#People weren't fucking dipshit about it

[set-wingedwarrior]

Fandom became so unsufferable, thanks for turning my favorite hobby and comfortable space into a fucking minefield!

[fidenciocryptidcreechur]

Wow haha

Life really is so much better when you block stuff you don't like and don't need to worry about

Coming across fandom interpretations and au's that give me the ick and with a simple press of a button i don't have to see it

No worries

It's great

You're allowed your opinion, it can be as wrong and terrible or just off cuff as you want, I'm just gonna block it because I don't like it

I don't even gotta say shit to them either and they won't ever really know

I go back to having fun and forget about it

YAHOO

[theglizzardwizard]

Also-also, any issue you could raise about me compromising the safety of the fandom should be redirected to King Bitch himself, Khoi of Toontown event horizons fame, for starting this shit in the first place. Why am I supposed to give more of a fuck about you than you? If you were that worried you wouldn't have been fucking around.

[changetyre]

So what if its the reader and lando are enemies (but both are teammates at mclaren) they absolutely despise each other for no reason and it’ll stay that way (none of this hidden love masked by feelings stuff this time) and they both get stuck in a closet at hq or something and they dont get out for a while. its rlly small in there so there bodies are almost touching always and one thing leads to another but its just steamy stuff but while they still hate eachother but they keep hitting there body parts on stuff in the closet and it keeps getting them more riled up so they just decide to stop?

idk why its so specific or why i thought of this rn but i need it 🙏 feel free to change anything if you’re not comfortable or have other ideas (again sorry about it being a bit long)

i rlly love ur writing 💗honestly so excited to read this one🫶✨

What the f*** did we just do? II Lando Norris x Driver!Reader Ⓦ

SUMMARY: Working with someone you dislike is one thing, but working with someone who brings nothing but the worst side out of you is the hardest thing on the planet.

WARNINGS: **18+**, not proofread, hate.

A/N: Quite short but still hope you enjoy ;)

"You are truly the biggest fucking idiot I have ever met in my entire life." It took everything in you not to punch the man in front of you right now after he once again had successfully taken you both out of the race because he couldn't bear the thought of

"I'm the idiot?!" Lando yelled back at you. "You're the one who couldn't put her fucking ego aside for one fucking second to let the faster car through!" He followed after you as you attempted to get away from him.

The people at McLaren knew it wasn't pretty between you too even on a regular day so whenever you were angry at each other it was best to let you hash it out which meant the rooms and hallways quickly emptied as soon as they saw you both walk in.

"Faster car." you laughed obnoxiously loud. "Maybe that cup did more damage than you imagined-" You gestured to the small cut on his nose. "Since it seems you can't read the data right anymore." You continued laughing at him which only fueled his anger.

"The only thing doing damage to me is you!" He yelled to you again as he kept following you.

You weren't exactly where you were going only hoping he would leave you alone as you opened an unfamiliar door walking into darkness.

"Then maybe you should just-" You were interrupted as you walked into a shelf, Lando bumping into you soon after as you were enveloped in darkness after the door closed after you.

"What the fu*ck, watch out!" Lando muttered annoyed as he attempted to walk back only to hit the door.

"You're the one who's following me around like a lost fucking puppy." You reminded him as you reached for your phone to get some light.

Lando beat you to it lighting up the place and showing the tiny electrical room you had walked into.

"Why the hell did you even walk in here?" He asked you.

"I was trying to get away from you dipshit." You shoved past him as best as you could in the tiny space feeling parts of him that made you gag as you went to try to open the door.

"It's locked from the outside genius don't you think I already tried that?" Lando gestured to the nonexistent door knob.

"HELP! GET ME OUT OF HERE!" You banged on the door yelling hoping someone would hear you.

"OW! Shut the fuck up!" Lando was startled by your screaming.

"I am not staying in here with you another second." You shuffled looking back at him before shuffling again towards the door.

"Shit stop moving." Lando held your waist stilling you.

"Eww get your hands off me!" You slapped his hand away.

"JUST stop moving!" He grits his teeth.

You were about to turn back but felt something in the back of your ass. Once you realized what it was you were ready to yell back at him.

"I swear to god if you don't stop moving-" Lando tried to stop you as you began turning around.

"You're so fucking disgusting, what is your-" Your breath hitched as his hand rubbed at your front all of a sudden.

"This is your fault!" Lando tried cupping himself to stop you from rubbing against him without realizing his hand was pressing against your slit now.

"We have to get out of here-" Lando moved his hand again making your breath hitch again and you thrust forward unintentionally searching for more friction.

"What just-" Lando realized what his hand had grazed this time. "Are you really-"

"You have no right no speak right now!" You reminded him of his own predicament.

"I cannot walk out of here right now with this." Lando pointed the lamp down at the large bulge in his pants.

"What the hell do you want me to do about it?!" You angrily asked him.

"Don't think you can walk out of here with this either!" Lando pressed his finger to your wet core. You grasped his hand tightly.

"Sh*t don't-" You stilled his hand but his finger still pressed against you.

"You're not exactly helping here." He pointed the light back to his bulge which you noticed got tighter.

"Eww, take care of that and I'll take care of myself." You turned back around looking for anything to dry yourself with as Lando proceeded to unzip his pants freeing himself.

"What the f-" You felt Lando's dick against your ass. "Is that?"

"Where the fuck do you expect me to put it?!" Lando defended himself, the lack of space really making this impossible.

You shimmied turning back around realizing this only made it worse as his tip now pressed between your legs directly on your clit.

"Shit, this isn't helping." Lando's head fell back in pleasure.

"Mmm-" You couldn't hold back the moan. "Let's just get this done with fast." You suggested as you opened your legs slightly letting his dick slide between your legs a little further.

"Agh fuck!" Lando was taken aback by the unexpected friction.

"You're gonna get my jeans dirty!" you complained.

"Then take them off!" Lando bit back.

"Turn the light off!" You yelled back at him.

"Fine!" Lando reluctantly agreed shutting off his phone. He heard as your pants unzipped before you moved back slightly as you pulled your pants down.

He expected to feel your bear skin against his dick but what he certainly didn't expect was feeling your folds over his dick moments later.

"Holy sh*t." Lando moaned breathlessly as he could feel your wetness coat his member.

"Let's just hurry up" You said equally breathless thankful you couldn't see anything right now, hoping to imagine Lando was someone else right now and not the person you despised the most on this planet.

You felt Lando pull back as much as the room allowed him before moving forward his dick rubbing against you.

You moaned in pleasure enjoying the friction attempting to move as much as you could too.

"This would go faster if I could just-" Lando started.

"Don't even think about it." You knew what he'd suggest and embarrassingly enough you knew you would finish faster too if he slipped inside you but the thought repulsed you too much still.

"Fine," Lando muttered angrily as you felt him grip your waist and pull you against him as he began thrusting back and forward faster.

You would've complained but the pleasure was too good for you to try to stop it.

"Agh shit-" You moaned as you could feel the knot starting to form in the pit of your stomach.

"Fuck I'm close." Lando panted and you were getting lost in the pleasure.

Your mind was in a haze you forgot who was doing this as your eyes squeezed shut in delight.

"Just fuck me already!" You asked him, a momentary lapse in judgment you had no further time to process as you felt Lando slip inside of you.

"Agh fuck you're so tight." Lando would've cum just from the feeling right then if it wasn't for the reminder that it was you he was inside of.

"Just go harder and shut up." You muttered as Lando obliged picking up the pace and fucking into you.

"Hmm- ahhh- harder!" You were reaching your high and only hoped Lando was near too.

"He began thrusting faster and no more than a few seconds later your legs trembled as you came on his dick, Lando following soon after as he came inside of you. You felt his cum fill you up as you came down from your high trembling at the sensitiveness." You tried catching your breath as Lando pulled out.

A few seconds later the post-orgasm clarity hit you both realizing what had just happened.

"Ewww what the fuck did we just do!" You screamed at him as you could feel his cum start dripping out of you giving you shivers of disgust.

"GET US OUT OF HERE!" Lando was also mortified as he felt your wetness around him as he tried to tuck himself away.

Lando banged at the door harder as you grabbed your phone calling for help. You had to get out of here and take a bath in bleach now!

[loganlermanstanaccount]

please don't kill me mr ghostface (part 1)

(AO3 Mirror), (Main Masterlist), (Kinktober '23 Masterlist)

(Part 2 - coming soon!)

pairing: stalker!Miguel x f!reader, slight yandere undertones. (he's a murderer lowkey but very gentle and sweet and scary hot that's all guys I promise.)

summary: murders on campus. the odd toothbrush goes missing. what's new, honestly. life keeps ticking and you end up at a Halloween party somewhere you shouldn't. there, you meet a gorgeous man in a strange mask. he seems sweet, and all you're looking for is a bit of fun. what could go wrong?

warnings: 18+ , fingering, anal play (mig eats ass, send tweet!) , rimming, p in v, soft dom mig, some switchy + needy behaviour, mild threat of violence (not by mig), alcohol consumption. Minors DNI

a/n: 5k words of ignoring red flags. girl get a grip!

wc: 5.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You look too good to feel this shitty. 

That's the thought you're left with, picking at flimsy spiderwebs draped on a sofa. Sandwiched between two couples making out like their life depends on it, of course, but that's beside the point. 

“Someone said there's CCTV of a guy walking out the building at 3am… seems a little convenient, if you ask me…”

There's a TV on in the background, barely cutting through the dense chatter. By this point, your eyes have glazed over, trying not to let them rattle around in your skull. Drunken conversation around you, and it's the same thing as always; long, winding tales of a campus killer - the kind out of a cheesy slasher. What the news says, officially, is that there weren't any links between those 3 bodies that turned up out on the playing field, an empty dorm, a supply closet; but it hasn't stopped people from indulging in wild speculation. 

“No, no, she just didn't turn up to my Econ class….I swear–” 

Stay in pairs. Don't walk alone at night. Whilst you think it's all tangential at best, you're not one to tempt fate. The gossip, you could do without. But it doesn't hurt to keep yourself safe, pepper spray nestled in your usual bag. 

Tonight, however, you've left it at home, thinking the friends you came with would be enough. Somewhere, somehow, they're off chugging shit beer and you're milling about the place and sinking into couch cushions. There's something sticky by the seat, and there's a crackle as you're jostled - the sharp edge of a stray elbow almost knocks your drink away. 

Fuck.

For one night only, you're a cheerleader. A short, short skirt and little top; it has you feeling overdressed. Even though you've left the pompoms at home, next to your taser; seemingly, you've read the mood wrong - stupidly assuming people would dress up for a Halloween party. As you make your way to the kitchen, tugging down your skirt here and there, that's all you can see; half-hearted costumes - cat ears, white sheets and flimsy masks. It feels like you stick out in comparison. You've gone all out, with nothing but the threat of a beer sodden lap for your trouble. 

