#because I don't ''look'' or ''act'' Mexican enough

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I wish people felt less comfortable making jokes about strangers as if they were friends

[evilminji]

You know how... world leaders can't just? SAY stuff? Because when they DO it's the Offical Stance(tm) of their Country?

That makes their Fuck Ups(tm) all the more serious. It's WHY they have press teams.

But!!!

WHAT IF?

They said something, PUBLICLY, on LIVE TELEVISION, that? Can not be taken back? Full on "masks off, behold the horrors you have payed for" moment?

Sure, they could SAY "that wasn't me" and "I was brainwashed" etc etc. But? If it's BIG enough? UGLY enough? TRUE??? People WILL find it. Dig and dig and dig like termites in the walls. Hunt like bloodhounds.

Riot in the streets.

Because? All it would TAKE? Is ONE half ghost, a few too many long nights trying to balance college classes and his internship, a bigotry filled call from back home, and staring down that empty fridge with just one box of moldering take out, because he's been too busy and stressed to remember to get GROCERIES AND-

Ah.

So this is what "so stressed you feel calm, I have run out of Fucks too give" feels like. Neat. *picks up phone* Hey, Sam? You still at that protest? Outside the presidential speech? Neat. Don't move.

One Phone Line Express later. SAM is telling him to breathe. Maybe... maybe calm down. Think about this. Others around her can see the same "spark of madness" glint in his almost zen like smile.

It Fiiiiine, Sam.

He's just here to Talk.

He disappears. Sam's freaking out. President stumbles but catches himself on the way to the mike. Up in the watch tower, various Magic users choke on their lunches, because a ghost just possessed the United States President.

ON LIVE TELEVISION.

He taps the Mike, smile, leans in real close like he's gonna Tell You Folks A Secret.... Aaaaand~

"The second you Die, you no longer have human rights. Doesn't matter how brief. Heart stops? You're sub-human scum! Non-sentient by American law. We here in the United Stares PROUDLY desecrate the bodies and graves of the dead. Tear apart the immortal souls of the innocent. And condemn you to oblivion crying, begging, and screaming for mercy! Why, obviously, is an act. Because souls don't have the RIGHT to feel fear or pain!

And YES. We do mean EVERYONE'S. Atlantian, Kryptonian, Martian. Canadian, Mexican, Russian, AND Chinese! I could keep going! Once you die? You belong to the United States to experiment on as we see fit! You're PROPERT now! So turn your nonrights having, nonsentient self in to the nearest GIW! For the good of AMERICA. Ectoplasmic Scum!"

*drops mic*

Jaws are on the floor. This was VETERANS DAY. Dead military Heros and smile for the cameras. A cake walk. Do a patriotism, rah rah. There.... there are DIPLOMATS in the crowd. Sure as SHIT, were more then a few foreign nationals WATCHING. Religious leaders looking on in fury, grief, and horror.

Reporters. Oh sweet Jesus the reporters.

The press secretary faints.

PANDEMONIUM. The president, still dazed and confused from being possessed, gets PUNCHED on live television be his VP, a deeply religious if moderately shady man. Take bribes? VP is cool with that. Bootstraps, peasants, and all that. But how DARE you fuck with the Souls of the dead. How DARE you!

Phones are blowing up, questions are being shouted, the JLA Dark FEEL like they should tell somebody about the ghost kid... but also this feels VERY "Call for help-y" so they might throw their weight around instead and pretend they know nothing. World leader are meaningfully staring at their Dear Beloved Dead Grandmother's photos as they send LIVID assistants to hound the American into answering the DAMN PHONE-!

And Danny?

Danny feels calmer now. He has stolen like....700 bucks from secret security's various wallets. He's going to buy himself BOUGIE groceries. Some...some NICE take out. Maybe a little cake. Yeah~ Cake for Danny~

If anyone needs him? No you don't. He needs to go do some shopping, eat, lie on the floor of his shower and just... vibe for a bit under the spray. In the dark maybe. Sleep for a week. Have his food. Yummy little treats.

Or he's gonna fuckin LOSE IT, man.

(Tucker is actively hacking his college schedule as they speak. He KNEW it. Called it! Too many classes! But does Mr "I can handle it" listen? Noooooooo! Now look what happened! Holy SHIT, Danny!)

@hypewinter @hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[himbosandhardwear]

Eddie scans the room, looking for who or what he's not sure, just keeping his eyes peeled for something interesting. It's Saturday night, a packed house, some of the usual suspects but some new faces too.

One in particular stands out, especially considering his Sears Catalog attire and artfully tousled hair.

There's something about his loose body language that draws Eddie's eye. He's out of place but he doesn't act out of place. Eddie can respect it.

Unfortunately, when their eyes meet, he gets a kicked gut reaction that makes it clear this guy is off limits. The guy looks away immediately, probably thinks Eddie is more likely to pickpocket him than buy him a drink. Oh well. No great loss, he didn't come to get laid anyway.

He makes his way to the bar, gets a shot of Jack and a Miller Lite and waits. Teddy will probably show up before too long, maybe they can bar hop. He sips his beer and looks around some more, noting the older Mexican lady who runs the flower stand on the corner. You wouldn't guess it just by looking at her but she can drink anyone in the place under the table. He should really get her name.

Sears Catalog has moved to a table on the right side of the room, standing with a presumed girlfriend. Their heads are bent close together. He looks up and catches Eddie staring. They both look away again. He's really gotta stop doing that before he gets hate-crimed. It's a known problem, his type being untouchable preppy boys. He's sure if a shrink studied him, they would say it was because he didn't think he was worthy of love, or some shit, but he can't help it. The straighter, the meaner, the cleaner cut, the more Eddie falls all over himself. It’s a miracle he ever gets laid. Thankfully there’s always closet cases. He swore to himself he wasn't going to do that anymore though, he needs to have some self-respect, not let asshole jocks use him and drop him the second an emotion is displayed.

“That outfit is hideous.”

Eddie jolts in his seat. He finds Sears Catalog smirking at him like what he's said is the height of wit.

Eddie wastes no time pouring the rest of his beer over the guy's head.

He stares back at Eddie in shock, almost hurt. Fuck him. He doesn't care, he's not letting some dumbass gymrat hone his bullying skills on him. Not today.

The guy's girlfriend jogs over with a handful of napkins, which is when Eddie splits.

“I told you not to use that line!” He hears her exclaim. Eddie stops in his tracks.

“But…but...he didn't even let me get to the good part,” Sears laments. Eddie can't turn back around, he's frozen in place.

“Yeah, dingus, because it's a stupid fucking line. I'm sorry you had to find out like this but not every guy who makes eye contact with you wants to fuck you.”

“I know that! I just thought… I don't know. Let's just get out of here.”

He sounds so defeated. Eddie did that. He assumed the worst and reacted accordingly. Like an asshole. Like a bully.

They're halfway to the door when Eddie's feet unstick themselves from the floor. He rushes to intercept.

“What was the rest of the line?” He shouts.

Sears turns, eyes wide, unsure.

His…friend? Looks Eddie over, unimpressed. “What's it to you?”

He winces. “Just…uh…I guess I thought you should know, some of the guys who make eye contact do want to fuck you, they're just too stupid to realize they're being hit on.”

Sears and Mean Friend make their own eye contact. Mostly ‘Beat it' and ‘Are you serious?’ and ‘Yes, oh my god, please go.’

Eddie respects their bond.

Once Mean Friend has sufficiently rolled her eyes and threatened Eddie with bodily harm should anything worse than beer befall her friend, she stalks off into the night.

“You should take it off.”

“Huh?” Eddie responds, stupidly.

Sears smiles. “That's the rest of the line. ‘Your outfit is hideous. You should take it off.’”

Fuck, it really is a terrible line. Something a middle aged creep would use. If he'd waited long enough to hear it the first time it would've made him laugh though, which would have broken the ice.

“Awful. Zero out of ten,” he says while grinning. “Looks like you already offended one guy.” He looks at Sears’ wet shirt, appreciating his own handiwork.

“I'll keep workshopping.” His hand comes up slowly, like Eddie might react badly again. “Steve.”

It's his honor and privilege to clasp Steve's hand in his own.

“Eddie. And can I say, your outfit looks great. It would look better on my floor.”

Steve practically twinkles at him. “Stop, I'm already a sure thing.”

He uses the hand still in his grasp to pull Eddie forward and smash their lips together.

When their grandkids ask how they got together, Eddie is going to have to lie.

