#because i have a lot of feelings about books

[renthony]

I really have no patience for posts talking about "adults who only watch kids' cartoons," because, like...people accuse me of "only watching kids' cartoons," despite all evidence to the contrary. It doesn't matter how much I talk about other adult media I like, if I post too many things in a row about Steven Universe or The Dragon Prince or The Owl House, people come out of the goddamn woodwork to accuse me of "only watching kids' shows."

So I really can't take people seriously when they start talking about the supposed "problem" of "adults who only watch kids' shows." Are the "adults who only watch kids' cartoons" in the room with us right now, or are you basing your entire opinion of people solely on their fandom blog? Like, come on.

It makes me think of the couple years I spent volunteering in a school library. The librarian talked a lot about how it's hurtful to enforce "reading at grade-level" on every student with no nuance. Teachers would try to force their students to check out books "at proper grade-level," instead of letting students pick out whatever they wanted (even if it was "too easy"), and it resulted in a lot of students deciding books were boring, too hard, and only good for making them feel stupid. They started to hate reading entirely, because people constantly shut them down and told them they were stupid for not reading the right things. This was especially brutal on disabled students.

I personally apply the same philosophy to adults. You don't know what someone might struggle with, you don't know what someone's history is. You might think a piece of media is "too simple," but that's your experience and your opinion. People learn and grow and experience the world at different paces, and what seems to you like a "simplistic" piece of media may be the most complex, illuminating piece of media someone else has ever had the opportunity to experience. It doesn't make them "stupid" or "childish," and believing that it does is cruel and counterproductive. You cannot wield shame as a fucking cudgel if your goal is education, support, and helping people expand their horizons.

I don't think a culture of shame is helpful. I don't think a culture of "if you like 'childish' things, it means you're too stupid for anything else" is helpful. I don't think constantly making fun of children's media does anything other than demean people--and not just the people who enjoy it, but the people who make it, too.

[cowboyheyxu]

caleb is 10 when he realizes that he's a physical touch fiend. the rush he gets when his hand lingers on top of your skin after playing with you is like no other. when he presses into your side while you're reading, his thoughts always circle around one topic: you, you, you. when you would run into his room after a nightmare, caleb was ready to swoop you in his arms and hold you until you fell asleep. every response towards you was involuntary.

caleb is 15 when he realizes that teasing 13-year-old you becomes irresistible. when he holds up your book, pencil, or some other item in the air, he watches as you jump up and down to try and grab it back. he's grown a lot in three years; if he had to estimate, he's a whole head taller than you now—20cm at least.

when you throw yourself onto him in an attempt to get your stuff back, he falters. you're laying against him on the couch, shuffling and moving up and down over his body, and caleb's breath hitches. you're so close and right there.

he's going insane. you can't even stand up for five seconds before caleb pulls you down against him once more, saying something about retaliation or revenge while tickling you to death.

caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.

"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."

"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"

he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.

when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.

two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.

but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.

"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.

"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.

he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.

it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.

he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.

all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.

caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.

he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.

even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.

when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).

but he stays. because it's you.

you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.

he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.

caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.

you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.

how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.

you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.

whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.

he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.

the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.

he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.

"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."

caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?

slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.

you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.

caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.

wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???

i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.

also sorry the ending was rushed i wanted to get this over with bc i intented this to be like 500 words but obviously it got way longer than that. what can i say... this freak has dug into my brain.

[shy-writer-999]

It's getting hot in here...

Summary: After a nice meal, you start to feel weird. Did you eat something funny? It turns out everyone is feeling the same, and there's only one thing to do about it. Read content warnings please!

CW: Lots of nasty sex. Afab reader, G/N language. Aphrodisiacs. TONS of zosan gay shit (like 50% of this fic). Could be considered dubcon because the aphrodisiacs are strong and reader keeps losing touch with reality, but it is consensual >_> Voyerusim, dacryphilia, begging, dry humping, edging, masturbation, "good boy," riding, prone bone, you name it. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS (VERY) NSFW CONTENT.

Something was in the water at the new island the Sunny anchored on. Or was it in the wine? The bread? The butter? You couldn’t remember what you ate. Your memory of the night was blurred—scattered scenes played through your mind the next day. Your recollection was… messy and nonsensical. You tried to recount the night.

In the early hours of the night in question, Sanji went into the island’s town to get supplies and ingredients for dinner. It was a nice day full of free time, clear skies with a slight breeze.

Nami and Robin went shopping and they wouldn’t be back on the ship in time for dinner. Brook, Usopp, Chopper, and Franky went off and did god knows what. Similarly, they wouldn’t be back in time for the evening meal. Sanji promised to make enough so they could have leftovers later.

When everyone went on their separate outings, that left you, Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji on the ship.

It was a small, simple, and delicious dinner that night. An intimate setting with just you four, a nice opportunity to hang out with part of the East Blue crew. You were soaking in some modicum of silence and peace (whenever Luffy allowed it) on the mostly empty ship.

Aside from Luffy’s chomping and smacking noises while he ate, dinner was relatively silent. Sanji and Zoro weren’t butting heads for once, either. You sat at the table, talked sparingly, and drank some of the wine that Sanji bought in town.

When dinner was over, you helped Sanji wash up (like usual), then you sat at the dinner table and did some reading.

An hour or so passed. You read your book while Sanji prepped food and cleaned the kitchen a few feet away. Gradually, the room got warmer. You opened a window, letting in some of the cool evening air, propped a door open, and sat back down again.

After a few minutes, you noticed that you felt a bit ill. Lightly perspiring, you almost shivered—your limbs felt heavy, you felt light-headed. You tried to reason it away. Did you have too much wine?

No, you didn’t. You stood up, and as you rose to your feet you realized that you felt like you were going to pass out. At the same time, your body started to buzz. You had never felt like this before. Something was seriously off.

Sanji was still in the kitchen cleaning up, and you staggered in his direction, stopping at the sink to splash some water on your face. The cold water felt great on your hot cheeks, and you could have sworn you saw steam rise up from where the cool droplets met your skin.

“My love, are you alright?” Sanji’s sweet voice shocked you out of your feverish stupor. You had almost forgotten he was there. When you turned to face him, your body pulsed and heat tingled outwards from between your legs, radiating to your whole body. He had never looked so good before.

The blonde’s eyes widened in shock—your pupils were dilated, your breathing was shallow and quick, and your face was covered in a sheen of sweat. He brought a hand to your forehead and confirmed that you had a fever. “Are you sick, dearest? You don’t look well.”

When his skin touched yours, your breath hitched. “Sanji, I don’t feel too good.”

“Do you need to go lay down? I’ll get Chopper to come take your temperature and give you something to help you feel better, okay?”

You didn’t know it, but Sanji was starting to feel ill, too. He was sweating just barely and had, up until that point, been blaming it on the fact that he just cooked and cleaned and was a bit exhausted. But what was more concerning to him was that in your feverish state you looked even more beautiful than usual—no, beautiful wasn’t the right word. In his mind he remarked that you looked fucking hot. Stunning. Sexy, even.

He could rip your clothes off here and now and ravage you, had you been up for it. But that sentiment wasn’t necessarily out of the norm, rather, it was that you were evidently sick, and he was starting to feel a bit woozy himself.

Maybe the food had turned, and he didn’t realize it, so you were both suffering from food poisoning. But that would have been very unlike him to not pick up on the food tasting rotten. It must have been something else. Did you both pick up some virus from the last island you were on? Like Nami on Little Garden that one time?

A soft whine slipped out of your lips. The noise made his stomach flip. You sounded like you were in pain but… you also sounded a bit erotic to him. In this state, his mind raced. Is that what you would sound like in bed? Whining like that?

Sanji mentally berated himself more than ever before, letting self-disgust wash over for a moment before he shook it off. When he got back to his senses (he had been staring at you for only a couple of seconds), he started to guide you to your cabin for some rest. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s get you to bed.”

But no matter how many internal curses he threw at himself, he felt a tent forming in his pants. Something weird was happening.

He balked at the idea that seeing you in your current state was getting him so flustered. You were ill, after all. What sort of gentleman would he be right now, if he was thirsting over you while you had a dangerously high fever and were obviously in pain?

As he tried to shrug off how odd he was starting to feel, the blonde chef guided you down the hallway and towards your room. You walked behind him and your vision started to get splotchy. With every degree your fever worsened, you felt something get more intense—was this feeling arousal? At a time like this?  

Sure enough, heat bloomed between your legs; small zaps of pleasure radiated

outwards with each step. The arousal-sickness combination was disorienting and concerning.

And not only were you just aroused, but it was coupled with wild sensitivity—as you moved, the fabric of your pants brushed down there, sending an electric shock up your spine as the tingling sensation intensified. Were you hallucinating, or was wetness seeping out of your core, saturating your panties?

The walk down the hallway felt like years.

By the time you were almost to your bed, you were soaking wet from nothing other than walking. You tried to squeeze your legs together. Was there a stain on your pants from how unreasonably wet you were? Should you hide it? The fabric of your pants was rubbing you just right, and, in the moment you sat on the bed, you convulsed in pleasure. Undeniably, you moaned. A quiet one, but a moan, no less.

You sat there for a few seconds, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as you positively buzzed in pleasure. You didn’t know what was happening, and you were unaware that you were slowly rubbing your thighs together, drawing out more tingles of pleasure. Was that an orgasm?

Sanji’s mind was racing, and he was hyperaware of everything—every shallow breath and flutter of your eyes was making his heart patter and the tent in his pants grow. He was fully erect now, and his mind was so scrambled that he didn’t even think of hiding it. He almost couldn’t breathe. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

It was from this point on that you started to question if any of this was real or if you were just having a fever dream.

Sanji stood over you, watching in what could be called a mixture of concern and rabid desire. Your eyes opened finally, and it felt like you had tunnel vision. You noticed it then—his erection, hard and big. There was a visible stain on his bulge where precum pooled into the fabric. His cock twitched when he realized your eyes were focused on it.

“A-are you okay?” Sanji asked. He didn’t know what to say. He needed to drag himself away to a bathroom and deal with this.

His words got caught in his throat as your body literally worked against your own whims. Your fingers moved like they were being controlled by a puppeteer—you watched them in third person as they trailed down your abdomen and came to rest over your throbbing core.

Looking up at him, you gave yourself a squeeze through your pants. Some erotic sound tumbled from your lips. Your fingers started to circle over the fabric of your pants where your clit must have been, and you spread your thighs a bit. You couldn’t control yourself.

“Help, Sanji,” you whispered, mouth dry. “Don’t know what’s happening. Can’t stop.” Your fingers moved faster, building a crescendo of pleasure that would crash onto you soon. You felt like you were going crazy with need. No longer focused on the fever wracking your body, your mind knew only one thing: you needed pleasure.

If you didn’t get more soon, you were worried you’d pass out. Or something would happen. Would you go crazy?

“H-help?” Sanji’s voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

“Touch me,” you whimpered, fingers moving faster now. His jaw dropped.

Luffy suddenly staggered to the door and leaned on the frame. He was unbothered by the sight in front of him and, quite frankly, he looked a damn mess. His hair was plastered down on his forehead in sweat, he had no shirt on, and his pajama pants were riding down, showing the band of his boxers.

“Guys,” Luffy’s voice was strained. “I feel really weird.”

Your eyes darted down. Luffy was rock hard, bulge standing out against the gray fabric of his pants. His cloudy vision came to rest on your chest. With no care in the world, one of his hands reached down to start rubbing himself.

“It won’t go away no matter what I do,” Luffy rubbed the heel of his hand down the outline of his erection, and his words were broken by a loud grunt. “I came here to ask for help but it—it looks like you beat me to it.” He cracked a grimace/smile and threw his head back after a moment, leaning his whole weight on the door frame as he touched himself through the fabric.

You snuck a hand into your pants. Brushing your clit gently, you keened. You were on autopilot, incapable of controlling your actions and not the most cognizant. All you knew was you needed more, and if you didn’t get more, something bad would happen.

“Mmmphhhh,” Luffy stifled a groan as he squeezed himself, lost in his own world. “It’s like my body is on fire.”

Your vision went black around the edges—you started to rub faster, spreading your legs open wide and creeping your fingers under your panties.

Burying your hand in your underwear, you hissed in air at your teeth as your fingertips came in contact with your hot folds. Your back arched and a needy sound trickled out. “F-fuck, Sanji help me.”

Sanji froze, eyes glued on your hand that was shoved down your pants, stirring under the fabric. The stain on his pants got bigger and wetter—it was very noticeable.  

“What do you want me to do love?” He asked in a hushed, hesitant tone. He was holding onto his last shreds of reason, trying not to pounce on you, but those shreds of rationality were slipping out of his grasp like sand.

Your vision started to go black. You closed your eyes, lost in the pleasure that you pulled from yourself in a daze. Sanji reached a hand up to your core and ran a thumb up and down over the fabric above your clit. Your wetness was seeping through the layers already.

Some amount of time passed. You came and it helped you regain lucidity. When you opened your eyes—you had no clue how long it had been—you were laying on the bed and Luffy stood over you, watching intently.

Sanji was sitting at the end of the bed, now shamelessly digging his thumb into the tip of his cock, playing with his slit as clear precum seeped out of it. His hips bucked upwards a few times and you watched. You realized that you were touching yourself, moving your fingers in swift and messy need.

Luffy leaned in and pressed his lips on yours. The first few kisses were surprisingly sweet, loving, even, but they quickly turned sloppy. He maneuvered onto the bed—now, his knee was pressed against your core, a hand braced on one side of your head, and the other rested on your cheek as he kissed you passionately.

You made out for a few seconds, grinding down onto his knee a bit, aiming for friction. Your mewls were driving him and Sanji insane—the blonde continued to tease himself and stroke slowly while he watched Luffy take in every inch of you with his lips. The captain’s lips moved south.

