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zelcii · 2 months ago

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love me anyway | peter hayes

peter leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he watched you from across the pit. you were laughing with the others, your smile wide and effortless, but something about the glint in your eyes always seemed bittersweet. it was as if the laughter was a mask, hiding the truth of your candor-born honesty that seeped through every gesture and expression. you could never quite hide the truth seeping behind the way you smiled, another layer of your candor-born honesty peeking out from under every facade you put on. not that it could be helped. the truth bled from the very way looked, very words you breathed.

he loved it. how you were basically an intricate scrapbook, pieced together by every person who had ever touched your life, every place you had ever belonged to, and every passion that had ever stirred your heart. you were a patchwork of experiences, raw and honest, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to the way you carried all of it so transparently, even when you tried to hide.

he had always been a problem. for many people, but especially for you. you were no stranger to peter hayes, growing eerily familiar to his sharp edges and cruel humor as it had been a constant presence in your life. after all, you were born in the same faction, hung around the same groups of people, followed the same set of rules. even more, your mother had never liked him. since the two of you were young he'd seem to constantly be one second away from breaking whatever—or whoever—it was in front of him. you used to think you hated him for his arrogance. for how cruel he could be, his tendency to belittle the people that cared for him.

but then you chose dauntless. with one swift cut of the ordaining knife, it wasn’t just your tender, naive skin that was cut—it was every tie to the life you once knew. suddenly, peter hayes, the only person you’ve ever despised, became the only constant factor in your life. he was the one unchanging thread that connected you to both your past and present. you tried to forget your life from before, how things were. but it was hard to admit that the only person you could blame was yourself for wanting to leave.

"staring again," christina’s voice sliced through your thoughts, jolting you back to the present. you blinked, reluctantly tearing your gaze away from peter, who was leaning casually against a wall. he was like an island of calm amidst the chaos that spread across the dauntless pit, his posture relaxed and his expression unreadable.

"i wasn’t," you insisted, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. your candor was a relentless betrayer, with every twitch of your mouth or flicker in your eyes revealing the truth you tried so hard to conceal. christina’s gaze sharpened with amusement, catching the subtle giveaway in your demeanor.

"right. c’mon, candor," she quipped, her voice tinged with playful sarcasm as she nudged you gently with her elbow. "may the truth set you free," she mocked with a smirk, her tone light but knowing. “you’ve got it bad.”

you shook your head, trying to mount a defense. "i don’t," you said, but your protest lacked the firmness you’d hoped for. peter had been the object of your intrigue since you’d met him in summer camp, the boy that used to look at you with such passion. the boy you promised your mother that you’d never even think of talking to. that undeniable truth seeped through the cracks of your words, finding its way into the spaces you desperately tried to guard. still, from across the room, he stared with that familiar passion.

christina’s grin widened, clearly finding amusement in your discomfort. she followed your gaze back to peter, who remained fixed on you with a knowing smirk. it was as if he thrived on every flicker of attention you gave him, the curve of his lips revealing his awareness. he seemed to relish in the fact that you couldn’t tear your eyes away, savoring the way his presence bothered you.

"besides, he’s a total jerk," you said, your voice trailing off as you tried to mask your uncertainty. the effort to convince yourself sounded more like a feeble excuse than a genuine assertion. you fixed your gaze away from peter, forcing yourself to focus on his flaws—his arrogance, the cruel edge in his humor, the narcissism he wielded with such practiced ease. yet, despite your best intentions, all you could think about was his lingering touch and your stolen glances. you failed at every attempt to distance yourself. it was as if he was fully aware of the internal battle you were waging and took a twisted pleasure in it.

you remembered an instance from a few nights ago.

you’d been crying in the communal bathrooms, the cold tiles beneath you doing nothing to ease the burning sensation behind your eyes. it had been a bad day—training had pushed you to your limit, the weight of your decision to leave candor pressed down hard, and the overwhelming newness of dauntless was closing in from all sides.

the tears had come suddenly, without warning, and once they started, you couldn’t stop them. you didn’t want to cry—not here, not in a place where showing weakness was as good as painting a target on your back. but you were alone, or so you thought, and it had been too much to keep inside.

then you heard the door creak open. you immediately wiped your face, hurriedly trying to compose yourself, when you heard his voice.

"didn’t expect to find you here," peter’s voice was low, casual, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. you assumed it was taunting.

your first instinct was defensiveness. after years of being taught to hate him, after years of believing he was nothing but cruel and self-serving, you bristled at his presence. you had no idea why he was here, and the last thing you needed was to deal with peter hayes right now.

