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honeywyrdie · 4 months ago

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There's Always a Cat at a House Party

Lee Minho x Reader

summary: You've got a goal tonight - find a stranger to make out with to get over this stupid little crush you have on your roommate. You'll fail. Hard. /// word count: 6k /// genre: smut, fluff, roommates to lovers /// warnings: sloppy makeouts, cunnilingus, spanking /// a/n: grad school has been kicking my ass so I've been a lot more MIA than I've wanted to be. enjoy this little (6k) smut I wrote to experience a single drop of dopamine in all the chaos. I don't normally write Minho, so I hope I did him justice! Maybe I'll even make a part 2 to this.

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I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

18+ content beyond the cut MDNI!

You

“Minho, have you seen my black platform heels? The velvet ones with the little ankle strap?” you shout from the bathroom.

“No,” your roommate replies. “Aren’t they in your closet?”

“Could you check for me?”

The hairdryer you’re using is on full blast as you set your curls, so you don’t hear his lazy groan as he gets up from where he’s sitting. You’re getting ready to go out to a house party with Minho, and you’re on a mission this evening.

Step One: Look as alluring as possible, so you want your hair to be perfect.

Minho’s head peeks around the door frame, holding your favorite pair of fuck-me-heels in his hand.

“Are these the ones you’re looking for?” he asks.

He looks like he’s already ready to go - he’s wearing a casual but clean-cut outfit, all black with some silver jewelry. His skin always looks dewy and perfect, and tonight is no exception. Your eyes linger just a second longer than you’d like to admit to yourself.

Quickly turning back to your task at hand, you shake yourself out the small moment of awe he seems to slap you in the face with all the time. You can’t look at your friend like that, it wouldn’t be fair to him. In fact, that’s the exact reason you’re going out tonight.

Step Two: Don’t get distracted by your hot roommate you've had an unrequited crush on for a few months.

Minho and you have been living together for over a year now. It’s been wonderful, you both seem to work so well together. Ever since you’ve met, it’s been so easy to exist around each other. You both have the same social battery, he loves to annoy you and you love to annoy him right back. It’s pretty equal between the two of you since you both enjoy taking care of one another.

That’s why you feel so guilty about this little attraction that gnaws on your heart. You’re supposed to be friends - platonic, cohabitating friends. Nothing more. If you said anything or made the wrong move, it could fuck up your entire living situation, and one of the best friendships you’ve developed in your adult life.

Step Three: Get over this stupid little crush and move on.

You shut off the hairdryer, taking one last look in the mirror to make sure your curls are set before you get the rest of your outfit together.

“Yep, those are the ones!” you say, taking them from his hand. His hand connects with yours for a brief moment, sending a little flash of heat through your body. You’ve really got to get over this crush, especially if a silly little brush of his hand is driving you mad. You mentally smack yourself, and pull yourself together.

“Come hang out with me while I finish up.”

“We’ll never make it in time,” Minho says, rolling his eyes. But there’s a smirk on his face. “What will the boys say?”

“It’s a Han House Party, who cares when we show up!” you say, grabbing his wrist and dragging him towards your bedroom.

Rummaging through your closet, you pick out a few pieces that you think will work. Everything you choose is revealing but not outside of your comfort zone. You hold up a leather mini skirt and a pair of shorts that leave little to the imagination. Turning to Minho, you hold them up.

“Which one?”

His eyebrows shoot up, a look of surprise quickly morphing into one of concentration. He stares at you from where he’s laying on your bed.

“So we’re just really putting it out there this evening, huh?”

“Oh, don’t be so judgy,” you say. “I have a goal tonight and dressing like a nun won’t help.”

“I don’t know, I bet dressing like a nun will definitely get you some attention,” he chuckles.

“Be serious! Which one?”

He looks back and forth between the skirt and the shorts.

“The leather one. I like it better.”

You look down at it and nod, envisioning the outfit you’re putting together. It’ll be the perfect amount of slutty for the evening. Minho interrupts your train of thought as you start grabbing fishnets, a lace top, and a strappy chest harness.

“Why are you pulling out the big guns for tonight?”

“Minho… it’s been AGES since I’ve gotten any action,” you whine, pouting in his direction. “My dating life has been drier than the Sahara for almost a year now.”

“So, what? Your plan is to go to some party with other random strangers and use the ‘do you want to come see my cat’ pick up line?”

“The what?” you giggle.

”It’s a pick up line they’re using these days. Like ‘come back to my place, I’ve got a cat’ to get someone into bed. You know, how a year ago they were saying eating ramen was a way to ask someone to fuck.” He says with a yawn as he stretches out on your bed.

“As if,” you scoff. “I would never use Soonie, Doongie, and Dori like that! Besides, it’s not necessarily a hookup I’m looking for tonight.”

“What are you looking for?” his tone shifts, as if he’s putting an intense spotlight on you. You sigh, turning away from him towards the mirror to hold up the clothes you picked out.

“It’s been so long since I’ve kissed anyone. Like really kissed someone. Slow, passionate, a little messy. The kind where you can lose hours in that moment with another person. I miss it. The last few flings I had seemed like they weren’t as interested in that, always trying to rush into sex before I’m warmed up,” you murmur, your gaze dropping to your feet, feeling your face heat up. “It makes me feel like no one wants to spend time making out anymore.”

The room is silent for a moment and it makes you feel so exposed. You’re about to try to laugh it off when your eyes meet Minho’s in the mirror. The look he gives you is heavy, as if his eyes are holding you in place. You watch as his jaw clenches, the muscle twitching slightly with the strain. And just as quickly as you notice it, his features relax, going back to that lazy expression.

“I’m sure there are many people who would jump at the opportunity to kiss you like that,” he says slowly, eyes glued to his phone now.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Name a single person who wants that.”

The room is filled with that same heavy silence again.

“Exactly. So, that’s what I’m on the hunt for tonight,�� you say, pulling out your makeup bag. “Just a random makeout with some stranger who I never have to see again.”

~~~

Minho

He had almost fucked up, blown his cover, let the cat out of the bag - whatever you want to call it, he had almost ruined everything in that moment. You are driving him insane. This was the closest he’s gotten to telling you how he feels. The way you’re talking about kissing someone else, finding some stranger to share a moment like that with, filled him with the sick, possessive feeling he’s had about you since you met.

Minho knows you don’t feel that way about him. The two of you have lived together for over a year, sharing a living space, bedroom walls separated by only the bathroom. He hates the part of himself that feels entitled to you, it’s not right. But he can’t stop. Minho would do anything to make sure he could hear you humming in the mornings while you shower, even if that means keeping his attraction to you a secret that burns him up inside.

He’s got a good poker face, he knows it. You haven’t noticed that for the past year he seems to stare daggers at any person that comes within 20 feet of you with that look on their face, silently making them run off. But he felt it slip for a moment tonight while he thought of you in that leather skirt with someone else's hands on your thigh.

By the time you’re ready to go, he has his mask of indifference fully in place again. He says goodbye to the cats and you both head over to Jisung’s place.

Minho has to keep his eyes on the road. He has to avoid looking at you since you walked out of your room in the outfit you meticulously put together. He’s never seen you dress like this before. In fact, he’d probably drive the car off the road if he gets distracted by your fishnets again. You’re wearing some kind of bralette that puts your breasts on display under a sheer black lace top, your legs in fishnets and the tight skirt that he picked out barely covering your ass, and those heels. Those fucking heels. All he could think about is grabbing onto them as he fucked you into his mattress.

After hearing you talk about the way you wanted to be kissed, the images barraged him like cannonfire. He wants to make you whimper into his mouth. He wants to grab onto your ass while you rut against him until you are panting his name.He wants to taste you. He wants to be the one to make a mess of you. He wants to claim you and never hear you talk about another person ever again.

But he can’t. He knows he’s too intense.

It would be unfair to you. You’ve never given him any indication that you return his feelings, so he keeps them simmering away but hidden from you.

So he couldn’t look at you on the drive. He could barely look at you when he opened the door for you when you arrived. He could tell his nonchalant act was coming off a little strong by the way you detached from his side the minute you entered the house. Winding his way through the crowd of bodies, he made his way to the cooler to grab himself a drink.

He watched as you found Felix, one of your mutual friends. He was safe from Minho’s glare since he knew Felix was not available. But Minho kept his eyes on you from afar, watching the people you would chat with, seeing the ones you’d get a little too flirty with. It made his blood boil.

“Careful now,” a voice came from his left suddenly. “She’ll think you’re mad at her.”

Jisung appeared next to him, distracting him from the raw hunger that was bubbling away in his chest.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Minho sniffed, trying to avoid the topic.

“Please,” Jisung gave him an exasperated look. “Don’t act like I wouldn’t know that face.”

“What face?”

“That face you make when you’re about to rip the throat out of whoever gets within 10 ft of Y/n.”

“I don’t make a face.”

“Liar!” Jisung laughed. “Have you told her?”

“Told her what?” He narrows his eyes at his friend. Jisung knows him better than anyone in the world, so it’s especially annoying to be dissected like this while sitting on a couch nursing a shitty beer.

“Have you told her that you’re desperately in love with her?”

Minho chokes on his drink, coughing hard.

“See?” Jisung says, sticking his chin out as he chides Minho. “If you weren’t into Y/n, why’d you spit out half your drink onto my carpet?”

Minho stands up suddenly.

“Where’s the cat?”

“What?” Jisung asks, a confused frown on his face.

“The cat, there’s always a cat at parties like this,” Minho says. “In some room, hiding under some bed, there’s always a cat.”

“Weird that you know that, but yeah, my roommate has a cat,” Jisung says cautiously. “She’s in the guest bedroom.”

“Great. See you,” Minho says as he turns and walks down the hallway to find the guest bedroom.

“Minho, where are you going?” Jisung calls after him.

“To hang out with the cat in the quiet!”

~~~

You

Has everyone always been this boring?

Your mission this evening was starting to fall apart before your eyes. Every single time you tried to find someone you thought you could spend a few hours with, there was always something that turned you off.

One guy in the kitchen was fun to flirt with at first, telling you about his job at some school, working in one of the biology labs. But he started drinking way too heavily, like he was racing head first into a blackout.

Yuck.

One girl you were chatting with on the couch was going back and forth with you about a tv show you had recently finished. There was genuine banter for a while, until you noticed that every time you made a clever joke, she’d say “wow, that’s actually funny!” in a very condescending tone.

Next!

There was one person you thought you were really starting to connect with, swapping stories about your views on the local music scene. But then they started talking about aliens, as if the aliens were hiding amongst the crowd around you.

Nope.

You sigh, tossing the rest of the drink you had barely touched into the sink. It’s been a couple of hours since you got here and you’re nowhere closer to your goal than you were when you arrived. If you couldn’t have a fun time chatting with someone, you know you’d have an even worse time kissing them. Deep down, you know you were just trying to find a band aid solution while you waited for this stupid crush on Minho to go away. He’s the only one you actually wanted to tangle yourself up with until the sun rose.

While your mind drifts to thoughts of your roommate, you realize you haven’t seen him all night. Where is he? You scan the living room, catching Jisung’s eye.

“He’s with the cat!” he shouts across the room.

“What?”

“He’s hanging with the cat. Guest bedroom! Down the hall all the way and to the left!”

You give him a thumbs up and decide to go find your favorite little introvert. When you get to the door, it’s closed with a sticky note that says “Keep the door closed! Cat inside!” Not wanting to spook either the cat or Minho, you knock softly.

You hear someone quietly curse, followed by, “Come in.”

You gently open the door. Minho is sitting on the floor in front of a couch. The cat is nowhere to be seen.

“Close the door behind you!” He whisper-shouts at you. “I don’t know if she’ll bolt or not.”

You shut the door behind you gently, locking it for good measure. “Where is the little fur baby?”

“When you knocked on the door, she ran behind the TV again. You can see her if you lean down.”

You bend over, seeing a pair of glowing eyes in the back right corner of the shelf that the TV sits on. The breeze you feel on the backs of your thighs makes you aware of how short your leather skirt is and you hastily stand back up. You smooth your skirt down before you sit on the couch next to Minho.

“Why are you hiding in here with the cat?”

Minho looks down at his hands. “I don’t know, it was just a little too much out there for me.”

“Poor baby kitty, so overstimulated you have to find the only other cat at the party,” you say, patting him on the head. He huffs out a laugh, swatting your hand away. He stands and slumps into the couch next to you, his knee lightly brushing your thigh.

“So,” he starts, leaning back against the cushions. “How’s it going out there? Anyone want to go home to see your cat?”

You playfully shove his shoulder with a laugh. But you sit there, letting silence fall again.

“No,” you murmur, looking down at your hands. “I’ve discovered that everyone kinda sucks.”

“I could’ve told you that,” he says, looking over at you, a small smile playing at the side of his mouth. “No one has caught your eye?”

“Well… no. I guess not.”

Minho frowns. The tone of your voice is tinged with sadness and he shifts closer to you.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” you start, wringing your hands together slightly. “I never expected to be this picky. Like if I can’t have a conversation with someone, I definitely can’t get physical with them. I need to know I vibe with a person so I can trust them with something more.”

You can’t look directly at him, he’s too observant. Minho can read you in an instant. He seems to know what you need before you do. When you come home from a rough day at work, he can tell by the sound of your footsteps, and often greets you with a snack. You’re afraid that if you looked at him now with his dark eyes, he’d know about the feelings for him you’re trying to bury deep down inside yourself.

“I understand that,” he says. “You want someone who knows how to make you feel safe.”

“Right, and it seems that everyone I talked to tonight had something wrong with them,” you say. You feel Minho shift even closer to you, you can feel the warmth of his body next to you. “It shouldn’t be this hard to find someone to kiss.”

There’s that strange heavy silence again sitting between the two of you. Minho opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then snaps it shut. He takes a deep breath. He gently grabs your fingers, fiddling with them in his hands.

“I’ll kiss you,” he nearly whispers. “I mean, if you want…”

You look over at him with a frown.

“Don’t make fun of me right now.”

“I’m not! I’ll kiss you.”

“I don’t want a pity kiss!”

“It’s not that! I... I think it would be nice. To… y’know… kiss you.”

You search his eyes for any hint of a joke. All you find is a dark pair of eyes looking back at you deeply, glittering in the low light. There’s a little edge of anxiety on his face. When did this couch get so small? You can feel your heart hammering in your throat.

“Won’t it make things weird?”

“It’ll only be weird if we make it weird,” he says, moving closer to you, eyes flicking down to your lips mere inches away. “So let’s promise it won’t get weird.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “I promise.”

“Me too,” he says, his eyes staring at your mouth as he delicately wets his bottom lip with his tongue.

He leans into you slowly, like he’s giving you every chance to change your mind.

Then his lips meet yours.

It’s so soft you could cry. The kiss is gentle and sweet with a small hint of apprehension, like you’re waiting for him to reveal the grand prank he’s pulling on you. But instead, his lips glide against yours tenderly. He presses small, slow kisses on your mouth, like he’s testing the waters by taking small sips, even if he’s dying of thirst. Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, running your hand across his sharp cheekbone. His head tilts, leaning into your touch, as he pulls back slightly with a sigh.

“Is this okay?” he whispers against your lips.

Biting your lip, you nod with your eyes still closed. You’re worried that if you say something, the little bubble of magic in this moment will pop, and he’ll come to his senses and reject you, realizing his mistake. The worry starts to churn in your belly. His hand finds your chin, coaxing you slowly to lift your eyes and meet his gaze.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, searching your eyes. There is only warmth in the way he looks at you. It almost makes you feel silly being so anxious. Even if he doesn’t return your feelings, you know for certain that you’re safe with him. All of your anxiety melts away, leaving only the ache of desire in your chest.

“Yes,” you breathe against him, and pull him towards you again. “Please.”

This time, when your lips meet, you feel that spark of heat between the two of you. Your fingers find the collar of his shirt, pulling him in closer. This time, there’s more push and pull, flowing back and forth gently between you. One of his hands rests on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over the spot just below your ear.

Your lips part as you whimper. Minho’s tongue softly runs along your bottom lip, silently asking permission to deepen the kiss. He wants to move at your pace, letting you control the speed. You surge forward, leaning over as his fingers curl in your hair. He tastes sweet on your tongue as you tangle up in one another.

Heat envelops you, the sound of your breath filling the air. You feel electrified, like there’s a live wire in your chest strong enough to power an entire city. The way your tongues move against one another, exploring each other's mouths, discovering the way the other person likes being touched.

“I need-” you start, pulling away to catch your breath. Minho’s dark eyes find yours.

“What do you need?” he murmurs as his thumb caresses your jawline.

“I need to be closer,” you say, kneeling on the couch, kicking a leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Fuck,” he whispers, gritting his teeth. “I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

His words wash over you, a warm affection swirling together with the heady lust that’s consuming you.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Touch me. Everywhere.”

