Calling It That) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 15,980 I Teen I Sterek)

“Stiles, I’m serious, I need a favour.”

“That sounds like a trap,” Stiles Stilinski muttered sleepily into both his pillows. “You know,” he continued when the man in his room made no move to leave, “you’d think I’d be used to this. My dad, coming into my room, smacking my ass to get me out of bed, waking me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“It’s almost one.”

“—waking me up at the ass crack of one,” Stiles continued without missing a beat, “and asking for a favour. Given my life growing up with you, you’d think I’d be used to this by now. I think the reason this hits so hard now is that I specifically bought my own apartment so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“Stiles, it’s almost one.”

“—so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of one.”

Everyone Needs a Little Mischief in Their Life by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 17,984 I Teen I Sterek)

Finally, against his better judgement, and having gone in circles for much too long, he blurted out, “Who is my soulmate?”

The Witch looked disappointed, like he’d fucked up. Like he’d fucked up bad.

But she answered anyway.

“Mischief.”

Derek stared at her, not understanding, because what? “That’s not a name,” he insisted.

“Not exactly, no.” She offered him a small smile.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

Sweet Buns by skoosiepants

(1/1 I 17,935 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles hasn’t seen Derek Hale this close up for over a decade. He looks almost exactly the same, except somehow he seems even bigger and broodier—criminally handsome, with soft-looking dark scruff, heavy brows, light hazel eyes. His gaze zeros in on Stiles almost immediately, and his scowl lightens minutely in what looks like surprise.

Stiles is acutely aware that he has melted butter and cinnamon all over his face, and tries to surreptitiously wipe it with the ends of his sweater-sleeve.

I've Lived A Better Day by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

(18/18 I 32,819 I Not Rated I Sterek)

When Stiles comes across a rogue Alpha during his first year at Berkeley, the ensuing fight doesn't exactly go his way. He calls an unlikely ally to help him with his transition, and finds out his new pack isn't quite who he might have thought it would be.

Stiles is now left with the task of trying to figure out how his old life will fit in with his new, but that is not without its challenges.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

(1/1 I 35,197 I Teen I Sterek)

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

There’s No Escape for the Potato Man by isthatbloodonhisshirt

(1/1 I 53,977 I Teen I Sterek)

“Who is this? Where’s Erica?”

“Wrong number, asshole!”

“Stop calling me an asshole,” the man on the other end snapped aggressively.

Stiles could understand. He’d be pretty aggressive too if he’d murdered someone and texted a wrong number to ask for help burying the body. This guy obviously failed How To Be a Serial Killer 101.

“What kind of idiot thinks I murdered someone?”

“The kind of idiot who got your text messages, you fucking dumbass!” he retorted hotly. “Maybe double check your contacts before sending a random stranger details on your nefarious plans to dispose of a freshly cut up body!”

“What?!” the guy on the other end demanded, crossed between horrendously confused and livid.

Have You Met Me? by Niecy8

(23/23 I 60,462 I Mature I Steter)

Derek’s eyes widened as his mouth contorted. “Good luck with that. First of all, he has sworn off alphas. Second of all, he will never ever agree to fake date and third of all, he’s just as stubborn as you.”

Oh, this idea of his was becoming more of a challenge. Peter certainly doesn’t want to back down now. “Please Derek. I am Peter Hale. I am charismatic as fuck. I can steal candy from a baby. Stiles will be no match for me.” And he was an omega. Despite what his nephew said, he could definitely turn on his alpha charm and the boy will be putty in his hand. It would be a slam dunk in his book.

Laughing through a wheeze which was rude by the way, Derek caught his breath. “Please tell me when you go to his place so I can video when he slams the door in your face.”

Later, there would be a door slammed in his face. Yet the boy did take the flowers Peter brought over as an ice breaker before doing so because Peter can be warming and Derek was not there smirking at him so he called it win.

Yep, challenged accepted. He would most certainly convince a certain omega to fake date him for a week.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(7/7 I 196,137 I Explicit I Sterek)

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!”

Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her.

“What?! What was that sound?!”