It's a big house. Alpha-delta-phi, kappa-something-or-the-other; a frat with too much money and too much time on their hands. With all the doors you walk past, shallow thuds and thumping ringing out behind them, you're as good as lost. The best ragers this side of campus - as raved about by one of your friends. It feels like bucketfuls of horseshit right now, wandering around packed halls - and oh. Is that the same staircase? 

“ Fuck, watch it!” You clatter into the side of an arm, a t-shirt with a superman symbol emblazoned at the chest. He's pretty, but his features curl into a sudden sneer. 

" Sorry –" You start but he doesn't let you finish, wagging a thick finger in your face. 

There's a girl draped on his arm, merely watching as he shouts; loud over pumping music from the next room over. 

"Hey, dipshit , you gonna keep staring? Mouth open like a fucking fish– do you know how much this shit costs?" Your eyes are wide, as he gets closer - stinking of alcohol and pot and God knows what else. You're not drunk enough to entertain this, shirking away from confrontation. The room is hot, his breath is sticky , and–

He grabs your arm. Immediately you're trying to wrench yourself away, not daring to look into blown pupils. Clammy, his grip tightens on bare skin and your stomach churns. He's solid, bigger than you and unable to keep the anger out of his voice…. and fuck. You're scared. 

Fear, rising like bile at the back of your throat. Bitter and sharp, fear at the fact that there isn't anyone to help; that everyone else looks away and pretends that this isn't happening. Fear at the spittle that sprays from his mouth like poison, stinging skin. You screw your eyes shut, expecting a slap, a blow, or something worse and then… 

Thud. The hand around your wrist is no more, replaced by a gentle pat on your shoulder. Nothing lingering, just a light touch to get you to open your eyes; to see that guy on the floor, clutching at a swollen jaw and split lip. 

"You okay? " 

It's deep, muffled by a mask, and the figure in front of you has to crouch to be heard over incessant chatter. 

You're nodding, sheepishly, not trusting yourself to keep that edge out of your voice. 

Ghostface, the masked man, the only other person at this party properly dressed up; he only cocks his head in a gesture that says a thousand words. His robe pools around his wrists, thick fabric that you grab onto without thinking, grip just as tight as your would-be assailant. You don't even want to think about it, what could've happened if someone hadn't stepped in. It has you biting back tears, more shaken than you'd like to admit. 

"H-Hey, hey, easy…" He's rubbing little circles into your shoulder, hesitant. Your lip wobbles, ever so slightly, but he catches it, gently pulling you aside. 

There isn't a crowd. The stragglers, those that saw the display, barely look at the guy on the floor, scrambling to his feet and far away. In the meantime, you fight off tears and force yourself to flash a shaky smile. 

"Good. " You croak, taking his hands off your shoulders. "F-Fuck , I mean… I'm good. Thank you."

He doesn't quite budge, giving you that strange look again. At least, you think so, rearing up to his full height to cross his arms. Quiet incredulity, almost cartoonish, and it almost makes you laugh. Almost. 

"Let me get you a drink… some water, or something." He says, stretching out a gloved hand. Sensing your hesitance, he quickly adds, "... Please ."

Chewing your lip, you only have to think for a second before taking it, and you're led out through double doors. Your masked man is big; broad shouldered and hulking, cutting through the writhing mass with ease. It's just as well, you think, unable to sort through the tangle of things that rattle around in your head. You hate this fucking school, sometimes. Boys will be boys. Wear more appropriate clothing. Well, wasn't she just asking for it?  A culture of inaction; of hand-wringing and hand-waving… passing on the blame until three dead bodies show up on campus. 

That's one thing you have to thank the so-called serial killer for, at least. At least something might actually change around here. 

Empty, the kitchen is a mess, but nothing you wouldn't expect. Drink long gone; a distant memory spilled on a carpet, somewhere; you perch awkwardly around a counter, not knowing where to put your hands. Rattled, you've resorted to a glassy stare; stewing and festering and thinking so intensely it might frighten off your masked man. 

It doesn't. He merely taps you, a gentle elbow to your side and he offers you a glass of water. Weakly, you give him a smile, gulping up the liquid. 

"You here by yourself ?" He asks, muffled by plastic. 

You can't help it, eyes wide at the implication - a masked man, a killer on campus - and he must realise the way it sounds. 

In no time at all, he clarifies, "I just mean… fuck … is there someone I can call? So you're not alone."

It's a kind gesture. Kinder than you'd expect from a stranger. Slowly, you shake your head. 

"They ditched me about an hour ago." You give a bitter laugh. "Just me and you, Mr Ghostface."

And with that he laughs; deep and sonorous, causing heat to bloom at your chest. Despite yourself, you smile, and you swear you see a glint of something behind the mask. 

It has you itching for a drink. All of a sudden you make your way across the room, swiping at empty beer bottles and cans, rummaging around for some hard liquor. When you find it - a half empty bottle of something that smells like carpet cleaner and acetone - you're taking a swig, and offering it to the man across from you. It's sneaky, but you don't think he clocks your paltry attempt to see what he looks like under that mask. 

He shakes his head, hands up in defeat. 

"You sure?" Your voice is lilting, hazy around the edges. Creeping up closer, you press your body to his, taking another unceremonious gulp. Under that cloak - heavy, somewhat well made - you can feel him, lean and cut muscle that tenses as you get closer. 

Batting your eyelashes, you make full use of the cheerleader get-up, snaking a dainty hand to his side, and then up to the counter. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was ogling you, chest taught and tight at the way you feel against him. 

Or maybe, he's bored as shit. You wouldn't know - with the mask, and all. 

Wobbly, you clamber up onto the counter, helped up by a gentle hand at the small of your back… and oh. You like that: big, thick fingers that press into you, carefully tracing your waist… and why won't they go down a little further? Grab handfuls of the flesh at your thighs, your ass, everything in between? 

He's too conservative for that, you think. Nervous, too. Nevertheless, he slots between your thighs, big palms flat next to your ass. 

"I… I don't mind watching." He says, voice low. 

It makes you giggle as you drink, sweet and soft, and liquid dribbles past your lips, down to collarbone. Mr Ghostface is gentle, tracing a finger across the juncture of your neck, light pressure on the vein that sits nice and pretty at its side. 

It goes to your head. The alcohol, the large man of few words with a hand on your neck. When he finishes swiping at the liquid and pulls his hand away, you curl your hand around his, bringing it to your lips. Pert lips wrap around his finger, tongue swiping over leather, and you swear you can hear his breath hitch - heart clearly skipping a beat. 

"Careful…" You say, leaning forward to press your tits against him, brushing away imaginary fluff from his shoulders. "I really like this costume."

"I like it too." He clears his throat. "You look nice."

"Nice? Is that all I get, Mr Ghostface?" You're teasing, tracing up his broad chest to his neck and then just under his chin. Carefully, you hook a finger under the thin strap of his mask, tugging ever-so gently. 

Quickly, he stops you. 

"Not yet, sweetheart."

You pout, flashing him a frustrated look - and God , does he want to kiss it off of you. 

"But soon?" 

"If you're good." You swear you can hear him smile, hands wrapping around your waist. 

You get a bit bolder, hand tracing up his sleeve, clutching at thick, corded forearm. Watching intently as he keens, pushing you to the edge of the kitchen counter with only one hand at your back. This close, you even like the way he smells, like rust and oil and earth, the way he feels around you; strong arms caging you in, protecting you. You feel safe, for some reason. 

When he sighs into you, exposing a sliver of tan neck, you feel your knees go weak - unable to stop yourself from mouthing at it, pressing little kisses into the skin. He seems so sensitive, rocking into the counter for some pressure already, clutching you closer and closer until there's a hickey blooming just under sharp jawline. 

"Fuck- " He hisses, pawing at your waist a little more desperately. 

Suddenly self conscious, you separate with a wet smack, and inspect your handiwork. 

"Shit." Eyes wide, you press a finger into the flesh. Your masked man winces. "M'sorry. Got carried away."

He heaves, placing his head on your shoulder for a moment, trying to catch his breath. 

"It's fine," He strains. "Don't worry… s'fine."

Admittedly, he doesn't seem too fine, adjusting what feels like a painful hard-on beneath a loose cloak. 

Cradling his head so he can look at you, you whisper something bold, even for someone who's downed more than a couple shots worth of cheap liquor. 

"I know somewhere… I-I think … that we could go if you wanted to…" His head lolls, and you hear him swallow roughly. "Somewhere quiet . We'd be alone. Just us."

A beat passes and you think you might've read this wrong, much too forward for your own good. It’s why he surprises you by nodding - slowly, at first, and then with more conviction. Taking your hand, he snakes it under his mask, and you almost gasp when you feel soft, plump lips at your knuckles and palm, pressing shaky kisses to the skin.

“I need to do something first.” He says it so quietly, you almost miss it under the mask. “Where can I meet you?”

You don’t ask questions. 

“Pool house.” You nod towards the windows, overlooking a sizable pool. People mill about its edges, but you know the little house is off-limits for the night. “Side entrance. They… leave it unlocked, sometimes.”

He doesn’t ask questions. 

Before he goes, he snakes a hand under your skirt, giving your ass a sizable squeeze - leaving you breathless. 

You don’t feel the cold as you slip out, playing with a loose thread at the hem of your skirt. The side entrance is stiff but unlocked, and you duck past a screen, head on a swivel. Like a good girl, you sit on plush cushions, thighs pressed together to relieve a pressure that has been building since you met your masked man. And you want to touch yourself; to circle that little bud with clumsy fingers, imagining it was him.

You wait. And you wait. You settle between the cushions, adjust your skirt, look at your hair through a makeshift mirror - the glossy surface of windows overlooking the pool. Not wanting to risk turning on the lights, you wander past what little streams in from across the pool; flashing and pounding with the heady bass of music. You can't help but wonder where he's gone, if he's even coming, and what he had to do so desperately that he'd leave you wanting more. 

At this point, you don't even care if he takes off his mask. You don't want to know a name, or see the real man underneath the costume. You just want him; writhing underneath as you bounce on his fat cock. 

"Hey." 

That voice makes you jump, swiveling to face him. How did he get in without you noticing? He was so quiet, so–

"Missed you." He says it so soft, it makes you melt, walking slowly towards him. Shrouded in shadow, as you get closer you notice he's shed his cloak, donned in a white t-shirt and straight leg jeans. Big boots, thick with fresh mud, thud onto the tile. When you meet, two figures cut by bright light, you almost gasp. He's taken off the mask. Instead of Mr Ghostface, you're met with a man - and he is so, so beautiful . 

Tan skin. High cheekbones, a jaw that could cut glass. His hair is haphazardly slicked back, fluffy and curly in all the right places. But it's his eyes: mischievous and glinting and serious all at the same time - absolutely gorgeous. You could look at him like this forever; chest heaving, messy, out of breath. 

Your hand comes to his chest. He’s hot to the touch, clasping his great big hand atop yours. Squeezing, he pulls you closer, other hand creeping up bare thigh, before hooking under your ass in a move that makes you squeal.

From this close, his lashes look so pretty; wispy and romantic and yearning.

