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blue-willow-tree · 5 months ago

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⋆｡˚୨ About Me ୧˚｡⋆

The image on the right is me. Dividers are by @adornedwithlight

Hi there xx

ִֶָ࣪☾. You can call me Willow

ִֶָ࣪☾. I am 20, genderfluid, afab, and I'm comfortable with any pronouns. I'm 1.65m <3

ִֶָ࣪☾. I'm a femme switch. This blog mostly showcases my dom side. This is a BDSM blog.

ִֶָ࣪☾. I'm single, unclaimed, and not looking x Moots are free to be flirty x

ִֶָ࣪☾. My asks are open for advice (bdsm related), naughty confessions, sweet words and dirty ones too x Read my anon rules below. However, please don't ask me for advice on virginity, straps, or anything of that sort. The most I've taken is fingers and my hairbrush. I have a humiliation kink, feel free to tease.

ִֶָ࣪☾. I'm sapphic, however my blog is open to any and all queer folk that are apart of the bdsm community.

ִֶָ࣪☾. You can call me Mommy, Miss, Ma'am, Bun, or Ms bunny x Never solely "bunny".

EDUCATIONAL / INFORMATIONAL:

MY WRITINGS/POSTS:

Switch posts: Switch love | A sapphic morning | My future wife | I just love being a switch |

FUN:

As of 23 Jan, I have an sfw sideblog where I post sfw moodboards, simply for the soft and cozy aesthetic as well as for those apart of the cg/agere/littlespace community x

WHAT I WILL FEATURE IN MY BLOG:

I'm a very soft dom, but don't misunderstand. I am the type of dom that enjoys mind games. I'm sadistic, but not in the physical way. I'm the type to degrade you in such a sweet way that it confuses you x I enjoy slowly dumbing a sub down through actions instead of words. I'll choose your outfits for you, I'll make sure you don't need to have a single thought in your head. If you don't like this type of domming, my posts aren't for you x

I am also a very devoted sub. I will likely never have posts about being a brat, I prefer obedience, rewards, and not causing any hassles for anyone. Brats are welcome here, but I rarely cater towards any through my posts, whether it be submissively of dominantly x Don't get me wrong, I adore brats and I occasionally get overwhelmed enough to be a brat as well <3 It's just very rare for me, so I won't have many posts about it x

My domme style is very similar to how Wanda Maximoff/Elizabeth Olsen is depicted in fanfics. Random, I know, but we're very similar in that way and she'll always be a comfort character/person of mine. <3. My domme style is described more further into this post.

MY ASK BOX:

Here are my precious claimed anons. I've sorted them to make it easier to look through, for those that are wanting to become a new anon <3

Animals: 🦭•🐻•🦦•🦊•🐞•🐼•🐇•🦓•🕊•🐿•🪼•🐨•🐮•🦌•🐈‍⬛️•🐺•🦔•🐭•🦝•🐶•🐝•🦋•🕷•🐕

Plants:🌷•🍀•🍄•🎄•🪻•🌹•🥀•🍁•🌵

Foods: 🍓•🍎•🍒•🍑•🍰•🥐•🫘•🍥•🥚

Sky:🌙•⭐️•💫•🌑•🌌•☀️•🪐•🛸•✨️•🌜•🌠•🌤

Other: 🍬 • 🪩•💌•��•🧸•🗡️•🤎•💙•🩷•🔮•👸•🪽🐾•🎧•💚•🩶•🥁•⚰️•🎃•🧛🏻‍♀️•🫧•🎱•💜•🐚•💭•🕸️•🧡•🦴•👻•🏴‍☠️•🍸•🎁•🍷•💿•☃️•🖌•🩹•🧼•😇•💋•🎨•😈•👾•🤠•🧬

RULES FOR MY ASK BOX:

Do not spam my ask box. If you send an ask in, please wait until that one is replied to. Do not send multiple before I've even gotten to your first one. You'll be blocked.

When you send in an ask for the first time and plan on becoming an anon, please send in your age and pronouns and pick an emoji that is not in the list above. Or, if you'd like, you may ask me to choose one for you.

I'm a voyeur. I love hearing people's fantasies. If you have one you'd like to send to me, please send it in. It doesn't have to align with my likes, as long as there's nothing about my hard-no's.

Cnc asks are welcome (stalking, kidnapping, etc)

RULES FOR MY BLOG:

If you dm me, please understand that I am not a therapist. I also have my own triggers. Please do not have a sweet conversation with me then start talking about going back on an Ed or self harm. This has happened before, and it makes me feel backed into a corner.

I am a switch. Yes I mostly have dominant posts, but understand that I am a switch. I can never be in a relationship where I am purely submissive, or purely dominant. Please understand that. I will occasionally have sub posts.

I will only show my face to people I grow connections with or become genuine friends with. I don't send ludes unless I make a post that I'll be privately sharing ludes x

DO NOT INTERACT:

Cis het men. Minors. Pedophiles. Homophobes. Transphobes. Haters. Fake BDSM members. Ageless accounts. Blank accounts. Cis hets. This blog is not for you.

WHAT I LIKE + MY KINKS:

I am femme4all <3

I like sweet subby women, as well as dominant women. Older women are my weakness.

I am a switch, with no lean. Sometimes I need a pretty sub to do whatever I want with, and sometimes I need a gorgeous or handsome (wlw/wlnb) dom to turn me into their mess.

I love choking, gentle corruption, soft dumbification, service subs, bondage, sweet objectification, sweet petnames, slightly mean petnames, soft mean degrading, praise, somno, some pervy-ness, strap usage, breeding (no actual pregnancy) , finger sucking, cnc and some pervy ones that I keep to myself and won't ever post about. My submission has to be earned. To all exhibitionists, I love to hear about all your pervy kinks and how you get off, even if they aren't on my kink list. As long as they aren't in my "hard no's", tell me all about it in my ask box <333 I'm a voyeur. (ALL ARE G/R)

HARD NO's:

Scat, watersports, gore, vore, cis het men, anal, anything that involves cheating.

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wakasaswifee · 1 month ago

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BET? | Michael Kaiser

Advantage - Daniel Di Angelo

“I’ll spend all my money on you ‘cause you’re worth it”

Synopsis: You never planned on ending up at an illegal street race, yet here you are, dragged along by your best friend, who’s determined to hook up with some hot guy. Meanwhile, all you wanted was a quiet night in, binging Netflix and avoiding drama. But as the engines roar and the crowd buzzes with excitement, your stomach sinks—your eyes land on someone in the crowd of people; one of the racers, and it’s none other than your ex-boyfriend’s best friend. Michael Kaiser

TAGS & TWs- AGED UP CHARACTERS, AFAB reader, street racer!kaiser, sadist kaiser, face riding, car fucking, racer!au, racer kaiser, kaiser smokes, kaiser has a tongue piercing, car sex, p in v, ex’s best friend, mentions of a non related character, use of yn (once), kaiser calls you ‘engel’ ‘mein schatz’ ‘prinzessin’ ‘baby’, kaiser smokes weed, use of weed, car sex, cunilingus, tit play?, ex boyfriend’s bsf, creampie, porn no plot?mentions of pregnancy?, intimate, kaiser is an asshole, he’s a playboy, size diff/if you squint, face sitting, NOT EDITED, more shit that i forgot to add, unprotected sex, slight fluff, teasing,grammatical errors, lack of vocabulary

Characters- yn (reader), kaiser,

Fandom- blue lock

Words -5.1k

A/N-READ WARNINGS!!! Kaiser birthday story, Christmas and new years, 3 in 1 😈. first time writing smut, kinda nervous 😓.YALL TS IS NOT EDITED SO DON'T COME FOR ME. idk where this idea came from, this is kinda ooc kaiser so idk. Also the reader isn’t cheating, she broke up with her bf. Btw this is soo long but it’s so worth it, trust. Idk what i’m talking about, just read it, it’ll be worth your time! Once again, i can’t write smut so idk, I'm bad at endings

“Mia, I seriously hate you.” you grumbled as your childhood best friend dragged you across the asphalt, past the large groups of people and finally to your destination. You both stood in front of what seemed like a 100 or more cars with twice as many people surrounding the area.

“You don’t hate me, babe—you love me," she teased with a mischievous grin, looping her arms around your waist before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

"While you’re busy pouting under your storm cloud of despair, I’m off to find myself a sexy man who knows how to handle me." Her laughter echoed behind her as she sauntered away, tossing you a playful air kiss over her shoulder.

Wow, really? She drags me here and leaves me?

You thought to yourself. But she was right, you’re already out of the house so you can’t just sit around with a pissy face.

Deciding to look around the place, you sashayed down the tarmac, heels clicking and skirt swaying with the cool spring night breeze chilling your mostly exposed leg.

Despiste your unwillingness to go out, you still put effort into your outfit. A mini, low rise black cargo skirt, with a white g-string thong resting on your hip bones. As for the top, a black and white cropped bomber jacket with “ferrari” in bold letters written on it. It was zipped up but you were wearing a cute white lace bra underneath, matching the thong.

You swayed your hips, looking at the unique cars. Until something caught your eye, it wasn't a car but definitely something you could look at all night.

Micheal kaiser. Your ex’s best friend— ex’s ex best friend? You heard they got into a fight over something but weren’t sure if they were still friends or not— almost as if he could feel your eyes on him, he tilted his head in your direction and it felt like every ounce of oxygen was sucked clean from your lungs.

You didn’t break eye contact though. Fuck no, you weren’t no pussy. No lie, he looked sexy, leaning against his detailed car, arms crossed, his eyes undressing you. His outfit, oddly similar to yours. Black baggy cargos paired with a grey-ish shirt and a red and black bomber jacket with random sponsors on the front and ferrari written on the back with the logo.

His blond and blue hair grazed his neck and complimented his dark fit.

His expression was blank but his eyes.. His eyes glaring at you with lust. Maybe he was making you a little nervous. Running a tongue across your bottom lip, you looked away from him but his gaze never left you. Watching your torso move with every step you took, the way your thighs were on display, looking like a full 5 star meal.

He pushed himself off his car, stalking your way.

A large arm came from behind, wrapping around your waist and pulling you against a hard chest. You flinched, eyes shot up to crash with piercing blue ones.

“Looks like we have an unexpected guest here” Kaiser smirked. Maybe you were imagining things but you could swear you felt his hand move lower down your exposed waist.

“Kaiser, what’re you doing” your voice coming out more hushed than expected. He still heard you, over the blaring radio music and the chattering of people.

“Whaddya think i'm doing, engel?” he swiftly turned you around, pulling you in closer till your chest was squished against his hard muscles.

“That's not answering my question.” biting back but that only seemed to add to his amusement.

“Oh, i'm sorry, beautiful. Want me to spell it our for you?” you rolled your eyes, looking away.

“I wanna fuck you; you look breath taking, Engel. Wanna see what you’re hiding under these sexy clothes.” of course he did. Average player, walking up to good looking girls and saying they wanna fuck without shame. his lips brushed against your ears and even after knowing that… fucking god, those words went straight to your core.

“Have you no shame? You're asking your best friend's ex if she wants to be fucked by you.”

“So you think you can have me so easily?”

“Hm, I can't?” he pouted like you actually hurt him, making you scoff

“Boy, please. I know my worth, especially after that good for nothing friend of yours.”

“You should, Engel because I only go after things that are priceless.”

“And that fucker ain’t a friend no more”

You let out a small laugh, looking up at him, feeling his hand move lower, tracing the curve of your ass, to the back of your exposed thigh. Giving it a tight squeeze.

“Kai-”

“Shh.. so, is that a yes?”

“Are you gonna race?” you questioned, trying to ignore the intruding presence of Kaiser's hand.

“Yeah, why?” he tilted his head, confused.

“Because. If you win.. I'm all yours, handsome” deciding to play along. your hand clutched the collar of his jacket, pulling him down until your lips were mere inches from his.

His eyes narrowed on yours, lips tilting up into a mischievous smirk.

