#It has the answers to any question but it's still up to the person to be smart or strong enough to wield it

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the Wife at First Sight series)

When Ghost had asked if you would help him with something, you’d answered yes without a question. You didn’t ask for details, smiling and thanking him every time he opened each door that led to the base’s parking garage, giggling when he even insisted on opening the truck door for you. You’d come to grow fond of your work husband, appreciating how he never failed to make you feel special.

You sometimes wished his affections were genuine, rather than part of what you’d assumed was a strange hazing ritual in the military (which you couldn’t deny kind of worked, the two of you had grown closer hadn’t you? Was that the point of hazings?).

But you knew that line of thinking wouldn’t lead anywhere, other than potential heartbreak. He surely was only joking around, wouldn’t return your feelings. That’s why you played along with the ruse, but tried your best not to fall too hard for the man who was making that more and more impossible.

Still though, you couldn’t deny the pang in your heart when you discovered the errand he requested your help with, was to go look at engagement rings.

Did he actually have someone special in his life? Someone he hoped to propose to?

You felt guilty, thinking there might be another person out there that he loves enough to ask them to marry him, all the while you’re enjoying his attention at work, pretending he could ever actually want you as his wife.

You follow him into the shop, eyes widening at the never ending cases and displays of shiny, glittering jewelry, as far as the eye can see.

He chuckles at your expression, telling you not to worry your pretty little head over any price tags, just to pick out whichever one you liked.

You appreciated that he trusts your judgement so much that he wanted your opinion on which ring to buy his partner, and so you take your time looking through them all, even if it makes you sad to picture him slipping this ring onto another person’s finger.

Gaze scanning the displays, your eye is instantly caught by one ring and one ring only. You point to it, Ghost humming in agreement, signalling for one of the employees behind the counter to unlock the case.

The man pulls the ring out, handing it to the Lieutenant who examines it in between gloved fingers.

“Let’s see how it fits.” He murmurs, taking your left hand in his and slipping the band onto your ring finger, both of your eyes locked on the movement.

“Like a glove.” The employee says with a smile, moving to gather a selection of ring boxes he hopes to show you both, seeing that the ring has evidently found its owner and fits perfectly.

“It’s really beautiful Ghost.” You tell him, admiring the ring as he admires your expression. “Your wife’s a lucky woman.” You add, thinking of the mystery woman you’re convinced he’s buying this for, assuming you must have a similar ring size to her or something, if he’s having you try it on.

Your eyes meet his own warm gaze as his hand folds your fingers, bringing the ring up to his lips to press a kiss through the mask.

“Not as lucky as I am to be her husband.”

[niamhthefae]

i 1000% agree. i just want to add onto this with some personal experience.

i love history and museums,exhibitions and historical sites are some of my favorite places to be. However, i'd much rather see artefacts and ask an actual person questions than watch some videos and listen to an audio tour. it's important to know that i'm neurodivergent and occasionally i have audio processing issues, so if i go somewhere and the entire thing is just an audio tour i can miss out on information. with an actual person i can ask them to repeat something or reword a question or go into a bit more detail on something. i went to a viking centre in york once that was mostly some wax figures and an audio thing as you go around, i didn't get much enjoyment from that. an example of this that was pretty good was this one Roman museum in chester where the whole thing has people in there and a guy talking you around and answering any questions and showing you things. also in helmshore textile museum there are things you can look at and read on your own, or you can be taken around and shown the machinery and displays by a real person who will answer questions and bring you into things (i got told that at my age i would have been working 7 machines on my own, i was about 13 at the time i think? i had a bit of a fixation on dress history)

also, when there are big displays that take up the whole space it can be really horrible. for example: the imperial war museum in manchester features a big display in the middle of the room with lots of loud noises. as someone who really struggles with noise it wasn't exactly ideal but i wanted to get all the info, so i had to walk around with my hands pressed to my ears, trying to ignore the sounds. these can be okay if you put it in a certain room so that people who are still making their way around the actual museum part can do so, without having to deal with loud noises and changes in lighting.

call me old-fashioned but I think visitors to historical sites have the right to a fully analogue experience of the building if they want it

tech is great for accessibility, and to provide supplemental info for self-guided places. I don't mean an experience without seeing OTHER PEOPLE use their phones, a kiosk, an iPad, etc. that would be unfair to people who needed the accessibility features. just that those things should be opt-in

screens at low angles on stands so they're only visible if you actively walk up to them. iPads, as previously mentioned. audio tours accessible on your phone, but with a request to please only use them with earbuds/headphones. real human staff one can talk to.

NOT screens positioned upright on walls, timed light/sound shows that fill the whole space, etc.

I'm there to see a historical building I can't see anywhere else, in real physical space. not to look at a screen or a projection unless I make that choice, to answer a specific question or similar. and I should be able to have that experience of the site if I want to

[myringtoe]

stairway to heaven 🪽 | lnds men

pairing: zayne x fem!reader, xavier x fem!reader, sylus x fem!reader, rafayel x fem!reader (separate)

cw: talk of spiritual beings and religion.

a/n: the basic premise of this one is that mc is an angel…like a biblical angel. i’ve had this idea for years so this is HIGHLY self indulgent. :3 i’d also love to expand on this if anyone would be interested in that. :)

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

just to preface this, this is kinda based on an oc of mine. but i’ve worded it so it’s still reader pov. :)

zayne 𓇢𓆸

legit didn’t believe you at first.

you’re gonna have to show him, full wings and everything for him to believe you.

so when you do show him, he’s astounded. zayne thinks you’re absolutely beautiful, while also being confused. he has so many questions.

one of the only times you’ll see this man speechless.

once you’ve explained how you came to live on earth, and how everything else works, he really doesn’t care about your supernatural-ness.

all he cares about is him getting to be with you, he doesn’t care what you are.

would be so worried about accidentally hurting your wings.

when you give him a feather from your wings that naturally fell off, he almost cries. it means so much to him. he puts it on his desk at work in its own little area.

whenever someone asks what it’s from, he lies and says it’s from a rare bird he saw while he was in another country.

xavier ☆

he LOVES it.

when you show him your angel form, he’s freaking out. (in a good way)

the minute you show your wings, he’s asking if you to take him flying some time. (if you say no, he gets pouty)

believes you’re the most stunning creature in the universe. will NOT stop complimenting you.

is so curious about your abilities as an angel.

then comes the questions about your origins and how you came to earth. when you answer, he’s completely fascinated.

genuinely thinks this is one of the coolest things to ever happen to him. his girlfriend is an ACTUAL ANGEL for christs sake! (see what i did there? ;))

is practically begging to touch your wings. he’s extra careful around the high points/bones of them. his touch is feather-light against them.

any time you’re in your angel form, he just stares at you in awe. he can’t believe that someone as divine as you, chose to be with him.

sylus 𖦹

another speechless one.

is terrified of “ruining” you. (as he puts it)

he thinks that because you’re angel, that he’s somehow going to ruin your angelic “innocence”.

to which you then have to explain to him that that’s literally never going to happen because that’s not how it works.

he felt like he didn’t deserved you before, now he feels like he REALLY doesn’t. this guy needs so much reassurance that he does deserve you.

(sorry if sylus is a little ooc)

after you’ve explained everything to him. he just wants to shower you with love. telling you how beautiful and amazing you are.

leads to a very lovely and very long night. ;)

he’s hyping himself up a little bit too, like ‘there’s an actual angel in my presence, and she wants ME.’

super protective of you after you tell him. he knows you’re fully capable of defending and protecting yourself, but he 1. doesn’t want others to find out and try to blackmail or take advantage of you, and 2. doesn’t want the people of the N109 zone to try and take the one good thing he has in his life.

let’s be honest, sylus has a cocky and confident attitude, which is admirable. but on the inside, he needs SO much reassurance. (which isn’t a bad thing)

rafayel 𓆝

this little shit.

he feels like he finally has someone he can relate to. with him being a sea god and all.

a mermaid and an angel…what a pair.

showing him your angel form was a mistake.

because now he wants to use you as a muse for every single painting.

literally one of the first things he asks is if he can use you for one of his paintings.

people would ask him who the person in the painting was, and with a totally serious face he would say:

“my angel girlfriend. :)”

and no one would actually believe that you were an angel, so it’s like a little inside joke between the two of you.

but seriously, he feels like he can trust you with his secret so much more, because he knows you’re hiding one too.

rafayel would of course ask the typical questions, to which you’d answer honestly.

he’s probably the most chill about it out of all of them. because he’s a “divine” being himself. while he may not have wings, he does have a fish tail and can breathe underwater.

he understands you the most out of the four.

[naomi-nana]

✎ᝰ. jealousy is a disease !

there's nothing wrong with a little bit of jealousy, right? as long as you're honest about it, surely...

featuring : till

cw : fluff, gn!reader, mentions of death/being killed but nothing too graphic, probably ooc till...

a/n : OMGOMGOMG ALNST FIC ON TUMBLR???? i wasn't expecting to find any, but i find quite a lot!! i was so happy so i decided to make one myself and joined all the other writers>:) i've never watched any theory videos, so i dont really know how till acts. but from the limited videos alone, i can atleast know his personality;)

he really wouldn't have cared at all if you got closer to another human, or even an alien—is what he thought, as if he isn't glaring at you talking to your fans. your smile at those aliens lining up to shake your hands doesn't help. why would you even smile at all the aliens anyways? they all look ugly. he knows that how popular you are is not under your control, and that this is all arranged by your owner. but still, he doesn't like it, not even a single bit.

but he is happy that you're getting the recognition you deserve, after being forc—i mean, working hard for it all. but it still upsets him at how happily you talk to all the aliens, the smile you gave them, the look of adoration that you gave them. you noticed that he's been staring at you the whole time, though. but you made it seem as if you didn't, which annoys him. if he could, he would grab you by the wrist and ran away as fast as he can with you following him. but he won't. he doesn't want or like the risk of the both of you being killed because of that.

so, he endured his jealousy for what felt like an hour, and it all finally ended. "i'm sorry, have i kept you waiting?" you finally turned at him, your face glistening with sweat. even with how messy your makeup and hair has gotten after all those handshake, you still look as ethereal as ever. "till?" you tilt your head curiously when he didn't reply.

"uh—huh, what? sorry. was zonin' out." he noticed that he have been looking at your face the whole time and unintentionally ignored your question. "what did you say again?" he asked, looking away from your face this time in embarrassment. you only chuckled softly at him before finally repeating your question. "no, you didn't, it's alright." he answers quickly, as if trying to hide something, making you raise an eyebrow. "really? i really didn't keep you waiting?"

"no, it's fine. let's get inside the car before the driver leaves us here." the driver really won't leave you both here, since it's literally his job to drive the both of you from place to place. it's just his excuse to leave the place faster so he could make you get away from all your fans. "you seem to be eager of leaving this place, is something wrong?" you come closer to him, concern lacing in your gaze. with how close you are to him, it's hard for him to hide his flustered face.

so, he just turned around and walked towards the exit, making you even more confused and concerned for him. he walks really fast too, while you struggle to follow him behind.

"till, are you alright? do you feel sick? uncomfortable? or is it something else?" you asked him once again, and he avoided your gaze again. it keeps happening over and over to the point that if someone else were to watch you both from afar, they'd thought that the both of you are playing a game of tag. it took a lot of convincing from you, but he finally tells you why. not directly though, he doesn't want you to think that he's too clingy.

"i-i got a little... annoyed, when your fans got closer to you, i guess..." he muttered to himself, which made you unable to hear what he says clearly. you tilt your head to look up at him, then cup his cheeks in your hands, earning a soft gasp from him. "w-what are you—"

"are you perhaps... jealous?" you grin at him, his face growing redder as time pass. "i'm—not! let go of my face!" he grips one of your wrist with his hand, but he didn't even make an attempt to move your hands away from his face. "really? your expression says otherwise." you giggle when he glares at you, although his red face betrays the 'scary look' he's giving you.

"i said i'm not, end of the story. let's get in the car or whatever..." he finally swats your hand away, not too harsh though, and he walks away from you. your giggle only grew louder at how flustered he got just from one single interaction with you. "wait for me, till. you can't leave a celebrity like me behind... you don't want any of my fans catching up to me, do you?"