“go away, peter,” you muttered, not even bothering to look up at him. your voice came out more bitter than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. it was habit. you’d spent years convincing yourself that he was the last person you could rely on. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

for a moment, he didn’t say anything. you expected him to leave—maybe with a sharp remark, something that would sting, something that would remind you exactly who he was and why you should stay far away from him. but he didn’t. instead, you felt him sit down beside you, close enough for his presence to be known but not close enough to make you uncomfortable.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t tease or push. he just sat there, quiet, waiting.

you didn’t want to give in. you didn’t want to let your guard down around him, of all people. but the longer he stayed, the harder it became to keep your defenses up. the weight of the day, the exhaustion, and the relentless pressure of everything finally caught up with you. you couldn’t hold back anymore.

before you even realized what was happening, you leaned against him. your body moved on instinct, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, the sobs breaking free as the tears fell hot and heavy.

to your surprise, peter didn’t pull away. he didn’t make a comment or a joke at your expense. instead, his arm came up, hesitating for just a second before wrapping around you. his grip was firm, and he pulled you in close—just enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours. he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to pry or ask questions. he just stayed there, silent and steady, letting you cry.

it wasn’t what you expected. peter was supposed to be cruel, detached, distant. but in that moment, none of that mattered. he was just there, holding you together when you felt like everything else was falling apart.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your body trembling from the release of everything you’d been holding inside. but eventually, the sobs began to subside, and you found yourself breathing a little easier, the storm inside you starting to calm.

you pulled away slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes still red and swollen from crying. “why do you do this?” you asked, your voice small and hoarse from the tears. you genuinely didn’t understand. “why do you… why are you here?”

peter’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something raw, something unguarded in his gaze. then, with a small, almost playful smirk, he shrugged. “don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice soft but teasing. “you know i love you.”

the words were so simple, so casually said, that they took you by surprise. but there was no sarcasm in his tone, no bite to his words. he was sincere, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear as if the words were meant to be a secret shared only between the two of you. then, with a sudden rush of either reckless confidence or desperate longing, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss just behind your ear. the tenderness of it sent a shiver down your spine. “let me be here,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, though it carried a note of quiet vulnerability. he was trying to convey reassurance, but the raw emotion in his voice felt closer to a quiet, earnest plea.

christina said that that was when you started staring.

you’d seen a side of him you never thought to imagine and you craved for more. but he was peter hayes. he wasn’t supposed to feel anything. not for you, not for anyone. he tried to convince himself that as well as he savoured the feeling of your soft skin on his lips. yet, there he was, aching for something he couldn’t bring himself to ask for. something that made his heart race every time you was near, something that made him want to push you away and pull you closer all at once. your love.

he turned to you then, his hand brushing yours just barely, but it was enough to make his pulse quicken. you locked eyes, and for a second, and suddenly everything else that happened outside of the bathrooms faded away. he could feel your heartbeat in the air between you, the way your breath hitched, the way you wanted him to say something, anything. but he couldn’t. not yet. so he just sat there, his lips twitching into a smirk, masking everything he wasn’t ready to say.

christina’s expression shifted to one of knowing amusement, her eyebrow arching in a way that made it clear she wasn’t buying your story. "yeah, and yet here you are, still thinking about him. denial is just another form of obsession, you know."

"i am not obsessed," you snapped, a little too loudly. you tried to sound more forceful than you felt. but even to your own ears, the argument wore thin. the truth was, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, peter had managed to engrave himself into your thoughts, lingering at the edge of your consciousness like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch.

christina’s hand landed on your shoulder, the gesture both comforting and teasing. her eyes held a mix of sympathy and amusement, as if she could see right through your carefully constructed facade. "sure, keep telling yourself that," she said, her tone light but tinged with a gentle sincerity. "but pretending isn’t the same as believing."

you didn’t respond, choosing instead to focus on your hands, which were twisting nervously in your lap. christina wasn’t wrong. the tension between you and peter was undeniable, a magnetic force that seemed to vibrate with an intensity everyone could feel when the two of you were near.

glancing back at peter, you found him still observing you from across the pit. his gaze cut through the chaotic swirl of faces and noise, landing squarely on you with an intensity that felt almost tangible. it wasn’t just a casual glance; it was as if he was deeply engrossed, his eyes soft and thoughtful, carrying an unmistakable trace of what you dared call admiration. the smirk was gone now, replaced by an expression that seemed to reveal more than he usually let on—a look that made your heart flutter against your will.

you shifted uncomfortably, unable to shake the feeling that his gaze was dissecting every fragment of your carefully guarded emotions. in that moment, the air between you felt charged, filled with something unspoken that neither of you were ready to confront. and even as you tried to look away, his eyes seemed to follow, holding a soft, thoughtful reverence that you found both disconcerting and oddly comforting.