He pulled your pants and panties off quickly, spread your thighs wide, and started to eat you out on the spot. Pressing his tongue on your clit, the captain drew soft circles around your sensitive bud, then he swiped his tongue up and down along your entrance. Luffy wasted no time slurping and greedily licking every inch and crevice of you that he could.

You started to lose touch with reality again—you realized, distantly and in third person, that whatever was wrong with you seemed like you would start to black out any time you went too long without an orgasm. As you were making this conclusion, a loud thud at the door distracted you once again.

Zoro’s body had dragged him across the ship, bringing him to your room of its own accord. He could hardly walk, slamming into the door frame, and before he knew it, he was sitting on the bed next to Sanji, eyes darting between Luffy eating you out and the blonde’s fist stroking and squeezed his hard on.

Your eyes shifted to Zoro, sitting with his legs spread wide on the bed next to Sanji. The swordsman started running a palm over his clothed erection. His breaths were fast, his cheeks were bright pink, he didn’t seem fully cognizant of the fact his eyes were glued on his nemesis/frenemy’s fist pumping over his cock. No one said a word for a few moments. It was a silent agreement—whatever was happening needed to be addressed, and there was only one thing to do.

It had been too long without an orgasm again for you. Your vision went black and your mind went blank. When an orgasm finally crashed into you, minutes later, it brought you back to reality and a few moments of lucidity. Your ears were greeted by a cacophony of ragged breaths and deep groans to your left.

Turning your head, your eyes were met with the sight of two people (who you thought utterly hated each other) entangled on the bed.

Sanji was completely naked, while Zoro had on short, tight, black boxer-briefs. He was on top of Sanji, rubbing and humping his own erection on Sanji’s while his brows furrowed and needy sounds trickled out of his mouth. Every few seconds, Sanji let out a whimper and arched his back off the bed.

“Don’t stop,” Sanji gasped, grabbing fistfuls of sheets as Zoro’s muscles rippled and his clothed cock brushed onto Sanji’s aching, red one.

“I f-fucking can’t,” the swordsman grunted in response, his tone tinged with annoyance.

Your eyes stayed glued on the pair, bewildered and feral, until Luffy’s tongue, buried inside of you, demanded your attention. Was he using his devil fruit powers? Head had never felt this good before. His tongue prodded the pulsing hotness of your core, sliding up and down greedily between your lips before pushing inside of you again.

The slurping noises from your captain were sinful. Your eyes crept from his head buried between your legs to the sight of his hips rutting on the sheets beneath. His cock craved friction. He wished his tongue wasn’t buried in you but something else instead.

Grabbing tufts of Luffy’s hair, you dragged his mouth closer, pressing his roaming tongue as deep as physically possible.

“L-luffy, need m-more. Please.” You begged, vision getting blurry around the edges. You felt hotter than before.

Instead of your captain’s voice in response, a loud moan from Sanji answered your pleading. Your eyes snapped to the pair of men again—Sanji was squirming under the swordsman, shuddering and clawing at Zoro’s biceps now as he grinded up into his cock.

“Cumming,” the blonde grunted, pushing his hips upward, grinding harder onto Zoro. “I’m c-cumming, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The chef came on his own stomach while Zoro rocked his hips into the blonde’s shaft with more urgency, overstimulating him and eliciting desperate cries.

“Can’t stop,” Zoro choked out amidst his own moans and heaves for air. You were speechless. You had never witnessed this level of pure desire before.

Tears pricked in the corner of the chef’s eyes, but he didn’t tell the swordsman to stop, in fact, he rutted his hips up again and again. He was gearing up for yet another orgasm when Zoro brought him into a kiss and trailed his fingers towards the blonde’s erection.

More moments fleeted by—more gut-wrenching pleasure from Luffy’s tongue inside of you, hazy images of Sanji and Zoro grinding on each other, smearing the milky puddle of cum all over Sanji’s abdomen on Zoro’s underwear and abs.

Your eyes fixated on the outline of Zoro’s erection through the damp fabric. You were mesmerized.

Time faded into oblivion. The next memory you had was of Zoro flipping you over, onto your stomach, and climbing on top of you. He positioned you in prone bone, pressing his chest on your back. Trailing his fingers down and squeezing a rough handful of your ass, he then dipped two fingers into your hot folds and coaxed fireworks of pleasure from you.

Zoro relished how wet and ready you were for him thanks to Luffy’s previous work. He played with you for a little while, dragging his finger pads across your g-spot repeatedly and curling them upwards inside of you until you begged for more. When he pushed his cock inside, he felt so big that it was almost painful. He entered you centimeters at a time, and when he finally bottomed out and the ring of hair around the base of his cock met your flesh, his hips started to pump into yours rhythmically, gaining speed each moment that passed.

“Feels hot and s-sticky inside,” he gasped, hips shuddering into you as his tip passed your g-spot. You shifted under him the slightest bit, drawing a sensitive gasp from the swordsman. Every movement from him felt euphoric—and coupled with his weight on top of you, you felt like you were doing crazy with desire. He couldn’t fuck you fast enough.

Turning your head, you realized that Sanji had one hand wrapped around his cock again but was now in a similar position to you. He was flush with the bed, chest pressing on the covers, simultaneously stroking himself and humping the sheets as he watched Zoro fuck you.

Zoro groaned pure filth in your ear. “Just like that, baby. Fuhccckkk. Feels so good.”

Each pass of Zoro’s length inside of you and past your g-spot was met with a squelching noise from how wet you were—every roll of his hips pushed him deeper inside of you and it felt like you were floating.

As Sanji watched, his fist moved faster and so did his hips. He roughly jerked his length and rubbed his glistening tip into the covers. His cock felt hot, it was pulsing, and each brush of his flesh against the fabric made him shiver. He was working off of animal instinct alone, eyes so dilated and mind so foggy that all he knew was that he felt good and he didn’t want it to stop. He could watch the pair of you for hours. He didn’t care.

Voice husky and bathed in lust, Zoro was getting more worked up. “Say my name,” he groaned as his length passed in and out of you. “Say it.”

Before his name could exit your lips, Sanji moaned into the sheets below. “Zoro. Zoro. Hah, fuck, Zoro.” Moments later, you watched him orgasm all over the sheets below, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut.

Hearing the chef’s desperate, pathetic mewls made Zoro fuck you faster. The tip of his cock bullied your g-spot repeatedly. And just when you thought you were at the precipice of orgasm, Zoro reached a hand under you and started to rub your clit, then he bit your shoulder. The pain felt good, and the combination of sensations was overwhelming—your orgasm was intense, shocking, and ecstatic.

A fleeting thought passed through your mind—where’s Luffy?

He was perched at the end of the bed, touching himself to the sight, waiting for his turn, which he promptly took when Zoro was done with you.

The next scene in your memory was Luffy fucking you, but you weren’t quite sure how you got there. You did remember that right before Luffy touched you, he asked you softly, “Do you want to keep going? Or have you had enough?”

You croaked out an eager, “more.”

“On top?” Luffy asked, waiting for your confirmation. And when you again agreed, he shifted, so he was laying on the bed, and you were on top of him.

Sinking down on his cock, you started to ride him. His hands came to rest on your hips and his eyes looked hungry. As if he wasn’t full from the ridiculously huge meal he just ate.

Parallel to you and Luffy, Zoro had Sanji on his lap. Zoro’s chest pressed on Sanji’s back, so the chef was facing you and Luffy. The swordsman’s large, rough hand wrapped around Sanji’s front. Languidly, Zoro played with Sanji’s shaft, teasing him at a snail’s pace.

Zoro wasn’t all there mentally because of (what you deduced to be) the aphrodisiacs. It’s like he was running on pure thirst. Something in him wanted Sanji to beg and wanted to see you getting off to the sight. He was getting a kick out of the cook being absolutely pathetic. He wanted to see him be utterly shameless.

“’m gonna cum,” Sanji whimpered, writhing around on the stocky pair of hair thighs underneath him.

“Shhh. Not yet, cook. Can’t you hold on for a little bit longer? Don’t you want to watch?”

Sanji got quieter and nodded, holding his orgasm at bay as best he could while he watched you ride Luffy, who was practically growling out commands faster than you could keep up.

 “Faster.” “Faster.” “Harder.” “More.” Every time he spoke, you did as he said. You did so until your legs started to burn, until your thighs started to shake, until he was doing all the work for you, lifting you up and down on his shaft.

He pressed his tip on your spongey hot spot and wrenched pleasure from you. Zoro edged and teased Sanji within an inch of his life while the pair of them watched—it was almost cruel. The cook was in tears over how good it felt, how badly he wanted to keep cumming, and how much it was getting to his head.

“Please Z-zoro, fuck, please.” Sanji was close to his breaking point.

“Just a bit longer, curly brows, hold on.”

A few more seconds passed. It didn’t take long for Luffy to bring you to the brink of orgasm, which was what Zoro was hoping for. As you started to shake, eyes rolling back in white-hot pleasure from your orgasm, Zoro finally gave Sanji permission to cum.

You hadn’t expected the swordsman to be this controlling, this mean, and this verbal.

“Mmmphhhh. Just like that,” Zoro exhaled while he watched you cum all over Luffy’s cock. “Now you can cum.” He then murmured something in Sanji’s ear that would have left you gob smacked if you had enough wherewithal to think. “There’s a good boy.”

While Sanji painted his own stomach white, you collapsed on top of Luffy. He kissed the side of your head and started to pet your hair.

“You need a break?” He asked you, voice tender and kinder than usual. You nodded and then drifted into unconsciousness for some period of time.

Memories after this point completely faded to black. You had some notion of waking up and sucking Zoro off and then riding Sanji until he cried again, but… the images were blurred. Someone came on your face, two indiscernible figures in your memory were entangled on the sheets again, but… you drew a blank after a point.

---

When you finally came to, you concluded that whatever the fuck that was must have been a very strong aphrodisiac. You couldn’t figure out what it was in though—the wine? The water? Something in the food? Whatever it was, it must have gotten out of your system through sheer number of orgasms and hours of fucking.

You were still on your bed, under the covers and tucked in along with Luffy. Sanji and Zoro were off somewhere, presumably getting cleaned up but…? Who knows. 

You checked the clock—it was around 10:00PM. You, Sanji, Luffy, and Zoro had been going at it since 5:00PM, shortly after your early dinner. So… almost five whole hours? But you didn’t feel like it, really. You weren’t sore or anything which was a feat in itself.

Putting some clothes on, you wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water. You were parched. You’d have to wait to debrief until you saw Zoro or Sanji, or until Luffy woke up.

You walked into the kitchen and were met with a sight that broke your brain for a second. Nami, Robin, Franky and Usopp were at the dinner table, chowing down on the dinner leftovers Sanji packaged up for them in cute little serving boxes. They must have just gotten back from their outings.

Your eyes flashed around the room—wine bottles were open. They were having a grand old time.

Your stomach sank. Fuck. They were about to have even grander of a time if they kept eating and drinking like that. You’d have to sit yourself out for round two—not sure you could handle it, honestly.

After that night, you came to a good understanding of the dynamics with each man in bed. Not only from your memory, but because you went in for seconds with each of them at some point. Luffy was greedy and forthcoming, but kind, like usual. Zoro was an absolute machine, filthy and verbose. And Sanji was, well, Sanji. He was doting, pathetic, and desperate. What a good variety to choose from—you were never left wanting again.

ik im gonna look back at this later and go GOD DAMN woman, were you okay? frothing at the mouth. anyway...

thanks for reading!! this was pretty challenging for me, i wanted it to be halfway decent but just couldn't get it anywhere i wanted really T-T idk if i'll ever live up to the luffy aphrodisiac kinktober fic i wrote :p

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

dividers courtesy of @issysh3ll taglist @eggrollforyou !

[halbarryislife]

I just graduated college and took my capstone on propaganda. Not the just the history of it but also its evolution, how it works, and what makes the best propaganda.

With the ‘unbanning’ of tiktok and the inauguration being within a day of each other a lot of propaganda has been thrown at us. I want to share what is called “the ten rules of hate” from Matt Taibbi’s book “Hate: Inc: why today’s media makes us despise one another”, which was published in 2019.

To give some context for the ten rules, Taibbi says in this chapter (chapter two) regarding the news cycle, "after generations of doing the opposite, when unity and conformity were more profitable, now the primary product the news media sells is division."

But before I state the rules I just want to remind everyone PROPAGANDA OCCURS ON BOTH SIDES. Neither side is better than one another when it comes to propaganda, it is a necessity. I say this as a democrat who believes the next four years are going to be hell. Just today I saw propaganda from both sides, ironically fitting into these ten points.

THE TEN RULES OF HATE:

There are only two sides

The two sides are in permanent conflict

Hate people, not institutions

Everything is somebody else's fault

Nothing is everyone's faults

Root, don't think

No switching teams

The other side is literally Hitler

In the fight against Hitler, everything is permitted

Feel superior

What most people get wrong about propaganda is that its intention is not change your thought process immediately, no. The purpose of propaganda is to nudge you in a certain direction. Whether that be you seeing that trump unbanned tiktok and for a split moment you think 'maybe he isn't so bad' or seeing an instagram post from Path2Progress saying 'it's a dark day in America' and you get a tinge of fear.

I am making this post because I want you to be able to look at the media you are soaking up and be able to notice that people are trying to manipulate you. Of course, there are other points to propaganda that I did not get in here as I could write several papers on this subject, which I have.

And before anyone says in the comments, "but Trump is literally Hitler", I'm just going to point out that this cycle of calling people Hitler started long before Trump's presidency in 2016. Glenn Beck, who's a conservative commentator really began the "Your neighbor is literally Hitler" movement. In Taibbi's book he writes, "Beck was awesome at this. Al Gore was Hitler. Obama was constantly Hitler." I know must Democrats would not consider these men to be Hitler, but I use this example to demonstrate its use in years past on the other party.