“You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder.

“Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!”

“Mike,” she argued.

“Who’s Mike?” Scott asked.

“Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

AND

@lovesouthernsweettea and @harriet-wimsey suggested this one!

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

(1/1 I 66,656 I Explicit I Sterek)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

AND

@midnightwinterhawk suggested these!

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

(1/1 I 65,656 I Explicit I Sterek)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Shovels and Dirt by bellefire

(15/15 I 88,628 I Mature I Sterek)

The nogitsune’s power doesn’t leave Stiles after the spirit is defeated. No, it seems Stiles was changing and knowing what that darkness did to his friends he refuses to put them in danger again. He leaves without a word. Now in a new city with not quite new friends Stiles realizes no one can run forever. Because family doesn’t back down and also, yeah, that fuckin’ tree really is talking to him.

AND

@nolanfa suggested this one!

See You on the Other Side by damnitgreenberg

(18/18 I 146,077 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles isn't doing so well on the ‘dealing with life’ front. He'll admit to that freely, okay? But he quickly discovers he isn't the only one, and that person’s inability to adapt and roll with the punches may cost Stiles his own life.

AND

@ah-lone-drah suggested this one!

Derek's Person by ash_mcj

(3/? I 3,916 I General i Sterek)

Derek didn’t like people—they set him on edge in a way that nobody quite seemed to understand, much to his vexation. They always invited themselves into his space, like they somehow had a right to be there. They touched his clothes, his books, his skin—leaving their scents clinging to things that were supposed to smell like himself. They expected him to talk to them, and never managed to wrap their heads around the notion that he just couldn’t. Words were difficult for him to use most of the time, and despite all efforts to communicate in other ways, people just didn’t understand. But it didn’t matter anyway, because Derek didn’t like people and had no inclination to socialize with them.

But Stiles was…different, somehow. He did everything that Derek hated, and more. He intruded into Derek’s space, he rambled constantly, loudly, with flailing arms and fidgeting fingers—and his presence should have driven Derek up the wall, but it didn’t. Stiles didn’t set him on edge, like everyone else did. And maybe most surprising of all, he understood him.

[or: reclusive, feral-risk derek hale finds solace in a wild child, much to his pack’s surprise]

[confettimafia]

Hey you, yeah you!

Procrastinated something voting related and think you can’t vote? You have a weird circumstance and aren’t sure? You are registered but haven’t checked recently?

This is the post for you! I’m gonna go through a few different options, links, and definitions for people so you can ensure that if you are eligible, that you can vote. (Yes, this repeats some links for convenience.)

I think I am registered but I haven’t checked: You should. There are many legal battles going on right now trying to purge voting rolls and such. Also mistakes happen. CHECK HERE. REGISTER HERE.

I have not registered to vote but I will be eligible otherwise: Many states have a late registration deadline, it might still be possible, sometimes even online! CHECK HERE. REGISTER HERE.

I have not registered to vote, I will be eligible otherwise, and the voter registration deadline has passed: Some states allow voting by affidavit or casting a provisional ballot. This means you take an extra step to sign a thing that documents that you are eligible to vote and after the fact this is verified. More people need to know about this. This covers a lot of weird circumstances. “As of March 2024, Idaho and Minnesota did not provide for provisional voting. New Hampshire provides for provisional balloting only when a voter does not provide the required documentation at the time of registration, and North Dakota provides for provisional balloting only in the event of a court order extending polling hours.” To be safe, if you don’t know and this is your only option, you should go to your polling place and ask if they do this. FIND YOUR POLLING PLACE HERE.

I won’t be home for Election Day but I can vote: Some states have early voting right now. CHECK HERE. Some states are still accepting absentee ballot applications. CHECK HERE.

I will be at college during election day: you can either get absentee ballot or early voting at home OR you can register to vote where you go to college. Generally speaking you spend enough time at both places as a college student it’s allowed to register at either location, you can switch you’re registration to college if you’ve met the standards of living there long enough etc. See above for absentee and early voting, but I will relink the registration link HERE.