“Just wait, Prinzessin. You’ll be mine before the end of the night and i’ll have that tight pussy of yours swallowing my cock whole in the back of my car till sunrise” he licked your bottom lip and if he couldn’t get any hotter, you caught a glimpse of the little silver ball on his tongue making your breath get stuck in your throat.

You swallowed sharply, making him chuckle, landing a harsh slap on the back of your thigh making you yelp. Heat covered your face but also your pussy that was already soaked.

You pushed away from him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Go win first, you player”

He chuckled at your reaction, walking past you but he stopped turning his head back

“I want you ready for my cock before I come back. I’ll show you what fucking means, that good for nothing ex of yours won’t compare, Engel”

His face more serious, jaw clenched, before landing a light slap on your ass and walking away.

You rolled your eyes, whispering under your breath about how he’s so full of himself that he’ll win.

What if he did win?

Not being able to help yourself, you bit your bottom lip. Adjusting your skirt, you sauntered over to the large line up of people that were screaming their lungs off.

fuck, why am I nervous now.. I already agreed on.. No, i initiated this bet.

You let out a breath, your gaze landing on Kaser's sleek Ford Mustang Shelby GT500, its black body accented with striking crimson red stripes. The car came to a smooth stop just shy of the white starting line, both the driver and passenger windows rolled down. One hand rested casually on the wheel, the other draped over the window's edge. His entire demeanor radiated ease—relaxed, almost effortlessly confident.

A few, maybe 6 or 7 cars parked beside him. A lexus RC f, mclaren, porsche and a handful more of cars which you couldn’t name. He craned his neck, those endless blue eyes clashing with yours.

It’s like this fucker always knows where i am.

He can spot you with such ease, it was scary. He revved his engine, not breaking eye contact. He seemed to be chewing something, gum perhaps?

His lips were set in a firm, unyielding line, but the slightest curve hinted at something deeper—desire held in check.

A chill ran down your spine, making you break eye contact.

Looking around at the scenery, bright lights from the cars partially lit up the dark night in the middle of tokyo. The light reflected off the shiny clothes and glitter that some girls were wearing. It was quite beautiful, you couldn’t lie.

Kaiser’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, relaxing back into his seat. His free hand reached down and adjusted his aching cock. Staring down at his tatted hand, he flexed his knuckles, looking back up at the road.

The air was thick with the scent of rubber and gasoline, the faint hum of the other cars vibrating the ground beneath his feet. He barely glanced at the others, all lined up in their brightly modified machines.

The feeling of competition, of raw power, surged through him as he shifted into position.

In the distance, a girl with blonde shoulder length hair, tiny ripped jean shorts and a cropped F1 shirt stood at the front of the line, her silhouette framed by the glaring headlights of the surrounding cars. She wasn’t here for the race, but to make sure it went off without a hitch. The flag in her hand fluttered slightly in the wind, the only sign of calm before the storm.

You felt a little uneasy, with how she was eyeing everyone, especially Kaiser and he was looking back, but not with the same lustful expression he looked at you with.

She made eye contact with Kaser as she raised the flag high above her head, signaling the racers. His heart raced, but it wasn’t from fear—it was anticipation. The entire world seemed to slow as the flag slowly dipped, her movements precise, measured.

The signal came.

The moment the flag dropped, Kaser’s foot slammed down on the gas pedal, the car shooting forward with explosive force. Tires screeched on the asphalt as he zipped past the other racers, the sound of roaring engines filling his ears. He didn’t look back. The road ahead was all that mattered.

You gulped, watching closely at the speed Kaiser took off. Your stomach jumped and flipped with nervousness.

This wasn’t exactly your first time watching a race but it was your first time watching someone you knew race.

The road was blocked off, and the course was clear, stretching in front of him like a ribbon of opportunity. He and the other six or seven drivers raced down the long, winding stretch of asphalt, their cars growling, tires gripping the ground as they hit the curves with precision. The streetlights above flickered in the distance, casting fleeting shadows as the cars tore through the empty streets.

You clutched the sleeves of your bomber jacket.

You’ll be mine before the end of the night

His words tainted your mind like stubborn dye.

if he wins.. I’m his

The first turn was sharp, a quick swerve to the left, but Kaser was already in the lead. His car slid just inches away from the corner, his experience guiding him, his mind focused only on the road. Behind him, the sound of tires screeching echoed—someone was catching up.

A green car with decals neared Kaiser's, challenging him without words. Kaiser wasn’t someone who said no to a challenge, ever.

You calmed yourself down, tugging at your jackets. The wind was only getting chiller but you felt hot, you were burning on the inside.

He was ahead, barely, but the green car with decals plastered across its hood and doors was closing in fast. Its engine snarled as it surged alongside him, inches away from his driver-side door.

The green car edged closer, forcing Kaiser to cut tighter into the turn. The tires screeched in protest, the Mustang hugging the curve with precision, but the green car matched him move for move. He risked a glance through his side mirror and caught a glimpse of the driver—a shadowy figure with a determined glint in their eyes. The bastard was pushing him to his limits.

Kaiser gritted his teeth, shifting gears to squeeze every ounce of power from the Mustang’s engine. The green car's front bumper inched closer, almost aligning with his. He could feel the heat of the rival engine, the vibrations from their near-collision rattling through his bones.

The finish line loomed ahead, a glowing strip marked by cheering crowds. The green car made its move, veering slightly toward Kaiser, trying to force him off his line. For a split second, the Mustang wobbled, a rare falter from its unshakable steadiness.

Kaiser eyed you near the start but also the finish line of the race. A menacing smirk grew across his lips.

He knew what he wanted and he would get it.

At the last possible moment, he tapped the brakes—a fraction of a second adjustment that let the green car overcommit to its attack. The rival swerved wide, losing its trajectory just enough.

Kaiser floored it, the Mustang roaring like a beast unleashed. The finish line surged closer, the crowd's shouts growing louder. The green car clawed back, its engine screaming in defiance, but Kaiser held his line.

With mere inches to spare, his Mustang’s nose crossed the finish line ahead of the green car. The crowd erupted as Kaiser eased off the gas, his breathing heavy but even. He threw a glance into the rearview mirror, catching the flash of frustration on his rival's face before smirking to himself.

Close, but not close enough.

He stepped out of the vehicle like the winner he was. Confidence surrounding him, and that cocky smirk back on his face.

A large group of guys and half naked girls ran up to him, surrounding him, while the other racers dapped him up.

The crowd swarmed him, a wave of cheers and congratulations filling the air, but none of it seemed to matter to him. His ocean-blue eyes cut through the noise and chaos, finding you effortlessly.

Running a tattooed hand through his silky styled hair, which brushed just past the nape of his neck, he moved toward you. Your heart raced, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through your veins.

Instinctively, you stepped back, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly. With a sharp tug, he pulled you into his chest, the sudden closeness stealing the breath from your lungs.

“No congrats for me, Engel?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You bit your lip, your gaze dropping to the crown tattooed on his hand. “Why would you need a ‘congrats’ from your prize?” you replied with a sly hum, the playful edge in your voice challenging him.

His eyes darkened slightly, narrowing as he placed both hands on your thighs with practiced ease. Before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly off the ground. Instinct took over, and your legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring yourself as you gasped in surprise.

“Kaiser! What the hell!” you exclaimed, gripping his shoulders for balance. Your freshly done nails pressed into his skin, but he didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Shh, quiet, pretty,” he whispered, his voice dripping with amusement. “Now, arms around my neck.”

Reluctantly, you obeyed, the intimacy of the moment leaving you speechless.

His hand moved higher from your thigh to your ass, gripping it tightly.

Red painted your face, hiding yourself in the crook of kaiser’s neck.

“People are staring..” you mumbled against his cologne scented skin. It was hard not to breathe him in, especially when he smelled like addiction.

“Let them stare. I won you fair and square. No one’s gonna stop me from enjoying my prize, right?” you could hear the devilish smirk in his tone. Some of his highlighted blue hair grazed your cheek.

“Fuck baby, are you sure you’re wearing something under your skirt and those strings aren’t just decoration?” he whispered against your ear, making you squirm in his hold. Slapping his back.

“Don’t say such perverted things out loud, mihya’” the words only got a laugh out of him.

“If you think what i’m saying now is perverted, just wait ‘till i have my way with you”

Finally he started walking, pushing past the endless groups of people, his rough hands still on your ass like he owned it.

He placed you in the passenger seat, and he settled in the driver’s seat.

Barely a second passed before someone yelled a warning about the police. The crowd erupted into chaos, scattering like water to hot oil.

ㅤㅤ˖ㅤㅤ ֗ ㅤㅤ ࣭ ㅤ ⊹ ㅤ⋆ㅤㅤ ۪ㅤ﹢ㅤ ࣪ ㅤ

40 minutes. Kaiser sped away from the cops, 15 minutes ago. He drove you both somewhere far and quiet. Serene and peaceful.

For the past 15 minutes, you were straddling his lap in the driver's seat of his Ford.

Slowly grinding down on him every few moments. His seat was pushed back, just enough. Those perfect lips of his wrapped around a blunt, he blew the smoke out in your face, watching you inhale it like a good girl.

His tatted hand rested on your side, upper thigh, your hip. His fingers gently caressed the skin, snapping the band of your thong whenever he wanted to pull you out of your daze.

The bulge in his cargos pressing up into your ass.

His head tilted back, eyes open just a slit, almost bloodshot red, a lazy grin plastered over his lips.

“Kaiser” you whined. Rubbing your wet pussy over his protruding bulge.

He slapped the side of your thigh, leaving a large red imprint of his hand.

Making you gasp, dropping your head down on his shoulder

“Please..” you begged, your voice breaking as you bit down on his inked skin.

“Please what, Engel? Use your words, I know you can do it” he cooed, rubbing the abused area.

He took a hit from the joint, holding the smoke in his mouth. He put out the joint, throwing it in the empty cup holder.

Kaiser pulled you back with your hair, cupping your jaw. He pulled you in, his lips a breath away from yours.

The car smelt like weed. The smoke that he held in his mouth was blown out into your parted lips.

He grinned as you moved your hips again.

You licked his bottom lip, tasting the remains of your cherry lip gloss on his lips.

From when he pulled you onto his lap and crashed his lips on you and sucked your oxygen out your lungs and bit your lip until you bled like a wild animal.

“I wanna ride your tongue.” You mumbled against his lips.

His eyes thinned, letting out a cruel chuckle.

“Tell me, first..”

“Hm?”

“Am I better than that sorry excuse of a man”

His face fell into a serious one. You knew exactly who he was referring to.

“So much better.. In every way possible” mumbling against his lips.

ㅤㅤ˖ㅤㅤ ֗ ㅤㅤ ࣭ ㅤ ⊹ ㅤ⋆ㅤㅤ ۪ㅤ﹢ㅤ ࣪ ㅤ

Tears streaked down your cheeks as your palms pressed firmly against the headrest.

Kaiser lounged in the fully reclined driver's seat, his broad frame at ease against the leather. His large hands rested on your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh with a firm yet deliberate touch.

You moved your hips sensually, the little cold silver ball on his tongue pressing up against your clit. He thrusted his middle and ring finger inside your clenching hole.

Advantage by Daniel Di Angelo played in the background, the music was only background noise because none of the lyrics reached your ears, only the sound of your moans and the sounds of him slurping and drinking you up.

“Kaiser! O-oh fuck..” You rolled your hips onto his tongue wanting more and more, making him chuckle. A harsh slap landed on your ass making you whimper.

“You’re fucking dripping down my hand, Prinzessin.” you stared down at him in a daze. Cheeks flushed red, lips swollen from being kissed too hard, knuckles turning white from the grip on the seat.

He moved his tongue back and forth. The tip of his tongue rolling against your clit and his fingers expertly working on your insides.

The slurping sounds nearly echoed in the car, he ate you out like a starved man. A man who hasn’t been fed in weeks.

He teased your entrance with his tongue.

“Look at you, you’re pussy’s sucking my fingers in and now it’s asking for my tongue” you could hear the grin that was plastered across his face. His voice was a little muffled so you thought you were suffocating him, trying to shift your weight but that only made him grip the back of your thighs harder, pulling you in closer.