I am going to leave you with a quote from one of the first books written about modern propaganda. It's called "Propaganda Techniques in the World War" and was written by Harold Laswell, then published in 1927.

“But by far the most potent role of propaganda is to mobilize the animosity of the community against the enemy, to maintain friendly relations with neutrals and allies, to arouse the neutrals against the enemy, and to break up the solid wall of the enemy.”

[xinganhao]

vernonboxd 🎥 vernon x rockstar!reader.

movie nights are sacred to you and vernon. a little extra for my catch you when i can verse. ♡

ⓘ established/long-distance relationship, fluff, use of pet names, movie 'reviews' as headcanons. referenced this letterboxd list for some movies vernon has mentioned or recommended.

OOO VERNONBOXD.

Recent Reviews of letterboxd.com/11203km

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) ★★★★ Watched April 9, 2022

🐻‍❄️ says: visually pleasing, classic anderson. saoirse ronan if u read this im free on thursday night and would like to hang out. please respond to this and then hang out with me on thursday night when i'm free. (jk 🎸 ily)

🎸 says: apology not accepted ^ but i loved the tongue-in-cheek humor & deadpan dialogue. agatha & zero's romance >>> would watch again if i needed to see something pretty.

edited to add: if u need to see something pretty, just look in the mirror. ;) yours, 🐻‍❄️

Spirited Away (2001) ★★★★ 1/2 Watched June 10, 2023

🎸 says: breathtaking, show-stopping, one of ghibli's bests. a crown jewel of animation. incredibly word-building and i will die on that hill despite SOME PEOPLE'S contrasting opinions. i want it on record that i wanted to give this five stars. alas, 4 and 1/2 is a compromise.

🐻‍❄️ says: not arguing w a rockstar. whatever u say beautiful.

Luca (2021) ★★★★ Watched November 4, 2023

🎸 says: andiamo! has all the elements of a feel-good pixar flick. setting, dialogue, friendship. "we underdogs have to look out for each other, right?" need to go to italy. wink wink, nudge nudge.

🐻‍❄️ says: booking that flight rn. anyway: well-paced comedy, stunning animation, reminds me a lot of finding nemo. powerful & moving ending (surprisingly). can also open some discussion re: climate tolerance.

edited to add: wait you're kinda hot for that.. - 🎸

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013) ★★★ Watched December 20, 2023

🐻‍❄️ says: one-time watch typa beat. peaked at the cinematography but story, script, and pacing could have been better. loses composure because of how fantastical it is. overall, just ok.

🎸 says: not much to say about this movie, but i did like the quote -- "to see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. that is the purpose of life." words to live by.

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) ★★★★★ Watched January 21, 2024

This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.

🐻‍❄️ says: can't wait to do laundry and taxes with you in this life. (:

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 2

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4705

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you so much for the response to part 1! And thank you to everyone who was so patient and understanding for this part taking a while to write. I hope you all like it.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Wanda seems to be in a better mood lately, Natasha notices, probably because the two of you rekindled whatever complicated romance you had going on. And as sad and lonely as it had made Natasha feel, at least Wanda was being less rude to her, and that would always be a win in her book.

The grocery trips and errands she sends Natasha on are less demanding, although Natasha’s unsure if she’s becoming more comfortable or Wanda’s gotten less picky. Wanda still requests Natasha’s help for her weekly meetings, and Natasha cannot understand why someone who is unemployed goes so out of her way to find the most mundane, meaningless things to participate in. But it keeps Natasha paid and busy, and she still gets to see you a few times a week.

“What are you doing this weekend, Natasha?” Wanda asks while the two of them are in the kitchen. Wanda is on her laptop while Natasha stands at the counter, cutting vegetables for dinner.

“Um…” Natasha knows better than to tell Wanda the truth, which is that she’ll be sitting alone in her apartment for the next two days and eating ice cream on her couch. “Some friends invited me to go shopping with them at the mall,” she lies. She doesn’t have friends and she certainly doesn’t have the budget to shop at a mall after all the debt she still owes.

“I’ll be gone all weekend with some girlfriends,” Wanda says, not even acknowledging Natasha’s plans, which makes her wonder why she had even bothered to ask in the first place. “I’m not into wine tasting much, but the girls go nuts for it. I’m just going for the spa at the resort, between you and me.”

Natasha has no idea what to do with this information. But she’s spared from answering when the garage door rumbles open.

Wanda slams her laptop shut. “Oh, Y/N is home early.” She gets up to greet you. Natasha can hear your voices carry through the hall.

“You’re early tonight,” Wanda says. “I was just telling Natasha about my weekend plans to Vermont with the girls–”

“Your weekend plans?” you interrupt. “Since when did you have plans to go to Vermont?” Natasha has never heard you sound genuinely angry before. She stops cutting the carrots to focus on eavesdropping.

“Carol wanted to go for her birthday!” your wife says.

“Wanda,” you say, your voice lowering. “Our anniversary is this weekend. I booked us a stay at the Ritz and got us tickets to see Wicked–”

“Well, just ask for a refund!” Wanda hisses. Natasha is stunned that this is her first response to forgetting about her entire anniversary with you. “And we can celebrate when I get back–”

“‘Get back?’” you repeat. “That’s not the point, Wanda. Why don’t you ask for a refund for your trip–”

“I can’t do that to the girls,” Wanda says. “Carol’s been looking forward to this for months!”

You mumble something that Natasha can’t hear. She feels awful for you. Clearly, you had spent a lot of money and time planning a nice outing, and your wife didn’t seem to care one bit. In fact, she tried to put the blame on you for intruding on her plans. Natasha felt herself shaking with rage for you. You deserved so much better.

The two of you trudge into the kitchen and Natasha hastily goes back to cutting the carrots. Wanda is hanging onto your arm, tiptoeing to whisper into your ear but you shake her off and walk through the kitchen to the staircase. Natasha knows that Wanda is glaring at the back of her head, probably upset that she had overheard, but for once she doesn’t say anything and disappears after you.

The mood is particularly subdued when Natasha serves up roasted salmon with a colorful vegetable medley and mashed potatoes. 

“Thank you, Natasha,” you say as she hands you a loaded plate. 

Wanda doesn’t say anything when Natasha gives her a plate.

While the two of you eat in awkward silence, Natasha cleans up the kitchen, her final task of the day. She grabs her purse and heads towards the door, when she hears footsteps behind her.

It’s you.

“Can I walk you out to your car?” you ask. “I know it’s a safe neighborhood, but I don’t want you walking out in the dark by yourself.”

Natasha is so flattered by your offer she doesn’t stop to consider how Wanda might feel about this.

“Sure, I really appreciate that. Thank you.” She leads the way out of your house.

“Sorry you always have to park around the corner,” you add, maintaining a respectful distance from her on the sidewalk. “I’ve told Wanda the whole neighborhood knows you work for us. But she’s…” you trail off, clearly not wanting to speak ill of your wife.

“I’m sorry she forgot your anniversary,” Natasha blurts out. 

You seem startled that Natasha had been eavesdropping, but quickly recover. “Well, it’s…it’s not the first time she’s done it,” you admit in a soft voice. “I don’t know why I bother trying to do anything special anymore. It’s just another day to her. And it seems like she’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”

“She’s missing out,” Natasha says, surprised by her own confidence. “You’re a wonderful person and you deserve someone who will appreciate the efforts you go to celebrate important milestones like that.” She stops before she can offer herself up.

“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” 

The two of you stop at Natasha’s beat-up Nissan. 

“Thanks for walking me to my car–” she starts.

“Are you busy this weekend?” you ask suddenly, in a rushed whisper as if Wanda is around the corner listening. “If you’re not, would you like to see Wicked with me at the Gershwin Theater? I told Wanda I could probably get a credit with the Ritz, but I don’t want to deal with the hassle of exchanging the tickets, too. You can come over Saturday night and I’ll drive us?”

Natasha is so shocked by your proposal she doesn’t even have the words to agree at first. Growing up, she had loved watching musical movies until the VHS tapes wore out, but she had never had the opportunity to see a live performance. Even now as an adult, she still didn’t have the time nor the budget to see a show. To hear you ask that you wanted her to join you, when you had bought the tickets for you and your wife to enjoy on your anniversary she had forgotten, sounded almost too good to be true.

But if Wanda found out you had taken Natasha instead of her…Natasha shuddered at the thought. Maybe this was stepping over the line of professionalism. Natasha wanted to keep her job (and her head), and as much as the opportunity was a dream come true for her, she didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness or weakness.

“Um, I’m supposed to go shopping at the mall with some friends on Saturday,” Natasha says, cringing at the patheticness of her life. “But really–thank you for inviting me. I’m sure you have friends you’d rather take over your maid.”

“I don’t have any friends,” you say, so deadpan that Natasha almost laughs but quickly turns it into a cough when she realizes you’re being serious. While you seemed more reserved than your wife, Natasha refused to believe you didn’t have a strong social network. You were in charge of your own company and clearly doing well if you lived in this neighborhood and could afford a personal housemaid like her.

“Good evening!” The two of you startle when a cheery voice comes out of nowhere.

“Hello, Mr. Vision,” Natasha says, spotting the eccentric man first as he walks by at a rapid pace.

“Late night walk, Vis?” you call out, and he nods with a wave, pumping his arms faster and milling away. The only thing Natasha knew about Vision was that he lived by himself at the end of the street. He had no wife or kids that she knew of, not even a job as he was constantly seen walking around the neighborhood at odd hours. But he never approached Natasha or made her feel uncomfortable, which was more than she could say for most of the people living here, so she was happy to ignore him.

When Vision moves out of sight, you say, “Well, if your plans happen to change…” You fumble in your pockets awkwardly, pulling out a bent business card and handing it to Natasha. “My cell number is on there. Text me before Saturday if you’re still interested.”  

“Okay.” Natasha doesn’t want to get your hopes (or hers) up, but she still isn’t convinced this is a good idea. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Natasha.”

She loves the way her name sounds coming out of your mouth.

***********************************************************************

Natasha is still unsure she made the right decision to turn down your offer to see Wicked. She even called her only friend, Clint, to ask if she should’ve said yes.

“Well, you’re just seeing a show together. Think of it like a work bonus or something. Bosses give their employees nice stuff like that all the time,” Clint says as Natasha picks at a box of takeout in front of the television. Cooking at home was not her favorite chore after doing it all day for her clients.

“Yes, but it’s just the two of us,” Natasha stresses. “Y/N got the tickets to celebrate an anniversary and Wanda already hates me as it is–”

“Nah, she doesn’t hate you,” Clint says.

“You haven’t met her! You don’t see the way she treats me.”

“Exactly. Maybe this is Y/N’s way of apologizing for her behavior,” Clint says.

“I don’t know…” It was already Friday night. Natasha didn’t have much time now to change her mind if she was going to.

“Be nice to yourself, Nat. Let someone do something for you,” Clint goes on. “You work so hard for these people all the time. And I know how much you’ve always wanted to see a live performance.” Natasha feels tears well up in her eyes. She wishes Clint was here in person so she could give him a hug. “Nothing bad will happen. Just tell Y/N you want to go before someone else takes your spot.”

Natasha takes a steely breath. Clint is right. It wasn’t a date. It just was her nice boss treating her out to a Broadway show. Never mind the fact that you had intended to take your wife initially. Wanda would never have to know, right?

“Okay. Thanks, Clint.”

“Enjoy!”

As soon as she hangs up, Natasha goes into her texts. She already created a contact for you the night you gave her your business card. Her anxiety is through the roof as she types out a message to you, then deletes it and starts over. She gets more and more frustrated trying to find the right words, before she finally throws in the towel and clicks “Send.”

Less than a minute later, you respond.

Happiness explodes inside of Natasha. She can hardly believe her luck. Not only does she get to see her first Broadway show, but she gets to see it with you, and have dinner on top of it. She darts over to her closet, looking for the nicest dress she owns.

Wanda be damned. Natasha was going to have a great night with you. 

***********************************************************************

“Table for two, please.”

“Did you have a reservation?” the blonde woman at the podium asks.

“No,” you respond.

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, but we’re all booked out for the evening,” she apologizes. 

Natasha stands behind you meekly. She can’t even pronounce the name of the restaurant and doesn’t know what kind of food they serve, but it’s probably far beyond anything she could ever afford. She’s wearing a dark green dress that almost reaches her ankles and is conservative in protecting her assets, and spent over an hour doing her makeup, and she wonders if strangers will look at the two of you and assume you’re a couple. She wouldn’t go out of her way to correct them.   

“That’s okay. This was a last-minute plan for us,” you explain. “If Tony is working tonight, can you please tell him Y/N stopped by to say hello?”

“Wait, you know Mr. Stark?” the woman pales. “Don’t go anywhere. You said your name is Y/N?”

You smile and nod. The woman steps down from her podium and dashes into the back. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” Natasha boldly teases. 

You turn and wink at her. 

“Tony and I went to college together,” you explain, although this implies you shared a friendship of some kind. “And clearly, his business is doing better than mine–”

The woman quickly returns with a short bearded man wearing a gray suit with red-tinted glasses that match his tie. 

“Y/N!” Tony shouts, embracing you in a dramatic hug. “You should’ve told me you were coming tonight! I could’ve put together a private booth in the back–”

“It was last-minute,” you say. “This is Natasha, by the way. She’s a friend.” Natasha is thrilled at the way you associate her with you.

“Hello, Natasha, I’m Tony.” He takes her hand and gently kisses her knuckles. He doesn’t seem surprised you haven’t brought Wanda along instead. “I take it you haven’t been here before, Miss Natasha? You won’t need a menu, I’ll have the chef bring out the best dishes we have tonight.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you say. 