"ugh, stop talking about that!"

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use,(with or without permission), do not reccommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

[passengerprincessblog]

“Breaking Point” Pt. 2 Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warnings?: angst, jealousy, NSFW, brat kink? Idk

Summary: After a tense argument at the circuit, Y/N leaves without telling Lewis, retreating to the hotel to gather her thoughts. But as she settles in, a late-night call from Lando stirs the pot even further, igniting Lewis’s jealousy when he returns.

WC: 3,000?

Part 1 is here

The hotel room is quiet, the silence heavy and almost suffocating. I pace the length of the room, my mind still racing from everything that happened at the circuit. I couldn’t believe he had the audacity to act like that, to throw Lando into our argument just because he didn’t want to face the real issue. It was so petty, so unlike him, and it hurt.

But then again, maybe I shouldn’t have left without telling him. I can already imagine his reaction when he finally realizes I’m gone. But honestly, after the way he brushed me off, I couldn’t stand to stay there any longer.

As I sink onto the bed, my phone buzzes, and I see Jude’s name flash on the screen. I take a deep breath before answering, bracing myself for his no-nonsense tone.

“Hey, Jude,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Y/N,” he replies, his voice clipped and businesslike. “Just wanted to confirm the details for your shoot in LA. You’ll be flying out on Tuesday morning, so clear your schedule for the next month. We’ll need you on set every day, so no personal distractions, alright?”

I swallow, the weight of his words settling over me. “Got it.”

“Good,” he continues, barely pausing for breath. “Now, I’ve sent over the call sheets, locations, and everything else you need to know. Check your email and let me know if you have questions. I don’t want any surprises on set.”

“Right,” I mumble, feeling a flicker of frustration. Jude has always been the type to micromanage every detail, and right now, his stern tone grates on my already frayed nerves.

After a few more instructions, he finally hangs up, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again. I set my phone down, trying to push away the nagging guilt creeping into my chest. I shouldn’t feel guilty, I remind myself. I have every right to take this role, to make decisions about my own career.

My phone lights up again. This time, it’s a text from Lewis.

Lewis: “You left?”

I stare at the message, my fingers hovering over the screen. I know he’s upset, but right now, I don’t feel like giving him the satisfaction of an immediate reply. Another text pops up.

Lewis: “So you just walked out without saying anything? Real mature, Y/N.”

I clench my jaw, feeling a spark of anger reignite. He was the one who acted like a child back there, throwing accusations and refusing to see my side of things. I toss my phone onto the bed, deciding not to reply. If he wants to act like this, then let him stew.

It’s nearly 11 p.m. when I hear the faint sound of the door opening, followed by Lewis’s footsteps as he enters the hotel room. I keep my gaze fixed on the window, refusing to turn around and acknowledge him. The tension in the room is immediate, thick and heavy, and I can feel his eyes on me, practically burning a hole in my back.

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” His voice is clipped, a sharp edge to his words that only fuels my annoyance.

“Maybe,” I reply coolly, still refusing to look at him.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, and I hear him drop his bag onto the floor with a thud. “So you just left? Without even bothering to tell me?”

I finally turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “I didn’t think you’d care. You seemed pretty done with me back there.”

“That’s not the point, Y/N,” he says, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t just walk out without saying anything. Especially not when we’re in the middle of something.”

I raise an eyebrow, feeling the anger simmering beneath my skin. “Oh, so now you care about my whereabouts? Funny, because back there, you didn’t seem to care about anything but throwing Lando in my face.”

His jaw tightens, and I can see the flash of irritation in his eyes. “Don’t turn this around on me. You’re the one who just decided to take on a huge role without even talking to me about it.”

I roll my eyes, feeling a surge of defiance rise up. “Lewis, it’s my career. I don’t need your permission to make decisions.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms as he stares me down. “It’s not about permission. It’s about respect. We’re supposed to be a team, Y/N. You could’ve at least let me know before deciding to miss four races.”

I throw my hands up, exasperated. “We’re not married, Lewis! I don’t have to consult you about every little thing in my life!”

He flinches, and I see the hurt flash across his face before he covers it with a cold expression. “I see. So that’s how you see this? As something casual?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” I snap, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “It feels like this relationship is just… too much sometimes. Like you expect me to drop everything for you.”

He stares at me, his face hardening, and I can feel the anger radiating off him. “Too much? You think I’m asking for too much just because I want you to consider my feelings?”

I roll my eyes, a smirk tugging at my lips as I let out a sarcastic laugh. “You’re acting like I committed a crime just because I want to follow my dreams. Newsflash, Lewis, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

His eyes darken, and for a split second, I see something shift in him. Before I can react, he closes the distance between us, his hands gripping my arms firmly as he pushes me back onto the bed. I gasp, more out of surprise than anything, my heart racing as I look up at him as he gets on top of me.

His gaze is intense, a mixture of anger and something else, something I can’t quite place. His hands still grip my arms, his face close to mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You think this is a joke, Y/N?” he murmurs, his voice low, dangerous.

I meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “Maybe… maybe you’re the one who can’t handle it.”

A flicker of something crosses his face—frustration, irritation, maybe even a hint of desire. He leans in closer, his grip on me tightening just slightly, his gaze locked onto mine. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension between us thick and electric.

“You drive me insane,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” I reply, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Maybe now you know how I feel.”

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the anger and frustration swirling between us, mixing with something deeper, something more primal. His gaze drops to my lips, and I feel my heart hammering in my chest, a rush of anticipation mingling with the resentment I still feel.

His hand moves from my arm to my neck, gently squeezing, his gaze intense and unrelenting. “Is this what you wanted, Y/N? To push me until I snap?”

I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But my silence only seems to fuel him more, his face inches from mine.

“Say something,” he demands, his voice low and commanding.

But instead of a response, I let out a soft laugh, daring him with my gaze. “What, can’t handle a little attitude?”

A dark smirk crosses his face, and for a brief moment, I see the flash of something almost… greedy in his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl.

“Maybe I do,” I reply, my voice barely a whisper, my heart pounding in my chest.

The tension between us is palpable, the line between anger and desire blurring, and I can feel the intensity radiating off him, his frustration and passion mingling into one. For a brief moment, we’re caught in a standoff, neither of us willing to back down, and I know that we’re both teetering on the edge, unsure of what will happen next.

He inhales sharply, his nostrils flaring, and for a moment, I think he might actually snap. But instead, he closes the distance between us, his lips crashing against mine in a bruising kiss. I gasp, surprised by the force of it, but I don't pull away. Instead, I find myself kissing him back just as fiercely, our teeth clashing, our tongues tangling in a desperate, angry dance.

His hands roam over my body, gripping, kneading, as if he's trying to remind himself I’m his. I can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, the hard planes of his muscles flexing beneath my touch. He tears at my clothes, pulling my dress off, until I'm left in nothing but my underwear.

I reach for him, my hands fumbling with his belt, desperate to feel him, to touch him, to have him inside me. He groans, low and guttural, as I grab him through his jeans. I can feel how hard he is, how much he wants me, and it only fuels my own desire.

He inhales sharply, his hips bucking into my touch. "Brat," he mutters, but there's no real anger behind it anymore, just a simmering heat, a desperate need.

I lean in, trailing kisses along his jaw, down his neck, my tongue darting out to taste his skin. He shivers, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me against him. I can feel his hardness pressing against me, and it makes me ache with want.

But then, the shrill ring of my phone cuts through the heated silence, startling both of us. I feel him tense against me, and he lets out an annoyed growl, pulling back slightly, his gaze narrowing as he looks down at me, his breathing ragged.

“Who the hell is calling you at this hour?” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation.

I’m just as annoyed as he is, but before I can even reach for my phone, he snatches it up from the nightstand, his eyes flashing as he glances at the screen. His jaw clenches, and a dark look crosses his face as he turns the screen toward me, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Lando?” he says, his voice laced with accusation. “Why is he calling you? What the hell does he want?”

I blink, my mind struggling to catch up as I stare at the name flashing on the screen. “I… I don’t know,” I stammer, feeling my heart sink. I honestly have no idea why Lando would be calling me, but I can already feel Lewis’s jealousy simmering, his grip on my phone tightening.

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he glares down at me. “Really, Y/N? You’re telling me you have no idea why he’s calling you at eleven at night?”

I sit up, trying to take my phone from him, but he holds it just out of reach. “Lewis, come on. It’s probably nothing. Lando’s always trying to rally people to go out after a race. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeats, his voice dangerously low. “Why does he even have your number, let alone feel comfortable enough to call you at this time? Do you have any idea how this looks?”

I feel a flash of frustration, the anger from earlier bubbling back up. “Are you seriously doing this right now? It’s Lando. He’s just a friend, Lewis.”

He scoffs, his grip on my phone unyielding as he stares down at me, his eyes hard. “A friend who clearly has no boundaries. Or maybe you’re the one who doesn’t.”

My mouth falls open in shock, and I feel a sting of hurt at his accusation. “Excuse me? You’re the one who’s being unreasonable here. I haven’t done anything to make you doubt me.”

“Then why didn’t you tell him to stop calling and texting you?” he snaps, his voice rising.

“Because it’s not an issue! You’re making it one,” I retort, the fire in my chest burning hotter as I meet his gaze. “If you’re so insecure about my friendship with Lando, that’s on you, not me.”

His eyes flash, and for a moment, I see a hint of vulnerability, quickly masked by anger. “Insecure? I’m not insecure, Y/N. I just don’t appreciate my girlfriend getting late-night calls from other guys, especially not ones who I’m pretty sure are interested in more than just ‘friendship.���”

I let out an exasperated sigh, trying to pull my phone from his grasp, but he holds it firm. “Lewis, it’s not like that. And if you trusted me, you’d know that.”

He stares at me, his gaze sharp, calculating.

Then, slowly, he holds the phone out, his expression unreadable. "Fine. Answer it, then. Let's see what he wants.

I glance between him and the phone, my heart pounding as I reluctantly take it from his hand. My fingers are shaking a bit, and I press the screen to answer, bringing it up to my ear.

"Hello?" I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

But before I can get another word out, I feel Lewis's hands on me again, his fingers gripping my waist as he leans down, his lips finding my neck. I gasp, my words faltering as he presses soft, heated kisses along the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

"YIN? You there?" Lando's voice crackles through the phone, cheerful and oblivious. I can barely concentrate, Lewis's lips warm against my skin, his hands trailing up and down my sides, pulling me closer.

"Uh... yeah, I'm here," I manage to say, my voice coming out breathy, almost shaky.

"What's up?"

"Just wanted to see if you were up for going out tonight," Lando replies, his tone light. "A bunch of us are heading to a bar nearby.

Figured I'd check if you wanted to join."

Lewis's mouth trails down my neck, his lips grazing my collarbone, and I struggle to keep my composure, biting my lip to stifle a soft gasp. He's doing this on purpose, I realize, trying to keep me distracted, knowing full well what he's doing to me.

"Um... I don't think I can make it," I finally say, my voice wavering slightly as Lewis continues his assault on my neck, his teeth grazing my skin just enough to make my pulse race. "I... I think l'Il be staying in tonight."

"Oh, alright," Lando says, sounding a little disappointed. "Well, if you change your mind, just text me. We'll be out pretty late.”

I try to mumble a response, but Lewis presses his lips to a particularly sensitive spot on my neck, and I feel a shiver run through me, my fingers gripping his shoulders as I struggle to keep my balance.

"Yeah... okay," I manage, barely aware of what I'm saying.

I hear Lando say goodbye, and I quickly end the call, dropping the phone onto the bed as Lewis's hands tighten around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His gaze is intense, his eyes dark and filled with something primal, something possessive.

"Staying in tonight, huh?" he murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips as his fingers trace slow, teasing circles on my hips.

I let out a shaky breath, meeting his gaze with defiance. "What was that about?" I demand, though my voice betrays me, coming out softer than I intended.

He raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he pulls me even closer, his face mere inches from mine. "Just making sure you're focused on the right person," he murmurs, his voice low, sending a thrill down my spine.

I roll my eyes, though I can't hide the small smile tugging at my lips. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Maybe," he replies, his tone playful but with an edge of intensity. "But I don't like sharing."