I will reemphasize affidavit voting. I personally have used this after relocating within a state and forgetting to change registrations. It was a simple form. If you are 18 or will be on Election Day, a citizen, and haven’t had your voting rights stripped from you via felony or something PLEASE check and make absolutely sure you can’t vote. I guarantee you there are thousands if not millions of people who are not going to vote simply because they do not know they can. It’s confusing and annoying, and people have paid a lot of money to keep it that way. Don’t let them take your vote away.

Yes especially get this out to peeps in swing states BUT REMEMBER. Everything down ballot is also incredibly important with slim margins. Even if you are not in a swing state there is so much else you can do with your vote.

(Some more affidavit voting reasons for New York as an example, though these vary per state:

* “If the voter has been issued an absentee, military or special ballot, but wishes to vote in person during early voting or on election day,

* If the voter is voting for the first time and is unable to provide identification,

* If the voter’s name does not appear in the poll records

* If in a primary election, the voter is listed as being a member of one party but wishes to vote as a member of a different party (Does not apply in November)”)

After all this, you are absolutely positive you can’t vote in this election but could in the future: Register now! Then it will be taken care of for the future until it needs to be updated again. This stuff won’t suddenly stop being important and literally life and death at times. REGISTER HERE.

All of this has been incredibly anxiety inducing, but sharing stuff like this to get the word out to frankly a large young left leaning audience here on tumblr is helpful. It helps to do something actionable. For those of you who can’t vote, encouraging people like this helps in its own way too.

[weirdmarioenemies]

The Critic's Arrival

It appears we've been visited by some sort of critic. We didn't order any critic! Are you a film critic? Food critic?

"The name's THE Critic- get it right! I ridicule, just out of spite! And now you've got me at your door, You've no idea what you're in for! For I'm The Critic, that's no ruse! I'm here to criticize all youse!"

Oh? You're here to criticize us...? I don't think I like whatever it is you're imply- oh, he's already invited himself in. Okay! So, Mr. The Critic, can I... get you something to drink, I guess? We certainly have a lot of water.

"That's all you offer? You're the worst! Good thing I've not much of a thirst! This living room... it's oh so drab. And are you serious? A CRAB? Your home decor is just no good. I'd burn this poster if I could! You must have all been in the dark, For not a soul likes Wonder Park!"

Come on... Boomer the Ride Tester is funny... right? Is there anything else we can do to make your stay more comfortable? And maybe make you more polite?

"I hope my message makes you cry: This home of yours is much too dry!"

Is that so? At least here in Wet-Dry World, that's easy to fix! I'll just activate this Crystal Tap and raise the water...

"This isn’t any better yet. The whole affair’s now far too wet!"

Oh... how about a more neutral level?

"The moisture level’s at its middle, But I’m afraid, too late too little! You just can't seem to be a winner! Now, with that done, let's have some dinner!"

Okay, I've been trying to be polite, but you can't just be mean to us and expect to receive a free meal for it! Spikey's only made enough potatoes au gratin for us mods!

"Oh, THAT'S the stench? It's just some gratin? I could have sworn something was rotten! I see you're near fed up with me, And knowing that fills me with glee!"

Why are you doing this, The Critic? Why us? What did we do to you?

"Well, here's what's written in my log: You lot all run a Tumblr blog! Where posts are foolish, simply silly, Goofy creatures willy-nilly! You don't need to be analytic To know you're talking to The Critic. It's how I live, it's what I do. I've come here to criticize YOU!"

Hey. Words really hurt, you know that, The Critic? But no matter what you say, you can't break our spirits! We'll post what we want no matter what you say!

"Now comes the part I love the most... rescinding your license to post!"

OUR POSTING LICENSE?! The only thing that legally allows us to post about funny pretend creatures online... you're a monster! Unhand that license this instant!

"Ha ha! Hee hee! It's too much fun! And with that, I'll be on the run! Your permit's all I need to rob. I hope you've got a backup job!"