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Javier looked behind his back and as he correctly guessed, it's Mrs. Huntington that cannot hide her disappointment

"Andrew! I told you, don't fool around with the technician, his rate is hourly!" said Mrs. Huntington as he called the Latino technician with his son's name

"Unggghhh ffuuuckkk mom.....why are you so....mmpphh early??? You told me that you would be back around 5 PM," replied Javier as his hand still tugging his hardening 6.5 incher slick meat

"Because I cannot trust you, Andrew. And I clearly have the reason for that. Now clean him up and then get yourself out from him. His work is not finished yet,"

"Can I just do his work? I have access to his brain, I can do whatever you paid him to do. Promise I'll finish before 5 and he will have no memory of any of my playtime with him. Heck, I'll even drive him back to his run down flat he shared with his boyfriend Emilio and younger bro, Juan. Three Mexican immigrant tryna make a living in the States.....mmmhhhh.....Juan looked so delicious from his mem---" said Andrew comfortably voicing out his thoughts using Javier's sultry voice and accessing Javier's memories

"Andrew Huntington-Moore......this is yoir last chance. Get out from him before I expelled you from him instead,"

"Grrrr...you are such a buzzkill, mom. You really are out here acting as if you didn't do this kind of shit when you were young,"

"Fun fact, I didn't. My mom and my dad would kill me on the spot if I acted even just 10% like you. Now, I'm serious, get out from him,"

"Okay, okay, chill down, Mrs. Huntington. I'll let your son relinquishes his control over my sexy taut body so you can order me around to fix your home appliances," Andrew said sarcastically as he walked to the bathroom nearby after grabbing his washed-out jeans and blue polo.

"We'll meet again soon enough, dude. And the next time we meet, I'll make sure I'm going to finish spewing that load, you just wait and see,"

[nightlyrequiem]

Crawl to Me

The world ended long ago. Now belonging to the undead that roam it, feeding on the last surviving people. You've learned to avoid the rotters. You have a past with one and like when she was alive, she's not willing to let you escape so easily.

New Part Every Thursday

Masterlist AO3

A/N- I was actually working on an apocalyptic fic in June, but I genuinely couldn't figure out how to progress the story in an interesting way. I still want to write one though because I'm a slut for apocalypse stories. This ones kind of lengthy. Like 2800 words

Tags/Warnings: Undead Valeria, No Use of the Word 'Zombie', Apocalypse, Gore, Stalking, WLW, Implied But Also In Your Face Toxic Relationship

The world ended eight months ago. A disease thawed from the melting glaciers and ravaged through the living population faster than it could control. Hospitals were overrun and the government declared a state of emergency. You weren't to leave your homes for anything. Rations were to be dropped off by authorized personal. They followed all the proper protocols and procedures, and it wasn't enough.

"Do you think this is expired?" A woman asks. She's rooting through a pile of canned food while you and a man keep a watch out. The infected are more active at night. A quick acting evolutionary behavior to avoid the scorching heat of the Mexican sun, to preserve the decaying host for longer.

"No." The man replies, voice deep and buttery. "Canned food can last for years past it's expiry date."

Something moves outside, kickstarting your heart. Some infected still wander out during the day. Your hands are sweating, making it hard to hold the gun. Valeria tried to teach you how to hold a gun once. You were never comfortable around them though. You peer outside, ears too sensitive in the unnatural quiet. A thin stray dog runs past the window. Clumps of fur missing from mange. You relax. Rotters will attack and eat any animal they catch but so far, you haven't seen any animals actually get infected with the disease. You shudder at the idea of running from a pack of infected strays. Their frothing jaws hung open, breath sour with illness. Sinking their teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh.

"Hurry it up, Grace." The man growls. He was a military officer; despite that he has no patience. You don't care for him. He reminds you of Valeria.

Grace shoves cans into her duffel bags. Filling them so much that she struggles with the zipper.

"If you want this to be faster then maybe you should be doing this, Rojan." She growls. Hoisting the heavy bags up and adjusting them on her shoulders. Rojan doesn't reply. Just stares out the window stoically. On the other side of the small supermarket, another man looks through magazines instead of being useful. Holding them up in the sparse light to leer at the women on the pages.

You and your small group move on. Exiting the store. The sun is hot and unforgiving. The ground beneath your feet is dry and cracked. Only the toughest of weeds able to grow from the pavement.

"What are we going to do for shelter?" Grace asks. Walking alongside Rojan. You lag behind, at the tail end of the group just behind the man who was looking at magazines instead of finding food. He turns and glances at you. Sizing you up. Both you and Grace have made it very clear you're not interested. Though there's a lack of women around and he hasn't quite given up yet.

He slows his pace to walk beside you. Hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. It makes you sweat just looking at him.

"We might have to sleep outside tonight." He says. You wish he wouldn't talk to you.

"No we won't." You reply with disinterest. "Rojan would never make us camp outside." It's just simply too dangerous.

"Well," He starts. "If we do you and I could share a spot to keep warm."

You roll your eyes. It gets absurdly cold at night but even then, you'd rather kiss a rotter than cuddle up to him. "Pass, Arthur." 

Arthur doesn't seem perturbed by your prickly nature.

"It's not like you'd lose anything by being with me for a night." He argues. Up ahead, Grace and Rojan are deep in conversation, heads close together. You wish you could join them instead of being stuck with Arthur.

"I'm a lesbian." You grit out. Even if you weren't, you still wouldn't touch Arthur.

He pauses and you start relaxing, assuming he's going to back off. "Why does that matter?" He asks. "I'm not asking for a relationship; you don't have to be attracted to me to sleep with me."

"Arthur!" Grace barks, turning her head to scowl at him. He looks up at her. "Cut that shit out, she's not interested. I'm not interested, nobody here is interested."

Arthur considers her and moves away from you silently. You give Grace a thankful nod.

Night begins to fall. Your legs ache with each step as you walk, the bag on your back feels like it gained ten extra pounds. Finally, Rojan slows to a stop outside of a small house. The windows have been broken but boards fill in the empty space. The screen door swings in the slight wind, creaking as it does. Weeds and tall grass have dominated the small front yard and somewhere hidden within, flies buzz loudly. Congregating over something dead.

"We'll stay here for the night." Rojan says. He looks at each of you. Pointing at you and Arthur. "Help me make sure it's clear." 

You slowly creep inside. The interior is just as rundown as the outside. A dank, musty smell coats the damp-stained walls and fungus pops up from dark corners. You walk by the living room and startle. In the corner, facing the wall is a rotter. It's back turned to you. The skin is flayed and painful looking. Deep gashes litter it's skin. It's stationary. Unmoving apart from a slight sway. 

You don't know if you should risk making noise shooting it. You look to the front of you as Rojan disappears around the corner. You frown and look back at the rotter. A bullet would be loud and might wake and draw any dormant rotters in the area. You slowly holster your gun and unsheathe your hunting knife. Approaching the rotter like a predator. Remembering what Rojan taught you. Sweep out the legs - which won't be hard considering how emaciated they look - and quickly stab into the temple. You take another step, and the floor loudly creaks under your weight. You and the rotter both go still. The lax swaying coming to an abrupt halt.

You wait, heart beating in your ears. The seconds feel long but the rotter never turns, and you resume your creeping. You come right up behind it and recoil at the smell. Unwashed body mixed with overripe fruit, sickly and decaying. You shake your head and build up your courage. Finally, you kick out it's legs and ignore the very human grunt. Grabbing one side of it's head, you stab your knife into the soft spot in it's temple, cutting of the beginning of a shrill squeal. It drops, becoming dead weight in your arms. You lower it to the grown and let it drop.

The small home is cleared just in time for the sun to begin setting. The group sits in the living room. Silent and eating. Even Arthur is keeping his mouth shut. As the sky darkens, the sound of shuffling gets louder. The rotters have awoken. A few of them call out eerie pleas for help. That's what disturbs you the most; the mimicking. Back at the start you had mistakenly opened your door, assuming the woman crying for help on the other side was human. She wasn't. You had been tackled to the floor trying to fight her off. A lucky shove sent her flying into the table, snapping her neck and stunning her enough for you to bash her head in. You don't respond to calls for help anymore.

You have first watch. Your eyes droop and you fight hard to keep them open. Grace's soft snoring does nothing to help you. You're leaning against the wall. Your name gets called, startling you awake. Your heart throbs in your chest as you listen, ears ringing from the silence. Were you hallucinating? It doesn't come again. A few footsteps sound close to the boarded-up window. Maybe one of the rotters said something that sounded like your name. That's what you decide but it freaks you out enough to keep you awake.

Your group moves on promptly at sunrise. Most of the rotters having hidden themselves in shadows and buildings to hibernate for the day. It's another scorcher. Sweat wets your brow as you walk, legs aching from fatigue. Your tired stumbling reminds you of the rotters.

"Water." Arthur says. Rojan reaches into the side of his pack for the communal water bottle without stopping and holds it out behind him. Arhtur takes it and you watch him carefully from the corner of your eye to make sure he isn't taking too much. Water is a valuable commodity. Getting drinkable water is a hassle. If you can't find any bottled water stashed somewhere, you have to boil some from rivers. You lag behind a little. Overheating and exhausted from having to stay up all night.

You halt as you hear movement beside you. Your group progresses on, leaving you behind as you stare into the shadowy alley. Not a brick is out of place. You hurry your steps and catch up with your group. You're just tired and paranoid.

You sit with your back to your front door as Valeria pounds on it. Shaking the weak wood with every hit.

"Open the fucking door!" She yells. You put your head down and cover your ears, every single limb fizzling with nervous energy. You and Valeria have had a... tumultuous relationship. On and off, fighting, making up. You finally called it off for good and denied her when she tried to win you back. Valeria's never been able to leave you alone though.

She hits the door again.

"Please, mi vida, open the door." Her voice softens. It's forced. 