"You look beautiful.”  He doesn’t kiss you, not yet, content with only watching - studying you with sharp eyes. “Always do."

All you hear are the compliments, too tipsy to notice what the stranger implies. You're not usually one for a one night stand, but he is intoxicating - intense in a way that's hard to explain. 

Carding one hand through the curls at the nape of his neck, you press your lips to his in a kiss that starts off sweet and quickly deepens. He is hungry and devouring; licking up your moans with plump lips. 

You lead him to the sofa, only separating for fleeting breaths. Eyes low, illuminated by a flash of light here and there; you force yourself to concentrate on him , shuddering breaths and all. He’s hard, rocking into your lower half splayed out beneath him and arms caged around your head. It’s sly, but you snake a hand past his t-shirt, across his back and then fumble with the belt. It makes him smile, soft laughter spilling into your parted lips; before he sits up above you.

“You want it that bad, huh?” Windswept, he croons, batting away your hands to unbuckle the clasp himself.

You groan, shifting upwards. You don’t notice the way his eyes dart down, eying up the peek of thigh that spills out of little shorts. 

“Say it f’me, sweetheart.” He hikes up your skirt, exposing your covered cunt. He’s gentle, pawing at the flesh, pressing the heel of his palm right above your clit.

“F-Fuck!” The pressure is delicious, and you roll your hips up, up, up; chasing some semblance of relief. When he stops, you whine - clutching at his forearm, frustrated. “Want it, please .”

“Want what?” He prompts, lifting his shirt over his head in one quick movement. You’re met with the wide span of his chest, muscle taut and tight above you.

“Want you in me. I want… I want you to fuck me ‘til I break, pound my fucking hole so hard I can feel it in the morning. I want– ”

You’re babbling, now, spurred on by the way he tugs off black shorts, lifting up your legs to slip them off. He’s too slow, clearly enjoying watching you squirm and writhe. 

“You can have it, sweetheart.” He coos, before capturing you into another kiss. This time, he separates and you follow him up; finally parting with a wet smack. “I’ll give you whatever you want, however you want it… but you gotta do something first.”

“ Anything .” You breathe.

“Fuck yourself, for me. I…I–”

“You like to watch.” You finish it for him, breathless.

“Please.” His head dips low; big, red-brown eyes never leaving yours. 

The way he says it leaves you panting, hung off of every word. And you croon, leaning back into couch cushions, already hot at the way he kneads his thumbs to the flesh near your pussy. This close, he can see the way your cunt pulses, eating up a tiny thong between glistening lips. He’s kneeling on the floor, now, snaking his body around to get a perfect view, flashing looks between both your pretty lips. 

More than willing to oblige, you pat at your clit, sending sweet pleasure coursing through your lower half. Even though your legs tremble, he holds you down, placing gentle kisses to your inner thighs. Slipping your thong to the side, you dip two fingers past your slit, gathering up slick to press carefully into your hole.

“So… so pretty. ” He sighs, not daring to close his eyes despite the pleasure he feels. When you notice how his other hand is buried in his pants; jerking up and down to match your pace. You start slow, for now, pumping two fingers in and out, heel of your palm snug against your clit. The sounds are obscene, the wet schlick-schlick ringing out in the quiet room. 

“Prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever s-seen.” Your stranger moans, slathering over your thighs with sloppy kisses, occasionally swiping at your knuckles. Lower and lower, as you get faster and faster, his tongue makes you feel amazing. You’re close - entranced by your spot in the limelight and the sharp eyes that watch every ministration. 

It’s only when you’re knuckle deep, well and truly fucking yourself ; chasing something just out of reach with his help; when two things happen, catching you by surprise. The first, the one that sends electricity down your spine, that makes you jolt and shiver and almost cum right then and there…

…is a wet kiss pressed to your asshole. He slathers and slobbers and licks large stripes up and down; ripping a great moan out from you. He doesn’t stop there, spreading the globes of your ass to delve deeper, tongue-fucking you as your hand stills - unable to concentrate on anything else. Pornographic, he humps his lower half to the same pace, sealing his mouth over your hole. With the vibrations of his moans sending pleasure straight to your clit, you finally cum - a rolling, bubbling orgasm that ends just as intensely. 

The second thing that happens, just as you fall off the edge, is that you’re plunged into darkness. The lights from across the pool, once bright and flashing; are cut off. The music stops, and chatter dies down. Your stranger holds you through it, licking up cum from your neglected cunt, whispering sweet things into the skin.

“There it is, baby. Nice n’ slow.” He soothes as you whimper, hand tight in his hair. 

In the dark, you’re heaving, feeling him slow down as your cunt clenches around nothing, empty. Shaky, you sit up on your haunches as he follows you up.

“Is everything…? What happened?” You’re a little panicked, shaken up from your orgasm. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay. ” He rubs little circles into bare skin. “Too much?”

You shake your head, nuzzling into him. He gives your forehead a kiss, and you feel warmth bloom across your chest.

He shifts. “Just give it a…”

As if on cue, a generator whirs to life, flooding the little room in red light. Something similar seems to happen across the pool, as you take a quick glance to the window.

Your head is a little fuzzy. It aches as you catch his eye, looking at you intently.  

“Do you want to stop? We don’t have to–”

“No.” You say it resolutely, with so much force it even catches you off guard. “I want to.”

“Fuck.” He mutters, brows pressed together imperceptibly. 

For someone you’ve just met, he still looks at you like ice about to melt, like he’s bearing witness to the last breaths of a dying star. He looks at you like he knows you; like he knows how many half-truths and one-night stands you’ve had to endure. It makes you shiver; here, bathed in crimson light, pressed against one another.

He starts with your lips, a gentle thumb pressed flat, and then deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s like before, you realise, the taste of liquor and leather long gone. He keeps his eyes on you, careful as he pops the thumb out, groaning at the length of spit that comes with a flash of your pink tongue. You splay yourself out underneath him, drinking in the sight above; your stranger, your masked man once upon a time, shirtless and breathless and rock hard against your cunt. Now, he tugs down black boxers, its band cut across his torso just so. Thick hair; dark, curly, neatly trimmed; and you reach to trace down his happy trail, to get a hand on his pretty cock.

He just watches , eyes dark, leaning forward to rock into your soft palm and put his mouth on the skin that pillows out from a tight crop top. To give him more access, you tug it down, exposing sensitive nipple. And then that tongue; searching, inquisitive, precise; wraps itself around the flesh. You keen - a pretty moan that has his heart fluttering and eyes clasped shut.

“Inside.” At first, it’s a whisper, said in the throes of deep pleasure. You repeat it, slowing your hand at his cock. 

When he doesn’t answer; still slathering at your tits, pawing the flesh that spills out from your costume; you tug, a sharp thing that has him moaning and sitting up on  his haunches.

“Said I wanted you inside, baby.” You say - and his breaths are deep, his eyes are wild. “Do you want it? Do you want me?”

“A-Always….course I— ” He stops himself, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Finally, he nods and you continue, satisfied.

“Watch.” You titter, reaching down to line him up; carefully gathering slick up at the head of his cock. His tip weeps; shuddering like your stranger does above, getting close and hitching up you up to stay flush against you. His eyes stay trained downward. Inside, he mouths at your neck, groaning once his cock sinks into your fluttering hole.

There’s a tightening grip at your hips, big hands bunching up the skirt to keep you close, with a careful pressure at your clit. That sends heat coursing through your veins, tasting deep crimson in the air. He fucks; up close and humping like he wants to crawl into your skin, with a fervour you’ve never encountered before. It has you hot and sticky, desperate for that biting edge that keeps slipping from dainty fingers. You start to put a hand at your clit, tracing between your bodies when a strong hand pulls it away. Firm.

“No, no, no…” He whispers it, putting your wandering hand to his face, kissing the palm.

“Please. ” You whine. “M’close. So close.”

You feel him twitch inside, hips stuttering at your tone.

“No.” He says it again, resolute. “I’m going to make you cum. Gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart… just… just be patient. Please. For me .”

You’re reaching up for a kiss, of which he obliges. This time, it stays sweet; pink tongues swiped over lips.

“Look at me.” His hips shift, changing angles to hit that sweet spot like you’ve been moulded to his dick - like he knows just where to touch you to make you fall apart. “Look at me, hermosa. Ohh f-fuck, you take me so well… so pretty. You gonna milk my cock? Feels so good around me, sweetheart, like you were made for me. Like we’re ... L-Like–”

You groan, unable to tear yourself away from his writhing form: strong, lean muscles, tensing in the red light. And oh, isn’t he pretty, mere moments away from release, from spilling thick cum inside you.

“M’gonna–”

“I know, I know, hermosa. ” You like the way he says it, rolling off his tongue like honey; treacled and sweet. “Cum f’me, sweetheart. Want to feel you clamp around my cock. Cum for me. ”

And just like that, you’re gone; nails digging into his back as you careen off a steep cliff’s edge. Your stranger quickly follows, pulling out to wrap a tight hand around the base of his cock, spilling onto your stomach as you clench around nothing.

You’re whining, getting ready to complain; why hasn’t he come inside? why doesn’t he want to stay?; when he stills, settling by your side. Propped up by one arm, he crouches down to stroke at your cheek, to touch your jaw, moving your head this way and that - as if he’s looking for something hidden behind bright eyes.

In the red of the emergency lights, you suppose you’re looking for something too. A beat passes, and then another. The generator splutters, whirring and coughing. The lights turn off; replaced by the noise and white lights from across the pool.

So lost in one another, you hadn’t quite noticed; everything else falling away. 

He clears his throat, clambering off of the sofa and tugging up his trousers. Quickly, he returns, a bundle of towels draped across his bare shoulders, and then he wipes off the cum - gently, separating sweaty limbs. Your costume is more or less intact, but you’re unable to do more than just lay there. He’s diligent and patient, not in any sort of rush. When you sit up, he pulls on a shirt, kneeling by your legs to play with a loose thread at your skirt. Too intimate, you suppose. With his head on your lap, you don’t think you care. 

“We should leave.” You say it first, what’s been left in the air for someone else to pick apart. 

“We should.” 

“Can’t leave together.” You say simply, curling a hand in his hair. 

Humming, he looks up lazily, with a hint of a smile. “You go first.”

Neither of you make a move to get up.

“Mr Ghostface,” You start, giggling. “What happened to your mask?”

“Lost it.” He’s cryptic. Finally, he stands. 

Your stranger stretches out a rough palm, and you take it, getting up on shaky legs. You almost collapse onto his chest, but he’s there; solid, stoic. Looking up, and it catches you off guard: the intensity of his stare, how he watches in a way that makes you feel stripped bare. 

“You first.” He repeats, still holding on.

He’s pretty. Of course he is, but the shadow and light makes his features even more pronounced. In the quiet, you take the opportunity to catch him off guard; standing on tip-toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Jaw tight, he doesn’t react the way you want him to: ever-still, passive. Fuck. You’ve read it wrong: not used to the intensity of this kind of foray. After all: a one night stand seems too reductive, doesn’t quite span the depths and furrows of how your stranger has taken you apart. Finally, you leave the strange man still standing in the pool house. You don’t dare to look, but you can feel him; the weight of his stare at your back.

