#and it's just one of those things that I Know I should get better about because there's a lot of places where looking into things is Vital

[phantomrose96]

The alt-right's foothold into Gen-Z is frustrating and I can see from over here how they're doing it.

You've got a generation of young-adults who are learning to be adults for the first time and for so many of them it sucks. It sucks to be in your first shitty apartment where things break, and to have your first shitty car that needs maintenance, and to be working a low-paying service or retail job where you get berated all day and barely scrape by. And you go home and you have taxes to figure out and electric bills to figure out and a screen on your phone to rot into to destress.

And this is men and women, equally, in this spot. But the alt-right messaging gets to tailor their approach to gender.

And hey women, yes you working a shitty job for shitty pay, overwhelmed by financial responsibilities and car repairs, what if you actually didn't need to do ANY of that? You don't need to. And you don't need to feel guilty about it. (You're not quitting, you're not being lazy), you actually are just embracing the chance to be exactly who an ideal woman should be. You should actually be beautiful, and demure, and barefoot in a sunny kitchen, glowing, pregnant, hearing the joyful sounds of your children while you bake a roast for your wonderful husband (strong, protective, loves you, handles the finances, handles the jobs, handles all the things you hate). OUR ancestors (don't mind the dogwhistle) did this for GENERATIONS, and modern society has failed you instead!

It's offering to break women out of all the parts of their real life that suck, and do it in a way that promises they're actually being better, being more admirable, more moral, more respectable, more correct, can feel good about, can feel proud about, as a Woman as Feminine as Mother as Goddess.

And the thing being promised does not need to actually reflect reality. It's a fantasy. It is not real. For every "beautiful demure barefoot" day, you'd be having another one covered in shit changing diapers of screaming infants with screaming children while your husband ignores you because it's Women's Work (take pride!) But that doesn't matter. It just needs to sound better than the reality they're living.

Then the men are targeted too. And it's the same in that it's getting to them by appealing to pride in their gender, but the messaging is different. It's "those finances are hard but ACTUALLY you're leveling up, you're grinding, you're finance maxing." It's hard but it's the kind of hard that is a challenge you can WIN at, boast about, post about, prove your manliness. Knowing cars, knowing home repairs, knowing taxes, that's your MAN pride, and you are so elite, you are so sigma, you are the envy of everyone, you are a masculine man. Women love you. Women will defer to you. Strong, respected, moral, loyal, unshakeable. Unlike those pansy men (mind the homophobic dogwhistling) who will whimper and cry like girls. You are better.

The shitty retail job is actually humble beginnings because you're minmaxing your way to financial success (bitcoin, crypto, investments). You can sleep with any woman you want as long as you're confident, and then you'll find one who understands how smart and confident and strong and protective you are and she will defer to you as her man. She will birth your children and teach them good morals and you will make it. Our ancestors lived this way for generations (dogwhistle) and modern society took it from you.

And with that messaging it makes it clear who the enemy in all this is - modern society that has convinced women to torture themselves with high education and terrible jobs, turned them Ugly with Ugly opinions and bad hair and nasty attitudes, yelping about "rights" and "equality" (pitting them against men! TAKING things from men!) All the while, society has been trying to emasculate men--replace them with women, make them soft and emotional, make them gay, make them WEAK. We've been made WEAK.

The naive women hearing this go "I'm not ugly! I don't hate men! I DO hate my job and my finances. I've been tricked. I'm actually rebelling by declaring my goal is to get a Perfect (White) (Christian) moral husband who will make all our decisions and protect me and our children." (And when she's financially trapped in an abusive marriage...? When she's suicidal with PPD but her husband won't touch that because it's Woman Hysteria...? And when her husband leaves her for someone who was as hot as she was 20 years ago and now she's figuring out finances, health care, taxes, bank accounts for the first time in her life...?)

And the men go "They've been TAKING things from us for too long! It's time to be men again! It's time to take pride! I am strong and confident. I am in charge! I never show weakness!" (And when he's got a gun to his head due to the depression he's never been allowed to talk about as Women Feelings...? And when he's financially ruined from a crypto scheme that stroked his ego and robbed him blind...? And when he's dead from alcohol poisoning and none of his adult children notice because no one's spoken to 'Dad' in 15 years...?)

And it's so hard to fight because you're arguing against a fantasy. How do you disprove their fantasy? It's so hard to explain to them, hey you're working a shitty job where you have no future because the rich bastards took it all from you. And now you're doing their work for them. You hate society because of what they've done to it and now you're doing their work. Now you're targeting groups who've never done anything to harm you and the guys responsible are laughing to the bank. How do you explain? How do you disprove fantasy?

[moonstruckme]

Please oh please may I request tasm!peter using his super strength to impress r? I don’t know if you’ve seen the TikToks from Romeo and Juliet but he is dangling and does a pull up to kiss her and like that vibe of just being a bit of a show off to fluster her

You may! Thank you <3

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 876 words

“I read something today,” you say, steam trailing behind you as you carry your microwave dinner into the bedroom. 

“Yeah?” Peter doesn’t pause in pulling on his suit. He nearly falls over when his leg gets stuck in the spandex. You’d think after so much practice, he’d be better at it. “That’s great, baby. Big step for you.” 

“Shut up.” You consider chucking a tamale at him, but no, not worth it. “I read a statistic about crime in New York.” 

Now you have Peter’s interest. He cocks his head, the suit hanging from his waist. Not getting distracted by his naked torso never becomes less of a trial for you. 

“Something you think I should know?” 

“Mhm. Did you know most crime here happens between noon and seven pm?” 

“Oh.” He rolls his eyes, putting his arms in their sleeves. “I know where this is going.” 

“It just seems,” you say thoughtfully, “like maybe you could stay here with me tonight. Since, you know, most of the crime is already over.” 

“I have class until six-thirty, sweetheart. What do you want me to do?” 

“Stay home.” You take a bite of your tamale, but it’s hotter than you expected. You chew with unladylike open-mouthed bites, trying to breathe out the steam. “Obviously.” 

Peter grins at your misfortune. You glare, and he makes a face so dopily in love you almost can’t stand it. 

“I have to go,” he says. “Whatever the statistics say, there are still crimes happening, and if I’ve got their schedule figured out those guys will be coming back to try and rob the gyro place again.” 

You swallow your food, frowning. “Damian’s place?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, fuck those guys. Go get ‘em.” 

“I knew you’d get it.” Peter pulls on his mask, backing up towards the window. It’s been opened so frequently it doesn’t even squeak. You shiver at the cold wind it lets in. “Back later.” 

“Be safe,” you say automatically, pulling out your laptop and tapping random keys until it turns on. “Don’t go after guys with guns.” 

“I won’t.” 

You think Peter’s lying, but it’s the sort of white lie you’re okay with being told. You try not to think too hard when he goes out on his patrols; the worry would drive you insane if you did. You can never really fall asleep until you feel that wind come in through the window again, though, his body slipping into bed beside yours. 

You’re just navigating to YouTube when there’s a schwick, and your laptop shuts. You stare at the splatter of webbing on the back side of your screen in silent indignance for a moment before tracing it back to the source. 

“Peter.” Your boyfriend is dangling from the window of your eight-floor apartment by his fingertips. By only one set of fingertips. You know all about his abilities, and still the sight makes your heart shoot up into your throat. “What are you doing?” 

“Aren’t we forgetting something?” 

“What?” 

He attaches his webbing to the windowsill, using that hand to pull off his mask. “Uh, a goodbye kiss?” 

You roll your eyes, but it’s hard not to look smitten when the thing your boyfriend is sternest about is romance. You get up and follow the line of his web to the window. 

“You’re going to clean this stuff off my laptop when you get back,” you say, tone softening with fondness as he looks up at you. 

“It’ll dissolve,” he replies. “C’mere.” 

You bend, and Peter meets you halfway, muscled arms shifting underneath the tight material of his suit as he pulls himself upward. His lips are warm. The ends of his hair shift in the wind, tickling your forehead. You have to stop yourself from leaning all the way out the window to follow him when he pulls away. 

“Mm.” He licks his lips. “Save me some of those tamales, please.” 

“Do not tell me that I taste like bean and masa,” you plead. 

Peter grins. “No, I’m just teasing. You taste like you. Which is to say…” He pulls upward again, finding you just where he left you. “...very good.” 

Your lips curve against his, staying even after the kiss. “Flirt.” 

“Maybe.” He lets himself drop down below you, knuckles to his chin. It’s odd seeing him like this, so at ease with the city whizzing about nearly a hundred feet below him. 

You bite your lip, and his eyes drop to the motion. 

“Okay,” he says. “One more.” 

You grin. “Now you’re just showing off.” 

Peter makes a noncommittal humming sound, but you know he’s well aware of the impressive flex of his biceps and forearms as he lifts himself upward for one last kiss. You make it a good one, soft and lingering. 

“Is it working?” 

“Maybe,” you repeat his answer to your flirting accusation. But when you look at him again, your voice drops into a more genuine register. “Hey. Be safe tonight, seriously.”  

Peter’s eyes go soft. “I will. I’ll see you later, pretty girl.” He winks before pulling the mask on. “Keep the bed warm for me.” 

“If you’re not back by midnight, I’m putting an ice cube on your pillow.” 

His laughter echoes in the room after he’s gone. 

[lessi-lover]

Paige taking care of reader when she’s on her period! Reader could have like a period disorder (i don’t want to name specific ones so you can choose) and gets super achy and sick when she’s on her period. They could be at an event maybe and reader gets super bad cramps, so Paige try’s to comfort her until they can get home and then when they do get home Paige is in full doctor mode trying to take care and help reader?

I know this might be a weird request so you can totally trash this if you want!

i got you ma II p.bueckers x reader

i got you ma II p.bueckers x reader 2.2k

the event was loud, packed with people and the bright lights overhead felt like they were boring straight into your skull. you’d been fine earlier, just a little tired, a little sore.

but now, the cramps were hitting you at full force, twisting through your abdomen like barbed wire. your whole body ached, nausea creeping up your throat, and the dizziness in your eyes made it hard to focus on anything but trying to stay upright.

you had always gotten bad periods when you were a teen. the kind that left you curled up in bed for hours, body aching like you’d run for days straight, the cramps hitting so hard you could barely even keep water down.

for years, doctors had brushed it off as something normal, telling you to take painkillers and wait it out. it was never normal, but your parents couldn't do anything but listen to the medical advice you were being given.

growing up, you never knew what it was like to have a “normal” period. while your friends seemed to get through it with just a little discomfort here and there, you were the one clawing at your desk, trying to breathe through cramps that felt like they were ripping your stomach apart. your sisters had just told you it was part of growing up, that it would get better as you got older. but it didn’t. it only seemed to get worse.

in high school, when you started playing basketball more seriously, the pain of your cramps started to affect your performance. you’d be on the court, trying to push through a tough game and suddenly your body would just give out. you couldn’t concentrate on the game or your teammates, you could only focus on getting yourself off the court as soon as possible.

eventually, after enough trips to specialists, you were finally diagnosed with primary dysmenorrhea when you turned nineteen. primary dysmenorrhea is caused by a chemical imbalance in the body, which causes an overproduction of prostaglandins, and in your body's strong attempt to rid the lining, it's much more painful than it should be.

you began learning how to work around it though. by the time you were at uconn, you’d become an expert in managing and listening to your body. you knew your limits and how to stay ahead of your pain.

you’d adjust your play with your trainers to prepare for the worst days of your cycle, always making sure to keep your body well rested and heard. on those tougher days, when the cramps were almost unbearable, you knew how to take care of yourself whether it was icing down, using heat pads, or taking painkillers.

you were prescribed medication to help manage the pain, but it came with its own set of problems. the meds worked, there was no denying that. they helped ease your cramps, the headaches, and your dizziness. but they also made you drowsy, tired, and slowed you down.

as a professional basketball player, those were the last things you could afford. being sluggish on the court was a game changer, but not in the way you needed, and you weren't about to give up your spot for some nonsense pills.

you tried taking them on off-days, on your recovery days, but even then, the tiredness lingered longer than you liked. it was hard to balance the benefits with the negatives especially when you needed to stay at your sharpest, always ready to give your best performance for your team.

so more often than not, you chose to skip taking the medication. your cramps would be unbearable at times, but it was easier to deal with than feeling groggy and uncoordinated when it mattered most. the meds made you feel like you had lost control of yourself, control you weren't about to give up. it felt like a decision you had no choice but to make.

you hadn’t taken your meds this morning. you couldn’t. not with the game this important. the pain was something you'd learned to deal with over the years. tuning it out, ignoring it, finding ways to get through the day without letting it affect you.

but today was certainly challenging you. your body was rebelling at you, no matter how much you tried to push it away, almost as if it was mocking you for being scared to take simple medicine.

you glanced at the bench, where you see cd notice the look on your face, the way you were clutching your stomach as you sat on the subs bench. you gave a small shake of your head and a smile, trying not to show how much it hurt. no time for weakness, especially when your spot could be taken in a second.

but as the final buzzer went off and the team huddled together in celebration of the win, you knew it was only a matter of time before the pain would force a takeover and you would be limping away from the homearena. the moment you got home, you'd be back in full recovery mode, heating pad on your stomach and trying to make it through the worst of it.

you'd been living with this for so long, managing it, hiding it. almost forgetting about if.

paige noticed immediately though. she always did. her hand was on your shoulder in an instant, her brows knitting together in concern. “hey, you okay?” her voice was soft but firm with you, she knew something was up but she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

you forced a small smile back, but the throbbing under your stomach was almost too much to hide. "yeah just a bit sore from the game." you muttered, but even to your own ears it sounded unconvincing. you were lying through your teeth and paige didn't buy it for a second.

she crouched down beside you, her eyes scanning your face, studying the way you were gripping your stomach. “you sure? cause you don’t look okay.”

you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady your breath, but the cramps were coming harder now, but you let go of your stomach as she looked down again.

you nodded quickly, refusing to show any weakness, refusing to let it be something that would cause paige to talk to your trainers. she could get you cut off from matches if they found out you were skipping out on your pain meds.