And then he's on me again, his mouth trailing down my neck, his teeth nipping, his tongue soothing the sting. I arch into him, my nails raking down his back, leaving red lines in their wake. He hisses, the pain seeming to spur him on, his hands sliding beneath my thighs, pushing them apart, spreading me wide for him.

I can feel the heat of his gaze on my most intimate parts, and I squirm beneath him, suddenly self-conscious. I feel his hand slide under my thong, onto me. His fingers are there, stroking, teasing, and all thoughts of embarrassment fly out the window. He circles my clit with his thumb, his fingers dipping inside me, stretching me, filling me, and I cry out, my back arching off the bed.

"You're so fucking wet," he murmurs, his voice rough with arousal.

I nod, wordless, lost in the sensation of his touch, the way he's making me feel. I love being touched like this, with such hunger, such desperation, and it's intoxicating. I want more, I want everything he has to give me.

I moan, my head falling back against the pillow as he works me expertly, his touch rough and demanding. "Is this what you wanted, Y/N?" he growls, his fingers pumping in and out of me. "To be fucked like the brat you are?"

I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response, but my body betrays me, my hips lifting to meet his hand, my walls clenching around his fingers. “Yes… please.” I whine.

His fingers slow their relentless pace, and I let out a frustrated moan. "Ah ah ah," he tuts, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "What was that, Y/N? I couldn't quite hear you over all that begging."

I flush, embarrassed and turned on in equal measure. "Please," I say again, louder this time, my voice cracking with need. "Please fuck me, Lewis. I want it… don’t tease me." I whine.

He rewards me with a particularly deep thrust, his fingers curling inside me and making me cry out. "Good girl," he praises, his voice low and approving. "Such a good little brat for me. Maybe if you're lucky, I'll give this bratty girl exactly what she’s begging for." He says lowly, promising something more intense after this.

He continues to work me over with his fingers, his thumb circling my clit in maddeningly slow strokes. My body is wound tight, teetering on the edge of release, but he keeps me there, denying me the satisfaction I crave.

"Lewis, please," I whine, tugging at his hair, my nails digging into his scalp. "I can't…Please let me…." I beg for permission.

He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear as he growls, "Cum for me, Y/N. Cum all over my fingers like the desperate little baby you are."

And with those filthy words, I shatter as I orgasm.

———————————————————

Note: part three is up! HERE

Hope you guys are liking it! If you are please like and follow so I can know to write more!

I’m new to writing stuff like this so 😅 sorry if it’s not perfect!

[ilyrafe]

𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒏 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄. | 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐

pairing: hitman!rafe cameron x f!reader

warnings: none :)

word count: 1k

part one

taglist: @starkeyvhs @toterry @httpsdrewstarkey @gillybear17 @baby19sthings @zya8tracks

a/n: this is such a shitty chapter but please bear with me i had such a terrible creative block!!! god i hate it here

a stroke of luck.

when joshua was found, both rafe and y/n were far. well, rafe wasn’t that far, but she had really disappeared. the next day, rafe still wanted to send a message to her and let her know that everything was done, but that number didn’t exist anymore.

as a precaution, rafe was always around, wanting to know if there was any suspicion about joshua’s death, but apparently, everyone there knew that he was “a time bomb about to explode”. the neighbors saw y/n leaving with all of her belongings, so they assumed that he couldn’t take it and took his own life.

“i knew one of them would end up dead,” an older woman told a friend, and rafe paid attention. “and i prayed it wouldn’t be her, because she was a good person. he would get drunk and when she would say she’d leave, he’d threaten to kill her and then himself. i’ve heard their arguments!”

in the end, y/n received a good amount of life insurance for still being legally married to him. good for her.

and life went on, as it would. as it should.

rafe continued his infamous business of killing for money, and whenever someone contacted him, he was disappointed that it wasn’t her. as much as he didn’t want to admit, he always caught himself thinking about her and wondering how she was doing, if she was okay.

rafe has seen grotesque scenes that no longer bother him, but imagining joshua putting his dirty hands around her neck, or scaring her makes his blood boil, because he’s done it before with his own sister, and that’s his biggest regret. if there’s a heaven and a hell, rafe knows very well where he’s going, and he’s already come to terms with it, but one thing he’ll never do again in his life is to be violent towards another woman - any woman.

even a hitman needs to have some morals.

the fear in sarah’s eyes still disturbs him. when he goes to sleep, that’s all he dreams of. he relives the moment all night long, and then he drinks to forget it, but it doesn’t help - the image of him nearly killing his own blood is too much.

when he remembers that day at the diner, he can’t get the image of her out of his head - she looked so small, so defeated. deep down, rafe knows all of the answers to the questions he asks himself. he’s smarter than he gives himself credit for.

(...)

the life of a hitman can actually be very lonely, something rafe still struggles to deal with. every once in a while he goes for a walk in the park when his mind is going places he doesn’t want to go.

an autumn afternoon in chicago is like a scene from a painting, where nature’s colors are in their full, fiery splendor. as he steps outside, the air is crisp but not too cold, just enough to warrant a light jacket, with the occasional breeze that carries the earthy scent of fallen leaves. the city’s famous skyline stretches against a sky that shifts between deep blue and soft gray, as the sun begins its descent, casting golden light over everything.

he’s trying so hard to see beauty in things, to keep himself afloat. rafe is numb. not even the hardest drug can make him feel anything. sometimes he does admire the nature around him, and to see the blue of the sky, in its immensity, makes him realize that, in a good way, none of this is real. none of this means anything.

we are all just cells, wandering around.

the sounds of the city seem a little softer in the fall, as people slow down to take in the beauty around them. a gentle hum of traffic can be heard in the distance, while the occasional laughter of children playing outside or the sound of a distant train passing through the city adds to the ambiance.

rafe has always had a soft spot for children. well, not exactly children, but what they represent. a kind of purity that seems untouched by the complexities and burdens of the adult world. it’s in the way they see the world with wide-eyed wonder, where everything is new and full of possibility. their joy is spontaneous, like a burst of laughter that rings out without reason, simply because they are in the moment. their innocence is also in their ability to feel deeply, yet let go just as easily. they live in the present, their hearts and minds unburdened by the weight of regret or worry. oh, and their unwavering belief in the goodness of the world. that sense of trust in the world, in people, in their own ability to be loved and to love in return, is a beautiful, fragile thing, one that people often lose or forget as they grow older (rafe knows it better than anyone else), but can still glimpse in the eyes of a child.

he would give anything to feel that way again.

whenever he remembers his childhood, rafe feels a sense of regret, an overwhelming desire to find a way to go back in time. oh, if only he could. be a child with no real worries. run through the freshly mowed grass, stumble and fall, and be comforted by his mother.

perhaps his luck has run out. he’s managed to leave a life of crime behind and come out of it mostly unscathed, he can’t just think that he can expect to find love - any type of love - in the same lifetime.

while walking through the park, rafe notices a young woman sitting on the grass, enjoying an ice cream. she seems carefree, just in the moment, observing everything around her. as he walks, he manages to get closer to her and... oh my god.

it’s her.

it’s her.

with each step taken towards her, rafe feels his heart beat faster. a mix of anxiety and excitement for finally having found her, after a year.

he stops right next to her, with his hands on the front pockets of his jacket, and waits until she notices his presence. when she does, she looks up, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“hi.”

“oh, my god. cameron?!”

i'd love to know your thoughts!!!

[h2llish]

⁀➷ ˖ what a show

notes ─── happy birthday @floydsteeth! love youuu

FLOYD LEECH ─ secrets that aren't secrets.

warnings ♡ fluff, male reader, lowercase intended, shenanigans ensue, floyd's a loser in love /aff, reader can sew

there's something so amusing to jade as he watches his brother experience his first time having romantic feelings for someone ─ before and after he established a relationship with you. (and while jade himself has never experienced such attraction, he knows his brother, and he can tell this is nothing like when floyd catches an interest in someone or something. ─ yes, this is different.)

floyd may not be the easiest person to get along with ─ mood swings that remain hard to predict, his intimidating appearance, and of course, the threats. but you made it seem like it was no trouble to get along with someone so many tended to avoid. (and jade found it almost funny, how quick you were to match floyd's energy. perhaps that's why floyd liked you so much.)

before you two started dating, jade had made it game between himself, tallying everyday as he watched the two of you interact ─ waiting to see if his brother would notice his feelings towards you. and, if he was correct in assuming you felt the same way towards floyd, if you would notice your own towards his twin. the count began the moment he noticed floyd's feelings; and for the longest time there was no clue towards any change between the oblivious dance his brother was unknowingly leading. ─ and well, it sure was a show.

but while things did change when you two finally realized your feelings ─ it wasn't all that different from before. jade still found it funny to watch.

even more so when it seemed as if your friends were completely unaware that you two were dating at all. ─ perhaps because your attitude towards each other weren't so different from when you guys were still friends and unaware of your feelings. perhaps because you guys never outright told anyone; simply let it happen as it was, for people to figure out on their own. ─ the only thing, is no one was quite figuring it out. (save for jade, and perhaps rook, as nothing goes past the hunter. and he's sure there were others, but those close to you, well, they seemed clueless.)

"where were you? what are you smiling about?" azul asked as floyd entered the mostro lounge, a grin that was much too wide to be deemed comfortable on his face. azul was eyeing him with suspicion, while jade approached with a knowing smile upon seeing his brother return after floyd had skipped out on his duties in the lounge. (he knew his brother too well ─ that was no smile of mischief, but rather an eel who was feeling prideful and maybe even giddy.)

jade folded his hands in front of him as he looked between azul and his twin, "my guess is the prefect."

of course, azul knew about floyd's relationship with you, there's simply no reason for him not to ─ it's one of things floyd doesn't shut up about when he's working. jade is quite sure all of octavinelle is aware (which begs the question, how your friends weren't). azul however, chose to face it with a sigh and a complaint every time floyd skipped out on his duties at the lounge to be with you.

floyd didn't appear or express annoyance at the immediate interrogation of his return, rather it seemed as nothing could quite snuff out his giddy mood. he was carefree as he often appeared when he was teasing someone or having fun, "hey i'm gonna borrow the kitchen, okay, azul?"

"for what? it's late." azul asked. floyd didn't answer him, marching past him, and both azul and jade were sure he was giggling to himself.

jade chuckled at his brother's behavior while his twin disappeared into the kitchen. ─ floyd's attitude and his question no doubt influenced by something that had to do with you, he's sure. he and azul could hear the start of floyd beginning to cook ─ what and why, they weren't sure.

azul stared at the door to the kitchen with a frown, before shaking his head and turning away to begin towards his room, likely to begin turning in for the night, as many of their peers had already begun to do.

jade remained in place for a moment, his smile amused as he listened to the sounds of his brother in the kitchen. he didn't know the context of his behavior, but you were the most reasonable answer. ─ with a hum, jade turned to begin towards his own room, knowing floyd would join him when he was done with whatever it was, he'd busied himself with making.

it turns out what floyd had been so giddy to make, was lunch for you and him to share outside of the cafeteria together. (a date, floyd called it. ─ his brother was just so amusing, jade thinks.) the reason was a compliment to his cooking while you two were spending time together the day before, after floyd skipped out on his mostro lounge duties once more. you'd learned it was him often in charge of cooking, and you complimented him. leading to the giddy behavior the night before when he returned to the dorm.

(and perhaps he sent you a message about the affect you had on his brother when it came to compliments, in the guise of a complaint from azul ─ because it was all that more amusing to him.)

jade wonders how your friends might've reacted; if they haven't caught on, realized, when you'd told them you were going to have lunch with floyd instead.

he gets his answer come lunch time.

"[name]'s been acting weird, don't you think?" ace asks, chin in his hand and elbow on the table as he addresses the table of first years, minus the usual you, who often sits beside your dire beast other half. (jade wonders how grim took it, when you decided to leave him with your friends to have lunch with foyd. he's quite sure grim wasn't happy, if the pout on his fuzzy face is anything to go by.)

"no kiddin'!" grim whined, throwing his paws up and stomping his foot on the table before a grabbing a pawful of the food on his plate and stuffing it into his mouth. he spoke through the mouthful of food, much to the disgust of his peers sitting with him, "ditchin' me and leaving me with you losers."

deuce scolded grim for a moment about talking with food in his mouth, before turning to ace and scratching his cheek, "i guess he's been a little weird."