you reminded yourself that, no matter how warm you felt under his gaze or how infatuated you were with him, peter was still peter—the same boy who had mocked your family’s dedication to order and laughed at others’ missteps under the guise of “honesty.” his usual sarcasm and cruelty were just parts of his carefully constructed facade, a shield designed to guard against any real vulnerability.

but the way he treated you was different now in dauntless. there was always a softness in his gaze, a subtle consideration that contrasted with his usual demeanor. it made you question if beneath his cold exterior, there was a part of him that genuinely cared, revealing a side of him that was far less indifferent than he let on. it made you wonder if he wasn’t as cold as he wanted everyone to believe.

regardless, you knew you would never, in every sense of the word, let yourself fall for peter hayes. he was supposed to be a horrible person.

… but on one particularly exhausting night, after another grueling day of training, you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find any solace in sleep. the unfamiliarity of dauntless gnawed at you, and the weight of leaving candor behind seemed to grow heavier with each passing hour. not that you’d ever blatantly admit it, but the new environment was overwhelming. despite your best efforts to adapt, the relentless pressure was starting to crack your composure.

in the dead of night, you awoke with a start, your heart pounding and a deep sense of unease settling over you. you stumbled out of bed, the darkness amplifying your anxiety as you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of dauntless. just as the silence seemed to stretch endlessly, a soft knock broke the stillness, echoing against the cold concrete walls. there, at the end of the hall, stood peter. he stood as tall as ever, but his touch was unexpectedly gentle. his hand brushed lightly against the small of your back, pulling you a bit closer, and the warmth of his skin contrasted sharply with the chill of the night air.

though your eyes were still heavy with sleep, you could see the rare softness in his gaze, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. “hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and raspy, but surprisingly soothing. “you okay?”

“just can’t sleep,” you mumbled, rubbing your tired eyes. you could’ve been meaner, you could’ve tried harder to push him away but you convinced yourself you were too tired to.

even you knew you were lying.

without a word, he guided you back to the rooms, his hand resting steady and reassuring on your waist. the warmth of his calloused skin against your arm was comforting, sending a shiver through you. your heart ached to lean more of your weight against him, to feel the full press of his body against yours. each touch felt intensely intimate, grounding you in a way that made your heart race. his calm presence was a soothing contrast to the cold, impersonal walls of dauntless.

as he guided you back to the room, his touch so comforting and warm, memories from your younger years resurfaced.

you recalled how, even then, there was a strange tenderness in the way he interacted with you, though he never showed the same kindness towards others. peter was always rough with the other kids, his teasing and taunting often crossing the line into childish cruelty.

your mother had noticed, warning you to stay away from him, claiming he was a bad influence. she saw the way he bullied others and feared that his harshness would rub off on you. so, you had learned to hate him, to see only his rough edges and disregard his rare moments of gentleness. now, feeling his warmth and seeing the softness in his eyes, those old judgments felt shaky and uncertain. It must’ve been a trick—a game he was playing. but in that moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care, revelling in the way his skin brushed against yours.

as he helped you settle back under the covers, his touch was deliberate and achingly tender, causing a warm flush to spread through you. you wondered how you managed to muster enough hate to stay far enough away from him. the brush of his fingers against your skin, as he tucked the blankets around you, felt both intimate and possessive, sending a shiver of through your body. each contact, from his fingertips grazing your arm to his palm pressing gently on your shoulder, was charged with a longing intensity.

“you need to rest,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, nearly a whisper. his gaze lingered on you with a softness that was rare for him. before he turned to leave, he gently swept a few stray strands of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “it’s okay to be overwhelmed, sweetheart. we all are.”

you looked up at him, the tenderness of his touch and the care in his eyes sending a rush of warmth through you that made you slightly breathless. his eyes, usually so sharp, were softened by a rare, gentle affection that made your heart flutter. “thanks, peter. you didn’t have to.”

“yeah? well, i did,” he said, a crooked smile playing at his lips, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. he held your hand in his and refused to let go, like he wasn’t ready to leave. you didn't want him to leave. “deal with it.” his voice was smooth, his tone almost too casual, as if the closeness was natural. as if he wasn’t acting completely out of character. his hand remained lingering by your jaw a moment longer than necessary, his touch longing like a secret between you.

you remembered early in high school, when peter had asked you out to the dance and confessed his feelings, saying he loved you. without hesitation, you’d turned him down, following your mother’s wishes. even then, he didn’t seem upset. instead, he simply promised that you’d end up loving him one day.

at the time, you didn't believe him, dismissing his words as just another piece of the game he constantly played. now, as you felt the warmth of his touch and the gentle care he’d shown, you couldn’t ignore the echoes of that past moment. you were falling for him. despite everything, you were falling for him.

and after all that time, he was right.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tired, and raspy, but caring. it summoned butterflies to your stomach. he said it like you were the only girl in the world. suddenly, you felt like you were in middle school again, getting flustered over a boy. your mother would be so disappointed.