“seriously, i’ve got this. just need a minute.” paige raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical at how defensive you were being, but nodded regardless. “don’t push it too far. i’m watching you.” i nodded back, grateful for her concern but too stubborn to admit how drained i truly felt.

as the high of the game wore off. my energy had plummeted and my vision was beginning to blur. the room was getting tighter, the noises from the crowd booming, but my legs felt like they were made of stone and i stayed in place.

without warning, my knees buckled and i let my body fall. i couldn’t stop it. my body gave in, crumpling to the ground. i heard someone shouting my name as i felt hands on my shoulders, turning me onto my side as they called for help.

paige’s face was the first thing i saw when i blinked my eyes open again. concern etched deep into her face, though she was trying to mask it with a forcely tight lipped smile. “hey, can you hear me?”

i nodded, though everything felt like a blur and her words were slightly distorted. the stadium’s sounds were muffled and i could barely make out the voices of my teammates, but paige was the one who kept me grounded. her hands on mine, her voice gentle as she instructed me to focus on her.

“just breathe, okay? slow and steady with me.” her words were firm, but soft enough to comfort me as the panic set in.

it wasn’t long before the medics arrived, their quick movements barely registering in my mind as the blonde lowered me to the floor. paige kept talking to me, helping me focus on her breathing whilst she kept her hand on my my shoulder.

as the medics checked my pulse and asked me questions, i could barely get the words out in my state. the pain was still there, i could feel sharp knives digging into my back, but the dizziness in my head was worse.

my body felt heavy, like i was sinking into the cold gym floor of the arena and i couldn’t stop shaking. "what happened?" one of the medics asked, his voice calm but urgent as he pressed a cold towel against my forehead.

"she just dropped," paige answered for me. "she wasn’t feeling great after the game. she has dysmenorrhea, and i don't think she's been taking her medicine." the medic frowned, glancing between paige and me as they slid something soft under my back. “is that true?” he asked and i could feel paige’s eyes boring into me, waiting for me to say what she knew had been happening.

i swallowed hard, my throat dry and bitter, my body still trembling from the cramps. i didn’t want to admit it, but there was no point in lying now. paige had clearly already put the pieces together. i gave a small nod. “yeah.” i mumbled, barely able to even look guilty because i knew what i had been doing. “didn’t wanna take it before the game.”

"has this happened before?" the medic asked.

paige looked at me, waiting for me to answer, but i didn’t. i didn’t want to admit that, yeah, it had happened before. i’d pushed myself too far more times than i could count and i had ignored the warning signs until my body just gave out. "yeah," paige said when i didn’t speak. "she has really bad cramps. worse than normal."

i wanted to protest, to say i was fine, but i couldn’t even form the words. the medic pressed two fingers to my wrist, counting my pulse, while another checked my blood pressure. i could see my teammates lingering nearby, their faces blurred in my vision, their whispers blending with the distant sounds of the crowd still filtering out of the stadium.

paige let out a frustrated sigh, but there was no real anger in her face, she only ever worried about you. “you should’ve told me.” she said, shaking her head and looking up. “you scared the hell out of me.”

~

"you need to let me help, alright ma? we’ll get you home and get you taken care of."

you barely managed a nod before another wave of pain hit you in the stomach like a truck, making you hunch over slightly as you tried to walk out of the stadium. paige didn’t hesitate to help you, her arm wrapped around you, steadying you as she scanned the room. “we’re getting you out of here.”

you didn’t argue. you couldn’t. it's not like anyone would let you leave the arena by yourself, and paige wasn't about to just let you off. the ride home was a blur, you eyes were barely open but you could feel paige’s hand around yours, her thumb rubbing slow circles against your skin. every time you winced, she gave you reassurance, promising that you’d be home soon.

as soon as you stepped inside your apartment, paige switched into full helicopter mode. she helped you change out of your clothes into thick pyjamas, guiding you to the bed and tucking you under a heap of fluffy blankets she had found. “okay, doctor p reporting for duty,” she announced, already moving. “heat pack first, then meds, and i’ll make you tea. do you think you can stomach something?”

you shook your head weakly, pressing the heating pad she handed you against your stomach as she returned with a glass of water and some painkillers. “just this for now.” she decided, watching to make sure you took them before brushing your hair back.

paige held your chin upwards to make sure you didn't spit them out, because even though you had agreed to take them she couldn't trust you anymore. “you’re burning up, babe. hold on.”

minutes later, she was back with a cool cloth, pressing it against your forehead as she gently massaged your temples. "your body is so important baby. if you won't take care of it like it deserves then i'll have to take care of it for you."

"you don’t have to," i murmured, though i didn’t pull away from her hand. my body was still too weak, too drained, but even if it wasn’t, i wasn’t sure i wanted to. i let my heavy head sink back into the pillows. she huffed. "of course i do. you think i’m just gonna stand by and watch you neglect yourself?" her voice softened, fingers slowing but still moving through your hair. "i can’t let you do that, ma."

"i'm sorry," i whispered.

paige sighed, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face and tightening the blanket around my body. "don't be sorry," she said, her voice gentle but firm in that i knew she was being serious. "just let me help you, yeah?"

you let out a weak laugh and paige grinned back. “there’s my girl.”

as the medicine started kicking in, exhaustion weighed heavy on you, but paige stayed close, shrugging off her shoes and tucking herself into your side. “i got you,” she murmured into your neck, rubbing her face against your skin. “i love you.”

~

[lostinlovingrevery]

Stressed old man Logan + reader + glory hole

Jesus Christ 🙏🫦

Unraveling

Old Man Logan X F! Reader

Logan overhears a conversation between you and your coworker....

A/N: Nonny when you sent this ask in I immediately was like...Oh my god. Oh my god???? Jesus. Hope you like this! (also this gif...ungf)

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, blowjobs, glory hole, drinking, Logan being perverted and desperate, suggestive ending (i mean.. its' obvs?)

It has been the fucking shittiest, fuck-all, goddamn day.

All Logan wanted to do was have a drink at his favorite bar, and talk to his favorite girl. 

Well, he got 1 out of 2.

You, who was not actually his girl (much to his dismay), were busy with customers. It seemed like all the fucking idiots in the city decided this bar was going to be the setting of their tomfoolery. He had to clench his fists and resist the instinctive feeling of popping his claws out and stabbing them into the arm of the drunken asshole next to him, who kept laughing and yapping and knocking into his (very sore) shoulder. 

The jokes aren’t even that funny. 

The night might be salvageable if he could at least get one of your pretty smiles shot his way. You haven’t even been able to come to refill his shots, one of your coworkers doing the job instead, since you were being drugged along table after table full of men shouting about their fantasy football and demanding refills and their seasoned basket of french fries.

There may have been a time when Logan would have been one of those. A group of friends, all laughing and having a good time over something trivial. Smacking one of them on the back and nearly knocking his glasses off; telling jokes that make one spit her drink out; arm wrestling with another and winning, every. Single. Time. Toasting their drinks, to a good future. 

Well, that was a long time ago.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. T’was getting late. Should probably head back home soon. Especially if he wants to resist the urge of slamming the fuckers head next to him onto the counter and staining the polished wood with his blood. Course, he wouldn’t want to create more work for you.

He glanced around the bar, searching for you. He couldn’t spot you, but he didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye yet anyway. 

You’re my favorite

You would whisper to him sweetly across the bar, a flirty wink, and a smile that made his heart flutter. He knew you were merely trying to make an old man, a regular to the bar, feel better about himself. You were just so kind, genuine about your words. It grew hard for him to not get a little crush on the young, pretty thing you are. A reminder of his youth. Shit, if he’d met you in his prime, he would have wasted no time in making you his.

Now, that’s just a fantasy. Something he thinks about as he lies awake on top of his ratty mattress, as he strokes his cock to the memory of your laughter, the curve of your painted lips, and the way your ass looks in those jeans. 

It’s pathetic, he’s created some sort of imaginary relationship in his head with you. So starved for any sort of affection, platonic or romantic- that he tries to imagine that you would ever want anything to do with him outside of being a regular at your bar. 

His glass was empty. 

He sighed, getting up from his stool and moving to the other side of the bar, where one of your coworkers was filling drinks up. It got him away from the assholes giving him a headache and got him the chance to get his glass filled up. He watched the whiskey being poured, small bubbles floating at the top, as he brought the glass to his lips, a courteous nod to the bartender before taking a drink. 

It was then he picked up something curious. 

It was you, and one of your coworkers, talking in the hallway around the corner that led to the bathrooms and the kitchen. It was none of his business, but he couldn’t help but eavesdrop. 

“Don’t you want to live a little bit?” 

“Well yeah!” You responded. “I don’t know if I call this living though…” 

“It’s fun! I swear.”

“How often have you tried it?”

“Like…4 or 5 times?”

“Woah. and you haven’t gotten an STD?” 

“Uh, no? Why would I get that? It goes in the mouth?”

Logan curled a brow, the silence from you was deafening as your friend- who’s voice Logan recognized as another bartender, a woman with platinum blonde hair who has implied more times than once that she wanted to have sex with him, to his face, waited for your next words. 

“We’ll need to have a talk about that another time.” You say gently. 

“Whatever. Are you going to keep being a prude?”

“I’m not a prude!”

“And when was the last time you got some dick?” 

Logan raised his brows in surprise. He waited for your answer, the silence then telling him what he needed to know. 

Admittedly, it surprised him. You were a pretty girl, boys flirted with you left and right. Yes, boys, because none of them could really take care of you- not the way he could. Course, he’s not really doing a top-notch job taking care of himself, or someone else….

“It’s just a glory hole. Just try it once, and it won’t be like anyone will know it’s you!”

Logan nearly choked on his drink. Glory hole?

The fucking glory hole!

The nasty shit in the last stall at the end of the men's bathroom. A hole someone drilled into the plywood to separate the women from the mens. He had seen it a few times, hell, even been tempted to give it a try. A moment of weakness just to get his whistle wet after who knows how long (He rather not think about it). He’s always chickened out though, stepping away from the nasty thing, preferring to just get himself off in his car or bed. Especially since lately, he could only think about you to get himself off. 

He listened to you sigh. 

“Okay…” You say. “Wish me…luck, I guess?” and a small laugh escaped you. 

He wasn’t even thinking. He stood up from the stool, a loud screech across the noisy bar, barely registered by anyone inside, as he moved to go down the hallway, brushing past your friend who glanced at him with a confused look, before watching him push the door of the men's bathroom open and step inside. She smirked knowingly, before turning to go back to her shift- and cover you for at least the next 10 minutes. 

The music and raucous laughter were muffled as he stepped into the dingy bathroom. The fluorescent light, blue-tiled floor covered with scuff marks and pieces of paper towels, and dingy, speckled white painted walls would be a mood killer for most. Logan though, felt his cock hardening every step he made to the back stall- praying to god some other asshole didn’t manage to get in there before he did. 

He pushed the stall open. Empty.

He stood there for a moment. The tent in his pants became more prominent as he considered the implications of what he was about to do. Fuck, he knew it was going to be you on the other side, you would have no idea it was his cock you’re sucking. Fucking felt wrong as hell. 

Then he thought about your pretty lips. 

He stepped inside, shutting the stall door behind him and locking it. He glanced over where the hole was located. 

Not huge, just big enough to stick his dick inside. Written above it with several arrows pointing towards the hole in Sharpie was GLORY HOLE in all caps. As if it wasn’t more obvious what the damn thing was. 

People used to be discreet. 

There was graffiti all along the wall. Crude drawings of dicks and stick figures having sex in various positions. Numbers and ‘Call me! <3 <3 <3’ written in multiple spaces. A ‘go fuck yourself’ written right at Logan's eye level in pink sharpie. 

He stood there for a minute, his fists clenching and unclenching as he listened to the muffled rock music in the background. Loud cheers turned his head to the stall door. He let out a small breath and inhaled through his nose- where he caught a whiff of your scent. 

He froze. Glancing at the glory hole before bending over, and peering through it. 

He knew he shouldn’t look, but he couldn’t help it.

You were sitting on the toilet, bouncing your leg, looking everywhere but the wall, like you were avoiding the fact that it existed. He found your nervousness cute. He thought of all sorts of ways he could have you. This certainly wasn’t one of those ways. This was all sorts of fucked up. He was a perverted old man, who jumped at the chance to secretly get his dick sucked by you, the bartender he’s had a crush on for nearly a year. 

He’ll take what he can get. 

He unzipped his pants.

Shaky hands pulled himself out, cock in his hand, he gave himself a few strokes. He hadn’t gotten hard this fast and this painfully in forever. He was throbbing, that thick vein that ran up to his tip, red and swollen as precum beaded and slowly dripped down his length. 

He took a deep breath, stepping forward, and he entered himself into the glory hole. His other hand came up, pressed against the wall as he braced himself, staring at the pink message telling him to go fuck himself. 

Oh. My. god.

Whoever this guy was, he’s fucking huge. Biggest you’ve ever seen. The sight of it made your thighs clench together as you felt your arousal slicken your panties. Your mouth watered and you felt your skin heat up by the fact that you were completely turned on right now. 