"Go away, Valeria!" You yell back, worried she'll break down the door. You don't know what she'll do if she makes it inside and that scares you.

"For fuck's sake!" She snarls, dropping the nice act. "I'm going to fucking kill you if you don't open this door!"

You shut your eyes and count. Trying to calm yourself down.

The faded red door and empty flowerpots are uncomfortably familiar. You feel an overwhelming sense of foreboding. Unfortunately for you, Rojan deems it suitable. He and Grace clear it and you and Arthur enter once they confirm it's empty. You cast a glance at the decayed woman on the floor, head mashed to a pulp. You're disturbed to find chunks missing from her. The other's congregate in the living room but you wander down the hall and take a left. Pushing open the closed door. The bedroom is full of dirt and dust. The curtains nothing but moth-eaten tatters now. You wander to the nightstand and lower yourself down to your knees, the carpet damp and spongy. You reach under and pull out a box, running your fingers over the gold trim. Clearing dust off the lid. You open it and pull things out. Birthday cards, baby teeth. Polaroids. You and Valeria smile up from the picture tauntingly. She has a firm grip on your waist, keeping you pressed against her.

Flowers get shoved in your face, startling you out of your skin. You stare at Valeria like a deer in headlights. Behind her lurks two dangerous looking men. Protection or intimidation? You can guess which.

"I'm sorry." Valeria murmurs, forcing you to take the flowers. "I know you're upset but I also know you're not done with me. Just stop with this little angry act and take me back."

"What? No." You frown. "Valeria, we are not good together."

Valeria ignores your words and grabs your arms gently. "I love you." She says, looking at you intensely. "I love you so much that it makes me sick. It makes me angry. You did this to me, and I wouldn't have it any other way. We are it for each other, why can't you understand that?"

You put the picture back down and hide it under a few others. Ones without Valeria in them. It's all history and at the end of the world, history means nothing. You join the others as they finish up their meal of canned sausage. You don't ask for any, no longer having an appetite. You're still exhausted though. Settling yourself on your couch. It's filthy but you still gleam a small sense of comfort from it. It doesn't take you long to drift off. Lulled by the quiet chattering of your companions.

You aren't sure what woke you first. The shattering of glass, or Grace's panicked curse. Nobody remains a heavy sleeper when there's a constant threat outside. The whole group is startled awake. It doesn't take long for the rushed steps of the rotters to be heard. You freeze. Watching as Grace shoots one but gets tackled by another. Filthy teeth sink into her throat. Both Arthur and Rojan aim and take down a few. One of the rotters slinks in-between them and heads right towards you. You're horrified to see Valeria's face glaring back at you. She barrels right into you, crushing you under her weight and pinning you down to the couch. You feel bile stinging your throat.

You slam into the floor as Valeria slams the door shut in your face. Your body is already on overdrive and in your adrenaline induced haze you decide Valeria did that on purpose. It doesn't help that she immediately crowds you. Her warm hands latching onto you, her smell overwhelming you.

"Get off!" You hiss, kicking at her.

"I'm sorry." She growls. Maneuvering you onto your back. You can't move, you can't leave. You're trapped in this stressful situation. A claustrophobic panic kicks in. "I didn't mean to hurt you, but you can't run out every time you argue - stop struggling!" Valeria says with anger.

"You're hurting me right now!" You try to wrench yourself away from her but only end up pulling a muscle.

"You cannot leave me." She replies, sounding hurt and desperate. Her tone scares you more than anything. "I'm sorry, just stop struggling and we can talk, please."

The sound of flesh tearing is seared into your memory. The screaming stopped after only a few seconds, but you think you'll remember it for the rest of your left. Valeria keeps you crushed under her firmly. The reek of decay permeates through the air. It's so thick you worry you'll get infected just breathing in. Through a gap in her limbs, you watch the rotters in a frenzy. Ripping your group apart like animals. Something cold caresses the side of your neck, startling you. It's Valeria running her fingers along your neck. She says your name. Voice distorted and growly. It sounds like it hurts to speak.

A salty tear rolls down your cheek as you stare blankly at the massacre. Grace's head bobs slightly as a rotter feeds on her intestines. Her eyes stare back at you lifelessly.

The wood trembles.

"Open the fucking door!"

You raise your head from your hands and look at the wall, you don't know what to do. The pounding stops. Valeria's voice is muffled but clearly aggressive as she speaks to someone.

"You're sick." She exclaims, disgusted... and afraid. "Fuck. Open the door." She repeats. Valeria doesn't sound angry anymore, she sounds urgent. "Open the door, someone sick is staring me down, open the door now." 

You've never heard her sound frightened before. This disease is frightening though. You haven't seen one of the sick in person before but just the symptoms were enough to scare you.

A bite or bodily fluid was all it took. Doctors said incubation was from anywhere between an hour to three days. It started with a fever, intense mood swings, violent behavior, thirst and hunger. Sores sprouted up on the body. Eventually they would pustulate and then rot. Then the virus made it's way through the brainstem and effectively killed the frontal lobe while triggering the amygdala. Turning the host into an animal. Valeria calls your name.

"Please open this door, I know you're mad at me, but you can't leave me out here with that thing." 

You're very tempted to open the door but you can't move. You're frozen to the spot.

"Get back!" Valeria snaps. Startling you. "Take another step and I'll shoot you."

The infected care not for the threat of a gun. Shots are fired, loud and earsplitting. Something hard thumps to the ground and Valeria screams.

You feel sick.

"I know you're mad at me, please open this door." She whispers into your hair. Every second you wait for her to bite. To tear into your vulnerable flesh, but she doesn't. "I didn't mean to hurt you, please open this door." Valeria brushes her face against your cheek. Something wet transferring onto yours. "I'm sorry, it makes me sick. I love you." Valeria tightens her grip on you. Shielding you from the horror in the living room. After being infected and dying she tracked you down. She got rid of the only people you had left. There is nowhere you could hide that she wouldn't find you. Dead or alive, she's yours.

[fairlyang]

Obsessed: Mía 🕷️

miguel making sure you remember who you belong to

w/c: 999

pairing: possessive!miguel x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. extreme jealousy, possessiveness, friends with benefits, slight degradation, "slut" usage, spanking, fingering

notes: yet another universe where you aren't even dating him yet and he's already acting crazy bc : mexican men 🤥 (also wanted the total wc to be an angels number :D)

part one — part two — part three

"Miguel por favor- I said I was sorry!" You whined and he groans.

"Me vale." He mutters as he grips on to your arm and pulls you in to his apartment. (I don't care)

"You think I'm playing games huh?" He growls into your ear and pushes you against the door.

He pushes himself against you, grinding himself against you making you let out a quiet moan. "Eres mía, don't forget it." He whispers and moves his hands down to your hips.

He makes you move your ass back and forth against his crotch and you only whimpered. "Miguel-"

"Párale." He warns and you close your mouth and just lay your cheek against his door. (Stop it)

You weren't exactly going out with Miguel, it was more of a friends with benefits thing. An occasional booty call. The first person your friends think of when you say you're going to a dick appointment.

And although he's the one that put up the boundaries of "no getting feelings" and "only sex" somehow you ended up here, with him saying you only belong to him after he caught you at a club dancing with a stranger.

He quickly snatched you up and brought you back to his place. Your mind was confused but you didn't have the balls to question him right that second.

Especially as one of his hands began spanking you. He bent you over and straightened himself before smacking your ass again at the same spot. You felt a slight burn and you wouldn't have flinched if it weren't or the fact that it was cold as shit and you were already shivering.

You were already on edge from how he nearly caused a fight, a fucking scene at your favorite club.

Last thing you needed was to be kicked out.

Or have him bitch about the "no feelings" rule after this. Because it already looked like someone failing and somehow it wasn't you.

Suddenly he pulls you back up and grabs your hand leading you towards his bedroom.

This was the first time he's ever acted like this and you'd been having this arrangement for six months.

What changed for him to act this way? Who knows but maybe after tonight you'll find out.

And why did you apologize?

To help yourself be in less shit than if you didn't. But either way it didn't help.

He closed the door to his bedroom then grabs you by the waist to lead you to his bed. He has you sit down before he sits down next to you and somehow in a blink of an eye maneuver, you were now laying against his lap.

You knew what was to come and sure enough his hands pulled your dress up and over your ass until your tiny thong was on full display for him.

"Dressed like a dirty slut and you weren't even planning on seeing me?" He spat and roughly spanked your left ass cheek.

You let out a whimper, unsure on if he expects you to answer or not. But what was the point on waiting around to see if anything changes? You were single and there were many fish in the sea....

But you can't tell him that.

"Answer me." He says and smacks your right cheek harder than the first.

You groan and hide your face with your hands trying to quickly think of an excuse or anything that won't make him even more furious.

Or jealous per say...

"No, no I wasn't." You answered truthfully making him groan and smack you even harder one cheek after the other.

"Shit!" You swore and bite your lip.

You could feel how warm your ass was getting and it was stinging a bit now too.

"What do you want me to say?" You ask and are met with silence.

Instead he moves your thong to the side so he can inspect your pussy.

Because he knows you too well, he already knows you were going to be drenched.

And sure enough you were.