You can feel his hands, too; the ghost of his touch lingering as you make your way back to the house, mingling with the crowd.

~~~

You don’t tell your friends. You make your back home after the party, bundled into a taxi with a hand tight around your own wrist. It doesn’t feel like his hand on yours - not even close.

“I didn’t actually fuck him yesterday!” Your friend tugs on your sleeve, giggling into your shoulder as she recounts her night. A debrief with the girls turns into hungover breakfast-bleeding-into-lunch at your dorm. They’re bundled onto the sheets, some eating greasy takeout and others nursing bludgeoning headaches. 

You’re fine, mostly. A little bit of liquid courage, but your hangover pales in comparison to some - catatonic on your rug and scrolling through their phone in a limbo-like state.

“You didn’t fuck him, but you wanted to.” Someone pipes up, and the conversation devolves into raucous laughter.

You laugh, tucked into yourself. The wonders of a half-dozen sophomores during Halloween - able to grin despite the shit storm that’s been mounting. Campus killers notwithstanding - they make you smile, at least.

“Were you there towards the end?” Someone asks, poking an elbow at your side. “When there was that blackout?”

You nod, simply - not trusting yourself to say more.

“I-I mean…” Her voice is suddenly shaky, thrusting a phone into your unsuspecting hands. “Well… they’re saying it must have happened then, or around that time.”

You squint, confused.

“And it could’ve been anyone, I suppose. There were like, what, a hundred people there? More? ”

“What?” 

“A body. They found a body - by the pool house, or something…”

_

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

[dookiecurly]

okay dookie.. hear me out on this one,I've been cooking this idea in my mind for far too long, please bring it justice.

sooo- reader is on board the tulpar with the crew, they're a happy-go-lucky cheerful individual with an extremely charismatic personality and are jaw-droppingly attractive. ( Glazing ik forgive me )

here comes the twist,just by pure luck or by some coincidence or the other,the crew finds out that the reader was a very very very popular model in the past.

[ they found some of their old MAGAZINES/PORNOS ]

not just any model- playboy/gravure models who used to be incredibly popular and and a hotshot,but left that career in the past to focus on bigger things in space.

How would the crew react? Or behave towards them after finding out about their past? Would they be attracted towards her? Please I need to know you write so well

Uhhhmmm uhmmmmm. . Ookayyyy..... Okay.

Imagine how Curly felt when he found out the new worker, WHO HE DID NOT LOOK UP AND DOWN BECAUSE I KNOW HE'S NOT A PERVERT BECAUSE HES MY HUSBAND YOU DIPSHIT, was a model! Plus, he can see your tits too. I guess, he came back to Earth and was just browsing around a random shop when he found the magazine. Usually, he doesn't even bat an eye at them because let me say this again HE'S NOT A WEIRDO. Not to say that all people who buy revealing girl magazines are weirdos (they are). But he saw your face and was so shocked. Like, wow! He doesn't confront you about it. The first time he saw you after he saw the magazine, Curly stares you up and down with the image of your bare body with a bikini on. Of course, when you're not looking. This only happened a few times before he got used to it. People change, and he doesn't have the right to pry into their personal life. If you do tell him about your old job, he wouldn't be super... Surprised. I can't tell if he'd tell you that he already knew or he'd just act like he didn't. You choose.

JIMMY, might be ecstatic. First time he saw you, pretty face, pretty body, oh he is PLOTTING. I'm sorry, it's the truth. Now, he's found a magazine of you! YOU! Basically naked. When he found that magazine, he fucking stole it. 1. He doesn't want to be known as those guys, 2. In this economy? For a fancy paged excuse of a book? Yeah, no. Sometimes masturbates to it. Jimmy would definitely use it as blackmail if you don't want people finding out about your old job. Might even use it to get into your pants.

Okay so, I've got two perspectives on this for Swansea. First, you're a young model. Maybe he thought you were a pretty face, but it doesn't affect him that much. Pretty girls are everywhere, he doesn't need to get a boner about. When he saw the magazine, he didn't give a shit. Hes too old to care, but if you tell him, he'll say that he already knew.

Second, if you're around the same age and used to be a model in your 20s but wanted to try out a new job. Swansea thought you were quite youthful and pretty for your age (he's jealous), but still doesn't think much of it until he hears your name. Of course, young Swansea, imo, wasn't into magazines as well. But, he definitely knows the names of a few models. Who says his old friends weren't weirdos? Then he just brushes it off like, "Nah, probably a coincidence. Millions and billions of people are living in the universe, there's bound to be someone with the same name". Then when you tell him, he's like... A little shocked... But goes back to work. Thats all.

Daisuke already knows. DON'T TELL ME THAT HE DIDN'T ALREADY KNOW WHEN YOU CAME IN. I have a feeling that he's either really into the news of celebrities (Oh, no! Y/N quits modeling at age __?!???? Outrageous!!!) or his friends told him. Within a few moments, Daisuke is already up to you, asking if youre Y/N. Gets a pic and an autograph, and now he's happy. Yay >3<!!!

Anya, i think would also kind of know a few models. But only the really popular ones. She strikes me as a person who used to daydream of being as pretty as the girls on the cover, but then grew out of it. I don't think shes an insecure person if we're talking about looks. When she sees you, she definitely notices that you're pretty, but won't say much about it. Maybe a compliment, but that's all. Probably won't notice that you're one of the girls on the cover, but when she does, she kinda just... Doesn't say anything. Again, I don't think she thinks it's her business. If you tell her when she already knows, she'll just calmly say that she knew. If she didn't know until then, she'll probably be a little shocked but thats all. Nothing extravagant.

[rei-ismyname]

What's Up, Doc? Storm #2

Storm #2 was super weird, zipping all over the place with zero interiority from Ororo. That obviously sucks, but the exchange with Doctor Daye left me scratching my head most of all.

- He doesn't treat X-Men, a volunteer team who have never heard of the hospital. Flat out refuses, won't even let them in the door. His only rule.

- He quotes all the donors, most of whom are billionaires. Charles Xavier is/was rich, but most of the X-Men have negligible income or assets.

- The miracle pills were for humans, dipshit. The resurrection protocols were for reversing genocide.

- Ororo doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about, but he clearly has a massive chip on his shoulder. Only her Avengers ID card got her in the door.

- How did he stay out of ORCHIS gulags? The X-Men probably rescued his ass from that. If not, literally everyone else.

- Only when she hands over a priceless personal heirloom from her dead mother does he pocket it and relent. Straight up extorts this desperate woman. 'Uhm, thank you' as if he doesn't know he's gatekeeping lifesaving medical treatment.

- Okay so they weren't there when you needed them. Did you tell them? The X-Men did not exist at the start of Krakoa, there was a ~2 year period in universe where they were in an alternate universe, dead or disbanded.

- How did they fail you? Not funding this hospital that's super well hidden and was unknown to them? TF?

- He has all the power here and he's squeezing Ororo in every way he can.

- Including wasting her time and sandbagging her, carrying on about himself.

- When he knows she has less than 6 hours to live.

- What if she didn't have anything valuable on her? Was he just going to say no, fully aware she's about to die?

- 'I forgot again' what the fuck is wrong with you? You made your stupid point and your still going with your personal grudge when she's terminal?

I am truly baffled by the point of this scene. Is it meant to be taken as an actual failing of the X-Men? It's kinda what it sounds like but it does not make sense given the timeframe. If Chuck knew about this he would have donated millions - Pre-Krakoa he ran multiple philanthropic organisations and gave heavily to charities. If it is meant to be taken seriously it's not explained at all. 80% of the patients are mutants but he left Krakoa bc people needed him. For what, exactly? Krakoa took care of mutant health.

If it's not meant to be taken seriously then why is this prick even in the book? He's just being cruel. 'Thanks for the only physical reminder of your mother, you're going to die soon. Bye!' This was a disappointing issue but holy shit I don't know what anyone involved was thinking. An editor should have caught the absurdity of this story.

[ilovefoodandslasherswithmasks]

Yall can listen to: X from Lexxe

While you read this, I promise you, this song is so Billy coded. I'm always like 😩

TW: no minors yall shoo, suggestive language, etc, it's spicey but not burning hot spicey yet, part two is coming in a few days, touching, mentioning pet names and fem reader, suggestive gestures but not detailed iykyk

Cause I need more than my imagination

~ part 2

Going to Hawkins was boring as shit, the high school sucked, everyone was so..small towny? People were either extremely religious, judgy, or complete popular kids.

'Like Steve Harrington, guy had girls drolling if not also boys, I mean I get it he's attractive but not like ATTRACTIVE.'

So going to school and seeing no one fitting your type was exhausting, but there was Billy, he came to Hawkins a few years ago, with his Step sister and all.

Really there wasn't much to him at first but then, there was rumors, about him, how he was like in the bedroom. He wasn't very alluring at first, his snarky, flirty personality not really your thing. But when you went to a party, playing Pool and absolutely obliterating the other team, you caught a glimpse of him staring at you as you bend down to hit the white ball against the last colored billiard ball, absolutely missing when a blush slammed itself on your cheeks. Giving the other team the win. Huffing you drop a comment to the other team that was being a sore winner, "I would've won if I hadn't had more to drink dipshits, yall are sober assholes!" You snap at them, groaning as you go get yourself some more heavily alcohol infused punch. It didn't taste good but fuck did it do the job.

You sit down outside by the pool, as you watch a group of guys gather around a beer keg, Billy, as you knew him, is doing the weird drinking over head thing. Staring at the scene unfolding, while sipping your drink, when he was done you watch the way the drink slips down his bare chest, vanishing under his flannel somewhere, when you look back up at his face he was already staring at you, all smug and shit. God you would've been embarrassed but you had so much alcohol you found it incredibly hot. So you smile before walking away. Deciding to leave the party early, you walk down the street, turning around one last time to see him standing on the street watching you go.

That was about a week ago, but the stares didn't stop, you'd catch him staring at you chewing on his toothpick in the hall, the classrooms he was in with you, the cafeteria, parking lot shit even when you passed him on the way to the toilet.

Honestly it was a bit much, you didn't forget what happened, how could you, but now you weren't drunk, you were you. And you avoided all his stares, he was basically undressing you with his eyes, and he didn't try to hide it. He'd lock eyes and lick the toothpick, or he'd adjust his pants, which you weren't sure was just habit because hsi belt seemed annoying to you, or for other reasons.

But you always did you best to avoid his gaze, you'd occupy yourself when he stared at you, opening the book you had no intend to read, or whatever else was closest. And he definitely knew you were just shy, embarrassed and definitely not used to this attention.

The second week you got a bit more confident, you'd hold his gaze a little longer until he would wink at you with his smile, which imidiatly caused you to blush and again, occupy yourself with something else. That's how the second week passed.

Third week he was visibly closer, sitting at the same table, behind you in class, or standing next to your locker. Hell avoiding him was hard, but you tried less and less to avoid him. His eyes still flustered you as did his slowly more suggestive gestures. But you tried so hard to be more comfortable, and slowly it came naturally to stare back at him. Imagining the things he would do to you if you finally had the courage to say more than hi back to him.