This was so nasty. 

You examined his cock, inches away from your face. Thick, a prominent vein from his tip, ran down his shaft. Pre-cum beading from his slit. He looked painfully hard, poor guy must be pent up. 

You bit your lip. 

Let's help him feel better.

Your hand came up to grip him, firm, but not too hard. You could feel him throbbing, as you leaned forward, and ran your tongue over his slit, tasting the beady pre-cum on your tongue and rolling your eyes- resisting the urge to moan. 

Logan bit down on the knuckle of his thumb, so hard he broke skin, as he tasted something metallic flood his tongue. He couldn’t care though, not as he felt your wet tongue practically lap him up like someone dying of thirst in the desert. Your hand slowly, carefully began to jerk him off, using your spit to lube him up. He let out a shaky breath, tipping his head back as he placed both hands against the wall, tipping his hips forward and pressing himself flush against the drywall. 

You leaned forward, taking his tip between your lips, as you twirled your tongue around him, hollowing at your cheeks and bobbing over it a few times. He was already huge, and you were doubtful of your ability to take him in fully. You tipped your head in forward, pushing him deeper into your mouth, and savored the weight of him. 

Fuck, you’re good.

Logan let out a pant, almost akin to a quiet whine when he felt you take him deeper into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, as you began pulling your head back and forth, swirling your tongue and lips over him expertly. Goddamn this stupid ass wall. Exactly why he didn’t like glory holes. He wanted to see those lips of yours wrapped around his cock. He wanted to see you look up at him with those pretty eyes. He wanted to grab your hair and face fuck you and watch tears stream down your cheek and kiss them away once he was finished. The way you were sucking on him like he was something desirable. You didn’t even know it was him.

Dirty girl.

Drool began to dribble over your chin, as you continued sucking on him mindlessly. Your brain was going fuzzy, your eyes rolled back as you enjoyed the heady taste of this man. You had no idea it would be this good to suck dick before. 

His hips started involuntarily thrusting against the wall, desperate for more, for the pending release that he had been holding back, completely surprised that he had lasted as long as he had. He bit back another groan, a small whimper escaping him as he continued rocking his hips against the wall, tipping his head back again. His claws pricked the skin of his knuckles, small red beads forming at the base. His nails dug into the dinghy paint, leaving crescent shape marks, leaving his permanent mark in the bathroom stall. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore, as he let out a harsh groan. 

“Fuck”

You almost stopped at the sound. The familiar gruff voice that you’ve grown to be fond of. The older gentleman who has been coming into your bar, every other night, gets the same drink, and gives you the same warm smile, with the same gruff “mhms”

You thought he was the cutest thing. Tall, dark, and handsome. Not to mention extremely mysterious. He never told you much about his life, after that he drives a limo- you’d tease him about giving you a free ride at some point since you have never ridden a limo, and he’d just smile and give you this look you couldn’t quite read. 

He never talked to anyone. Well, he “talked” to you, if you want to call it talking. He responds to you more than anybody else who works here. Even Angela, the one who pushed you into this damn thing just so you’d quit complaining about having no sex life. You never saw a guy resist her charms and tits but Logan could’ve cared less for her. 

It gave you a bit of a complex, admittedly. 

Angela is convinced his dick doesn’t work anymore cause surely who could resist her?

Definitely nothing wrong with his cock.

You had no idea he was the type of man to use a glory hole of all things though. What would he say if he knew you were the one slobbering over his cock? Fucking your throat with him, becoming mindless at the taste of him and already dreaming of sucking it again in the near future. He’d feel amazing in your pussy too, although by his size your jaw was aching and you knew you were going to need a lozenge after this by taking him down your throat; you’re not sure if you would be able to survive getting fucked. 

He was thrusting in and out of your throat, and you could tell by how he throbbed he was getting close. You pulled your mouth off him, stroking him furiously with your hand to get him there closer. You wanted to watch him cum. 

You faltered for a moment when you swore you heard him groan your name. 

Quickly returning your pace, you stick your tongue out, running it over his slit, when you are finally rewarded. 

Ropes and ropes of cum painted your tongue and face as you stroked him off. It seemed never-ending the way your face was being covered by his spunk. 

Sure was pent up, wasn’t he?

You stroked him through the last of it, noticing how your lipstick stained all over his base and feeling a strange sense of pride. You wrapped your lips around him one more time to clean off the remaining cum leaking out, making his softening cock twitch, before he quickly pulled himself out. You heard a zipper and a belt being done up before a door gets pushed open.

You sat there, blinking a few times. An urge to say, “Thanks” rests on your lips. Yet you keep your mouth closed. You pulled your phone out, looking at the mess you’ve become. His cum covered you, forehead to chin, spit dripping over your lips, and your mascara was runny. Even your hair had managed to get ruffled during the process. 

You spent the next five minutes cleaning yourself up, first wiping everything down and then when the evidence was less obvious. You washed your face in the sink, the girls walking in the bathroom oblivious to your earlier antics. A wave of clarity hit you as you began to wonder, 

How the fuck am I going to look Logan in the eyes now?

You dried your face off, fixed your hair, and checked your outfit before you opened the door and stepped back into the noisy bar- only to be greeted by Logan. His hands in his his pockets, face looking down at the ugly stained carpet that has been here since the 90s, his ankle crossed over the other. He looked up at you and your eyes met and you could see it.

He knew it was you on the other side.

He pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward and you swallowed, the taste of him still strong on your tongue. Staring up at him with wide eyes, he looked down at you like a predator eyeing his next meal. 

His cheeks were flushed, the tips of his ears red, his hair a bit mussed. He towered over you, making your heart beat fast. 

“You want that free ride now sweetheart?”

[royalarchivist]

Tubbo: I don't know my left and right!

Bad: What do you mean you don't know your left and right?!

Tubbo: I'M DYSLEXIC!!!

Bad: That's got nothing to do with left and right!!!

Tubbo: Oh my god, it literally does! That's not even a bit, it's like the main thing of dyslexia! [Laughs]

Bad: I thought it was just like, mixing up the letters! You're saying you actually mix left and right difficult?

Tubbo: MATE– EVERYTHING'S MIXED UP!

Foolish: You know what, we'll see you on Twitter, Bad.

Bad: I– didn't know that, ok? I feel like– that's not a real thing!

Tubbo: WHAT?!? I'm sat right here!

Fit: Hmm... That's a little problematic, isn't it? It's a little problematic. 🤨

Tubbo: This is just like the chairs! He hates everything about me as a person!

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

—

TRANSCRIPT

Bad: Go to the left, go to the left and–

Tubbo: I don't know my left and right! This way?

Bad: Left. Left left left!

Tubbo: [Shouting over him] SORRY!

Bad: What do you mean you don't know your left and right?!

Bad: You got it!

Tubbo: Thank you.

Bad: Yippee!

Foolish: [Laughs as he imitates Tubbo] "I don't know my left and right!"

Tubbo: I'M DYSLEXIC!!!

Foolish: [Chuckling] That was awesome.

Bad: That's got nothing to do with left and right!!! I think you're just dumb!

Tubbo: Oh my god, it literally does! It literally does.

Bad: No it doesn't!

Tubbo: I feel– Dude, I– [Puts his head in his hands] Mate.

Bad: [Sounding a little less-certain] ...Does it?

Tubbo: Yeah, it does!

Bad: Does it actually?

Tubbo: Yeah, it does!

Bad: Wait, really???

Tubbo: YEAH!

Foolish: Way to go Bad, now you're just an asshole.

Bad: Aw... :(

Tubbo: That's not even a bit, it's like the main thing of dyslexia! [Laughs]

Bad: I thought it was just like, mixing up the letters! You're saying you actually mix left and right difficult?

Tubbo: MATE– EVERYTHING'S MIXED UP!

Foolish: You know what, we'll see you on Twitter, Bad.

Bad: I– didn't know that, ok? I feel like– that's not a real thing!

Tubbo: WHAT?!? I'm sat right here!

Foolish: [Laughs]

Fit: [Sarcastic] Yeah, it's not real guys, it's not real.

Bad: No, I feel like he's making this part up!

Foolish: You see how he was mansplaining it to you? He was kinda mansplaining it too...

Tubbo: [Rubbing his temples] Just mansplaining to me dyslexia.

Fit: Hmm... That's a little problematic, isn't it?

Bad: No! I'm just asking if he's being serious or not!

Fit: It's a little problematic. 🤨

Bad: So it really isn't obvious, like your words?

Tubbo: This is just like the chairs! He hates everything about me as a person!

[orb-the-watchman]

I was just gonna put this in the tags but I think this might be better just to put it in the main text. For anyone else who is struggling with current events in the States, here is some advice that's helped me out a lot.

first of all, stop using Twitter/X like full stop. you are quite literally only getting negative information from there, which is what Musk wants, and it's not helpful. Things are pretty bad, but it's not as bad as you think. We haven't lost. There are so many organizations doing a lot of work right now. I highly recommend checking out lawyers and organizations that are fighting against Trump/Elon's policies.

The ACLU is my favorite, it's a great place to start. check out the national ACLU along with your local one. they hold lots of events and information that are very helpful. Make sure you are not only getting negative information!

If you have one. I also recommend local pride organizations as well. research what's local to you! get connected and involved. if there is a specific policy you are most concerned about. I guarantee an org or lawsuit is fighting against it. go find it!

Remember they want you to feel depressed and scared and hopeless! there's a reason why they're doing this all at once. not to say you should feel bad if you feel those things of course. it's valid and okay! just know you don't have to feel that way. the reason so much is coming out so quickly is to overwhelm- so people cannot focus on a singular order, when there are so many of them.

it's going to be ok, but it's going to be different.

“The reason we face the worst is not to fall into despair. the reason we face the worst is because it helps us imagine the best," A quote from A.R Moxon's “The Worst and the Dimmest” article. highly recommend you give that a read as well.

Feeling rough lately.

[cockettechris]

ASSISTANT'S WORK - M.S.

Matthew Sturniolo. One of the best lawyers in Boston, if not the best. He was 25, young for being so successful at what he does. Being as successful as he is means he needed an assistant, which happens to be you. As you fill out important files of some sort you're called to his office.

You gently knock on the door, knowing how 'cranky' he could be sometimes. After he tells you to come in, you walk across the carpeted floor before softly sitting in the leather chair across from his desk. He's still on the phone, getting frustrated with what you assumed was his girlfriend or something.

"Yeah no- what? Okay bye." He said sort of harshly as he hangs up, running a hand over his face before he looked at you. "Sorry, my brother Chris wanted to know what shirt he should wear. Fuckin' idiot.." You just sat there, not wanting to interrupt him. "Anyway Y/N, I called you in here because I noticed you've been slacking off on the tasks I've been giving you." "I'm sorry- I don't mean to-" He interrupted you, "Y/N. To be honest I don't really care. But since it's the right thing to do I'm gonna ask if something has been going on."

Truth be told yeah there was something. It's not everyday your boyfriend of 6 months cheats on you and sends you a video of him doing it. "Uhm well, just my boyfriend, or ex I guess cheated on me and-" He interrupted you again. "I don't need the whole sob story alright? Just make sure you get your tasks done on time if you wanna keep your job. Also I need to stay back tonight."

You nodded, knowing if you protested he'd get pissed. Not that you didn't like it, it turned you on if anything. "Alright well, continue filing those files and just, try to forget about him alright?" He said the last part softly, as if he spoke too loudly about it something would happen. "Got it, thank you Mr. Sturniolo". He nodded as you got up, shut the door and went back to your desk.

The rest of the day dragged on with a blur. A blur full of filling out files, answering phone calls, getting lunch and coffee, and other stuff. Then the clock hits 8:00. Closing time. A couple minutes after everyone left he calls you into his office. Again. You slowly open the door and see him taking off his suit jacket, setting it on the leather couch carefully. "Ah, Y/N. Sit." He says as he points to the leather chair across from his desk. You notice how when you sit his eyes linger on your body.

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier. About your ex cheating on you. It's messed up. Truly. I'm sorry if it sounded like I didn't care about it, I do. I care about you aswell. But you need to forget about it." You smiled softly at his words, before speaking. "I don't know how. It's hard." He smirked. "I know a way. Trust me you'll forget all about him."

"Fuck.." You barely managed to moan out. You're not sure how you ended up bent over your bosses desk as he pounds into you from behind. You were complaining? Hell no. "Yeah thaats it." He hissed out as he went almost all the way out before slamming back in. This was beyond anything better than you ever experienced. Yes you've had sex, but not like this. You could feel every vein on his cock.

God he loved how you felt around him, it was heaven. "This all ya needed?" You could only nod at his words. He suddenly grabbed your hair, forcing you against him as he continued moving in and out of you. "What? Can't even talk now?" You barely managed a small "n-no." He smirked at your pathetic attempt to talk. "Just needed your boss to fuck you dumb? Such a good slut, squeezing me so tight."

"Not gon' last long in ya sweetheart." He let go of your hair and gently put you back on his desk. "Can feel ya clenchin' me baby, gonna cum?" You whimpered softly, not even trying to talk. "Yeah atta girl. Come on, cum on this dick." He reached down in between your legs to rub your sensitive clit, trying to make you let go faster.

"F-Fuck." You moaned out loudly. "Go ahead. Cum all over my cock." A loud moan left your dry and parted lips as you came, running down his veiny dick. "S-Shit baby, 'm not far behind." He kept going, becoming faster and faster as he chased his orgasm. "Fuckk. You feel so good. Fuckin' made for me I swear." With one final thrust he came, pouring all his cum into you.