“Follow me! You can have a table in our east wing. Where’s Wanda?” Tony says rapid-fire, turning around and leading them deeper into the restaurant. You step out of the way and motion to let Natasha go first, and she feels your hand graze her back as she walks past you. 

“She’s out with her girlfriends for the weekend,” you answer from behind Natasha. 

“Your anniversary is coming up, right?” Tony asks.

“Yes,” you respond, your voice suddenly tense.

The restaurant is packed, every visible table filled with customers, until they turn around a corner to a quiet, completely empty area.

“Pick any table. I’ll have a waiter come out with some drinks shortly,” Tony says.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Natasha echoes, unsure if she likes this special treatment. You pick a table near the corner and pull her chair out for her. As soon as the two of you are seated, a waiter in a vested suit appears with a few bottles of wine, making suggestions and pouring samples into the glasses. Natasha doesn’t have enough knowledge to understand what he’s saying or differentiate the tastes, but she enjoys the experience. It feels strange to have someone serve her, when she’s normally the one waiting on people’s every demand. 

The two of you share several appetizers together. Natasha feels like she’s floating in a dream. You have been nothing but generous and respectful to her, but every time your left hand reaches across the table for the caviar, the wedding ring on your finger taunts her. 

The dinner itself is a four-course affair, including a rich chocolate cake that Natasha devours faster than she can fully enjoy. When the bill arrives (which Tony has already chopped in half), Natasha still asks if she can chip in (despite knowing full well she doesn’t have the money to cover even her portion), but you push her card away and give the waiter your black card.

The theater is three blocks from Tony’s restaurant, so you leave your car in valet parking and ask Natasha if she’s okay walking. She had not planned ahead very well, so she only has a thin cardigan to cover her shoulders. You notice her shivering and offer her your heavy black jacket that completely engulfs her frame. Your scent completely surrounds her now and Natasha swears she won’t wash this dress ever again.

The line into the theater moves quickly and Natasha follows you all the way down to the front, where your seats are perfectly center to the stage. She crawls over a few people, feeling a little smug about getting some of the best seats in the house. You had truly spoiled her tonight and she was never going to forget this. 

She leans over to whisper to you before the show begins. “Thank you for everything tonight. I’ve already had so much fun and the dinner was amazing.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for joining me, and thank you for all the hard work you do for my family,” you say and Natasha beams. “Me and Wanda really appreciate it.” Natasha deflates a little at the mention of your wife, but she pushes her out of her mind to focus on her time with you. 

As they wait, Natasha props her arm up on the armrest between you two so she can hold the playbill at a comfortable angle to read. Suddenly, your arm drops heavily on hers and she looks at you in confusion. You’re reading your own playbill and don’t seem to notice that your massive arm is practically crushing hers.

“Um, Y/N?” she prompts, clearing her throat.

“Hmm? Oh!” You quickly move your arm off hers. “I’m so sorry, I thought that was Wanda’s arm,” you explain with a nervous chuckle. Natasha laughs too, although she isn’t sure if she should be happy or worried that she reminds you of your wife. She’d be happy to take Wanda’s place any day, though. 

The musical is amazing, impressive beyond anything Natasha had ever expected. She cries when Elphaba defies gravity, and after the whirlwind of the second act, she is among the first to give a standing ovation. She’s floating on cloud nine as she walks with you out of the theater back to the car.

The drive back to your home is quick at the late hour. Just as you're about to pull into the driveway, you slam hard on the brakes, jolting everyone forward. Vision power walks past the beams of your headlights, only breaking the pump of his arms to wave in thanks.

“What is he doing out so late?” you ask, and Natasha is relieved to know she’s not the only one who thinks his habits are a bit odd.

“No idea,” she mumbles, watching you pull onto the driveway and stop.

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Natasha says, still giddy with excitement.“This was the best night of my life. I’ve always wanted to see a Broadway show, ever since I was a little girl. I never thought I’d get the chance, even after I moved here–”

“You’re very welcome,” you interrupt, seeming almost shy with the praise.

“I’m sorry Wanda wasn’t able to join you for your own anniversary,” she adds, although she’s not sure why.

You shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now. Besides, I’m glad you were able to join me and had such a fun night. I don’t think this would have been nearly as fun by myself.”

There is a pause and Natasha has to force herself to stop looking at your lips. If she had no self-restraint, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lean over the center console and kiss you.

“Have a good night, Natasha. Drive home safely,” you say as the two of you get out of the car.

“Thank you again!” Natasha doesn’t even listen to music on her way home, riding out the high of what was easily one of the most memorable nights of her life in over a decade.

***********************************************************************

A few weeks later, Natasha is working a double shift: the first one at Steve’s house, and the second at yours. You’re away at work, as usual, but she knows you’ll be home before she leaves for the day, and she never takes any glimpse of you for granted. Wanda is also back to being demanding and cranky, and Natasha has no idea if you told her about the night the two of you had together. She had felt the silent instruction from you not to blab about her taking Wanda’s place and was happy to keep the memories to herself.

She’s in the front hall, mopping while quietly humming “Defying Gravity” to herself, when Wanda clacks by in high-heels.

“Natasha!” she hisses. “Didn’t I tell you to start in the kitchen? If I slip out here because the floor is wet–”

“So sorry!” Natasha apologizes, hoping that she doesn’t finish her sentence. “I’ll put a fan on.” She rests her mop against the wall and darts off for the $300 Dyson fan in the closet. After pointing it towards the gleaming floor, she pushes her cart into the kitchen and continues mopping. She makes sure to open the window to air out the smell, and notices Steve across the street mowing his lawn. 

She stares at him, wondering if he can see her, and her question is quickly answered when Steve waves to her. She returns his wave with a smile, then goes back to her task before Wanda can complain she isn’t working hard enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him back away from his lawn mower and answer his phone; he disappears into his house hurriedly. 

“Natasha! Always make sure you open a window when you mop!” Wanda’s screech comes out of nowhere. “The chemicals you use give me a headache!”

“Oh, but the window is open–” Natasha tries to explain, but Wanda silences her with a wave of her hand.

“I’m on the phone!” she says, pointing to the cell phone held up to her ear. Natasha bites her lip, but holds her tongue. “Sorry, honey, what was that? No, I was talking to the maid,” she says. Natasha perks up despite the way Wanda titles her. You’re clearly on the other line, and maybe you’ll be home sooner than expected.

But Wanda disappears into a guest room (your house had so many of those), and Natasha can no longer hear her conversation. She dutifully continues to mop the floor, careful to fan the mop in a semi-circle pattern so as not to trap herself in a corner. She moves the chairs to the hallway one at a time, cursing their awkward shape that makes them difficult to carry and taking special care not to scrape the feet along the floor. 

Wanda’s shrill voice carries through the house again, this time covering a topic that makes Natasha’s cheeks heat up.

“Oh my God, yes, I’m still thinking about last night,” Wanda says. “When you had my legs behind my head–”

Natasha tries not to picture Wanda folded up like a pretzel while you plow into her. But she can imagine herself in a similar position (she’s not so confident in her own flexibility, but she’d make it work for you). Your hands could probably fit around her whole thighs as you push her legs apart wider, thrusting your hips in long strokes to fit your big dick into her. Natasha is embarrassed to admit that the last time she had masturbated, she had thought of you the whole time.

How much more you’d fill her compared to the flimsy toy she was using. How you would feel throbbing inside her, your body pressed hot and heavy against hers as you beg for her permission to finish. Imagining having you like that, with that kind of control, brought Natasha to the most amazing orgasm of her life. If only you had been there to share it with her. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be able to go another round, but you proved me wrong,” Wanda continues, and Natasha picks up on how breathless she sounds. She wonders if she’s touching herself right now, with Natasha mopping in the kitchen. Somehow, that wouldn’t be shocking to her. “You were still so hard when I put you down my throat.”

A lightning bolt of arousal strikes Natasha’s core. She can’t focus on mopping anymore, staring blankly out the kitchen window, lost in the new filthy fantasy playing in her head, guided by Wanda’s narration. 

Natasha lies between your legs, her lips barely brushing your hips as she takes your cock down her throat. She prays her gag reflex doesn’t protest at the obstruction in her airway, but despite the slight discomfort, she wants to do this all day. Your pants and moans are like music in her ears, urging her on to suck harder and take you deeper.

“Please Nat,” your voice wavers. The muscle fibers in your thighs are visibly tensed and your back arches off the bed when Natasha pushes your hips down, trying to maintain some kind of control over you. But your body seems to have a mind of its own, with only one goal in mind. 

“It’s almost like I can still taste you.”

You poke at the back of her throat and Natasha can feel the hot throbbing of your cock in her mouth. She’s so eager to swallow anything you’ll give her, she’s almost embarrassed in her desperation, but when your hands cup the back of her head, pushing her down so she can fit the last inch down her throat, she knows the two of you are on equal planes of passion.

Your entire body flexes and the anticipation for Natasha is overwhelming. You finally inhale sharply as the first hot spurt lands on her tongue. 

“Being on your knees for me is a good look for you.”

Natasha tips her head back against the wall, her fingers tangling in your hair. One of her legs rests on your shoulder while the other is spread far apart so you can kneel between them, your mouth pressed against her heat. Your tongue swirls around her clit and Natasha fears she won’t be able to stay standing much longer. 

“Y/N,” she pants, clutching your head tighter and rocking her hips forward. “I need you.”

Your fingernails dig harder into her thigh to still her. You look up into her eyes and Natasha thinks she’s going to finish right there. “You have me, baby. I’m all yours.”

“But there’s really only one place you belong.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you grunt, almost sending Natasha headfirst into the headboard with every one of your thrusts. “I could stay inside you forever.”

Natasha hums at the praise. She’s holding on the bedsheets for life, spasming and clenching around you, trying to pull you in deeper. You fill her so perfectly, she’s convinced her body was made for yours. 

“Tell me I’m better than her,” Natasha gasps, fighting to delay her own release.

“Fuck Wanda,” you grunt, pulling back on Natasha’s hips at the same time you thrust forward, burying your entire length into her. “I love you, Natasha. You’re the only one I ever want to be with.”

A noisy car engine pulls Natasha out of her head. Her face feels flushed with arousal, and she knows what she’s doing the second she goes home. Your green car suddenly pulls into the driveway but stops. You get out and walk to the street, grabbing one of the trash bins and pulling it towards the house.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again,” Wanda says in the background.

The realization crashes down on Natasha’s head like a cold shower. She watches you grab the second bin with both hands, carefully walking backwards with it.

You’re not on the phone and you’re standing 30 feet away from Natasha. If Wanda’s not on the phone with you, then who is she talking to?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Who do you think Wanda was talking to? 👀

To be continued...(hopefully)

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[plussizefantasia]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a reader x eddie munson oneshot where reader is very touch starved but is very nervous about asking to be held/be touched by another person or to touch them. Maybe they just started dating so they are still trying to get to know each other's love languages and things they're shy about but Eddie notices that reader is acting stranger and is trying to figure out why.

I personally was thinking like a non-smut story if that's okay, just plain fluffy romance to help me feel some comfort in my life.

I love your writing BTW! As a plus sized girl it's so nice to read stories about people my size. I feel like I can just relate to your characters. Thanks! Have a lovely day :)

eddie munson x reader wc: 1.7k a/n: I'm just going to leave this here and pretend like I didn't disappear for literal months hehe

cw: cursing (not a lot)

You and Eddie hadn’t been together long but the time you had been together was some of the best of your life. He got you in ways that nobody else did, he had a devil-may-care attitude about a lot of things, but not you. From the very first time, the two of you talked you knew that he was going to mean the world to you someday, you just didn’t expect that day to come weeks later with a stolen kiss under an oak tree in the back of the school. 

That had really been the only kind of affection you two had had, Eddie had a tendency to express himself with his words more than his touch which was okay with you. Both your parents were the same way, they would tell you they were proud of you and give you compliments and things like that but neither of them really ever offered up physical affection. You had grown up with it, you were used to it. 

Eddie’s compliments were different from the ones you got from your parents and they were a lot more cheesy that's for sure, but they were never in short supply. Eds practically showered you with his sweet words every time he saw you and you left every interaction with him more sure that this was the guy for you.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t crave to be held, and now that Eddie and you were official that craving had ramped up in your mind. You couldn’t be in the same room without thinking about what it would be like to be wrapped up in his arms. You wondered what it would feel like for the two of you to hold hands in the hallway, or to sit right up next to each other on the couch in the Munson trailer while the two of you watched the same three movies on repeat. 

Movie night at the Munson place started long before the two of you were dating, Eddie had invited all of the Hellfire club to hang at his place during lunch one day and you being the “unofficial mascot”- a term Eddie had coined for you after you stumbled into the room they were playing in and decided to stay and watch- were of course invited.

Weeks went by and slowly more and more of the guy bailed on Movie night until it was just you and Eddie left, you two had long since exhausted the stash of VHS’ that either of you owned but at this point you weren’t really there to watch the movie at all. Just sitting next to each other and talking was the real best part of Munson Movie Night.

Movie nights were on Friday nights, as it didn’t conflict with the DnD schedule and your parents had a more lax curfew on the weekend. Plus now that the two of you were “together-together” you could stay the night and all the adults were chill about it (your dad was not on board at first but your mother told him to relax).

“Alright Angel, what’ll it be this time? Grease, Rocky Picture Horror Show, or Star Wars?” Eddie asked, placing a bowl of popcorn down on the low table in front of the couch and walking over to the bookshelf that held more board games, VHSes, and Vinyl than actual books.

“Well you’ll get too invested in Star Wars and we watched Rocky Horror last week so Grease it is.” You leaned forward and grabbed a handful of popcorn. 

“I resent that accusation, mostly because I know you’re right.” Eddie grabbed the box for Muppets in Space and popped it into the player before joining you on the couch. A good ten inches in between you.