“I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it,” you said, though your eyes betrayed you as they stayed locked with him. out of a force of habit you continued, “don’t wanna talk to you.” you didn’t mean it, of course.

he let out a tired, amused laugh before bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss in the palm of your hand. you melted. “i love you anyway.”

threw 3.5k words on a tumblr post and called it a fanfic </3

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growingstories · 1 year ago

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FBI agent Alex

Alex Hayes, a motivated 24-year-old FBI agent, found himself facing an unexpected predicament. It all began in when his obsession with physical fitness led him to the gym, hoping to chisel his body into an enviable specimen of strength. He got frustrated about the slow progress he was making. Alex had heard rave reviews about Eric Mitchell's bars from his fellow gym-goers, boasting that they were the secret ingredient to impeccable gains. Driven by curiosity and an insatiable desire to push his limits, Alex decided to give them a try. Unbeknownst to him, those bars contained a hidden amalgamation of ingredients that would surprisingly lead him down a different path than expected.

The boring hours alone on the road made him eat more of the bars then was recommended. To his shock, instead of transforming into a ripped Adonis, Alex found himself bulking up with an unsightly layer of fat obscuring his once visible abs. This left him torn between his desires for physical perfection and the reality of his new appearance. Struggling to come to terms with his unexpected physical changes, Alex decided to push through, thinking that his gym routine would balance out any unintentional weight gain.

However, fate had different plans for Alex as his grind at the gym gradually came to a halt. A promotion within the FBI thrust him into a stressful office job, forcing him to tackle piles of paperwork and grapple with the bureaucracy of the bureau. The mounting stress led him to seek solace in unhealthy comfort food, which only compounded the issue at hand.

Caught in a vicious cycle of long hours and fast-food lunches, Alex's time for physical activity continued to dwindle. Though he maintained the same food intake, the lack of exercise began taking its toll on his body. As his muscles atrophied and his waistline expanded, he watched with a heavy heart as his definition was replaced by rolls of fat.

Seemingly defeated, Alex embraced an unhealthy sedent lifestyleary further exacerbated by the habits of his colleagues in the FBI, he found himself embracing the dreary existence of his fellow agents. Instead of regular workouts, his days were punctuated by indulging in sugary donuts offered by the office's generous supply.

The crisp lines of Alex's once athletic body had been replaced by softness, a testament to his lack of discipline and commitment. He had not only let himself down but had also abandoned the very ideals that drew him towards a career in law enforcement. Concluding that enough was enough, Alex realized he needed to reclaim his identity as a capable agent.

With renewed determination, he gathered his strength and embarked on a journey to regain control of his life. He traded the monotonous office lunches for healthier alternatives and dusted off his sneakers, promising himself to hit the gym regularly once again. The road ahead was tough, but Alex knew that with perseverance and the will to rise from the ashes, he could reclaim his former glory. And so, armed with a newfound dedication and a burning desire to thrive, Alex set forth on his mission. With each passing day, he slowly chipped away at the layer of fat that had masked his once-toned. physique His colleagues, witnessing his unwavering discipline, began to draw inspiration from his transformation, joining him in his pursuit of a healthier lifestyle.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, Alex's body and spirit gradually returned to it’s former glory and even better, although, he never got his six-pack abs back.

#maleweightgainstories #fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #weightgain #weightgainstories #fictionalstories #wg fantasy #wg fiction #aiweightgain #exjock

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pupsmailbox · 8 months ago

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COWBOY ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abeline. adeline. alfred. anderson. annie. archer. arthur. ash. aspen. austin. automata. axel. barett. beau. beckett. belle. bennett. betty. billy. blaise. boone. bree. brooks. bryce. cade. caleb. callen. callie. calvin. carson. casey. cassidy. chance. chase. clayton. clementine. clint. clyde. cody. colby. cole. colt. colton. connor. coraline. county. cree. cyrus. dagger. dakota. dallas. dalton. damon. darby. darla. delta. denver. dove. east. easton. edgar. eliza. elliot. ellis. emmett. emmylou. everett. everly. fallon. fang. farmer. fletcher. flint. flynn. fritz. gage. georgia. georgina. grant. graves. hank. harrison. harvey. hattie. hawk. hayes. heidi. holster. hudson. hunter. ida. jace. jack. jackie. jackson. james. jed. jesse. jessie. john. jolene. josh. joshua. jude. knox. leroy. lewis. loretta. lucille. luke. luther. lyle. maple. marshall. mason. maverick. meadow. millie. misty. myra. nash. nell. nina. oakley. oscar. otis. owen. pace. pamela. penelope. phoenix. pierce. pollyanna. prairie. quinn. ray. reed. reid. rhett. rhys. riley. river. rochelle. rory. roscoe. rosie. rudy. ryder. rye. sadie. savannah. sawyer. scarlett. sedona. selena. shep. shepherd. sienna. sierra. silas. skye. spanner. sparky. sterling. stevie. stormy sullivan. sundance. tallulah. tate. tess. todd. tucker. twila twyla. verily. wade. walker. walt. walter. waylon. wayne. weston. wilde. will. willa. willow. winona. wren. wyatt. zachariah. zane. zeke. zinnia.