When he moved your thong a string of your slick separated from it. He kept his mouth shut not wanting to encourage your behavior but couldn't help but be so turned on with how wet you got from his jealousy.

"Such a dirty fucking slut, look at you." He groans and glides two fingers against your slit.

You kept your mouth closed and tried to stay as still as you could.

He teased your hole with the tip of his middle finger before suddenly slamming three fingers inside you.

He didn't let you adjust and started immediately pounding his fingers into you. You cried out and squirmed on his lap, trying desperately to adjust but he didn't stop and only went harder with your movements.

"Oh fuck-!" You cried and reached back with your arms to try and stop him but with his other hand he held your arms behind your back.

"Stay fucking still." He hissed and you had no choice but to do so.

You let out moans and clenched around his fingers as his fingers were going at a relentless pace and it was finally starting to feel good.

Somehow he already brought your orgasm out, maybe the extra finger helped him out this time and the fact you weren't prepared but he still started fucking your poor pussy.

You legs started trembling and your arms were starting to hurt, and you could slightly feel Miguel's bulge against your stomach. You cried out for him but he didn't care.

"Dime, de quién perteneces?" He asks, you barely heard him because you were so focused on your breathing, trying to stay somewhat calm. (Tell me, who do you belong to?)

You let out whimpers and finally speak, "a ti, nomás a ti Miguel." (You, only to you)

"That's fucking right." He mutters before pulling his fingers away and letting you go.

He flips you over and lays you down, then leaves.

[pumpkinbxtch]

hey queen bean!!! 💛 i wanna start off saying i’m so glad we’re moots HEHEHE <333 i was also hoping if i could request a leo blurb or oneshot maybe like,, a quince night with him?? like maybe he got invited and the reader is like his plus one??

I WENT TO A QUINCE ONCE OF ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS AND IT WAS THE BEST PARTY IVE EVER BEEN TO i think about it to this DAYYY. LIKE THE FOOD?? delish. THE DANCING OH MY GOSH I WAS DANCING ALL NIGHT

okay i’ll stop rambling 🤲 hope we interact more!!!

sunkisses, sunni! ☼ *. mwuah!

quinceañera night ✧⁠*⁠。

— leo valdez x fem!reader

warnings: language

a/n: Hello, Sunni! I'm also happy that we are mutual, I assure you that sometimes you won't get me out of your comments, lol. Here is this little blurb (I don't know how it turned out, I always write this before, but I hope it's okay 😮‍💨) I love when these things are mixed together because I'm Mexican so, it's my things ig. I'm going to stop rambling too, I hope you like it. 😭 mwuahh.

You were pissed, like, really pissed.

But Leo had invited you to that party, and between your pride and letting him go with someone else? NEVER. So, you ended up with him at the entrance of the party hall, fixing your heels.

The way Leo acted like a total gentleman with you killed you, annoyed you, frustrated you, because he wasn't yours, and you weren't his. That annoyance squeezed your guts, and you bit your lip uncomfortably.

Pretending not to care about not labeling your relationship or that everything could stay the same for a thousand years just to avoid suffocating him with the question was so hard. But you couldn't help but live with the constant fear that someone better than you would snatch away the person you loved the most.

— Ready — he said, giving your heel buckle a final check. He was at your feet with that beaming smile, the way his curls fell from his forehead should be illegal for the way it made your stomach flutter. — Does it feel okay?

You huffed and lightly pushed him with the tip of your shoe, making him lose balance momentarily as you stood up. Leo let out a charming laugh that made warmth spread to your cheeks. You were about to turn around to slap him hard and then kiss him.

He trotted to catch up with you and offered his arm.

— Señorita? —he raised an eyebrow.

— Leo

And you hooked onto him. Even though that had already happened, right?

Oh, damn. YOU NEVER HAD MORE FUN AT A PARTY.

— Let's go, let's have some fun — he sang in your ear. You looked him directly in the eyes, and he winked at you. Leo was already lively on his own, but you had never seen him like this, jumping around and giving playful smiles. He was having a good time, and for both of your sakes, you wanted to enjoy the party too.

Indeed, Leo was actually too happy because he was showing you a side of him that wasn't easy to reveal, not because he had issues with it, but simply because you can't find easily people who enjoy pozole, celebrate quinceañeras, or any festivities the way they did.

— Here — you saw him run from a few meters away to your table and extend a fruit skewered on a stick. You raised an eyebrow for an explanation.

— Jicaleta.

"Jica- what?" but oh, Zeus, it was delicious. You never thought a Jicama on a stick with chili would be such a delicacy.

Leo sat back down next to you and nudged your shoulder to get your attention. The expression on your face wouldn't have changed for a million dollars; the sparkle in your eyes was enough to have him giving you one of those looks that you knew meant trouble, so you decided to ignore it.

—What are you looking at? — You huffed, and before you could fully look away, he cupped your cheek to stop you.

— At you — cooed. He brushed off tiny sugar remnants from the corner of your lips. Those tiny crystals stayed on his thumb, and instead of wiping them on a napkin, he brought them to his mouth, tasting a bit of that sweet flavor. In an attempt to hide your nervousness, you furrowed your brow and wrinkled your nose.

—Ew.

Leo rolled his eyes.

— Oh, come on — he scoffed and kissed you softly. With his plush lips on yours, for a moment, you needed nothing more than this moment.

"The grill is open. You can order your tacos, and there's also barbecue."

But Leo seemed to need more food. And he got up, pulling you by the hand towards the forming line.

— Okay, okay. Try them — you groaned.

— Leo, I've already tried the tacos. I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary. — He repeatedly shook his head, so abrupt that you feared for his neck.

— No, linda — he took a taco from his own plate and held it up like a religious act; you could almost see some heavenly light surrounding the food, but it was probably just the party lights. — This is a real taco, not those sold with hard tortillas!

If only you could keep track of how many times you rolled your eyes. Nevertheless, the person playing an undefined role in your life (who called himself Leo) extended the food for you to try, and you took a bite.

The exquisite flavor made you cover your mouth and raise your eyebrows in surprise.

— Fuck — you said with your mouth full. Leo smiled triumphantly and kissed your cheek.

— I told you. Now, squeeze some lemon on it, squeeze some lemon on it!

Definitely, the most peculiar part for you was when the birthday girl started dancing with her chambelanes¹.

— Why is she dancing to us if it's her birthday?

Leo chuckled, still wrapping his arm around your shoulders and his head slightly resting on yours as you admired the girl changing outfits about five times and dancing various music genres in less than 10 minutes.

��Mordida²! Mordida! Mordida!"

Once again, you looked at him for an explanation. You applauded along with the rhythm but didn't understand why the quinceañera looked so nervous and complained at times.

—She has to take a bite of the cake.

You contorted your face in confusion and looked at her closely. Once the girl leaned slightly over the cake, her brother, mother, and father smashed it onto her, regardless of whether she choked. You felt slightly sorry for her until you saw that amidst all the icing and cream, she was also smiling and laughing brightly.

— Does she know that will be recorded? — you asked, looking at the cameraman who was also smiling at the scene.

— She knows — Leo took your hand and kissed your knuckles. Once again, that knot formed in your stomach, and you discreetly pulled your hand away. Slowly but surely, you were getting tired of his deliberate touch; you liked it, but you couldn't ignore your feelings.

It seemed that the elaborate itinerary of the quinceañera had ended, and only enjoyment remained; people were already on the dance floor or chatting animatedly at the tables while some kids ran around with candies in their hands. You were truly having a good time, and you liked learning more about this side of Leo.

— And? — he leaned towards you, and you leaned back.

— I'm having fun — you admitted and grabbed one of those candies on the centerpieces; it was called "tamborcito," it was so small that it was endearing that it was just a lump of sugar and chili, delicious.

The brunette leaned closer to you, searching your eyes, but you weren't in the mood for that kind of game.

Watching couples dance, kiss, and share a moment of celebration created a bittersweet feeling in you; you longed for something you didn't have. His hand found yours, and when you finally met his eyes, there was hardness in your gaze, the same hardness that pricked Leo's chest, giving him the sensation that something was not right, but what could it be?

— I'm going to the bathroom — you said, snatching the opportunity to avoid his questions. He watched you walk away and sank into his chair, letting out a loud groan. "The way she makes me nervous should be illegal," he thought.

Same thoughts, no communication.

You fixed your makeup a bit, wiped the excess sweat from your forehead, and adjusted your dress. You were glad you didn't have to be selling a wound or planning strategies; you were just a girl with a guy. As you dried your hands, you laughed sarcastically. If only you were his girl; you barely wanted to walk back to him.

You watched Leo from the bathrooms as he seemed to nod his head to the rhythm of the music; he looked so cute that it made you throw a little tantrum, taking advantage that no one saw you.

— Hi — a guy said beside you. You jumped, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks.

In the end, he asked you to dance.

Yes. Not Leo, that guy, and you thought, "screw it, why not?"

The guy smiled widely when you took his hand. If your UNDEFINED relationship with Leo would serve you anything, what better than to take advantage with a cute guy.