"a little?" epel scoffed.

"i don't think it's any of our business." jack said, "he seems happy."

"i agree!" sebek nodded, arms crossed over his chest. ─ a reasonable reaction from both; it would've been the most respectful opinion if you were actively trying to hide your relationship with floyd.

ace was visibly displeased with their words in reply to his, choosing to brush them off, "you think he's hiding something?"

silence.

and then deuce asked, "what would he have to hide?"

ace didn't have an answer.

(and who is jade if he didn't take this opportunity? ─ really, it's not his fault your friends have proved to be quite dense.)

"forgive me for being rude." jade said, standing behind ace as the party at the table flinched. neither of them heard or seen him approach. "i couldn't help but overhear."

"jade?" ace asked, or rather, gulped, as he looked over his shoulder and up at the leech.

jade didn't seem fazed as he continued, a hand to his chin with a faux look of concern, "floyd has been acting quite strange as well." ─ not a total lie, perhaps, ─ "i don't suppose you think his behavior and the prefect's are connected?"

his underclassmen went silent, glancing at each other with expressions better explained as shocked.

"prefect did ditch us to go have lunch with floyd." epel said, "do you think─"

"floyd's tryna steal my hench-human!" grim yelled, or rather, screeched.

"grim─" but whatever deuce intended to say to the dire beast was interrupted as grim had already hopped off the table and bolted towards the cafeteria doors on all four, likely in search of you.

with some complaints and a few groans from the group of first years, they had all stood from their chairs to chase after grim, their trays forgotten for the ghosts to clean up later. jade wondered if they chased because they too were curious, or simply to stop grim, or maybe even both; either way, jade made the decision to follow, deciding he simply couldn't not do so, after such an entertaining reaction.

how grim managed to find you both so quickly was anybody's guess ─ but it's not like you were actively trying to hide, sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard under the shade of a tree. the box of lunches floyd had made empty and sitting beside you forgotten. ─ before anyone could stop him (and not like anyone had tried), grim pounced at you, yelling your name. you jolted, but before he could land in your lap, the scruff of his neck was grabbed and now the dire beast was dangling in front of floyd, who didn't look too happy.

"hey there, baby seal." he said, perhaps a bit bland in greeting as he stared at grim with his lips threatening to form a frown. "what are you doing here?" grim struggled in floyd's grip, grunting at him, and trying to claw free, but floyd remained unbothered. eventually grim stilled with a huff and took to pouting and glaring at the leech.

with the dire beast no longer yelling, you decided to speak up, "grim?" ─ you glanced up as the rest of your friends and jade joined you in the courtyard, staring at you and floyd, and the eel's jacket in your lap, that you had been busy stitching up, a tear in the sleeve obvious to them. "what are you guys doing?"

ace placed his hands on his hips and sent you an accusatory look, "we should be asking you that."

"what?"

"you can't steal my hench-human!" grim interrupted, pointing a claw at floyd, who still held the dire beast, but floyd only continued to look at grim with a look of boredom. (perhaps a bit upset that his lunch date with you was interrupted.)

you sent grim and ace an odd look, "what are you guys talking about?"

"you've been acting weird and that obviously has something to do with floyd, and we want to know why!" ace explained.

you stared at him, your confusion apparent as you didn't say anything more, the thread and needle in your hand forgotten for a moment in favor of trying to understand what he was talking about.

floyd seemed to catch on before you as he turned to jade with a frown, "you know why they're here. you could've told them instead havin' them come all the way over here to bother us."

"why, i haven't a clue what you mean." jade grinned, his voiced lilted in a way that proved he was lying, and enjoying the scene, that he didn't bother to hide. "i only wanted to know why you've been acting so odd as well."

it was then that you understood, "hold on─" you shook your head and looked between your friends and grim, who still dangled in floyd's grip. "you guys are saying you had no idea we were dating?"

"what?" there was a chorus of surprise to which you flinched. grim was finally released by floyd as a barrage of questions were thrown your way.

"you're dating him? since when? why?" ace sputtered.

floyd frowned, narrowing his ace on the heart with a not-so-pleasant expression. (well, this isn't quite how you expected the rest of your lunch to go.) "you got a problem, crabby?" floyd grumbled, and you almost laughed at the way ace shrunk, and the rest of your friends quieted.

"nope, not at all," he managed to say, grinning in a way that didn't hide how much the leech intimidated him, "actually, you guys look great together."

it was then that any further conversation was put to a stop as the bell rang, and lunch was dismissed. ─ meaning you were likely going to find yourself at the end of more questions on your way to class once floyd wasn't at your side.

you glanced at the jacket in your lap and sighed, "i'll have to finish this later, just try not to rip it anymore, okay?"

floyd's frown was quickly replaced with a grin as he wrapped an arm around you and nuzzled against the side of your face almost aggressively, (but you knew it was all affection). he didn't seem to care as your friends watched on in shock.

"[name]'s the best!" he praised, to which you raised your hand to pet his hair, laughing at his actions as he continued to nuzzle his face against your cheek. (and your friends were, best explained, horrified.)

yeah, you were definitely going to have a lot of questions to answer.

do not repost, translate, copy, or run my writing through ai.

[iid-smile]

★ nobody knows — bachira meguru

꠴ bachira meguru x gn!idol!reader

content: secret relationship, bachira calls you 'baby', not much happens tbh, word count: 0.3k-ish

there's not a single fan that isn't aware of bachira's crush on you, an up and coming idol who recently returned to the stage after a long break.

he's been your number one fan since day one. he (allegedly) was the first person to buy your physical solo album, (allegedly) has shown up to all of your concerts that were shoved into impossibly tiny buildings, and (allegedly) owns all of your merchandise known to exist.

he's not afraid of making his admiration for you known, yet you seem to turn a blind eye on the entire situation.

it's remained like that for a while. on multiple occasions has he been seen doing little snippets of your dances during celebrations, or reciting lyrics of songs that date years back no matter who's around. still, seemingly no word or response from you.

and here you are, sat in front of your phone after multiple back to back performances. it's difficult trying to keep up with the fame, exhausting yourself out to satisfy the demand. you stare at the surreal amount of people watching you live, the number only increasing as you read the comments for something, anything to talk about.

the instagram live only started minutes ago, and you've answered too many questions to count. alone, you've probably mentioned how your day was fine at least twice every minute, skipping over some less than appropriate remarks.

"i should eat?" you lean forward towards the camera, fiddling with the rings decorating your fingers. "i'm going to. i was planning on getting something delivered after this, but i think some of the staff ordered desserts. i think it might be—"

"baaaaaabyyyyyyy~!" clear, distinct, and loud. your one and only number one fan, bachira meguru's voice coming from another room.

you pause, and your reaction said it all.

you quickly turn, closing the door to the small room you were in. it was quite literally one of the worst times for your boyfriend to be looking for you. putting on an innocent smile covered nothing up from what happened seconds ago, and a notification from your manager telling you to shut things down didn't make you feel any better.

in a panic, you bid your goodbyes to your fans, your wave turning slightly frantic as the live disappears.

that day, everybody knew that bachira was dating his favourite idol. your silly, supportive boyfriend managed to out your entire relationship without even knowing.

a/n: how long is too long before you put a cut? 😧

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Michael Tomasky at The New Republic:

I’ve had a lot of conversations since Tuesday revolving around the question of why Donald Trump won. The economy and inflation. Kamala Harris didn’t do this or that. Sexism and racism. The border. That trans-inmate ad that ran a jillion times. And so on. These conversations have usually proceeded along lines where people ask incredulously how a majority of voters could have believed this or that. Weren’t they bothered that Trump is a convicted felon? An adjudicated rapist? Didn’t his invocation of violence against Liz Cheney, or 50 other examples of his disgusting imprecations, obviously disqualify him? And couldn’t they see that Harris, whatever her shortcomings, was a fundamentally smart, honest, well-meaning person who would show basic respect for the Constitution and wouldn’t do anything weird as president?

The answer is obviously no—not enough people were able to see any of those things. At which point people throw up their hands and say, “I give up.” But this line of analysis requires that we ask one more question. And it’s the crucial one: Why didn’t a majority of voters see these things? And understanding the answer to that question is how we start to dig out of this tragic mess.

The answer is the right-wing media. Today, the right-wing media—Fox News (and the entire News Corp.), Newsmax, One America News Network, the Sinclair network of radio and TV stations and newspapers, iHeart Media (formerly Clear Channel), the Bott Radio Network (Christian radio), Elon Musk’s X, the huge podcasts like Joe Rogan’s, and much more—sets the news agenda in this country. And they fed their audiences a diet of slanted and distorted information that made it possible for Trump to win. Let me say that again, in case it got lost: Today, the right-wing media sets the news agenda in this country. Not The New York Times. Not The Washington Post (which bent over backwards to exert no influence when Jeff Bezos pulled the paper’s Harris endorsement). Not CBS, NBC, and ABC. The agenda is set by all the outlets I listed in the above paragraph. Even the mighty New York Times follows in its wake, aping the tone they set disturbingly often. If you read me regularly, you know that I’ve written this before, but I’m going to keep writing it until people—specifically, rich liberals, who are the only people in the world who have the power to do something about this state of affairs—take some action.

[...]

This is the year in which it became obvious that the right-wing media has more power than the mainstream media. It’s not just that it’s bigger. It’s that it speaks with one voice, and that voice says Democrats and liberals are treasonous elitists who hate you, and Republicans and conservatives love God and country and are your last line of defense against your son coming home from school your daughter. And that is why Donald Trump won. Indeed, the right-wing media is why he exists in our political lives in the first place. Don’t believe me? Try this thought experiment. Imagine Trump coming down that escalator in 2015 with no right-wing media; no Fox News; an agenda still set, and mores still established, by staid old CBS News, the House of Murrow, and The New York Times.

That atmosphere would have denied an outrageous figure like Trump the oxygen he needed to survive and flourish. He just would not have been taken seriously at all. In that world, ruled by a traditional mainstream media, Trump would have been seen by Republicans as a liability, and they would have done what they failed to do in real life—banded together to marginalize him. But the existence of Fox changed everything. Fox hosted the early debates, which Trump won not with intelligence, but outrageousness. He tapped into the grievance culture Fox had nursed among conservatives for years. He had (most of the time) Rupert Murdoch’s personal blessing. In 2015-16, Fox made Trump possible. [...]

The fake story about Haitian residents of Springfield, Ohio eating cats and dogs, for example, started with a Facebook post citing second- and third-hand sources, Gertz told me; it then “circulated on X and was picked up by all the major right-wing influencers.” Only then did Vance, a very online dude, notice it and decide to run with it. And then Trump said it himself at the debate. But it started in the right-wing media. Likewise with the post-debate ABC “whistleblower” claims, which Gertz wrote about at the time. This was the story that ABC, which hosted the only presidential debate this election, fed Team Harris the questions in advance. This started, Gertz wrote, as a “wildly flimsy internet rumor launched by a random pro-Trump X poster.” Soon enough, the right-wing media was all over it.

Maybe that one didn’t make a huge difference (although who knows?), but this one, I believe, absolutely did: the idea that Harris and Joe Biden swiped emergency aid away from the victims of Hurricane Helene (in mostly Southern, red states) and gave it all to undocumented migrants. It did not start with Trump or his campaign or Vance or the Republican National Committee or Lindsey Graham. It started on Fox. Only then did the others pick it up. And it was key, since this was a moment when Harris’s momentum in the polling averages began to flag.

[...]

To much of America, by the way, this is not understood as one side’s view of things. It’s simply “the news.” This is what people—white people, chiefly—watch in about two-thirds of the country. I trust that you’ve seen in your travels, as I have in mine, that in red or even some purple parts of the country, when you walk into a hotel lobby or a hospital waiting room or even a bar, where the TVs ought to be offering us some peace and just showing ESPN, at least one television is tuned to Fox. That’s reach, and that’s power. And then people get in their cars to drive home and listen to an iHeart, right-wing talk radio station. And then they get home and watch their local news and it’s owned by Sinclair, and it, too, has a clear right-wing slant. And then they pick up their local paper, if it still exists, and the oped page features Cal Thomas and Ben Shapiro. Liberals, rich and otherwise, live in a bubble where they never see this stuff. I would beg them to see it. Watch some Fox. Listen to some Christian radio. Experience the news that millions of Americans are getting on a daily basis. You’ll pretty quickly come to understand what I’m saying here.