PRONOUNS ⌇　ace/ace. aim/aim. badge/badge. bandana/bandana. barrel/barrel. boot/boot. boy/boy. brash/brash. buck/buck. bull/bullet. cattle/cattle. clad/clad. clash/clash. colt/colt. cow/boy. cow/cow. cowboy/cowboy. cy/cyborg. denim/denim. dirt/dirt. dive/dive. drive/drive. fang/fang. farmer/farmer. fence/fence. fire/fire. foal/foal. gold/golden. gra/grass. gun/gun. hat/hat. herd/herd. hill/hill. hit/hit. hold/holdem. holdem/holdem. hoof/hoof. horse/horse. iron/iron. jack/jack. jump/jump. kick/kick. lasso/lasso. law/law. lawful/lawful. lone/lone. mech/mecha. metal/metal. mount/mountain. mustang/mustang. noon/noon. officer/officer. out/out. outlaw/outlaw. poker/poker. protect/protect. pry/pry. punch/punch. punish/punish. ranch/ranch. ranger/ranger. rev/rev. rev/revolver. rev/rev. revolvers/revolver. river/river. ro/ro. robo/robo. rug/rugged. run/run. rust/rust. ry/ry. save/save. sharp/sharp. sheriff/sheriff. shoot/shoot. shot/shot. shot/shotgun. shout/shout. spark/spark. spur/spur. star/star. steed/steed. steel/steel. sun/sun. thief/thief. tumble/tumble. weed/weed. wheat/wheat. wood/wood. yee/haw. yeehaw/yeehaw.

#⭐️lists #id pack #npt #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #neopronouns #nounself #emojiself #western

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campgender · 6 months ago

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“Lady Java’s Tignons” from The Color Pynk: Black Femme Art for Survival by Omise’eke Natasha Tinsley (2022)

image text under the cut

Viewing the world through rose-tinted glasses shaped like butterfly wings, edged in rhinestones, and fringed with hanging beads, Sir Lady Java identifies herself to interviewer Pasqual Bettio in 2016: “We’re called transsexuals, basically, because I’m in a trance about my sex.” Born in New Orleans in 1940, Java—who transitioned with family support at a young age—was a mainstay of Los Angeles’s nightclub scene in the 1960s and ’70s. Billed as the “World’s Loveliest Female Impersonator,” she “appeared in shows all over the West Coast with such personalities as Nancy Wilson, Redd Foxx, Lena Horne, Louis Jordan, James Brown, Isaac Hayes, Joe Tex, Ray Charles, B.B. King, and Quincy Jones,” according to the brochure “Who Is Java?”

As she rose to prominence, she became a target for police harassment. In 1967, the LAPD raided the Redd Foxx Club to arrest her for violating Rule No. 9, an ordinance that prohibited trans women from appear- ing in public with less than three articles of male clothing. But when Java—performing in a bikini, bow tie, slim men’s wristwatch, and tiny socks—proved unarrestable, police threatened to revoke the club’s license or to imprison Foxx himself.

Java understood this police harassment as racialized: “We didn’t know of any establishment that was white that they [the LAPD] were stopping [from employing impersonators], but they were definitely targeting me, because I was queen of the Black ones and they feel that they had more trouble out of the Black ones.” Java responded by picketing the Redd Foxx Club (which dropped her act) and hiring the ACLU to mount a lawsuit against the LAPD.

Lady Java’s stage career continued brilliantly through the ’70s and ’80s, garnering positive press from Jet, Ebony, Sepia, and L.A. Advocate. Her career highlight, she tells Bettio, was performing for Lena Horne at a 1978 birthday party that Horne hosted for her “sister Cancerian, Gertrude Gibson,” where Horne enthused to Jet about her interaction with Java: “I had the feeling I was talking to a friend I had known for a long while... I feel sort of... protective [of Java]. I don’t know, because that’s my sign—Cancer—always trying to be somebody’s mama!”