Meanwhile, Leo was starting to get impatient. How long could you take in the bathroom? He got up from the table with the intention of looking for you, but seeing you dance on the dance floor made his soul sink to his feet. And dances are VERY different at a quinceañera; sure, there's everything, but DANCING was a very different matter. Leo wouldn't have worried if it had been a cumbia or salsa, but bachata? the way that guy held you by the hips and led you while dancing drove him crazy.

His blood began to boil, and he tried to calm himself to avoid losing control over his powers to prevent himself from igniting. He made his way towards you, dodging people and apologizing until a click in his head made him stop in his tracks. With what right would he snatch you from the arms of that man? If he just remembered friends with benefits were famous because exactly, there was nothing to explain to the other.

Moreover, he observed your face, with a huge smile and your eyes focused on not messing up the next step. The colorful lights illuminated your face beautifully. He clenched his fist and returned to his place.

You hadn't stopped dancing with the guy; he was kind and taught you patiently.

You pouted as you walked through the garden of the hall and saw Leo kicking a rock with the tip of his shoe. There was the problem; no matter how attentive he had been or how good a match he seemed, he wasn't him.

Your friend's shoulders brushed against the branches of a bush, and he abruptly stopped.

— Did you have fun?— he asked with a certain acidity in his voice; you knew what he was getting at, but you didn't want to give it importance.

— Tons — you balanced on one foot as you unfastened your shoe. Leo just nodded with his gaze fixed on the bush as he caressed the foliage with his index finger.

You rolled your eyes and dropped the heel to the ground to unfasten the other one.

— Why that face, Leo? — It wasn't your intention to sound so mocking, but you couldn't help but feel a certain pleasure in his jealousy. He gave you a scowling look and huffed.

— I'm not making any face — he tore off the leaf and burned it in his hands. Jealousy was eating him alive.

— If you say so — you pulled a piece of paper from the bag hidden in your dress and smiled.

The guy tore another branch forcefully when he saw you smile and extended his hand, taking the piece of paper from you.

— Hey!

— Did he give you his number?

— And what if he did?

He inhaled loudly and felt pathetic. It was true. He returned it to you, still annoyed, and sat on the edge of the planter as you finished taking off your shoe. Both palms resting on his cheeks with that grumpy expression.

— I have something to say — he said once three seconds had passed, which for him felt like an eternity. You rolled your eyes again and put your hand on your hip, dropping the other heel. You were already barefoot on the pavement.

— What?

— I like you.

You softened your expression, replacing it with one of confusion.

— What?

— I like you, I love you — Leo looked up and gave you a flat, resigned smile.

— Like... what?

Leo scratched the back of his neck and straightened up.

— I like you, I love you, let's be boyfriend and girlfriend.

He thought it had been a great way to declare his feelings, but instead, you crumpled the piece of paper with the guy's number and threw it at his face, poking his left eye.

— Auch!

— Dumbass

And you held back a sob. It was so unfair. He seemed to read your thoughts and stood up.

— Okay, okay, okay. Wait, don't look — he took you by the shoulders and turned you around so you faced away. You heard the leaves rustle and some twigs snap; when he reappeared in your sight, he had his hair tousled and some bougainvillea branches in his hand. His eyes pleading and nibbling lightly on his lips. — Can we finally be together and stop with the nonsense once and for all because I can't stand seeing you with someone else, and besides, you're my best friend? Come on, say yesss

You couldn't hold that serious image for long. You threw yourself into his arms and kissed him on the cheek, for the first time confident.

— You're an idiot.

— I'll take that as a yes.

You nodded frantically and kissed him, this time on the lips, with such force that your red lipstick left a mark on him.

— Damn, finally — Leo celebrated and lifted you in a bridal style, making you scream with happiness. He leaned down with you to tangle the straps of your heels on his fingers and set off towards the car. — I'll take you home.

You raised both arms as if you were on a roller coaster. smiled ecstatically, with flushed cheeks. — Take me home!

¹ chambelanes: are the dancers who the quinceañera, usually they're a mix of family, professionals and the boyfriend.

² mordida: bite

[isa-ghost]

isa my bestie. do u have any tallulah and phil headcanons

Always famsquad

Other qPhil headcanons

Take one look at this man and tell me with your whole chest he's confident. NO HE IS NOT. He gets so insecure about being a good adoptive dad for her. He internalizes the full extent of it but oh my god is he terrified she thinks he loves her less than Chayanne or only took her in out of obligation or isn't good enough for her in general

She makes him laugh SO MUCH. Her dramatics, her comedic timing, the Mexican culture things/memes she shares with him once in a while. Even when she doesn't intend to, she makes him laugh so often. Genuinely she makes The Horrors more bearable for him.

He hates not being great at words bc he feels like he isn't the best advocate for her that he could be. Example: when she was wary of the new eggs. He didn't know how to vouch for her beyond reassurances she'd come around. He wishes he could've articulated himself better bc he Understands her but can't put it into words to other people to the degree he'd like to.

He will literally never look at flowers the same way again. Lullah literally overwrote his association of them with Rose. Now his first thought is "peepoHappy Lullah!!" Instead of Rose. Rose is now second.

Lullah genuinely brings out a gentler side to him. This man is hardened by survival and bloodshed and at least one death in his past. He's a bit closed off and suspicious out of second nature. She brings him out of that shell so easily, he doesn't even realize it's happening.

She can see right through his bullshit and it's so fucking funny. "I'm doing fine m8" and she's just like "[cocks gun] Doubt. Bitch. Try again." She WILL cure this man of his emotional constipation.

I firmly believe she'll be the one to motivate Phil to finally build smth on a Hardcore Project scale one day. Somehow. He'd do it for her.

If he ever says he doesn't like when she acts like a little shit, don't listen to him. He's lying through his teeth. Lullah being a little shit amuses him endlessly.

Lullah doesn't swear a Ton, at least not as often as he does. He wishes she did, bc whenever she does it's super funny and usually perfectly timed.

Her wing hugs mean the fucking world to him they make him so ;-; every time

Lullah has somewhat adopted Phil's over-caution. She's a bit more traumatized by The Nightmare than Chayanne is. The "abuel" sign haunts her

Phil will sing stupid songs along to her flute until she hits him for his goofy nonsense lyrics

Speaking of her flute, her playing Sweden unironically gives him nostalgia and kinda soothes his nerves. It's like his cue of "the kids are okay, they're safe and happy." The first time he heard it again after Purgatory & the eggs' recovery, he cried a little (I'm projecting)

One of the reasons he was most salty about The Reset was because it meant they can't go to Lullah's botanical garden, her farm in the wall, or any of her other cool builds

Phil found her the purple striped hat she has in Phil's chat emote. She has it fr so she can be Just Like Papa :D

[morgansdeb]

Seeing the One Piece fanbase hyping up this 24-year-old white girl to play Robin because they're allergic to older and non-white women is so annoying to me (they're also allergic to fat women)*. The fact that she's super young when Robin is supposed to be visibly older and more mature than the East Blue Five, makes her an immediate NO for me. These weirdos will see a super young girl with black bangs and scream "Robin-chan~~!!!" because they can't consume media without their dicks in their hands. I mean, 19k likes? Seriously?

Iñaki Godoy is 20. Mackenyu is 27. Taz Skylar and Jacob Gibson are 28. Emily Rudd is 31. The ideal thing would be for Robin to be 40 (or AT LEAST 32, and not look like she just graduated high school. She needs to look older than Emily Rudd and the rest of the cast).

I can only imagine the amount of racist vitriol Robin's actress will get if she ends up being a WOC. And let's not even start with the comments about the size of her breasts. Emily Rudd is the most conventionally attractive white girl you could think of, and I still see comments saying she wasn't "right" for Nami because her boobs aren't "big enough."

"But Oda said that if Robin were real, she'd be Russian!!11!" And he also said Luffy would be Brazilian (Iñaki is Mexican), Nami would be Swedish (Emily is American), Sanji would be French (Taz is Spanish/English), and with Usopp... all he did was write Africa, which isn't a country. So let's be serious for a bit. Those answers weren't literal.

Y'all love to talk about how the creepy things that he says on the SBS are "jokes" (remember when he sexually harassed a fan who asked him if she could be a Jump Editor, or when he said he fantasized about Rebecca's top falling during battle? Because I do), so why are these answers the one thing you choose to take seriously?

But this fandom being filled with racist, misogynistic, fatphobic incels isn't surprising considering how terrible Oda is. All these issues are connected and lead back to the source material. It's nearly impossible to have productive conversations about One Piece when everyone wants to blame all the bad on OPLA or Toei, as if the creator himself wasn't the one who opened the door for every single problem.

Some of you act as if someone kicked your dog whenever someone dares to suggest that Oda isn't the Super Progressive Writer™ the fandom has deluded themselves into thinking he is. I don't even understand where the denial comes from, considering his misogyny is so blatant and his association with sex offenders is public information. I understand loving One Piece, but you don't need to kiss Oda's ass, you know? He's not a good person.

Being critical of the media you consume and its creator isn't being a "hater". I can consume One Piece while disliking its many, many issues. I didn't sign a contract that says I have to like every single thing about it.

I'll be upset if Robin ends up being played by some 20-something white actress, but I'm already upset by the fandom's attitude. *Don't think I haven't noticed the obsession some folks have with monitoring Ilia Isorelýs Paulino's social media activity to check if she's losing weight to be "manga/anime accurate Alvida", as if Alvida magically becoming thin is this super important plot point that needs to be adapted. The source material and the fandom's treatment of fat women is another topic I could rant about for days.