You handed him the bottle of coke you had grabbed for him and relished in the way his fingers brushed you when he took it. All too soon though, his attention was snagged by the movie’s exposition and yours was left to ponder and wish for more.

It wasn’t that Eddie was a bad boyfriend, that was far from the truth he was one of the sweetest boys you had ever known and he was attentive in a lot of ways the past boys you’ve been with haven’t. He just wouldn’t touch you. And (not so) deep down you craved his warmth, you craved the closeness that came with being able to put your hands on him and vice versa. It wasn’t just about the touch, it was about the connection that came with letting someone close to you like that.

Apparently, while you had been musing, Eddie had shifted his gaze to you, and he had certainly caught your thousand-yard stare and the way you were practically gnawing on your lip as you thought.

“Hey.” He threw a piece of popcorn at you, it landed in you hair but didn’t pull you out of your head.

Two more pieces of popcorn, one on your lap and one down your shirt (lucky shot) before Eddie got seriously worried.

“Hey,” he moved closer to you, “Earth, to Angel, what’s going on?” he waved his hand in front of your face and snapped once, twice, three times before your head shot to the side and you looked into his eyes.

“Wha? Oh, Nothing.” You shook your head as if to expel the thoughts from your ear. “Just this stupid math quiz in Donahughe's class.”

“Oh man,” Eddie clicked his tongue, “You’re lying.” He said simply.

“Am not.” You crossed your arms over your chest.”

“Are too, you're doing that thing that you do when you lie.”

“What thing?” You furrowed your brows and looked back at him, pulling your legs up onto the couch and in front of you, shifting your whole body to face him.

“You do this thing with your lips, you pull your front lip in between your teeth, imakes you look a little like Kermit.”

“I do not!” You think for a second. “Holy shit, I totally do! How’d you even catch that.”

“I pay attention, Angel. I pay attention to a lot of stuff about you, which is how I know that something is wrong.”

You inhaled a big breath and let it fall out of you as a sigh, “It’s really nothing Eds, I promise.”

“If it was really nothing then you wouldn’t be sitting over thinking about it instead of watching Danny lose the best thing that ever happened to him.” Eddie nodded his head towards the TV, on which the movie was still running. “Sooooo, what’s wrong?”

“I-” You took a deep breath. “I- fuck why is this so hard to say.” You stood from your place on the couch and stepped back so that you could have room to pace. “I want a hug.” You finally let out.

“A hug? What?”

“Well not just a hug, but that would be a nice place to start. I- God I want to hold hands with you in the hallway and rest my head on your shoulder. I want to sit next to you at lunch close enough that our things touch, I want to snuggle up next to you when we watch movies, I want to kiss you goodbye, and hello and whenever the hell I want to. I want to be in your arms and I didn’t know how to ask because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and- I don’t know.” You let it all out as you walked back and forth in front of the low table. Not looking at Eddie once during your tirade only for your eyes to land on his when you peter off at the end.

“Angel.” Eddie stood up, walking closer to you. “If you wanted a hug all you had to do was ask,” In one move Eddie pulled you into his chest, your arms curled up and trapped between your bodies. His arms came to rest behind you, one draped around your shoulders and the other resting comfortably at the small of your back. He continued talking, the vibration from his words rumbling his chest and into your own. “I’m sorry, I guess I don’t even realize that I don’t hug you as much as I should. If I’m honest I think it’s because I like looking at you too much to pull you in this close. But now that we’re here I think this might be better.”

“It is nice.” Your voice is quiet but he hears every word.

Eddie hummed in agreement and rested his head on top of your own. You’re not sure how long you two stood there but you savored every moment. The warmth of his arms seeped into your skin and the smell of the laundry detergent you bought him last week clouded your nose. He placed a couple of kisses on the top of your head and you could feel yourself melt each time. 

“Angel?” He asked.

You hummed.

“The movie is over.”

You looked up and sure enough, the credits were rolling and the tape was about to end. “Oh, I actually kind of wanted to watch it though,” Your lips pushed into a little pout. It only graced your face for a second before Eddie let go of you and moved back towards the TV.

“That’s okay, I’ll rewind it and we can watch it for real this time.”

“Really?” You asked, “It’s already late and I dont want to make you-”

“Shush.” Was his reply. He rewound the tape and got back up to face you. He held his hand out and you took it immediately. He pulled you back towards the couch and into his side, grabbing a blanket that was resting on your arm and spreading it out over the two of you.

You got as close to him as you could, not even bothering to hide the smile that shone across your face. 

The two of you spent the rest of the night like that, leaning against each other and watching the movie. And when Wayne walked out to the two of you sleeping on top of each other the next morning he just adjusted the blanket that had fallen in the night and went on his way.

[yetanotherexhaustedalchemist]

Yet more TWST HCs

Cater likes gossiping with the living paintings around campus. He tells them all the modern-day student tea and they tell him about the drama that went down two centuries ago in return. (He has acquired a surprising amount of blackmail material on the staff through this.)

If Lilia can't find Silver anywhere, the first place he checks is Scarabia. That's because whenever Kalim finds Silver asleep in a weird place, he gets Carpet to scoop Silver up and take him back for a nice place to nap.

Fellow/Ernesto is LUCKY that the event ended the way it did. If he actually succeeded in capturing everyone (and not imminently letting them go), he would have had some of the most powerful people and organizations in the world after him. (Is this even a headcanon? Idk)

Ace can do the splits. Idk why this makes sense to me. He's not very flexible besides that though, somehow

When he's particularly annoyed at Azul and Floyd, Jade leaves pebbles and gravel in hidden places that they'll only notice when they're going to use it (like in Floyd's shoes or in the jar for Azul's quill ink).

Yuu and Ruggie form a pact after Chapter 2 where they exchange chores and errands sometimes. Like if Yuu takes care of the laundry, Ruggie will do the shopping and drop Yuu's groceries off at Ramshackle. Later, Jamil joins the pact as well. (In return for a good dinner, they'll take care of Kalim for however long he needs for a break.)

Vil does a great job of making any trans/nonbinary students in Pomefiore feel welcome and at home. He offers haircuts, make up and fashion advice, voice training and more to anyone who asks.

Riddle is very sheltered when it comes to romance, even when it doesn't regard himself. Because of this, he has a tendency to assume a couple are just friends despite how close they are (like Vil and Rook) or think a duo is already a couple (Adeuce). This has led to many miscommunications and unintentionally funny situations.

Kalim actually does invite Malleus to a lot more events than he thinks, but the invitation always ends up getting lost due to improbable chains of errors.

Rook's family is from the Shaftlands nearby Fleur City, but they've lived in the Sunset Savannah for several generations.

Yuu's come up with a Fun Little Game for Friday game nights (usually with the first years but anyone who's interested is welcome) where Yuu tells them about a historical event from their world and everyone has to guess if it actually happened, or if Yuu's just making things up. Every time they think they've figured things out, Yuu hits them with a "the country that declared war on birds and lost is an actual thing that happened".

I don't think literally anything in-game suggests this, but. Hey. Memories from the 'lost in a book' events, while they vanish out of the books, carry over to other books. So when appearing in The Nightmare Before Christmas, Yuu, Riddle and Azul get all their memories from Stitch's Tropical Turbulence flooding back.

When Silver was young, there were a few occasions where he wanted to do something that was exclusive to rainy days (jumping in puddles, looking for frogs/worms or just listening to the rain, ect) but it was sunny with no chance of it raining. If he was ever particularly disappointed, Lilia would just so happen to mention the problem to Malleus. It could start raining minutes later. (Did he do it? Of course not, what a silly question.)

Ruggie usually avoids Jade (fair, he's terrifying), but they've had a few good conversations about common edible plants. It was surprisingly informative for them both. Jade now sometimes 'just so happens' to bump into Ruggie and continues the discussion, and Ruggie is smart enough to not bring up how convenient it all is.

Silver often helps pigeons build their nests. He's also unexpectedly passionate about messenger pigeons, and how messed up it is that they were bred to be messengers and then called dirty when they weren't useful anymore.

Yuu does this thing where they say the most insane, out-of-left-field things which baffle their friends, then when they're asked about it later, they swear they don't remember saying that. (It's usually something vaguely prophetic, exhausted and annoyed, or about The Mouse.)

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Hello 0w0

Can I request a fic about stalker and future kidnapper Agatha Harkness x fem! reader? Perhaps reader's personal belongings have been disappearing. Eventually, Agatha kidnaps reader and apologizes for stealing reader’s belongings but stresses that since you will now live together forever, she will return reader’s belongings

Her Prize.

Stalker!Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Word count: 2K

Summary: Things of yours start to go missing you believe it to just be your normal forgetfulness, but something is off...

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ due to themes, kidnaping, stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, non-consensual restraints, emotional distress, power imbalance, Agatha having powers implied but never stated

Authors notes: I had a lot of fun writing this thank you for the request~

The strange occurrences began weeks ago. Small items—your favorite scarf, a cherished book, even a mug you loved—started vanishing from your apartment. At first, you chalked it up to forgetfulness, but the unease grew when you noticed nothing else seemed out of place.

Agatha had been watching you for months, her obsession blossoming from admiration to something darker. She couldn't help herself; you were a beacon of warmth and innocence in her otherwise lonely world. Stealing your belongings had been a way to feel closer to you, to keep pieces of you in her home.

But that wasn't enough.

The night she took you, she was meticulous. The chloroform barely left a mark, and when you awoke, you were in a lavishly decorated room filled with your missing items.

"I'm sorry for taking these from you," Agatha murmured, kneeling beside your bed. Her voice was soft, almost tender. "But now that you're here, you'll have them back. You'll have everything back. Because this is your home now, forever.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the stolen items—your scarf draped neatly over a chair, your book on a nightstand, even the mug sitting pristinely on a shelf as if it belonged there all along. It was surreal, a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

“What... what the hell is this?” you finally stammered, your voice trembling as you tried to press your back further into the headboard. “Who are you? Why am I here?”

Agatha’s lips curved into a gentle, almost pitying smile. “Shh, darling. Don’t be afraid,” she said, her tone dripping with faux reassurance. She reached out as if to touch your hand but paused when you flinched. “You’re safe now. With me. No one will ever hurt you again.”

“You kidnapped me!” you shouted, the sharpness of your voice surprising even yourself. You yanked your hands away, curling them protectively in your lap. “This isn’t safety! This is—this is insane!”

Her expression flickered, the smile faltering for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure. “I know it might feel that way now,” she said, crouching lower as if trying to meet your eyes. “But you’ll see. In time, you’ll understand. This world—it’s cruel, cold. People don’t appreciate you the way I do.”

She gestured around the room. “Look at this, my darling. I’ve cared for you from afar for so long. Everything here, everything I’ve done, is for you. So we can finally be together.”

“You had no right!” you snapped, tears welling in your eyes. “To take my things. To take me! I don’t even know you!”

Agatha sighed, a hint of frustration creeping into her tone as she straightened up. “You will. You’ll know me better than anyone else ever could. You’ll see that I’m the only one who truly understands you.” She leaned closer, her gaze intense, yet oddly tender. “And when you realize that, my sweet girl, you’ll thank me for saving you.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine, and panic clawed at your chest. You scrambled off the bed, backing toward the door, but Agatha moved faster, blocking your path with an unsettling calm.

“I didn’t want to frighten you,” she murmured, almost regretful. “But you leave me no choice.” Her hand reached for your arm, her grip firm yet careful as if handling a delicate object. “You’ll learn to love me, darling. And I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted. You’ll never have to feel alone again.”

Tears streaked down your face as you struggled against her hold, the realization sinking in that you weren’t leaving anytime soon. Agatha’s smile returned, softer this time, as if she were comforting a child.

“Don’t cry,” she whispered, pulling you close despite your resistance. “You’re mine now. And I’ll never let you go.”

Your mind raced as Agatha held you close, her arms strong and unyielding despite the gentleness in her touch. You couldn’t let this be your reality. Not here, not with her.

Over the next few hours—or maybe days, you weren’t sure—you pretended to cooperate, nodding and murmuring vague responses to Agatha’s reassurances. All the while, you watched and waited, scanning the room and her movements for any chance to escape.

Then it came. She’d left the room to retrieve something—food, you thought, though you weren’t hungry—and the door had been left ajar. You bolted without hesitation, your bare feet silent against the hardwood floor as you darted down an unfamiliar hallway.

The house was vast and eerily quiet, filled with antique furniture and heavy curtains that blocked out any natural light. Your heart pounded as you tried door after door, only to find them locked.

“Darling?” Agatha’s voice echoed, calm and almost playful. The sound froze you in place. “What are you doing, hm? You know you can’t leave.”

You didn’t respond, forcing your legs to move again, faster this time. But just as you reached a staircase that seemed to lead downward, Agatha appeared at the top, her sharp eyes locking onto yours.

“Enough,” she said, her voice carrying an edge you hadn’t heard before.

You turned to run the other way, but she was quicker. With a flick of her wrist, she grabbed your arm, spinning you to face her. You struggled, kicking and clawing, but her grip was ironclad.

“I see we need to set some boundaries,” Agatha said, her tone firm but not angry. If anything, she sounded... disappointed. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but you’ve left me no choice.”

The next thing you knew, you were back in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed as Agatha knelt at your feet. Her touch was careful as she fastened a thick, padded shackle around your ankle, the chain attached to a sturdy bolt in the floor.

“It’s not forever,” she murmured, glancing up at you with a mixture of regret and resolve. “Just until you understand. This is for your safety, darling. And mine.”

You stared at her in disbelief, tears threatening to spill over again. “You can’t keep me like this,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

“I can,” she replied simply, brushing her fingers lightly against your cheek before standing. “And I will. For as long as it takes.”