[...] The reason? The right-wing media. And it’s only growing and growing. And I haven’t even gotten to social media and Tik Tok and the other platforms from which far more people are getting their news these days. The right is way ahead on those fronts too. Liberals must wake up and understand this and do something about it before it’s too late, which it almost is.

Michael Tomasky of TNR explains it perfectly: Donald Trump won due to the right-wing media apparatus feeding lies to the voters.

[panpanghost]

part 2 of this thing:

Macaque heard them coming, Wukong's new friends. They were here when he first woke up, actually the strange kid was the first person he saw when he opened his eyes. The little fella looked so scared and worried about him, he even promised to find a way to save him no matter what. Such a nice kid.

But, he doesn't know who the kid is... After he left last time, Macaque asked Wukong about his identity but Wukong, strangely, just looked at him shocked and never gave him an answer, after that Macaque got the idea that he lost a part of his memories.

Macaque has been trying to get his memories back, but it's like shovelling through a mountain, he can't remember anything from the past years, he can't tell how long it's been. He tried asking Wukong about it, but, for some reason, Wukong is lying, he knows he's lying. He tells him not to think about it too much and just enjoy the present, Wukong won't answer no matter what he asks, he'd either avoid the question or lie.

But Macaque doesn't doubt Wukong, he knows he still cares about him, sure he was acting weirdly when Macaque went to sleep and shower with him, but he didn't kick him out or throw him away... he was acting strangely though... maybe... maybe they aren't that close anymore, maybe they drifted apart and haven't been together for a long time and Wukong is letting him stay because he feels bad for him-

No, no that can't be it, if it were the case then Wukong would've straight up told him to leave and he hasn't done that yet, in fact he's doing the complete opposite, he won't let Macaque leave his sight let alone the island. He's also been a lot more physical... not that Macaque is complaining about that... but still, that is not how you treat someone you want to get away from.

Maybe he can ask the kid, but would that upset Wukong? Shit... He can't stay like this.. Damn it. He'll deal with Wukong when he has to.

_"Hey Wukong, your friends are coming. Should we go greet them?" he asked playing with Wukong's hair, under the shadow of an old tree,

_"They are?!" Wukong got up from Macaque's lap dusting and putting himself together as if he was caught doing something he shouldn't. What's with him? Macaque doesn't remember Wukong being the shy type. No, Macaque is they shy one, Wukong used to have fun tormenting him in front of others.

_"Yeh, they'll be at the house any minute now."

_"Alright, thanks for telling me."

_"No problem, let's go see them, I'm actually kinda curious to know what that kid found out about the crown. All the monk said was that he felt a dark energy from it then nothing else."

_"Yeh.. about that. Why don't you just stay and rest a little more. I'll talk to them."

_"What? Why? It kind'a concerns me, don't you think I should be there?" Macaque is really starting to lose his temper,

_"Actually.." think Wukong, think! "When they first arrived here, you attacked them thinking they were enemies, and.. well... you guys don't get along that much..." would he believe that? it's not entirely a lie though..

_"oh- ok... I'll wait for you then." Macaque feels really bad, did he really attack them? but they seem so nice. It's really upsetting him, after what he'd done to them, they are still trying to help him, he should apologise, maybe make them some apology sweets, Macaque can't cook but he for sure can make killer desserts.

_"Hey, don't feel so down about it, I'll be back soon, ok?" Wukong feels a little bad for upsetting Macaque, but this is for the best, yes, it's for the best... is it?

_"ok." Macaque gave him a little smile. He should listen to Wukong, it's not like he can remember what he's apologising for. Wukong will take care of it.

[greeniegirl23]

Isn't It.. Lovely? (Chapter 3#)

One month.

You had one month to make the biggest decision you'd ever make in your life. Part of you wondered why you didn't tell Alastor to have a field day with your Father's corpse, until you remembered that the other part of you still loved and cared for him.

He was still your Dad and once upon a time he was a very good Dad. Your parents were practically a power couple when your Mom was alive, after her death, depression fell on him like a bag of bricks. Leading him to find feeling again in glasses of wine and bottles of hard liquor.

Everyday you pondered on this, wondering if something would finally push you over the edge. If you'd snap and take revenge for yourself.

You didn't like having those thoughts. Yes, the idea of liberty made you feel elated but at the cost of the last family member you had? It was conflicting to say the least.

All that worrying came to a halt once Alastor began to solidify his place in your life.

Every night at 9pm sharp, when you were dressed for bed and your despicable abuser was asleep. Alastor used his powers to turn your radio into your own personal hotline. He was ever so happy to hear from you, happiest when he saw nor heard any traces of harm inflicted on you that day.

He soon found out that you were a curious one and a terrible over-sharer. It was obvious you never really had friends before and if you did, they left you behind long ago. You were as innocent and pure as the driven snow. Always asking questions about him, about Hell, and what it was like back when he was on Earth.

You loved when he told you more about his life. It was like he was reading you your own personal bedtime stories. Tales of speakeasies and the depression, parties that lasted from dusk to dawn, and of course, all of the completely justified crimes he committed before his demise.

As payment for his stories, you told him about your own and caught him up on modern day issues. He seemed especially interested in World War I, disappointed that he died a few years shy of when it started. You told him about your health science classes, your school, and he even became a good study buddy to help you out with your tests.

“Alright darling, last question.” He stated, a drum roll playing in the background. “If your patient performs a forward lunge, which plane of the body are they moving in?”

You chewed on the end of your pencil. “..Coronal?”

A bell dinging made you smile. “Correct! Well done darling, but I'd like for you to work on your confidence when you answer. No one wants a doctor that's unsure of what they're doing.”

“Yeah..I just get so unsure sometimes. I think I'm more scared of being wrong than being right.”

He chuckled. “Do not fret my dear! I've been doing these little pop quizzes with you long enough to know you have a sharp mind. Confidence is a tool that will solidify your place in the career you plan to pursue, so don't be afraid to utilize it more.” His voice was so kind and mentoirish. It felt like he was giving you life lessons almost every time he talked.

On one hand that made you embarrassed. Like these were things you should have already known but you didn't, but you decided to give yourself some grace. Life was different for you than everyone else, so obviously there would be some things you didn't experience to gain knowledge from.

You placed your pencil down and sat cross legged in your chair. Not being the type of person who could sit still, nor do things normally. “Is that how you become a radio host? Because you were super confident?”

There was a pause. “Well, it was something that helped. Being a professional at what I do required more than just believing in myself. Most people think it's easy, but it has its challenges. For example, I used to rehearse my script in the mirror to stop myself from unconsciously going ‘umm’ every 10-30 seconds. It also aided in preventing myself from fumbling my words.”

“That sounds like solid advice.” You smiled. “I should start keeping a journal when you're around and call it ‘Life Lessons As Taught By The Radio Demon.’”

A loud cackling broke out over the radio. “Ah, so the girl does have a sense of humor. A good one at that!” He said proudly. “And here I thought you were all doom and gloom.”

“Hey! I'll have you know staying positive at all times can be very exhausting.” You huffed, placing your hands on your hips in a pouty attitude. “It's really hard to smile when it feels like the world is against you...”

There was a stagnant silence in the air as you turned your head to gaze out the window, watching the rain drizzle from the grey sky. It was your favorite weather, even more so because of the friend it allowed you to find.

Alastor pondered over your words before he took a deep breath. “That leads to a question that I've been meaning to ask you for some time now. It's a rather sensitive one so if you'd prefer not to answer, I would understand.”

Giving the plushie your attention, Alastor's tone turned concerned as he asked. “I can’t help but wonder, Darling, where is your mother..?”

Without missing a beat, you replied. “Oh, my Dad murdered her.”

A sharp microphone screech omitted from the radio. It was safe to say he most definitely was not expecting that..

Not because he can't see your degenerate of a guardian doing something of the sort, he was actually more curious as to how someone as sloppy as your Dad could get away with something like that. No. What got him was even though you were saying words that no child should ever say until they're well into adulthood, you smiled. A soft one, filled with unspeakable pain and a lust for something you could not yet gain.

You could feel him hesitating to ask you some more questions on the topic, so you decided that you could quickly give him your life story. “Whenever anyone asks about it, I always tell them that she passed from cancer but, that's not true..”

Alastor’s signal chirped in curiosity, but he made sure to sound sympathetic. “What happened?..”

You chuckled a bitter melody.

“She was born a diabetic and I was around twelve.. Everyday my Mom took her medicine, the diabetes is actually what led her to becoming a doctor in the first place. Every morning my Dad would make her coffee, as a way of telling her he loved her. I snuck a few sips before only to find out she made it black, when she caught me she told me “Mommy can't have sugar…”

When I turned fourteen, they started arguing. A lot. I can remember hearing them sometimes. Mom threatened to leave him because he was starting to grow a gambling issue and she was tired of taking the brunt of most of the bills. He promised to change and that's when everything started to go downhill.. Weeks went by, she just started getting sicker and sicker seemingly out of nowhere. Still had her morning coffee though. I'd make it for her sometimes and she reminded me “Mommy can't have sugar.” Hardly able to do anything for herself, much less take her medicine. Of course he said he'd do it, he promised me he did when he took me to school..He still made her coffee, before he went to work and after she had been made bed bound..I thought it was a lie, that it wasn't true until I realized that she died that morning with a cup of coffee in her hand..”

A sour laugh left your lips, as you recalled that day you came home from school and found her lying there with blood on the pillow, blood that she had been coughing up for almost a month.

“That bastard was poisoning her with fucking sugar… Everyday he was putting a little bit in her morning coffee and not giving her the insulin she needed. She was a Type 1 diabetic and he did all of it for some fuckin insurance money..” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Before yanking it in frustration and punching your fist through the nearest wall, your face was blank and unmoving for a second not even flinching as you removed your bruised fist from the drywall. “Mama couldn't have sugar..”

Alastor listened as you explained your mother's demise. His distaste for your father grew more and more as he recalled memories of his own childhood. He'd never tell you to your face, but he could see parts of himself in you from his younger years, if lead in the proper manner, you could become quite the promising killer.

He shook his head. Not the best thoughts to be having right now, not while you're on the edge of a mental breakdown.

“I..Would be lying to you if I said I knew what to tell you about such an awful situation..” He stated hesitantly. “But I can say that I am sorry, that you had to deal with something like this so early in life.”

“Don't be sorry, there's nothing to be done about it…She's gone now and I have to get away from him.” You declared, looking at your now bruised hand. “Now you understand why I made that wish. On any day, at any time, for any reason, that man could decide to kill me. To kill his own daughter in cold blood..”

Alastor hummed. “If you know this, then let me help you." He demanded. "I cannot sit idly by forever my dear, these links to your world are only good for short times to prevent other demons from causing other problems. No one understands the severity of this situation more than you. I would love to help you exact revenge on that putrid sack of skin but you must choose before it is too late and I am no longer around..

You sat in silence as Alastor did his best to help you come to a decision. As much as you hated being rushed, you couldn't deny that he was correct. But the decision was hard, harder than you thought it would be considering the fact that you still loved your father and the man he used to be…

All these thoughts ran through your head on a daily basis, everytime they made you wanna curl up and cry. Snatching up the plush doll, you gave it a good squeeze and hid your face in your knees, wishing that your Mom was still around.

The Radio Demon pursed his lips in thought, he wasn't good with others emotions unless he could feed off of the entertainment from it, much less comforting them. There was nothing entertaining about this, about you being sad. He didn't like it for a reason he couldn't explain, perhaps because you were so bubbly in the beginning?

You weren't trying to do anything miraculous, you just wanted to live your life in peace and possibly get justice for your mother. That was something he could understand. He wouldn't mind completely decimating your Dad, truly he wouldn't! It'd be on the house for you, truly you're the most pitiful soul he's come across in a long while.