“Don’t.” was all he said before your ex’s best friend went back to tonging you down. You let out a small moan, your mouth hanging open.

He had such a dirty fucking mouth and it turned you on more than anything.

You’ve always known Kaiser for being good at everything but who would’ve thought he was just as good with his tongue and fingers as he was with his words.

“Kaiser! Wan’na cum” You pleaded, looking down at his face half covered with your pelvis.

“Cum but don’t whine about being overstimulated when i'm fucking you”

Throwing your head back. You dug your nails into the car seat, finishing all over his mouth and fingers with a muffled scream.

The sadist under you just grinned, sucking up all your juices, fucking his tongue inside your pussy as his finger’s were doing.

Your legs were shaking, thighs pressing either side of his head. He didn’t stop, no. He only went faster, laughing at your reaction.

He wrapped both his hands around your thighs. Lifting you up and placing you on his lap. Sitting up and fixing the seat with him.

“Get in the back seat” he didn’t need to say more, you were already climbing off his lap and into the back seats, your back hitting the car door.

Kaiser followed after. He unbuttoned his jeans, unzipping and palming his raging erection through his black boxers.

On instinct you spread your legs open. Taking your jacket off, your shirt and skirt soon followed. You ran your fingers through Kaiser's hair, down his neck and pulling his bomber jacket off. Tugging at his shirt for him to remove that as well.

His hand traced down your stomach, around your waist, tracing up your spine and unclasping your bra single handedly. Leaning in, he pressed his lips against yours, nibbling your bottom lip, his lips were soft like silk and sweet like cherries.

You squirmed under his body, trying to shimmy out of your panties but he grabbed your wrist before you could.

“They stay on.” he kissed his teeth, the moonlight hit his side, defining the curves and ridges of his well crafted face.

He pulled on the damp part of your thong, watching it snap against your clit

You whined out, arching your back. He smirked at your reaction, doing it a few more times

“So sensitive for me”

Your legs already felt like jelly due to your recent orgasm that you rode out on Kaiser's face.

“How badly do you want it?” The asshole in front Of you hummed, latching himself onto your neck, leaving even more dark hickies and bite marks.

You whimpered, pulling at his silky strands.

“Kaiser, i fucking hate you, i want it so bad, you’re so much better than my other man, please, please make me feel good” You rambled on not even noticing he had pulled his leaking cock out his boxers and lined it up against your entrance.

Before you could even utter another word, his entire length was inside of you in one quick thrust.

He groaned, saying something about how tight you were.

Your pupils rolled to the back of your head, tugging at the blonde hair on his scalp. He hissed probably due to pain but never told you to stop.

The sound of skin slapping echoed in the car, the car violently shook at his animalistic pace.

His small groans and your loud screams added to the mix of both his and your bodies stuck onto each other.

Kaiser’s hand massaged your soft body, from your thighs, hips to your waist. His eyes bloodshots and pupils dilated like he’s under a hex.

“So fucking tight for me, engel even after all that tongue fucking” he wrapped both his hands around your waist, digging his thumbs into your stomach which had you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist and dig your heels into his lower back.

“You might end up pregnant if you do that shit” he smirked, nibbling on your jaw making you roll your eyes.

“Oh please, i'm on birth control”

“So, can I cum inside?”

You bit the sides of your cheek, looking up at him, it was hard to see his face as it got darker but you knew he was looking back.

A small nod and a hum of agreement was all he needed before he pulled back and thrusted into you with no remorse, kaiser’s pelvis flush against your skin. His pace was rough and fast with long thrusts.

The sound of his cock fucking you silly filled the idle but shaking car. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, while you cried out for him.

“Mihya!! Fuck! Fuck! More, please” you begged for him as if he wasn’t already inside of you.

“Do you hear that, baby?” he referred to the sound your soaking pussy was making as it swallowed his cock.

“So wet f’me.. Imagine if your ex saw you like this. Taking every inch of his best friend’s cock. He’d freak.”

He laughed like a menace, biting down on your collar bone. Your throat going dry from crying out and screaming Michael's name. It’s like all the water from your body was emptied out, you felt thirsty but not for water.

Kaiser’s forehead glistened with sweat, his hands moved from your waist to your plump thighs, pushing them up to your chest, practically folding you in half.

Your pussy throbbed around his length.

“Doing so fuckin’ good for me, engel. You take it like such a good girl”

He cooed, his voice raspy, you gripped the sides of the car seat, leaning up to sloppily kiss him.

“Kaiser! D-don’t stop-p” the words coming out broken, like a sob. Tears rolled down your face as he thrusted inside you at an animalistic pace.

He put your legs on his shoulders, before moving down to take your nipples in his mouth and the other in his large hands. Rolling the tight bud between his fingers and the other has his teeth around it.

“You’re a slut for my cock, baby. Look at how your going cross eyed and your tongue is hanging out.”

“Makes me wanna ruin you, rearrange your inside, do everything no other man could do.”

He growled against your skin. His words made your pussy spasm, tightening around his cock.

“Kais- kai ‘m close.. So cl-close” throwing your arms around his neck, your nails scratching down his back.

He hissed, biting down on the nipple until a metallic taste exploded in his mouth. You whimpered, but he couldn’t care less. He left hickies down your chest.

“He could never fuck you like this, look at how you suck my cock inside, you’re fucking swallowing it whole, you dirty slut. I'm gonna cum so deep inside you.”

He groaned, his voice coming out muffled as he buried it in your neck.

“Cum for me, engel”

Kissing your neck, you cried out, tightening your grip around his neck, your pussy choked his cock which was all he needed to empty his load inside of you. A mere two or three thrusts had you painting his cock white.

A cruel smirk grew on his lip. He pressed his hand down on your stomach.

“Can you feel my cum inside you, y/n” kissing the side of your lips, you let out a shaky breath, coming down from your high. Legs shaking as they dropped from his shoulders.

“You’ve gone silent.” he mumbled, his large body collapsing on top of you, making you groan.

“I'm recovering from the shock of how good your dick is” your voice coming out slightly hoarse. “Jesus, how bad was your man in bed?” he laughed, genuinely laughed at what you said.

“Fucking horrible. I had to get off by myself every time. He would cum in 2 minutes and fall asleep. And he had a small dick”

“Figures, i'm not surprised, he had a woman like you and fumbled so hard, he couldn’t recover from this even 4 generations down the line.”

You giggled at how serious kaiser sounded, his head rested on your chest, his cock gone soft now but it was still inside you. As if to stop his cum from leaking out.

Wrapping both your arms around his neck, running a soft hand through his hair.

“You’re sweaty”

“So are you, mihya�� he smiled against your skin. Kissing your chest. The car fell silent and you swore the only thing that could be heard was your heartbeat.

“I can hear it.”

“Hear what?” you mumbled, eyes feeling heavy

“Your heartbeat, it's fast”

“Thank god, i might’ve been dead without it”

“pfft- really? That’s crazy”

Once again it was silent. But it wasn’t awkward. It felt… intimate.. More intimate than the sex. The way your fingers soothingly ran through his blond hair, his head resting on top of you, relaxing to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

“Hey, mihya..”

“Hmm?”

“Happy new years”

It's like a spell was broken, kaiser got up, looking at you confused. Get sat up on his knees, between your thighs. Reaching over to the glove box and grabbing his phone to see the date and time.

00:10 (12:10A.M) Jan 1st, 2025

“Fuck, how’d i not know today was new years eve”

“What the fuck” you deadpanned

“How can you not know the date”

He looked down at you, leaning in to kiss you, gently. Which caught you off guard but you kissed back, he licked your bottom lip, his piercing running along your skin. You trembled as he moved back.

“Happy new years, mein schatz”

“What’s with all these nicknames, huh?”

“Someone as perfect as you needs all of them, not only one” laughing under your breath, you glanced up at him. The moment soon died when he pulled out of you, his cum dripped out your pussy which had you gasping at the loss of warmth.

“Fucking hell- kaiser!”

“‘M sorry, engel, i had to pull out eventually”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Running 2 fingers along your folds, he shoved some of his cum back inside. Your eyes narrowed on him, only for him to laugh it off.

“Take me back to your place”

Kaiser leaned in, smirking against your ear.

“So we can go for round 3?”

“NO, You animal!”

#kaiser michael #michael kaiser #kaiser x you #bllk kaiser #blue lock kaiser #kaiser x reader #blue lock #bllk #blue lock manga #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock fanfic #blue lock smut #bllk smut #kaiser smut

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xavigav · 2 years ago

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The Reddit Blackout, #196, And Being New to Tumblr

okay i've seen a lot of people in the past ~24 hours or so confused by everything going on with Reddit & Tumblr from both sides - people new to tumblr who don't know how to use it, and tumblr users who don't know what's going on with reddit and why many of its users have joined up here i know this isn't really related to my blog but fun fact about me: i was up until recently a very active reddit user and even mod a subreddit, but I've also been on tumblr for about 3 years now on different accounts, so I think I can see pretty well from both sides of this and explain what's going on this post will be split in 2 sections: what happened with reddit (and what #196 means), and a guide for new users

1. What The Hell Is Going On With Reddit?

The thing that's caused all this ruckus is a major change to Reddit's API, which is what Reddit provides to people so they can pull directly from Reddit to make third-party apps or tools.

The change is that Reddit is changing its previously free API to be paid. Which on its own kinda sucks for developers, but it's not unexpected. They need to make money somehow, right?

The problem is that the API pricing is WAY TOO FUCKING EXPENSIVE. The developer of the most popular 3rd party Reddit app, Apollo, says it will cost him $20 million a year to continue running the app as normal.

Essentially, this pricing forces almost everything third-party to shut down, which causes 3 major problems:

Third-party apps cannot keep running, which sucks for normal users because Reddit's official app is awful. It's slow, its video player is a thing of nightmares, it doesn't have many useful features third-party developers have made.

It sucks even more for visually impaired users because they can't use the official Reddit app at all. Reddit's official app does not work with iOS's native text-to-speech function. Third party apps, on the other hand, often do. So Reddit is forcing blind users away.

Third-party moderator tools cannot keep running, which sucks for moderators because many rely on these tools to properly moderate their subreddits. And moderators are often necessary, because without them subreddits get banned and hate speech and even CSA can often run rampant.

So you see why this change is bad.

Reddit users were PISSED.

So over the past week and a half or so, they have been working on organizing a site-wide blackout. The majority of the most active subreddits have now gone private. Some are only doing it for 48 hours, others (such as r/196) are doing it indefinitely.

That's why you can't access most of Reddit right now, and that's why many users have come here.

You're probably still wondering, though - what is this #196?

Well, as you may guess, it's connected to that subreddit r/196 I just mentioned. r/196 is a subreddit which only has one rule: every time you visit, you must post before you leave.

That's it, that's the subreddit.

The thing about r/196 that set it apart from most other subreddits - and what lends the subreddit's users perfectly to Tumblr - is that it was dominated by queer and leftist users.

So now they've come here and set up shop in #196 and r/196 so they can continue their merry little shitposting.

There's a ton of lore related to r/196, actually, but this is already a long tumblr post and quite frankly I cannot be bothered to write about it at the moment.

2. I'm Here From Reddit, What Now?

Hello there, random new user. As a double-citizen of Reddit and Tumblr, let me show you around this place.

First off, there are some other people who are better at explaining that I am who have made some really helpful things. Watch this Strange Aeons video as a guide to Tumblr culture and functionality and read this post which directly compares Reddit and Tumblr.

Assuming you've done that, here's some additional advice of my own:

Do you miss sorting subreddits by top of all time/the year/the month? Well, you can do something very similar with tags! If you go to a tag at the top of the screen you can select top, and then at the dropdown that says "all time" you can select different time periods! Even 6 months, which Reddit hasn't ever had.

Tumblr has a lot of cool customization features! Even outside your icon/banner/bio, you can change you blog colors and on desktop you can have an html theme (which has its own thriving community here). That customization is part of what sets Tumblr apart from everywhere else - I think you'll enjoy playing with it.

Notes will probably confuse you at first. Unlike the different numbers for upvotes and comments, notes combines the total number of likes, reblogs, and replies into the same number.