He's gone. That utter fiend... without our posting license, we're nothing. He's right. We'll need a new job. After all this time, we'll need to return to where it all began, where all of us met for the first time, and where we all worked before starting this blog, but it was never relevant so we never mentioned it...

...the TROUT HATCHERY! See you there...

[youling-the-ghost]

sfth incorrect quotes pt.10 because school's kicking my ass and I need my daily dose of brainrot to survive

AJ: Go fuck yourself. Sam, smugly: Sure, but only if you watch Tom: It doesn’t have a bone. Sam: Then why is it called a boner? Luke: Look, do I consider myself attractive? Yes. But would I have sex with my clone? Also yes.

AJ: Is the plural of milf/dilf milfs/dilfs or milves/dilves? Sam: Milfs. Tom: Milf/dilf is an acronym, you can't change the spelling to milves/dilves. AJ: Wait, they're acronyms? What do they stand for??? Luke: Mom in late forties, dad in late fourties. Luke: I learned that from the movie called M.I.L.F that I saw the trailer of in theaters probably 5 to 7 years ago. Tom: Mom/dad I'd Love to Fuck. AJ: WAIT, WHAT THE FUCK— AJ: I NEVER REALIZED IT WAS ACTUALLY HORNY! Luke: Oh, is it not mom in late fouries? Sam: What? No! It isn't! Luke: THE MOVIE TRAILER LIED TO ME! Tom: Luke... Luke: THIS IS WHY I DIDN'T THINK CALLING PEOPLE MILFS WAS ALL THAT BAD BECAUSE IT STOOD FOR SOMETHING HARMLESS IT JUST HAD A SLIGHTLY SEXUAL CONNOTATION! Tom: I am entirely unsurprised that this is coming from you. Luke: AJ, DOES IT MAKE SENSE WHY I CALLED THE DIARY OF A WIMPY KID MOM A MILF NOW BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS LITERALLY JUST A DESCRIPTOR WITH FUNNY CONNOTATION! AJ: The word milf has been ruined for me. Sam: THAT'S ITS DEFINITION, IT CAN'T BE RUINED THAT'S WHAT IT MEANS! Tom: Y'all are dumbasses. Tom: I am the left brain, I am the left brain. "I work really hard until my inevitable death" brain. You've got a job to do, you better do it right and the right way is with the left brain's might. AJ: I LIKE OREOS AND PUSSY- Sam: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming? Tom: Can everyone in this godforsaken group please learn the skill called "Think Before You Speak"? Luke: Ya know...it might be. Sam: How do you tell someone that you wanna have sex with them in a polite way? Tom: Excuse me Mx. Would you give me the honours of indulging in sexual activities with you? Luke: What the fuck is wrong with you two? at the supermarket Sam: All right, the last item on the list is "virgin oil." Sam: Sam: Wow. Imagine being an item and still being called a virgin. Tom: Capitalisation is the difference between "I had to help my uncle Jack off a horse.." and "I had to help my uncle jack off a horse.." (It was then that Junyu realised...he accidentally turned on NSFW only and that's why the quotes have been so horny.) Sam: Hey! Wanna hear a joke? Tom: Sure. Sam: Your life! Tom: Actually, my life isn’t a joke, jokes have meaning. Sam: Tom, no. AJ: Can you recommend a book that'll make me cry? Tom: General Mathematics 8th Grade Edition. (in reference to that one guessing game where AJ forgot how math worked) Luke: It's locked. You got a lock pick? Tom: Yeah- Sam: *kicks down the door* Luke: They can't make me admit France exists, right? Legally, that's not allowed. Luke: Sure, if France was REAL I'd say I liked it. Luke: But who's to say. AJ: I think France isn't real. Tom: AJ, you used to live in France. AJ: And??? AJ: You gave me up, you let me down, you turned around, and deserted me. Sam: But did I make you cry? AJ: *cries on the spot* Sam: ...Shit. AJ: Why's it called an oven when you of in the cold food and you of out hot eat the food? Tom: ...What??? AJ: What’s your biggest fear? Luke: I am incredibly arachnophobic. AJ, under his breath: You don’t want spiders to get married? Tom: Luke, I think we have a problem. Luke: What, the fire? Tom: No, the- wait, what fire? Luke: Oh forget about it, this sounds more interesting. Sam: Hey Luke, can you give me the opposite of these words? Sam: Always, Coming, From, Take, Me, Down. Luke: Never, Going, To, Give, You- Luke: The fucking satisfaction. Luke: Inside you, there are two kidneys. Luke: I’m gonna steal them. Tom: So my therapist was talking to me and she said that I really just need to break down my walls and let people in. Tom: So I’ve decided to break the fourth wall. Tom: *looks at camera* Hi there. I use humor as a coping mechanism.