After the fact when you're putting your clothes on, after he helped clean you up. He came over to you as he fixed his tie and gently kissed your forehead. "You alright?" He asked softly. You managed out a small 'yeah'.

"I don't why we haven't done that before to be honest. But you do know we have to pretend this didn't happen right? You work for me. This meant nothing." You nodded. You understood it would be hard to try and just forget about it.

"I gotta go home to my daughter, my mom's watching her. See you tomorrow Y/N." He said, kissing you softly before he left.

Shit.

A/N: Do we like?? Also briefcase divider is by @bernardsbendystraws. This took me wayy longer than I intended lmao😭. Lmk if you wanna be on the taglist!!

Tags:

@sturnobsessedwh0re @sturniolos-manslut19 @sturniolosluttt @mattsfavbitchhh @livy4swift @pip4444chris @christophersturnn @ariastur9z @sturniolosarethebest @r0set0y @chrislilcumslvt @conspiracy-ash @courta13 @emely9274 @liiixsturniolos @ifwdominicfike

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Outside the Lines 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsessive compulsive behaviour, kidnapping, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has her routine and her fellow patient gets in the way of those.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, (lumberjack AU)

Note: It's friday, yuh.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Steve's hands slip down to your chest and you gasp. He gropes you through the fabric and you squirm, latching onto his wrists as you try to push him away. He squeezes and ignores your writhing.  

"Steve-- Captain! You said--kisses! That's not--" you whine.  

"Sweetheart, I can't help myself. You're just so..." he purrs and kneads you. "You look so good. I can't help but touch."  

"Captain," you wriggle. "Please, I'm scared."  

"Scared? Why are you scared?" He bounces your tits as his jaw ticks.  

"Because... oh...." you hands slip and you push on his biceps. "I don't know."  

"Because it's new? New things aren't bad, huh?" He cooes.  

"But-- but--" you babble. "You're touching me."  

"What's so bad about that, huh? You’re touching me too.” You look at your hands and retract them. “I'm being nice. Gentle. I'm not hurting you, am I?"  

You pout, "no, but--"  

"You really never been treated good, have you?" He drawls. "That's all I want to do."  

"I..." you quiver as your lip pushes out further.  

"You know, you're hurting me, right?" His eyes meet yours. "Looking so good. You got me all worked up and--" he looks down and you follow his gaze. His pants are tight and bulging. "Do you know that when a man gets... in the mood, it hurts."  

"What?" You grab his hands and he only squeezes more. "It hurts?"  

"Sure it does. It's all swollen and... there's only one way to soothe it."  

"That's not..." you look at his lap again. His pants do look uncomfortable. "Because of me?"  

"You look so pretty in that dress and you're kissing me all nice," he intones.  

"I did that? It's my fault?" You frown.  

"Baby, don't be sad. It's a good pain but... you can make it better. You wanna?" 

You gulp and your brows rise then fall. You don’t know what to do. Or if you should even do it. 

“You want to be a good girl, don’t you?” He asks. 

You nod and look at him eagerly. It’s the one thing you always longed for. To do things right. 

“Undo my zipper,” he rasps. 

You bend and straighten your fingers, “Captain?” 

“Remember? We agreed you’ll follow our rules. It’s all part of the plan. You have to get use to touching. To people.” 

“But... I don’t know what to do.” 

“I’m telling you what to do,” he squeezes your chest harder. “Please, baby, you’re hurting me.” 

“No, I don’t want to hurt you,” you mope. 

“So open my zipper.” 

You look down. You hover your hands over his lap then reach for it. It’s made a bit more difficult as he keeps his grasp on your chest. He groans as you touch the bulge in the fabric. 

“Ugh, yeah, honey, please...” 

You undo the button of his fly and slide his zipper down. He drones again. You stare at the top of his boxers. 

“Honey, you gotta... take me out,” his voice is strained. 

“Take you—it?!” You squeal. 

“It’s just human anatomy, right? Come on, I need you.” 

Your hand shakes as you cautiously touch the elastic. You curl your fingers around it and he lifts himself to help you, pushing down his jeans as he does. He drops onto the couch again as his dick bobs up above the crumpled fabric. 

“Steve!” You cry out. “I mean, Captain.” 

He chuckles, “what?” 

“It’s... is it supposed to be so... veiny?” 

He laughs again, “sweetie,” his voice grits and he grabs your hand. He wraps it around him. “Feel it. You feel how hard I am. For you? You know it hurts. You need to... soothe it.” 

“Oh?” You pout at him. 

“Like this.” 

He guides your hand up to his tip. You look down and giggle at the site of your hand on him. His tip is glistening. He pushes your grip back down and he shakes with a sultry moan. He breathes your name. 

“I think I got it,” you slide your hand up again and he lets go. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” he pushes his palms against the cushions. “Oh, wow, yeah, like that.” 

You pump him at the same pace as he showed you. He trembles and brings a hand to your chest. He tugs on the top of your dress. You squeak and look down. 

“Captain?” You whine. 

“Honey, it’s okay, it’ll help,” he coaxes and pulls the fabric under your tit. You exclaim as he cups your tit, his rough palm tickling your hard nipple. 

He purrs again and massages your chest. He leans his head back, his other hand spread over the cushion. You can feel the tension as you keep your motion. 

“Faster, honey, you gotta go faster.” 

You obey. If it helps, it can’t be bad. Maybe you’re helping them too. 

His voice clogs in his throat and he grunts as his breath picks up. He chokes on his words, “too... fast--” 

He bites down and suddenly spasms. His nails dig into your skin and you yipe as warm spills out over your fingers, leaking under them and smearing onto his dick. You don’t stop. You don’t want to get in trouble. 

He twitches and grabs your wrist, slowing your pace as he curls his shoulders forward. He exhales and stills you completely.  

“Honey, that’s... woah. That--” 

“What the fuck is this?” Bucky sneers. 

You turn and raise your gooey hand. Steve sighs and sits back. You stare at Bucky in horror and fix the top of your dress. 

“I... I’m helping,” you sputter. 

“Oh yeah? I’m out running around, trying to find a damn label maker,” he marches forward and tosses it on the table between the game boards. “And you’re playing around?” 

You get up and look at your slimy palm. You don’t like the feeling as it cools quickly. You grab a tissue from the box under the lamp and wipe your hand. You ball the tissue in your fist as Bucky huffs. 

“Steve...” he growls. 

“Sergeant,” you approach him nervously, “would... would it help if I gave you a kiss?” 

Bucky flinches and gives you a mean look, “what?” 

“Oh, uh,” you look at Steve. “I’m trying to be good. Is that bad? I thought--” 

“Honey, go on, give him a kiss. He’s just surprised.” Steve coaxes. 

“Oh, er,” you put your hands behind them. You should clean them properly. You watch your feet as you near Bucky, stepping on the boards but not over the lines. 

You stop before him and he looks down at you. There’s a stitch in his forehead. He doesn’t look happy like Steve. His eyes meet yours. They’re as blue as gemstones. You stand on your toes and pucker. 

Slowly, he bends to meet your kiss. A quick but firm brush of your lips. Steve snickers. 

“You being shy?” He taunts. “Honey, go on. Give him another kiss, a real kiss.” 

You watch Bucky as he glares at Steve. He looks at you again and steps closer. He puts his hands on your hips and draws you in. He bends and smothers you, his tongue bursting past your lips. You hum in surprise as he squeezes your hips. 

His metal hand crawls up your back. It tickles behind your neck then to your head. He holds you against him as he deepens his kiss, growling through his nose.  

His other hand drifts down to your skirt. His fingers creep under the fabric and tickle along your thigh. He scoops his hand around your ass and squeezes. You whimper and catch yourself on his arms. His grip on your head tightens and he locks you in. 

His fingers poke beneath your bum and he feels along your lips. You twitch and squirm in his grasp. It’s too much, too fast. 

“Buck,” Steve girds, “cool it.” 

Bucky snarls and nibbles your lip as he parts from your mouth. He looks you up and down, his eyes dilated, and drags his hand up your ass, lifting the skirt slightly as he does. 

“Being nice,” Bucky drawls. 

“You sure are, sergeant,” Steve stands and sneers. “Isn’t she a good girl? We made a lot of progress, right, sweetheart?” 

“We played battleship,” you say. “Oh. Er, thank you for the label maker, sergeant.” 

“Hmm, no problem,” his eyes flick to Steve, “that all the thanks I get?” 

“Oh, I--” You look to Steve for help. He doesn’t. “Would you like... a coffee? Or-- 

“Doll, that hurts. You give Steve all that sweetness and what do I get?” Bucky sniffs. 

“Steve? But he was hurting. He...” you grimace. “You want me to help you?” 

He glances at Steve again and quickly back to you, “sure, doll. That’s exactly what I want.” 

“Show him what you learned, honey,” Steve pats your shoulder and back up. 

Bucky brushes by you, closely. He tugs the back of your skirt. He goes to the couch and drops onto the cushion. He unbuckles his belt and undoes his fly. He reaches into his pants and strokes himself as he brings his dick through the split zipper. 

He looks at you. You flit over to him, mindful of the lines, and sway right before you reach the couch. You stare for a moment before you can make yourself get on the couch. You climb on your knees and he reaches around you as you sit back on your heels. His hand spreads across one side of your ass. 

You squeak and wiggle in his grasp. His cheek dimples. He’s almost smiling. 

“She’s got a nice ass, huh, sergeant?” Steve steps closer. 

“Mhmm,” Bucky answers from his throat. 

“Tell her,” Steve says. 

“Doll, you got a nice ass,” Bucky says. 

You giggle nervously, unsure how to react. “Thank you, sergeant.” 

“See, we’re all learning. Giving praise, right?” 

“Steve,” Bucky growls. 

“Honey, go on, look at how bad the sergeant needs you.” 

You once more look down at Bucky’s lap. He’s just as big as Steve. You think. You gently wrap your hand around his dick. He groans and pushes his head back. He stretches his other arm across the back of the couch. 

“Tighter,” Steve guides as he watches from the other side of the coffee table. You squeeze and Bucky moans. “Now, start.” 

You pump your hand up then down. You fidget on your heels, his fingers curling into your flesh. A swirl of sensations stir inside of you. 

You keep your hand working from tip to base. You watch the motion intently. The more you do, the weirder you feel. Not in a bad way. 

You squeeze your thighs together at the pulsing between them. There’s a slickness in your folds. You shift again. 

“Are you getting wet?” Steve asks. 

You gasp. Bucky laughs. “She is.” 

“I--I—I didn’t mean too--” 

“Shh, honey, keep going. You're not done, are you?” Steve commands. 

“No, uh, yes, Captain.” 

You move your hand faster. This time, bit by bit. You remember how Steve shook and told you too much. Bucky shakes and rubs your ass with his fingertips, his other hand clutching the seam of the couch. 

“Fuck...” he hisses and his hips jerk. Ropes of thick cum explode from him and streak down his grey jeans. He groans and grunts as he empties himself down the denim and your hand. You slow as he breathes shallowly. 

“Are you okay?” You asks. 

“Mmm,” he hums and tilts his chin down. 

“You are so good, honey,” Steve comes closer. “Ah,” he catches your wrist, “now, it your turn.” 

“My... turn?” You echo.” 

He drags you away from Bucky and sit you on the couch. He lets go of your arm and you hold your wet hand up. He puts your feet on the cushions, knees wide so your exposed to the room. You whimper and wriggle. 

“You,” he grabs your wrist again, “are going to show yourself some love now.” He pushes your cum-coated fingers against your folds. He guides you with his thumb against your index and middle fingers. “Like this.” 

He moves your fingers against your clit. You suck in a sharp breath and gasp. Your fingertips glide through your slickness. You’re so wet. 

“Mmm, see how much you like helping?” He purrs and keeps your fingers gliding, “does that feel good?” 

You nod and whine. He once more pulls at the front of your dress. He gently takes his hand away from yours. 

“Keep going.” 

“Yes... Captain,” you shiver and roll your fingers, around and around. 

He hooks the fabric beneath your tits and leans in. He cradles your chest in his hands, bouncing it, then buries his face in your cleavage. He groans and rocks his head between your tits. He traces his mouth along your skin, nipping you, then closes his lips around your nipple. 

You quiver as the pressure in your core plucks with the sensation of his mouth on your chest. You look down at Steve’s head, your fingers flicking faster without a thought. Bucky sidles closer and pets your head. 

“You going to cum again?” He clucks. “Gonna be a good girl?” 

You heave and close your eyes as the waves crest and crash over you. You spasm as your insides tangles and your nerves boil. You squeal as the release quivers in your thighs and dribbles down from your cunt. 

Steve pulls backs and licks his lips. Your hand falls limp against your thighs and he smirks. He looks at Bucky. 

“See, sergeant, she’s getting better. We just need to keep up our work,” Steve says. 

[writinginatree]

Jealous Little Puppy

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson & sibling!reader, Bodhi Durran & Riorson!reader, background Xaden Riorson/Violet Sorrengail

Summary: You feel neglected because your brother spends every free minute with Violet and has no time left for you.

Warnings: Jealousy, low self-worth, abandonment issues, implied depression. Set in Aretia during Iron Flame.

Anonymous requested: I want to ask something for Xaden where the reader is jealous and feels like she's in second place to Violet? Maybe because Violet and Xaden's dragons are mate, and they spend a lot of time together, the reader is jealous, but she gets all grumpy, glaring at Xaden, refusing his touch... but deep down she's a little lost puppy who just wants to be loved and protected🥹🤍

You sit on the bottom stair in the foyer of Riorson House, watching your brother across the room. The physical distance is nothing compared to how far away he's felt emotionally ever since you saw him again after entering the Riders Quadrant a few months ago. You were hoping he would have a few minutes to come to the gym and help you with a move you have trouble mastering, but, as usual, he's otherwise occupied.