Outside of organizing your own blog, when making your own posts tags are what help other people find your post. Use them! But don't abuse them, because then people will just block you.

There are three ways of people finding your post: if someone follows you, if someone follows the tag(s) assigned to your post, and if someone is just scrolling through the tag(s) assigned to your post (and also the secret 4th way no one uses, which is finding it on the trending page, but even if people did use it no one will find your post initially that way)

tumblr is no longer The Discourse Website. And unlike what Reddit wants you to believe for some reason, it is very much alive still. Most of the people seeking fights have moved to Twitter (though some have also moved back here again). You will not get any brownie points for being a dipshit like you do on some subreddits.

So there, welcome to the hellsite (affectionate), you'll pick up on all the in-jokes eventually, for now just try not to be a nuisance and soon enough this'll be your new internet home.

#reddit #reddit blackout #reddit migration #196 #r/196 #reddit refugee #new to tumblr #long post #text post #xavi.txt

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 8 days ago

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A Curse [Chapter 2: Harbor Gateway]

A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome you have given this series!!! I am sick with bronchitis currently so this has been a big bright spot in an otherwise miserable week 😅 I can't wait to show you where this story is going, I hope you're ready for it 🥰💜

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent...at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon's right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, ice cream, judgmental parents, aggressive Akitas, we're literally in Minnesota!!!

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado. On the other side of the glass is inky Minnesota night, a full moon dissolving away, glowing freckles of constellations. You’re staying with your parents and Mason has roommates, so the truck was the expedient choice. It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone.

Mason glances down at the used condom on the floor of his Silverado, hastily discarded, viscerally slick in a way that becomes sickening in the letdown, as the endorphins and the adrenaline slip away and the blood pumps slow and unclouded. He smirks as he asks: “You sure you don’t want to get back on the pill?”

You sigh, drawing another star. You are still naked and sprawled across the back seat, glistening with sweat in the moonlight. “Well I tried three different prescriptions and had three miserable experiences, and I’m really not interested in playing side effect roulette again. And I can’t risk my skin going insane and random bleeding when I’m running around all over L.A. trying to get parts.”

“What about that little sperm assassin T-shaped thing?”

You look at him. “An IUD?”

“Yeah.”

You wince, engraving another star into the steam on the window. “I don’t think I like the idea of having a piece of metal shoved up inside me.”

He laughs. “But you’ll get silicone implants?”

You shrug; you can’t deny the irony. “I don’t need an IUD to be an actress.”

“Look, I’m not complaining about the tits thing,” Mason says, holding up his hands. “Obviously I’d enjoy them too. And you’d still have them when you move home, so it’s not a waste even if the acting thing doesn’t work out.”

You already know he feels this way, and yet still, it hurts. “When I move home?”

He smiles and crawls back on top of you, his Carleton College hoodie whispering against your belly and chest, soft royal blue cotton on damp skin. He had been a Political Science and International Relations major who took Theater Arts 195: Acting Shakespeare for an arts credit. He was beyond terrible and had no appreciation for the field whatsoever, but he was tall and strong and jolly, an earnest corn-fed Midwestern boy, and when one day after class he’d asked if he could take you to Culver’s for a burger and frozen custard, you’d said yes.

Here and now, in the back seat of his Chevy Silverado, Mason kisses your forehead. Then he ghosts his thumb over the ridge of your orbital socket and cheekbone, where your dark glittery eyeshadow has smudged like a spreading bruise: Galaxy by Anastasia Beverly Hills, Elysian by Natasha Denona. “I’m not saying you aren’t good. But how many people on this planet get to be movie stars? It’s just not realistic. And it’s about so much more than talent. It’s about who you know, and luck, and chemistry, and looks, and a bunch of other things that are mostly out of your control. You’re never going to be the type of girl who’s an influencer or winning Miss America, you’re just not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t very, very pretty. And I loved you anyway.”

Loved, past tense. You and Mason stopped using that word a year ago; now the nostalgia is painting memories like the walls of an old house. His memories, anyway. You sit up and start yanking on your clothes: oversized yellow Santa Monica crewneck, black sweatpants with elastic cuffs at the ankles. “I think I’m going to get the gummy bear implants.”

Mason licks his lips. “Yum.”

“They’re a type of silicone, but they’re supposed to feel more natural and be less dangerous if they rupture.”

“Will you have scars?” he says as if the notion has just occurred to him, troubled, perhaps a little revolted.

“Well yeah, they have to end up under my skin somehow.”

Mason shudders, then he has another thought. “Who’s going to take care of you after surgery when you’re all sore and zonked out on opioids?”

“My roommate Baela said she would. She’s had friends who have gone through it already.”

“Okay, good. I wouldn’t want you to be alone out there.” Mason touches the back of your head, a quick fond gesture. He’s the only man you’ve ever been with, and even that took a while, months of trying to envision him undressing you before you were sure you could do it without flinching, without being afraid or shy or bewildered. But in the end it had been easy, always easy, which is why you keep coming back to him like a comet. Your elliptical orbit takes you far away and then close again, and such natural patterns are effortless to keep.

You say, the edges of your lips curling into a furtive smile: “I’m definitely not alone.”

Mason groans. “You’re going to hook up with that new agent guy, aren’t you?”

“What? No! No way, he has a fiancée.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s more amused than annoyed. “Okay, whatever.”

“You know I don’t date anyone.” Which is why each time you’re home visiting, Mason gets a text: Want to get lunch at Culver’s? or Can you drive me to Target? or Pick me up around 9 p.m.?

Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”

“I’m just grateful. Someone finally gave me a chance.” You look to the window; the steam and your hand-drawn stars have evaporated away. “And yeah, he’s interesting and he’s cute, and he’s kind of mean but then unexpectedly caring sometimes, and I think he’s one of those people who are really good at what they do but only when they’re inspired…but that doesn’t mean I’m into him romantically.” A pause. “And even if I was, there’s no harm in a super-secret, one-sided crush.”

“Okay. Have fun with all the adulterous sex.”

You chuckle. “Thanks, but that is not the plan.” You slip on your flip-flops, shimmy out of the back seat, and trot around the Silverado to the passenger’s door. Mason climbs into the driver’s seat and turns his key in the ignition. You ask: “What happened to that ballerina girl who was in your Instagram stories for a while?”

“Had to ghost her, she got super clingy and controlling. She was texting me at work all the time and got pissed off when I was putting a ton of hours into that election thing for CNN.” Mason is a political analyst. He turns to you. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”

“I think people are wonderful. You just have to find the ones you click with.”

“I should have figured you’d say something like that.” He steers his truck out of the otherwise empty parking lot in Lac Lavon Park. “I’m looking forward to you being home again.”

“I’m not.”

You both laugh, and then Mason drives you to your parents’ house.

At the dining room table, Mom and Clara are researching wedding venues, vast countryside estates and metropolitan historic hotels. Clara got engaged two weeks ago during a vacation to Turks and Caicos. In the living room, Dad and Tripp are watching commentary on the NBA Finals. Tripp’s name isn’t really Tripp; he is the third James in a row, named after your father and grandfather, and Tripp is short for triple. All over the house, there are Akitas lolling in plush dog beds and clicking around on Brazilian Cherry hardwood floors. They have faces like teddy bears, but their dark eyes track you mistrustfully, as if you are an intruder.

No one asks where you have been. They barely acknowledge that you are back. “Hello, dear,” your mother calls distractedly from the dining room, and that’s all. You jog upstairs to the bathroom you share with Clara before anyone can notice your smeared makeup and the unsavory post-car-sex sweat gleaming on your skin. You get into the shower, turn on water so hot it is nearly scalding, and close your eyes. With your back pressed to the jade green tiles, your hand wanders down over your belly and stops between your legs. Your mind cycles through fantasies, but nothing seems to be working.

It’s not real. It can’t hurt anybody.

You imagine that Aegon is the one touching you, and in under a minute it’s over.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I want there to be horses,” Clara says, scrolling through her phone and ignoring the food on her plate: roast chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, green beans sauteed in garlic and olive oil, panzanella salad. Mom prepared it all herself, not because there was no help available—your parents have a housekeeper named Angela who comes by several days per week—but to prove she could. In the living room are shelves heavy with books by Martha Stewart, Ina Garten, Cat Cora, Julia Child, Nigella Lawson. You hear echoes of ambient clicking, Akitas meandering down hallways and staircases.

“Horses?!” Tripp replies with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, gesturing to the sliding glass door. “Don’t you get enough horses in your everyday life? Don’t you have like five right out there?” Your parents’ house sits on ten acres of land, including a barn and several paddocks for Clara’s rescued Thoroughbreds.

“I want beautiful horses,” Clara insists. “Unusual, photogenic, so they can be in the background of all the photos. Maybe Friesians or Haflingers?”

“I’m not sure we can sort the venues by types of horses available, dear,” Mom says. All that’s on her own plate is a heap of green beans and a few pieces of skinless white meat chicken.

Clara moans and drops her face into her hands. “It’s so overwhelming!”

“You’ll find a place you like, Clara Bear,” Dad says mildly, painstakingly slicing meat off a drumstick with his fork and knife.

“And Owen is no help at all. Every time I ask for his opinion he just tells me to do whatever I think is best, but I don’t know what’s best, that’s why I’m asking him!”

Your mother pats Clara’s shoulder reassuringly. “Guys don’t care about weddings,” Tripp says, twisting around in his chair to see the television in the living room. On a rerun of E! News, the hosts are discussing Chris Hemsworth’s rigorous fitness regime and Meghan Trainor’s “mommy makeover.” You peek under the tablecloth. One of the Akitas, Yuki, is glaring as she waits for you to drop something for her to eat.

“You could do something like that,” Mom says to you, and you realize you haven’t been listening to the conversation.

“Sorry, do what?”

“You could be a wedding planner or a real estate agent. Those are actual careers, but there’s more creativity involved, isn’t there? And didn’t you take a design class in college? That would certainly come in handy.”

“Hm,” your father says with a frown, still dissecting his chicken. He would rather you go to law school like Tripp. You would rather lie down in traffic.

“I took a set design class, Mom. Because I was studying how to be an actress. And that’s what I’m doing right now in Los Angeles, trying to be an actress.”

“You could become an architect!” Mom bursts out with sudden enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

You titter evasively. “I can’t draw, Mom. Or use the modeling software, or do math.”

“You know, you don’t need any specific degree to get into law school,” Tripp says, and your father gives him a nod of approval. “You could have majored in dance or bagpiping or Egyptology, it doesn’t matter. All they want is a high undergrad GPA and a 168+ LSAT score, and I bet you could get that if you studied. You can even retake the test a few times if you need to.”

“Why do you do that?” Clara snaps at him. You eat your panzanella salad and pretend not to be listening. Beneath the tablecloth, Yuki growls. You toss her a few cubes of Italian bread so she won’t bite you.

Tripp shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Do what?”

“Why are you always wasting your time trying to convince her to grow up and get a real job? If she wants to embarrass herself, let her. I have problems that I’m trying to solve, so how about applying yourself to those instead?”

“Are you serious? You think I should be calling around to wedding venues asking about their selection of exotic draft horses?”

Clara aggressively stabs at her green beans with her fork. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Hey, hey, kids, no swearing,” your mother says. “It’s Father’s Day. Be respectful.”

Dad turns to you. “You could be an entertainment lawyer, how about that? You could work in intellectual property or negotiating contracts.”

You smile warily. “I’ll think about it, Dad.”

Clara says to your parents: “Well I hope all the money you’re throwing out the window to support her in California isn’t coming out of my wedding fund.”

You close your eyes and think: I can’t spend my life in a cubical. I can’t spend every minute of every day trying to forget who I am.

“Shh, shh,” your mother pleads, rubbing the back of Clara’s clenched hand. “You will get exactly what we promised you, that amount is still set aside for your wedding. Nothing she does affects you.”

“And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies.

Your father is now asking Tripp about his summer associate position at Latham & Watkins in Chicago. Your mother is advising Clara to get a wedding dress with a corset back so it can be adjusted in the event she gains or loses weight at the last minute. Underneath the table, Yuki is growling again; she noses your knees threateningly.