To impress Ms. Horne, Java wore a spangled bikini and towering beaded headpiece whose curving contours—like many of the dramatically draped cloth, carefully sculpted tulle, and angel-wing feather wraps she crowned herself with—recall the tulip-shaped tignons (cloth turbans) made famous by her sister Louisiana Creoles. In an attempt to curb their social and sexual power, in 1786 Louisiana governor Esteban Miró decreed all women of African descent must cover their hair with knotted cloth and refrain from “excessive attention to dress.” But as Carolyn Long notes, “Instead of being considered a badge of dishonor, the tignon became a fashion statement. The bright reds, blues, and yellows of the scarves, and the imaginative wrapping techniques employed by their wearers, are said to have enhanced the beauty of women of color.” When Java turned her three articles of “male” clothing into high-femme sexiness, she followed in the footsteps of these foremothers’ fashion warfare.

Transforming the accessories meant to shame Black women into sexlessness into pure sexiness, Java declares, she chose “to wear beautiful outfits so a woman can be proud of me when she sees me. I don’t dress for men; I dress for women.”

By the 1990s Java was “enjoying a quieter life, retiring and, sadly, undergoing some serious health challenges,” according to Transas City. These challenges include a stroke from which, Java tells Bettio, “I lost a portion of my brain.” During her 2016 interviews with Bettio, her memories and historical records part ways: sometimes in small ways, as when she remembers performing for Horne at the Memory Lane supper club rather than the Pied Piper; sometimes in more significant ways, as when she proudly recalls winning her lawsuit against the LAPD.

“I went to court on it, and I won LAPD. I won the right for Java to work, meaning other impersonators could work also,” she recounts—though in fact her case was thrown out on a technicality. It would be easy to indulge the incoherence of her memories as post-stroke cognitive impairment. But it would also be easy to honor that incoherence as its own kind of freedom dream—an alternative history that translates the sinuous, undocumentable ways that change can happen.

After the publicity of her case, she reports, “They [other female impersonators] say: We’re able to go to work, and we’re all going [to] work the next day, and we’re going to put on the three male articles [of clothing], and they did the same thing I did: socks and the wristwatch and the bowtie if they wore bikinis . . . little bowties, some of them were jeweled.” Isn’t a flock of jeweled bow ties bouncing light off foremothers’ jeweled tignons another kind of win—another something to celebrate? How do we count and commemorate ways rewired and differently wired Black femme senses make a true story truer, more plentiful, more splendored?

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broadcastarchive-umd · 2 months ago

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#RudyTuesday "Even without the movement of the dolly, the cameraman can place his camera in a great variety of positions by utilizing the full possibilities of the camera boom."

Above: "Howard Hayes, top CBS cameraman, demonstrates the flexibility of the camera when mounted on the Panoram dolly. Hayes never sits astride the boom." – Techniques of Television Production, by Rudy Bretz (McGraw-Hill, 1953)

One in a series of photos from the Rudy Bretz papers at UMD.

#television #1950s #cbs #cameras #broadcasting

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monarch-afterdark · 5 months ago

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Titan History: Godzilla & Kong (Updated)

Welcome once again to Monarch: After Dark, the digital gateway between you and the organisation dedicated to understanding and navigating this troubled new world we live in.

We return (somewhat) to our usual content on the platform following our sadly disastrous interview with Bernie Hayes, with the winner of our recent poll! Godzilla and Kong were the first two Titans covered on the platform, and quite a few things have happened to both Titans since the most recent Titan crisis.

Given the limited data we have on hand regarding these updates, specifically in regard to Kong as much of what transpired with him took place away from any human observation, we have decided to compile the updates onto a single entry, and will provide links to the original entries for easier access.

Original "Titan History" Godzilla Post

Original "Titan History" Kong Post

We'll start with Godzilla, as more data is known to Monarch regarding events surrounding him, and thus there is more to talk about in regard to him.

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Monarch Database File: Godzilla

(Pictured above: Monitor tracking Godzilla's movements, showing his trajectory toward France, circa. 2027)

In 2027, Godzilla was roused by a series of reactor beacons set up by hunter Raymond Martin, to keep the Alpha Titan distracted so that he wouldn't become privy to Martin's secret Titan Hunter mecha. Godzilla would not be the only Titan drawn to the decoys, as Scylla was similarly awakened and began travelling across the world to feast on various sources of nuclear energy.

Failing to get ahead of Scylla for sometime, Godzilla finally cornered the Titan in Rome after she had gathered a great deal of nuclear energy. Following a brief clash, Godzilla gained the advantage after throwing Scylla onto her back, jumping on top of her and stabbing her with her own limbs before killing her with a point-blank blast of his atomic breath.