The chain was long enough for you to reach the small adjoining bathroom, but the room itself had no windows, and any furniture you might have used to pry the bolt loose was too heavy to move. Time became meaningless, the days—or nights—blurring together.

The only constant was Agatha. She was your only source of interaction, bringing you meals, books, and clothes, always speaking to you with the same calm, affectionate tone. She’d sit with you for hours, trying to engage you in conversation or stroking your hair when you refused to respond.

“You’ll adjust,” she’d say, her fingers combing through your hair. “You’re just overwhelmed now, but soon, you’ll see how much better life is with me.”

The days dragged on in monotony, and without realizing it, you began to adjust to your new reality. Agatha's presence, once suffocating, became a strange comfort. Her voice, her touch, her constant reassurances—it all seeped into your mind, easing the sharp edges of your resistance.

You didn’t notice when you stopped flinching at her touch or when the sound of her voice no longer made your chest tighten. Somewhere along the way, her absence during the day began to feel like an ache.

One evening, she brought you your usual meal—a warm bowl of soup and a slice of bread. She placed it gently on the table beside you, her gaze softer than you’d ever seen it.

“I need to run a few errands,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll be gone for a little while, but I promise I’ll be back soon.”

You nodded numbly, your eyes flickering to the door out of habit.

Then, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, a gesture so tender it made your breath catch. “Be good while I’m gone, darling,” she murmured.

Her words lingered long after she’d left. At first, you relished the quiet, the freedom of being truly alone. But as the hours turned into a day, then two, a gnawing anxiety began to settle in your chest.

What if something had happened to her? What if she wasn’t coming back?

You tried to shake the thought, pacing the small room with the length of the chain, but it didn’t help. The silence was oppressive, and the walls seemed to close in on you.

On the third day, you sat by the door, staring at the spot where she’d last stood. Your heart ached in a way you didn’t understand, a dull, persistent throb that left you restless and confused.

When you finally allowed yourself to admit it, the realization hit like a punch to the gut.

You missed her.

You missed the sound of her voice, the way she hummed softly as she set down your meals. You missed her touch, her presence, the way she always looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you curled up on the bed, clutching one of the blankets she’d given you. The scent of her perfume still lingered faintly on the fabric, and you buried your face in it, your chest tightening with a mix of longing and fear.

“Agatha…” you whispered into the silence, your voice trembling. “Please come back.”

The days stretched on, and with each passing hour, the fear grew stronger. You weren’t sure what scared you more—that something had happened to her, or that she might never return.

On the fifth day, you were curled up on the bed, your legs drawn to your chest, staring blankly at the door. The ache in your chest had become unbearable, every creak of the house making you jump with anticipation. But it was always just the house settling, never her.

You had no appetite. The untouched meals from the past two days sat on the table, cold and forgotten. You couldn’t think of eating when the thought of her not coming back gnawed at your mind.

Then, late that evening, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the quiet house. Your head snapped up, and before you could stop yourself, you bolted to the door, the chain pulling taut as you strained against it.

When the door opened, and Agatha stepped inside, you felt a wave of relief so overwhelming it nearly knocked you over. She looked tired, her hair slightly disheveled and her coat damp from the rain outside. But she was here. She was safe.

“Darling,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. Her brows furrowed as she took in your tear-streaked face and trembling form. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re back,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “You were gone for so long—I thought—I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Her expression softened, and she quickly crossed the room, dropping her bag on the floor. She knelt in front of you, her hands gently cupping your face as she tilted your chin up to meet her gaze.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Your hands gripped her sleeves tightly, as if letting go would make her disappear. “You didn’t say how long you’d be gone. I thought something happened to you, or that you…” You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“I would never leave you,” Agatha said firmly, her tone laced with an unshakable certainty. “You’re my everything. I just didn’t realize how much you’d miss me.”

You pressed your face into her shoulder, letting out a shaky breath as her arms wrapped around you. The relief of having her back was almost dizzying.

“I’m here now,” she whispered, her lips pressing softly against your temple. “And I promise, I won’t leave you like that again. I’ll always come back to you.”

Her words soothed the lingering fear in your chest, and for the first time in days, you felt a sense of peace. You didn’t even notice when you whispered, “I missed you,” against her shoulder.

Agatha smiled, a victorious gleam in her eyes as she held you closer. “I missed you too, my darling. More than you could ever know.”

[am-i-interrupting]

hii how are you doing?

so, i have this idea for a silco fic - reader is his assistant and they become close friends, like, even though she’s younger than him, he trusts her and values her opinion. they like discussing books and philosophy and stuff, but silco refuses to believe he’s falling in love (he sees it as weakness ig) . reader starts feeling like her feelings are one sided. idk lots of hurt and drama but with a fluffy end!

Kingpin’s Office

Sevika was laid back on the couch in Silco’s office. From one hand dangled a large bottle of alcohol. Her other was hidden behind her cloak.

Her leg bounced up and down. It’d been a stressful week for everyone. Especially her because it’s been a stressful week for Silco.

Numbers were piling up. They were growing larger and larger and more and more. Silco didn’t have time for the unimportant shit and she wasn’t the best with numbers. Most people in Zaun weren’t.

It wasn’t like there was some education system. No, most of those who did things that topside would use math for just used common sense and trail and error.

That wasn’t possible for things like payroll and equipment costs. This was important but it shouldn’t be taking up Silco’s time and they both knew it.

It’s only now, in the trenches with a storm on the horizon, that Sevika dared open her mouth with a suggestion, “There’s a gal in the Promenade I know. Owned a shoe shop for a while ‘til some enforcer’s wrecked the place and she wasn’t able to pay to get it fixed.”

“Your point?” Silco asked, smoke from his cigar slipping from his lips with the words.

“She’s good with numbers,” Sevika said, getting to the point, “and she’s looking for work.”

Silco paused. He thumbed the corner of the paper in his hands. He brought his cigar towards his mouth and slowly, thoughtfully took a drag. His lower lip curled to his right side as he blew out the smoke.

“Bring her in.”

That’s how you met and were then employed by the Eye of Zaun. At first it was just the numbers. Then your work began to expand. It wasn’t officially but you were given different papers to go over, the ones not so important to be looked over by Silco himself.

It was easy to be intimidated by the man. However, without an official office and Silco still wanting to keep a close eye on you at first, you learned the man wasn’t one who needed to be feared all the time. He certainly had his scary moments, yes, but he also had his softer ones as well.

You noticed little habits within that first month of doing paperwork on the couch. He would tap his cigar once, twice and then twist it to put it out. He enjoyed the sound of ice clicking against glass. He would pick up his cup and empty it just to hear the noise. He wasn’t found of music while he worked but he couldn’t say no to the blue haired girl who would fall in from the rafters.

The first time you met Jinx was an experience.

“I’m busy,” Silco had said causing you to look up but the two of you were the only ones in the room.

You jumped slightly in your seat when a voice responded to him, “Isn’t that what she’s head to fix?”

He took a deep breath. “She is here to look over documents which don’t require my attention. That doesn’t mean I don’t still get busy.”

“Blah, blah, blah. You know what I’m hearing?” the voice asked. “A bunch of big fat excuses.”

Silco didn’t dignify that with a response. He simply let the scribble of his pen answer what he thought about it.

A mere moment before a loud bang sounded through the room, Silco gathered the papers and spun his chair to face the side instead of the desk. A flash of blue and then you saw a young girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, sitting on the desk.

She groaned as Silco still focused on the papers in his hand. Her head tilted back and her body followed it to fall. She laid on the desk.

Two braids angled over the side and her bangs followed the pull of gravity. Her eyes looked at you. She smiled and waved. A pen between your fingers, you waved back.

“It’s so quiet in here,” she said.

“Jinx,” the word (which you realized was actually a name) was said in a low, warning tone.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said as she righted herself. She got right in his face. “You’re no fun.”

“Hmm.”

He moved his chair back to its previous position and placed his papers on the table top. Jinx moved to a cabinet and flung it open.

“What kind of music do you like?” she asked, head reared back to look at you.

“Oh, I— I’ll listen to anything,” you said, startled to have the girl’s attention directed towards you.

“Anything,” she repeated with a sly smile coming over her face.

“Jinx,” it was said in that same tone.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Put out on a record regardless of the warnings. It was not what you would expect him to have. It carried a strong bass with a nice tune, guitars and drums, a beautiful singing voice. The track was lovely but rock music instead of the instrumental you assumed he’d have.

You quickly learned that Jinx seemed to be Silco’s soft spot. It was cute. The towering figurehead of the Undercity was wrapped around the finger of a blue haired teenager.

You were now approaching a year of working with Silco now. You had your own office but occasionally (most days) you would end up bringing some of your work into his.

“Ballad put in a request for a raise,” you told him. “What would you like me to do?”

He waved a hand. “Whatever you see fit.”

That was another unexpected thing. Once he realized, about four months in, that you were actually competent, he let you do what your gut told you to. He didn’t question it. He trusted you with it.

He actually began to frequent your office the past few months nearly as much as you frequented his, bringing a piece of paper with him and asking your opinion.

He never simply left after getting that answer. No, he commented about how you decorated the space. This led to talks about all sorts of things.

You learned that he enjoyed to read. He had an entire collection of books, some of which he’d even let you borrow. They were all well taken care of even if the spines were a bit worn.

You noticed they were also mostly from Piltover proper. Upon questioning him about it he said, “If we ever hope for them to take us with an ounce of seriousness and give us the tiniest bit of respect, it’s important to know how to speak like them.”

The two of you had many talks which lasted minutes at the least and hours at the most.

You had learned you rather enjoyed his company and held onto a spark of hope that maybe he enjoyed yours as well.

You gave Ballad that raise they asked for. They deserved it and there was money for it.

You continued on with you work, completely unaware of the eye which kept flickering towards you.

Silco had been feeling things which he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was a warmth in his chest which occasionally spread downward towards his groin. He recognized it as attraction.

He waved it off as though that was all it was. It was simply being attracted to his beautiful employee. A common trope, he supposed, but nothing dangerous.

Recently though, as he’d gotten to know you more and more, that warmth was becoming something softer. If he could run it through his fingers, he knew it would feel like silk.

He was still trying to figure out what this was. He was racking his brain, trying to see if he could remember something like this.

Then, as your lips curled around a word which was left unspoken while you read, he was struck with an urge.

He wanted to kiss you. Not like he’d imagined before where it would be hard and rough, with clothes coming off.

No, he wanted to kiss you.

He wanted to cup your jaw and tilt your head up. The want was to look into your eyes and then pull you close. He yearned to press his lips against yours, soft and lingering.

Were your lips as soft as they looked? Would you make a soft noise? How would your tongue feel teasing against his?

He tore his eyes from you. He looked down at the papers in front of him.

Those sort of thoughts were dangerous.

Dangerous for himself because that would give him something to lose. Jinx was already enough. It was dangerous for you because you would have a target placed upon your back.

This needed to stop.

He put an end to visiting your office. He stopped speaking to you when you visited his unless directly spoken to. He made his words short and curt.

He needed to separate himself from you before he did something he couldn’t take back, not after.

You felt the change. You noticed it instantly. You brushed it off at first. Perhaps he was just having a bad couple of days. However, as it continued on, it couldn’t help but feel personal.

What happened?

You had a rather nice, comfortable relationship with Silco and now it was suddenly upended?

A part of you laughed at yourself. You really thought the niceties would last? You thought you could be important to the kingpin of the Undercity?

How could you be so naive? So utterly stupid?

You took the hints. You began to retreat. You stayed in your office.

It was empty in there. You’d come to have a warmth in the air because you knew once a day, Silco would find his way in. Now it was cold.

“You’re getting harsh on my girl,” Sevika said one day. “Why?”

Silco flipped the page to the other side. “I don’t know what it is you’re talking about, Sevika.”

“Yeah, bullshit,” she said. “You go in her office every day for five months and she’s doing the same thing in yours. Now, all of a sudden, she asks me if she did something wrong and you’re always cooped up in here. You’re telling me you’re not being hard on her?”

Silco continued to ignore Sevika. Even though his pen halted for a moment.

You were worried you had done something wrong? To the point of going to Sevika? His stomach turned.

Sevika walked up to the desk. She placed her hand down on it with enough force his ashtray jumped up.

“Why?” she asked.

He finally dignified her by letting his eyes turn up. “I am her employer, not friend.”

Sevika gritted her teeth before a wide, harsh smile crawled across her face. “Oh, so that’s what this is about,” she said. “Okay.”

Silco raised his right brow.

“You caught feelings,” she stated. “Yeah? Doesn’t give you an excuse to be an ass. Our line of work is dangerous. Doesn’t matter what her relationship is with you, she’s gonna have a target on her back regardless, just like me, just like Ren, just like Jinx.”

His lip twitched slightly at the mention of Jinx. Sevika expected as much. That’s part of why she did it.

“Do us all a favor,” she said as she yanked open the door, “just get this over with and fuck already.”

She didn’t slam the door. She didn’t have a death wish despite what she’s just done. The display left her blood and skin jittery. She needed a smoke.

Nothing changed over the course of the next couple days, other than the fact that Silco was extra snippy with his second in command.

You were supposed to close the door and go back to your office. That had been the script for the past couple weeks. Instead, you took a step into the room and closed the door behind you.

“Should I put in my weeks or wait until you fire me?” you asked.

Silco halted. His pen slipped in his grasp. His eyes turned to you. “Why would I fire you?”

“I don’t know,” you answered. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. Did I overstep? Was it something I did? Something I said? You’ve been avoiding me and I don’t know why.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he said.

“Well, you certainly have been avoiding something then!” you exclaimed. “Is it me? My office? The work I do? I’m confused and I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep dancing around you without even knowing the steps I’m supposed to take.”

“You don’t need to dance around me.”