[seaweed-water]

ok i'm working on a new story that's about to be *super* dark and i'm excited to share it but god it's going to take a while and i promised myself i'd finish my works before posting them on ao3, just in case i need to go back and ensure continuity, etc,. wow what a run-on sentence. anyway, here's wonderwall:

The room is quiet, only the ticking clock on the wall and the psychiatrist’s pen clicking over bone. Derek doesn’t want to be the one to speak first, and he shouldn’t have to, a silent stare shared between the two men in the unsettling calm of the home office. Derek mirrors the doctor, his ankle crossed over his knee, leaning back into the chair with his forearms resting in his lap.

“Have you ever had therapy before, Derek?” the doctor asks with a raised brow.

Aside from forced and entirely useless counseling sessions after the fire, Derek has steered clear of anyone who could judge him certifiable. He doesn’t need that kind of negativity in his life.

“Not really, no.”

The doctor hums with a short nod, like he understands entirely. What he understands, Derek isn’t sure. He swears on everything unholy if this shrink says, ‘and why do you think that is?’ he’s going to lose it.

“So then, what’s brought you in today?”

The unexpected response takes him off guard, his brows twitching in before he relaxes his face again. His eyes wander the room in search of an answer, observing the book-lined wall, the ambient lighting, the atrium that separates the office from the rest of the house. On the other side of it, Derek can see a giant staircase with artifacts tucked into the carved-out wall leading to the second floor.

“Don’t you feel weird having people come to your house?” Derek asks. He can’t help but wonder what other kinds of patients the doctor treats, and why he’d feel so comfortable allowing them into his home. They could have a real antisocial personality disorder.  

“I don’t mind. I have a pretty good sense of people.” The man leans in, his lips curling. “I’m always prepared.”

The doctor’s low tone sends a shiver up Derek’s spine. He swallows, his arms crossing over his middle.

“Tell me what ails you,” the psychiatrist says, pushing up his glasses with long, spindly fingers before he clicks the pen over his kneecap a final time, resting the ballpoint to paper. His amber eyes meet Derek’s gaze, so penetrating that Derek can feel the warmth of them blooming in his chest. He averts his eyes, watching the man’s hands instead.

Derek isn’t sure where to begin with such an outstanding request. He can’t give too much away, but he’s here for a reason.

Dr. Stilinski’s heady stare remains, silent as he patiently waits.

“I’m losing control again. I can’t…” Derek pauses, thinking carefully, avoiding the doctor’s gaze, “I can’t stop myself from over-working out. I start to feel… insatiable. I want more before it’s even over.”

“I see,” Dr. Stilinski says, fingers curling over the top spine of his legal pad in his lap. “You’re used to feeling in control, but lately something’s changed. Maybe… you’ve been suppressing a part of yourself, but it’s getting harder, isn’t it?”

Derek inhales, his breath hitching as he meets the doctor’s eyes again. He feels like he’s been caught somehow, without having said anything technically damning. As nervous as this makes him, Derek is undeniably intrigued.

“Yeah,” Derek admits, unsure if he should continue. The doctor stares, blinking like he’s waiting for more. “It’s never been this difficult. It feels like if I don’t keep going, I’m failing.”

“Hm,” Stilinski starts, his thumbs tapping over the spine as he reads Derek from head to toe. “You’re not alone in that feeling, Derek. A lot of people have difficult impulses they can’t control. Maybe… urges that don’t fit in the lives they want to live. But perhaps they haven’t assessed the matter from every direction.” The doctor’s foot falls to the floor as he leans in, his arms resting over his notepad. “I can help you reform your thoughts about these impulses.”