He supposed he could pull a few quick strings to make you feel better in the moment. To bring back that smile of yours, full of wonder and a desire for life.

As you continued to seek shelter in your knees, you felt a gentle touch caress the top of your head, sharp claws softly scraping your scalp in an attempt to comfort you.

Wait..

WHAT?!

Quickly yet carefully, you snapped your head up to see none other than The Radio Demon crouched down right in front of you. His hand still rested on the crown of the head as you both stared at each other for a moment.

“I'm sorry.. am I dreaming?” You blurted out.

Alastor smiled, laughing in a low tone at your completely gobsmacked expression. “Fortunately for you, the answer is no my dear. As a gentleman, it'd be rude of me not to at least attempt to help a lady in emotional distress.”

You were still dazed and confused about him being here, much less t o u c h i n g you!! “Ida..I-- I didn't know you could-”

“Travel through the radio? It is quite possible but I only do so on rare occasions since it requires a fair bit of my power that cannot be overexerted in one day.”

Standing up to his full height, you realized how tall he was and thanked God that the ceiling was high enough for his antlers not to scrape. Crawling out of your chair, you immediately felt like an ant compared to him, the top of your head barely came to his collarbone.

“Holy crap you're tall." You blurted again. "I mean, I knew that you were tall but, you're really, really tall..”

Smirking with pride, he twirled his cane expertly like the show off you knew and loved. “7”0 exactly my dear, a foot taller than I was when I was a mortal! Though I suppose that was the universes funny way of punishing me for my crimes, I've bumped my forehead on door frames a good 50 times in both life and death!”

As you examined his real life appearance, you couldn't help but laugh. “Yeah well, the heels don't help.” You pointed to his shoes.

He huffed in feigned offense. “They are not heels, darling they are tap dancing shoes and it was quite common for them to have a bit of height back in my day.”

“Okay, Fred Astare.” You snorted as he settled himself on the side of your bed as you marveled at the fact that he was still taller than you even while sitting down. “And here I was preparing to offer you a dance in hopes of lifting your spirits, only for you to insult my tastes in fashion.” He hmphed, crossing his arms and legs while sticking up his pointy nose towards you.

In a daring moment, you sat right next to him crissed crossed, careful not to to touch him while he continued to play offended. “C’mon Al, don't be so huffy. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“ ‘Al’ huh?” He hummed. “Sounds like someone is getting rather familiar.”

“Hey, you call me 'Darling' and 'Dear' so often I think that it's only fair that I call you 'Al' on occasions.”

“I suppose you have a point. Nevertheless, I came here to try and boost your spirits, you seem to be doing better so if you wish to be bratty I can just go back home..” He teased with an evil grin.

“Wait!” You said just a bit too loudly. “Would you like to play a game with me? Ya know, before you go..”

Alastor raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he parted his lips to deny your offer, until you pulled out the big guns and gave him your best puppy girl eyes. A chill went down his spine from your usage of such cheap tactics, remembering his years as a lad and doing the exact same thing when he wanted something desperately from his dear mother.

“Okay! Okay!” He said, placing his hands up in surrender. “I shall subject myself to whatever game this is for one round, as long as you stop making that revolting expression..”

He watched as you smiled with pure enthusiasm. Such a beautiful smile you had, it made him irritated that you didn't do it more, yet proud that he typically was the source of it sprouting in the first place. Crimson eyes followed your movements as you shuffled off the bed to grab a small deck of cards off of your shelf. A part of him hoped you heard the chuckle that left his lips while you struggled to stand on your toes to retrieve this game.

“It's called ‘Uno’ “ You explained, walking back to him with a red box in hand. “It's a pretty simple game and the rules are easy.” Dumping the cards out of the box, the two of you sat parallel with one another.

”However, this simple game has been known to end more friendships than Monopoly and Mario Kart put together. It shall truly test our bond as companions, only the strongest survive it's trials..” You spoke in a dramatic tone while shuffling the cards and placing the proper numbers out for the both of you. Once you were finished, you placed the extra cards in the middle and looked the Radio Demon square in the eye. “Are you ready?”

“Yes yes,” He replied aloofly. “There isn't any possible way this silly game could cause such a staggering amount of broken relationships. I refuse to believe it's that bad.’

You chuckled bitterly. “You beautiful unsuspecting fool.”

---------------------- ( 2 Hours Later) ---------------------

“That's against the rules!” Alastor hissed underneath his breath as you threw out a fat stack of +2 cards.

“No it's not Alastor, you said you wanted to play stacks and this is how it's played.” You muttered.

The first round between you two consisted of showing Alastor the ropes. The confident man he was, he assured you that the game was easy enough for an infant to play and win effortlessly, especially since he won the first round. You then decide to spice things up by teaching him how to play stacks. He claimed that was easy as well and you allowed him to believe this as the next round consisted of him losing, and so did the next round, and the round after that, and the round after that…

Before you knew it, two hours had gone by and Alastor was determined to beat you at least once. It had gotten so intense that he resorted to taking his tail coat off and even putting his hair up, leaving him in his tight red office shirt and hair that framed his face like the scrumdiddlyumptious being that he was. The sight of his bare arms totally didn't have you blushing up a storm behind your cards.

While he was stewing over his next move, you got to confirm a few fan theories and ogled at his appearance.

Respectfully, of course.

But, the game wasn't over yet. Alastor sat across from you, irritated and with at least eleven cards in his hand, while you had three. The air was tense as he scratched his head and finally decided to throw out a small handful of 8’s, bringing his card count down to five.

Your poker face remained unmoving as you calmly threw out a wild card. “Blue.”

A warble of interference omitted from Alastor's person as his eyes scanned his cards carefully. You were actually surprised at how the tables had turned personality wise. In the beginning, it was Alastor who was calm and collected, but every loss slowly chipped away at the pride that fueled his unwavering persona. His usual smile was now looking more forced, making his disdain obvious.

Throwing out a blue card, you threw out two on top, leaving you with one card as you stated that dreadful word. “Uno.”

With a growl, Alastor tossed out a draw +4. “Red.” He stated blandly. A quick glance at the clock let him know he was late for a meeting with Charlie, but formalities be damned because he was going to win this game.

You took your cards quickly and deemed your hand an amazing one. He replied by tossing out a 2 and leaving three cards left. Victory was close and he swore that once he won he would ‘kindly’ rub it in your face.

But, just as you had been doing for these past five rounds, you had an ace up your sleeve. You tossed out the red ‘Skip’ card, costing Alastor a vital turn that could have turned the tables, only to metaphorically slap him in the face by cheering “Uno!” and dropping your final cards in the middle of the messy deck.

He suppressed a scream of irritation as you did your little victory dance, glaring at you both with gaiety and pure spite. He stood up and snapped his coat back on and his hair back down, he pinched your cheek just a little too hard. “That's enough cutting a rug darling, especially for someone that has two left feet such as yourself.”

“Stop trying to cease my dancing, I must wiggle out my joy.”

With a roll of his eyes, he tuned the radio on to his station to prepare to go back home. “Well you can dance until your heart's content, unfortunately I have to return back home to handle some business.”

Immediately your uncoordinated movements stopped, as you frowned. “Oh, right..”

Part of him felt bad. Not that he would tell you outright, but he didn't exactly want to leave you behind either. The thoughts of what your father could do unannounced made him concerned for your safety, but there wasn't anything he could do. Instead, he smiled genuinely and lifted your gaze up with his finger.

“Chin up, dearest. I shall check on you tomorrow as always and don't forget, you still need to make up your mind about what you want from the options presented to you.”

You didn't reply verbally, but you did nod your head sadly which would have to be enough for now. As he prepared to walk off, he was suddenly stopped by a tight embrace from behind. Anyone else who would have ever dared to think of such a thing would have been a splatter on the wall and he was just about to give you a kind yet serious talk about personal space until he felt something wet soaking through his clothes.

“..Thank you.” You mumbled through the fabric. Inhaling his scent as you sniffled and tried to calm down, honestly you were surprised he didn't push you off.

As mentioned before, emotions were not Alastor's think nor was physical affection. However in this moment, with you crying lightly and hugging him as if he were your only hope of survival, he decided that maybe, just this once, he would let it slide.

For his comfort, you didn't allow the hug to last longer than a minute. Once you pulled away you were embarrassed to say the least and prepared for him to possibly scold or never talk to you again. But, to your surprise, he simply pat your head and whispered, “Sleep tight, cher.”and was gone with a blink of your eyes.

To say you were sad was an understatement, but you knew that he'd be back tomorrow like he was everyday. The idea of talking to him tomorrow. To hear his voice in real time, talking to you and to offer comfort because he actually cared made your heart pound in your chest. As much as you didn't want to think this way, you couldn't help it. He seemed so concerned about you, in a way that no one else has until now.

You did your best to still your beating heart as you began to clean up your fun from earlier, only to find your cards were missing. You looked everywhere and still couldn't find them, ultimately you claimed into bed and decided that maybe Alastor snapped them somewhere you'd never find so that he wouldn't have to loose, I mean, play anymore.

Meanwhile…

“Alastor you're late!” Vaggie snapped as he came waltzing down the stairs, following her to where the rest of the group sat waiting.

“I am aware Vagatha, I was busy doing something else.” He replied calmly, only to make the fallen angel more irritated. “Whatever, I hope you brought something because it's your turn for a group activity today..”

“But of course! How could I forget?” He smiled impishly, before pulling out a red box with a familiar word on it. Once with the rest of the residents, Alastor clapped his hands together and pulled out a chalkboard seemingly out of nowhere.

“For today's activity being hosted by yours truly, we shall all be playing a game suited for bonding and the strengthening of relationships,” He beamed, writing out the title of the game in big letters for everyone to see.

“The name of the game is...UNO!"

------------------------------------------------------------

(Thank you for coming back for Chapter 3# of this story! I hope you stick around for the next one because I plan to make it the last. I've been so busy with life and stuff, it's kinda hard to find time or motivation to write, but I do want this to come to a close while still making room for a bit of fun between Al and the Reader.

For those who asked me to make a tag list, I'm not entirely sure how to 😅. Though I will try to figure it out for the next time I write a short story. Don't forget to leave your opinions behind in the comments and thank you for all the love you guys give me, it means a lot 💜

Stay Tuned! :D

Taglist: @twistedvanillacoffee @diffidentphantom @boldlyenchantingfox22

[tobbesdiscordkitten]

Guns N’ Roses Fic: You Don’t Know How This Works

Summary: One morning Howard telephones Axl to interview him and to secretly get under his skin by flirting with his girlfriend, Roxanne. Little does Howard know that Axl has other mischievous plans up his sleeve.

Characters: Axl Rose, OC: Roxanne, and Howard Stern.

Pairing(s): Axl Rose/original female character, Axl Rose/female reader, Axl Rose/Roxanne, Howard Stern/Roxanne.

Rating: Explicit, 21+

Word Count: 2,357

Warnings: Howard is a creep, humiliation, drug use, mentions of bondage, vaginal fingering, forced climax, and oral sex.

A/N: This fic is inspired by Howard Stern’s 1990 interview between Axl Rose and Sebastian Bach. Parts of the interview have been altered to fit this story’s plot. In the fic, Roxanne is semi based off of Erin Everly. Link to video => here

Everything inside the condo was quiet. Morning light seeped into the bedroom, casting a golden glow on both the wrinkled white bedsheets and Axl Rose's sleeping form, while his head was buried underneath a layer of pillows. It was peaceful. Until suddenly, on the nightstand, the telephone began to ring. The obnoxious sound reverberated off the walls. Axl stayed in bed, somewhat blocking out the noise with his pillows.

He had stayed up all night partying with his friends, drinking vast amounts of hard liquor, injecting himself with heroine, and French kissing his beloved sweetheart, Roxanne aka Roxi. His body felt wrecked and his mind harbored a horrible migraine. The ringing only made his problems worse.

Axl groaned awake, picking up the receiver, a hint of grogginess in his tone. "Hello?" Axl's eyes caught a glimpse of the clock - 9:15 a.m. Who the fuck was calling this early?

"Hey, Axl, it's me - Howard Stern. How the hell are you? What have you been up to?"