Fourth week, he would gently slide his hand over you shoulders as he whispered a sweet hi in your ear, in the crowded hallway. Which he only received a flustered hello or a broken good morning. In class he'd play with your hair, or draw random patterns on your back.

Fifth week, those patterns weren't just random, slowly you made out words, like "pretty today" or "I like those pants" or "smelling good" really it wasn't much but the last Friday that week he wrote "you look incredibly hot today, wonder if it can get even hotter". Which left you a mess all weekend.

Sixth week he sat next to you at the cafeteria, he never really ate, but he got the food you enjoyed and shared it with you, staring at you as you drank the chocolate milk, or took a bite out of the snacks he got. He would feed you if you would talk to him a bit more. You still barely said anything but small talk, that's all he got, he flirted? You shut down and stayed quiet while blushing.

Seventh week, you got a lot more comfortable, one or two flirts back to him a day, that was it, that was all you managed. And it humbled you when you stuttered it out instead of saying it normal. Shit it was real humbling. But he took it all, he basked in it, he chewed his bottom lip when it was a good line or he'd nudge your thigh with his knuckles when he started to lose himself in your eyes.

Eighth week, you finally found yourself in the position of openly flirting, less shy, a lot more bold and profound suggestive. He loved it, he'd laugh, or actually get a slight tint on his freckled covered cheeks. Shit he had the prettiest smile and laugh. In class he now sat next to you and the stares were more obvious, in the last row, no one really noticed. But you wear skirts and the slight cross your legs, moving so the skirt rode up a bit. He couldn't help but smile and grip the table when he looked at you, his eyes traveling up to yours holding them. Getting regularly scolded by the teacher for being all love doves.

Ninth week, you finally let him drive you home, sitting in the passenger seat as he'd blast his favorite music, but keeping it low enough to talk to you, his fingers flickering against your thigh. He'd shift gears and his hand would fall to you leg. Eventually he let his hand rest on your thigh, and you let him it was nice. Gentle, careful, kind of sweet. He never went to far.

Tenth week both of you reached the limit. He had his hand between your thighs when he was driving you home, your hand gripping his wrist and slightly squeezing as he stared ahead at the road.

"Billy" you said over the music,

"Yeah hot stuff?" He asked puffing out the smoke of his Marlboro red.

"Uh..did you ever like, imagine things when you stared at me? Like before we talked..."

He glances at you, a smirk slowly coming to play on his face,

"Yeha but I doubt you can handle it Doll"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that I don't think you're able to handle my nasty thoughts yet sweets"

"That's bullshit!"

"Oh yeah? You know why I wanted to call you candy cane at first?"

"No?"

"Cause I love to suck on candy cane"

"Uh oh"

"Yeah, so don't worry, I'll eventually call you that too when you let me taste you as well."

"Oh....uh wow okay uhm"

"See? You can't handle it, and Doll, there's more of that waiting to be exposed to your sweet, innocent mind"

You just laugh a bit, the heat in your abdomen settling and your cheeks match it.

Well there was a lot he kept from you so far, the both of you have just started dating and it was obvious he desired you so deeply, but he was nice enough to wait and keep it to himself. Mostly. He'd call you sweet tit's and stuff when you looked very tempting, but he only said that when it was you too.

In school he'd been basically eye fucking you, you definitely didn't miss it. You're not idiotic enough to miss the way he'd lick his lips when he was forced to sit away from you. Or when you guys had PE and he'd purposely wipe his face with the hem of his shirt, and pull yours up when the teacher told the next exercise, to place his hand in the lower part of your back. Keeping it there, letting his finger nails gently scratch your skin.

It flustered you to hell, you'd have to hurry to the changing room to take a cold shower, or the bathroom if it was during class, to catch a break from his need. To be honest you had to sit down sometimes just to stop yourself from getting rid of that annoying wet feeling that he always caused. He didn't even know how bad you had it for him.

The way his hands wrapped around the steering wheel or how he'd lick his lips after puffing out smoke, or the way his cologne clung to your clothes at the end of the day with his cigarette smell. Drove you insane, so when you were at his place that day, you, in his bed room alone, checking his perfumes to see which is the one he always uses. When you found it, you memorize the name and how it looks and spray some on your sleeve.

Playing dumb when he came back with drinks as he smelled the air.

"Did you use my perfum?"

"Uh no that's probably just you"

He wasn't idiotic to miss what you've been doing either, sneaking away when he tempted you, smelling his jacket when he had you wear it, or the way you looked at his hand when he touched you. Or how you flinched in PE when he touched your bare skin. Well whenever he touched you to be honest. He did it on purpose, to see how long you'd last.

(I didn't read over it, but part two will be here soonnnn I'm so excited yall, but also so stressed cause this is the first time sharing spicey writing and basically my thoughts and own fantasies. 😔 Anywayssss enjoy)

PART TWO IS COMING TODAY YALL, the explicit version, but you can skip it, I'll make sure to write the less spicey version for those who don't enjoy this!!!

[phaeton-flier]

Endlessly grinding my teeth about the sort of person who insists that Dems never codeified Roe v Wade into law out of some abstract strategy game and not because it would've taken a giant amount of political capital that was better spent on, say, healthcare, not been possible because there was NEVER filibuster proof support for the pro-choice position (several key D senators in the 2008 supermajority were pro-life ), was widely viewed as settled precedent unlikely to be overturned by a court famous for state decisis, and it would've bought precisely dick because the same court that was willing to overturn Roe v Wade on specious grounds would also be willing to declare such a law unconstitutional on specious grounds.

And it would be fine if it wasn't the exact same type of dipshits in 2016 insisting that nothing was going to go wrong and some measly supreme Court seats weren't as important as Sending A Message.

I blame the people who actually voted for Trump for the lions share, here. But they're just straightforwardly happy about awful things happening, they don't have a high fucking horse about how their cynical, stoned freshman level political takes are the real truth, and they certainly don't blame the people who tried to stop it. Unearned moral superiority like Christ on the cross as they explain why you should repeat the mistake

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Hear ye hear ye

Can u make some more cannons with Bam? I loved your last ones they were so cute, also how do you think Bam would react if he saw someone else being a bit too flirty with the reader lol

Possessive Bam HC’s + Fic!

Bam Margera X Gn!Reader

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, alcohol, unwelcome flirting, violence, masochism, hickeys, biting, marking, kissing

An: This fic was inspired by this post by @ittydoor, which i couldn’t get out of my head until I wrote something based off of it!! Special thanks to @camariesintrusivethoughts for sending it to me in the first place ;D

Bam doesn’t like people touching (or hell, even staring at) things that belong to him,

Namely, you.

So if he caught wind that a guy even looked at you funny, much less started getting flirty with you, the situation could end in one of two ways.

Since he’s a little shit in general, it makes sense that his go to response to someone trying to hit on you would be flaunting that you were his

Let’s set the scene: The two of you are out at some bar and your boyfriend stepped away for a minute to go take a piss,

And he returned to some some asshole tryin’ to chat you up.

“I’m really flattered, but I hav-“

You were cut off by the pair of hands that quietly snaked around your waist. One glance at those rings, and you knew who was behind you

Bam pulled you in close, enough that you could feel the warmth from his torso through his clothes as he leaned his head onto your shoulder, nuzzling against you like a needy cat-

Hell, he was practically purring like one too.

Before making coy eye contact with the guy and flashing him a ‘they’re mine’ grin, “Hey.”

One word, and so much condescension- so much Animal Planet style territory claiming.

Speaking of claiming territory, Bam has all these little ways of showing off that you’re his

Sometimes it was sweet, like when he was a little too eager to loan you his clothes to wear in the morning after you slept over at the castle

Or the delicate, silver heartagram necklace he bought you for your anniversary- this small, unmistakable symbol marking you as his

Other times, however, his methods of letting people know exactly who you belonged to weren't exactly as innocent…

Even if he didn’t have this whole way of viewing you as his territory, Bam’s generally a bit of an affectionate biter,

So no matter where you went, people would be gawking at the little pink love bites that littered your neck and shoulders (much to your boyfriend’s demented amusement)

Point is, what’s his is his, and Bam wasn't shy about letting other people know that.

Which leads me to the other way he’d make sure people know you were his…

The scene and the setting was as follows: it was Saint Patrick’s day, right around two in the morning, and you were walking home from Rex’s with Bam after having spent the night doing what everyone does on a drinking holiday, and maybe it was too dark for that guy at the payphone across the street and his dipshit buddy to see Bam’s arm coiled around your waist or the dark, maroon hickeys that littered your neck, because if they had seen them, they wouldn’t have gotten in this situation. You could’ve sworn you heard one of them murmur, “Nice ass…” to nobody in particular, but you paid him no mind, because you didn’t get that offended when people hit on you.

Bam, on the other hand, did. Very much so.

The guy he was with shot a sleazy glance your way and slurred half drunkenly, “Yeah, I’d fuck ‘em...” That comment is what set your boyfriend off like a cobra who had been waiting to strike, and in a flash he was across the street, swinging his fists in these full force roundhouses- different from the limp, wimpy Bam punches you were used to. Seeing that fight was like going to the zoo and slipping the wolverines angel dust, the way the two- now three of them were duking it out. And Bam was laughing his ass off, enjoying this type of thingway too much, “Yeah? How d’ya like that? Oh yeah, punch me. C’mon, punch me in the-“ Maybe, in some twisted way, he felt like he was defending your honor. Bam’s taunting was brought to a quick stop with a blow to the side of the head as his teeth planted jagged roots into his tongue and he could taste his own blood.

Ducking a punch from the other guy, he turned around and hit him straight on- pow! Like a spring loaded cartoon boxing glove right to the jaw. But Mr. Rubberbones bounced back like he’d done in a thousand stunts and bar fights, with this menichial little glint in his eye, sneering at the guy who just hit him with blood smeared teeth, “Yeah, do it again, fucker- I like that shit.” It was like Tarantino level violence, the badassness of which was not in any way dissuaded by the fact that the cocky smirk plastered across Bam’s face didn’t slip for a second through the torrent of fists.

Just as quickly as it had started, those two dickheads backed off from the two of you with their tails between their legs. That left you, trying to figure out if it was normal you got so turned on watching your boyfriend beat the shit out of two random strangers. Well, you didn’t have to deliberate it much given the way that in the time you were pondering this, Bam had returned to your side and pulled you in, kissing you like a soldier returning from war. His blood mingled with your saliva as he possessively ran his rough hands up your torso in a way to say ‘Mine. This one’s mine’. and you decided yes, it was totally hot.

[rogerdeakinsdp]

so i've fallen down a rabbit hole of watching videos of foreigners travelling and/or moving to russia, and i need to rant bc even my mom is tired of me talking about, every time we're in the kitchen together she's like "have you found another one?" and i'm like "yeah 😔" ........ anyway