Roused again by a telepathic call for help from the Iwi people of Malenka, Godzilla would take a que from Scylla and go on his own globe-trotting rampage in pursuit of acquiring more power. Leaving his new resting place of Rome, Godzilla would attack France and consume the radiation from a nuclear power plant, before dispatching military forces with an electromagnetic pulse, a new ability that Godzilla had not previously demonstrated.

(Pictured above: Godzilla engaging Tiamat in battle, moments before executing her, circa. 2027)

Godzilla would then approach a natural radiation hotspot in the Arctic Ocean, current domain of the Titan Tiamat. Godzilla opened a hole in Tiamat's lair to draw her out, and dismembered her with his atomic breath following a brief tussle. Godzilla would then retreat into Tiamat's lair and absorb the entirety of the hotspot's reserves (as well as some of Tiamat's DNA), rapidly mutating into an "evolved" form that would grant him the advantage in the coming conflict he was sensing.

Provoked by Kong's return to the surface following Monarch assistance, the two Alpha Titans would clash in Egypt. While Kong's new B.E.A.S.T. Glove accessory allowed him to fight on even ground, Godzilla would again gain the advantage and attempt to kill Kong. The timely arrival of Malenka's guardian Mothra calmed Godzilla down and convinced him to ally with Kong.

The trio would return briefly to Hollow Earth in an attempt to intercept the Skar King (an evil ape-like Titan sealed within Hollow Earth by Godzilla in the past) and his army before they could reach the surface. Their battle would be taken from the Hollow Earth to Rio, Brazil (which had only recently recovered from Behemoth's rampage in 2019), where Godzilla would battle the Skar King's enslaved Titan mount Shimo, while Kong dealt with the Skar King himself.

(Pictured above: Godzilla grappling with Shimo, circa. 2027)

The battle would continue until a smaller ape-like Titan that Kong had apparently taken under his wing destroyed a crystal that the Skar King was using to control Shimo. Freed, Godzilla would watch as Shimo froze the Skar King solid and Kong shattered his body. Godzilla would use his empowered atomic breath to disperse the clouds Shimo had generated, before returning to Rome and claiming a colosseum as his new home.

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Monarch Database File: Kong

(Pictured above: Kong preparing to strike Godzilla with a B.E.A.S.T. Glove-augmented punch, circa. 2027)

Much of Kong's activities post-Mechagodzilla are unknown. Despite Monarch Outpost One being established to monitor his activities, Kong was largely left to his own devices and allowed to explore the Hollow Earth on his own. It was known that Kong was responsible for destroying Raymond Martin's Titan Hunter, after it had attempted to kill two Spineprowler cubs.

In 2027, Kong briefly returned to the surface in Barbados to seek medical assistance for an infected tooth. Titan veterinarian Travis "Trapper" Beasley removed the tooth and replaced it with a metallic tooth made from the same material as Monarch's H.E.A.V. transports.

After returning to the Hollow Earth, Kong would find an entrance to a subterranean realm, where he would encounter a young ape that he would later befriend, and be lead to the Skar King's domain. Once there, Kong was attacked by the Skar King's Titan slave Shimo, and his arm was badly wounded with frostbite. Kong and the young ape would find their way to Malenka, where Trapper would outfit Kong with a B.E.A.S.T. Glove, part of the scrapped Project Powerhouse constructed from Mechagodzilla's remains.

(Pictured above: Godzilla, Mothra and Kong roaring in unison, teaming up to battle the Skar King, circa. 2027)

Under Jia's suggestion to find help against the Skar King, Kong returned to the surface world in Egypt and signalled a challenge to provoke Godzilla into coming for him. His efforts to communicate to Godzilla that they should go to Hollow Earth fell short, and he was forced to do battle. While his new augmentation allowed him to fight on mostly even ground, and a fully-charged punch proved powerful enough to knock Godzilla out in a daze for a few seconds, Kong was once again outmatched by Godzilla's primal strength.

Mothra's arrival and intervention spared Kong from death, and the three Titans ended up joining forces. Retreating to the Hollow Earth, the trio engaged the Skar King's army in an effort to stall their arrival to the surface. Skar King, Shimo, Godzilla and Kong would surface in Brazil and continue their brawl to halt the Skar King's attempt to use Shimo to trigger a new Ice Age.

Kong and the Skar King fought whilst Godzilla kept Shimo at bay. The battle took a turn when the young ape Kong had befriended used Kong's axe to destroy a crystal that the Skar King was using to control Shimo. His hold over the frost Titan lost, Kong held the Skar King in place long enough for Shimo to freeze him solid. Kong then shattered the Skar King's body, watched as Godzilla dispersed Shimo's clouds, and returned to Hollow Earth with Shimo and the youngster in two.