“I got an agent,” you say, and everyone looks at you.

“Really?” Mom asks, sounding a little perplexed.

“Who is it?” Dad says.

“Aegon Targaryen. He has a small office in Elysian Park.”

“Oh, I think I recognize the last name.”

“His family is in the industry.” You are beaming; you can feel the heat rising in your face. “But Aegon kind of does his own thing and tries to stay out of the limelight. He was an actor when he was my age. And I guess he thinks I can get roles, so that’s really exciting.”

Your mother seems concerned as she nibbles at a shred of white meat. “Is he an older man?”

“Not that much older. He’s thirty-five.”

“Well, be careful, darling,” your father says gravely. “Who knows what his intentions are.”

Clara evidently agrees. “Men can be so creepy. I had this one professor in pharmacy school who cheated on his wife with one student, then cheated on her six months later with a different student. And then he retired to Boca Raton and was never heard from again.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Tripp says to your father. “We read about Clinton v. Jones in torts class, it was wild, I didn’t know he was such a freak even before the Monica Lewinsky thing…”

After dinner, while your father and Tripp are flipping through television channels in the living room and Clara is upstairs on the phone with Owen, you go to the kitchen where your mother is washing dishes in a bubble-filled sink. Again, she doesn’t have to do this; Angela will be here to clean the house tomorrow. But it’s part of being a perfect homemaker, and if she’s not good at this then she’s not good at anything.

She glances over when she hears you come in. “Did you get an appointment with one of the doctors your father recommended?”

“I did, yeah. I have a consultation on Friday.” You lean against the marble countertop and cross your arms so you don’t fidget nervously. From a dog bed on the floor, Mochi glowers at you. “Do you think I should get the surgery?”

She shrugs; you’re not certain if she is more indecisive or apathetic. “Your cousin Madison had a nose job the summer before college. Your old classmate Emma got a blepharoplasty and then met her husband three months later. Practically all of my friends have had breast augmentations, and I’ve certainly never regretted mine. I think if you’re going to get anything fixed, it makes sense to pick that.”

You try again to elicit a strong opinion, whether an endorsement or objection. “I don’t think I’d want to do it if I didn’t feel like it was necessary to be an actress.”

“Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless.”

You stare at Mochi distractedly. The dog huffs, unwelcoming. “What was the recovery like?”

“Oh, hell,” your mother says. “But once you heal up it’s worth it. I can wear square necklines and strapless dresses again.”

“Technically, you could have worn whatever you wanted.”

She gives you an impatient look, a you’re too old for that sort of frustration. “No one wants to see some sad flabby woman.” She is including your father in this statement. You remember being home for Thanksgiving Break during your freshman year at Carleton and inadvertently stumbling upon emails from one of the hospital interns when you used his laptop to buy movie tickets: indecent inuendoes, flirtatious photos, no smoking gun but certainly more than was appropriate between colleagues. You had tried to tell your mother, and she had deflected over and over again until you realized that she didn’t want to know; it was easier to be carried by the currents of momentum than to rock the boat until it sank. “This agent of yours…is he celebrating Father’s Day with his family?”

“No, Aegon lost his dad when he was in college.”

“That must have been difficult,” she says vaguely as she scrubs a pot with a green Scotch-Brite dish wand. Your parents are now at the age when their friends have begun to succumb to strokes and heart disease and cancers, and the lurking specter of mortality both horrifies and fascinates them. “What did he die of?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Mom?!” Clara shouts from upstairs. “Osaka is puking in the hallway!”

Your mother sighs and dries her hands on a dish towel, then leaves you alone in the kitchen. You linger there for a while, listening to the faint drone of CNN from the living room television, then leave the house through the sliding glass door in the dining room. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.

A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy

You laugh and respond: They belong to my sister, I am personally very anti-horse

You hope he’ll continue the conversation. You don’t have to wait long. How’s Minnesota? Aegon asks.

You stop and consider how to answer, then decide not to overshare. Devoid of palm trees…but good!

There is a pause—perhaps thirty seconds—and then Aegon types: How’s the ex-boyfriend?

Is he curious or jealous? You smile. Still not standing in the way of anything :)

Aegon reacts with a heart emoji, then immediately switches it to a thumbs-up. You cannot ignore the wave of warmth and fondness and exhilaration that overwhelms you. Logically, you know he’s engaged to another woman. Emotionally, it doesn’t seem relevant.

You think: It’s just a crush. It can’t hurt anybody.