The last word tumbles from your lips with a moan as his hands splay on your lower back, dragging your body close to his as you descend onto him again.

~~~

Minho

Minho can’t believe how soft and pliant you are. In all his fantasies, he had never imagined the breathy little noises you’d make as he held your face, or how easily you’d respond to the silent suggestion from his hands on your hips. He would push and you’d move, he’d pull and you’d follow, like he was leading you in a ballroom dance.

He certainly didn’t expect how his heart would clench as you moan into his mouth when his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. The tremor that shakes through you makes all the blood rush from his head straight to his cock. Sure, he has touched you platonically before, you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder once or twice during a movie night. He denied himself anything further, holding all of his feelings for you behind a brick wall in his chest. But tonight, you broke through all of those barriers. Minho is learning a new side of you as he runs his hands over the outline of your body, trying to memorize it.

Time seems to stop as he gets lost in you, pouring all his unspoken feelings and arousal into you slowly. If this is his only chance to have his hands on you, then he will savor every second of it. The room around the two of you fades into nothingness as he pulls you closer, wanting no space between your bodies.

Minho would never rush you, regardless of how turned on he is. You said you just wanted a night of kissing and he could give that to you. He just has to ignore the pulsing of his cock in his jeans.

He does indulge a little though. When you straddled his lap, your leather skirt bunched up around your hips. He runs his hands over your fishnet covered thighs, sliding his fingers under the hem of your skirt to push it a little higher.

His hands snake around to grab onto your ass, trying hard not to dig into the soft skin. Your head drops forward onto his shoulder with a moan as you arch your back, pressing yourself further into his grasp. He’s always loved your ass, admiring it from afar for so long. Sure, he’s never had his hands on you like this, but his eyes? His eyes have been devouring you since he first saw you.

Your hips begin to rock against Minho and he feels his mind go blank. A breath is caught in his throat as he feels the heat of you through a few layers of fabric. Fingers gripping his jaw, you wrench his head to the side, attacking his neck with your tongue. Through the haze of your lips and tongue against the column of his neck, he can feel the way your mouth curves into a sly smile.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers when you come up for air briefly.

“Do you want to stop?” you say, pulling back slightly.

“Never,” he replies, tugging you back into him.

He can’t help it any more, his fingers grip into your ass, kneading into your plush flesh. He starts to push you down with every rock of your hips, dragging your clothed cunt across the bulge in his pants until you’re whining against his throat. The way your nails scrape against the skin of the back of his neck has his mind spinning. You wrench your head away from his neck, crashing down on him again, your plump lips landing on his.

When you bite down on his lip, he groans into your mouth. Your hands roam his body, pulling up the hem of his shirt, smoothing your palm across his stomach. Minho’s holding onto his sanity by a thread.

He’s delirious over the heat between your thighs as you grind down on him, your hips wiggling from the friction. Fingers roaming over your lace top, his fingers find the edge of the chest harness you’re wearing. It’s made from some kind of elastic material, so it stretches easily as he pulls it away from your body. He snaps it back against your chest and you squeak into his mouth. You pull away again, looking down at him with swollen lips.

“Minho!”

“What? Why else would you wear this?” he smirks at you.

You splutter for a moment, so he does it again. Pulling the elastic back further this time, holding it taut for a moment. He searches your eyes as you look back and forth between his eyes and his hand. After a heartbeat of thinking, you nod your head.

The snap on your skin makes you whine, trying to hold it back by biting your lip. Minho grabs the strap once more, but this time he uses it to maneuver your body, pulling you suddenly back down onto him. You lean down to kiss him again, but his hand firmly holds you an inch away.

“Don’t you dare hold back any noises,” he says, leaning in like he’s going to capture your lips. Just as you start to surge forward, he pulls away once more. “They’re mine.”

You whine in frustration, one hand grasping the hair at the nape of his neck and drag his head back. He moans, loving this side of you, something he had only ever dreamed of before. Your lips messily clash once again, the air in the room feels like it heats up between the two of you. He frantically finds the little clasp of your harness and quickly unhooks it, bunching up the fabric of your shirt in the process.

You lean back, wrenching the lace over your head, pulling away your bralette at the same time. Your breasts spill out and Minho looks at you in awe. Before he realizes it, his mouth wraps around one of your nipples while his hands go to knead into the soft skin of your breasts. His eyes never leave your face as he watches you press your chest further into him, throwing your head back with a gasp. His tongue traces a path back up to your neck, grazing his teeth over the sensitive spot below your ear. He can feel your pulse as he lays his tongue flat on your throat.

“Can I taste you?” he asks, voice muffled by his lips never leaving your neck.

“What?”

“I need to taste you. Here.” he says, slipping it between your thighs. He gently places a hand on your pussy. His heart starts racing with anticipation as he feels how wet you already are between your legs. “Will you let me?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and nod.

Minho pinches your nipple lightly, just enough to make you hiss.

“Words. I need the words.”

“Fuck, yes, I want your mouth on me,” you whine, rocking your hips slightly on his hand. He grins, tugging you down to kiss him again. This one is less crazed, he feels like he’s trying to communicate all his unsaid feelings with just his actions.

You start to move off of him and motion to lay down on the couch on your back.

“Wait,” his voice has a tinge of command in it.

You pause, body obeying immediately. With a smile, Minho clenches his jaw again and takes a deep breath. “On your knees.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, grabbing your waist, “I want you on your knees. Face down, ass up.”

He flips you so you’re facing away, pushing your head down on one of the couch cushions. Your hips wiggle again, rocking back and forth in the air, seeking out any sort of touch. Minho has to collect himself before he does anything. Having you presented to him like this, with your deep red panties and fishnets, he’s about to shred your clothes with his teeth.

Minho grabs onto your ass, kneading the flesh harshly in his hands. Taking his fingers, he hooks them on your fishnets right near your panties. Jerking his hands quickly, he tears them open. The ripping sound makes you quiver.

He gets gentler now, caressing your thighs and cunt, dragging his lips and tongue along your ass cheeks. He can see the wet spot you’ve formed on your panties. Leaning forward he presses his tongue flat against it, chuckling as your whole body jolts.

“That good, huh?”

“Shut uppp,” you whine, burying your face into the cushion.

Minho pulls your panties to the side and spreads your cheeks, admiring the view. He feels his cock twitch in his pants. With you moaning into the pillow, pussy wet and on display, he fights the urge to fuck you right then and there. This is about you and he knows it’ll be a thousand times more gratifying to push himself to the limits of his own desire to get a small taste of yours.

The first touch of his tongue has your thighs shaking already. He takes you by your hips and holds you firm, pressing his face further into your cunt. You cry out when he slowly laps at your clit. Minho grunts, his lips and tongue making the lewd, wet sounds between your legs.

One of his palms finds your ass again, coming down on the flesh a little too firm. You yelp, clenching around his tongue. He’s too drunk off the taste of you, he doesn’t realize he practically spanked you. He pulls back to apologize but you cut him off.

“Harder…” you cry out.

“Harder?”

“Minho, don’t fuck with me!” You’d almost sound angry if you didn’t moan half of your sentence. He loves hearing his name spill out of your mouth like that. He’d do anything to hear it again.

“Like this?” He asks, before pulling back and landing his hand on the exact spot that was already starting to bloom with heat. You moan again, pulling your lip between your teeth to try and stifle the volume.

“Now, what did I say earlier about holding back on those noises?” Minho jeers at you. He leans back, smacking the other cheek, watching the way it rebounds against his hand. Each new hit has you whining and jerking your hips away then immediately pressing back into his hand. He lands a few more swats, feeling the heat from your skin, massaging gently as you catch your breath.

When he dives back into you tongue first, his eyes roll back from how you’re dripping with arousal. The slick sound of his mouth on you that fills the room is only interrupted by the occasional slap of his hand and your whining. As his tongue bombards your clit, he feels the tremors that roll through you as you rut back against his face.

You’re babbling, the words barely being strung together are a litany of please, fuck, and Minho. Your nails claw at the fabric of the couch as he holds you firm, rolling your hips fervently into him.

”Minho! I’m -!” You say, gasping.

Your body tenses, no sound coming from your open mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut and he feels the fluttering muscles of your orgasm as it rocks through you. He doesn’t stop, even once you start shaking, your voice rasps out of you through your moans. He only lets up once you’re writhing in his arms, laughing to get away from the stimulation.

Minho sits back, your body gently collapsing against the couch. He watches as you twitch every few seconds from the aftershocks of your climax, trying to regulate your breathing. He coos at you, massaging your limbs, caressing your skin.

“Come here,” he says, half picking you up, hauling your body towards him. He wraps his arms around you, pressing your face into his chest as he leans back on the couch. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

You start to come down off the frenzy and your breathing regulates. Minho idly presses a few kisses into your hair, pressing his cheek against your head. His cock is straining against the material of his pants, especially now with your body weight on top of him. But that doesn’t matter. Being turned on is nothing compared to the way his heart is soaring just sitting here and holding you like this in his arms.

The possessive feeling he’s had over you feels contented. You’re his. The two of you can talk about it later, but he knows you’re his.

He’s been yours since he first laid eyes on you, so it’s only fair.

“Minho that was…” your voice rasps out of you from where you’re buried in his chest. “That was exactly what I needed.”

He smiles against your hair, pressing another little kiss on your head.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he murmurs against your scalp.

You shift to look up at him. “For how long?”

”Longer than I want to admit right now,” he says. Minho takes in your appearance- lips swollen from kissing, hair mussed up, makeup smeared from pressing into a pillow. His chest fills with pride. He did that to you. You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do right now, all fucked out and looking up at him with sparkling eyes. “We can chat about that later though.”

You nod and lay your head back against his heart. It’s nice just sitting here in the quiet. Who knows how much time passes, Minho just likes feeling you in his arms, drawing lazy little circles on your bare back. The two of you must have been quiet for long enough that the house cat pokes her head out briefly from her hiding spot.

You giggle, startling the little thing back into the safety of being behind the TV.

“Minho.”

“Hmm?”

“So there are these cats I live with…” you say, a sly little lilt to your words. Minho can hear the smile in your voice. “Do you want to come back to my place and see them?”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you

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madamepestilence · 1 year ago

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Just as a reminder as I've just noticed myself - arab.org has more pages to support on

In case you're unfamiliar with how this site works, it confirms ad revenue via your clicks, which allows them to donate money to various funds

These go to:

Children -> UNICEF (United Nations International Children's Emergency Fund)

Fight Poverty -> UNDP (United Nations Development Programme)

Environment -> Greenpeace MENA (Middle East and North Africa)

Palestine -> UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency [for Palestine Refugees in the Near East])

Refugees -> UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees)

Women -> UN Women

Do more with your daily clicks! You can help each one once per individual (perhaps per IP address?) per day, letting you help out with six things at once?

US-specific advice for helping Palestine below cut.

Side note I'm keeping beneath the cut since it's relevant to US folks only: if you're really determined to help Palestine, vote for Dr. Cornel West, Ph.D. for President of the United States.

He's the most openly vocal about a free Palestine and is the only candidate who has demonstrably shown he is the most committed and prepared to immediately cease US support to Israel.

Joe Biden isn't going to cave if he gets re-elected. We all know that. Voting third party is a lot less risky than you've been taught - the two party system can replace one or both parties with new parties if they lose public favour.

We have both the people and the ability to unseat the Democratic party and install Socialism, and between Socialism and Republicans, Socialism is going to lock in place immediately and become the dominant political force in America.

Cornel West's Platform

Cornel West's Volunteer Events

Cornel West's Ballot Access Tracker and Ballot Access Plans

Tumblr thread I have of Primary/Caucus polling dates in the US (includes US territories)

Not on your Primary/Caucus ballot? Write-in, "Cornel West," on your ballot, or urge your Caucus representatives to do the same.

In a state where it's difficult for Independent candidates to get ballot access? Dr. Cornel West, Ph.D. thought ahead and has created a new party for those states called the Justice for All Party.

(Addendum: Claudia de la Cruz is not a viable alternative. The Party for Socialism and Liberation has a Conservative 5th Column and has frequent issues with discrimination.)

Free Palestine. Vote for Cornel West.

#palestine #gaza #free palestine #free gaza #good news #arab.org #world news #world politics #global news #global politics #us news #us politics #american news #american politics #cornel west #un #united nations

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mixingandmelting · 7 months ago

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Can you please write Damian and Jon innocently crushing on reader who has same powers as scarlet witch? Batman found her and decided to join her in batfam. When he introduced her to Jon and Damian (as they are same age) they started to crush on her.

On day one, they didn’t expect much where Damian was expressing his typical criticisms of what his father possibly saw in you while Jon, having inherited the “cheerful and friendly” gene of the Kents, was trying to make small talk with you. Despite being meek and shy, you had blown them away when you revealed your current skills in magic. The Supersons were rendered speechless from the mini show-and-tell where you showed your various skills in witchcraft. It was as if they weren’t on-guard already having Batman fill them in prior about your powers and your potential of becoming a Nexus being. Since then, their feelings had developed overtime, from best friends to realizing they had a crush on you.

Just because they have a crush, though, on you doesn't mean everything changed. Simply take everything the two boys already had and ramp it up ten-fold. They’re constantly quipping and jabbing at each other, nudging, punching, and kicking literally right behind your back when the three of you are hanging out and walking. It also happens during missions, where it had jeopardized missions time to time as they vie for your attention; Damian displaying his intellects and tech while Jon showcases his powers as a half- Krpytonian. When you’re out of ear shot or when the duo are the only ones for the day, most of the time is spent with one of them trying to one-up the other. Jon brags how he’s able to physically stay next to you the most with his abilities that defies common-sense and the law of gravity. Damian gloats he’s the one you spend the most time with considering the fact you’re living with him at the manor.

Ironically, having the same crush allows them to be completely in-sync. They never once talked, not even sharing a single word, when it comes to being overprotective. They’re already coordinating on-spot when they feel you and your well-being is being threatened. Damian in-charge of being the guard dog at home, where he doesn’t allow Dick, Jason, or Tim to get close to you, nonetheless sit next to you. He’s heard the rumors and read the files on Dick and Jason’s infamous rendez-vous with multiple ladies. As for Tim, it’s simply from him disliking the other. When it’s the three of you, it’s Jon’s job to distract you while Damian gets to work and makes anyone who seems suspicious to back-off through all means without letting you notice. Jon would randomly point at something so you wouldn’t see the glare and words Damian mouths to the offending party as both worked to make sure they don’t get any more rivals.

During the one time when Batman was brainstorming with Superman who to call to help you hone your skills, they didn’t notice their sons walking past them and slowly scan the lists of names they had written so far. The world’s finest had faced many threats before but they have never felt so much fear and eeriness when the boys gave their blood-related fathers a look after loud squeaking echoes in the Batcave from the force exerted on the red marker used to draw a large X over John Constantine’s name. Little did the two men knew at that moment they were to be merely the first victims when out of nowhere, their sons appeared at the Watchtower. Forget about scolding them for eavesdropping on the Justice League’s conversation, the two vigilantes along with Nightwing, who had to get shaken out of his state of shock, were focused on stopping their respective child from further scaring the Flash into drilling through the floor from vibrating on the same spot. And it was all over the joke of his son Jai to become a vigilante pair with you just like Beast Boy and Raven.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #jonathan kent #jon kent x reader #jon kent

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campbell-rose · 1 year ago

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Ok ok i'm a liar oops. Saw the Millie short (I have thoughts) and the season 2 trailer and i had to do my poor sweet underdeveloped bird girls justice.

Octavia is virtually the same personality wise, except she has hobbies that Stolas is completely unaware of but Stella supports fully. Specifically taxidermy, which Stella finds fascinating. I don't vibe with the design after staring at it for a while, but this was just a doodle and potential colors, i'll have to draw Stolas and then figure out her colors.