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And that's all she wrote for Godzilla and Kong...for real this time! Of course, once these Titans see action again, we will come back to them and provide whatever updates are needed, but for now, Godzilla enjoys dormancy in Rome while Kong has most likely returned to the apes in the Skar King's domain, now no longer the last of his kind.

Until next time,

Monarch: After Dark

#monarch #monarch after dark #monsterverse #monsterverse au #godzilla x kong the hunted #godzilla x kong the new empire #godzilla x kong #godzilla #titanus gojira #tiamat #titanus tiamat #kong #king kong #titanus kong #shimo #skar king #mothra #hollow earth #titans

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brainrotlesbian · 1 year ago

Text

The Empress’s Pet (pt. 2)

CW: noncon, muzzled, straitjacketed, implied past abuse, forced orgasm

Tears stung hot in Arella’s eyes as she stormed towards Celeste’s private quarters. She slammed the doors open, freezing when she saw Mathias on the bed, pulled against Celeste as she idly played with her tablet. Both were fully clothed, thank the gods, but Mathias was securely straitjacketed and muzzled, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes. Rage burned in Arella’s chest.

“I told you—”

“Try again,” Celeste snapped, causing Arella’s tongue to fall limp. She huffed.

“Your… Majesty,” she said through gritted teeth. “I warned you not to antagonize Mathias Hayes, and here he is, as your pet?!” Her fists tightened. “I’m— I just—.” She inhaled sharply, trying to compose herself, feeling Mathias’s eyes on her.

Celeste set her tablet down and stared at the young soothsayer. Her eyes burned with malice.

“I don’t recall you having any authority to question my decisions, Miss Young,” she hissed. “We will discuss this later.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped, looking at Mathias: the heavy bags under their tear-stained eyes, the heavy muzzle that clearly hadn’t been removed in several days… Any argument from her would probably result in his punishment, and he couldn’t take much more. She sighed.

“Yes, your majesty,” she said, then turned to march out, her fists clenched at her sides. She slammed the door shut behind her.

Celeste sighed and turned to her helpless captive, who mewled and shifted his legs. He didn’t bother fighting against the straitjacket, resigned to staring at her with bloodshot eyes. He blinked, hoping to gain some sort of sympathy from her. Instead, she stretched her arms above her, then turned and grinned at them. He whimpered softly, swallowing around the bit in his mouth.

“I’m bored,” she said, a whining pitch in her voice. “And you’re such good company, my dear boy. What do you think we should do now?”

“Mmmnn…” They didn’t look at her, their cheeks turning pink. Tears slid down their muzzled face.

“How about…” Her hand grabbed the inside of his thigh, inching towards his crotch. “We have some fun?”

“Mmff!” He jerked as her hand squeezed. She laughed, then slid her fingers underneath the elastic band of his boxers. He sobbed, attempting to inch away from her.

“No, no,” she ordered, staring at him, and their body went rigid. “You need to obey me. Now stand up.”

They squeezed their eyes shut as their body moved on its own, bringing him to his feet on the ground. Sweat beaded at her forehead and Celeste approached her. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t move.

Celeste let her robe drop off her shoulders, revealing a set of lacy pink lingerie that looked itchy and uncomfortable. Mathias tugged at the straitjacket before quickly giving up. She had been anticipating this moment. She slid next to him, sliding both his pants and boxers to their ankles. Their face burned red as she assessed him, a grin on her face.

“Mmm, yes, I think you’ll do quite nicely,” she said, shoving them back onto the bed.

Before they could sit up, she straddled them, feeling them up and down, forcing them to squirm and moan softly. She forced their knees apart, gripping their cock in her hand. He squirmed and bucked and cried as she stimulated him, then mounted him and began grinding.

He’d never been sexually involved with anyone before, and his first experience was not a pleasant one. He hurt, he ached, he struggled, and he cried. He pleaded through the muzzle, sobbing and begging to be released; to be let go, to—

He cried out as stimulation grew, and his hips bucked involuntarily. She, in response, moaned loudly, pushing down on his shoulders with the palms of her hands. Tears streamed down their face, their vision blurry and their face hot, with embarrassment, with… excitement?

It was a strange feeling and they hated it. They strained against their straitjacket, thrashing as she sped up, crying out in ecstasy. He, too, screamed as he reached climax, feeling himself go limp inside her. Panting and sweating, she pulled herself off them, grinning widely.

“I enjoyed that,” she said. “Did you?”

Their voice caught in their throat for a moment, then they began weeping. Sobs wracked their body as the feeling of disgust overwhelmed them. Dirty and disgusted and violated.

#whump #whump writings #male whumpee #female whumper #pet whump #tw: noncon #muzzle whump #muzzled #mathias hayes #celeste flores #scsp #the empress’s pet #nsfwhump #ocs #my ocs #OC whump

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