He and Violet are locked in one of their silent conversations. You don't understand how, but you've been watching them enough to be sure they have some strange way of communicating without anyone else being any the wiser. It has to be part of the whole mated dragons thing somehow, you suppose. Maybe because of it, they can talk the same way riders and dragons talk. However it works, you hate when they do that. It always makes you paranoid, wondering if you did something wrong, if they're talking about you. Of course they aren't; you're not so self-important to truly believe they are. Nonetheless, that prickle of anxiety never fades. Maybe you did do something wrong and that's why Xaden's been so closed off from you?

He never has time for you these days. You'd thought maybe that would change now that you're back home in Aretia, but honestly, you should have known better. Every free second he has is dedicated to Violet, regardless of where you are and how often he's there.

Starting the quadrant, you'd been thrilled to learn that Xaden would be returning to Basgiath every two weeks due to his dragon being mated to that of a second-year, thinking you would get to see him on those occasions. And yes, the first time he'd visited, he had used the chance to check on you. Briefly. After that, nothing. You didn't get to talk to him again until after he showed up to save Violet and you all defected. According to Bodhi, it had been because you were safer that way. As if people weren't perfectly aware of who you are regardless of whether or not your brother payed any attention to you.

And while you do get to see a little more of him now, he never actually spends time with you. It hurts more than you care to admit. After lonely years stuck in a foster home, counting the days until you'd get to see your family again, it now feels a lot like your family doesn't want you anymore. You've been spending time with Bodhi whenever possible, but he doesn't have much time for you either, and, as much as you love your cousin, he simply can't make up for your brother's unavailability.

What little free time Xaden has, he spends with Violet. It's been going on like this for months. You try not to be jealous of all the attention Xaden gives her, but it's hard. They're so close, blind to anything except each other.

At first, it was nice to see them so obviously in love. Gods know Xaden deserves to finally have some happiness in his life. Things have been rough for all of you since the apostasy, but for him especially. And you're glad he has Violet to take care of him now, you really are.

It's just that most of these days, it feels as though you've turned invisible.

You know you're being unreasonable. You're an adult and should be fine on your own. But after having your mother abandon you, and your father die for a failed rebellion and leaving you behind, being constantly ignored by your brother in favor of his girlfriend is simply too much. It's like there's no space left for you in Xaden's life now that he has her.

The worst part is that you actually like Violet. It would be easier if you could hate her for stealing your brother from you, but you admire her. You're even friends — or as close to being friends as a measly first-year like you can get with a powerful second-year like her.

She never has time for you, either. You can't blame her. She's busy — as is Xaden, you know that. But that's different. Violet has no obligation to waste her time on you, but Xaden is your damned brother. He could at least say hi when he's home, ask how you're doing once in a while.

Instead, he only pays attention to you when you're in trouble, like is the case a few days later.

It wasn't even your fault this time. Your squadmate had gotten into a fight with one of the fliers; all you had done was try to make peace between them. Things escalated into a fist fight despite your efforts, and when the professors broke it up, no one asked who'd started it or gave you a chance to explain. After a whole fifteen minutes of Ulices yelling at the lot of you, you were sentenced to breakfast duty along with those who'd actually been involved in the fight.

And of course some asshole immediately informed Xaden about it when he returned from a long patrol later that afternoon, so now you're stuck getting another lecture, this time from your brother dearest.

"I hear you got into a fight with the fliers," he starts, glaring at you like you're the biggest disappointment he's ever seen.

All hopes that he might listen to your side of the incident evaporate, but you try anyway. "I—"

"I didn't think I had to tell you this," he goes on, "but you're supposed to be a good example for the others. We cannot have fliers and riders turn on each other, or everything will fall apart."

"It wasn't—"

"I expect you to be on your best behavior from now on. If I hear about any more incidents like this, the punishment your professors come up with will be the least of your worries. Is that clear?"

It's an effort to swallow your anger and the bitter feeling of betrayal. You've never felt so unwelcome in your own home. Somehow, you manage to keep your voice steady and void of emotion when you answer. "Yes, sir."

Bodhi finds you crying in your room that night.

"Hey, what's wrong? If it's because of that fight you got into—"

You can't take it anymore. "I didn't!" you shout, shooting to your feet. "I was just in the middle of it because I tried to make them stop, but no one ever fucking listens to anything I say!"

Bodhi raises his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay. Sorry. I can take it up with leadership for you. I'm sure they'll exclude you from the punishment if I explain that you—"

"Nevermind. I don't care about breakfast duty."

"But?"

You sit back down on the edge of your bed, wipe the tears from your face and shake your head. You don't look at him. "Nothing. It's nothing."

He wouldn't understand. He's never been needy for attention like you, is happy to do his duty without expecting thanks or acknowledgement. Oh, he would be sympathetic if you told him. Would let you pour your heart out about how unimportant you feel, how lonely you are because Violet is Xaden's number one priority and no one has time for you. Would hold you and stroke your hair, give you all the attention you so desperately crave. He'd sit with you and dry your tears until you fell peacefully asleep instead of crying yourself to sleep like you'd done so often lately.

But he would not understand. And once you were soundly asleep, he would tell Xaden.

And while Bodhi would certainly be doing so for your own good, you would rather let your dragon bite your arm off than talk to your brother about this. At best, Xaden would think you're being annoying, clingy, and childish. At worst... well, you're not sure. It doesn't matter. Talking about it would not improve the situation, that much you're sure of.

Therefore, you keep your mouth shut and your eyes glued to the floor until Bodhi finally decides to leave you be. He has homework and section leader stuff to do, after all. As soon as you're certain he's gone, you let the calm facade crack again and flop down on the bed, sobbing into your pillow.

Almost two weeks pass before Xaden deigns to talk to you again. You see him in the hall a few times, but he doesn't pay you any mind. Maybe he just doesn't notice you, or maybe he's doing it on purpose to punish you for your perceived misbehaviour. You don't know and it doesn't matter. Of course you could always greet him first, but you're tired of begging for his attention, so you convince yourself you don't want or need it anymore.

You're sitting at lunch when Xaden walks past behind you, reaching out to muss up your hair in passing as he's done thousands of times before, though not in a while. For the first time in your life, you swat his hand away.

He freezes, and you can practically feel his bewildered gaze boring into the back of your head. You continue eating like he isn't there.

For a moment he just stands there, trying to figure you out. When he speaks, his voice has an annoyed edge to it, but beneath that, there's a hint of what almost sounds like worry. "You're not still mad because I believed that you were involved in that brawl with the fliers, are you? Bodhi told me it wasn't your fault you got dragged into—"

"No," you cut him off, sparing him a glance over your shoulder after all. "No, everything is fine."

"Right..."

Though he clearly doesn't believe you, he leaves it be, walking off to find his own lunch. You knew he would. You don't matter enough for him to make a scene in front of your squad.

To your surprise, Xaden intercepts you outside your room that evening. Maybe Violet is still busy in the library; he sure as hell wouldn't be bothering with you if she had time for him.

"Okay, what's wrong?" he demands without preamble. "And don't you dare say it's nothing. You're skulking around like an abandoned puppy."

You bite your tongue to keep from retorting that that's exactly how you feel. Like he put you in a crate and left you in some dark alley because you're not worth taking care of anymore, and so far, no passerbys have bothered to stop and take you in. Unloved and unwanted, just like you felt when your mother left all those years ago. Maybe that's how it's supposed to feel, growing up. You've always been a little behind, so you wouldn't know.

Xaden nudges you, a reminder that he's still waiting for an answer.

You decide to give him a half-truth. "It just feels weird to be home after so long. Wherever I look there's something bringing back old memories." You let your eyes flick to his for a second. "I miss Dad."

"Me too," he quietly admits, which is the closest thing to vulnerability he's allowed himself in your presence since the execution. "But that's not all, is it?"

You shrug, opening your door in hopes he'll drop the matter, but he follows into your room. Fine. If you really can't avoid talking about it, you'd rather do it here than in the hall where gods know who might listen in.

Standing at the window, you look out over Aretia, all too aware of Xaden's presence at your back.

"Come on, kid. Talk to me."

You scoff. You can't help it. For months you've wanted to talk to him, to spend just a little bit of time with him, but he couldn't be bothered. And now that you've all but given it up he comes and demands you pay attention to him. Gods beware you have the audacity to turn things around and ignore him for a few minutes. Maybe you should have slammed the door in his face and refused the conversation altogether, given him a taste of his own medicine.

You don't have the energy to fight with him, though, so you do the next best thing and feign ignorance. "Talk about what?"

"About whatever is bothering you."

"Nothing is bothering me," you claim. "Like I said, it's just strange to be back—"

"Bullshit. You really think I can't tell you're mad at me? Because I absolutely can. I just can't figure out why."

"That's not— I'm not mad at you!"

It's the truth. You're jealous, lonely, feeling neglected, maybe even a little disappointed in him, but not mad. There's no point; being angry with him wouldn't change a thing. It's true you've been acting moody lately, pulling away from everyone and Xaden especially, deciding that if you are that unimportant to him, you won't bother him anymore. It was an act of acceptance, rather than anger. You didn't think he would notice.

"What is it, then?"

"I'm just..." You shake your head. "I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

You sigh. Why does he care all of the sudden? Part of you wishes he'd just leave you alone, even as the rest of you longs for the comfort his company used to bring. You're so fucking tired of this.

"You're away all the time. And when you are here you never have time for me." You didn't mean for it to come out like an accusation, but it does. And since there's no taking it back now you add, "It's like I don't even matter anymore. If I disappeared, you probably wouldn't even notice."

When he doesn't answer, you chance a look at your brother's face. He looks stricken, shock mixing with the guilt of the realization of how distant he's been.

"I didn't realize," he says finally, startling you with the uncharacteristically soft tone he uses. "I know I haven't really had time for you, but I didn't realize it made you feel so..."

"Neglected?"

"Yeah."

You shrug. "It's fine. I'm not a little kid you need to dote on anymore. You've got other priorities. I get it."

Xaden shakes his head. "That's not the point. I don't ever want you to doubt how important you are to me. All I did, the deal to let us into the quadrant, continuing what Dad started, it was all for you. All I wanted was to keep you safe, for you to have a better life. And just because Violet is my biggest priority now doesn't mean you're not important too. You and Bodhi are the only family I have. You'll always matter, you hear me? You matter so fucking much."

He takes you by the shoulders like he wants to shake you to make sure the words sink in, but refrains from actually doing it.

"I'm sorry," he adds, which feels even more surreal than everything else he's said so far. "I promised Dad I'd take good care of you, but I guess I fucked it up. I was so focused on just keeping us alive that I forgot about actually being there for you. And I know I've been... cold, but that has nothing to do with you. I just... kind of forgot how to do feelings, I guess. Not that I was ever much good at that stuff. But I still care. I promise I do, and I'm so fucking sorry for making you feel like I don't."

"It's okay," you say, and this time, you really mean it. He hasn't forgotten about you. He's trying. You're not abandoned after all, merely temporarily left behind. "You've done so much for all of us. It's not your fault I'm so sensitive."

"No, but I know damn well how easily you let things like this get to you. I should have noticed sooner. Next time you convince yourself you don't matter just do us both a favor and say something, okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Now, are we okay again?"

"Yeah."

"Good. And I'll try to have more time for you," Xaden promises, ruffling your hair. This time, you let him. "I can't help how busy I am, but I'll try to include you more when I'm here. I'll see if I have a moment to join you in the gym tomorrow, how does that sound?"

"Perfect."

[black-fist-order]

Holyshit. Well here's a conspiracy theory for ya.

I've been wondering why Trump has allowed Elon free reign to upstage him and do what he wants. I'm sure he has to know the public has been calling Trump Elon's lapdog. And then there's the Time cover with Elon sitting behind the presidential desk. Trump should be fuming, but during Elon's press meeting in the White House, Trump just sat there like a castrated sad clown while Elon's kid told him to shut up.

But why? Why would Trump let himself be upstaged and mocked - especially by a child? He already won the election. He doesn't need Elon's money anymore.

But then Jess told me something Elon's kid said during an interview with Tucker Carlson.

When asked if Trump would win the election, the kid says "yes" and then says "they’ll never know."

https://gizmodo.com/elon-musks-kid-keeps-saying-weird-stuff-about-trump-2000563118

During the election, I knew something was up when Trump began accusing Kamala for cheating in Pennsylvania. That's very specific. And historically, he only blames others for things he's doing.

As a programmer, I know anything is hackable. An 11 year old girl at the hacking convention DefCon in Vegas was able to hack into a voting booth in 10 minutes. And that was back in 2018!

And while the voting machines aren’t connected to the internet per-se, it only takes 10 minutes to pop in a USB and get out. And it just so happens there was a bomb threat in PA where they emptied the building. But it wasn’t just one building, it was 67!

Of the 67 locations, 56 were in 11 counties that voted for Joe Biden in the 2020 election, including the eight most populated. Those high-population Democratic counties include voting locations for Milwaukee, Wisconsin; Detroit, Michigan; Phoenix, Arizona; Atlanta, Georgia; and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/amp/rcna179006

Hacker kids do this stuff for the fun of it. Imagine if they were getting paid millions of dollars?

And now, Musk has surrounded himself with these kids who have notoriously gained access to federal records, our records, with ease.