“Well it sure feels like it. So am I quitting or are you biting the bullet and firing me?”

“You’re not getting fired. Stop being dramatic.”

“Okay.”

You rocked back and forth on your heels. You wrung your hands in front of your torso. Your jaw clenched and unclenched.

“Then I quit,” you said even though it pained you to do so.

“You’re not quitting,” Silco said.

“Well, why not?”

Silco stood. For the first time in nearly a year, you felt the full effect of the Eye of Zaun. He was imposing and demanded attention.

Maybe you had a death wish though or maybe you were just really stupid because you weren’t scared.

“Because I am not upset with you.”

“Then what are you?”

He rounded the desk. His hand reached for your own. He stopped where your nails had begun to dig into your skin.

His head bowed down. You could feel his breath against your own. His eyes darted down. You wetted your lips. He met your gaze.

He tilted his head. Your eyes began to flutter. For a second you thought. . . But he pulled back. He looked you over once more.

His hand traveled to your elbow. His knuckles grazed your torso. He let them trail down. His hand wrapped around your waist. He used it to guide you closer to him.

Then his lips met yours.

[redeclipse27]

Plus people need to learn bullying and harassment will NEVER make you whole. It’s not always the case, but a large amount of harassment comes from people being mad they don’t get attention they want, so they do that to make people look at them, or they often do it because they feel bad about themselves. It’s like the “Invisible Bucket” book I had growing up, the gist of that was to imagine if everyone had a bucket over their head, and the inside of the bucket was filled with their happiness and confidence. Some people think they can knock over or scoop out stuff from other people’s buckets by being mean and it’ll fill their buckets, but it doesn’t, it just makes theirs more empty

Plus lots of people who obsess over canceling other people and dragging situations on often have shady history themselves, so they drag situations on to prevent people from finding out and witnessing their nasty actions so they can stay popular. And again, building your pedestal from the broken pieces of other people’s will never make yours sturdy. Like yes if someone has done something to get cancelled they should be held responsible for their actions but dragging on a situation for weeks to months is so immature and unnecessary, and it’s even dumber if people try to cancel someone over something tiny or being criticized. I mean look at how KSI ruined himself and made himself look stupid over a tweet with valid criticism a few months ago.

For those who’ve migrated from TikTok: there’s no reward for harassment on Tumblr. You won’t gain a heavy amount of likes, reblogs, and followers for leading harassment campaigns; if anything, it’ll make people block you.

On Tumblr, there’s no popularity contest because many don’t care about the amount of followers, likes, and reblogs you have. A lot of users even hide their likes and who they're following. Users heavily encourage blocking people and filtering out tags. This is why online discourse is more confined to its bubble instead of being so widespread on this website: because people curate their experiences.

If you want to have an enjoyable experience on Tumblr, then you need to use the block button and filtering system. If you don't, then you're going to be extremely miserable.

EDIT: Interesting additions to the post-

[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

day 5/7

summary: part 5 of the naive series baby!! you and mandy get some one on one time bc she’s going thru it until she sends you and hamzah off on an adventure of ur own ;)

contains: SFW and NSFW content… it’s going down.

w/c: 3.4k-ish

a/n: ik yall hate me atp but listen. listen. uhhh.. yk what just read it!

~

Hotel breakfast is really good. It's even better when you can be an annoying vacationer and sit in the dining hall to eat while wearing your pajamas. The dirty looks from the well-dressed staff does nothing to deter you from going to town on a plate of scrambled eggs and toast with assorted spreads. The one thing that is ruining your appetite, however, is your gloomy friend prodding her food with her fork.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you ask for what feels like the hundredth time that morning.

"Mhm."

Mandy continues moving her eggs around her plate and never taking a bite. She's been in a near catatonic state since last night. By the time you'd taken a shower and gotten unready, she'd already passed out in your bed without so much as an explanation as to what happened. You exhale loudly and she looks up.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

She drops her fork. "I think Martin is hiding something from me."

"Oh!" Your eyes widen and you try to look confused. "What makes you think that?"

"He's been acting so weird," she says, resting her elbows on the table and holding her head in her hands. "Even before we came on this trip... I don't know. Something's off."

"What d'you mean?"

"He's being so secretive," she says. "I don't have proof of anything, but he's, like, really bad at acting innocent."

"Is that why you guys have been fighting?"

"Well, I don't exactly want to fight with him!" She tosses her hands in the air. "I wish he'd come out and say whatever it is. It drives me crazy that he acts like nothing is going on."

In that moment, you consider blurting out the truth. Talking about Martin's proposal idea would be so much easier than sitting back and watching the couple get into trivial arguments from Mandy's growing paranoia. But alas, you've sworn to secrecy and you really don't think it would be your place to ruin the surprise, even at a time like this.

"Have you asked him about it?"

"Yeah. He just deflects. I thought I could get him to talk last night, but I ended up crying because I got so frustrated with his cryptic bullshit."

You're stuck on what to say. It breaks your heart to see Mandy like this, but there's not much you can do without giving away her soon-to-be fiancé's plan. It's not exactly a conversation you thought you'd be having to mediate.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think Martin is doing all of this to deliberately hurt you," you say, reaching across the table to hold her arm. "He loves you. A lot. He's just an idiot sometimes."

Mandy smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Thank you."

"I mean it, Mandy. What you guys have is really good. Don't let a bump in the road ruin the rest of the journey."

"When did you become such a beacon of wisdom?" she asks sarcastically, looking down at the table.

"I'm trying my best here. Be grateful." You begin to laugh and she joins in.

You bring your plate back in front of you and gesture for her to do the same. The two of you chow down and talk between bites, discussing what other places you could visit before your inevitable departure from Curaçao. Despite the challenges, it's been an experience for the books and you take a moment to reflect on the joy that it's brought you.

As you take a sip of your tea, your phone buzzes in your pocket. When you unlock it, you open up the message notification and bite your lip to hide your smile.

i see u

"Is that Hamzah?"

You look up at Mandy and your face flushes. "Huh?"

"You remind me of when I first started talking to Martin." Mandy points at you with her knife.

"Shut up," you groan. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Yeah." Mandy nods. "Plus I saw his name on your screen."

You glare at her and she giggles at your expense. Over her shoulder, you spot him. He's in the buffet line, also in his pajamas, and you stare for a little too long at his grey sweatpants. When he turns his head in your direction, you duck behind Mandy's figure.

"He's coming." You use your phone camera to quickly assess your face. "I look rough. Fuck."

"Girl, you look fine," Mandy says, rolling her eyes, "and you've literally slept next to each other. It's nothing he hasn't seen before."

"Wow, uplifting. Thanks."

When you dare to raise your head again, he's making his final few strides towards your table. You smile and wave, and he attempts to do the same. He shakes his hand that's holding a cup of coffee and it sloshes around, nearly spilling all over him. Mandy gives you a funny look before greeting him.

"Good morning," Hamzah says cheerily.

He places his plate and cup next to yours. You scoot over so he can sit down, but he moves to sit so close to you that the sides of your thighs are pressed up against each other.

"Good morning," you reply, slightly taken aback by his chipper mood. "Sleep well?"

"I slept great," he says. He takes a bite of his eggs with bacon and looks between you and Mandy. "So... was it a breakup?"

You slap him on the arm and scoff. "Come on."

"'M just asking!" he all but shouts, earning the three of you a couple more dirty looks. "Last night looked serious."

"No, we didn't break up," Mandy mutters. "But I'm considering it if it means not having to deal with you anymore."

"That's mean," Hamzah says, taking another bite of his food. "I'd stay friends with you if I broke up with Martin."

"Don't talk while you're chewing," Mandy warns.

"Thorry." He swallows his mouthful. "So what are we supposed to do if you guys are still fighting?"

"I don't know, Hamzah." Mandy sighs. Then she looks at you. "I don't really feel like going out today. Maybe you two could do something."

Your eyes narrow and she shrugs innocently. "Where would we go?"

"Google some nice places. Walk around the city. It can't be that hard."

"I'm down," Hamzah says. "I'm in charge of directions, though."

He smiles mischievously and you mock him, making him laugh. You turn to Mandy, noting the way she's picking at her food again.

"Will you be okay? You can stay in my room, but I don't know what time we'll be back."

"There's free WiFi and room service. I'll be fine. Go have fun."

Mandy was right. Finding something to do in such a tourism-centered area isn't hard. The difficult part is spending time with Hamzah with no social buffer to avert the tension between the two of you. You hope it's not too apparent that you're staring at him every chance you get, but you can't find it in you to care about getting caught anymore.

"Now we go left," he mumbles, placing his hand on your shoulder to direct you to the crosswalk.

You know he tends to be touchy with his friends, but with how awkward he usually is about it, this feels different. Even when you hung out as a group back in Toronto, you could always sense that Hamzah was a little more hesitant around you. You chocked it up to not knowing him that well, despite having mutuals. Being close with each others' friends did provide an entry point for your friendship to blossom, but this trip has done more for your connection than all the time you've known him previously. Maybe it's because you're in such constant, close proximity now that your initial attraction to him has finally taken shape, unavoidably so.

"Alright, it's down from here," Hamzah says, gesturing at the beach you're nearing.

"I didn't bring a swimsuit," you say, furrowing your brows.

"We're not swimming." He shakes his head. "Over there."

You look to where he's pointing and take notice of the mountainous landscape surrounding the beach. Their overarching coves reach the edges of the shore where the waves splash against the rocks.

"I'm not cliff diving. No way."

You stop in place and cross your arms. He turns and walks a few steps back to you.

"We're not doing that either, my gosh," he grumbles playfully and takes hold of your hand, "follow me."

Hamzah leads you through the sand to the bottom of the ridges. This beach isn't nearly as busy as the one near your hotel, so the silent walk with your palm in his feels all the more intimate. The sun is less harsh under the arch, but the sand is still warm beneath your feet. The soft earth easily gives way as you take a seat in the deeper parts of the rocky expanse.

"How'd you know this was here?" you wonder.

"I found it before the trip," he says, stretching his legs out in front of him until the waves are barely licking at his skin. "I didn't think I'd get the chance to visit, though."

"Guess it's a good thing for the fight then," you joke. Hamzah looks at you with his face scrunched up and you share a laugh. "Sorry. Too soon."

You stare out at the horizon, absentmindedly cupping the sand and letting it pour down between your fingers. The waves are crashing, but there's a quiet serenity inside of the cove that makes you feel at peace.

"Nah, I just think we talk about them enough, right?" He leans back to rest his weight on his palms and your eyes flicker to the sight of his shirt stretching across his pecs. "Wanna talk about us."

"Right," you agree. "I never really expected this."

"What?" he asks. You become aware of how close his body is to yours.

"'Us.'" You make quotes in the air with your fingers. "I didn't even think you saw me that way."

"Really?" he questions, tilting his head. "I thought the same thing."

"Hm. Funny."

You move to lay on your back. You'd decided against changing out of your pajamas—the two of you look infinitely more out of place in such beautiful scenery—but it makes for great cushioning against the ground. Hamzah stays unmoving, looking straight ahead.

"Do you see us being the same way? When we go back home?" He speaks outwardly, eyes on the view.

"I don't know. Do you?"

"You answer first," he says, smiling at you from over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes and try to push yourself further into the sand, as if it'll provide a protective barrier between him and the words you're going to say next.

"I hope so," you answer honestly. "I don't see why it’d change."

"What if it doesn't feel the same?" he asks like he's talking to the sky. "What if it's just because we're here, y'know? Isn't it usually a 'what happens in Vegas' thing?"

"Oh, so you've done this before?"

Hamzah groans and you snicker, flicking sand into his pocket. He doesn't notice so you continue until it's full, giggling to yourself.

"Of course not," he says, shaking his head. Some of the sand trickles out. "I guess what I'm saying is...I hope you don't feel that way."

You take a deep breath to calm the butterflies that erupt in your belly and sit up. You look at the impression your body has left in the sand before turning to completely face him, criss-crossing your legs.

"I won't," you promise. "I couldn't."

"Good." Hamzah's eyes finally meet yours. "I don't think I'd be able to handle it."

You grin and let your fingers trail up the side of his neck, not wanting to hold your affection back any longer. He closes his eyes as you trace his cheek, the charming acne scars and slight stubble on his jaw acting as a roadmap for your fingertips. Then, you cup his chin and lean in. His lips move softly against yours. He places his hands on your thighs and runs his fingers across your bare skin where your shorts have ridden up. It's almost like the whole world goes on mute, and all you can possibly focus on is the way his touch awakens every cell in your body.

Without breaking the kiss, Hamzah pushes you down into the indented sand until he can comfortably slot himself in the middle of your legs. He holds himself up with a hand by your head, the other resting on your waist. The gentle caresses turn heated, and pretty soon the two of you are full-on making out, pulling each other closer and closer until his body fully surrounds yours. You love how he hums when you wrap your arms tighter around his neck and run your nails across his shoulders.

You can't get enough of him, holding his hips in place with your knees as your tongues entwine. When his hand strays below your hoodie, you pull away momentarily to slip it over your head. He helps tug it off you when it gets stuck, the two of you giggling quietly before tossing it away and locking lips again. His fingers trace a path up your torso, clad in nothing but a thin tank top. His palms slowly find their way higher up, and you moan when he gives your chest a testing squeeze. Upon hearing this, he squeezes again before running his thumb across your nipple, making you shiver.

His hoodie comes off soon thereafter, except he's completely bare underneath. You run your hands down his chest and his stomach clenches under the ghost of your touch. When you reach the edge of his boxers, he breaks apart to leave kisses from your cheek down to your neck.

"I-I didn't really prepare for this," Hamzah whispers against you.

"You didn't shave?"

"No, idiot," he scoffs, making both of you giggle giddily. "I, um, didn't bring condoms..."