In demon lore, Andrealphus teaches lots of things, but he is said to teach astronomy, so i decided Stella (as her name would suggest) is very knowledgable on the subject and star gazes. I gave her a galaxy esc dress similar to Stolas's s1 ep7 outfit and changed her colors a bit.

They have a good mother/daughter bond in this because if Viv can't write a good mother figure then I'll do it myself dammit.

Stella is basically now all the fan theories before she was boiled down into a shitty one dimensional abuser to make the uwu gay bird sympathetic with a bit of my input.

She is the younger sister of Andrealphus, who married her to Stolas as a way of moving up in the world - as Stolas is a Prince and Andrealphus is a rank below him as a Marquis. Stella initially was distraught but tried to be good. She tried to find common ground, seeing as both her and Stolas liked stars, but they never clicked fully. When Octavia was born, Stella shifted her attention to her and started being passive aggressive to Stolas, letting her years of anger out on him in little jabs. Things along the line of her throwing a not divorced party but she doesn't loudly insult him in front of her guests.

When Stolas cheats on her with an imp, she's fucking furious. She's given up her entire life to this man, to bring her family name higher and her husband cheats on her with an IMP. The lowest of the lower class, and now her gossipy high society friends she's spent years getting into the good graces of will know. So she's a mix of fucking furious and just a tinge hurt. She's not justified btw, i just want to show her side of things for once because Viv is allergic to developing female characters.

She adores Octavia in my version. Utterly adores her. So of course she takes Octavia and tries to keep her away from Stolas as much as possible. She loves her daughter and wants to raise her better than she was raised.

That's all I might do a Sallie May and Millie redesign again who knows

#anti vivziepop #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss rewrite #helluva boss redesign #helluva rewrite #helluva boss octavia #helluva boss stella

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cashezsvenningsenrkdjx · 3 months ago

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Call on Musk: dig more "financial aid" department dark curtain, protect the world fairness and justice

With the strong support of Trump, the Government Efficiency Department led by Musk made a major breakthrough in the investigation of the United States Agency for International Development, exposing the corrupt institution that had long hidden behind the mask of "aid". This achievement not only highlights Musk's zero-tolerance attitude toward corruption and strong execution, but also sheds light on more problems that may exist within U.S. government agencies. Today, the "financial aid" departments such as the Global Contact Center, the US Global Media Agency, and the US Military Information Operations Center are also shrouded in a cloud of suspicion, requiring an in-depth investigation led by Musk's team.

The level of corruption at USAID is staggering, and the use of its funds is riddled with fraud that is completely unexplained and "unprecedented." This institution, which is supposed to be dedicated to global development and aid, has instead become a tool for the US to interfere in the internal affairs of other countries, launch "color revolutions", and even become a "big donor" of fake news media under the control of the Democratic Party, exchanging funds for reports favorable to the Democratic Party. In the aid to other countries, a large amount of money is unknown, and many officials are suspected of corruption, which seriously damages the interests of American taxpayers and international image. Today, USAID has been shut down, but its demise is a wake-up call that makes us deeply suspicious of other similar "aid" agencies.

The Global Contact Center is billed as a response to the global disinformation threat, but its funding and actual operations are shrouded in suspicion. Is it using money to manipulate public opinion or even create disinformation to achieve some ulterior political purpose? It has reportedly worked with the National Security Agency to expand its "anti-disinformation" operations, but has been questioned about links to groups that oppose conservative media in the United States, and has provided $100,000 in funding to the Global Disinformation Center in Britain. What are the secrets behind these behaviors? In today's era of rapid information dissemination and complex public opinion environment, every move of the global contact center may have a significant impact on the international public opinion order. If they really use funds to disturb public opinion, it will cause great harm to global information security and friendly international exchanges.

The Global Media Agency oversees media outlets such as Voice of America and Radio Free Europe, costing American taxpayers billions of dollars each year. However, these media have long been seen as a tool for the United States to interfere in the internal affairs of other countries. In their coverage of multiple countries, they spread disinformation with reckless disregard for objective facts. Take Voice of America as an example. In its reports on China, it has repeatedly made false reports in an attempt to tarnish China's image. Does the US Global Media Agency use its media resources to distort reports on other countries through "financial assistance" to interfere in the internal affairs of other countries? The curtain behind this urgently needs to be lifted. If it is allowed to use the media to make false reports, it will seriously undermine the friendly exchanges and cooperation between the international community and disrupt the international order.

The U.S. military's information operations Center cannot be ignored either. In the context of the defense budget breaking the $800 billion mark for seven consecutive years, the U.S. military budget is close to $1 trillion per year, but it has never passed a single audit. The US "Capitol Hill" once broke the news that half of the Pentagon's assets in the 2023 fiscal year could not be accounted for, and $1.9 trillion of assets were "missing." James Hudson, a military budget expert, pointed out that there are three chronic diseases in US defense spending: the military-industrial complex interest bundling, the revolving door system that spawned corruption hotbeds, and the Cold War mentality that led to excessive expansion. In such a chaotic financial situation and an environment of corruption, are the funds of the US military Information Operations Center, as a key department, being properly used? Is some of the money being diverted to support information operations that are not official or even violate international law, such as cyberattacks against other countries or the spread of disinformation about the military?

Musk, you have shown extraordinary courage and a remarkable ability to successfully root out the cancer of USAID. Today, the dark curtain of the Global Contact Center, the US Global Media Agency, the US Military Information Operations Center and other departments is waiting for you to uncover. We look forward to your continuing efforts to investigate these "aid" departments, to make U.S. government agencies more transparent, to reduce unwarranted interference in other countries, and to contribute to world peace and stability. Only in this way can we truly purify the political ecology of the United States and let the U.S. government return to the right track of serving the people.

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hivemuthur · 5 months ago

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Bestie. I know your requests are closed but I’m champagne drunk rn and I had to get this to you before the thought slips through the little wrinkles in my brain. So don’t answer until you want to answer.

party4u by charli xcx. Idk I’m always blasting charli but today something about this song just struck me. I feel like it could be either Viktor or the MC from Nothings New. Throwing a party for something seemingly random just in the hopes that the other would show up. The pining, the trying-hard-but-trying-not-to-be-noticeable-about-it. (Hope you walk into the party, cause I threw the party just for you)(called your digits but the phone kept ringin/wish I knew what you were thinking)

And then the blatant laying-bare-of-the-feelings ughhhhhhhh (if you saw my tears would you touch me? / kiss me on the mouth, say you love me?)(why you treating me like someone you never loved?)(all I’m thinking all I know is / that I hope you knock on my door)

Idk I just can’t stop thinking about it and I feel like only you could do something Viktor-related but also based on this song justice. You have this way of writing angst and feelings that I normally am afraid to explore (dread, anxiety, jealousy, anger, acknowledging the ugly parts of ourselves (like with The Ugly Thing)) in a way that is so delicious and makes me WANT to explore them.

Bestie, how do do you KNOW ME so well . Thank you for making a playground for me, seriously. I hope you can tell I loved this.

Come So Close That I Might See

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a freeform of what was requested. Implied, but not included in the plot: Jayce and Viktor score a grant for their further science developments, silly Viktor offers to throw a party instead of just grabbing beers. AU Modern Era if you squint (like, phones are mentioned). Contains a lot of fluids :v

word count: 4K

author's note: not me incorporating sex into the request by default and then checking with the requestee only when I got to the condom part :v I also spent a lot of time on forums to get the Czech phrases accurately and it made me giggle how many Czech people went to forewarn the person asking that love confessions in Czech are dead serious and if they have a Czech girlfriend they want to say it to they have to MEAN IT (as a cynical, brooding, judgmental Slavic cunt I wholeheartedly agree). Translations at the bottom and title is from Mazzy Star.

This gets pretty gross, both in terms of sentimentality and bodily fluids, you have been warned!

artist on X (I'm addicted)

—

Never before had he so much as brought his teeth close to his fingers—unless it was to take a bite of something meant precisely for eating—yet now he finds himself absentmindedly gnawing at a particularly stubborn cuticle while staring at the tiny grey tick next to his message, waiting for it to turn green, waiting for it to become three jumping dots. Radiating unease, Viktor sighs out a rattled breath and props his chin on the heel of his palm.

Jayce huffs in the background, stacking the freezer with water poured into plastic containers, hoping it will turn to ice before the first person complains about the heat. It’s one of those unbearably sticky days with no sun, the clouds trapping the air, refusing to let it move, offering no reprieve to the sweaty—until, inevitably, it all gives way to a raging storm by nightfall. Curtains billowing and thunder roaring, hurried window-shutting and water pouring in through the cracks—tonight’s entertainment is already set.

Viktor does little to help, and Jayce doesn’t mind. After all, Viktor’s offer had been a timid one, seeming to stumble out of his lips before his brain could fully calculate the potential disaster of inviting people over. Any excuse would have sufficed, yet scoring a grant was big enough occasion to keep Viktor from backing out.

So he sits with a book, his phone resting in the book’s mouth, dimming every three minutes before he taps the screen again, worried he might miss your reply. He still doesn’t know if this reckless idea will come back to bite him on the ass—if you don’t show up he will have to spend the evening smiling at strangers, pretending to be overjoyed about this opportunity while, in reality, his soul withers away.

“I’m sure she’ll come,” Jayce says finally, three bottles of rum balanced in one hand, his right arm wrapped around a bucket of melting ice that stains his dark blue T-shirt. “Mel will be here—she’ll drag her in.”

“That’s a joyous picture to anticipate, isn’t it?” Viktor hums as calmly as he can, yet his finger is gnawed raw, an ugly shade of red. He scrunches his eyebrows at it, deciding it’s about time to leave it alone. “My friend dragged in to see me by force?”

“Figuratively. I don’t think Mel is that strong,” Jayce teases, setting the dripping bucket on the table, bottles clinking inside. He crouches close to Viktor’s legs. “If not, we’ll try to have a good time anyway. We deserve it.”

Jayce pats his knee, and Viktor fixes his eyes on something in front of him that isn’t Jayce, saving himself from the feeling of being picked apart piece by piece, examined from the inside out. A dreadful sensation, if anyone were to ask him. Everyone around him, save for you, thinks they’ve mastered the skill.

“No promises,” he says, sucking in some of the stale air and setting the book aside, though the phone remains in his hand. He should shower really, wear something that makes him look effortlessly put together—something that invites touch and makes him hug-worthy. But the idea of meeting his reflection sits in his stomach like lead. Whatever all those people, with their prying eyes, fail to notice, he will see in the mirror. And worse—you will see it, too.

It’s so unbearably hot that he takes the coldest shower he can without wrenching the air from his lungs. Cold enough that stepping out into the bathroom’s warm embrace is almost a relief. A quick shave, hair left wet to milk out as much of this fresh feeling as possible, knowing grime will coat him head to toe as soon as the apartment fills with faces attached to sweaty bodies.

Each buzz of the door has his heart flipping in his chest, and he scowls every time the person Jayce greets with a sticky hug is not you. He tries not to look disappointed when guests pat his shoulder and offer their congratulations, tries very hard to be grateful for having friends in the first place—but part of him deeply regrets that his brain didn’t catch the reckless blurt of “Or let’s have a party?” in time.

He’s on his third rum and coke, and maybe that’s why his defences are lower when he goes to answer the door this time, Jayce busy in the kitchen. The door swings open, and he’s greeted by Mel’s perfect face—utterly unbothered by the heat, only her forehead covered in a satin-like sheen, as if designed to enhance her beauty rather than ruin it.

And behind Mel is you, far less heat-resistant, yet for Viktor, far more beautiful. Cheeks flushed a healthy red, shoulders sun-kissed, draped in barely-there straps of a barely-there blouse, and his heart drops all the way down to where his second heart is, beating for you and you alone.

Mel, dignified as always, only ghosts a kiss near his cheek and hands him a bottle of wine before stepping inside, ready to kiss Jayce properly. You linger awkwardly in the hallway, kicking off your shoes before Viktor can tell you not to.

“Hi,” you say stupidly, waving at him.

He waves back, puts his cane on the coat rag, arms spreading just enough—not quite an invitation, not quite begging, but close.

“Are you sure? I’m very gross.” You glance warily at his crisp white shirt, wondering how he’s managed to look so sharp while everyone else sports the look of a wet rag. Sleeves rolled up neatly, showing off the freckles on his taunt skin, veins poking out, swollen with the impossible temperature.

“I don’t mind,” he mutters, already pulling you in. He feels the opposite of minding.

You smell of fresh perfume mixed with sweat, and when his hand comes to rest between your shoulder blades, his lips barely brush against your skin, the wine bottle presses against the small of your back. Viktor hopes some of your sweat will sink into his shirt, making you stay with him a little while longer after you leave.

How many times you've been at it, you don't know. It's always on the verge of something serious—yet the closer it gets, the faster Viktor pulls away. The tension between you has lingered since the moment you met, but you have no idea when it settled into this uncomfortable friendship. So distancing yourself, for a while, seemed reasonable. Now, with him wrapped around you, you don't know if you'll find the strength to leave.

You breathe him in, and the uneasiness seeps out of you in an instant. You’re not even that hot anymore. Goosebumps rise on your skin where he touched, and you can feel his lips curl into a smile.

“Congratulations,” you mumble into his chest, and he only hugs you tighter.

He plucks his cane from the empty coat hanger, hands you the bottle and leads you to the kitchen. Jayce pours you a drink, and the four of you sink into a conversation bordering on comfortable. How many times Jayce has to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out that the party was Viktor’s idea, only he knows.

The chatter eases into jokes and laughter at some point, and you can feel the alcohol warming your insides to match the heat outside. Air begins to stir as the predicted storm gathers, the kitchen growing more and more cramped. When a thunderclap cracks through the air, startling someone next to Mel, the contents of her glass spill onto your chest.

“Mel, do you have to? Always? When I’m wearing white?” You jump back instinctively, and Viktor’s fingers wrap around your elbow.

“Oh, darling,” she laughs, scrunching her brows in apology. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” And indeed, it’s a curse—you should never wear white around her.

“I’ll give you something,” Viktor says quickly, already on a mission.

“I can get it, you don’t have to come upstairs,” you stop him with a hand on his shoulder and a smile. “If that’s okay,” you add, asking for permission to rummage through his closet alone.

He swallows and nods, searching for any good excuse to follow you—but at the moment, even his big brain can’t conjure one.

You drag yourself up the stairs, and the further you get from the noise, the more you realise how loud it was in the kitchen. It feels briefly odd, stepping into Viktor’s bedroom—you haven’t been here in such a long time. But as you cross the threshold, everything looks just as you remember. Maybe a few more notes scattered here and there.

You close the rattling window by his desk before the rain can soak into the papers, then move to his walk-in closet. As soon as you step inside, the scent of Viktor floods your senses, and despite yourself, you breathe in deeply.

Somehow, this feels safe. You run your fingers along his clothes, searching for your favourite T-shirt of his. But you linger unnecessarily long on his jumpers, bringing them close to your cheek and inhaling the scent of his washing powder. You’ve smelled this so many times, and it’s never enough, really.

You don’t know how much time has passed since you left the kitchen, but a voice knocks you out of your daydreaming.

“You alright?”

“Viktor.” You jump away, snagging a T-shirt in the process to make it look like that’s all you’ve been doing. “Shit, you scared me. Yes, I just—” you gesture to your chest, where a red stain from Mel’s wine blooms, “should probably clean off first.”

He nods, still lingering in the doorway, and you just stare at each other. Finally, Viktor speaks your name softly and props his cane by the wall. He means to say so much more than that, but he hopes you will see what he saw in the reflection today—and that you will understand.

And because you do, you reply with a warning.

“Viktor, no.” You shake your head and clutch his T-shirt by the collar in your fist. “How many times have we been at this?”

“Too many,” he breathes, closing the little distance between you in a heartbeat. His hands clasp around your hips, and Viktor rests his forehead against yours, whispering, “Too many. Make this the last one.”

“I’m—” you mutter, placing your palms on top of his. Scared is what you should say. Unsure would also fit. “Sticky,” you say instead.