Then you remember what your mother asked, and as you stand outside in the fading dusk light you Google Aegon’s father Viserys Targaryen. He has his own Wikipedia page. You scroll to the bottom, where it reads in nondescript black letters: On October 27, 2009, Targaryen passed away at his Malibu residence after a long illness.

~~~~~~~~~~

You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you.”

“What?” You look towards the ice cream freezer and there he is, dark jeans, green Nike Killshots, a yellow Hawaiian shirt that’s too big for him. “It’s my agent!” you shout as you rush over to meet him, loud enough that everyone in the shop turns to stare.

“Shh,” Aegon says, but he’s laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you ask from behind the counter.

“I got some good news, and I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Cool! Should I make you ice cream first?”

“Um, sure.” Aegon surveys the menu of Signature Creations. He seems overwhelmed; he actually looks a little panicked.

“Are you usually a chocolate or vanilla person? Or peanut butter, or coffee? Or mint?”

“Strawberry,” Aegon says.

“Strawberry,” you echo, surprised. “Okay, I think you’ll like Our Strawberry Blonde.”

“Neat.”

“Because, you know, it has strawberries and you’re blonde.”

“Sounds literally perfect for me,” Aegon says, smiling.

“What size?”

“Uh…” He reads the labels on the cups in the display case. “The big one.”

“No, you have to say the real name.”

He chuckles. His cheeks are pink, his turbulent blue eyes sparkling. “I’m not saying that.”

“Then I’m not making you ice cream!”

He groans. “I want an Our Strawberry Blonde in the size Gotta Have It.”

“Cup, cone, or waffle cone bowl?”

“Stop asking me questions or you’re fired.”

“Waffle cone bowl,” you decide. Aegon studies you as you work, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side: scraping a mound of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer with your metal spatulas, taking it to the cold countertop, and smashing in graham cracker pie crust, caramel, fluffy whipped topping, and fresh strawberries. You use one of the spatulas to expertly scoop the mixture into a waffle cone bowl, not spilling a drop. Then you hand Aegon his ice cream and ring him up at the cash register. He pays in cash.

You ask Josh, the manager on duty, if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. He frowns. “I thought you were going to refill the yellow cake and Oreo cookie mix-ins first.”

“Hey,” Aegon says. He waves a ten-dollar bill in the air to show it to Josh and then dunks it in the tip jar. “Do it yourself.”

“Fine,” Josh mutters to you. “But you don’t get a second over fifteen minutes.”

There’s no time to waste. You hurry to a small table by the window. It’s 8:30 p.m., and outside the world is indigo-dark and threaded with inorganic sparks of headlights, streetlights, kaleidoscopic neon signs. Your eyeshadow is vibrant and pink, because no one cares about that when you work at an ice cream shop: Push by Natasha Denona, Coax by Urban Decay.

Aegon takes his first taste of his ice cream as he sits down in the chair across from you. “You were right, this is delicious. A bop, not a flop.” Then he notices the bruise on your right wrist. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

“Oh. One of the Akitas bit me. Don’t worry, I can cover it up with concealer.”

Aegon is irritated. “Why is your mother letting her Akitas bite you?”

“It was my fault. I forgot that Oni doesn’t like when people pet his feet.”

Aegon sighs, stirring his Our Strawberry Blonde. “You want some of this?”

“I can’t,” you say reluctantly.

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I already had a little cup when I got here this afternoon so I have regrettably hit my ice cream quota for the day.” And then, when Aegon clearly does not approve: “I try not to restrict too much but obviously staying the same size takes effort. That’s not a disorder, it’s just reality.”

Aegon seems to debate arguing, then instead scoops up a heaping spoonful of ice cream and holds it out across the table. “Come on. It doesn’t count if it’s on my spoon.”

You smile sheepishly and open your mouth for him. Your lips close around the plastic spoon: coldness, sweetness, the grit of pulverized graham cracker pie crust, the infinitesimal black seeds of strawberries that catch between your teeth. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”

“I am,” you confess. “I know the joke. But I really do always get the vanilla-adjacent flavors. Cookie dough, French vanilla, sweet cream, cheesecake…”

Aegon smirks playfully. “Pathetic.”

“So you’re an enlightened being because you eat strawberry ice cream.”

“Boring people like vanilla. Kids like chocolate. Interesting adults like strawberry.”

“Do you actually have good news for me or did you just come here to be a ghoul?”

“I got you a part.”

“What?!” you squeal, and people are gawking again. This time, Aegon doesn’t tell you to be quiet. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replies, grinning like he can’t help it.

“A part in what?”

“It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

You scream; Josh scowls at you from behind the counter. “Oh my God, no way, no way!”

“You’re going to be the wife of a guy the doctors kill with negligence. Three scenes, two are pretty short and unremarkable but then you get to yell at the surgeon in the last one. Gives you the opportunity to show some range and make an impression.”

You can’t believe this is happening. “They aren’t going to make me audition first?”

“Well…it’s very last-minute,” Aegon says. “The actress who was supposed to do it has a drug problem or something, I guess, so she ghosted and they were scrambling for a replacement. And I completely fabricated your credentials.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, I typed up a resume and sent it over and they loved it. So try not to talk about your actual experience because none of it will match.”

You shake your head, stunned, amazed. “What if they try to contact one of my alleged former employers?”

“Then they’ll be talking to Aemond, and he will lie and say you were an absolute pleasure to work with.”

Aemond Targaryen: Aegon’s younger brother, a screenwriter, a philanthropist, a well-respected entity in Hollywood, and you know this from the Googling that preceded your first meeting with Aegon last week. “And Aemond doesn’t mind helping you commit fraud?”

“It’s not a favor I call in very often.” Aegon finishes his ice cream, then begins breaking apart the waffle cone bowl and shoving shard-like pieces into his mouth.

“When’s the shoot?”

“Very very early on Thursday, that’s the bad news.” Thursday is two days from now. “So I’ll have to pick you up at your apartment at like 5 a.m.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be ready.”

He smiles, gnawing on a chunk of his waffle cone bowl. “I figured.”

“You’re going too?” The hope is unmistakable in your voice.

“Of course I’m going.”

“I didn’t think agents usually went to film shoots.”

“Well, fortunately for you, your agent is imminently fleeing Los Angeles and has already parted ways with most of his clients and really has nothing else going on besides hiding in his office and playing a Nintendo 64, so I figured I could make it. And also if I’m going to be enthusiastically recommending you to people, I should probably see you work at some point.”

You wiggle your eyebrows flirtatiously. “Do I get to make out with my fake husband?”

Aegon is amused. “From what I understand, you get to chastely kiss him once. They’re sending the script over to my office first thing in the morning, so you’ll only have a day to learn your lines.”

“That’s enough time. I’ll make it work.”

“Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.

Thursday. “Is the shoot just one day?”

“Yeah, they should be able to get everything they need from you on Thursday morning. Why?”

“I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday and I was just wondering if I’d have to reschedule it.”

Aegon is immediately vigilant. “What kind of appointment?”

“Uh…” You smirk guiltily. “It’s just a consultation. No slicing yet.”

“And you’re going to cancel that,” Aegon says flatly.

“Seriously?”

“Do you want implants because you want them or because you think other people want you to have them?”

You hesitate. “Both.” That’s probably a lie.

Aegon leans back in his chair and studies you. “Yeah, you’re cancelling that appointment.”

“Why?”

“Because when I agreed to sign you, you told me that you’d do anything I say. And I’m telling you to cancel it.”

“But why don’t you want me to get implants? Everyone gets implants.”

“Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—it’s very difficult to stop. First it’s your tits, then it’s your eyes and your nose, then it’s your chin and your cheeks and your neck and your ass, and it’s just this revolving door of painful, dangerous, unnecessary procedures that are condemning you for being mortal, that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”

You smile, then reply quietly: “You’ve never seen me.”

Aegon grins. “I don’t care if you have twelve nipples under there like a fucking beagle, you don’t need plastic surgery.”

You both laugh, and the tension evaporates, and even if you don’t cancel the appointment—Aegon is one person, the entertainment industry is omnipotent and eternal—you are glad he seems to like you the way you are. Behind the counter, Josh is waving manically to get your attention and summon you to return to work. You pretend not to see him.

Aegon asks: “Why don’t you like horses?”

“They freak me out. They’re all teeth and legs and they’re huge, I’m always scared they’ll step on me.”

“Your dad’s a doctor, right? I thought all rich girls had horses.”

“Where I’m from, a lot of women ride horses to distract themselves from the fact that their husbands are riding their receptionists or interns. I’d rather have no horse and no awful cheating husband.” And Aegon stares at you and turns serious, because perhaps you’ve inadvertently addressed the elephant in the room: he has a fiancée, and neither of you are acting like she exists. You swiftly pivot. “I’ll make an exception for you, though.”

He appears startled. “What?”

“The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Aegon chuckles uneasily and gets up to throw his trash away, then stands under the florescent lights with his hands in his pockets, his blonde hair falling out of its gel and hanging over his forehead. He gazes down at you pensively; you are still seated at the table. “When does your shift end?”

“I’m closing tonight, so I’ll be done around 10:30 or 11.”

“Okay. Can I come back to pick you up and drive you home?”

You are puzzled. “Why?”

He gestures to the inky dark window, incredulous. “Because obviously you shouldn’t be walking alone in Harbor Gateway at midnight? You know there was a shooting a block from here last week. I looked it up.”

“I walk home all the time.”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

“You are being very dramatic for a non-actor.”

“Listen, I can’t go to my house and try to fall asleep while I’m wondering if you’re getting mugged or murdered.”

You look at Aegon. He does seem genuinely worried. “You can drive me home.”

“Great. See you in two hours.” He strides away and shoves open the glass door; the little metal bells hanging there jingle.

“Aegon?”

He halts mid-step and turns around. “Yeah?”

“Does Becca know where you are right now?”

His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”

And before you can reply, he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

On Thursday, June 19th, Aegon picks you up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible while the city is still asleep. The sky is dark, the streetlights passing by overhead, infinite pinpoint supernovas. There are hardly any other cars on the road. Aegon’s hair is a mess and his eyes are bleary; he’s sipping a Starbucks coffee with one hand and holding the steering wheel with the other. He is wearing a suit, but he still manages to look unpolished, his white shirt half-untucked and his black tie too skinny. He sets his coffee down in one of the cup holders and passes you something venti-sized and iced.

“I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”

“Aw, thanks! Skim milk?”

“Nope,” he says, smiling. You smile back and take a gulp of it, cold and sweet and bracing. “What’s your hype song?”

“I can’t tell you,” you say, embarrassed.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to terrorize me.”

“Don’t Stop Believing? Don’t Stop Me Now? I Gotta Feeling?”

“Lose Yourself.”

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, his hair flying in the wind. “That’s definitely a fireable offense. I’m ditching you the second we finish this shoot.” But he taps around on his phone and plugs in the aux, and then Eminem is thudding through the speakers as the Sebring sails north and the red-gold dawn rises on the horizon, a celestial message from the East Coast, an omen from the future.

Aegon drives you to Prospect Studios in Los Feliz, just east of Hollywood. Filming will be indoors on a soundstage. You spend what feels like forever in hair and makeup, and the costume designer—who had prepared for a different actress—dresses and redresses you over and over again, frowning at your chest and waist and thighs, and you have a sudden pang of nauseating panic and dread: I don’t belong here. What the fuck was I thinking?

Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.

But when it’s over, while you are still standing on the soundstage with the other actors, Aegon puts on his sunglasses and smiles at you from across the room; and you remember what he said outside his office on the day you first met—you are so bright, sunshine—and you know you’ve done a good job.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon fanfic

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holrye · 10 months ago

Text

A love she can't have

summary: a window into the sacred nights of a small island kingdoms queen and her lover

tags: plot divergence, smut, fluff, light angst, yearning, implied chubby reader (section is tiny)

a/n: ahhhh, so I'm super nervous to post this, lol. Im not the most confident in my writing, and I've been working on the idea for this for so long. tbh I don't know if I like how it turned out. I made so many different versions, and this is the only one that stuck. I hope you guys like it :)

One night, every six or seven months, the estate of this small island kingdom is empty.

No bustling of maids and butlers as they prepare meals and clean. The orange hue of the lights inside are dimmed and the sheer curtains are often drawn.

A tradition, some would call it. Others would say it's strange. What could the young ruler do all to her lonesome up in that immense estate? Does she force her staff to leave for nefarious reasons? What secrets could she be hiding? All fair questions that will go unanswered for as long as you live.

Privacy as the ruler of a nation is somewhat expected to wane upon your coronation. The kings and queens before you knew this, and were mindful of it. But never has a ruler taken so many precautions as you on these particular nights. These nights were often random to the public as well, the only sign being when the staff are ushered from the large french doors at the estates entrance.

What could the diligent leader be cooping herself up for?

Oh, if they only knew…

If your people only knew that their queen was hiding a scandalous affair, with a pirate no less. What would people think? They’d say you’d gone insane, and were seduced by some horrid marauder. You’d lose every ounce of power you gained and be left to fend for yourself. Not a thing to your name other than the clothes on your back, they’d raid the estate and denounce you.

So, these nights are secret. Whispers between you and your midnight guest that never leave the halls of the estate.

Though the guest in question is far less worried about the conspicuousness of your meetings. Not because he lacks care for your reputation, but because some would say he's a bit obtuse. A fool in love with someone he should never associate with.

You only become aware of his visits hours before he arrives, leaving you little time to fruitfully convince your entire staff to leave. Though it sounds unchallenging, your estate employs hundreds of people. Gardeners, chefs, handmaids, every task you could do yourself is done for you, mostly at the behest of your late mother who ruled before you.

There's only so many excuses you can use without sounding suspicious. You want them to spend the night with their families or you’d like the estate to yourself or you had an awful mark on your back you didn’t want anyone to see as you bathed (that last one only made your head maid look at you worried).

By now, they’d chalked it up to your eccentricity. The queen is just a bit strange. It made you more likable to some, relatable. There was little judgment, at least to your face, though that too was likely because of your rank. You cared little, as long as they were all gone before he blew in.

He usually arrived just before midnight, his boat tied just off shore. A small cove sat behind your estate, sharp boulders and thick shrubbery concealing it. This is where he hides his vessel, only doing so after it was nearly found the morning after by a gardener.

You scolded him harshly in your letters through the following months.

You’d wait on your bedroom balcony, watching the bushes. Sitting at the small table, eagerly stirring your cup of tea and waiting. Your feet are bare, cold from the breeze and the stone underfoot.

The chill of soft trepidation is a feeling you’ve come to know since you met him. An almost nauseous feeling in your stomach, stiff cold limbs, a heavy chest. The months worth of built up suspense that has you on the edge, tempting you to jump.