Axl's peripheral vision was somewhat blurred and his mind was not registering the bombardment of questions Howard threw at him. He sat up in bed, rubbing a hand over his face, hoping his mind would clear up. Unfortunately, for the migraine, it still knocked on his frontal lobe like Heaven's Door. "Wh-what?"

"Come on, man. Don't dodge the question. Tell me about your life. What's been happening? Are you still banging chicks? Writing any new songs? You still partying like a wild animal?" Howard always pried each of his guests on air and wanted to know everything about their life. It didn't matter if it was his business or not, Howard made it his business.

"Yeah, man. Sure."

The answer was vague and Howard knew it. He needed to try a new tactic, go slow, take each question at a time, and then he'd get the answers he was searching for, including some dirt as a bonus. In the end, the turtle won, not the hare. "You sound tired. Did I wake you up?"

"No," Axl lied. "Just laying in bed, reading some magazines."

"Yeah? Any hot chicks on those covers?"

"Not a chance.” He cleared his throat. “They're Rolling Stone articles."

"Oh, business replaced pleasure this morning?"

"If they didn't shred me in the papers it'd be the opposite."

"What kind of shredding?"

"How I don't live an honest life. That kind of bullshit." It was true. The media did try to distort his public image by twisting the facts and cranking out lies about his personal life and incidents that have occurred on tour.

"I hear ya, man. Critics can fuck you right in the ass. It's their job. They wanna fuck every celebrity they can find, including me. I'd rather they sucked my dick. Like in your song, Out Ta Get Me."

Axl snorted. "It's one thing we have in common." His eyes wandered to the other side of the bed, noticing the empty space. Where was his baby girl? Was she in the kitchen brewing some coffee? Making breakfast? Outside of the bedroom, he didn't hear the clinking of dishes to confirm his suspicions, or the aroma of coffee grains. “Roxanne?" Axl called, unaware that Howard was still on the other line.

"Oh, is she there?" Excitement crept into Howard's voice.

Axl grunted. "Yeah, man, she's here..."

"What's she doing right now?"

He shrugged. Why was Howard interested in his girl? It seemed strange…odd. "Hell if I knew. She disappeared on me."

"Uh oh. That doesn't sound so promising," Howard mused. "Is she fucking one of your boys?"

Axl eyed the door. "Nah, man. She's loyal." Or at least he hoped she was. She wouldn't wander out of the condo to fuck one of his band members. If that was the case, he'd tie her down on the bed and remind her who she belonged to. It wasn't the first time that happened and it wouldn't be the last.

"Doesn't sound loyal," Howard commented. "Tell me something: does she have big tits?"

The question took him off guard but Axl tried to remain unfazed. Instead, he chuckled, picturing her voluminous globes and perked nipples. "Why? You jealous?"

"No, no. All I'm saying is," Howard corrected himself, "you're lucky for finding chicks with great racks. It's a rare find these days."

"A lot of 'em are fake, but she's a natural."

Howard paused, listening intently. He heard many rumors about Axl over the years, particularly about his temper. Howard was purposely trying to get a rise out of him and see if he would blow up over the line in front of Howard's daily listeners. He just needed to push each button a little more...

Axl continued, "You can squeeze 'em and all sorts of sounds come outta her like a chew toy."

"You suck her tits too?"

"Lick, bite, suck," he elaborated. "Look, it doesn't matter. She creams for me. End of story."

Around the corner, Axl heard the front door unlatch, creek open, and close. Roxanne must've arrived home.

“Axl?"

"In here, baby."

Roxi walked into the doorway of their bedroom, holding two coffees and dangling a plastic bag, with a bagel logo on it, around her forearm.

Axl sighed with relief. She didn't wake up early to cheat on him. She went out of her way to buy them both breakfast from their favorite bakery across the street.

Roxi held up his beverage, whispering, “Black coffee with extra milk for my King."

Howard interrupted the precious moment with his chattering demands. "Lemme speak to her." If Axl denied his wishes, he wouldn't hear the endless complaints from Howard for the rest of the interview, and Axl was already running low on patience this morning. "Babe, come here. Howard wants to talk to you." Axl motioned for her to step closer.

Roxanne walked in, handing him his coffee, and setting the bag on the nightstand. She grabbed the phone, pressing it against her ear while her index finger snaked around the cord, twirling it. It was a nervous habit. She never spoke to a famous person before, let alone Howard Stern. "Hello?"

"Is this Roxi?" Howard questioned, wanting confirmation.

"Yes."

Her voice was music to his ears. She sounded sweet like licorice, seemed childish like a doll, and innocent like Bambi. He could tell her very essence encapsulated an aura that could only be found within his childhood but was buried underneath life's hellish experiences, stripping away such purity. "You sound very beautiful," Howard complimented.

Roxi blushed, twirling her finger around the cord until her blood circulation came to a halt. "Thank you."

"What are you wearing?"

She looked down at her attire. "I'm wearing a dress."

"What kind of dress? Is it short?"

"No, its long. A long black dress. Nothing fancy."

"I see. I bet it's accentuating your curves, am I right?"

Roxi blushed again, harder this time, and held the phone against her ear tighter, hoping to block out Howard's voice in case Axl overheard him. She knew how jealous and overprotective Axl got, especially towards playful banter. "Thanks. Uhm...it's stylish, yeah."

Howard sensed her uneasiness. It was time to go straight for the kill. "Right. So, tell me, have you and Axl been making love every night?"

Roxanne turned to look at Axl. "Why are you asking me these questions…?" She asked, laughing nervously. Axl caught on and knew Howard was acting unprofessional. He took the phone away from her, sitting her down on his lap. "Howard," Axl said, wrapping an arm around Roxi's waist to keep her glued to his side.

"What, man? I'm just curious. I need to know the details. Is she a good lay?"

"Best lay you'll never have." Axl squeezed Roxi's hip. "She's mine. Nobody can have her."

"Nobody can have her yet she has everybody." Howard shot back.

Axl tried to keep himself composed. "Nah, man. You don't know how this works." He took Roxi's coffee out of her hand and placed it on the nightstand. He cradled the phone with his shoulder, using one of his hands to hold Roxi in place while his other hand sneaked underneath her dress, diving into her panties. She jolted at the sensation, wide-eyed, cupping her mouth shut with both hands.

Why was he displaying his dominance now?! She wondered.

"How what works?"

"This." Axl slid a finger into Roxanne's pussy, making her gasp. He could feel her velvet walls clench around his digit.

"How does it work?" Howard persisted.

"Only I know how it works." Axl slid in another finger, hooking them inside her. Roxi moaned into her palms and arched her back. "I intend to keep it that way." She didn't notice but Axl's eyes turned a shade darker as his dominant, protective side took over.

"Aww, I can't be part of your little club?" Howard found this whole interaction amusing and was oblivious to what was actually occurring.

"Nope. Just me." Axl withdrew both fingers, sliding them along her slit until he found her clit, stroking it. Roxi whined, leaning herself further onto his chest.

"I see. Only the cool kids get to join, huh?"

Axl nodded, stroking her clit a little harder.

Howard shook his head in mock disappointment. "That's alright. I'm not missing much."

Roxi came. Axl swiped his fingers along her cunt, coating them in her warm, fresh juices. “Not a damn thing." He confirmed, sucking away her slick. She was the most delicious thing he ever tasted. She was far superior than any meal Howard would never graze upon in his lifetime.

Roxanne's body went limp against Axl as she tried to catch her breath from the quick yet intense orgasm. She could feel his hardened erection poke into her ass at the seam of his pants. Now it was his turn to get a release.

Lying back on the bed, Axl repositioned Roxi to straddle his waist. She inched her body downwards and undid the leather belt-buckle on his jeans. Next, she used her teeth to unzip the fly of his jeans, tasting a hint of copper on her tongue. Her fingers dug in to free his throbbing manhood that was already leaking precum. In the room, a cool breeze wafted over his cock, helping it grow a few inches.

"So, Axl, tell me, will there be any covers on this album?"

Axl wanted to forget Howard was on the phone. He wanted to forget this interview was even happening and, instead, focus on the pure, erotic bliss Roxanne was gonna provide him. Axl wished he could smash the phone and never hear Howard's annoying voice again. But he couldn't. He needed the recognition. He needed the world - his fans - to hear about his upcoming album. And most of all...he needed a damn good blowjob.

Roxanne suctioned her lips around the base of his cock, diving head down to engulf his shaft in her throat. Axl cursed under his breath and used his free hand to guide Roxi's head, setting the pace.

"It's uhm...it's coming. We recorded Live And Let Die a few months ago."

"Oh yeah? The James Bond hit? I can foresee you guys executing that."

"Yeah, it's been really great." Axl looked down and saw Roxi's head bob up and down, causing her cheeks to hollow out, sharpening the contrast on her cheekbones. It was a lovely sight to behold. He bit back a few moans, cursing under his breath again. He didn't want Howard to know or suspect an inkling about this situation.

Reaching his hand out, Axl caressed Roxi's dark locks and petted her head, a notion that indicated she was being a good girl for making him feel grounded and satisfied.

"I heard a rumor Steven left the band-"

"He didn't leave. He got fired." Before Howard could ask why, Axl responded, “couldn't leave his drugs, couldn't leave her..." He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. Roxanne was more addicting than heroine. Every time he got a piece of her, or she got a piece of him, he craved her insatiably. He could spend all day drinking her sweet nectar until the pipe ran dry. But he would want to come back for more, as if his thirst never got quenched during the first round.

"Mrs. Brownstone," Howard joked.

Axl laughed. "Yeah, yeah. We should've named it that." He could feel his climax approaching like a freightrain. He bucked his hips upwards, causing Roxi to gag a little. She recovered and only sucked him off faster.

"I'm guessing the rest of the album is gonna be a big surprise then?"

Axl grunted and felt his hot seed spurt out of his length into Roxi's milking hole. "Uh huh. Top secret. Classified."

Roxanne pulled her lips away with a popping sound, not loud enough for Howard to notice.

Howard understood and decided it was time to wrap the interview. He knew Axl wouldn't tell him anymore details and it'd be a waste of time to try and coax it out of him. The two men had enough fun for one day. Maybe next time he’ll try again. “Alright, man. Hey, listen, it was great talking to you and I hope we can do this again sometime."

Axl rolled his eyes, trying his best to fake a genuine impression through gritted teeth. "Yeah, man. Sounds great."

"Tell Roxi I hope to see her again soon."

"She won't be here the next time you call."

Howard paused. Did this manic rockstar catch a glimpse of the future just now? “Really? How can you be so sure?" He queried.

"Because...I just know." After announcing his final words, Axl hung up the phone, and turned his attention towards his lover. "Thank you, baby. You did good."

Roxanne sat on her haunches, staring at her King. "Why won't I be able to talk to Howard again?" She asked curiously. She didn't mind not speaking to him, the interview was awkward enough for her. She hated how Howard put her on the spot in front of millions of listeners. But she also wanted to know the reasoning behind it. If her was willing to tell her.

Axl hummed, using his thumb to swipe a droplet of cum from her lower lip. "Because…that's not how it works."

Taglist:

Side-note: if anybody else wants to be added on my taglist for certain eras/characters, let me know!