i'm not saying there's something inherently wrong with the people who choose to come to russia, especially after february 2022, but i'm not not saying it. i definitely don't trust them, and i assume they're right wing until proven otherwise. most of the people who come stay in moscow/st petersburg, none of them travel outside of the european part and GEEE I WONDER WHY. none of them are poor and most of them have questionable politics to begin with

there's this one american guy who tours TYPICAL/LUXURY supermarkets in russia and out of all of them he's the most popular right now. and even if he understands the concept of currency and how the exchange rate actually works, most of the commenters don't. "a liter of milk is only 80 cents" first of all, that's 950ml AT BEST, could be 800 or 750, and that's not cheap. "coffee is only 5 dollars" 450 for instant coffee is a lot. "look at these shelves in the middle of all those sanctions. does it look like the people are starving????" if you don't understand the details of sourcing produce don't draw stupid conclusions. like sure there's bread and milk and local meat because it's local, there's less variety and everything is more expensive, but there's still some stuff. you have to look at cosmetics, cleaning supplies, fruits and veggies, oils, cookies, drinks, alcohol. the first wave of sanctions that really hit the stores was in 2014 and you weren't there my guy. and even now like the pads are so expensive, and you get chinese brands that aren't as nice, and i can't get my favorite oral b dental floss anymore

there's another american guy who went to the grocery store to buy some pastry, 2 fruity drinks and 3 bottles of water. "omg just 11 dollars" 1100 is expensive!!! you can get like 25 different kinds of pasta that will last you months! "had lunch. only 30 dollars" 3k for a lunch that's just some vareniki and pirozhki?????? are you insane???? "just 30 dollars" fuck off. and the people he meets.... there was one girl from krasnoyarsk, and he asked "is that in the asian part of russia?" and she was like "that's in the middle of russia, asia is far way" GIRL WHAT THE FUCK???? you should know better. nobody thinks of western siberia when they say "the middle of russia" they mean central russia and you know it. krasnoyarsk is in the asian part of russia

there's another american guy who moved to russia to raise his family because russia is more like what the god intended, and they respect family values here and all that right wing bullshit. he sold his what looks like a $400,000 house in the states SO OF COURSE EVERYTHING IS CHEAP HERE YOU STUPID FUCKING SHIT!!!! "they have organic food here, no gmo, even the milk here isn't pasteurized" all milk in stores is pasteurized you dipshit!! "there's no racism here, they treat immigrants really well" because you're american!!!! they don't treat people from central asia, or indigenous peoples, or people from the caucasus the way they treat you!

there's a dutch guy who was surprised that russian people wash their hands when they come home and i don't know what to say????? you don't wash your hands???? gross

there's a japanese guy who also doesn't understand currency. "everything here is cheaper than in japan or finland" yeah i wonder why russia is cheaper than those first world countries, is don't even know why....... and he went to crimea in the last two years.....

there's a korean girl who mostly just vlogs about going to museums, and going to cafes and making food, and it's pretty boring, and she even acknowledged that her experience of russia is different from someone who lives here and it all depends on your economic situation, age, social status, your circumstances, and i just watch her videos looking for something inflammatory which is ?????? but there will be something 👁👁 why did you come girl???

there's another korean girl who went to the red square in a fur coat and no hat in december, which is suspicious........

there's a number of pretty unmemorable foreigners who are like "all my family told me not to come to russia, yet i'm here anyway, i'm gonna try to survive here because i like a challenge" go solve climate change if you like a challenge! knowing that living like me, better than me, with more money than me, is a challenge to someone is truly something..... GO HOME!

many of these people say "there's no restrictions on freedom on speech or freedom of expression, the media lied to us, i'm just a normal guy who wants to live my life with my family, i don't care what the government is doing" you're so stupid. you're so privileged. the commenters on these videos are full of right wingers, people are openly racists in them. it's just a cesspool of awful people.

"people are so nice and welcoming" because you are from the west!!!!!!!

JUST GO HOME!!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE????

[besideprimroseshade]

ᴳᵒᵈ ⁱˢʰ ᵀʷˢᵗ ˣ ⁱᵐᵐᵒʳᵗᵃˡ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ CH: 2

CH: 1

"I'm getting excited on the contrary"

TW: Suggestive comments

    Y/N's current alias:

    Ell Clocke

    Alias No. 161

    Date: 1300

    "Why would you pick that book out of all?  I mean, it's nothing more than some fanatic's fantasy.  Nothing worth contemplating about".  He sighs and you shoot back Will you shut up for a few minutes?  I'm trying to read, you know, do something actually productive.  Instead of listening to whatever crap that comes outta your mouth.  Idle chatter should I say?"  He huffs "Ugh!  This is why you dropped out of school, my professors would be sorely disappointed in such a lackluster person like yourself".  You remember what page you're on and set your book to the side "Good thing I don't suck up to professors then, unlike someone here.  People actually enjoy my presence, dunno if you've noticed, but everyone here would kill you if it were legal".  He blanches and mutters something "Y-you're wrong, such a notion is inconceivable.  The people adore me, a brain such as mine surely deserves respect!" you shrug "Tell that to the townspeople, everyone here fucking hates you, and the fact that you with your great brain can't see that your holier-than-thou attitude is the reason why you don't have anyone who would actually care if you died is something..."

    "Wait... are you revealing to me that you wouldn't care if I died?" he freezes, a sort of realization washing over him.

    "Wow, the great mind finally realized.  What did you expect?  Me to cry when you die?  The guy who said that I'll be nothing 'cause I got B's and not A+'s?  The guy who every day told me that my dreams weren't anything, that mom and dad just had me to compare my dullness to your brightness?  You should've been a comedian instead of a scholar, 'cause that's too fucking funny".  Your words cut like the sharpest of ice, frigid and unforgiving.  

    "I... I was joking!  Of course you couldn't take a joke, you're too sensitive..." comes the attempt to shake away the guilt.

  "At least I can feel things…” you quip back.     He takes a furious sip of his tea and coughs it out “W-what curious concoction is this?  This is surely not my tea!”.  Your eyes move to the snow white Persian cat in the corner of the parlor, lazing on her pillow.  Cotton, your mother’s most prized pet, a spoiled cat given as a gift from your father.  “Oh, Cotton peed in the cup, it must’ve slipped my mind to inform you…”

    The memory fades as you fade back to your tea, the faces swirling like the milk in the tea.  “That damned dipshit” you utter before grabbing a broom and flinging open your front door.  Your porch was decently decorated, with starch white paint on the walls and the beams supporting up the thing.  Thankfully the paint did not contain lead, or maybe it did, that might’ve explained why the townspeople avoided you like you were crazy.  A few plants in pots stood in neat rows by the front window, delicate little flowers grown from a variety of seeds.  But now was not the time to admire your handiwork.  Angrily sweeping your front porch and ignoring the clouds of dust that plague your vision.  Your brother never did get his dream…     You learned that for all of his labor, he was only remembered as a pretentious wannabe who tried so hard to make it big in the world of knowledge that he ended up only becoming famous for his attempts.  A local legend of your town.  After centuries of him being dead, you were still petty.       Continuing your furious sweep you barely notice the child staring at you from behind one of the poles.  Only stopping your sweep to take a few breaths, “What do you want kid?” You turn to meet their gaze.  A tiny lanky thing, who probably didn’t even reach your hip, with striking eyes the same shade as the blazing garnet ring your least favorite aunt always showed off.  Thick dark hair that reminded you of ink, silky and black, cut short above their shoulders.  Their outfit prim, with a neat white shirt dark brown pants.  Their ears confirmed that they were a fairy, small and pointed.       “You appear to be angered with something” they observe with a voice so quiet it seemed hardly a whisper.  They stand there, hiding, unsure of whether to approach the curiously angry stranger, or run off back into the forest.  “Just blowing off some steam” you reassure them before leaning your broom against the wall.  “I’m not gonna hurt you, ‘sides, you’d probably be more of a threat to me than vice versa” you admit, watching as their grip on the pole lightens, a few creaks from the wood reverberating off the porch’s roof.  “So uh… what brings you to my place?  Pure curiosity?  Or did I anger a fae?”  You continue, waiting for any sort of reaction.         “I hast stumbled upon your abode by chance, tis an interesting place.  Any sane human would place their home as far as possible from a fairy.  But your abode is right in the middle of our territory.  I can feel the magic everywhere” they respond at last.     

    “I’m not like most humans…” you say, half joking half seriously.  “I can feel that, there is something heavy around you.  Many feelings are wound up inside you, like a boiling pot of stew, ready to bubble over and burn at any second” comes their swift response.  “Thanks for the reading… but I don’t have anything to give ya’ unless you’re hungry for some leftover bread and cheese from this mornings meal” you admit.  They shake their head, “No thank you, my lady said to never trust strangers.  There is no shortage of people willing to take advantage of you”.  You nod slowly “Your lady is right, tis better to be safe then found dead in a ditch I suppose”.       “Shall I call you something?”     “Fae never give out their names”     “That’s right, you’ve got good instincts too”     “Are you going to give me your name?”     “Nah”

    That was the beginning of your encounters with that little faerie.  He never did give you his name, but simply told you that it was similar to a flower.  You ended up telling him your name though, so that he would stop calling you the ‘abnormal human’.  He wasn’t wrong though, normal humans weren’t immortal.  Normal humans didn’t challenge gods in hopes of death.  Normal humans didn’t use their fathers invitation to a school and assumed his identity.  You learned more about your little visitor.  He was a servant of nocturnal fae’s princess.  A little bat fae at the very bottom of the fae hierarchy, raised in luxury.  Trained to serve his lady’s every whim.  What a dreary existence… you thought. 

    In exchange for tidbits about his life you gave him some from yours.  How you challenged a god and got immortality in return.  “You are an idiot” he thought aloud as he took a spoon from one of your cabinets and grabbed a dish labeled for him.  “What is this?” He inquired suspiciously “A treat, leftovers from a friend’s party” you reply.  The little fae sniffed it curiously before digging in.  “Pear…” he said at last before finishing the dessert in a few seconds.       “Someone’s hungry” you grab a few cherries from a basket full of farmer’s market goods.  "That is none of your concern" he comments.  "Damn, you're quick to anger" you slightly tease.

    That was the last time you saw him that small, he never did grow much taller.  But there was something different about him, not just that he was visibly different.  But he seemed different, bore a different air about him, something sickening, but you could never put a finger on it.  It was unsettling, the curious gleam in his scarlet eyes faded away in favor of a hateful sheen.  His slit pupils constantly in a state of fury.  How he shook off your concern with a glare, was this how your parents felt with you?  His hair was now welcome to dyed streaks of red, a unique choice for sure. 

    You dabbed one of his more severe wounds with a cotton ball.  "Humans can never keep their hands to themselves" you mutter as you rub a salve on his injured arm.  Tone akin to a chiding parent's as you clean and bandage his arm.  "Tut tut, I told you not to play with those mean boys and their toys", the boys in question being men and the toys being weapons.  "You're not my parent dumbass" to which you shake your head teasingly "I know, but seeing you grow up to be such a strong fighter has certainly had some sort of parental affect on me".  He side-eyes you "That's so fucking sweet it's annoying...".  Playfully wacking the top of his head you smile "Language little one..."