Only when a hint of tanned skin is seen through the leaves, does your chest tighten. The bush moves again and his body pushes through, nearly falling to the grass. He catches himself before looking up to your balcony.

A smile stretches his freckled cheeks, and his feet are moving again.

You stand, gulping the last drink from your cup before hastily fixing yourself. Crickets and his heavy breaths as he climbs up the balcony are the only noise throughout the garden. It seemingly makes your heart pound faster, anticipation building in your belly.

With a few more pulls, the man hops over the banister and stands before you. A shallow and shaky breath leaves your nose. Months of letters, declarations of love and yearning built up to this meeting. It always feels like the first time, standing before him in your frilly nightgown. It's embarrassing and euphoric all at once.

“Long time, no see.” His voice is soft, smile apparent as he speaks.

You smile up at him, blush dusting your cheeks.

“Hello, my love.” Your voice is softer than you mean it to be. He moves a step closer, and you notice the small bundle of letters in his hand. They’re addressed to him and the handwriting is your soft cursive. You question his purpose in bringing them, but don’t ask.

“Have you eaten?” You ask. It’s a silly question now that you think about it, the man is known for his appetite.

He nods, still smiling as he moves closer again. His hand meets your arm, slowly sliding up to lay against your neck. The movement is soft, his thumb caressing your jaw as he looks at you.

Your arms move to his shoulders, broad and strong. They slip to the back of his neck, dark, wet hair matting to your hand. He smells of salt water and sweat. He likely had to snow to shore due to high tide, which completely engulfed the cove most nights.

His eyes droop, as he presses a hungry kiss to your lips. It has you curling into him, his full hand meeting your hip. His feet start to move you backward, against the cold stone wall behind you. His hand moves from your jaw to the space beside your head, stealing your breath as he kisses you. Your hands twist into his hair, keeping him there until you both break with a gasp.

He moves his hand to your lower back, pulling you into him again only for you to press a palm to his mouth. His eyebrows twist as he looks at you.

“I have some things inside for you.” You say, cocking your head to the left.

“Of course you do.” He smiles at you again.

Your bedroom, a large rounded room with a bed much too big for one, is lit with hundreds of candles. Two bottles of champagne sit unopened on the table in the middle of the room with two glasses sat to the side. An array of cheeses, bread and fruit sit on a plate to the side as well.

The bedspread is soft below you, your eyes glued to the liquid in the flute as you listen to Ace read your writing. Your hand wrapped around his wrist and your head rests against his hip as his voice nearly soothes you to sleep. You want to make a bed out of his tambre and sleep in it forever.

“I fear the selfishness I feel when you aren’t in my company. I cower at the thought of it boiling over and taking hold of me, interfering in my daily work. I yearn so much for the day I can be with you, freely, without the need to veil our flirtation. To think, I rule a nation as a queen. I wield power most only dream of, and yet I feel powerless in your absence. It nearly sickens me.” He pauses, looking at you over the parchment.

“A kiss would satiate me for the time being. I soft kiss that speaks your tenor and goes by your name. I look forward to when we meet again, my love. May that heavenly time come soon.” He ends it by saying your signature out loud. He folds that paper again, placing it back in its envelope.

The look on your face is melancholic, thinking back to the sadness you felt writing those letters to him. How much you missed him and what you would’ve done to see him at the time. It's embarrassing, listening to the heart you poured into the paper for him out loud.

He looks at you again, hand moving to the top of your head. He plays with the hair there, the comfortable silence taking the place of his voice.

“Is Edward well? I heard his health started declining again.” You ask, sipping from your glass again.

He nods, smile fading slightly as he speaks again.

“Yeah, the old man shouldn’t work himself as hard as he does. It's catching up to him.” Whitebeard was an acquaintance of your father, often meeting him for peace treaty signings. Even as a pirate, he’d earned your fathers respect.

“Hardworking as ever.” You smile.

He smiles as you sit up, finishing your glass off and setting it upon the bedside table.

“You're one to talk, your highness.” He chuckles, extending his arm for you to lay against his chest.

“Ruling a kingdom is a lot of work. I do what I have to do. You’d think being a pirate, he’d use more of his free time being…free.” You say. A soft laugh leaves his chest as he nods his head.

“You’d think.” His voice evens out again as he looks down at you.

Your hand moves to cup his cheek, holding it there for a moment. It’s warm. Everything about Ace is. Whether it be his devil fruit or his personality. He warms your heart in a way you’ve never felt before. It makes it harder when you have to watch him leave, his broad form disappearing in the bushes. You’d say goodbye to him with tears in your eyes as he kissed your lips and abandon that warmth until you saw him again.

“You're so beautiful.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, biting your lip when your mouth speaks before you catch yourself. His lips quirk, eyes half-massed as he gazes at you.

“I could say the same about you, sweetheart.” He chuckles.

The room goes quiet again.

He takes your hand in his, pressing your palm to his lips. It's soft and he keeps moving up your arm, to your shoulder. He pauses a moment before looking at you again.

“Is this okay?” He asks, kissing your shoulder again. A blush brightens your cheeks. You know what he's asking.

With a dry swallow, you nod and he smiles for the millionth time tonight. He climbs on top of you, moving from your collar bone up to your neck. Your hands move to his head, grasping the hair there at the sensation. He kisses the section just below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

A throaty chuckle falls from him as he starts his descent of your body. A kiss pressed to your collarbone, a kiss to your sternum, a kiss to your belly, it's all too much. His hands meet your hips, bunching the fabric of your dress slightly. He moves down, pressing soft kisses to the middle of your thighs.

“You're so soft.” He says, smiling into your sensitive skin. You sigh, wanting nothing more than for him to ravish you like he’s done so many times before. His hands bunch at the end of your skirt, slowly pulling it up inch by tantalizing inch. It's enough anticipation to make you sick.

He raises the hem to your hips, your lacy undergarments showing. You sit up as he pulls it off of you, your breasts bouncing as they fall. He kisses your lips again, before laying you down on the bed again. Your knees press together, a familiar warmth swirling through your gut and into your core.

His hands land on your hips, softly squeezing the skin that lightly hangs over your panties. Your breath catches when he kneels at the edge of your bed, looping his fingers into your underwear and slipping them down your thighs.

He exhales loudly, seemingly holding his breath before. He takes your knees over his shoulders, nipping at the fat of your thighs. A long stripe from your inner thigh to your groin has you shaking. His hands move to yours scrunched up in the blankets, lacing your fingers together.

A slow lick to your clit leaves you breathless, eyes shutting as you squeeze his hands.

“You taste so good.” it's muffled by your skin, but you understand him. He licks you again, softly sucking your clit into his mouth.

His mouth is so warm and wet, it has you in a euphoric state. This feeling only he can give you, one that you want to feel forever. Making love to Ace felt otherworldly, no matter how many times you did it.

“Ace..ah-” Your voice is caught in your throat, his tongue moving down to your hole.

“Yes, my love?” His tone is mocking, as if demanding you answer him. Your lips are raw, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth as you try to speak.

Words fail you, one of your hands moving from his, to his head. Leverage.

He hums into you, slipping his tongue in and out of you a few times before replacing it with his finger. His mouth moves back to your clit and your seeing stars, the blinding white matching the pace of the growing knot in your stomach.

“Ace-” You sigh as your muscles tense up. Your orgasm hits you in waves, leaving your thighs shaking around his face. He sucks the soft skin around your pussy as you come down, hands moving to your thighs.

“Mm, baby…” He says, his voice hoarse as he moves up to your face. Your skin is sticky, hair sticking to your face and palms sweating. He kisses you, the heady taste of yourself on his tongue. Your hands move to his face, draping your arms around his neck.

With little hesitation, he reaches for the buckle of his shorts, dropping them and climbing on top of you. You lift your legs, wrapping them around his hips.

“You ready?” He asks, and you nuzzle your nose into his. With a huff, he’s pushing in and the both of you sigh loudly at the contact. His movements start slow, smooth.

His hips meet yours and your eyes go white. His hand rests next to your head, his thrusts making his bicep flex a bit. It makes you drool, pressing a kiss to his wrist as he evens out his pace.

“You feel so good…hah-” His breathing is erratic and his other hand moves to the fold of your knee. Your head falls back, moans leaving you otherwise speechless. It feels so good, you can’t move.

His pace picks up, quickening as both of you approach your highs. Your breathing is stunted and your eyes are clenched shut. Ace moves his face to the crook of your neck, licking a strip up to your chin. Everything is perfect.

“I love you.” You say, looking him in the eyes. You swear you feel his cock throb inside you.

“I love you too, your highness.” He smirks.

With two or three deep thrusts, he’s finishing inside you. You scream, voice breaking when you finally cum again. He thrusts a couple more times, only pulling out when his cock stops throbbing. Your pussy clenches around nothing, his cum dripping out of you onto the pristine sheets.

He falls into the empty space next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you clench your thighs together again. The aftershocks leave you drowsy and you roll in to his chest, drifting to sleep.

You don’t wake again until the early morning the next day. Ace is awake, his warm hands brushing through your hair. Your eyes scrunch at the brightening horizon before looking back at him.

“You sleep ok?” He asks.

You nod, kissing his jaw before rising to stretch. He rubs a hand down your back and gets out of bed.

Mornings after he visits are melancholy, knowing the inevitable has come to pass yet again. He’ll leave you for another period of time unknown to him or you. Your letters will be the only form of communication you'll have for months. It’s all a bit too much to bear.

You rise, hugging him from behind as he puts his clothes back on. Freckles decorate his back and shoulders and you want to count every one of them.

Before you know it, you stand looking up at him on your balcony wrapped in a sheet. His kiss is as warm as ever, not wanting to leave. You hold him there for a while, tears nearly forming in your eyes already.

“I’ll see you soon.” You nearly whimper. He wipes your eyes with his thumbs, smiling at you.

“I’ll keep you in my thoughts, my love.” He smiles and you remember your gift you still have to give him.

“Wait!” You say, scurrying inside and grabbing a small locket off of your vanity. You hand it to him, and he opens it.

“Keep it close to your heart.” You say. The picture inside is of you, and it warms his heart. A smile creases his eyes as kisses you again. He kisses your cheeks and your forehead as the sun starts to show over the horizon.

“I love you.” He says, slowly stepping back and over the banaster. You reach your hands out one last time, cupping his face and kissing him before he climbs down and runs through the garden.

With one final wave and kiss to his palm, he disappears into the greenery.

No one knows why the queen hides herself away certain nights of the year. Maybe shes up to nefarious activities. Maybe she does have secrets.

Maybe she's just in love with someone she can’t have.

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enderblogs-25 · 1 year ago

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"Everyone's autistic now," "Why's there so much autism," "So many kids faking autism these days."

You know. I had been suspecting I was autistic since I started to understand what that meant, around middle school. I was working with two different autistic kids in a Girl Scout troop I led with my mom, and they did/said things that felt familiar. But I didn't dare bring up those thoughts, because my little cousin was autistic, that was his thing, and I didn't want to seem like I was looking for attention.

I started looking into autism for real when I hit my 20's, because those suspicions never went away... just buried. I had been focusing on other areas of my life anyway - my transition. But that was over, and I could see that things were still "off" about me. I love diving deep into different disabilities, disorders, and mental illnesses, but avoided autism because I was scared of what I'd find. I took maybe one test, masked up and guarded as hell, and because of that it said I wasn't autistic. I didn't answer truthfully, so I went looking elsewhere. ADHD, maybe. I ended up trying to get an ADHD diagnosis, and got misdiagnosed with a personality disorder that can be misdiagnosed in autistic adults. I felt I didn't have an option but to accept the diagnosis, because I was on my way to Chicago; out of time and out of money.

Nearly six months after the misdiagnosis, while I had been looking into the personality disorder and knew for certain I didn't meet the criteria for a diagnosis, (but masked through the appointments, which is how I got it) I had worked extensively on unmasking. I learned many neurodivergencies masked, and thought I'd give unmasking a shot, soon realizing I'd been doing it forever. Once I got better at unmasking, I eventually looked into autism again. What would it hurt to be told no twice? I took a couple quizzes again. Slowed down, answered honestly, and gave every answer my full attention. And I scored high on every one. It was terrifying. But it was also... a relief? While a few of those quizzes weren't too be taken seriously, I did take tests on official sites made by and for autistic people. When I came home from Chicago in summer 2022, I told my mom and showed her all my past scores on official tests like the RAADS, one of which I take annually. Part of me still has doubts that I'm not faking it, I guess.

All of this, at least past 2021, has occurred while people have been posting their own stores about discovering and getting diagnosed as adults. While I initially started looking into things on my own, hearing these people's stories on occasion really, really helped. Random strangers on the internet in a reel telling me they'd been overlooked because they were afab, did well in school, and didn't have many other adults around to see a difference... really helped. I could sneak into the autistic tags on Tumblr and look around at posts, relate to them silently, write down my findings in my little notebook, and go about my day. This "autism boom" as it were really helped, just because everyone suddenly showing off who they are, telling the world "I'm different and that's okay," really, really... helped. I know why I've always felt different and wrong, I know why I struggle with certain things, and I know why certain things will likely never be possible on my own. That's so much better than going thrift my life wondering and beating myself up because I can't function like everyone else.

Everyone isn't suddenly being diagnosed as autistic, now. People are just... starting to listen. Starting to get more comfortable. Obtaining more resources. And it's really nice. ❤️

#actually autistic #autistic #autism #actuallyautistic #late diagnosed autistic #ender's life #he/they

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gingernut1314 · 4 months ago

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Speak No Evil ch. 1

Summary: You get a call from your cousin who, five years prior, ran away with a man and became the disgrace of your family. She's sick and begs you to come take care of Megumi and his father when she's gone. You promise but are left feeling unsure when she continues to remind you he is a good man.

Content: female reader, pre-star plasma vessel, reader is the cousin of Mamaugro, reader is Tsumiki's mom, Tsumiki and Magumi are cousins, gendered terms, Mamaguro is sick and dying, mention of pregnancy, more Toji in the next chapter, more of a "background" chapter

Word Count: 1.4K

Tag list: @sordidmusings

A/N: Because I love Toji and because I love to hurt my own feelings and really really can't stop writing angst. I also know Megumi and Tsumiki aren't actually blood-related but I just really really don't see Toji going off and marrying a whole other person after his wife's death--mamaguro was a very special woman and I want to keep it that way. Tsumiki is still a Fushiguro so I just did it this way. I hope you enjoy!