[jyndor]

lbr star wars has had shitty writing always. it's always been messy. it's always been imperfect. the quality dip between s2 and s3 of the mandalorian is so widely discussed but it came after a real dip in quality after s1 so let's not act as if the acolyte having problems is the reason it got canceled.

the acolyte has real problems but yall still show up for equally messy projects if they are about the same characters that we have seen over and over again, and those projects have the space and room to be imperfect. I'm not saying star wars fans don't always criticize every project ever because of course we do, but the way that people spoke about the acolyte... as someone who didn't have time to watch until like last week, I expected an absolute shitshow and I got a good show with some structural issues but mainly good bones.

and yes, star wars fatigue is REAL but people showed up for the ahsoka show, for the kenobi show, for mando, for the bad batch, and even for boba fett. all of which have episodes that are as bad as anything in the acolyte, if not worse.

but andor? the most well-written, well-acted star wars anything I've ever seen??? okay so it's not about jedi and space wizards and shit, but it's extremely star wars. but okay it's meant for a more adult audience so of course it isn't going to have the numbers that mando gets. sure, fine - but when it was announced, there was so much immediate disinterest and confusion amongst alleged star wars fans who I REMEMBER loving rogue one, saying shit like "who asked for this" and "who cares about cassian" and a lot of them ate crow when the show that was aimed at the one big critique of rogue one (that the characters didn't have enough time to develop) turned out to be as good as the big prestige shows from hbo etc.

but even then who gets the most attention from fans? the white core world-coded (ie: us american and british accented) characters. meanwhile, even after delivering one of the finest performances in star wars history (and somehow maintaining a balance of being the lead actor with all of the presence required for that, and also being an excellent supporting presence when other actors have their moments to shine) people have the audacity to say diego luna, who put so much into this project, is a weak part of the show or cassian is irrelevant or whatever BITCH-

and diego luna is a white latino. us american audiences racialize all latinos as non-white or conditionally white, and ~it just so happens~ his show - which should have been a massive hit with most star wars fans tbh - had a smaller audience for a STAR WAR. and we had to beg people to just give it a shot - we had to beg people who ALLEGEDLY care about diversity and queer rep and good stories to watch it. canon queen wlw! and not a peep from the people who will ship any two women characters who look at each other for a long moment. I mean, same but COME ON???

now the acolyte is not andor, but it doesn't have to be andor - it needs to be itself. and it is! it's not perfect but why the fuck does a star war need to be perfect? star wars have never been perfect, fuck the prequels are still a mess idc what you people my age think they're Not Good. but you and I have Made Them Good because they have good bones and there is a lot there to work with.

the acolyte is WORLDS better than the phantom menace and attack of the clones in terms of writing. it has some structure issues and could have used a couple more episodes to delve more deeply into the characters' motivations. but the acting? 10000% better and you won't convince me otherwise.

you know what? I have major problems with cassian's characterization in andor. I don't think it is consistent with who cassian was written to have been as a youth in rogue one. but I'm not gonna throw in with reactionary cunts who hate the show because it has the audacity to be led by a mexican actor. when I've criticized andor, I've done it in support of andor ALWAYS. meanwhile these freak ass pro-jedi types who essentially call any critique of jedi (individual or institutionally) genocide apologia while basically denying irl genocide -

these types are so offended by a show making the most tepid observations about how jedi are people and like all people are not infallible even if they are well intentioned, but that also the dark side of the force does harm the force user, that you joined in on the reactionary bashing of a show led by a NON BINARY BLACK ACTRESS and a very, very diverse cast.

meanwhile, this is a show that probably was going to end with the dark side being a danger to everyone since imo that's clearly where they were going but now we will never know.

and the thing is that you are not to blame for lucasfilm capitalisming! I have been so busy this summer that I couldn't find the time to watch until a couple weeks ago. but lbr this fanbase shows up endlessly for white mediocrity by filoni, frankly even by lucas himself. lucasfilm has never stood up for its actors of color when they've been harassed by reactionary elements of the fandom.

you want an old republic project? good luck. good luck getting new and interesting star wars projects. it'll just be more of the same. and they'll be the same quality because lucasfilm doesn't have to put the work in when its a fandom fave - see boba fett, see obi wan. they can ride on nostalgia forever, but the numbers will continue to fall over time until there's nothing left.

[sevensoulmates]

As always it's a delight to get to read your posts and meta, it's just as satisfactory and fun as it is watching the show. You're just awesome ❤️

You know after watching the last episode (and now that we know little bit more about Marisol) it made me feel really sorry for her, because I just know she'll be collateral damage while Eddie figures himself out and that's just so sad. And I wasn't really sure why those comments Eddie made about him/Marisol when they encountered Buck and Tommy at the restaurant and after having sex with her made me feel so uncomfortable, but then you pointed it out and I was like yeah that was kinda like locker room talk, Eddie was overcompensating here like trying to be a big macho man and that's why it felt so weird.

I'm baffled about Eddie's situation the most because I'm sure it's gonna be hell for him for a while since he will have to work through a lot of issues to finally be at peace with himself. And until stated otherwise my headcanon is the same as yours. I'm sure he is a gay repressed man (and not no get into the gay Eddie vs demisexual  Eddie discourse but I'm sure he may be both) I grew up in a Mexican household, I was raised catholic and although I wasn't in the army my dad was and he raised me and my siblings with an iron fist. So Eddie's background/storyline has always hit too close to home for me. I'm just dreading all the issues he's going to have to face.

Which brings me to this. To show his coming out arc and make it into completion do you think they will have to show us more about his childhood and upbringing, not just having Eddie talking about it but to have scenes like we did with Buck's childhood?

And why do you think the scene about Buck apologizing to Eddie for hurting him at the basketball court had to happen off screen?

Btw thanks for always replying to my questions.

Hi there!!! No problem!!! You always have super interesting questions to ask, so I am always delighted to answer them!

We all know how Eddie feels about "performance". I just feel like why would Eddie feel like the performance stops once he's actually made it past the dating phase and into the relationship phase? Maybe the external pressure from others is off (none of his family or the firefam questioning him, etc) but in order to KEEP the relationship, it really would require MORE performing.

It's fascinating to me, because we don't see Eddie acting this way with Shannon. You could make some arguments that their relationship was pretty fractured from the get-go and we didn't really see their dating/"honeymoon" phase but even when they were ~slightly~ back together in season 2b, Eddie wasn't acting like that with Shannon. Even when they were sleeping together, he wasn't. The most he did was make a couple of cringe comments about his "dashing good looks" or something, but that was more poking fun at himself. Even when Eddie was telling Buck about how "sex complicates things" with Shannon, he wasn't out here smirking or making comments about how good it feels to finally get some after two years of (apparent) celibacy. Say what you want about their relationship, but at least Eddie respected Shannon enough as a person to not start speaking about her that way. Their relationship was far too serious for that.

With Ana, it was so incredibly hard to watch because even though the storyline ITSELF wasn't about sex, a lot of their scenes had that edge to it? Like the sex-scene fake out in season 4, "grade me on a curve", "you really like to see me dressed up" "and the other thing" it was so ODD and FORCED. At the time of s4/5 airing you could maybe chalk it up to Eddie overcorrecting since it's his first real relationship after Shannon, but then he goes and does the same thing with Marisol which now makes it a pattern.

Once it clicked in my brain that the reason his relationships with women feel so fake is that he is literally putting on a show of hyper-heterosexuality (idk if that's a real term or not but roll with me here) it all made sense. I think seeing him "in a relationship" with Marisol for real was the final puzzle piece to seal this deal for me.

His extreme performances with these women, combined with their purposeful lack of development into full characters, all points to the fact that none of these relationships are going to work out. Eddie is not going to be able to actually settle down with his "endgame" partner until he actually finds someone he can be his true, real self with and "doesn't have to pretend with them" ;)

Is it bad that I actually enjoyed getting to know Marisol a little? Putting aside the actress, Marisol, the character, is interesting, because we're actually getting to know her a little bit more, far more than we got to with Ana. But I find both of these love interests fascinating in one mutual way: the fact that they put up with Eddie. Like I think about other characters and if they would've been okay being treated by their partners the way Eddie treats his girlfriends and I'm like.....hell no!

Oddly enough the only person I could see putting up with it was Buck before he finally started realizing that he doesn't have to be in a relationship with someone just because they want him. Only someone who also has deep insecurities, abandonment issues, and a general lack of self-respect would put up with Eddie's BS to his girlfriends. That's not to say that Eddie's a horrible person or abuses his partners or anything, but it's basically indisputable that he does not ever put in any emotional work to actually create meaningful relationships with his girlfriends. So why were Ana and now Marisol, so willing to accept that?

Ana resisted the break-up even though she could feel Eddie's whole heart wasn't in it. She was willing to keep trying in a dead relationship just in the hopes that something would work out. The same goes for Marisol. Idk about you, but if I was in a relationship with a man for going on 4-6 months and he knew NOTHING about me? I'd feel unloved, uncared for, and unappreciated, and I'd LEAVE.