Four hours before election results were called, Elon announced that Trump was the winner and he had an "app" to prove it.

And then, there's this... Trump is a complete idiot and actually said this out loud after the election...

"He (Musk) knows those computers better than anybody. All those computers. Those vote-counting computers," Trump told the crowd. "And we ended up winning Pennsylvania like in a landslide."

https://www.newsweek.com/donald-trump-elon-musk-voting-machine-2017657

"They will never know."

Trump even said repeatedly before the election, "I don't need your vote." It's a weird brag that indicated he had already won.

I had been saying Trump was going to cheat long before the election. But the comment was instantly shot down by both sides. Conservatives thought we were being hypocrites, and progressives thought we should be above Trump-style conspiracies and gracefully accept the outcome.

Looking into this now, I'm not surprised I wasn't the only one. The internet is all over this stuff.

https://www.reddit.com/r/politics/comments/1i5uovx/donald_trumps_voting_computers_comment_sparks/

Will this info ever come out? Will it even matter? I have no doubt Elon's guys are at the top of their game, and the only way this will ever see the light of day is if one of these guys talks.

But for right now, it's obvious to me why Trump is letting Elon do whatever he wants.

Because all it would take is for Elon to turn to a camera and say a few words to the world, "I helped Trump steal the election."

Boom.

[revelboo]

Please I know Thundercracker just got an update but I need reader to reciprocate his feelings because he needs all love omg (love your work<3)

He does need some love

Better Open The Door Pt 16

Thundercracker x Reader

• It is what you want. Right? So why do you feel so guilty? Like you’re abandoning him. Servos ghosting against your cheek, he leans his helm against your forehead. “I mean, we can still have our movie nights,” he says, smiling even as that hopeful edge in his voice twists through you. “Unless you’re done with me?” How can a giant, alien robot pull at your heartstrings sounding so lost and uncertain. Vulnerable in a way you understand too well. Chest aching, you brush your mouth against his. Does he really think you care so little about him?

• “Why would you think that?” You sound almost hurt. But you’re the one who said you wanted your freedom. Sitting up, he shifts you into his lap, hooking an arm around you. Feeling the beat of your heart against him. The warmth of you. Wanting his to last. “Are you done with me?” That soft question shocks him.

• “Never,” he growls, cupping the back of your head and his mouth hungrily claims yours. Not a kiss so much as a promise, leaving you breathless when he feathers his lips against your cheek. “I’m never going to be done with you. You’re stuck with me.” Warmth spreads through you at those possessive words. Know you should be careful. Put up boundaries now because your know he can get a bit obsessive. Fixated. “I love you too much.” How does he just casually say things like that and sound so sincere? Like he has no doubts.

• “Do you?” Those eyes flick up to his optics, uncertain and vulnerable as you shift in his lap, little hands cupping his face. Lips a breath away from his. “Enough to let me go home as long as I come back?” Asking him to trust you. Trust that you’ll come home to him. Wants you to say those words back to him so bad his spark aches, to hear that you love him. But maybe it’s too soon. He’s not going to give up on winning you over. Coaxing you to be his. Needs you with him, beside him. Someone to love, someone who’ll stay. Who needs him. And you’re worth waiting for.

• “I could go with you,” he says, lips whispering against yours with the words. “I have an avatar. No one would know I’m not human.” And you smile when he turns his head and brushes his cheek against yours. Could you really just take him home? Introduce your alien lover to your family pretending he’s a new boyfriend? “I’ll behave.” How can you say no to that? He’s listening to you. Agreeing to let you go home, even though he probably doesn’t want to just to make you happy. And you realize you really are falling for him. Looping your arms around his neck, you lean back and pull him down with you.

Previous

[alexabowwow21]

My lips on your neck

Danny and Tim never really cared about Valentine's Day. Even before they got together or even met, Valentine's Day was not it. For them, it felt too forced and fake with all the pink and red everywhere.

As Danny started dating Tim, He felt that spoiling him was the right call. He will keep the presents low-key, after all, Tim would like a more quiet and relaxing one than a big one with a bang. Hopefully, Tim likes it.

Tim didn't feel any different even if today was Valentine's Day. The day went normal for his standards. Woke up, took the food Danny pre-made for him, Went to work, had to deal with idiots, meetings on top of meetings, and then some detective work. The only thing giving him energy was Danny texting him and knowing he was gonna see his boyfriend soon.

What he did not expect was his boyfriend of six months to do this!!

Petal trails towards the kitchen with a heavenly smell coming from there. In the kitchen waiting for him was Danny with a very nice shirt and pants smiling widely the moment his eyes saw Tim.

' Tim, Welcome home! Wash your hands and then let's eat. I made marinated chicken, salad, mashed potatoes and rice + some soup with garlic bread. Would have made more options, but I have a feeling your stomach is not up to it quite yet.' Danny beamed at Tim happily like a puppy.

Tim just smiled at his boyfriend in adoration and turned around to wash his hands. After washing his hands, Tim came back to the kitchen. Pecked Danny on the lips and went to take a seat.

Tim Took a bite out of the chicken. He let out sounds that would have embarrassed him if he was with anyone else, but it still made Danny blush, which was enough for Tim.

After dinner time they cleaned up the kitchen, and then Danny covered Tim's eyes.

' Hey, what is this for?.' Asked Tim in an amused voice.

'Hold on babe. Trust me, you will love this.' Said Danny chuckling and trying to hold Tim from peaking.

Danny uncovered Tim's eyes to reveal the surprise. Tim's eyes widened as he took over what was the surprise Danny had prepared for him. Two weight blankets, three plushies (is one of them a ghost like Danny's keychain?), two hoodies that were Danny's size, and Flowers of many colors.

Danny:' I hope you like ihmhmhmhm.' Tim jumped on his boyfriend and kissed him on the lips, making Danny almost lose his footing.

They pulled away, resting their foreheads together. Tim felt a plastic on Danny's neck. Tim pulled away, sending a confused look at him.

Danny:' I have another surprise for you and I know it was creepy and I really should have not done it.... but you really are the best thing that happened to me and.... man I had a whole speech ready for you....'

Tim:' Danny, you are rambling. Just show me. (It can't be anything creepy. I know I have done worse. You should see your shrine. Whatever he is gonna show me. I know it will make me crazy in a good way. That is how you have been from day one).' Tim shakes his head and smiles gently at his sweet boyfriend.

'Alright.' Says Danny, opening his shirt. Making Tim widen his eyes and full body blush. 'Am I gonna get a strip tease. It has been a while and look at those ArmS and AbS.' On those abs, I would finally learn how to clean my clothes. Alfred would be so proud of me and those arms. I have never slept so better than in Danny's arms. He could also send me to my maker with those aRmS and that neck, I can't wait to bit.... hold on

'Danny'. Said Tim in a confused manner. 'Is that, what I think it is?'

A lips tattoo on my neck. Yes, it is and they are your lips, Tim.'One day you came home drunk as Tim Drake CEO which was weird well.. Anyway, you came to me and kissed my whole face and neck with red lipstick. I don't know where you got it from, Your lips were color-free when I saw you. After that saw my neck and It was so perfect, that I had to get it. Polaris, I am so madly in love with you, I don't know what to do with myself. I apologize if I step over the line.' Said Danny nervously while not quite looking at Tim.

Tim stared at Danny with wide eyes and a blank face. Tim.exe STOP WORKING! Press control and Start to reactivate the system again. THANK YOU

Tim didn't believe in fate, but at that moment he was glad to have met Danny, his sweet, handsome, kind boyfriend.... THAT TOOK HIS LIPS AND MADE IT INTO A TATTOO... ON HIS NECK AND DID HE CALL ME POLARIS??? POLARIS, THE NORTHERN START?? THE START THAT LEADS YOU HOME?? IF DANNY WANTED TO SHARE LAST NAMES, HE SHOULD HAVE SAID SO!!!!

'Polaris... baby, my everything...... TIM!!' Yelled Danny

Tim snapped from his thought that was choosing the venue for the wedding they were gonna have.

'Yes?' Asked Tim in confusion at his boyfriend. ' Sorry Danny did you say something?'

'Well, I asked if you liked the surprises, especially.' Danny points towards his neck smiling awkwardly at his boyfriend.

Danny watched Tim's eyes turn from ocean blue to black as the pupils enlarged after asking the question. Tim quickly walked up to Danny, grabbed him by the neck, and kissed the tattoo. It made Danny's whole body shiver and his core started to purr. He immediately tried to shut it down as they had not talked about anything yet.

As Tim pulled away, he looked Danny in the eyes and in a heated voice said: 'The wedding is next week!' You are mine now.'

wwhwhwhwhwh WHat??? Stuttered Danny at Tim, making Tim snap, realize his mistake, and dive into the weighted blankets.

'I love it all, Danny, you are the best boyfriend ever!' Tim screamed from under the weighted blankets.

Danny was left standing there frozen. Started giggling and walked up to the couch, hugged the weighted blankets with Tim in them.

'Happy Valentine's Day Polaris!' Said Danny in a happy voice.

Under the weighted blankets Tim had a full-body blush while smiling a love-sick smile. 'Happy Valentine's Day Danny. Thank you for coming into my life.'

20 minutes later

Danny and Tim watching Star Trek under the weighted blankets with Tim wearing one of the new hoodies and cuddling into Danny.

Happy Valentine's Day people! I hope the day treated you well, no matter where you are in life. If this story came late, well Happy belated Valentine's Day. Hope you liked the story.

[deathsmallcaps]

I’m autistic and despite growing up with a Black Stepdad and Black friends, and thinking the Civil Rights movement and the Civil War were cool, and even going to schools with pretty inclusive curriculums, I sometimes repeated mean things I heard (often from my Dad) or did not give thought to how certain lines of questioning/conversation may feel different towards different people. I was, and still occasionally am, racist. Among other things.

(I initially grew up in an almost exclusively Black and white town that was roughly half & half, and later moved to an area that was more half & half Indian and white. I have only ever lived in the east half of the USA)

Sure I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Sure I did believe that everyone should be treated well. Sure I loved the Black people around me. I’ve never said the n-word - I didn’t even know it existed until I read Roots by Alex Haley. But I didn’t consider nuance, I didn’t consider feelings in my thirst for knowledge, and frankly, I have a tendency to be obnoxious. ALL normal things for an autistic person. But ALL things that are quite hurtful. After all, don’t we get hurt when someone stereotypes us?

Looking back, I feel like my Stepdad should have been more active in my social education. He wouldn’t have been educating some random white person who walked up and hurt him, he’d have been teaching his daughter (he’s always treated me how his family treats daughters, for better and for worse).

But my mom, the white woman, stepped up as a good ally. SHE gave me Roots. SHE talked me through dealing with ‘white guilt’ and how that’s nobody’s problem but mine. SHE encouraged me to educate myself, and to consider what I say before I say it. SHE helped me realize my privilege. With help from a psychologist, we both learned how to handle my social issues. And now I’d say I’m a more conscious person. It doesn’t hurt that one of my English classes focused on the Harlem Renaissance and another taught Othello and Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison. Since then, I’ve sought out media and information by and about creators of Color and my relationship with my Black family members and friends has definitely improved.

I’m lucky guy. My autism is not the most debilitating in the world, and I do think it gives me valuable insight into said world. Acknowledging it helped me gain insight into how I work.

But I’m still an upper-middle class Anglo-American culturally-Christian white adult whose worst personal interaction with the cops is getting a speeding ticket. The only things I could possibly be oppressed about here is my sex/gender and if someone clocks my neurodivergencies. Maybe my allyship if its a REALLY crazy situation. It’s my responsibility to be aware of my privilege, love my fellow humans, and educate myself on how to respect others. Loving does NOT equal respecting. They’re different things. Just like how your family may genuinely love you but do not respect or understand you.

All those things on the news, about children getting shot because they’re wearing their hoodies up, or having a panic attack, or whatever bullshit excuse a white person with a gun can dream up. Those are extreme and something to be worried about. That kind of behavior should be condemned. But that doesn’t cover every single angle of oppression. And oppression isn’t just perpetuated by the nebulous concept of The System! It’s also perpetuated by Our Common Man. AKA, you and me sometimes.

Sometimes, you’re going to reach out in ways that have worked before and it’s not going to be appropriate. That hurts! But if you do your best to incorporate that info into what you’ve learned, then that’s awesome! I’m proud of you! You’re going to have to keep doing it though!!! And that’s okay!!! That just means you’re getting to live life!!!

Apologize and/or change the subject and educate yourself soon after. Those are some of the best skills you can have. You can’t go back, you can only improve the future.

Another really good bunch is being honest and introspecting on why certain things make you uncomfortable. Once you know, own it and desensitize! Be a good friend!

This is getting very long. If you want some concrete examples,

Some of these things happened because I am autistic. Some may have happened because I was a white kid. But for whatever reason it occurred, as an autistic older teen and now adult, I needed to learn from these experiences so I can help make the future better :). You are capable of learning these things too.

Problem: I once asked a Black friend how it was to be Black. I was trying to educate myself! It wasn’t appropriate though. I kept asking repeatedly, and we were like 13. She was a child and shouldn’t have to have the answer.

Solution: My mom redirected me to Black literature so I could learn from adults willing to talk about it. She didn’t owe me information, nobody does, but especially not kids.