"Fuck you" he mutters irritated.

"No one will sadly..." you respond with a sigh.

"I hate you"

"Such is the fate of every parent, I suppose.  Whatever happened to that sweet little faerie I encountered?  Now there's just this crass thing in his place"

   •✧• Centuries later •✧•

    Current Alias

    Hanakoto Y/N

    Orientation went smoothly, you personally didn't care which dorm you were placed in, so long as you'd be left alone for the most part.  You rolled your shoulders back as you stepped up to meet the gaze of the Dark Mirror.  For some reason the Ceremonial Robes felt heavier upon your arms.  As if they were weighing you down... pulling you away from your fate.  Feeling the hundreds of eyes staring at you with a variety of emotions.  The weight of their gaze not helping. 

    You stared at the Mirror as it boomed the familiar words to you that it had to many students before you.

   "The shape of thy soul is..."

   "Tenacious... therefore you are fit for Pomefiore"

    As you walk down the steps to the crowd of Pomefiore students, you hear a scoff.  Turning to face the student you're face to face with some pretty blonde student with tacky violet ends and amethysts for eyes.  "Is there a problem?" you scoff back.  He glares at you before turning back to see what new students would be joining him.  Grumbling about "potatoes".  You take an empty spot between a couple of fellow first years.  "The fuck is his problem?" you mutter glaring daggers at the back of his head. 

    Vil Schoenheit could feel holes being bored into the back of his head, probably from that insolent potato that he just bothered to stare at.  What was their problem?

   The dinner at your new dorm was luxurious, it felt like the dinners that fae had described to you, while the Queen of Briarland was entertaining nobles. There were plates piled high with delicacies, food that you had only read about, it was absolutely delicious, but that damned student from earlier kept shooting you glares.  As if everything you did earned his ire.  Like he was personally offended by your existence...  You were from a family of farmers but damn, his attitude towards you was worse than those falsely compassionately officals that pretended to take pity on the plight of farmers.  The same people that made it possible for them to stuff their faces with rich sauces and soups, those addicting desserts and prized drinks. 

    Not to mention that blonde with the bob who sat next to him kept smiling and complimenting him, lathering on the praise for him until it creeped you out.  You could've mistaken him for your brother, always showering famous scholars that he encountered with so much praise you thought that he was in love with them.  Those crusty old men who sat pondering alongside other crusty men who agreed with their every word.  This guy was more of a devout worshipper than fellow student.  What made him so good that someone would treat him like a god, or perhaps, what made him so rich?  So worthy of being praised, so worthy of being devoted to?  How curious...

    You were currently writing down your record of the first week of school, the classes, the teachers, the many students from all walks of life.  Finishing each sentence with a flourish.  You set your journal down.  You learned that the blonde with violet eyes was some model named Vil Schoenheit.  And the blonde with the bob was Rook Hunt.  Two insignificant people that you'd probably forget in a couple of centuries... or well, that's what you assumed at first...

    Resting your back against the wall you inhale quietly, your mind taking you back to the memories of a bygone era, a bygone you.  "Whatever became of that faerie?" you mutter standing up from your spot.  Stretching your arms you toss the journal into your bag.  You hadn't heard much about him after he left, you never learned his name after all, it was hard to look for someone when you didn't know a basic fact about them.  Did he die in the war?  Did he have a family?  Those questions would continue to go unanswered most likely.  You missed him, that nocturnal fae that you watched grow up, the fae brought up by royalty, a mere peasant by hierarchy's standards.  But status didn't matter to you, and he appreciated that. 

    That was then however, this is now.  Seeing the students rush to classes, take their time chatting with friends, and teachers exchanging lesson plans.  The similar sights of your school back when you were mortal.  You sat by yourself at lunch time, occupying yourself by listening in on the busy chitter.  Sitting silently as you picked at the your meal for today, pondering at the pangs in your chest that struck as you reminisced about a time no longer.  Idly poking at the lukewarm pile of mashed potatoes with your fork, taking small bites of the tender steak.  Too caught up in your memories to savor the flavors of the meat. 

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

Author's Thoughts

Scarlet-eyed fae - 'A good kid. Deserved better in life'

Vil Schoenheit - 'Nothing worth mentioning, dunno why he's famous'

Rook Hunt - 'desperate, fucking desperate'

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

A/N: thank you guys for being so patient!! have a wonderful day/afternoon/night :>

[infanttoes]

The Closet Was Tinted Glass

Trans Katsuki AU! (Requested by a friend :D)

CW: unsafe binding, mention of dysphoria(very brief)

Locker rooms have always been a challenge to Katsuki. He's known he was a guy since the day he could understand the concept of gender at all, there was absolutely no changing his mind about it. If you told him otherwise, you'd either get blatantly ignored or screamed at. The only people he needed to accept him (his parents and Izuku), accepted him, and so he couldn't care less about the opinions of anyone else.

But ever since he got into high school, he decided he wanted a fresh start. Being a hero means that his public image mattered a whole lot more than it did in middle school, and being transgender in Japan isn't a great look. Best case scenario, he'll receive a lot of backlash. He doesn't even wanna think about the worst case scenario. Yikes.

So before the school year began, he made sure to visit Izuku at his house over their break and inform him that he is not, in fact, transgender but rather that he has always been a guy. Izuku, in his pijamas after a long day on the beach with All Might, tiredly grumbled that if he doesn't want him to tell anyone he's transgender, he won't. Katsuki bopped him on the head and left with a huff. At least he got his point across.

Everything went fairly well for the next two years concerning his identity. There was no speculation on social media, Izuku kept his word and didn't make a peep about it towards anyone, and his teachers were all pretty supportive since the start. He did have to lie to his classmates a few times concerning why he stays behind on the training grounds until everyone leave the locker rooms, but besides that, things were going smoothly.

That was until stupid, idiot Deku was too busy tying his signature red shoes to notice literally everyone else had gone out of the locker room. Katsuki unsuspectingly comes in, not bothering to check for any signs of life as he's been doing this routine for years and assumed it wouldn't change any time soon. To his surprise, when he begins tearing his sweaty costume off and setting each part down on the bench behind him, he hears a faint gasp.

"What the fuck?" He immediately yelps, turning his head so fast he gets whiplash. To his dismay, Izuku's standing across from him with an incredibly concerned pout and wide eyes.

"Did you seriously have your binder on that whole time? You're gonna get really hurt doing that," Izuku confronts, marching over to Katsuki and flicking him on the forehead. He winces at the sting but ultimately rolls his eyes.

"You don't have the room to talk, nerd. All I do is see your shithead will your life away on the daily. Besides, if I train without a binder, someone's bound to notice. Tits aren't exactly the most easy things to hide." He cringes internally at the memory of his classmates agreeing that he has a really feminine body type. That single handedly fueled his dysphoria for the following weeks.

"I can see the bruising, Kacchan! It's no wonder you've been taking so many breaks during training. When have you ever cared about people knowing anyway?" The shorter argues, seeming genuinely adamant about the topic, albeit a little embarrassed at the nature of it. Katsuki sighs, partly because he knows Izuku's right and also because he's annoyed at his hero complex.

"I fucking don't, dipshit. Those idiots just don't know how to keep their mouths shut and I'd be revolutionarily fucked if the press found out I was trans. It doesn't even hurt; we've been through worse and you should know that of all people."

Izuku's eyes soften. Now it’s his turn to sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a moment to gather his words and put them in a way Katsuki will take into consideration.

"Okay, I get it. Coming out is really dangerous to your career. But letting yourself get injured like this is holding you back from your true potential; weren't you the one that got upset with Todoroki during the Sports Festival because he wasn't putting his all into the fight? You're disabling yourself just like he did."

At that, Katsuki stares at him blankly, unmoving and silent. To him, the world stopped spinning for a moment. He feels like the biggest hypocrite ever. Izuku's just about to accuse him of zoning out while he was rambling when he finally speaks up.

"Damn, you're such a hassle to deal with. Do you have an extra shirt I can wear then? A looser one?" Katsuki grumbles, uncharacteristically sheepish. Izuku's face lights up in an instant, letting out a relieved exhale and nodding. He slides his bag off his shoulders and places it on the bench, digging through for a couple seconds before pulling out a black tee that reads 'extra shirt' in small, bold lettering. Katsuki offers an unimpressed glance, snatching the shirt away and doing a 'shoo' motion.

Once Izuku leaves the locker room, Katsuki steps in front of the mirror. Seeing himself so up close is unsettling. The former was right; the bruising is super obvious. He slowly undoes each clip starting from the top, relief filling his lungs as their constraints are removed. His ribs are dotted harsh purple spots, a sickly yellow ring surrounding each of the dark marks. He stares at himself uneasily for another moment before forcefully tearing his gaze away, reaching for the borrowed shirt and pulling it over his head as quickly as possible. It fits nicely; more snug than it would've been on Izuku since he has a smaller form, but it's much less apparent than a tank top. He does regret not bringing a bra, but to be fair, he wasn't expecting to be given a (metaphorical) slap in the face for being a professional dumbass.

He isn't sure why he's nervous. He collects his miscellaneous belongings, shoving them in his tote bag and swinging it over his shoulder. It takes a significant amount of effort to trudge himself towards the door, trying to keep his nausea to a bare minimum as he pushes it open. He subconsciously has his arms crossed and body slouched when he walks out, as if trying to go unseen.

By the time he catches up with the rest of the class, they're seated at some outdoor table on campus, sharing the granola bars Eijirou packed in his sports bag. Training had been particularly rough today so a snack would do well by them. Katsuki inconspicuously slides onto the bench next to Eijirou and promptly tunes into the conversation. They're discussing the best horror movies and ranking them out of ten; nothing particularly interesting but enough to distract him from the pit in his stomach.

It's when Katsuki goes to stretch his arms that hell begins to raise. He groans lightly, the day leaving his body with each pop of his joints. The noise draws the attention of Denki, who would normally go right back to conversation, but his eyes caught something out of the ordinary.

"Woah dude, did your chest grow two inches in the past hour?" He teases unsuspectingly, a small snicker coating the question. Despite the obviously playful manner, Katsuki's face pales. Suddenly, any sense of relaxation he felt did a total 180 and he's back in panic mode. Just that simple sentence made his hands go clammy and his mouth dry as the Sahara Desert.

"The fuck? No, you dunce. Go back to talking about Annabelle or whatever," he growls, kicking Denki's leg under the table. He whines pitifully, mumbling a 'what was that for!'

"No, he's right! Did you get implants while you were gone? I mean, damn! Your tits are bigger than mine. It's almost like they're real," Mina comments, giggling. In hindsight, that probably isn't the best thing to say about someone, but she honestly didn't think anything was going to come of it.