We know that Marisol was scared of Eddie rejecting her or fetishizing her and that's why she didn't tell him about the nun thing, and I understand her reasoning and fear there. But gworlie, what else do we know about you? Can Eddie name a single hobby you have outside of loving Jesus and DIYing houses? Does Eddie even know your last name? It really makes me think that Marisol is unfortunately the type to just let things like this slide in the hopes that some man will accept her, any man. Since they rarely do because of the nun thing. And boy, do I understand that feeling, but that's NOT real love. I bet you anything once we get to the Eddiemarisol breakup she's gonna be very similar to Ana in that she knew Eddie's heart wasn't fully in it, but she just didn't want to be alone again.

I think that like attracts like, and Eddie's clutching onto this relationship for the same reason Marisol's clutching onto this relationship: because it's easier than being alone and being judged for it.

This is a tangent but I also want to point out that one thing that Eddie found uncomfortable about Marisol being a nun was the fact that nuns used to be his teachers....but was Ana also not a teacher? Just because she wasn't a nun, doesn't mean she couldn't have also been in a position of power that Eddie could've found uncomfortable. I find it interesting that even though Marisol's not a teacher, the show found a way to connect her to teachers and therefore to Ana.

As for Eddie's coming out arc, while I don't think it's entirely a necessity to have flashbacks to how he grew up, I certainly think it would help a lot of people who can't read between the lines if they had some. I especially would like to see scenes of young him + Shannon. Maybe seeing how the pressure from his family and church led him to believe men have to be a certain way, potentially microaggressions about being lgbt that he might've seen from his family/church (I don't necessarily mean full-on homophobia but possibly like little ways in which he was shown that there was no other "acceptable" option from his church other than heterosexuality. I think seeing scenes of how he and Shannon got together could be enlightening too, how their community reacted to them getting pregnant, etc. I think all of this, combined with a mirrored storyline in the present (similar to Buck Begins) would really drive home the point the show is trying to make, especially if they can finally be overt about Eddie's queerness. BUT all of this can still be done present day without the need for flashbacks either. I just think it would be a way to make the storytelling more rich and to spell it out more obviously for the people in the back.

As for Buck apologizing to Eddie for the basketball scene...I would've liked to see it too, but at the end of the day, it's like Ryan said in his interview...Eddie was always going to forgive Buck because he loves him to his core, because he knew Buck didn't come at it from a place of truly wanting to hurt Eddie. All of it was a manifestation of Buck's own issues, and by this point (especially after the lawsuit arc and the deadbrother arc) Eddie is aware of that. We did see plenty of scenes where Buck was scolded and demonstrated he was aware his actions were shitty, and Eddie probably assumed that letting Buck stew in his own guilt was atonement enough. And so I think likely the writers felt that in the end, the sentiment got across. Separately--given all the switcheroo stuff that happened with 7x04 and 7x05, I wouldn't be surprised if there WAS an apology scene and it got cut for time.

[kirasworldofwords]

17 for Nico H., Checo, or Michael?

Me getting a chance to write Michael Schumacher?? Hell to the yes, I'm doing it- Also, because I love all three of them, I'm gonna set the stage in 2012, with baby Nico, baby Checo and Michael functioning as their sort of dad, lmao. 🙌🏻

Prompt 17: Tending to an injury/wound/illness

"Ow...!"

"Hold still, Checo, I know it hurts... It'll be over soon, I promise."

"If only you didn't crash into me, Pérez, then we wouldn't be in this situation right now..."

"Nico, bitte. Stop."

"It's true!"

Michael sighed in exhaustion. Having to tend to one injured grid-mate apparently wasn't enough for the universe - it gave him two instead.

And they bickered like children.

"I told you my brake ripped, mate! It's not my fault the mechanics forgot to look at the braking system!"

The older German gently patted Sergio's shoulder to tell him to calm down again, which... worked for about five seconds - time that Nico needed to think of a response to offset the young Mexican again.

"That's your team, though! You could've told them to check your whole car once more before the race!"

Sergio grit his teeth in anger and growled under his breath at the accusation. What luck he wasn't teammates with that guy...

"Yeah, next time your car suddenly fails and you crash into someone without you wanting to, I'll say that to you as well, Hulkenberg."

"Try me, bitch."

Both rookies flinched when something loud suddenly crashed next to them, a booming voice quickly following.

"Nico, Sergio, be quiet just for once! I'm trying to concentrate on treating your wounds!"

The younger German driver swallowed thickly. He had never seen Michael this angry before... It was definitely a sight he wouldn't forget that easily anymore, and one he wished to never see again at the same time.

"Sorry, Michael."

"Perdóname..."

The older driver sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. These two were lucky that he had a son himself, as well as a daughter, and the two liked to bicker as much as his two grid-mates did.

"Seriously, how old are you two again? You're both in your 20's, I thought. Why are you acting like my tween kids? You're better than that."

The two young drivers fell silent and stared at the ground, heads cast in different direction as they did so. One twiddled with his thumbs, the other bounced his leg - and Michael would've been lying if he said he didn't see his kids in these two.

Nico was a lot like Mick. Sturdy, but also often as stubborn as a donkey. Meanwhile, Sergio was like Gina. Kind and gentle, unless someone provoked him, then he'd have the real potential to flip, no problem.

His facial features softened, and he smiled, chuckled, and shook his head slowly.

"You two... You really do remind me a lot of my kids."

Nico and Sergio looked at each other, probably imagining what it would be like if they were truly brothers, before they smirked at one another first, then at Michael.

"Is that why you always take extra care of us? Because you see yourself as our sort of 'grid-dad'?"

The Mercedes driver stopped in his tracks and stared at the bandage he was just about to wrap around Nico's busted ankle. He... did act a lot like their father, didn't he? Was that why Fernando always teased him like that...?

"... Don't push it, Hulk."

His younger grid-mate laughed loudly at that, a broad, boisterous laugh that Sergio couldn't help chiming in on. They knew - they so knew. And it may have taken Michael a moment or two, but he soon smiled and quietly laughed along, going back to wrapping the bandage around Nico's ankle.

Once he was tended to (Nico then proceeded to sit there twisting his ankle in circles just to see if it would hurt), Michael turned his attention towards Sergio, taking the disinfectant bottle and using it to carefully wipe away the dirt that had accumulated in the wound on the Mexican driver's elbow. The small scrape on his knee had already been taken care of, a bandaid sitting idly on top of the bleeding spot, holding back any and all debris that could threaten to make its way back into the open wound.

Upon the disinfectant touching base on Sergio's elbow, however, he hissed, squeezed an eye shut, and jerked his arm back - but Michael firmly held him in place.

"Hier geblieben." (Stay here.)

He carefully placed a cotton patch on the open spot, instructing the young Mexican to hold it there whilst he went ahead and wrapped a bandage around his elbow, fixing it with two strips of tape. After inspecting his little handiwork for a bit, Michael nodded to himself with a self-sufficient smile and stood up again, groaning at the way his bones cracked.

He was seriously getting too old for this...

Regardless, the baron reached a hand up and first ran it through Nico's hair before he did the same with Sergio's, both of them grinning crookedly at their grid-mate.

"Alright, that should be it. You're good to go. But don't choke each other, yes? The sport still needs you."

Both drivers gave each other lopsided smiles before they got up from their sitting positions at the same time, going in to hug Michael as thanks for his help - Michael was taken aback first, of course, but he quickly smiled and hugged them back before sending them on their ways, waving after them shortly.

A snicker came from the doorway behind him after Nico and Sergio left.

"I always knew you were like a father to them, Schu."

Michael sighed in resignation at the voice.

"Do me a favor, and just shut up for a while, Fernando."

[fierceawakening]

So, actual question about actual gaslighting:

Mom tells me that my birthday gift is a table from IKEA that she and dad are buying me. I'm happy about this, as I very much do need a table. The one I have is one they were getting rid of when they moved into an apartment more suited to them aging in place, and is a lovely table but is way the fuck too big for my small apartment so I'm happy about this.

We go to IKEA. Somehow they forget that this is an hour each way and everyone is frustrated and annoyed at the trip taking so long so we're all kind of snippy while we're there. Which is maybe not great but I'm just kinda, eh, shit happens, I'm finding a table. Whatever.

TO MY PERCEPTION, my mom has a thing about people getting snippy. She starts to get really nervous and uncomfortable and make a big deal out of it, where I personally would prefer we just all laugh it off. "Oh fuck, we're all tired and cranky and forgot how fucking HUGE an IKEA is. Ow, argh, welcome to the universe, we all want to commit murder now but are too tired, woe is us, ha ha ha." But, again, as I perceive it, this is Not Okay with my mom, who really wants everyone to act happy and grateful all the time. It's TO ME like she can't see grateful if you're not beaming, and it baffles me.

BUT I am not her, and I could be downplaying that I'm curt to the point of mean, so let's presume that I'm terrible and grouchy and should really be less of both given that this is a present for me. Okay. I suck. Let's go.

Well, things get worse. We go to have dinner after, and I say we should wait until we get back to town and know the restaurants, and that while I know she practices intermittent fasting religiously "it's never actually the end of the world to mess up your diet once due to extenuating circumstances, we can push dinnertime to 6:30."