Problem: I was 16 (in 2017). I was talking to a Filipino American* girl who was just coming out of homeschool. I wanted to be nice and relate to her, and I loved Disney. Turns out so did she! I asked if Mulan was her favorite Disney Princess. My thinking was ‘I like Tiana best but I really liked seeing Anna because we have the same hair color -> I know representation is important because (at the very least) it’s nice to see people who look like you being heroes -> Mulan is cool and the Asian princess ™. I was trying to relate and be kind. But that wasn’t appropriate. I made a general assumption, and made her uncomfortable. Mulan was a favorite of hers, it turned out, but that does NOT matter. A person’s relationships with their demographic’s stereotypes are extremely private unless shared. And it’s THEIR right to close it up again.

*despite Filipino and Filipina being gendered, when saying demographic information, such as ‘Filipino American’ about a woman, the trend is towards -o. I couldn’t find a direct answer, but multiple sources said Filipino-American about ladies.

Solution: Remember everyone is an individual and may not want to talk about all aspects of their life. Let them offer information about aspects that you aren’t knowledgeable about, like being of Filipino descent, or being homeschooled, or how it is being a Disney fan of Color. If they bring it up, offer responses like ‘I didn’t know that. Cool!’ Or make encouraging noises like ‘huh!’ Or ‘neat!’ So they know it’s safe to keep talking to you about a subject that is important but sensitive to them. And they might not ever bring these things up! And that’s okay. It’s their business. Retrain your nosiness elsewhere, it’s hard but possible :)

I must reiterate: A person’s relationships with their demographic’s stereotypes are extremely private unless shared - and it’s THEIR right to close the subject. And for the record, just because there is a Southeast Asian Disney Princess now (Raya), it would NOT have been appropriate to ask if her favorite was Raya. That’s still stereotyping, it’s just updated for the 2020s.

Problem: I love name meanings. I couldn’t find my one Indian-American classmate’s name meaning online, so I went up to him and after starting a pointed conversation, I told him my name’s meaning in the hope he’d tell me his. He did, but he was uncomfortable. Because I didn’t really talk to that guy before, and in a roundabout way socially coerced him into giving up information to a relative stranger. Information he probably didn’t care that much about, but it was obvious I only wanted one thing from him. It was rude and showed that I hadn’t really cared about him before I wanted something from him. And people generally don’t like being treated like living wikipedias of their cultures!

Solution: sometimes you’re going to have to accept you aren’t owed information. This also applies to my first example. If you can’t find information online, even if you find the perfect subreddit that welcomes questions like these*, they might not give you an answer. And that’s okay. It might drive you a little mad about missing that bit of information, but it will not end your world. Trust me. I’m putting a lot of personal mess-ups on here, I’m not going to start lying to you now.

*people don’t like being treated like walking Wikipedias for their cultures in general, but sometimes the armor of online anonymity makes people more comfortable sharing. Not always though. Maybe check other questions from other people in that subreddit or tumblr or whatever to find an appropriate format, or get a general sense of what kind of questions are answered happily. You may just have to let it go.

Problem: when I was 17 my mom introduced me to two women, a Black woman and a white woman. She told me offhandedly that one played in an American football adult league for fun. Being a feminist, I was really excited by that, because American football is a very male sport. I didn’t end up talking to either of them about it, but I sure thought a lot about that during that encounter. Afterwards, I said something to my mom that made it clear I thought the Black woman was the football player. She corrected me and said “You thought it was [her] because she’s Black,”. She was correct, I felt terrible for stereoptyping, and I cried (I cry easily). I wanted to go apologize or something. My mom pointed out that the apology would be for me, not for her. Which is an issue (I still struggle with this in many different contexts)

Solution: if you want to apologize, ask yourself ‘Am I doing this because I want the person I hurt to know how apologetic I am? Am I doing this because I want to hear ‘it’s okay’?’. If either of those has a yes as the answer, then reconsider making the apology. If the person really does appreciate apologies, then offer one. But keep it simple. Don’t mention your feelings or why you messed up. That doesn’t matter, and can make them feel guilty for their own valid feelings. And regardless, focus more on not repeating the behavior. That’s the best apology, even if you never see the person you hurt again. You hurt someone, so *I must stress this* it is NOT about you.

Problem: I’m going to college in a very white town (it fits my budget). My first week there, a white friend E was talking about her friend P, who I was to meet later that day. She mentioned they are a minority (E is from that white college town and is still learning too. She’s improved quite a bit. She doesn’t lead with that kind of information anymore) who was also from the area. I was confused. I had pretty much only seen white or white-passing people the last few days. I asked, and she told me they were Indian* and from a local people (among others. Like many Indigenous people, P isn’t from just one Indigenous or only-Indigenous culture). I was shocked. I was under the impression that all the Indigenous people from [college] area were killed or forcibly removed or assimilated.

*P prefers the term Indian when talking about themself or their family, due to their multiculturalism and preference to older terms, but the most polite thing is to refer to an Indigenous person by their People. So if you’re talking about M, your Salish friend, and for some reason his ethnicity comes up, call him Salish - not Indian, not Native American, not Indigenous. Unless he prefers those terms. Though individuals generally prefer the more culture-specific name. If you’re talking about a group of different people or peoples who are original inhabitants of the Americas or Australia or the Pacific Islands (and sometimes Africa), then use Indigenous. That being said, always defer to personal preference.

Solution: I let P bring up info about their peoples when they wanted. I looked up some things later. I also did some research and found that the Indigenous people of my [home] area weren’t all gone either. I had been taught in my state history class who they were exactly, and then they were never never brought up again. Then I learned about things like the Trail of Tears and residential schools, and assumed their culture was effectively dead. I was wrong, thankfully!

Problem: This is not exactly racist but I feel that it’s relevant. I’m talking to this guy right now. A couple weeks ago, we went out and I brought up a question that I thought was pretty normal for dates/conversations where you get to know one another. “What do your parents do?” After all, parents’ occupations affect you! He told me that his mom is working as a fruit seller after being laid off and his dad was laid off (his parents are divorced like mine) and is currently unemployed. FAUX PAS! Yikes. Both of my dads have histories of unemployment (my Dad likes to quit, my Stepdad has gotten laid off multiple times*) but all are employed right now. And I know how awkward (at the very least!) it is to be in that situation, especially money-wise.

Solution: I looked up bad questions to ask on dates later and yup! That was on there. Don’t talk money until you you’re serious. Apparently doing it so early on is a very white/privileged thing. One website I read even said that explicitly.

*Once you get laid off once, you’re often a new hire at a company. And being a new hire, you’re more likely to be laid off, because companies value seniority. Thus, a self-perpetuating situation unfortunately. I wouldn’t be surprised if other factors came into play - reminder: my stepdad is Black, and employers may use that information when choosing which new hire to let go. But we know for sure that seniority is definitely part of the issue.

General Reminder 1: Don’t ask to touch or talk about Black people’s hair. No comments about getting it wet, how it’s different from yours, how working with it must be different, interesting little factoids you may have learned about their hair, weaves, wigs, and so on. If you genuinely have curly hair at 2c-ish or higher (see picture), then it’s a different story. You may have something in common that’s fun to talk about! Comments on how nice it looks are sometimes okay, but consider: are you only saying these complements when it’s straightened or braided? Or only when it’s natural? If you really are only complementing them when it’s on one side of the spectrum, then that’s an issue. Respect Black hair as an art form or even just a part of existence, in its entirety.

Also don’t say it’s kinky or wild hair. Black people can sometimes use those terms for themselves but it isn’t for us. There’s literally a ton of historical laws and economies that have oppressed Black people’s hair and those are some of the things that we should just listen to them about.

This can applied to other cultures’/races’ clearly visible differences from your own features, too.

General reminder 2: look at the kind of things you like to watch, or read, or even react with, like memes. Are they making fun of the minority people in those books? Would that meme be as funny to you if the person in the picture had facial features more like yours? Are the people who look like the person in that meme using that meme? Are People of Color getting to talk and have non-stereotypical storylines in your TV show? Are they even there?

Lastly: You’ve read all this advice from a white person. Go seek out advice, stories and more from other sources!!! It might hurt in the moment but that’s just called growing pains. You will still make mistakes but you have to look to the future! Learning from the sources themselves will be a lot more useful towards creating a pattern of information and behavior your autistic brains can utilize :). Let’s all go be better allies!

The books and authors I mentioned are great places to start and another really good one that I cannot recommend enough is the Levar Burton Reads podcast. But don’t just read fiction. Crack open some history books or podcasts or tv shows. Give yourself some context. Personally I adore Wikipedia when I want to find out more but I don’t have a book. Okay I’ll stop.

idgaf how autistic you are stop being racist😭😭

[co-mixed]

Why I hate Reed 

Fantastic Four has a long history of disaster after disaster. Most of the disasters in question were caused by Reed. Bet you didn’t expect me to jump right into it. 

Okay, fine, let’s do an introduction first.

Fantastic Four has been a Reed-centric story since the day he broke ground on Marvel-1 (known at the time as just a rocket) and took his bff, girlfriend, and her tag-along brother on a ride, to the day his arch-enemy took over the world (that was last week). It’s all about Reed and everyone else just happened to get stuck with him. 

I hate Reed. Maybe not as much as Doom does, but it’s close. 

I have my reasons.

If you know Reed well, chances are, you also hate him. If you don’t know him, you’re lucky. If you don’t hate him… keep reading. 

Reed has always been always the intended protagonist of the Fantastic Four. They might have called it a family book but really, you tuned in every month to find out who is bugging Reed and whether he manages to fix everything this time. That’s who he is, he fixes everything. Mostly through the power of science, occasionally by stretching in the most ridiculous way. 

Reed is recognized by CB writers as a hero, not just a hero in a cape and mask sense (he doesn’t even wear those) but the cool-headed, smart guy, the focal point of the team and the narrative. You are supposed to see yourself in him and imitate his approach. 

Everybody cares about him, everybody talks about him, and in those rare moments when he’s presumed dead, everybody mourns him. 

But Reed just isn’t a good person. There are things about him that don’t just fail to align with heroism, they’re plain vile.

He’s a liar

Reed is a liar. It’s not just that he omits relevant details like, say, forgetting to inform the whole team that they are slowly dying, or warning them that he’s keeping a dangerous gate in the basement. This is absolutely a pattern with Reed and instead of getting mad at him, people just accept it as a part of his character. Even if they do get pissed off, they eventually forgive him. Then all of that repeats. To be fair, I probably should be more mad at the dysfunctional family that enables his behavior. 

But it’s still him. The logical path he loves so much to take inevitably leads him to the conclusion that it’s time for yet another lie. He’s not above covering one lie with another, and it comes off almost childish (not in the adorable sense). What I mean is, he is afraid of being judged because he knows what he’s doing is wrong but he simultaneously believes that he is right because he knows better. Again, this comes down to him claiming to be the smartest man on Earth. Which is ridiculous. The smartest man in physics is still the stupidest when it comes to art or magic. And he admits both things himself yet refuses to accept the fact that he knows almost nothing. 

Besides, both his daughter and Lunella are easily smarter than he is. 

He’s a hypocrite 

Reed is a terrible hypocrite. We don’t talk about that often, because the stories that allow you to notice that lie far apart. During the Civil War, he was all happy to serve the government. It is a big part of his life, he’s always been ‘public’ and ‘legitimate’. In the eyes of the law anyway. So when the question of whether or not to register appeared, he made a call for everyone. Happily so, and he went along with punishing everyone who opposed it. Except for his family, of course. It smells awfully similar to the way dictators operate so I guess we should be thankful Reed doesn’t have those ambitions. 

But when the tables turn and Reed has to answer for all he’s done, he believes that he is judged harshly. Of course, it turns out to be a villain’s plot but he never really stops to think how his actions were questionable at best. And he isn’t prepared to take responsibility the same way he expected others to. He thinks it’s unfair. 

He’s a garbage person 

Essentially, the problem is Reed not knowing when to stop. Reed is stubborn, we already know that. He is convinced that he knows what is best for everyone. He believes that his view of the world and how things should be is the correct one. The mathematically correct one, I mean, he did write all those equations on all those walls. This is what eventually led to the Civil War, and this is what eventually led to the Secret Wars. The two most notable events on 616. Reed’s math allegedly allowed him to predict the future, and in that future, he saw Doom. JK but he did see that superheroes will destroy the world if they keep on unchecked. And he did see the possibility of incursions. So he built 42 and threw his friends there. He experimented on Speedball to the point of torture because the government said it was ok. He got together with the Illuminati pre-Secret Wars convinced that they could definitely stop the incursions and they failed. They would’ve gotten everyone killed and, big shocker, the only ones he ended up saving were himself and his family (although Justice finally said “Hell no!’ and his family perished.)

But Reed sure knew what was right.

With that same attitude of knowing what’s best, he stomps around Latveria, trying to liberate it. He returns there every time and every time acts surprised when he discovers that Latverian people don’t want his liberty. They don’t want him, they like Doom. 

I feel like deep down Reed believes that his unique intellect allows him to see things more clearly than any of us mortals. And because of that, everyone should sleep well, putting their trust in him. Whether he invents another doomsday device (and promises not to use it), keeps Ultimate Nullifier in his nightstand, or stores a gate to anywhere in his basement. Everyone is supposed to trust him until turns out that his 3-year-old accidentally opened it. That’s happened a few times and if anything, we should know by now that Reed is anything but trustworthy. 

He never stops to think “Should I?” Because the answer is pretty much always “No.”