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Your cousin had left home years ago. How the story goes, according to all the women in your family, she had ran away with a man. Not the boyfriend she had be with throughout high school. Not some boy she had met during her time at university. No. Some random man she had picked up on the streets like some feral, flea-ridden cat.

“She had such a bright future.”

“Stupid girl. Throwing all that away.”

“Mother was the only one who caught sight of him. Said he was no good. Scruffy. Dangerous looking even. Just a bad bad man.”

“I thought I had raised her better than this.”

And on and on they would go for hours. It was worse during family gatherings, naturally. More ears to listen in. More mouths to speak horrid things about your cousin.

“She was a slut. Slept around at university.”

“It’s no surprise then she followed that man.”

“Maybe he is in a gang. Maybe he made her join.”

“All I can do is pray for her soul.”

You knew the truth.

Your cousin had only been able to trust you and you had only been able to trust her in the entirety of the Fushiguro family. You two had been by each other sides since the day you two were born. Just one day apart and raised in the same home.

She hadn’t just been your cousin, she had been your sister and you knew she had loved that man. She had told you as much just days before she left. She loved him and he loved her and she had been ready to leave your horrid family behind.

You wished you had been able to do the same. You wished she had taken you with her, but she had left without a word. Had left in the dead of the night, leaving her bed unmade in your shared bedroom. No note no nothing. Just gone.

You had made the mistake of trying to defend her one too many times. Tried to tell your family she had truly found someone she had loved but they wouldn’t hear it. They would call you a liar and shake their heads in disappointment.

“Speak no evil.” They would hiss alongside your name.

“You’ll end up just like her if you keep spewing such nonsense.”

“You better keep a close eye on your daughter. She has that look in her eyes. The same one her cousin had.”

You stopped trying to defend your cousin and kept your mouth shut. Kept your eyes squeezed shut and ears covered as they spoke.

During your last semester at university, you had gotten pregnant. The father was of no importance and you couldn’t even remember his name. Just some random hook-up in some random bar that you probably shouldn’t have even gone to in the first place.

Your family finally, finally stopped speaking ill of your cousin because they turned their lashing tongues onto you.

It was a hard time. You only stayed because you needed a place to stay so you could slowly begin to save your money and leave.

You had a daughter you named Tsumiki; meaning the moon, beauty, and hope. She was your hope for a brighter future for yourself and she had given you the courage to finally leave. You took what very little you had and left in the dead of the night just as your cousin did a few years prior.

You moved to the city. Found work and did everything in your power to make sure Tsumiki grew up happy and healthy.

Three years later you get a call from an unknown number. You typically didn’t answer such calls, knowing it was more than likely a scam call, but something in your gut churned. Something told you that you should answer and so you listened to your gut only for your heart to stop in your chest.

Your name was spoken. A name said on a weak, shaky, near tear-filled voice. A voice you could never forget and one you had longed to hear despite its soft weakness. You said your cousin's name in a rush as you stood from where you had been playing blocks with your daughter.

“Wh-where are you? How have you been? Are you alright?”

“I’m…” She took a shaky inhale as if to steady herself. “ Listen. I’m sick.”

“Okay--okay, tell me where you are and I can take care of you.”

“No. No, not yet just--I need you to know he’s a good man.” He. He the man she had run off with. “He’s a good man but when I die--”

“Die? You’re not going to die. Tell me where you are and I’ll come make you better okay.”

“He’s not going to take it well and--I have a son now. Megumi.” You said your cousin's name once more in something like a warning. A warning she didn’t heed. “He’s so precious. Looks just like his dad--kinda looks like you too. His hair is wild. Can’t tame it no matter how hard I try.” It sounded like she was crying now. Tears burned at your eyes too.

“What are you trying to say? You’re--you’re not going to die okay. Just let me come help you and--”

“I’ve been told I only have a month left. In a month, you’ll get my address and I want you--no, I'm begging you to come here and remember that he is a good man despite his flaws. He’s trying his best with what he’s been dealt and--I don’t want him or Megumi to be alone. Please don’t let them be alone.” Your cousin cried. She sounded so weak--really weak and all you wanted to do was rush to her side and take care of her but you knew she wouldn’t allow that. “Promise me you’ll be there for them. Both of them. He’s a good man. He’s a good man.”

Your mind floated back to all the nights your family spent talking of this mystery man your cousin had run away with.

Demon, devil, scruffy, dangerous. They never painted a good picture of him…but you had defended your cousin and this man. You had defended them because your cousin had loved him and had always spoken so dearly of him. Just as she was now.

“I--I promise. I’ll be there.” You spoke, voice breaking as you tried to wipe away your tears. Small hands grabbed hold of the fabric of your sweatpants and you found Tsumiki standing there, her own hazel brown eyes brimming with tears. Only three but she could sense the emotions waging within your chest. She was your little empath.

“Thank you…I--I know I’m asking a lot.”

“You can never ask for too much. You’re my family. You can ask whatever you need from me okay.” You said despite your soul screaming out against such an ask.

“Did you--did you get away from all them?” The rest of your family. Family you would do nothing for.

“Yes. I--I had a daughter. Her names Tsumiki.” You could almost hear your cousin smile through the phone.

“You’ve had that name picked out since we were little girls.” You chuckled, getting to yours knees so you could look over Tsumiki’s round face. You place a gentle hand on her cheek and she was quick to grab it, holding it close.

“Do--would you want to say hi? She’s right here.”

“Please .” You were quick to put the phone on speaker, holding it so Tsumiki could see the screen.

“Kiki. I’m talking to your aunt. Can you say hi?” You said, brushing a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. Her eyes snapped to you, then to the phone, then to you again, looking shy as ever.

“Hi.” Tsumiki said shyly.

“Hi, sweetie. How old are you?”

“Three.” She responded quicker, her grip on your hand never flattering.

“Wow. You’re such a big girl now, huh?” Tsumiki didn't respond then, climbing into your lap and burying her face in your neck.

“She’s a bit shy.” You chuckled, holding her tight against you. “Kiki, we’re going to meet your cousin soon. I think you two will be good friend.” She merely nodded against your skin.

“Thank you.” You cousin spoke on a whisper.

“I just--I wish you would let me come help you right now.” You heard the sound of a man’s voice in the distance. A deep thing the followed with the sound of a door shutting.

“I need to put all my focus on my boys right now. There is nothing that can be done for me. There is no cure no medicine. I’ve run out of luck and that’s okay but--I need to be with my boys until I can’t.” You heard the man call for your cousin and the ruffle of sheets as she moved.

“What’s his name?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Toji.”

Next ->

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katatonicimpression · 1 month ago

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It's the middle of the afternoon on New Year's Eve and I have fuck all to do so let's watch the Sam episode of What If?

DISCLAIMER: This is the first, and so far only, full episode of this show that I have ever watched. It did not inspire me to watch more. So, that's my bias I guess.

Background

There was some controversy about all of this. Sam appeared briefly in the zombies episode in the first season of this show. He's already a zombie and is quickly killed (re-killed?) by bucky, who makes a quip about it.

The line feels kinda off, like they're trying to recreate the banter between the characters in the live action (finding each other annoying etc) but it falls flat. There's no love there. In civil war (which takes place before the canon divergence in the show), their banter still has a level of camaraderie to it. They're riffing off each other, and fighting together and saving each other. It's weird to have bucky quip at the prospect of sam's death in a scene that takes place after those scenes.

It feels like reading one of the thousands of "incorrect quotes" posts on this app that write Bucky being horrible to Sam for no reason. It's the exact same emotional experience. Put a pin in that.

There was another controversy related to this, which is that in the same episode, Sharon also dies. Allegedly, one of the main writers (matthew chauncey) said that they should give her a particularly violent death because "no one likes her... he belongs with peggy". This is an open expression of violent misogyny so yeah that's fun. What a piece of shit... allegedly.

Sam does not appear in any other episode of what if s1. When s2 came out, his absence felt conspicuous, and many people commented on it. In particular, there's an episode of s2 that is vaguely medieval/robin-hood vibes, and Sam is noticeably absent from Steve's band of merry men. Steve's best friend, closest partner of over 50 years of comics isn't there. The falconry themed superhero is not in the medieval episode. People rightfully called bs.

The show felt similar to reading posts and fics in the fandom, and the way that people will minimise Sam's existence in Canon. Put a pin in that.

One person involved in making it (I think a writer but I can't remember and I searched for like ten minutes it's NYE gimme a break) responded publically to these complaints. They cited a supposed uncertainty over sam's future in the mcu (specifically whether he was cap or falcon) as a reason for not including him.

This was very funny, because 1) There was no ambiguity over whether Sam would be cap - it was a dead cert since Endgame what are you on? and 2) no one would've been mad if Sam had appeared as Falcon.

This response had the same vibes as when random fans say weird and ignorant things in Sam's tag and, when confronted, will offer weird excuses that don't make any sense. Pin it.

The other bit of context here is the (admittedly heavy) discussion of how What If launched Captain Carter, a decision that had to have been made around the same time that they decided to do samcap. I've talked before about this; it's complicated and the discourse is annoying. But ultimately, it comes across very badly for the mcu that they created a white female british captain america (not captain britain from Excalibur, but specifically a captain america character) specifically to launch near simultaneously with a Black captain america. It looks bad and I don't like it.

Anyway, so after this person who's name i can't find put their foot in their mouth, Marvel released a few stills from s3, revealing that Sam would be in one episode. People were happy to see him, and (aside from the VERY VALID CRITIQUE that WhatIf!Sam doesn't have the eyelashes he so clearly ought to) people were mostly placated.

The Episode

I love mark ruffalo but his voice performance in the opening scene is not it. Also the narration is mixed a lot louder than the dialogue... which is a jarringly amateur mistake. Ok whatever i'm gonna try to keep my salty complaining sam-focused

So, the show opens with a version of the opening samsteve meetcute from CATWS. But this time, without a mutual exchange of vulnerability. This time Sam is just offering Bruce comfort.

Then he literally gives him therapy.

Then he takes him to Louisiana to the boat, a redo of the sambucky scenes in tfatws. I'm not the first person to point this out, but there's a big difference here. Bucky came to louisiana uninvited with a (technically unwanted, but still very impressive) gift for Sam and then spent the day working on the boat as a gesture of friendship. He was performing acts of service (or however you express it) because he wanted to preserve and nurture this relationship. He knew he'd treated Sam badly and wanted to make it up to him.

Then, Sam invited him to stay the night (or, rather, accepts bucky's self-invitation to sleep in his house), because he's nice and welcoming and generous yes sure. But also because he likes Bucky back, despite everything. They both want to be friends and partners.

That's not happening here. It's just Sam offering Bruce his home because he is apparently motivated by a desire to help random white men he meets.

It reminds me of the countless fics and hcs that write Sam exclusively as a caretaker and therapist for bucky or other white characters. It reminds me of the takes that rewrite canon to make him be the one to pursue bucky with a desire to help and nurture him - a thing that has never happened in canon. Urgh. Pin that thought up with the others.

Oh and of course, we can't have a story about samcap without paying tribute to our holy special boy steve for a bit. Whatever it was just a few overly long shots.. still annoyed me though. Wow I really am a hater.

Oh and Bruce is the one with the arc? He's the one the episode is about? But his change of heart happens entirely off screen and with no implicit turning point? Lol. Lmao even.

And "friends who accept us for who we really are." I want to take this entire writers room aside because no. You can't end with a thesis statement that wasn't the theme of the story. Go back to school.

Am I Nothing but Negativity?

It was nice to see sarah again! Shame all she got to do was scream then get violently shoved to the floor.

Ok but in general, once the episode gets started in earnest, it's fine.

I did genuinely like seeing Sam again. I like him in the lead, even if the episode was about Bruce, Sam was still the main character and that was fun to see.

Mackie's voice performance is strong.

I enjoyed the 0.0003 seconds of sambucky. I liked seeing Sam and Monica together.

"The man wants to have tea with Lenin." This line is so bad it's good again. Yeah he probably would. And he'd be fine. Vlad would love the guy, everyone does.

I like the visual of Sam facing down a giant kaiju and just chatting to it. That's very sam coded. That and Sam with the shot of the monsters walking past him and him standing strong.

What is the Point of this Show?

There's nothing spectacular in this episode. The dialogue is astoundingly predictable, the jokes fail to be funny.

At times, the animation style (much like TDP which recently finished) feels like it's holding them back. A lot of the quieter, less actiony, shots are ugly frames with people walking less naturally than sims do. And they do have some more expressive stuff in the busier scenes, so it's not artistically empty, but it's not doing a lot for me either.

Maybe it's an interesting technique for those who know more about these things, but honestly regular 2d animation would've been (i assume) cheaper and potentially better. Then again, if it wasn't visually distinctive, what else would it have going for it?

Conceptually, a mcu what if show is an amazing idea, but in practice IN MY VERY BIASED OPINION, it's done very little with that potential. The comics offer such a rich trough of ideas that could be spun into very entertaining short episodes with versions of the characters that would otherwise not be able to encounter those story beats. Hell, Sam in particular has an entire massive part of his character cut from the mcu (his powers) that they could explore... and that would be really well suited to animation!

But they've stuck to the comparatively shallow mcu lore for most of it.

I've seen people express disappointment that it's ending after only 3 short seasons and I see why. This is obviously the sort of thing that you could do so much more with. But I also feel that the writing is uninspired and betrays a real lack of interest in the worlds of most of these characters.

I Hate its Vibes

So let's take a look at those pins, shall we?

We have:

Ignoring Sam most of the time

Mischaracterising his relationship with Bucky

Writing him as a caregiver, a nurturing therapist only

A lack of an internal world and motivations beyond his desire to help others

Ignorance over his character's history including his powers and the depth and longevity of his relationship with steve

Nonsensical excuses when faced with criticism, unintentionally displaying even more ignorance and incuriosity over the character

I mentioned that writers comment about sharon earlier for a reason. The vibes are not good. They are rancid. They are reminding me of every dumb post I've ever read on this site. Every weird jab at the character for stupid, racist reasons. Every fic with the "magical negro" trope. Every moron i can think of tbh.

Yeah, so maybe I'm not being fair to this show. The episode was uninspired, but not bad. I liked seeing sam do things. If people gif him looking cool in it, I'll reblog it I guess. But I'm not gonna watch the rest of the show, and I won't mourn the fact that it's ending.

I guess my conclusion is that it's very funny that Marvel placated disgruntled sam fans with a still from this episode, and then when it finally comes out, it's everything we've ever complained about.

#this is exceptionally mean spirited guys #i am being harsh #sam wilson #salt #about 1700 words

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