[identitty-dickruption]

ooooh can you elaborate on how the concept of objectivity and truth are rooted in colonialism and imperial structures

I sure can!

okay so first thing to say is that everything I'm about to say has been said better and fancier by Linda Tuhiwai-Smith in her book Decolonising Methodologies. second thing to say is that I am from the school of interpretivism in political science (similar to constructivism in sociology), and we are constantly ridiculed for hating science. third thing to say is that I do not actually hate science

now for the big caveat: I respect science. it can have a lot to offer the world. as a disabled person, I fully understand that I would be dead without science and that science allows me to get cool surgeries etc etc

alright. now for my answer. it comes to you in three parts, because there is a lot of explaining I have to do before I can really get to the root of the matter

'objectivity' is meaningless

the first thing you have to understand is that nothing is free from human interpretation. we understand the world through the language we have for various phenomena that we might view internally or externally from ourselves. the classic example of this is colour, right? colour is 'real', in the sense that there are different light wavelengths that interact with our eyes in certain ways. but it's also 'not real', in that every person on the planet has a different definition of what counts under each colour category. my blue is not your blue. this gets more complex when you consider that some languages have a higher or lower number of colour words than others

if things are that complex when it comes to something like colour, you can bet it gets a lot worse when you're talking about topics that are even more complicated and politically contentious. this is where science comes in

what counts as 'knowledge'?

what is 'scientific'?

what does it mean for something to be 'true'?

there are no objective answers to any of these questions. and I don't think that's a bad thing. the issue here is the insistence that, with enough time and energy, objectivity can be achieved and everything will eventually be able to be Known

enforcing objectivity is oppressive

the illusion of objectivity is a tool to cover up underlying ideologies at the root of scientific institutions. here's the logic we're all taught

if something is objective, that means it is inarguably true

if something is true, that means it is apolitical

if something is apolitical, acting upon that information is neutral and harmless

in these discussions, people often bring up certain parts of scientific study as if they are things of the past. "people used to think race science was the objective truth!" bitch, they still do. "science was once used to justify eugenics" bitch, it still is. when 'objectivity' is treated as the opposite of 'political', powerful institutions are able to justify their pre-existing political commitments through the lens of 'science'. that does not mean that there are no possible truths at the heart of what they are studying. BUT all truth is seen through the lens of human interpretation, and all human interpretation is through the lens of culturally and politically contingent factors

"scientists may have isolated the gay gene" is not a politically neutral statement. it is a statement that expresses the following beliefs:

being gay is deviant from normal human development

the distinction between 'gay' and 'not gay' is 100% natural, as opposed to a specific way some humans have chosen to organise categories of sexual attraction

once a scientific cause is found for homosexuality, it would be possible (and possibly good!) to then eradicate homosexuality in part or in full

genetics is an interesting one, because the entire establishment of it as a field of study is rooted in eugenics. I refer back to race science. I refer back to the on-going fixation with breaking down race into genetically identifiable categories. anyone who has ever done a 23&me genetic test for racial identification purposes has, to some degree, bought into the concept of race science and the concept of race as an objective truth. when we believe that race is a scientific phenomenon rather than a cultural/social one, we also believe the lies of white supremacy

I also urge you to ponder: isn't it such a wonderful coincidence that the centre of all objectively true knowledge production just coincidentally happened to be Europe? weren't the European peoples so so blessed when the lord handed them down the concept of the scientific method? <- not saying the scientific method is bullshit, but I do encourage you to think about what ideologies these narratives reinforce

objective science was a tool of colonialism, and continues to act as such

the various ways we imagine different First Nations people around the world is often in relation to their position in knowledge production. think about the noble savage, who is untouched by the horrors of 'humanity', and yet has access to some secret mystical knowledges. think also about the role of the white missionary, who beneficently brings knowledge and truth to the unaware colonised peoples

'The Academy', as a colonial institution, acted (and continues to act) as the white missionary. they bring colonised peoples the gift of Truth, as if those peoples had never encountered knowledge or knowledge production before. when a Proper Scientist discovers that a particular group of First Nations people had their own scientific methods, it is always reported back to the white world in a surprised + condescending tone. look! it turns out that Australian First Nations art isn't meaningless and it actually tends to be a tool of passing down knowledge in these communities! isn't that so beautiful for them! even as First Nations knowledges are starting to be introduced in university settings, they are introduced from the viewpoint of white knowledge

because we hold up objective science as the One True Goal Of All Knowledge, we are unable to put multiple sciences side-by-side, and see them as equal bases for knowledge production. instead, we continue to try and find white reasons for First Nations truths. because we pretend that it is possible to see Truth without first seeing our own interpretations of truth, we enforce and reinforce colonial knowledges. these issues cannot be encountered properly if we refuse to see science itself as contestable

okay I'm done now

yeah that's kind of the best way I could think of to explain it all. I am so sorry that it ended up so long, and that I meandered in so many different directions. I hope it all makes sense :)

[pokegyns]

alright so an argument i’ve recently had with a particular person on here is what initially motivated me to make a post about this, but it’s something that’s overall been bothering me a lot in trans spaces, so i have decided to talk about it.

it’s a known fact that trans people are very sensitive to any talks of biological sex, and that they refuse to analyze or hear out any form of sex-based oppression, however sometimes this discomfort can truly delve into a more dangerous territory. if we cannot talk about sex-based oppression, we cannot have feminism. something that has seriously been circulating around trans spaces recently is a very serious form of sex-based oppression denial, one that crosses the borders of “i’m uncomfortable with talks of biological sex because i’m dysphoric”. the outright refusal to acknowledge that female people are legitimately oppressed in ways that male people never will be, the outright denial of deathly forms of misogyny such as medical & reproductive misogyny that systemically only harm those born female, bold & vocal statements such as “transmisogyny is worse than misogyny” [why are you borrowing & coining a word that originates in *misogyny* if you are going to blatantly & boldly undermine the existence of misogyny?]– those aren’t harmless statements, and are actually actively contributing to the medical negligence of female bodies. they are supporting the continuation of this mystification of female bodies, the underresearched nature of female bodies; by refusing to acknowledge the very factual reality of the male body being seen as default, creating fallacies, hypothetical situations & people, engaging in whataboutism & overall denial of reality, to support their weak arguments of female oppression not existing on its’ own & genuinely asking questions such as, “what makes an afab person more oppressed than an amab person?” [but then again continuing to use the word “transmisogyny”, when, by their logic, the word would be an oxymoron, since they do not recognize misogyny as an actual axis of oppression], they are essentially saying, “medicine is correct for neglecting the female body, following the male model as the default, and should continue doing so”.

“what makes an afab person more oppressed than an amab person?”, they ask. “there isn’t some inherent oppression faced by afabs!”, they shout. well, i’m about to answer their so kindly articulated questions, although i’m very aware they are going to dismiss my words as bigoted attack against transfeminine people, as bio-essentialist propaganda, and “terf shit”. although male people absolutely can & do face sexual assault & rape [and the rates of prostituted & sexually exploited & brutalized trans women are alarming; which is something that should most definitely be discussed in feminist circles, as it is an issue of transmisogyny, which is equally damaging & oppressive], the ability to be impregnated is an additional vulnerability. the ability to get someone pregnant puts you in the privileged position here, no matter how uncomfortable that makes you feel. next up, female puberty is a very traumatic experience, as is female socialization. the stigma surrounded around “girlhood”, being locked away from freedom while seeing all your male peers enjoying a childhood of leisure– how is this not an advantage? add on the societal stigma around growing breasts, getting your period, developing a more adult-ish female body type– all of those are female-specific issues [trans women can add their insights about their experiences with hormone reassignment therapy & share their struggles with gender childhood trauma & unique discomfort with socialization + forced/unwanted male puberty, and their insights are more than welcome & appreciated]. furthermore, female infanticide is still unfortunately a form of oppression that we have yet to end, and bringing up the homicide of trans women is not at all comparable to this. a parent does not know their male infant is going to be sex incongruous, and this very much protects the male baby from being aborted or literally femicided after birth for being female, which is, quite literally, tangible proof of female-specific oppression existing on its’ own, starting even before or from birth, without any other accompanying & contributing factors. to add on, female genital mutilation is likewise still a sexist practice that is yet to be stopped. as is the existence of child brides. as are abortion bans.

strawmanning & using whataboutism, such as “there are cis women who cannot menstruate! there are cis women who cannot get pregnant! there are cis women without uteruses! there are cis women without *insert female organ*!” is not going to negate the fact that *trans women inherently remain without uteruses*. it is not going to negate the fact that historical medical misogyny, such as the misogynistic claim of “female hysteria” was intrinsically linked to uteruses. it is not going to magically make trans women the primary victims of the abortion bans. it is not going to negate the reality of negligence of female bodies in the medical field. it is not going to negate the historical reality of female people being unable to open their own bank accounts up, and male people of all sorts being able to. in no way am i saying that medical & reproductive misogyny are the only sorts of misogyny, nor am i claiming that period stigma is *the central* aspect of misogyny & *the deciding factor* to who experiences the worst of misogyny; all i’m saying is, that even female people who personally cannot menstruate/don’t have specific female sex characteristics/are intersex– still are systemically affected by medical misogyny & period stigma. trans women can experience female-specific misogyny when assumed to be female, medical misogyny is not the only form of misogyny nor is it the most important one, trans women can & do experience social misogyny, economic misogyny, cultural misogyny– but they are not experiencing medical misogyny. that being said, medical transphobia can absolutely be deathly, and should not be ignored in feminist discussions.

it is not a violent threat to your humanity to acknowledge that oppressed people are oppressed in different ways, holy fuck. it should not be seen as a direct attack against a minority group to analyze intersectionality & different forms of bigotry. we all have experiences that are equally valuable & we can all equally contribute to the fight against oppression, with all of our differing struggles & diverse battles. neither oppression is worse. both are fucking bad, and both suck equally, having both overlaps & differences in their manifestation. you just have to realize that you sometimes are, in fact, the privileged one. cis women may be at advantage in other situations, but you are at advantage in other situations. we all need to be good allies to each other. medical neglect of female people is real, but so is the medical neglect of transfeminine people. they manifest in different ways, which isn’t dangerous to point out, and it should be pointed out. neither is inherently worse or more traumatic & important than the other. both are oppressive to the core, and both stand in the way of feminism & anti-patriarchal action. it’s not going to fucking kill you to just be mature for once. i promise you.

– mod zoroark

[incorrect-fnaf-quotes]

could i request something post apocalyptic between a Y/N and Springtrap?

🐰|The whole situation has been going for the last six years. Originally, you’d been traveling alone.|🔥

🐰|...At least after something occurred with the last person you were traveling with.|🔥

🐰|It’s late, and you’ve been traveling for awhile, and you need somewhere to rest. So, you find an abandoned pizzeria.|🔥

🐰|You thought you’d be alone. ...You were quickly proven wrong.|🔥

—

Sighing heavily, you leaned against the shattered wall, rubbing at your eyes.

What happened six years ago... you still couldn’t quite believe it. It didn’t really feel real, yet it was.

Why couldn’t this just be a nightmare?

A loud clatter, followed by a screech, was what caught your attention. Your eyes widened, and your body tensed.

You whipped your head around, and caught sight of an entryway that you were certain hadn’t been there before.

Boards were collapsed all over the ground—some remained well intact, while others were in multiple pieces.

And in front of the entryway stood... a rabbit?

He took a single step forwards, and in a raspy whisper, asked, “What... are you doing?”

Immediately, you began to take several steps backwards. “I just... I need to hide here for a-“

“...From what?”

—

🐰|He has no clue what’s been going on, as he’s been locked away for so long. So, you end up giving him an explanation.|🔥

🐰|The rabbit—Springtrap—wondered a lot of thing’s in those years. He wondered what would be different. He’d not expected this.|🔥

🐰|When you ask that you can still stay here for awhile, Springtrap allows it. Partially because... he has a lot of questions.|🔥

🐰|And that’s what happens. For a total of five days, the two of you remain there, with you resting, and answering any of his questions.|🔥

🐰|In return, Springtrap tells you a couple of things—but it’s all very vague.|🔥

🐰|But one night... whatever roams in this post apocalyptic world? It arrives.|🔥

—

The sound of screeching startled you awake. Eyes snapping open, you were quick to sit up. You’d been asleep on the old stage.

You caught sight of two creatures—both surrounding the stage. Yet, they weren’t the only ones.

Springtrap stood in front of the stage, facing the creatures. By the time you’d sat up, one was collapsed on the ground.

Was the rabbit... protecting you? You slowly blinked.

The next and last creature... you watched as it joined the other, falling to the pizzeria’s floor with a low rasp.

A huff escaped from Springtrap. “That was easier than I expected...” He turned to look at you, raising an eyebrow. “These are really what caused this?”

“We need to go.”

—

🐰|He’s been alone for thirty years. He’ll take being with anyone at this point.|🔥

🐰|You’ve been alone for six, and he was certainly able to handle those creatures... at least a few. You’ll take him.|🔥

🐰|When the two of you leave the pizzeria, and begin to travel... you know this’ll certainly make it more interesting. And less lonely.|🔥

[aeolianblues]

it is literally not about legality, if you’re in your late 30s literally what are you hitting up 21 y/os for. Don’t you have investments to make.