He’s an awful husband 

Back in the day, Sue often ended up on the other side of Reed’s outbursts. His smug attitude toward her was always uncomfortable, to say the least. He diminished her and everything she did because he deemed it irrelevant. It barely changed until the writers elevated her almost to his level by making her a doctor of Archaeology. While I appreciate them giving her some interests other than making sandwiches for everyone who resides in the BB, does it mean that they agree with Reed? That everything she did, whether she wanted to be an actress, ran their company, charities, or simply stayed at home with the kids, is not good enough? It makes sense in terms of their shared interests, but the only thing it gives me is doubts about him even loving Sue. Unfortunately, it seems like he sees her as a trophy wife he never could’ve gotten. When he talks about Sue, he often says that he studied her, like she’s an object that fascinates him. This kind of explains why he can’t relate to her, refuses to trust her, and doesn’t always care how his actions would affect her. 

When Sue was Malice, everything she told him was pretty genuine. There is a trope where heroes say the worst things under the influence, yet these things are rooted in reality. And that’s what happened here. 

There was another piece of truth Reed got when Johnny had a fight with Sue (about keeping from him the fact that the whole team’s powers were deteriorating, and their bodies too), he told her “You’re treating me like he treats you!” Reed didn’t react and that was never addressed again. Too bad, we all know that’s true. Reed has no respect for Sue. Even Reed knows that, I just don’t think he gets it. 

Let’s not forget that Sue served him divorce papers. What a time that was.

He’s a terrible father 

He starts out as an oblivious parent who doesn’t really care. As long as the kid can’t speak it’s not his problem, right? Hence multiple babysitters and Franklin spending half of his childhood with Agatha,  in Attilan, and at Alicia’s place. Franklin is a creator, not a scientific one either and that’s something Reed can’t understand. That’s why he’s been having a hard time even connecting to his son. Okay, he might not be the easiest kid to connect to but with the constant neglect he’s experienced, no wonder he feels like a disappointment to everyone. 

Val has a good father, Doom. He’s actually more of a parent to her than Reed, even if she’s the child Reed actually likes. Unless that’s just him being possessive. Just like with Sue (whenever she had her Namor eras) Reed is jealous of Val’s bond with Doom and as soon as he feels like he’s losing her, he gets mildly irritated. That’s exactly it, he’s not even properly furious – he just gets upset and focuses on work. 

Even all the family adventures they went on, or that time after Secret Wars when Reed decided that Ben and Johnny should believe their family is dead (including the kids), couldn’t make up for that. After all, Reed probably spent more time in his mobile lab than with kids. And when he got bored he happily ditched everyone except Frank and Val. So much for calling them all “their kids”. They are better off anyway because Reed doesn’t consider their feelings. At least he treats them like adults, since he doesn’t consider them either. 

He’s unkind and a trash friend

There is no genuine kindness in Reed. It’s almost like he pretends to be a loving husband, parent, and friend. 

Reed has no respect for his family or friends. If he had, he would’ve considered them whenever he made a decision. Again, it comes back to him believing he can’t make a mistake (check how long he’d been agonizing over the first space mission). Yet the vast majority of Reed’s actions vary from mean to straight-up creepy. 

Even the seemingly selfless gesture of turning his team into celebrities was his pathetic plea out of guilt. He never asked any of them whether they even wanted to be famous or heroes. He felt guilty (that’s something, I guess) for turning Ben into The Thing, and complicating things for Sue and Johnny (although, they probably would’ve been fine). 

But that’s a pattern that follows Reed everywhere and everybody ends up getting hurt.

Despite claiming to love his wife and kids, care about his friend, and tolerate Johnny, he is unkind to them. He views and moves them as pawns to where he wants them to be, all the while faking the perfect family man and good friend facade. And that’s the new Reed, the old one barely pretended. 

Let’s face it, Reed and Ben don’t have much in common except the collective trauma of getting powers and fighting Doom. The funny part is, Reed wants to be friends with Doom but Doom sees through his BS (okay, I might be giving props to the dictator here but ain’t he right?)

He’s way too full of himself

The self-proclaimed smartest man on Earth, Reed lives in the world of science. He is obsessed with math and he believes that math will solve everything. Spoiler: it won’t. He knows that, too. When Doom kidnaps his family and locks baby Franklin in Hell, Reed wastes so much time arguing with Strange over his aptitude for magic, that the kid ends up traumatized. For a while Franklin couldn’t tell the difference between Hell and Reality, all because his father couldn’t accept that he doesn’t know everything. 

This is absolutely a pattern with Reed — he doesn’t believe in ghosts, vampires, probably even werewolves. Meanwhile, he knows actual gods and had a witch for a nanny. If anything, this is a sign of stubbornness and that’s one of the worst barriers for wisdom. So good at math he might be, a genius — I don’t think so. That’s not all there is to it, because there are absolutely people smarter than Reed with a more flexible mind. I have to give points to him for recognizing that eventually and forming Future Foundation but he still has ways to go. So far, math has been a source of trouble more often than not. His inventions and his equations that predict the end of everything force him to take the most ridiculous approach in trying to solve problems before they arrive. And if that’s how we see Reed, imagine how irritating it is to Doom. 

And while we’re at it, they might have changed the origin so that Reed’s original calculations weren’t incorrect but that was wrong. The poetic justice of math, the only thing he truly trusted, betraying him, that was beautiful. If only Reed could understand art. 

He’s dull 

Let’s face it, they can rewrite Reed’s history, they can try to make him fun, they can even hire a really good actor to play him, but Reed is incredibly dull. He’s boring and even his family doesn’t pretend he isn’t. He is not charming, has zero charisma, not funny, and really he’s extremely lucky he managed to get Sue to marry him (because with his other bad qualities and lack of charm idk what that was, unfortunate chemistry?) He’s even more lucky Ben was out of other options friend-wise, and Johnny was just around. Otherwise, Reed would’ve died alone which is frankly, what he very much deserves. 

That’s not even half of his misdeeds, just the ones that were on the top of my mind. But trust me, if you spend almost a year reading about this guy, you will likely hate him just as much. 

[daylighted]

baby!reader deadass lives in my head rent free. thank you for your service

U ARE SO WELCOME 😭 BABY!READER TAKING OVER THE DAHLIAVERSE RN. lemme entertain the ppl again with her but just a lil as i'm multitasking atm.

baby!reader mansplaining to dean how to fix the car he has to work on

like how men do with girls thinking they simply cannot know how to fix a car because they are literally pretty princesses with no coherent thoughts ever

but it's baby!reader explaining it to dean bc yes dean you do know what you're doing but i know it better

OR BETTER: baby!reader explaining it to brash and gruff mechanics when dean can't fix the car himself

too far from any bunker or bobby's place or anything to do it himself so he has to take it to a shop and he's alr pissy

but then he sees u getting talked down to just bc u are a pretty girl and HE'S ABOUT TO STEP IN. BC U ARE SOOOO PRETTY BUT U COULD TALK CIRCLES AROUND THESE PEOPLE

AND U ARE TOO SWEET TO NOTICE THAT THESE MEN ARE SAYING ALL OF THESE THINGS TO PICK ON YOU

but he never ever should doubt u because there u go, stepping right up to those mechanics and telling them that they're purposely using watered down oil to get dean to bring the car back and charge twice

bc of course u can tell when oil is watered down. u were a car. u know car things.

and dean is SO willing to step back and let u put these men in their place bc really. ..... it's so sexy he's so weak for a powerful woman in a leather jacket </3

btw he does get u a shirt. it's his shirt. it's a band tee he doesn't wear anymore except to sleep. u love it so much.

AND AND AND. ON TOP OF THIS I HAVE TWO BIG CIRCLING THOUGHTS IN MY HEAD ABT THEM RN SO LET ME.

sometime between now in the timeline ( i am literally making up the timeline as we go ) and the first kiss ( WHENEVER OR HOWEVER IT MAY BE 😭 )

dean tells u that u were his first love. bc hello every car guy's first love is his first car

and u are literally so excited it's crazy

like "STOP it. stop it!" GIGGLING KICKING UR FEET

BC U KNOW WHAT !!! DEAN WAS UR FIRST LOVE TOO !!!

AND WAS HE HALF JOKING? YES. BC NO ONE IS ACTUALLY IN LOVE WITH THEIR CAR. BUT U LOVEEDDDD HIM U LOVED HIM !!!! AND NOW HE'S LIKE OH FUCK. HIS BABY LOVES HIM ???

HE PROMPTLY WILL IGNORE ALL OF THOSE BUTTERFLIES AND TRY TO OVERSIMPLIFY IT LIKE "well that makes sense the only other 2 ppl who had u were my dad and granddad and :/ not a good pool!"

but u know what. u would have loved him no matter who he was in relation to u. but u aren't gonna tell him that. at least now when he could expect it. u gotta catch him off guard.

i be like "let me keep this short" and "i'm multitasking" and then make something long asf. LMFAO. BUT THEY'RE IN MY HEAD !!! if u want any of these into a full fic i literally will do it. i cld be talked into it with a simple word of affirmation literally.

[transmaverique]

[img id

screenshots of a portion of the linked work. reads as follows:

“I hated that essay,” he says to me, “about femmes who care for you when you travel; I really hated it.” And when I ask why he tells me that he thinks it sounds like all butches should be soothed by femmes, and vice versa; he says, “Why would those femmes have assumed that you were a butch who liked femmes?” He says, “Maybe you’re a faggot butch, did they even consider that?” He says, “I know you’re not just for femmes.”

That’s what he says, but I know what he’s thinking. And even though I know how dangerous it is to assume I know what someone is thinking, I know this butch maybe as well as I know myself, and he’s thinking, “Fuck you, for having it easy even in being queer. Fuck you for going along on your happy little way to San Francisco and finding a bunch of femmes who see you as a big stud-duck butch and just want to pour themselves through your fingers. It’s just as hard to be a faggot butch as it is to be any kind of fag.”

There’s all that masculinity to consider when you want to rub up against someone, like that old joke about porcupines:

How do porcupines mate? Very carefully.

He’s saying, “I want to show up at brunch someplace and assume that anyone who I want to flirt with will want to flirt back, and will do it, will want to, without fear of recrimination from hir community. I want you to put something in that book of yours for me. I am a butch whose identity, sexual or otherwise, has nothing to do with femmes. They are not my natural partners in this gender crime the way they are yours. I wake and sleep in the arms of butches like me, butches who understand a whole host of things about my life, my world, the way I see things, the way things affect me that no one else could understand. Write about us. Write that we have sweet, hot sex in which no one has to put on a pair of panties, or take them off; write about how good it feels when ze fucks me hard, so hard. Write about how it feels to fall asleep with the weight of a butch on you, one tattooed arm and one furry leg pinning you down and grounding you in your sleep.

“Write about all the ways in which butches care for each other, comfort each other. Write about how we understand all the shit that comes in the world for our partners and salve it as best we can, about how I have all the more respect for hir because of all I know it takes to survive as a butch.

“Write about how, as soon as butches were no longer the scourge of dykedom for aping masculinity, or whatever that baloney was, it became faggot butches who were scorned and derided. Everyone understands butch/femme because it seems familiar, like Ozzie and Harriet but with better hair and more pussy. Everyone understands femme on femme, even though you don’t see it all that often cause it doesn’t read queer, you know, but it’s in the first images of ‘lesbian love’ most of us see, in porn or on television. Two longhaired pretty girls smooching in a daring fashion wherever they happen to be. No one’s threatened by that, not the dykes, not the men, nobody, but if I want to kiss my butch anywhere, I’d better be damn sure of my audience, or better yet, be sure we don’t have one.

“I can be a butch without opening doors for girls,” he’s saying. “I can do it even if I follow while dancing, I can do it without spending my Saturday afternoons as a femme’s shopping bottom at the mall and do. I am. I am honorable, I take good care of the people I love as well as I possibly can; I watch out for my community. I have a butch heart full of love that I can express when I feel safe enough; I walk in the world resisting gender norms and transgressing gender rules, transcending them. I am fixing whatever I can, whenever I can, and I laugh, and play, and let the spaces in my masculinity show, just like you, just like every butch. I get all slicked up for a date in a suit and tie and I pick up my date, also in a suit and tie, and we just open the door if we get to it first and we take turns paying, and it doesn’t make me less a butch. It doesn’t make me less of anything. It doesn’t mean that I don’t think femmes are swell, I surely do, but they are not my salvation when I travel, they are not the North of my heart’s compass. That’s butches for me, and I will always go a little weak when I see someone who looks scared and hardened and delighted and ashamed and proud—proud, just like me.

“You’re writing a book? Of course, I’m glad, but don’t chicken out. Don’t write a book that speaks so many volumes about your adoration for femmes that it leaves out the ways in which I know you cherish butches too. Yes, not the same way as you cherish femmes, entirely differently, butches and femmes are different creatures, sure, but I don’t just mean how glad you are and always will be to have butch brothers, a butch tribe. I mean, make sure you don’t forget to mention that you put butches on their knees in front of you and enjoy them, that you kneel down too, that you sit sometimes stunned by how much you want to lick a buzz cut or a hot tattoo, that you know what a great grace it is to fall asleep next to a butch’s heart and muscle and skin and ink and fur, that you understand how wonderful it can be to feel butch arms around you. Make sure you mention me, make sure you give me and my lovers and my life the same benefit of some of your words, make sure you don’t write another book that leaves us on the cutting-room floor. Give us a place on the landscape, help us become visible. Say this: Say that when butches love butches they hold lightning between them, but that as much as it burns it also illuminates. That it’s the sweetest burn I’ve ever known in my life of searing pain, that it keeps me from feeling the flames of the world’s hate licking the soles of my boots, that I hold it in my heart and it fuels me every day. Say that it shows me things I could never see any other way, that without it I would grow cold and die. Say that there is nothing else I would rather be.”

/end id]

butch is a noun, s. bear bergman 2006