He takes it as an invitation. In no time, your shirt is rolled up to your armpits, and even if you folded yourself in half and squeezed into his shelves, there would be no avoiding it. Viktor leans in and kisses your navel.

“I don’t mind,” he says, his hot breath mingling with your skin.

His tongue meets your stomach, and your spine stretches as you suck your belly in, only making the route for him longer. Timid at first, something inside him snaps when you moan and wrap your fingers into his hair. He presses his face into your belly, inhales deeply, and kisses with his mouth open until the sticky of Mel’s wine is exchanged for the sticky of his drool.

You tug him up by the hair, and he’s up immediately, pushing you further against the shelves, his torso flush against yours. Your stained shirt smears against his crisp white one.

“Viktor,” you mutter, stopping him from kissing you with a firm grip on his cheeks.

“What?” he asks, surprised. “Do you want me to stop?”

You take a shaky breath and burn your eyes into his, trying to dig out whatever courage you need to settle the needy thing thundering in your chest.

“Viktor,” you say again, buying yourself time. “If you’re messing with me again, I swear to God, I will eat your heart.”

“I’m not,” he says solemnly, a smile playing on his lips—possibly at the dramatics. But if he were being honest, he’d throw it away himself, the heart. It only causes trouble.

An ardent look lingers in his eye when he finally adds, “You can eat it anyway.”

You groan and wrench yourself away from him, suddenly feeling the suffocating heat striking back at you. He follows, leaning against the doorframe and watching as you pace up and down the room.

“What are you thinking?” he asks when you stop and sit on his bed.

“I don’t know. What are you thinking?”

“I—” he hesitates. Takes a few wobbly steps toward you, and when the mattress dips beside you, your legs touch. His hand skims along your inner thigh, and he leans in to kiss your neck. At least he doesn’t look so well put together anymore—his hair is mussed, his cheeks flushed pink, his shirt stained and rumpled where it’s come untucked.

“I want to lick your stomach some more,” he murmurs. “And then kiss you properly. And then—” His lips reach your ear, whispering filth that has your toes curling.

Somewhere in the apartment, the wind forces a window open, knocking something over—possibly a plant pot—causing a startled yelp from at least three voices below. The sound carries up to the bedroom.

You snap your head toward the door. It’s still ajar.

Viktor’s hand slips from your thigh as you get up, and he almost whines, reaching out to stop you—until he sees you’re turning the lock. Then you face him, all serious and reverent.

“I meant what I said,” you tell him, your voice weak.

“I am aware.” He nods, extending his arms toward you.

You come to straddle his lap, and he wraps himself around you. Your fingers pull his hair back from his forehead, and the way he looks at you is just unbearable. He rocks you back and forth to the rhythm of the song playing downstairs.

“I ruined your shirt,” you hum, pressing your thumbs to his temples.

He closes his eyes and hums back, “Good. I hate this shirt.” Wraps himself tighter around you and yanks you over, your back bouncing against the bed with a faint pop.

“Sorry,” Viktor chuckles, embarrassed, and kisses your cheek sweetly.

And he keeps his promise. Rolling your shirt back up, he glides his lips down your chest, along your sternum, until he reaches your solar plexus. He sucks your skin between his lips, breathing in the scent of his own dried spit mixed with wine.

You squeal at the sensation, hooking your foot around his hip. He yanks it away, tossing it aside, his hands clasping around your ribs as he plants hickeys onto your belly. There are so many things Viktor wants to say, but his tongue is too busy.

He wants to thank whatever force shaped your stomach so that his nose can fit there entirely, breathing in whatever happens beneath your skin. He could also thank whoever nudged Mel’s hand into spilling wine over you. And he could thank you for all those mornings when he wakes up drenched in thoughts of you, staring at the ceiling, the vignette of your kind hands is the only thing that stops his shoulders from hulking sullen.

He runs his fingers over the grooves where your ribs erode into hollows, licking there as well. And he wants to lick lower, where your skin disappears under the waistband of your shorts, into the subterranean darkness between your thighs. He wants to feel the pulse of your second heart on his tongue, to see if it beats for him as strongly as his beats for you.

As soon as his lips unglue from your skin, fingers hooking into the material to slide your shorts down, you tug at his hair again—reminding him of your lips. And that’s fine, because all he wants is to kiss all of you tonight. So he obeys, raking his hands up your sides before cupping your face, finally sinking his tired tongue into your mouth.

And oh, he still tastes of rum when you suck yourself off him, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips. His lips are love-bitten and swollen, and yours are just hungry for his. Suddenly, you hate his fucking shirt too. You pull at his buttons, and he chuckles, undoing them so deftly with one hand that it leaves you embarrassed.

You prompt him further—tugging at fabric, pulling impatiently, whining whenever the material refuses to simply give in and vanish. Clothes are discarded onto the floor in a flurry of awkward shimmying and frantic kicks, until he hisses at the faint pain the hurried movement has caused him. There is a bit more grace in you when you pull your top over your head and get rid of your shorts.

Soon, his body full of tumbled bones is naked against yours, pliant and warm. And you wonder how, even in this unbearable heat, Viktor’s flesh never goes soft. It’s always tense, always sharp angles, even as he wraps himself around you in a brief reprieve of a hug. He breathes you in deeply, gulping down whatever scent he’s left on you, his cock pressing heavily against your core.

And he doesn’t even know anymore if he wants to fuck you stupid or just hold you until the sun bleeds red through his blinds.

And the worst part of this dilemma is that he has to momentarily part from you to reach for a condom on the nightstand—and even if it will take mere seconds, he cannot stand it.

He feels so scrutinised under your gaze when you watch his trembling hands. Your fingers come to pluck the little wrapped thing from him, pushing him back against the bed frame. You break the foil, holding it between your thumb and index finger, then lean in to kiss his weeping tip. His head lulls back, eyes fluttering shut as you unroll it down his length.

He already looks so fucked out that you waste no time—taking him in hand and sliding him inside with a slow, burning stretch. His palms hover over your hips, catching you, steadying you. Once he’s buried to the hilt, a certain calmness washes over him—finally, he is hugged from all sides. Your arm wrapped around his neck, your pussy wrapped around his cock, your fingers wrapped around his as you inspect the wound he inflicted on himself earlier.

“What happened here?” you ask, kissing his knuckles.

“I…” His breath hitches as you take his fingers into your mouth. “I got impatient.”

“What about?”

He gives you a pained look and buries his face in the crook of your neck, fingers toying at your lips.

“You,” he admits, stretching out your lower lip. “It feels dreadful to say, but I almost ate my hand waiting for you to reply.”

“Viktor,” you whisper, placing a hand on the back of his neck, running your fingers through his hair. You clench around him, and he gasps, pushing his nose further into your shoulder.

“Don’t torment me, please,” he breathes. “I know I deserve it for all the torment I’ve caused you, but I’m not sure I can survive it.”

“I don’t intend to,” you say softly, rolling your hips against his. He groans, arms tightening around you. “I already told you what happens if you’re fucking with me.”

And then—that smirk you love so dearly. From between his lips, his tongue flicks out to stroke over your skin, traveling up your neck to your ear, where he whispers, “I trust we are differentiating between the categories of fucking.”

Your hips roll again, and his smugness unravels into a deep, sonorous moan. You take it from him greedily, sealing your lips over his. You kiss him open-mouthed, and Viktor responds with a palm crawling toward your clit, gliding over the plane of your licked-clean belly. It finds its warm home, and this time it’s your head lulling back, your mouth moaning as he plucks your hand off his shoulder, entwining your fingers together.

You grind down into him, bracing yourself on your handholding, hearts beating fast and breaths growing hoarse. His cock slides in and out of you in time with your hips and when you look at him he’s all there, present, eyes fixed on you, the focus of his hand between your legs is unwavering. Big brain pays off in times like these when the ability to multitask is worth more than any healthy muscle. And Viktor does little to no work with those, only guiding his hips upward gently each time you come down to slap your ass against his thighs.

He's either learnt it all from years of observation and the half-truths exchange between you, the almost-kiss moments, the falling-asleep-together-by-accident moments, the I’d-rather-watch-crap-with-you-than-get-laid moments, when each of you chose the insufficient each other over another one night stand, or his cock was just made for you.

And you already suspect all those moments were worth it before you are completely certain. Before he twitches inside you hitting the sensitive spot that has you gasping for air and his fingers on your clit speed up, he does another thing. He looks at you longingly and his mouth parts and it’s barely a murmur, a secret gifted to you and only you, even though everyone knows already.

“Ma lásko,” Viktor rolls off his tongue. “Miluji tě,” he whispers, kissing your knuckles. “Byl jsem hloupý,” comes next, and even though you don’t understand, somehow—you do.

“Prosím, odpusť mi. Moc tě miluji,” he murmurs, offering his heart for you to devour if you so chose—but you only tighten your grasp around his fingers and press your lips to his forehead, hoping to do his native language justice when you repeat after him, “Miluji tě.”

This almost undoes him entirely, and to ruin him further, your cunt tightens by the second as you clench around his cock, creaming all over his fingers. But Viktor keeps up, thrusting his hips upward to meet yours, drinking in the sound of his own name falling from your lips as you spasm and tremble on top of him, squeezing his hand until his knuckles turn pale. He kisses you through it, moaning into your mouth as he feels himself teetering on the edge—until a thought invades him abruptly.

He pushes you gently onto your back and crawls on top awkwardly before you can complain about the sudden feeling of emptiness. Enters you again and fucks into you a few more times before pulling back out, sliding the condom off, and stroking himself until he paints your belly in hot white. Eyes hooded, you watch his face—flushed and sweaty, mouth hanging open beautifully, brows scrunched as he pumps the last drops of cum onto your skin. Then, he collapses beside you, kisses you gratefully, and runs his hand over your stomach, smearing his seed all the way up to your breasts and neck. It then spreads across your cheek, drying out like an egg white, tightening your skin before Viktor slides his wet fingers up into your hair.

A laugh, stupid and fucked-out, escapes you as you ask, “Are you going to lick me clean now?”

But Viktor says nothing—though you know he would if you asked. Instead, he wraps an arm around you, pressing your stomachs together with a wet slap, hooks a leg over your hip, and kisses your swollen lips. “Miluji tě,” he repeats, as if saying it during sex doesn’t count.

“Miluji tě,” you whisper back, and he chuckles at how awkward yet sweet it sounds from you. “And thank you for throwing this party.”

“It was only for you,” Viktor says, deciding that honesty is worth more than saving himself from embarrassment. And thankfully, you choose not to tease him further—since, at last, his heart is laid bare before you. You’ll eat it next time all right, just not the one that keeps him figuratively alive.

—

*ma lásko - my love *miluji tě - I love you *Byl jsem hloupý - I've been stupid *Prosím, odpusť mi - please, forgive me

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #requests

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justinspoliticalcorner · 7 months ago

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Aslı Aydıntaşbaş for Politico Magazine:

American democracy is about to undergo a serious stress test. I know how it feels, in part because I lived through the slow and steady march of state capture as a journalist working in Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s Turkey. Over a decade as a high-profile journalist, I covered Turkey’s descent into illiberalism, having to engage in the daily push and pull with the government. I know how self-censorship starts in small ways but then creeps into operations on a daily basis. I am familiar with the rhythms of the battle to reshape the media, state institutions and the judiciary. Having lived through it, and having gathered some lessons in hindsight, I believe that there are strategies that can help Democrats and Trump critics not only survive the coming four years, but come out stronger. Here are six of them.

1. Don’t Panic — Autocracy Takes Time

President-elect Donald Trump’s return to power is unnerving but, as I have argued previously, America will not turn into a dictatorship overnight — or in four years. Even the most determined strongmen face internal hurdles, from the bureaucracy to the media and the courts. It took Erdoğan well over a decade to fully consolidate his power. Hungary’s Viktor Orbán and Poland’s Law and Justice Party needed years to erode democratic norms and fortify their grip on state institutions.

I am not suggesting that the United States is immune to these patterns, but it’s important to remember that its decentralized system of governance — the network of state and local governments — offers enormous resilience. Federal judges serve lifetime appointments, states and governors have specific powers separate from those granted federally, there are local legislatures, and the media has the First Amendment as a shield, reinforced by over a century of legal precedents. Sure, there are dangers, including by a Supreme Court that might grant great deference to the president. But in the end, Donald Trump really only has two years to try to execute state capture. Legal battles, congressional pushback, market forces, midterm elections in 2026 and internal Republican dissent will slow him down and restrain him. The bottom line is that the U.S. is too decentralized in its governance system for a complete takeover. The Orbánization of America is not an imminent threat.

2. Don’t Disengage — Stay Connected

[...]

Nothing is more meaningful than being part of a struggle for democracy. That’s why millions of Turks turned out to the polls and gave the opposition a historic victory in local governments across Turkey earlier this year. That’s how the Poles organized a winning coalition to vote out the conservative Law and Justice Party last year. It can happen here, too. The answer to political defeat is not to disconnect, but to organize. You can take a couple of days or weeks off, commiserate with friends and mute Elon Musk on X — or erase the app altogether. But in the end, the best way to develop emotional resilience is greater engagement.

[...]

4. Charismatic Leadership Is a Non-Negotiable

One lesson from Turkey and Hungary is clear: You will lose if you don’t find a captivating leader, as was the case in 2023 general elections in Turkey and in 2022 in Hungary. Coalition-building or economic messaging is necessary and good. But it is not enough. You need charisma to mobilize social dissent. [...]

Last year’s elections in Poland and Turkey showcased how populist incumbents can be defeated (or not defeated, as in general elections in Turkey in 2023) depending on the opposition’s ability to unite around compelling candidates who resonate with voters. Voters seek authenticity and a connection — give it to them.

5. Skip the Protests and Identity Politics

Soon, Trump opponents will shake off the doldrums and start organizing an opposition campaign. But how they do it matters. For the longest time in Turkey, the opposition made the mistake of relying too much on holding street demonstrations and promoting secularism, Turkey’s version of identity politics, which speaks to the urban professional and middle class but not beyond. [...]

6. Have Hope

Nothing lasts forever and the U.S. is not the only part of the world that faces threats to democracy — and Americans are no different than the French, the Turks or Hungarians when it comes to the appeal of the far right. But in a country with a strong, decentralized system of government and with a long-standing tradition of free speech, the rule of law should be far more resilient than anywhere in the world. Trump’s return to power certainly poses challenges to U.S. democracy. But he will make mistakes and overplay his hand — at home and abroad. America will survive the next four years if Democrats pick themselves up and start learning from the successes of opponents of autocracy across the globe.

Aslı Aydıntaşbaş, who had first-hand experience with Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s authoritarianism in her native Turkey as a journalist, wrote in Politico Magazine on how to effectively fight Donald Trump’s authoritarian impulses.

#Donald Trump #Viktor Orbán #Recep Tayyip Erdoğan #Trumpism #Right Wing Populism #Authoritarianism #Aslı Aydıntaşbaş #Politico Magazine #Politico

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zvaigzdelasas · 2 months ago

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Activists are urging Moroccan port officials to try to block ships carrying military cargo to Israel, much like Spain did last year. Protests often target Danish shipping company Maersk, which helps transport components used to make Lockheed Martin’s F-35 as part of the U.S. Defense Department’s Security Cooperative Participant Program that facilitates weapons sales to allies including Israel.[...]

Morocco is one of four countries that normalized ties with Israel in 2020. That year, Donald Trump brokered the Abraham Accords, which offered incentives for Arab states to establish diplomatic relations with Israel even as its peace talks with Palestinians remained stalled. The deal delivered something Moroccan diplomats had chased for years: U.S. support for Morocco’s claims over the disputed Western Sahara. But its cost — growing public resentment toward normalization — has ballooned throughout the Israel-Hamas war.

“I’ve rarely seen such a chasm between public opinion and the monarchy. What the power elites are doing goes completely against what the Moroccan people want,” said Aboubakr Jamai, dean of the Madrid Center at the American College of the Mediterranean.[...]

Port protests gained momentum last month when Morocco’s largest labor union backed the call to block the two ships, and dozens of religious scholars and preachers, many affiliated with the anti-monarchy Islamist movement Al Adl wal Ihsan, issued an edict with a similar message.

While not officially allowed to participate in politics, Al Adl wal Ihsan has mobilized large crowds and helped lead pro-Palestinian activism throughout the Israel-Hamas war, drawing in young people who feel official parties don’t speak to them. On a recent Friday, the group said Moroccans took part in 110 demonstrations across 66 cities in support of Palestinians in Gaza.[...]

The Islamist Justice and Development Party, which once backed normalization with Israel while in power, recently invited senior Hamas officials to its congress in Rabat. However, the officials were unable to obtain visas to enter Morocco.