Derek feels exposed under his stare, but unable to pull away. Something is off about this doctor, something Derek can’t quite put into words. It’s as if he’s holding back, skirting around truths he’s not saying, and it only makes Derek more intrigued. He wants to uncover the layers, to dig into the secret the doctor seems to dangle just out of reach. It’s unsettling, the way it feels like Dr. Stilinski can see right through him, straight to his core.

“Did you grow up here?” Derek asks.

The doctor tilts his head, his lips twitching. “Yes.”

“So you know, then.”

“Yes,” the doctor confirms, and Derek is once again caught off by his transparent honesty, expecting him to circumvent the question and segue into Derek’s childhood instead.

The doctor drops his pen and notepad onto the coffee table between them with a smack, his elbows over his knees as his hands clasp between his spread legs. Derek is unable to pull his gaze away.

“I’d like to help you, Derek. If you want that, you must promise me one thing.”

Derek’s heart speeds up. He’s not even sure what this promise is, but he finds himself nodding, a short twitch of acknowledgment.

“Do not lie to me. I promise, in return, to grant you the same courtesy.”

Derek nods again, his mouth slightly parted. Dr. Stilinski raises an eyebrow, a silent request for an affirmative verbal answer.

It’s not like Derek can casually announce it as if surrounded by like-minded peers in a support group: “Hi, I’m Derek, and I’m a murderer.” Promises mean nothing to Derek without a foundation of trust, and that comes with time and still a sneaking sense of suspicion; though he wonders if, when the moment comes, lying will even be possible. Derek can always tell, and he suspects Dr. Stilinski can, too.

“Okay,” Derek breathes out.

This seems to please him, the corners of his mouth twitching, his deep gaze locking Derek in. “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

There’s something about him Derek can’t quite place, an air shrouded in deliberate mystery. It’s as if he’s setting the pieces on a board for a game only known to him, his every move premeditated, a mischievous glint in his eyes as if daring Derek to join him.

As Derek stands to leave, Stilinski rises with him and reaches across the coffee table to grasp Derek’s hand in a firm grip. The doctor takes a deep breath, shoulders lifting with the inhale, an easy smile playing on his lips. "Call me Stiles."

Derek’s not quite sure what to make of their first session. That doctor could read Derek like an open book, and he wonders what else Stiles might know about him if he grew up here. The thought of not returning crosses his mind, afraid of what Stiles might uncover if they continue. But an undeniable fascination settles within him as he glances back at the contemporary house tucked away inside a cove of trees, feeling eyes on him as he departs. Despite everything, he knows he’ll be returning.

[atimesfeeler]

I’m trying to write a fic where Worstie Logan and Deadpool fix the issues brought up in Logan (2017) - because the movie is set in 2029 and Deadpool 3 is set in 2024 - but in reality they would be so screwed.

Even if all the X-men were still alive, how could they fight a genetic genocide? If a mutant cute is in the corn everyone is screwed. The US doesn’t allow farmers to cultivate their own seeds to produce so they would have to buy Transigen’s mutant cure corn. And corn is in everything. They could burn down the fields and destroy the crops all they wanted but the issue is so deep that it seems unfixable. Fox virtually killed their entire Mutant synopsis by introducing the corn mutant cure. Idk if it’s from the comics but I think that’s a big reason there were no more x-men movies. Were they trying to completely end their franchise??

The only way I could see it getting fixed is legal action but with the state of the world and their stance on mutants, I doubt they would get any help from the government. Hopefully in a couple generations people grow immune to the cure but idk man.

The Logan movie is so sad not just because Logan dies but because his death sorta represents all mutants going out. Isn’t that crazy that he was around for the first mutants, the height of mutants, and the collapse of an entire sub species of people? That’s what really gets me. It’s not just the “the immortal outlives his friends” trope bc all of his people are literally exterminated instead of getting to live a full life.