Katsuki, on the contrary, was having a war inside his mind. On one hand, he knows his friends will accept him no matter what gender he was born as or conforms with. Everyone's already acutely aware that Eijirou is a little more interested in other men than he lets on so he has nothing to worry about. But on the other hand, he's actually really scared. Scared that he'll be treated with less respect or assholes will underestimate the extent of his abilities just because he happened to be born with different genitals.

Thinking back to what Izuku said, though, he's completely right. He's desperately trying to keep up his pride while simultaneously holding himself back. He'll never be able to fight properly if he's constantly hiding, and if you know Katsuki, you know that he's not satisfied with a half-assed fight. Finally, he decides he's pushed through pain for far too long.

"Probably because they are."

The table goes silent. Even Jirou looks up from her phone long enough to gape at the revelation. Katsuki's skin is burning under the intensity of all their shocked stares.

"Geez, don't make this more awkward than it has to be."

At the uncomfortable plead, Eijirou immediately goes to Katsuki's rescue.

"Bakubro, that's so fucking awesome! I had no idea, congrats on telling us!" He praises, wrapping his arms around Katsuki with tears pricking his eyes. Katsuki stiffens at the display of affection, half-heartedly trying to push him away.

"Shut the fuck up, that wasn't an invitation. And I did it for myself, not for you goons," he hisses, inevitably accepting the hug when Eijirou uses his quirk to stop his struggling. It takes barely a second for the rest of the group to begin fussing over him, sharing their congrats and how, 'wow, you passed really well.' Not like he doesn't know that. What shocked him the most, however, was Hanta silently pointing to himself and then holding up two fingers.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Izuku sitting at the table beside him with his own nerd club. Izuku smiles at him proudly. Katsuki smiles back.

positive feedback/kind criticism only please! <3

[weemietime]

the shit that's happening in Amsterdam to the Jews and israelis happened to Arab and African people in UK earlier this year and it lasted like 6 days and it was barely talk about outside of the country, the only difference is that people actually care about the thing in Amsterdam because the targets are white passing/from a western backed country

not saying this to somehow excuse the porgom but it's just something I've noticed, when these sort of situations happen in Europe or to white passing people or in a country that westerners can point out on a map it makes the news but if it happens in Africa, MENA, SEA or in Oceania then they can get just fucked with and no one ever cares

I recall what you're talking about. For everyone else this was because lead paint eating violent racist dipshits got riled up and wrongfully blamed "immigrants" for the death of a child and then went around bashing people and rioting and looting.

the kid was not killed by immigrants, IIRC. But even if she were, the people who got attacked were innocent (much like in Amsterdam). Tbh, I haven't heard anyone except Jews talk about the pogrom, other than to cheerfully congratulate the perpetrators lol.

Nevertheless you're right that for the most part, a lot of people only really pay attention to shit like this when the victims look like them and I would also argue that antisemitism plays a role in why people constantly blast shit like this like we say, "no Jews, no news" what we mean is, the Taliban literally made it illegal for women to speak in public in Afghanistan and nobody fucking cares because they can't scream "death to Israel" ykwim.

If people weren't as antisemitic you probably wouldn't hear as much about Jews on a regular basis because only Jews and their kin would follow Jewish current events. Some ppl make it their whole personality to follow every little thing so they can bash Jews and get that serotonin hit. It's a shitty pattern either way, I wish that more people gave a fuck about what's going on in the world. Sudan, China with the uyghers, the situation in Yemen, Iran, etc.

[thessalian]

Thess vs TLOVM S3, Ep 3

Tried some Silent Hill 2, but a bad pain day has overtaken me and I am not up for getting ambushed by Lying Figures two at a time, once in an enclosed space. (Fucking record store.) Not that I didn't survive; it as just not fun when I've been having pain spasms in my left elbow most of the evening.

So instead, I'm going to liveblog TLOVM. I understand from the few spoilers I couldn't really avoid that I'm going to see a variation on one of my favourite scenes. So let's see.

Oooooh Raishan ... I mean, you're not as trustworthy as you want anyone you've been dealing with to believe, but ... say smarter things, Deceiver...

Okay, honey, your only hope is that Vorugal withholds that message he was told to give because he's greedy enough to want your empire. And hope that you can get Keyleth to believe that you're at least not immediately selling them out to Thordak. Otherwise, certain bits of your fate are going to happen a lot sooner.

Grog ... that is an A-B conversation, so C yourself out. Also ... I know people are going to think this is happening too fast, even those who saw the campaign as it happened, but ... what the fuck else are they supposed to do when they didn't have, "The arrows were flirting?" "The arrows were totally flirting"?!?

I guess Scanlan is very much invested in that whole thing he was talking to Kaylie about. If he forgets who he is when the lute goes down, he's going to hold it for as long as possible.

Someone taught Grog the phrase "spill the tea", and he only used about half of it. Typical.

"...perhaps I'll cut down the Sun Tree and build an extravagant canoe." Cassandra, you have recovered from your ordeal so very well.

YOU TELL HIM, CASSANDRA!

Yeah, Percy, "eugh" is right; that's terrible. Just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind that isn't self-recrimination and you will be fine-- Yeah! THAT'S the spirit!

Admittedly? I miss the multiple bottles. Maybe the animators in charge of this weren't up for Taliesin's earlier demand: "I will be expecting labels for all of those".

This is why we all need to be glad that Vex is ... Vex. If she was too much like her brother? This would be the result. Vax, borrow your sister's chutzpah for one night.

Wait. Wut.

"...Right. Shutting up now." So ... we decided on 'after', then. And that thing you said just before you knocked, Percival? Her. Not 'it'. HER.

Ah, so someone on screen has finally figured out the bit about "it doesn't necessarily mean everyone but her gets brutally murdered". Still, take your joys where you can, you idiot.

"So ... joy today isn't worth pain tomorrow--" THAT'S WHAT I JUST SAID. THANK YOU, KEYLETH.

Well ... at least one of the Vessar twins is happy. And ... you know ... not a self-sacrificial dipshit.

Well. They had a good time.

"Good talk." BWAHAHAHA!

Well ... this is probably better than being high on magical drugs at important moments? Maybe?

brb - laughing at the dipshits.

I still have to wonder how they got this allowed. I thought Orion Acaba owned the rights to the name Draconia. Then again, he's done shit-all with it since 2019, so ... I dunno, maybe a deal was cut, or something? No one's even made mention of it.

Scanlan ... you bundle up that far and you still leave half your chest exposed?

Dohla... Dohla ... Rachel House. Hrm. Nothing I've seen, but most people would be all about Thor: Ragnarok, Moana, and Our Flag Means Death. Right. Moving on!

Okay, if we have the good ship Perc'halia being dragged in and out of dry dock for the sake of angst when we've already got Vaxleth beached and Scanlan ... you know, having a significant identity crisis that he's not getting help for (partly because he won't let anyone, but that's another thing)? I'm going to slap someone.

Well. Welcome to Hell. Nice place. In a "Night On Bald Mountain With Better Lighting" sort of way.

I ... was going to suggest that they spell it for Grog, but then I remember that they never did the thing where Pike taught him to read, so that'd be basically pointless. I ... don't think there's any way to correct him on that one.

Is it wrong that I'm not trusting Dohla?

Vex, what are you--? Ooooooooh shit. Well, that explains Yenk things.

So ... they're keeping the destruction of Draconia? Because however this come's out, Vorugal's going to tear shit up.

Also ... not trusting Dohla ... for a reason, apparently. This is a really interesting take on how things went in the campaign.

Seeing Allura and Kima fight is impressive.

I'm impressed no one did anything with the "We're edging" line. Then again, Scanlan's currently in Hell, so...

Dohla ... yeah, no, don't shit-talk ancient dragons. They will-- that. Yeah, there goes the story of you.

...I didn't know Fenthras could do that...

I know Kima is going to be okay. I know Kima is going to be okay. I know this entirely too well. It is going to be an object lesson of the "sometimes this shit works out" variety and everybody will be okay. I know this partly because campaign and partly because I need to know this down to my bones to get any sleep tonight.

At least Vex has somewhat more emotional intelligence than her brother-- mostly. Sort of. But at least Percy seems to understand what she's not-saying. And she did at least communicate worth a shit.

(Also that is probably the only way they can actually convey that will-they-won't-they dance of frustrating nonsense they had going during a lot of the campaign while dealing with a shorter-form format like half-hour episodes.)

Well ... that could have been a more painful cliffhanger... But I'm grateful it wasn't because I can't handle more adrenaline tonight.

Right. Winding down time. Hopefully I'll be in better shape tomorrow and the flu vaccine doesn't hit me too hard.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Vin Jin x Reader: Singing nerves

Vin helps you calm down

"Don't be such a fucking nerd."

You glower at Vin. As if you weren't nervous enough.

"Can you fucking not?"

He has time to kill, he had said (and skipping out on his next class), might as well hang out with you before your recital. You thought he also mumbled something about supporting you, but you probably misheard.

Either way, if this is his idea of encouragement then he can stay the hell away.

"Chill," he raises both hands up in surrender. Damn, you're touchy.

Vin never understood why you got nervous performing in front of people. Certainly, he never got stage fright. He loves the attention, he loves the crowds, and yeah - he loves the sound of his own voice too.

Sorry not sorry, can't relate in the slightest.

Live performances are his bread and butter. He would and could happily drop a beat and some sick lyrics on cue.

You though? Producer, songwriter, audio engineer. Mind made up to be someone, anyone, behind the curtain. It's not where you wanted to be, but who's going to watch a performer that can't perform.

Most importantly, right now, you don't need to be great, you just need to pass. Get this solo recital for your course over and done with.

Closing your eyes, you take a few deep breaths. Silently praying to a greater power that your nerves will calm down in the next twenty minutes.

Vin clears his throat, an obvious call for attention. Swallowing down your irritation at him ruining any potential composure, you peek at him through one eye.

"You're pretty good. I mean, nowhere near as good as me but not bad."

He doesn't look at you when he says this, finding a blank bit of the wall particularly interesting.

Knowing him, that's a glowing compliment as any. With one hand, you can count the amount of times he has praised you.

It still doesn't ease your nerves though.

"...Thanks." Your voice is strangled with anxiety.

You think Vin rolls his eyes at you, but you can't be sure.

"Pass that over, dipshit," Vin doesn't wait for you, plucking the crumpled lyric sheet from your shaking hands.

"Why the fuck are you so nervous, I've heard you sing this hundreds of times," he mutters to himself, scanning over the page.

Now turning to you, "Ok. On my beat. One, two, three, four-"

Vin starts to beatbox, quite poorly you think, but when has that ever stopped him. He looks at you with a frown after you miss his first cue, then the second...

And on the third, your voice finally flows out.

The words automatically come, they're already etched in your mind, the piece of paper just a clutch. All you can think about is the proud look on Vin's face as you hit note after note.

At the end of it, he claps you on the back with one hand, and fist pumps with the other.

"What the fuck you stressing for, moron. You've got this."

He's right. Your nerves completely evaporate.