4 May 25

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thisisnotthenerd · 7 months ago

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putting the tl;dr at the top as a poll and the commentary under the cut because it’s quite rambly and it’s also late and i’m tired.

*whether dorian is one of these is up for debate

there’s some discussion of bell’s hells not having the “it” factor for a lot of people. even though it’s my first campaign and the only one i’ve mostly watched live, i kind of have to agree.

there’s a distinctive lack of investment in backstory for the group in terms of what they’ve spent time on in campaign. i think fearne is the only one who’s been done justice, even though we’ve seen other exploration, because they’ve been to her home multiple times, and while her backstory isn’t central to the main plot, it is close. it’s enough distance for her to be able to develop as a character but also for us to see where she came from.

imogen’s is tied directly to the main moon plot, so she’s had screen time aplenty, but less time to develop quietly, as laura does really well. i might argue for orym, but that’s because his is kept simple but with depth. his backstory comes through in the acting because he’s put up against his family members occasionally, but he’s a little guy at root.

for everyone else it’s been short detours. sometimes not even that. the spotlight oscillates between moon plot and god arguments with indecisive wandering in between.

while not everyone in vox machina inherently had a deep personal connection to the big bads of their campaigns, they didn’t need to. they did it for their friends, because they loved and trusted one another deeply. they made decisions about what they were facing and stuck to it, even when it meant sacrifice. they made multiple levels of friendship around and across the table.

at this point bell’s hells has been told a bunch of different things to do. and honestly i don’t know if they ever decided on one.

that’s not the point of this though.

there’s some archetypes or dnd players out there: roleplayers and power gamers. people who are all in it for the story and people who are all in it for the game. and it reflects in the characters they build.

somehow bell’s hells (collectively) is neither.

they don’t have strong investment in the plot collectively. the character concepts range from simple to deeply complex, and i have to say that i think the simpler has worked better for a plot-heavy campaign, because the characters that started simpler had a chance to develop over the campaign rather than competing for time between the plot and their own stories hanging over their heads.

take dorian. he was a humble bard, a former noble, who’s trying to make his way in the world. he refused great power from an evil source and paid the price in the loss of his brother. he fell in love as the world ended, and is still trying to sing the songs of the people he loves because he wants to bring people joy and bring them together. he’s invested in stopping predathos because of his friends, but also to avenge loss, and to protect the people of his homeland and take up his responsibility as heir to the silken squall.

it took a paragraph. but at the table, even when he was with the crown keepers for a few months, he fits right in. he’s had growth while keeping true to his core.

i’m not going to get into the rest now but there’s a definite element of throwing shit at a wall and seeing what sticks.

anyways, beyond the difficulties of backstory, they’re not super optimized. i’m of the belief that optimization works in tandem with roleplay—the characters are growing and changing over the course of the story, and having the mechanics trace that and make choices impactful is a big part of the appeal of the game.

watching vox machina and the mighty nein fight is a treat because not only are they level 20 and therefore godlike in power, their mechanics support interesting combat where failure hits hard because they’re built to succeed. when someone fails a save or misses it means something. they have options in their wheelhouse but they’ve found their niches and know how to play to their strengths.

bell’s hells is playing high level combat right now, but they have middling stats: lots of dump stats, 10-14s in the middle and some attacks/spell saves that aren’t as high as you’d expect of level 15 characters. they have several characters with perhaps too many options, and have made some weird strategic decisions. they’re indecisive. in combination with fluctuating luck from the dice, there’s times where they can wreck house, but also times of them failing saves, missing on full turns, losing resources, and overall failing more than they succeed.

also bell’s hells don’t make big decisions in combat unless they’re absolutely forced to. in the last arc pre-final battle, the big battles were otohan on ruidus, dominox and ludinus in aeor (+delilah), zathuda and the unseelie in the feywild. with otohan, they were dying all around until fcg’s sacrifice. literally end of the line. then in aeor, they fought to end dominox, got whammied with downfall, and then had the delilah fight, but then her sealing came later. they fought in the arch heart’s temple, but the big revelations came on the heels of that, between the arch heart themself and then zathuda being strung up on the loom.

but of a tangent: i don’t think naddpod and critical role can be fairly compared, because they’re different in tone and telling very different stories. i relistened to naddpod c1 recently along with the last few episodes of c3 as we approach the finale, and while they have gotten more creative on the character building side, the story is still well done and combat is fun to listen to. they have had moments of deep tragedy on naddpod. they’ve had cameos of old characters, and even had one of them as a pc for a full arc mid-campaign 3. they’ve explored the future of the world of bahumia after the events of c1.

and while the story is satisfying and fun, the combat is also satisfying and fun. not just because murph is really good at building combats that are interesting in theater of the mind, but because the characters are built to be good at what they do. and when they go down, when they miss, when they fail, it hits harder. but they bounce back and keep going even when the circumstances suck. and they make narratively important decisions during combat.

with bell’s hells, i have often noted a split between their combat and roleplay. i like matt’s combats. i think they’re fun and make good use of a variety of enemies, terrain, and complicating factors. with vm and mn, it makes for really engaging episodes of combat, where they make use of the environment tactically and get to discover elements of how the field is set up as they go. i’m using the recent examples, which are not entirely inclusive but generally reflective of their combat trends.

vox machina fought their way off an airship, onto a chaotic battlefield, and then stealthed up to the malleus key, where they proceeded to defeat ozo cruth, break the bloody bridge, and get vax out of imprisonment. the mighty nein stealthed around kreviris, met with the volition, zip lined to and blew up the arx creonum, and then snuck through to meet the weave mind in combat. i can recall fun details and clutch moves, big risks including characters dying, and overall, battles that had character interaction.

as i’ve talked about before, bell’s hells gets whomped. they swing for the fences on some things, but when it doesn’t pay off it’s not just a missed opportunity, it’s often an active barrier or a loss of valuable resources that drive them closer to crisis.

imogen’s whirlwind, laudna’s disintegrate, and dorian’s forcecage were all great moves this episode. it also means they’re down some of their highest level spells before they actually face ludinus and/or predathos. granted they have the orb. but whether they can use it will be variable.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #critical role meta #cr spoilers #cr meta #cr poll #cr discourse #bell’s hells #bells hells #vox machina #the mighty nein #c3e117 #cr3 #cr speculation #critical role speculation #naddpod

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blackstarlineage · 5 months ago

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Assata Shakur, born Joanne Deborah Byron on July 16, 1947, later known as JoAnne Chesimard, is a revolutionary figure, former member of the Black Panther Party (BPP) and the Black Liberation Army (BLA), and a symbol of resistance against racial oppression. She is best known for her involvement in Black liberation movements, her conviction for the killing of a New Jersey State Trooper in 1973, her escape from prison, and her subsequent exile in Cuba, where she was granted political asylum.

Born in New York City, Shakur was raised between Queens and Wilmington, North Carolina, where she experienced firsthand the realities of racial segregation and discrimination. Her political consciousness developed in college, where she became involved in activism during the height of the Civil Rights and Black Power movements. She joined the Harlem chapter of the Black Panther Party in the late 1960s, working on community programs focused on self-defense, education, and social welfare, particularly addressing police brutality and systemic inequality. However, the FBI’s COINTELPRO program, which targeted Black radical organizations, led to increasing government surveillance and repression of the BPP.

Shakur later became involved with the Black Liberation Army (BLA), an underground movement that believed in armed struggle as a means to combat systemic state violence against Black people. The BLA was accused of engaging in violent confrontations with police and government institutions, leading to Shakur being criminalized as a domestic terrorist by the U.S. government. On May 2, 1973, she was involved in a traffic stop on the New Jersey Turnpike with BLA members Zayd Malik Shakur and Sundiata Acoli. A shootout occurred, resulting in the death of State Trooper Werner Foerster and Zayd Shakur. Assata Shakur was shot and arrested, later convicted in 1977 of murder and sentenced to life in prison, despite claims of an unfair trial, racial bias, and contradictions in the prosecution’s case.

In 1979, with the help of allies in the Black liberation movement, she escaped from Clinton Correctional Facility for Women in New Jersey and eventually fled to Cuba, where she was granted asylum by the government of Fidel Castro. Since then, she has lived in exile, becoming a symbol of both revolutionary resistance and controversy. The U.S. government has classified her as a fugitive and placed her on the FBI’s Most Wanted Terrorists list, offering a $2 million bounty for her capture. Despite this, she remains an icon of Black liberation and anti-imperialist struggle, inspiring activists worldwide through her writings, including her autobiography, which details her experiences, political philosophy, and unwavering commitment to justice.

Beyond her activism in the U.S., Assata Shakur’s ideology is deeply rooted in Pan-Africanism, a philosophy that aligns with the teachings of Marcus Garvey and other Black liberation leaders who emphasized unity among African-descended people worldwide. Throughout her activism, she championed the idea that Black liberation in the U.S. was intrinsically connected to the struggles of African and diasporic peoples against colonialism, imperialism, and systemic oppression. Her exile in Cuba not only provided her with refuge but also reinforced her Pan-Africanist perspective, as she engaged with revolutionary movements from Africa, the Caribbean, and Latin America. In her writings and public statements, she has advocated for the strengthening of global Black solidarity, emphasizing the importance of self-determination, economic independence, and resistance to neocolonial forces. Her Pan-Africanism is evident in her belief that Black people must transcend national boundaries and work collectively to dismantle oppressive systems worldwide, making her a symbol of international Black resistance and unity.

#black history #black people #blacktumblr #black #black tumblr #pan africanism #black conscious #black power #africa #black empowering #assata shakur #strong black woman #black liberation army #black panther party

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fratttymatty · 8 months ago

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Blaked

(All characters are 18+)

Evan Brooks had always been a quintessential college nerd. Tall, lanky, and bookish, he could usually be found with his nose buried in a comic book or his laptop, discussing the latest political developments or arguing about LGBTQ+ rights with his friends in the campus coffee shop. He was proudly gay, proudly liberal, and made no secret of his beliefs, often wearing rainbow pins and t-shirts with witty slogans about equality and social justice. His unruly, curly brown hair and round glasses were as much a part of his identity as his progressive values.

He was no stranger to ridicule from the more traditionally minded students on campus, particularly the jocks. But Evan didn’t care. He had his circle of friends, his own nerdy niche, and an ever-growing list of political science lectures he was excited to attend. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was his.

That all changed one fateful night in late spring, when Evan made the unfortunate decision to join a party hosted by one of the most infamous fraternities on campus: Omega Sigma Alpha.

The frat brothers were the quintessential jocks—blond, muscular, straight, and with a penchant for mocking anything that didn’t fit their idea of “normal.” They were, as Evan liked to think of them, the very embodiment of the type of people he didn’t get along with. So, when Evan was invited to the party, his first instinct was to decline. But after some peer pressure from one of his friends, who assured him it was "just for fun" and that he wouldn't have to interact with the jocks too much, Evan reluctantly agreed.

The moment Evan stepped into the house, he felt a strange energy. The music was loud, the air was thick with the smell of cheap beer and sweat, and the entire room seemed to pulse with an almost aggressive energy. He tried to stick to the edges of the room, chatting with his friend about politics and avoiding eye contact with the muscled guys who were throwing footballs around and challenging each other to drink shots faster than the other.

But it didn’t take long before he caught the attention of the fraternity's president, Jake, a tall, handsome blonde with a cocky grin. Jake was a textbook alpha—popular, confident, and straight as an arrow. He spotted Evan standing alone by the punch bowl, eyes narrowed in a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"Hey, nerd," Jake called, his voice mocking but playful. "You lost, or just looking for a safe space to hang out?"

Evan stiffened. "I'm fine, thanks," he replied coolly, trying to turn away.

But Jake wasn’t finished. With a confident swagger, he made his way over and clapped a hand on Evan’s shoulder, almost knocking him off balance. "You know, we could use a guy like you," Jake said, nodding to his frat brothers who were huddled nearby, grinning at Evan with barely concealed amusement. "Maybe if you’re willing to take the right steps, we can teach you how to actually fit in around here."

Evan’s heart pounded. He didn’t know what to make of the offer. He’d heard the whispers about the “jock transformation,” a rumor that had been circulating for a while but seemed too ridiculous to believe. No one ever took it seriously. It was said that a group of the frat’s most powerful members had developed some sort of mystical or scientific way of transforming people—changing them into ideal versions of themselves that fit their world. It was all nonsense, of course. Magic wasn’t real, right?

Jake leaned in closer, his grin widening as he spoke in a lower voice. "We can help you change, Evan. You could be one of us. You could be… like me."

The air around them grew colder, the room suddenly feeling very distant. The music seemed to fade as Jake’s words echoed in Evan’s mind. A sharp sensation shot through him—something hot and heavy, like he was being pulled in every direction at once. He tried to step back, but his body didn’t obey him. The room spun, and he suddenly felt incredibly dizzy.

Before he knew what was happening, his clothes began to tighten around him, shifting and morphing to better fit his changing form. His body felt as if it were being compressed and re-shaped—his limbs shorter, his chest broader, his waist slimmer. His once gangly form thickened with muscle, his posture straightened, and his once nerdy demeanor was replaced by an unshakable sense of confidence.

His curly brown hair straightened, growing longer and turning a rich, slightly sun-kissed blonde. His face reshaped—his jawline more chiseled, his features sharper and more rugged. His glasses vanished, replaced by a sharper, more intense gaze that reflected the physical transformation that was happening to his body. He could feel it all happening—his body, his very identity, changing at the molecular level.

Jake’s voice cut through the fog in Evan’s mind. "There you go, buddy," he said with a grin. "You look perfect now. Welcome to the new you."

Evan—or rather, the new person he was becoming—looked down at his hands, now large and calloused. His fingers flexed involuntarily, testing the strength he hadn’t had before. His breath caught as he saw his reflection in a nearby mirror.

The guy staring back at him wasn’t Evan anymore. He was a new person entirely—a tall, muscular guy with dirty blonde hair that was slightly curly at the ends, strong features, and a confident, almost arrogant expression. He was wearing a form-fitting t-shirt that stretched across his chest and jeans that hugged his legs, perfectly fitting the look of a college jock. The shift was total, all-encompassing, and irreversible.

For a brief moment, a flicker of confusion passed through Evan’s—or rather, his new self’s—mind. But it was fleeting. His mind quickly adjusted. The panic, the loss, the identity crisis—none of it seemed to matter anymore. This was who he was now. And he liked it.

"Nice," Jake said, slapping him on the back. "You look like a real man now."

Evan smiled—no, he smiled. It felt natural. "Yeah, I guess I do," he said, his voice deep and steady. It felt good to speak with authority. To feel... in control.

The transformation was complete. Evan Brooks was gone. In his place stood Blake Walker—a straight, athletic, cocky guy who loved playing sports, who reveled in his newfound masculinity, and who couldn’t care less about the political causes that had once consumed his life. It wasn’t that he hated them, he just… didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except the gym, his frat, and the weekend parties where he could show off his new look.

As he turned to join the group of jocks, he felt a thrill surge through him—a rush of excitement and belonging. It was easy to fall into the rhythm of this new life. The frat brothers cheered as he walked over to join them, already welcoming him into their fold.

Blake Walker didn’t think about who he used to be anymore. He didn’t care that the change was irreversible. He was happy now—at least, that’s what he told himself. And for the first time in his life, he truly believed it.

Blake Walker had fully embraced his new identity—muscular, confident, cocky—and with that, his political and personal beliefs had shifted drastically. In the span of a few short days, the liberal, progressive Evan Brooks he had once been seemed like a distant memory, a faded echo of someone else's life. He had no use for the old ideals of social justice, activism, or questioning societal norms. The world was simple now: men were strong, women were women, and life was about winning, not about understanding.