Well she LOSES IT because I called her fasting a diet and we have an argument which culminates in us eating at a terrible Mexican place we all absolutely hate so it won't be 6:30 at which point she absolutely cannot eat.

We're all tired and grumpy and annoyed because that was exhausting They take the table home with them and tell me they'll come back tomorrow (today) to assemble it, and then, since this is about my birthday, we'll go out to lunch for my bday. (I could SWEAR I asked if it was OK that that would take attention away from Mother's Day and she said it's fine, but maybe I don't remember?)

Anyway, we're all still exhausted and kind of annoyed, and now we're assembling furniture. I'm tired and hungry and looking forward to lunch, and from MY PERSPECTIVE I'm still in a bit of a snippy mood but I don't THINK I'm doing anything terrible.

But she gets super upset. Why am I not happy? Why am I not excited? Why did I not immediately mention Mother's Day? And I'm just like oh man can I just focus on putting a table together? And she's like why am I talking in the way I'm talking? MY answer to which is that we're all tired and run down and it's normal, but she doesn't like this.

Finally she tells me that she's not going to go with me to lunch if "I can't behave decently."

I'm hurt about this, but I don't want to promise that I can "behave decently" because I know from experience that trying to mask in front of her makes things worse, not better.

So I say, "You need to make up your own mind. I am not sure I can mask my snippiness until I have eaten and calmed down. If this is a dealbreaker for you, please just drop us off and we'll catch back up with you. If it's not, I'll probably be fine once I've rested and have some food in me."

I feel like this makes sense, and actually even like maybe it would help! I can't vow to never be visibly tired or annoyed, but I can be aware she dislikes it and tell her I'll catch her later when it won't put her on edge.

But her reaction to that is basically that I want license to behave badly, and that I don't care about her enough to "be decent." She goes with us, but the whole time talks about how unfair it is that I be allowed to "not be decent."

I eat the food and enjoy the restaurant, and as I predicted, this helps me to feel calmer and present as less obviously irritated. I am hurt deeply by the "not decent" remark but able to hide those feelings as I'm calmer. Everything is fine. Ish.

...

AITA or is she? I mean, I think she is, but... if I am abusive or cruel and giving myself a pass, I feel like I should know that.

I just... Idk. I don't feel like anyone else does this. Like, friends and loved ones have seen me annoyed. And they don't necessarily like it, but there isn't the same sense that I'm incapable of being decent.

Dafuq do I do about this? I love my mom but I'm so tired of feeling like I can't just... be pissed off, lest it hurt her in some way, when it seems like me being pissed off in front of other people is treated like it's, maybe not perfect, but normal.

[rancidpancakebatter]

This Post is About BLM and Tyre Nichols so Buckle The Fuck Up

I am a black person. I come from a small, rural town with two stop lights run by a railroad tycoon and "footloose" university. (It's a Christian school and among their vast restrictions is a rule that you can't dance unless at a wedding- hence "footloose"). In my experience growing up, I was the only Black American I knew who wasn't adopted by a rich white family.

My father entered my life when I was thirteen. Before then I was being raised solely by my very gentrified Mexican mother. I knew that I was black but not because I recognised that identity. It was because that is how everyone labelled me. I was not Mexican, I was not white, I was black. Anytime I celebrated my heritage people would grow uncomfortable because why would a black kid speak Spanish? Why would they bring homemade tortillas to lunch? Why would they have a quiñceanera? You are black, act like it.

Since having my father in my life- having his influence, seeing our culture, not through the characterized lens in the media but his- I would say I feel black now. That identity now comes from me, not others. But unfortunately, that growth, that journey, is seen as irrelevant.

I first learned that I was black on the playground in the first grade. A little girl asked me why my hair looked "that way"? At the time I had an afro. I told her I didn't know, it wasn't something I had thought about. She continued to question my appearance: my nose, my lips, my skin. When I wore box braids, years later, for the first time I was chased around that same playground. The children pulled at them; they told me I looked like Medusa. They had created a game in which they would freeze anytime I looked at them. This applied at recess, in the gym, in art class, during lessons, at lunch, in the halls, etc.

That is a very minor form of racism spurred on more by ignorance than hatred, but I have suffered from hatred as well. What I mean to say is I am no stranger to racism. So when I say that as a citizen of the US, I am afraid, I don't say that lightly. I have been stopped randomly by police late at night. I have been unjustly blamed for an altercation just because I was there, so I must have "aggravated the situation."

But the fear I feel is not for me. At the end of the day, I am perceived as a weak woman and I am really good at "white-passing" with my language and mannerisms. However, my father isn't. And he shouldn't have to be. He dresses like a "stereotypical thug" with sagging pants, chains, and durags. He looks nice, I think he looks rather handsome, but I have watched WASP moms cross the street as we walk past them.

It doesn't matter that he is the sweetest man alive. It doesn't matter that he is so crazy in love with his wife and posts every craft she makes on Facebook to brag to all of his friends and family. It doesn't matter that he looks at me like I single-handedly hung every star in the sky. It doesn't matter that he asks for screenshots of my ios theme every week when I change it just so he can tell me it looks pretty. It doesn't matter that he still makes sure that he makes enough food for all of us and freezes my portion so I can have it when I visit. It doesn't matter that despite being a boomer he has a trans son and a queer, non-binary "daughter" that he loves and supports with everything in him. What matters is he's black, and he's dangerous.

Black men are killed every day in the US at the hands of cops. This upsets me of course, but it hurts me personally as well. How many others have nightmares where they get a call from their mother to tell them their father was killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? How many others see the headline "Cops killed another black man" and hold their breath as they scroll to see if it was their brother? How many others make sure to keep their hands in their jeans pockets and their hood off so they don't look as threatening. How many others were taught what to do when pulled over in a car before they learned how to turn the car on? How many others live in this reality?

I see the conversation around Tyre Nichols and it breaks my heart. He was nine years my senior with a wife and child. He was active in his community. He liked to skateboard. He was a lot like me. And he was brutally beaten and murdered. That's insane. That could have been me. That could have been my brother, or his. It could have been my father. And my heart breaks for his family. I respect them for the spotlight they are taking. The justice that they are demanding.

Recently one of his family members posted a video of him. They said that when the body cam footage was released that it was going to circulate. That his death was going to circulate. And they wanted to share a video of him living. And I think that's really beautiful. Often times we get swept up in our anger, our fear, and we forget momentarily that their life was not just this one instance. Tyre Nichols existed before this.

I will always be afraid of when I will have to do the same thing. When I will have to beg people to remember that my father, my brother, were so much more than just victims. My father is a chef, he is a kind neighbour, he is an amateur gardener. My brother is loved, doing well in his transition, a shoulder to cry on, and the life of the party. They are such beautiful and important people.

So, I beg you. Be angry. Protest. Riot. Make your voice heard. Help this family try and right a wrong that can never be brought to true justice. But don't forget who they're fighting for. Say his name. But also share his story. Not just the ending.

[starry-hughes]

It genuinely confuses me why people let racism or racist remarks drag them down I am mixed you probably couldn't tell by looking at me that my mother is white and I have always been mistaken for literally every race but my own and when I tell people what I am they are like “what is that” with a 🤨 is the best way to describe it when personally I would never ask someone a question like that I don't take offense because people are stupid we have known that for a long time, I won't waste my time talking to them because I don't see the point. My mother's side is also openly racist and they like to joke about me and my siblings being little Mexicans, and monkeys while on my dad's side, we are too white or don't have enough culture like tf but at the end of the day who really gives a fuck what they are saying because it doesn’t hurt me it has no effect I don’t care so it’s a waste of time for them to even say anything. Alright this is long what I’m trying to get at is people are dumb and don’t let it rule your life and racism is a two way street.

i don’t let it rule my life. i have had harmful experiences and interactions though and i don’t want to downplay those and act like they should just be brushed off. i share those because i want people to understand experiences i have had and how they have affected my life.

i think talking about those things make people realize that the issues are important and the problem with them.

[hetalia-club]

No, girl because I feel the same way about Spain. Hate the everloving fuck out him. But he is so attractive I never felt that way about anyone (real or fake) and I’m so damn embarrassed about. Oh, and I’m fully Mexican so there’s that….

There's no shame in it I mean come on look at him, he is objectively pretty.

I just have this one sided beef with Spain as a character, and it's fandom related. I'd rather not get into it. It's not important.

I basically started saying I hate him as a goof, and I just never stopped. Again to be clear I still think he's a douche. And I compare him to my IRL friend & her family from Spain and they act nothing like him at all, he doesn't talk about shit or milk enough or eat enough green grapes to be accurate for me. These are Spanish staples the groundwork they all come pre-installed with these features, the rest is DLC. If you know you know.

But I am now openly admitting I was wrong and he is hot, like he's tall dark and handsome of course he's hot. But I will die on the hill that he is about as interesting as plywood and has negative personality depth. He's boring. He's hot but boring. Like you would fuck him but you wouldn't pick up his calls for a real date, just a booty call or two you would feel guilty about after post nut clarity, you get what I'm saying? I hope so. Because I don't, I never know what I'm saying.