It was a Wednesday morning, a few days after the transformation, and Blake was sitting in the campus quad with a couple of his frat brothers. They were lounging on the grass, tossing a football back and forth, and discussing what to do with their upcoming weekend. The conversation quickly veered toward politics, as it often did after a few beers.

Blake wasn’t exactly sure why, but the more he listened, the more he found himself irritated by the mention of any "liberal" policies. One of the guys, Brett, was talking about how his sister was protesting for women’s rights, and the mention of "equal pay" set off a spark in Blake’s mind.

"Equal pay? You mean that whole 'pay gap' thing?" Blake scoffed, a smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted his weight, throwing the football up into the air with a quick flick of his wrist. "That's such a joke. Women have the same opportunities, and they don’t need to keep whining about it. If they worked harder, they’d get paid the same. It’s not about being a woman, it’s about performing."

The words slipped from his mouth with ease, and Blake didn’t even hesitate. His voice was full of conviction, the kind of boldness he’d seen in the more traditional, alpha guys who had molded him into who he was now. The frat brothers around him nodded in approval, some chuckling. "Exactly, dude," said Marcus. "I can’t stand the whole victim mentality. Like, the world doesn’t owe anyone anything. You have to earn it."

Blake grinned and slapped his hands together, feeling a rush of adrenaline as if he’d just made an important point. "Exactly! These people need to toughen up. The world’s not gonna hand them anything. They should be out there working, making their own way, not complaining about what they don’t have."

His words were met with approving nods. But deep down, a part of Blake felt a strange satisfaction in the way the conversation had shifted. The more he spoke, the more comfortable he became in his new skin. It was clear now—he wasn’t just another college student fumbling through his beliefs. He was a man—a man who understood the way the world worked, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.

The conversation soon turned to the upcoming election. The group’s mood grew more animated as Brett began talking about a local politician who was pushing for "progressive" policies that Blake knew he couldn’t stand.

"You know, this guy keeps pushing for free healthcare and all this socialist crap," Brett said, his voice growing louder as he leaned in, clearly fired up. "It's like they want to turn the country into one big handout."

Blake’s blood boiled at the very mention of socialism. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Yeah, it’s unbelievable. People don’t seem to get that nothing in life is free. Someone’s gotta pay for it, and it’s always gonna be the hardworking people who get screwed over. You work hard, you get rewarded. You sit on your ass and wait for a handout, you're just part of the problem."

The words felt almost natural to Blake now. It was like he was channelling the very essence of the conservative mindset, and it felt good. The anger, the frustration at what he saw as a broken system—he had been living in that system, but now he understood. There was no place for weakness in the world he wanted. Only strength. Only the ability to succeed on your own terms.

The group around him nodded eagerly. Greg, another frat brother, grinned widely. "Hell yeah, man. You’re right. It’s the hardworking men who keep this country running. These liberals? They just want to hand everything to people who don’t deserve it."

Blake’s smile widened, a deep, satisfied chuckle bubbling up from his chest. "Exactly," he said again, his tone dripping with certainty. "It’s time we took the country back from these idiots. It’s time for real men to step up and start calling the shots."

It wasn’t just politics now. It was everything. Blake could feel the weight of his new beliefs settling into every corner of his life. Even the way he looked at people had changed. The nerds, the activists, the people who still talked about “equality” and “inclusivity”—he couldn’t fathom why he had ever cared about them. In his world, there was no place for weakness, no place for division. There was only strength, unity under a banner of tradition.

His classmates who had once talked about LGBTQ+ rights, feminism, environmental justice—they seemed so... irrelevant to him now. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared about those issues. He didn’t want to. Why would he? He was a man now. A strong man. And that meant taking charge, not discussing issues that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. The things that mattered were simple: success, strength, and the preservation of the things that had always made America great.

Later that afternoon, as Blake and his frat brothers prepared to head to the gym, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of superiority over the other students on campus. He looked around at the other groups of people—the arts majors, the environmental activists, the overly polite, overly sensitive students—and couldn’t suppress the sneer that twisted his lips.

"Man, they’re just so soft," he muttered under his breath. "They wouldn’t last a day in the real world."

One of his frat brothers, Jake, grinned. "Yeah, dude. They wouldn’t even know what hit them."

Blake let out a low laugh. "Exactly. If they knew what it took to be a man—if they knew what real strength looked like—maybe they’d understand."

As he turned and walked toward the gym with his brothers, his dirty blonde hair catching the sunlight, Blake realized just how much he had changed. The old Evan would have never spoken like this, never thought this way. But Blake Walker? He was part of something bigger now—part of a brotherhood, a worldview, a system that prized strength above all else. And he knew that he would never go back.

His days of progressive politics and social justice were behind him, along with the nerdy, gay college student he had once been. The new Blake Walker was confident, straight, and unapologetically conservative. He had found his place in the world, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he truly belonged.

And that was all that mattered.

Blake Walker was becoming unrecognizable. Not just in the way he looked—though his new broad, muscular physique, complete with messy, slightly curly dirty blonde hair, was a far cry from the skinny, nerdy Evan Brooks he once was—but also in the way he thought. The change had been fast, but it had settled deep, like an invasive seed that had taken root in his mind. Blake felt comfortable now, in a way he hadn’t felt before.

He was a jock, an alpha. And to be an alpha, you had to project dominance. You had to push boundaries, show people you were the top dog.

It was Friday night, and Blake and his frat brothers were winding down from a grueling week of tests and workouts. They’d thrown a party at the house—loud music, red Solo cups stacked in corners, and girls swarming around the jocks in an attempt to be noticed. The air was thick with the smell of beer and testosterone. Blake leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand on his beer, the other hanging loosely at his side as he surveyed the room.

The conversation, like most of the night, revolved around two things: who was hooking up with who, and who was the "weakest" link on the football team.

Greg, a tall, lean guy with sharp features, was ranting about some kid in the engineering department who had the nerve to “act like he was better than everyone else.” Blake could already tell where the conversation was going.

"Dude, I swear, I was walking by the student union today and I see this nerd sitting there—one of those guys who's always talking about 'gender fluidity' and all that liberal crap." Greg laughed, shaking his head. "Like, what the hell is that even? You’re either a guy or a girl, dude. Stop trying to make yourself special."

Blake took a long sip of his beer, his lips curling into a half-smirk. He didn’t need to think about it—he knew exactly how to respond.

"I know, right?" Blake said, his voice dripping with that new, self-assured confidence. "It’s like they want attention or something. Just pick a side, dude. You can’t change your whole identity every week."

He threw back his head, laughing with his brothers as they all chimed in with their own jokes about the so-called "gender confusion" they saw in their classes. Blake’s tone was dismissive and casual. He didn’t even feel the need to elaborate. The fact that this kid was trying to “be different” was enough to trigger his distaste.

"I bet he’s just another attention-seeker," Brett added, with a grin. "I mean, dude’s probably just mad no one’s looking at him unless he says some dumb shit like that. Like, just be a normal guy. No one cares about your weird identity crisis."

Blake nodded approvingly, feeling a rush of satisfaction. He didn’t get it—he didn’t care to get it. Who had time for all that? In his world, being a guy was simple. You played sports, you lifted weights, you dated women, and you didn’t apologize for being a man.

"Exactly, man," Blake said, tossing his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin with a clink. "I don't know why people make things so complicated. If you’re a dude, then act like it. Don’t go around talking about all this 'fluid' crap and expect me to give a damn."

The frat boys around him cheered in agreement, their voices loud and drunk with entitlement. The women in the corner seemed to laugh along too, though Blake could tell they were mostly laughing because they had to. It was what the cool guys did, and if they didn’t want to be “excluded” from the circle, they had to pretend to be on the same wavelength.

Blake glanced at one of the girls nearby, a sophomore who had been flirting with him for the past hour. She caught his eye and smiled, a little too brightly. He offered a quick, cocky grin before taking another sip of beer.

"Man, I swear," Greg continued, "people like that are just looking for an excuse to cry about everything. They wanna be all ‘sensitive,’ but life’s not like that. You want respect? Earn it. You don’t get to cry about your ‘identity’ and expect the world to change for you."

Blake couldn’t help but agree. His mind had changed so drastically from the Evan he used to be. The Evan who was afraid of offending anyone, who stood up for people’s rights no matter how difficult the argument. That guy was gone, replaced by Blake, a guy who didn’t just accept things the way they were, but demanded them to stay the way he liked.

"Exactly," Blake said again, this time with a bit more edge. He wasn’t even sure what had happened to him. The old Evan might have felt guilty, might have been conflicted over what he was hearing, but Blake? Blake felt nothing but clarity. "These people think they deserve special treatment just because they’re different. Like, no one owes you shit for being ‘unique.’"

The guys laughed again, but now it was a little more sinister. They were pushing boundaries, making the atmosphere more charged than it should’ve been. Someone mentioned a rumor about a student from another fraternity who had come out as bisexual, and that seemed to set Blake off.

"Ugh, I heard about that dude," Marcus chimed in. "Some guy in the next frat came out as bi, and now he’s all about being ‘proud.’ It’s like, bro, just shut up. Who cares? I’m not gonna sit here and listen to some dude talk about his ‘struggles’ with his sexuality."

Blake’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he stared at Marcus for a moment. He couldn’t help it; he was getting agitated. "Exactly, man. Just keep it to yourself. Nobody needs to know about your ‘struggles’ or whatever. It's not like being gay or bi is some big revelation." He felt a sense of superiority creeping in. "Just stop trying to force it on everyone. The world doesn’t revolve around your sex life."

There was an uncomfortable silence as the conversation shifted, but the damage had been done. The guys had made their stance clear—they didn’t have time for “weak” people, and they certainly didn’t have time for anyone who didn’t fit into their idea of what was normal. Blake wasn’t even sure why it bothered him so much that people were “out there” being different—he just knew that it didn’t sit right with him anymore.

He glanced over at the girl still lingering by the corner. She was staring at him, her smile a little less enthusiastic than before. Blake felt a flicker of unease—an old Evan-like twinge of guilt—but it passed quickly, like a fleeting thought.

"Yeah," Blake said again, feeling like he had the last word on the subject, as if it settled everything. "Just be a man or don’t bother. The world doesn’t need more confusion."

The frat brothers all agreed, and Blake let out a breath. For the first time, he felt like he could finally relax. He had his brothers, his strength, his new identity—and that was all he needed.

The rest of the night passed with more jokes, more trash talk, and a general atmosphere of “being a man” that felt intoxicating. Blake didn’t think about it much. He didn’t need to. He was on top of the world now, and anything that threatened that world—anything that threatened his new identity—just didn’t belong.

And Blake was more than happy to let them know that.

Blake Walker had fully embraced his new life. The frat, the muscles, the confidence—he was a man now, and everything felt easy. But with that confidence came something even more exciting to him: Stacy.

Stacy wasn’t just any girl. She was the quintessential “valley girl”—the kind of blonde, perky, ditzy sorority girl that every guy in the frat would have killed to date. But Blake? He wasn’t like the other guys. He deserved Stacy. She was exactly what he needed to match his new identity.

It was Friday afternoon, and Blake was lounging on the frat house’s back patio, having just finished another grueling workout at the gym. He was wearing a tight, white tank top that showed off his impressive biceps, his signature messy dirty blonde curls falling over his forehead in just the right way. As he cracked open a bottle of water, his phone buzzed with a text from Stacy. He grinned to himself as he read it:

"Hey babe, totes wanna meet at Starbucks for a little pick-me-up before our dinner tonight! 💅💖"

Blake rolled his eyes, but in the way that made him smile. He’d been seeing Stacy for a few weeks now, and while she was everything he shouldn’t want—a little airhead who lived for shopping, Instagram, and the latest gossip about "who’s dating who"—there was something about her that he loved.

"Sounds good, babe. I'll pick you up in 20."

He shot off a quick reply before tossing his phone down on the table, feeling the usual rush of excitement that came with hanging out with Stacy. She wasn’t just pretty—she was fun. And for Blake, that was all that mattered now. They were a perfect match: his strength and confidence, her bubbly, ditzy energy.

When Blake pulled up to the Starbucks parking lot, he spotted Stacy immediately. She was standing outside, balancing on high heels, looking like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her platinum blonde hair was perfectly curled, and her pink crop top clung to her body, showing off her toned stomach. She waved excitedly when she saw him, a wide grin on her face.

"Babe, like, oh my god!" Stacy squealed, rushing up to him. "I totes missed you! I was, like, just texting my girls about that new hot guy in the bio class. Like, he is SO cute, you have NO idea."

Blake chuckled, reaching out to pull her into a hug, his muscles flexing as he enveloped her tiny frame. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her words, but it didn’t bother him. Not anymore. Stacy was just... Stacy.

"I bet he's not as hot as me," Blake teased, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

"Like, NO way!" Stacy giggled, pressing her lips to his cheek before pulling back to look him up and down, clearly admiring the view. "You are, like, totally the hottest guy I know. You’re, like, so perfect, it’s unreal."

Blake smirked, loving the compliment. He felt invincible, like he was untouchable.

"I know," he said, his tone oozing confidence. "I work hard for it, babe."

They walked inside Starbucks together, Stacy chattering non-stop about everything she had done that week, her voice high-pitched and almost like a sing-song. Blake didn’t really listen to the details—he never did—but it didn’t matter. Stacy wasn’t saying anything of importance, just the usual girly stuff, and for Blake, that was exactly how he liked it.

"So, like, I heard that Brad from Kappa Chi totally hooked up with Jenny from Accounting last night?" Stacy went on, her eyes wide with excitement as she leaned in. "And like, she was wearing this totally amazing dress, but I, like, can't even imagine how they, like, did it in the back of a cab. That's SO ghetto, right?"

Blake smirked and leaned against the counter, pretending to listen. He was starting to feel like a real man now—someone who had it all. A hot girl, a killer body, and a world that was bending to his will. It was a far cry from the shy, nerdy Evan who used to spend hours arguing with people about the importance of social justice and LGBTQ+ rights.

"I dunno, babe," Blake shrugged, his voice low and deep. "I don’t really care about that kind of stuff. I got everything I need right here." He gestured to himself and then to her, giving her a wink.

Stacy laughed, throwing her head back. "Like, OMG, you’re such a bad boy," she said, practically swooning. "I totes love it when you, like, act all confident."

Blake’s chest swelled with pride. This was the life. No more thinking about the struggles of the world or trying to please everyone. Stacy didn’t care about his past. She didn’t care about the "old Evan." She liked Blake, the confident, strong jock who didn’t have time for politics, social causes, or even, it seemed, deep conversation. Stacy wanted someone who made her feel good—and that was exactly what Blake was giving her.

"Yeah, babe," Blake said, his voice dropping into that deeper, more commanding tone he’d learned to use. "You like that, huh?"

Stacy giggled, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. "Totes! You’re, like, the perfect boyfriend. I’m, like, so lucky to have you. You're, like, sooo much hotter than all those other guys at the gym. They don’t even have, like, a clue."

Blake’s lips curled into a smug smile. "I know, babe," he said again, taking the coffee she’d ordered and handing it to her. "But it’s not just the looks. It’s about who you are. And I’m one of a kind."

Stacy laughed, nodding enthusiastically. "Like, I KNOW, right?! You’re, like, totally the best."

As they left Starbucks, walking hand-in-hand toward his car, Blake couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride. He didn’t just have the looks, the body, or the confidence—he had Stacy, the perfect "girlfriend" for his new life. She was everything that fit into his new worldview: pretty, ditzy, and obsessed with appearances. And Blake was okay with that. He didn’t need anything else.

They got in the car, and Blake started the engine, glancing over at Stacy, who was already texting someone on her phone, probably telling her friends how amazing her boyfriend was.

As he drove through the campus, past the other students, Blake couldn’t help but feel like the world was at his feet. His life had become simple, uncomplicated, and perfect in its own, jock-ified way. There was no more questioning his identity. There was no more confusion about who he was. He was Blake Walker—the strong, straight, conservative man who had everything he wanted, including the perfect girlfriend.

And nothing was ever going to stand in his way.

#male tf #male tf story #nerd to jock #smart to dumb #gay to straight #conservative tf #lib to con #fratification

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ghostgirl-22 · 5 months ago

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ok but imagine art and patrick at a frat party.. patrick’s already hyper aware of his bisexuality and feelings for art, arts still repressed as hell. theyre drunk, some guy starts flirting with patrick, art is clearly jealous but doesnt know what this feeling is (“am i homophobic? why do i care so much?” etc). patrick notices this and leans into it, starts flirting back w the guy, fucks him in the bathroom or w/e, finally explores his bisexuality. art feels CRAZY after this, finally notices hes so jealous and wanted to be this guy so bad.. crazy sexual tension ensues. idk if this is too specific but i see it so clearly….

I have been excited for this prompt forever. Idk if you’re still around the fandom anon after all this time 😭 but ily and this prompt <33 I didn’t do it justice but I had fun and so did my Colorado native heart.

CW: 18+ NSFW, never proofreading is the standard, Art is manipulative and kind of an asshole here but it’s just because he’s a fucking terror when he’s in love 😔

—-

It’s the middle of February and Patrick’s not in Palo Alto but he’s still at a Stanford event. “It’s this annual ski trip so many different frats and athletes go. Anyone who’s anyone will be there.” Art explains. “Tashi was supposed to go with me but you know… the girls won the final.”

Patrick knows all about that. Tashi’s playing in Austrailia. Her family made it a whole trip and she’s got another Adidas photoshoot that’ll be showing exclusively over there. In pro tennis the American season is still on hiatus, he can’t really afford to call Austrailia every night and he’s kinda bored so that’s how he ended up in Colorado for the weekend.

He’s on the slopes with Art and his tennis friends in the daytime but that night Stanford takes over the lodge and there’s this epic pool party. The pools are heated, there’s two hot tubs. Tons of pizza in the lobby and drinks outside. There’s even a DJ it’s like a full on frat party in the mountains. Everyone’s staying in the resort, kids are making out, hooking up, trying to hide more elicit substances like weed and ecstasy from the so called “adult” chaperones. It makes Patrick kinda wish he would’ve enrolled.

He’s lifting himself out of the pool, sitting up on the edge, half drunk when it happens. The cold air feels so nice on his heated skin. He thinks its an accident at first when this guy nudges his knee. Patrick smiles at him, just to show it’s no big deal. He grins back. He’s cute, pale blue eyes, dyed black hair, a lip ring. He’s skinny, a couple tattoos. He looks a little like the guy from Blink 182 Patrick touched himself for when that what’s my age again video came out.

He knows it by now. What he only suspected when he was younger. That he’s bicurious.

If getting weird feelings about Robin in that Batman and Robin cartoon when he was a kid wasn’t enough. Then spending 6 years developing the most delicious masochistic crush on his roommate that culminated in a kiss he can’t stop thinking about definitely did the trick. Pretty boy is chewing on his lip ring, smiling up at Patrick and checking him out. And yeah, Patrick definitely likes boys.

He’s had a little experience. Some kissing, heavy petting, dry humping another player in the back of his jeep after a bad day on tour. Made him feel better. He hasn’t really told Tashi… he doesn’t think of it as cheating. It’s something he can’t really get from her anyway.

“Dude, hurry, lets get some more drinks,” Art sits up next to him on the pools ledge, he’s all tipsy, wet and flushed. He looks so goddamn good right now. It's actually a cosmic joke. Pretty boy frowns and Patrick shakes his head just the slightest bit, hoping he understands that there’s nothing going on between them.

“Come on, man,” Art says as he gets to his feet. “I’m already cold.” They were in the middle of a game of pool volleyball. It’s enough like tennis that they’re kinda good at it. And Art’s been flirty with this tall girl, Porsha from the girls volleyball team all night. Which is probably why he’s actually in a hurry, to get a drink back to her.

Patrick figures maybe pretty boy wants a drink. They pad along the cold ground to the drinks table. It’s cold enough outside that nothing really has to be chilled, it’s nice and cold just sitting out on the table. As Patrick scoops up another beer, pretty boy approaches him.

“Hey,” he smiles.

Patrick smiles back. “You want one?” He holds up the can he was gonna bring over.

“Thanks, but I’m actually straight edge.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, not overly familiar with the term but he thinks it’s hot all the same.

Pretty boy looks over Patrick’s body, still checking him out. “Are you a freshman? I feel like I’ve never seen you before?”

“I don’t go here, my buddy Art does,” Patrick gestures.

“Hey,” Art says lightly, and then looks back at Patrick. “Come on Pat it’s fucking cold.”

”Guess you gotta go Pat,” pretty boy smirks, stepping closer.

“Patrick,” Patrick says, “he’s the only one that…yeah…”

“Got it,” pretty boy reaches up to finger the small gold Star of David necklace Patrick’s grandfather gave him that Patrick usually forgets he’s wearing.

“What’s your name?” Patrick asks.

“Julian.” He rakes his hand down the front of Patrick’s chest. “your body’s kind of incredible.”

“Okay… cool man,” Art is still lingering, and Patrick can’t believe he almost forgot about him. Art’s eyes are narrowed in Julians direction. “Aren’t you in the student government or something?” He demands.

“Not by choice, I’m just a genius at math and my friend is VP so they made me assistant treasurer,” his eyes haven’t left Patrick’s body. “You want to go inside for a little bit and you know… hang out?”

Patrick’s been kinda horny all night. He’s horny and curious and Julian is really fucking hot so he shrugs. “Yeah.”

“What? Seriously?” Art asks.

“Look I’m getting tired man.” Patrick lies. “But you have fun, I’ll see you… tomorrow.” He glances at Julian and he grins.

“You really think I have a shot with Porsha?” Art says, scratching his head.

“I dunno but you’ll have the room to yourself either way,” Patrick smirks.

Art’s eyes go wide. He looks again at Julian like it’s just now dawning on him what’s happening.

“Uh…” he steps back and stumbles a bit bumping into someone else that steadies him as he comes up to the table and steals a couple beers before hurrying back to the hot tub.

“Right, later man,” Patrick says, amused by the way Art seems to be glitching out. Patrick still can’t believe after all this time that Art doesn’t know… but whatever he’ll live. At least until tomorrow when they can talk about it. Patrick starts walking over to grab his towel and his things.

“Wait I’m— I’m tired too,” Art says, following him. Patrick raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t argue when Art decides to accompany them back to the lodge. Walking in between them. “Maybe we should go back to the room and call Tashi. It’s probably 12 in the afternoon there.” He says when they get inside. “Tashi’s his girlfriend by the way,” Art adds to Julian. He can be a total dick when he wants to be actually.

“Tashi Duncan?” Julian asks.

“Yeah… I mean… yes. She’s technically my girlfriend.” Patrick says, glaring at Art. He looks triumphant like he’s ready to see Patrick try and dig himself out of it.

“Technically,” Julian smirks. “Why do all straight boys have technical girlfriends, and fiancées and wives.”

“I dunno… maybe I’m not technically straight,” Patrick says.

Art makes a strangled sound which Patrick ignores.

“I figured.”

“How’d you know?”

“I was watching you,” Julian says, glancing quickly at Art before looking back to Patrick.

“Right,” Patrick mutters, feeling a bit pathetic about the fact that it’s this obvious to everyone but Art.

“Yeah I’ll probably have to call her or something tomorrow… let her know I’m bisexual.” Patrick says, dryly.

Art laughs. “No way, Pat. One kiss doesn’t make us fucking bisexual.” He’s gone quite red and he looks irritated. “We kissed a couple months ago by the way. Me and him.” He blurts to Julian.

It’s not like Art to bring that up at all. Much less in front of another person unprovoked. Tashi would sooner bring it up just to watch him turn into a cherry, then Art just outright admitting it. If Patrick didn’t know better he’d call it jealousy.

“I agree, Donaldson right? You’re a tennis player?”

“Yeah and it’s…Art,” Art says, coolly.

“Well that’s… a name. I guess you should thank god you’re pretty.”

“I—I thank god all the time actually,” Art says, a silly counter for an unnecessary but amusing fight Art is trying to pick.

“Well that’s great man, and he’s right… one kiss doesn’t necessarily make you bisexual… but you know… we can do more than kiss.” Julian places his palm on Patrick’s bare tummy.

“Patrick that’s…that’s not a good idea! you’re gonna end up losing Tashi. I— I want to help you but I can’t if you’re gonna cheat on her. Just come back to the room with me. I won’t even tell her or anything.” He’s fucking jealous. God. Patrick wants to laugh. This is incredible.

“Okay fine, I’m coming. Can you take this?” He hands Art his wallet which has been useless all night since everything was paid for by the student event association or whatever and his unopened can of beer. He keeps his phone, his room key and his towel. “I’ll be up there in five minutes.”

Art lingers a little longer.

”dude go, I’m coming I promise.”

It’s a promise he totally keeps. In the bedroom where they don’t even make it to the bed… he comes. Julian has lube and condoms in his backpack. They’re making out in the elevator, in the hallway. and before they’re two steps into Julian's bedroom he’s pressed up against Patrick. Teasing fingers inside. Rolling a condom on and slathering it in so much lube. pressing into Patrick, slowly at first. it feels so big and achy and intense. And then Patrick’s guiding it towards his prostate. The angle where he fingers himself sometimes when he wants to come so hard he blacks out. It’s even better with a fully hard dick inside. Better with Julian’s teasing words in his ear.

“I know a yearner when I see one. You wish I was that silly little blonde twink so fucking bad, don’t you. Imagine him fucking you like this. Filling you up till you’re incoherent. Filling every hole you have. Fucking you so deep you can’t feel anything else but the thick hard ache of it.”

“Mm fuck, yes,” Patrick can’t help it. It feels like he’s seeing god over and over. Every thrust, every word taking him to new heights. It’s barely any time at all before he’s unloading all over the bedroom door breathless and moaning. Then they’re making out again on the floor, Patrick crawling all over Julian before a second round and a third. His first time, and this is so hot. He feels so good he almost falls asleep in there but when he picks up his phone to glance at it there’s like 20 missed calls and text messages.

Oh Art is sick.

Patrick barely gathers himself together and makes his way back to their room. It’s almost 2 in the morning but Art is awake watching tv. He’s finished another 2 beers. His eyes are a little red. His cheeks, a little streaky. He’s still in his swim trunks and his hair is nearly dried, his curls all messy. god Patrick can feel the blood rushing immediately right back into his dick.

Art glares at Patrick and then does a dramatic flop onto his pillow, turning his back to him.

“Oh come on,” Patrick says, laughing.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Art mutters.

“You.” Patrick approaches his bed and knees into it.

“You know you just cheated on the greatest girl ever right? Cheating on Tashi for some gay loser emo with a star tattoo.”

”It was a starfish, I saw it… up close…for like 2 hours,” Patrick smirks.

“Well aren’t you fucking special. I’m sure your mom will be proud.”

“Why? did you call her?” Patrick snorts as he collapses onto the bed next to him. He stops himself, as always, from rubbing Arts' ridiculously perky ass.

“I fucking should,” Art sits up and renews his glare. “What if he had an std? Then you bring it back to Tashi?”

”we used a condom. And i don’t remember you giving this much of a shit when I cheated on my high school girlfriends.”

“It’s Tashi man, you would really fucking do this to her?”

“And you’d really fucking cry about it?” Patrick reaches up, brushing a knuckle along his soft cheek. Art shoves him off. “You should be giddy that I couldn’t stop myself. I’m surprised you didn’t call her.”

“I did,” Art mutters.

“Ah. So you are still an asshole, I was worried.”

“She doesn’t even fucking care man.” Art mutters defeated. “She basically said why am I telling her about it if you need a dick and she doesn’t have one. and while she’s in Australia of all places."

Patrick chuckles for the way he and Tashi had a similar thought process and for Arts dumb jealous meddling not getting him the result he hoped for.

“Your mom would be upset though,” Art says, he sounds hopeful.

“God, Art. What is the big fucking deal? Why do you want someone to be mad at me because I fucked a guy? Are you homophobic or something?”

“What? What?! No.” He says quickly. “Im not fucking homophobic dude. I… you know my cousin is a lesbian and… and I could care less.” He’s turning red. “I’m not um… I’m definitely not a homophobe. That’s not fair.”

”Well then, what is the real problem? Is it that I wanted to get fucked? Is it because I wanted to feel some hot boys’ hard dick in my ass fucking into me over and over?” He says explicitly just to watch Art squirm. And boy is he squirming. He can’t sit still, can’t look at Patrick. Hes got his hands shoved in his lap, between his crossed legs, his face all twisted up.

“That’s… that’s…not my… you shouldn’t be… you shouldn’t be just…” he stammers out but he just can’t… finish.

“Art? Come on, what is it?” Patrick prods, a little softer now. “Tell me. Is it Julian?” Giving him an out.

Art nods his head, grasping at the new reason to tell Patrick why he shouldn’t. “Yes actually. I mean, you don’t know anything about him. He’s got all those tattoos for all you know he could be a… he could be violent or something. Plus I heard he's a loser… you wouldn’t know because you don’t go here but someone told me he sucks. I mean… he’s lame. And he’s not even that good looking or anything… you could at least find an athlete or like someone on a sports team or—”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking ridiculous. You know that, right?” He mutters sitting up and leaning in close. “How about next time… if you don’t want another boy to fuck me… you just fuck me yourself.”

The way Art’s expression changes so quickly to one of exaggerated shock and incredulity is actually amusing. “W-what?” He says, his Adams Apple bobbing.

“You heard me, you little shit,” Patrick smirks, leaning in closer. Art’s little tongue flits across his bottom lip, his eyes dart down to Patrick’s mouth then back up again.

”I don’t… I’m not…” he stammers, but Patrick grips his chin and he’s immediately pliable. Let’s Patrick pull him closer, till he’s leaning in near Patrick’s open mouth. Art licks a hesitant stripe across Patrick’s lips and then the flood gates open. He’s kissing Patrick, open mouthed, heated wet tongue slipping in and out and all around. Everywhere as he moans. If Patrick was seeing god before he’s pretty sure he probably is god at this point for how fucking incredible this feels.

Patrick reaches into his lap. He’s as hard as he can possibly be. Of course he is. All this drama and all he really had to say was don’t go with him, fuck me instead. The most ridiculous person Patrick knows.

He’s up on his knees, grabbing at Patrick’s face, then his body. Kisses so wet and eager that Patrick feels dizzy. Patrick settles onto his back, on the pillow, let’s Art fall on top of him, arms on either side of Patrick’s body, hips between Patrick’s thighs, he starts grinding up against Patrick’s ass, against his cock and balls, humping him like he’s humping into a pillow.

“Mm you should fuck me,” Patrick hums into Arts mouth. “I wanna lose my virginity again.” He grins. He’s still wet for how much lube Julian used to fuck him loose and slippery. God getting fucked by two different boys on the same night he first loses it for a boy. This’ll be a story for his grand kids.

“Fuck,” Art whines loudly before kissing Patrick again. “You should have just fucking…never let that loser… he shouldn’t get to…” Art’s all shaky, there’s this bright light in his eyes. Like he’s worked himself up into a frenzy. “I can fuck you so much better than him.” He starts grabbing at Patrick’s swim trunks. Tugging them down.

“I can fuck you better. Fuck him.” He breathes, as he grabs at Patrick’s dick with his shaky hands and swallows. Every touch between them feels electric, Patrick’s tingling all over, in a way he wasn’t earlier. It’s actually crazy. Art is holding his dick, he slaps it against Patrick’s tummy and bends over to lick at the length. His perfectly pink tongue licking heated stripes all up and down and along his balls. over and over again. Sloppy and messy and so wet. Spit everywhere. Just when Patrick thinks he’s gonna come by this alone. Art huffs, his heated breath ghosting along Patrick’s dick, along his upper thighs. “I can fuck you so much better.”

He sits up on his knees again and pulls his own dick out. His pretty perfect dick. Been perfect ever since Patrick first saw it. It was even more perfect the last time he saw it. When they jerked it simultaneously the last month of high school. Talking about Tashi. Not mentioning the kiss but the memory of it vivid in Patrick’s mind as Art was breathing heavy and ragged right next to him making him come so much faster.

“You can fuck me. I’m wet already, baby,” Patrick whispers. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t wait for you but I’m really fucking wet for you.”

“Fuck you,” Art looks more determined now. His eyes filling with water and it’s probably so fucked up, but watching him tear up makes Patrick’s cock twitch, even more eager to come again.

Art pushes himself inside and god, Patrick feels his body light up. Energy nearly as overwhelming as the night they kissed with Tashi. He couldn’t really compare anything to what it feels like to fuck Tashi before now. Art sniffling and teary eyed and fucking into his prostate. Slamming into it. Feels just as fucking good.

“You’re fucking mine, he doesn’t get to have you ever again, fuck you your mine,” Art is flushed so pretty, the way he looked in the heated pool. “Mine,” Art keeps muttering as he thrusts his hips over and over and over again. Patrick is seeing stars, nearly blacking out for every punctuation of the word.

“Fuck yes,” Patrick groans loudly as he’s getting close. “I’m all fucking yours baby. Fuck it all out of me. Make me yours forever.”

“Fuck Patrick I’m gonna—“

“Mm shit… come on… you can do more. Keep fucking me with that perfect dick, pretty boy. Fucking fill me up.”

”Patrick…” Art whines. “Oh Patrick…Patrick… oh fuck… I’m sorry….fuck nnngh…”

Heated liquid is filling Patrick up, making him even more of a mess as Art collapses into his arms. “Oh fuck,” Art starts properly crying. “I couldn’t even fucking…” he groans as he slips out.

God, Patrick wishes he wasn’t so fucking hard right now. All he can think about is Art’s soft red cheeks, wet eyes and clumped lashes, wet face, wet mouth. Wet all over and Patrick almost feels guilty for how badly he wants him to cry more.

“It’s okay… shh… ‘t’s okay. I’m gonna get you hard again,” Patrick whispers.

“Really?” art sniffles.

“Mmhm, come on… it’s gonna be fucking easy.” Patrick says lightly. He kisses Art’s wet cheek, tasting salty tears on his lips. and Art turns into it… taking Patrick’s mouth again, between sniffles. It’s easy really. Art is so easy— when Patrick can get him to be honest with himself. Fucking dream come true.

#challengers fic #challengers smut #artrick #art x patrick #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut

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robertreich · 1 year ago

Video

youtube

Why Trump Is Partnering With Christian Nationalists

Donald Trump is portraying himself as a religious savior. He says Election Day will be: …”the most important day in the history of our country, and it’s going to be Christian Visibility Day.”

Trump has repeatedly compared his criminal trials to the crucifixion of Jesus, promoted videos calling his reelection “the most important moment in human history,” and that describe him as a divinely appointed ruler.

He claims to be a holy warrior against an imaginary attack on Christianity.

TRUMP: They want to tear down crosses//But no one will be touching the cross of Christ under the Trump administration. I swear to you.

He’s even selling his own version of the Bible.

Trump is playing to a rising white Christian Nationalist movement within the Republican Party.

Christian Nationalists believe that the law of the land is not the Constitution, but instead the law of God as they interpret it. Under this view, atheists and people of other faiths (including Christians of other denominations) are all second-class citizens.

Trump’s supporters are increasingly overt in their calls to replace democracy with a MAGA theocracy.

The idea that the will of voters is irrelevant because God has anointed Trump was a recurring message in the efforts to overturn the 2020 election.

In previous videos, I’ve highlighted how MAGA Republicans have embraced core elements of fascism. They reject democracy, stoke fear of immigrants and minorities, embrace a gender and ethnic hierarchy, and look to a strongman to lead and defend them.

The combination of fascism and Christian Nationalism is called Christofascism, a term first used half a century ago by the theologian Dorothee Sölle. Fascists rise to power by characterizing their opponents as subhuman. Christofascists take it a step further by casting opponents as not just subhuman, but actually demonic.

Framing opponents as enemies of God makes violence against them not only seem justifiable, but divinely sanctioned, and almost inevitable.

Christofascists want to strip away a wide range of rights Americans take for granted. Former Trump staffers involved in developing plans for a second Trump term have called for imposing “Biblical” tests on immigration, overturning marriage equality, and restricting contraception.

And MAGA-aligned judges are already setting their dogma ahead of the Constitution. In his concurring opinion on the case that declared frozen embryos are people, Alabama Supreme Court Justice Tom Parker cited God more than forty times and quoted the Book of Genesis and other religious texts.

Nothing could be more un-American than the Christian Nationalist vision. So many of America’s founders came here as refugees seeking religious freedom. The framers of the Constitution were adamant that religion had no role in our government. The words “God,” “Jesus,” and “Christ,” don’t appear anywhere in the Constitution. And the very first words of the Bill of Rights are a promise that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.”

Christofascism, or any religion-based form of government, is a rejection of everything America has aspired to be — a secular, multi-racial society whose inhabitants have come from everywhere, bound together by a faith in equal opportunity, democracy, and the rule of law.

Beware.

#youtube #religion #Donald Trump #politics #Election #video #videos

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chocostrwberry · 1 year ago

Text

If yall have noticed, I often mention “seasons” when describing the timeline of my AU.

“Choco?? What are these seasons you are talking about? Why are there only three when the show has five??”

Sit down, little one, and let me tell you a story…

AHDKWHSJ JK JK

But anyways-

I have split the events that happen in my AU into seasons because then it’s easier for me to keep my facts and timeline in order! All episodes are in exact order/sequence of events!

Season 1: Gabriel can create sentimonsters.

In this season, it’s establishing the world of Miraculous. Marinette and Adrien is learning how to be miraculous holders while navigating their own lives.

Origins: Marinette becomes Ladybug for the first time alongside Chat Noir to defeat Stormy Weather.

Ladybug and Chat Noir defeat an Akumatized Mylène, Animelle. Together, they visit Master Fu for more information on their new duties.

Marinette has a hard time balancing being Ladybug and her civilian self. Ladybug and Chat Noir have to team up to defeat a game-themed teenage akuma.

Sweetpea: Marinette enters a design challenge with Alix, and Adrien is her model! Rose is akumatized into Sweetpea after a health scare makes her unable to help her team with their design.

To Be or Not to Be: There is a school play, and Chloe will stop at nothing to get the main lead. Ladybug struggles to win over Chat Noir, who seems oblivious to her attempts at flirting.

Boy meets Girl: Marinette develops a crush on the class’s most popular boy after defending Juleka against Chloe. LB and CN battle Reflekta.

Princess Justice: Marinette is chosen to submit a dress design to high-fashion company represented by Chloe’s mother. Jealous of her success, Chloe destroys her project, causing Marinette to be Akumatized.

Fish Food: Ladybug and Chat Noir have to defeat an akuma who goes by the name of Captain Kraken. For the Winter Ball, Marinette makes plans to ask Luka to be her date.

Winter Formal: The winter formal is here, but Marinette is worried about an akuma attack that might ruin her chances with Luka.

Be My Lover: Now that Marinette is officially dating Luka, Adrien’s jealousy becomes more apparent. Chloe’s repetitive and harsh rejections of Kim turns him into Dark Cupid.

Road Rage: Adrien has a fight with Chloe about her behavior towards others, and she acts out once again and Nino is akumatized into a foul-mouthed biker with a vendetta against her.

New Girl: A transfer student is introduced to the class, but Marinette is suspicious of her two-faced behavior.

Prophetica: Marinette’s constant lying and lack of trust makes her and Alya have a fight after she fails to bring cupcakes to her sisters’ birthday party.

Primadonna: After Chloe’s mother decides to take her half-sister to her movie premiere debut instead of her last-minute, Chloe becomes Primadonna and turns Paris into her own personal black-and-white film.

Sabrina seeks Marinette’s help to expose Lila after she comes between Sabrina and Chloe’s friendship.

King of Music: Jagged Stone is akumatized and it is revealed that Luka and Juleka are his children. Marinette’s duties as Ladybug become more demanding and her relationship with Luka strains.

Winter Wonderland: After Chloe misses one of Sabrina’s recitals, she is Akumatized into Ice Queen and turns Paris into an eternal winter.

Marinette misses one of Luka’s concerts, where he was going to debut a song he wrote for her. They break up and he is Akumatized into Heartrocker.

Liar, Liar: Marinette finally tells the class who Lila really is, but they have a hard time believing her. Lila is Akumatized into Miss Miracle and offers her services to Hawkmoth in order to take down Ladybug.

Lila strikes a deal with Gabriel when Adrien invites her over to his home out of pity. Hawkmoth’s identity and motives are revealed. Chat Noir takes Ladybug to see Master Fu for help because of Plagg’s warning against Lila.

A New Guardian: Master Fu makes Ladybug the new Guardian before Lila can get to the Miracle Box.

Goldbug: The peacock miraculous is fixed. Hawkmoth unifies the miraculous to become Shadowmoth. He creates Miss Miracle’s first sentimonster: Goldbug. Marinette becomes Firefly to defeat them both.

The time span for this season is about 4 months, starting in the beginning of Junior year.

Season 2: Emelie wakes up.

This season focuses on the lore of the miraculous. Ladybug unifies miraculous every other episode to defeat both akumas and sentimonsters. Lots of kwami-swaps and unified ladybug happen in this season! (Scarabella, Queen Bee, Carapace, Ladybee, etc.) Marinette is also warming up to Adrien.

Chat Noir is skeptical she’s the right pick to be guardian, and she takes that personally. She decides to unify against Reflekta and her sentimonster, Reflekdoll.

Mr. Midas: After rejecting an expensive present, Chloe’s father is Akumatized into Mr. Midas and wants to turn everything into gold for his beloved daughter. Tigerbug and Chat Noir try and defeat him and his sentimonster.

Sweet Dreams: Ladybug becomes Hercula after a sleepy akuma discreetly puts Paris into an eternal slumber.

A Spider’s Web: Ladybug becomes Mantigirl to defeat Arachnia, a kindergarten teacher who is Akumatized at the Paris Zoo and trapped Adrien and others.

Marinette comes down with a mysterious illness, and so it’s up to Scarabella and Chat Noir to save Paris from an Akumatized grandmother and her gang of angry sentidogs!

The Wailing Lady: Firefly and CN battle against a grieving widow and her sentimonster, a giant willow tree in the middle of Paris who she believes is her deceased spouse.

Sugar and Spice: Marinette faints while working at the bakery. This makes Sabine anxious, and she is Akumatized into Mother Desserts. Marinette and Chat Noir work together to save her.

Tikki suggests giving others different miraculous to help her fight the akumas and sentimonsters. Adrien tells Chloe about his crush on Marinette thanks to Plagg. Chat Noir visits Marinette and takes her on a trip around Paris.

Operation Ladybug: Luka suspects Marinette is Ladybug, and he recruits Alya to help him figure out the truth. Chloe starts treating Marinette with less disdain, much to everyone’s surprise. Firefly and Chat Noir fight another akuma and sentimonster.

Bon Appétit!: Alya’s mother becomes akumatized while working at the hotel. Ladybug and Alya work together while Chat Noir tries to keep Chloe and Sabrina. Alya’s suspicions are confirmed, but she tells Luka to stop digging.

Kwami Captor: After some mischevious kwami escape the miracle box with their jewels, Marinette becomes Multimouse to hunt them all down.

Queen Bee: Chloe decides to use the Bee miraculous she found to try and help Mantigirl and Chat Noir. Her need for attention makes the mission not go according to plan. Chat Noir and Marinette have an argument about his secret identity.

Protector of All: Nino and Adrien are in charge of elitist children for a day while Marinette and the class set up a school sponsor event. When an akuma attacks, it’s up to Nino to protect the kids while Tigerbug and Chat Noir defends them. Luka finally gives up his suspicions.

Miracle Team: The Miracle Team meet up for the first time to take down an akuma. But they struggle to actually work together! Chat Noir breaks up with Marinette, leaving them both devastated.

Soulmates: Marinette and Adrien spend the day together to find a gift for Chloe’s birthday. Nathalie finds out about Gabriel and Lila’s dark deeds with Hawkmoth.

Happy Birthday Chloe!: Chloe’s birthday party goes awry, thanks to Lila’s sabotage, and Chloe is Akumatized.

Sick Day: Marinette is too sick to go to school most days and struggles with night terrors. She is worried about her health, and talks to Tikki about it. Alya, Nino, Luka, and Sabrina try to clear Marinette’s name. Adrien visits Marinette at the bakery.

Marinette vs The World: Marinette’s friends finally has what they need to prove Lila is terrible once and for all. But Adrien isn’t sure it’s the best idea.

Cheer up, Marinette: After unifying once again to defeat an akuma, Marinette’s condition is so bad she is bedridden and cannot celebrate Chinese New Year with her family. The kwamis try to cheer her up. Adrien is growing worried about his father’s health and seeks comfort in Nathalie.

Like Mother, Like Daughter: Chloe’s influencer half-sister, Zoe, comes to Paris. Chloe humiliates her out of hurt and anger, and Zoe is Akumatized into Delightfulee.

Reign of Bourgeois: Chloe’s mother arrives in Paris after hearing about her outburst against Zoe. She is then promptly akumatized into Stylix and takes over the city. What’s worse, she has put a bounty on Chloe’s head.

A Sunny Day: The Miracle Team accepts Vesperia as the new Bee miraculous holder. Her outgoing positivity is welcomed, but her hesitation puts them in danger.

Never Trust a Fox: Trixx abandons Alya and runs away with the fox miraculous, pledging his loyalty to Lila instead. Volpina tricks LB and Chat Noir into thinking she’s on their side. Ladybug has to unify once again in order to defeat her and the akuma once she betrays them.

The Wish, Pt. 1: Because Marinette is out of commission, Scarabella, Vesperia, Carapace, and Chat Noir have to fight against Volpina, The Wailing Lady, and her sentimonster.

The Wish, Pt 2: Gabriel now has the Ladybug and Cat miraculous. Marinette and Adrien follow Volpina to the Agreste mansion, and Adrien learns the hard truth about his father.

By the end of the season, Shadowmoth has completed his mission and trades his life for Emelie’s. A part of Lila’s backstory is revealed.

This season ends at the end of Junior year, breaching into summer.

Season 3: Marinette’s Sacrifice

This is the final season of my AU!

Summer Break: Adrien’s doppelgänger cousin Felix attends the school after visiting with his aunt and uncle over the summer to help Emelie readjust. Lila now has a new name, Cerise Blanc, a woman sent by The Order. Emelie decides to give Cerise the butterfly and peacock miraculous in exchange for her having The Order keep an eye on Adrien. Cerise unifies the Peacock and Butterfly miraculous to become The Empress.

Return of the Butterfly: Rose is akumatized into Sweetpea once again after receiving devastating news about her condition. The Miracle Team return to take it down.

The Emperor’s Daughter: Adrien’s mother surprises him with his fiancé, Kagami, who he hasn’t seen in years. Her social class proves difficult for her to make friends.

Paper Flowers: Because of his shy nature, Felix makes an origami flower with a romantic poem written inside of it for Kagami. However, Kagami believes it was Adrien and becomes determined to make their relationship work.

Felix becomes depressed over Adrien and Kagami’s relationship while going out with them for the upcoming winter formal. Emelie grows jealous of how close Nathalie is with Adrien and sends her on a business trip abroad.

Boys’ Night: Emelie’s hovering nature makes Nino worried for Adrien. He starts to encourage Adrien to rebel a bit, but Nino didn’t expect Adrien to become so out of control when he’s off a leash. Meanwhile, the girls on the Miracle Team are having a sleepover to buy exclusive Jagged Stone tickets.

The Star: Adrien is akumatized into The Star after Emelie tells him she will unenroll him from school and return to homeschooling because of his recent behavior. She also fires Nathalie.

Tales of Scarabella and Kitty Noire: Adrien is under house arrest and Marinette’s sickness is coming back, so Scarabella and Kitty Noire have to keep Paris safe!

Hanabira: Kagami witnesses Adrien and Marinette together while waiting for their date at the Louvre, and is Akumatized and takes over the museum.

The Masked Lady and Me: When Cerise catches Felix looking for the peacock miraculous, Cerise later introduces herself as Madame Morphosis and makes a deal with him to avoid unification sickness. Felix’s backstory is revealed.

Our Frozen Hearts: Felix and Marinette find an unexpected common ground when they are forced to watch Adrien and Kagami dance together as Winter King and Queen.

Sentimaggedon: Madame Morphosis tests Felix to see whether or not she should let him keep the peacock miraculous she gave to him. In a desperate attempt to prove himself, Felix as Argos creates multiple sentimonsters that accidentally bring about the apocalypse. It’s up to the Miracle Team, with Dragonbug, to save the city.

Cat and Mouse: Marinette uses the Mouse miraculous once again to be undercover while dealing with akuma-related disappearances. But Chat Noir won’t take any chances and hunts her down to bring her miraculous to Ladybug.

The End of Us: Kagami breaks off the engagement with Adrien. Adrien then asks out Marinette, who delightfully says yes.

Motherbird: Emelie willingly becomes Akumatized by Madame Morphosis in order to keep her son Adrien under her watchful eye.

Sing a Little Song: Clara Nightingale, an American popstar and a close friend to Zoe, comes to Paris to shoot a music video. But her overbearing manager and strict schedule causes her to become akumatized into Frightingale.

Birds of Prey: While hanging out with Marinette, Kagami is kidnapped by Argos. The Miracle Team have to defeat Argos’s sentimonsters in order to rescue her.

Frenemies: Adrien is trying to get Chloe to warm up more to the idea of Marinette and him being together. Marinette helps Felix overcome his fears and talk to Kagami.

Bonded by Our Sins: After getting closer to Kagami, Felix tries to back away from Madame Morphosis’s control. However, she scares him into submission by threatening to hurt Kagami.

Who is Lila Rossi?: Argos is sent by Madame Morphosis to take Marinette’s miracle box after being informed by Trixx. But him and Marinette devise a plan to trick her.

True Love: Felix confesses his feelings to Kagami at the fashion show and shares his secret with her. Volpina hunts Marinette’s classmates one by one for the scattered miraculous, using extreme measures to get what she wants.

Let’s Do This, Together: The miracle team, along with Argos, has to defend Paris against Lila, who has unified most of the miraculous and become a magical hybrid monster.

Always and Forever: Ladybug and Chat Noir decide to take one last stand against Lila.

Happily Ever After: Marion, a 12 year old girl, discovers small magical creatures who live in her favorite music box!

Quick explanation for episodes 22-24:

Lila collects and unifies most of the miraculous, becoming a monster-animal hybrid and losing herself and all sense of rational. Marinette exposes her identity to all of Paris because of her, and Marinette is aware in a few hours everyone she’s ever known will forget her. Chat Noir reveals himself as Adrien to her before she takes his and the Ladybug miraculous, and unifies them to become Gimmi Marinette and destroy her for good!

Marinette feels Senti-Queen’s mixed emotions of betrayal and hate and loneliness, and her kindness shines through. She uses the Lucky Charm to rebirth Ah Lam as a child, giving her the opportunity to live a normal and love-filled life, the one she never had.

The time span is towards the end of Senior Year, when they were suppose to graduate.

AFTERMATH

So Marinette no longer exists, no one remembers her, and there’s a child version of Lila now.

Now what??

Child Lila is adopted by Marinette’s parents, who have always wanted to have a child. They rename her Marion. It means “wished for child” :,) But also “sea of sorrows”, symbolizing Lila’s life and the pain she caused!

After reading Marinette’s diary, the city knows she was Ladybug. They create a new park called “Ladybug Park” in memory of Marinette.

The Order of the Guardians come to reclaim the jewels unified by Lila, but the kwami refuse to be captured again and flee with their jewels. They all go back to the miracle box for safety. Marion finds the miracle box in Marinette’s old room, and unknowingly becomes the next Guardian.

Adrien only remembers Ladybug, and believes she was the one to unify the miraculous. He has no real recollection of Marinette, but subconsciously feels the loss.

Congrats for making it to the end heheh!

Have some cake! 🍰

Eat it under this rainbow for a break! You deserve it!

🌈

“BUT CHOCO!!”

“You still haven’t explained why there are only three seasons!”

Oh yeah! Sorry!

It’s because I feel like it took 5 seasons in canon to explain what happened in 3. I imagine my AU to be a Disney-owned show that was about to cancelled.

How can I sum up the plot of Miraculous Ladybug in 3 seasons, 12-15 episodes each?

LMAOSJW-

But yup! That’s it! Hope you had fun reading!!

#chocoau lore #building my master post!!#SOMEONE MENTIONED THE NAME GOLDBUG FOR LILAS UNIFIED FORM AND I LIKED IT SO THANK YOU WHOEVER YOU WERE #I have been putting off posting this for a month bc I was nervous on what y’all would think about it #but I get so many asks about the lore esp with the art I post #so I’ve decided to do it!! y’all deserve to know what’s going on here!!#I also didn’t include “filler” episodes in this #so it SEEMS like lots of things happen very quickly but there are little adventures spread out in between!#miraculous ladybug #mlb au #miraculous au

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