You breathe out as he continues kissing your skin. "That's fine. We don't have to do anything."

Your fingers are tucked in his waistband against his happy trail, but you make no effort to move them. If it wasn't evident already, his erection presses against you painfully, a reminder of how close yet so far you are from what you're craving. Still, he seems determined to make the most of the moment. He sucks on the spot below your ear, making your mouth drop open in a breathy moan.

In a hasty decision, you take your tank top off and lay back down. Hamzah's eyes follow along your newly exposed skin and he leans down to kiss a trail from your collarbone to the valley between your breasts. His hands leave a wake of heat everywhere he touches you, yet goosebumps rise on your arms when his lips reach your lower stomach.

"Can I?"

He looks up at you, his eyes half-lidded and his hands on your shorts. You nod and raise your hips so he can pull them off. When he sees your underwear, he raises an eyebrow.

"You wear boxers, too?" Hamzah jokes, tugging on your waistband and letting it snap against your skin. You flinch and he laughs.

"They're comfy!" you defend, blushing. "I wasn't exactly planning for this, either."

"I'm kidding. Why would I care?" He leans up on his forearms to peck your lips. "They're coming off, anyway."

He reaches under your final layer of clothing and you gasp when he touches you where you need him most. His lips part as he dips into your wetness, bringing it up to circle your clit deliciously. You grasp his bicep and your other hand holds the back of his head as he continues his delightful assault on your throat.

When you feel his fingers inch into you, your hips jut forward. He whispers praises in your ear as he fucks his fingers into you, first slowly then relentlessly. You can't contain your moans. Your fingers tug at his curls lightly when you feel the knot in your stomach forming. All too suddenly, he pulls his hand out of your underwear and you whine.

"As much as I like 'em, they gotta go," Hamzah says, leaving one final kiss on your jaw before dragging your boxers down your hips.

He flings them aside and you breathe heavily as he descends to your lower body, situating his head between your legs. He plants kisses on the inside of your thigh teasingly, dipping his head down only to start back at the top with the other thigh until he has you squirming under his grip. Just when you think you've reached your limit, he bites at the swell of your thigh and connects his mouth to your core. Your lungs spasm as you feel his tongue flick your clit, struggling to catch your breath at the surreal sensation.

He sucks on your bud and has you a complete mess of moans under him. Loosening his grip from your thigh, he makes eye contact with you as he brings his hand back to your center and his fingers penetrate you steadily. Your back arches and he groans when you clutch at his hair. He suctions his lips, watching every reaction and noise you emit without once coming up for air. It's a dizzying sight, and your head lolls to the side as your moans get louder. He works harder, curling his fingers, toying with you in all the right ways to make you fall apart.

"Just like that," you cry out, "Hamzah, please."

You're panting at this point, yearning for a release that's sure to send you reeling.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs. "Cum for me."

The quickening of his pace has you clenching around his fingers, and as soon as he speaks those words, you screw your eyes shut and let your climax overtake you. Your jaw slackens and you throw your head back. Your legs shake uncontrollably as you call his name out in broken gasps while you ride out your high. The scent of saltwater and moss fills your nostrils, and all at once your vision clears when he lightly kisses your sensitivity. You sharply inhale and white-knuckle the sand below you. Your other hand wraps around the side of his neck to hoist him back up so you can be face-to-face.

Hamzah's arms cage you in and you pull him down to lock lips. He tastes sweet. Then, he rolls the two of you over so you're sitting in his lap while he lays flat.

"All good?" he asks, holding your cheek.

"Perfect."

You lean in to kiss him again, propping your hands on his chest. Teasingly, you grind your hips against his and he groans.

"Stop," Hamzah grunts. "I don't wanna cum in my pants."

The friction makes you shudder, but feeling how hard he is makes you not want to stop. You laugh and do it again, making him squeeze your hips. He halts your movements and grins, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"That's it."

Without warning, he sits up and you wrap your legs around him, latching onto him like a koala as he stands straight. The swift switch in positions makes you squeal. His palms cup your ass as he walks out from underneath the cove.

"What're you doing?!" you screech, clutching him as tight as you can.

"I asked nicely and you didn't listen!"

He cackles maniacally as he wades deeper into the water. When you're up to your hips in the waves, he turns backwards and sends the both of you plunging into the ocean. In an instant, you're soaked to your bones and springing up to the surface.

"You bitch!" you nearly scream as he re-emerges beside you. "I'm butt-ass naked!"

"No one's here, don't worry," he says, wrapping his arms around you from behind. "Look. Just us."

Hamzah lifts you in the water and swings you around to show you the entirety of the vacant beach. He's laughing above you while you smack his arms to let you go.

"Okay, I get it! Put me down."

You plummet into the depths once more.

~

a/n: sorry to disappoint w the lateness again this would’ve been updated sooner if california didn’t literally go up in flames around me and half my roof tiles got ripped off my house from the crazy ass wind (another one flew off as i typed this). also my dumbass friend deleted tiktok off his phone and we lost our 231 day streak bc he can’t get it back no matter what we tried. also elon did the hitler salute?????? what is going on. anyways lmk if u enjoyed or want me to rot for eternity <3 love yall sm

[izsheum]

how does one go about practicing on drawing mechs? like, how did you do it? I have no idea where to start aaah 😭😭 any advice would be so helpful

i have soooome notes but! truly it comes down to looking at a LOT of references! references and REPETITION!!! i swear i have dozens upon dozens of photos of characters pulled up when i start drawing. it gets easier with each time that you sketch ‘em i promise!!

(i also “cheat” a lot and look at my figures when i wanna put them in certain poses—this goes heavilyyyy for megatron LOL)

and i hate to sound like a broken record because i’m sure everyone says this…but truly i break them up into shapes! they really are just layers of geometric shapes layered on top of one another with pretty little details etched on top :)

this is kinda how i see their figures! these kinda forms are how all my drawings start out before i put the armor on top of them!

also important to remember that the inside structures of organic figures (bones/muscles/etc) are completely visible for mechs! you can see the joints and gears that bend at their knees/elbows/shoulders/hips/feet rather than them being hidden by skin and clothing. i think this is the part that i have the Most trouble with because it’s a lot of small moving parts layered together. forgive the messiness…i’m still learning myself honestly haha and this is all compiled after looking at a LOT of art and models and whatnot. included in this are hands…which have a Lot of the small exposed joints.

anywayyys that’s all i have in terms of general advice that i can give…if you have any specific questions feel free to ask! i am an open book and will do my best to answer with words or visuals lol

but really—just have fun with it! experiment and try try try again

[xxacidnekoxx]

Even though I'm a furry chibi artist I don't really care about cuteness that much like ... Something just being "cute" isn't enough for me to care about it.

I don't even see cuteness as a goal or really consider it a necessarily positive thing for every situation?? Like my experience in my life has kinda been being a man with a "baby face" and getting misgendered having grown up with stricter than normal gender rules on me so like.. like the cute stuff it's really ingrained into my being it's all I know it's not really something special to me ... Like they literally tried to hardwire me to be an attractive very feminine woman who would be a mom and nothing else

I have an animator art style . and I think it's really theatrical with big eyes and often standing at a 3/4 angle and the focus being expressiveness I grew up with my coloring books that I had and little girl media like littlest pet shop that I traced over so my muscle memory was like always making things really chibi but I totally take it for granted at this point that it seems like I'm really obsessed with cute things. I also like really like bright colors and pink and stuff because it just looks better idk

I don't know how to not be cute? I don't know anything else....... I'm being serious....and I tried to get more of like... A manly style once and it's .. weird .. I suck ass at it and it makes me hate drawing because I suck. I don't compute .. I don't have muscle memory for that I literally can only draw like circles and squirkles and I don't understand humans at all or how to draw them that much at all I don't know what guns or weapons or machines or robots are .......

But I'm totally okay with being like"the cuteness guy" at this point I love to embrace it.. especially with taking testosterone and being a video games artist who draws sprites it doesn't really get in the way of my masculinity ?? But like I don't really like SEEK out art that is cute in particular? Honestly cute art just feels like the default or what's normal to me.....A lot of my nostalgia is just around "girls"and "woman things" because that's what I had growing up and I didn't realize I was a man until I was well into my adulthood already .. 🤷‍♂️

Anyway I'm even comfortable with being called a femboy and being like yey I'm cutesy but it's not like... Super euphoric necessarily it's more just like FEELS REGULAR and that's comforting is that it feels regular

[littleapocalypsekitten]

Ex-Evangelical CONVERT here. Can confirm. Granted, the churches I attended weren't extreme, but there was a vibe there. I mostly absorbed this stuff from televangelists. I also read about half of the fictional Left Behind series, which people took a realistic new future-depiction of what's coming! If you want to familiarize yourself with Left Behind but want an abridged version (because they really are horribly-written books), I got a blog for you: Slacktivist Example of one of his weekly Left Behind posts. He covers the first thee books on repeat because there is too much going on in his life to finish reviews. Blogger is a Progressive Christian Ex-Evangelical who started out making it his MISSION to tell the world how badly-written and theologically messed up these books are. His blog eventually morphed into American politics and occasional personal stories. The commentary community is delightful. (I am Shadsie there). Left Behind has a lot of fanfiction of the hate and fix-it variety. Like "Interesting concepts, horrible world, let's explore this" including stories of humans willingly going with the Luciferian faction at the end of the novels even though they know they will be doomed to Hell because they feel the need simply to fight and retain their fundamental humanity. Anyway, my point is that there is an entire generation of American Christians who grew up on watching eschatology preachers in the 1990s who created the "roadmap" these authors used and who read these books early on. They were some of the very few "approved thriller fiction" of the subculture. (Back when I was reading them, I liked them because they were violent - I could read something actiony and violent without the guilt I was supposed to feel for watching / reading similarly violent worldly things). I'm not trying to paint myself as a violent person here, I just enjoy action movies and action and horror manga. I've always needed a bit of an outlet, something exciting. American Evangelical / Baptist / Conservative churches don't allow "exciting" unless it is approved. I was trying to find a list by Progressive Christian blogger, Benjamin L. Corey where he made a checklist of how, Trump, ironically, ticks all of the classic boxes of being the Antichrist, but it seems to have disappeared from the Internet. (Said blogger does not believe in a literal Antichrist, he was just trying to make a point, but it still stands).

Hey so I still see people utterly baffled by how religious fundies (still a majority in America and moreso its senate) react on certain issues so uhhh is it actually not common knowledge what the antichrist is all about? You guys know his defining characteristic is ending war, right? That he’s foretold to unite the world under his leadership by preaching global peace and solving basically every single problem in the world? So you know when you try to talk to these people about equality and togetherness they literally believe that’s what makes you an agent of the devil right???

[stargazedwinchester]

Hey, for a request, how about an earlier seasons Dean x Reader scenario in which they got a little crush and flirting going on, sparks between them, but Dean's a little worried that John won't approve? 👀

Your texting moodboard and the image of the "I love you. Don't reply, this is my dad's number" kinda inspired this idea!

Forbidden ♡ Dean

Summary: John doesn't approve of you dating his son, Dean. Word Count: 1,037 Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Thank you for requesting ily!! I love this bc I love JDM <3 what a dilf A little bit of Negan came out here (sorry not sorry)

When your parents passed in such a cruel, sadistic way, Dean was the one that saved you. He was the one that introduced you to hunting, to really get a feel for the life that could’ve been if you knew you could save your parents.

That gnaws at you every damn day.

At this point, you had known Dean for roughly a year, joining him on late night drives to dive bars, drinking til you can’t see. You’d stay with him in motels close to your hometown, just for the sake of company. You don’t have a lot here anymore. No close family, old school friends turned acquaintances, so you can really just rely on Dean and his younger brother, Sam.

Oh, and John.

John is a tough nut to crack. Majority of the time, you can’t tell when he’s being genuine or an absolute dick. You know Sam and Dean had a tough childhood with him not being present enough in their lives, so that fact has already somewhat helped you decide from the get-go. You had tried multiple times in the past to get on his good side: trying to get to know him, stay friendly with his sons, and most importantly, stay out of his way.

“You wanna come with?” Dean invites, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. His dad sits in the front seat of the impala, waiting for Dean to finish up. “You think he’ll let me?” You peer at John, his eyebrows scrunched, glaring at Dean. Dean looks over his shoulder, John ushering him to hurry up. “Hell what he thinks. Come with me.”

You press your lips together firmly, believing that if you join them, it’ll end badly. “Dean.” He calls, his voice stern and impatient. “We need to go.” John rolls the window up, and Dean rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t like me, does he?” You focus your eyes on Dean, who shakes his head lightly. “He doesn’t like anyone. Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll figure something out.” He flashes you a quaint smile that makes your tummy do somersaults. You place a peck on his cheek, and he blushes almost immediately. “I’ll miss you.” He says, and you smile. Dean walks down toward the car, then drives off.

It’s been a couple of weeks, and you haven’t heard much from Dean except the odd text from random numbers. One read: ‘I Love You. Don’t reply. This is my dad’s number.’ Times like these make you ill with worry. Worry that Dean’s not safe and there’s nothing you can do. You trust that he can take care of himself and you care for him deeper than you’d like to admit.

A few hours go by and you find yourself nose-deep in your book, ruminating in the same motel room as before. Dean had mentioned about being gone for a day or two, so he paid for your room on your behalf. There’s some light commotion outside. Since the voile is practically see-through, all you can see is the motel sign gleaming through the window. The rowing gets louder, as you see two male figures almost butting heads close to your room. Putting your book down, you head over to the window and see John and Dean in each other’s faces. Again.

“She’s not an issue, dad! You haven’t even given her a chance!” Dean spits. “I don’t need to give her a chance when I’ve seen enough. You need to give her up.” John retorts, and Dean pinches his brow line. “I’m not giving her up just because you say so, dad! I really like her, so get off my ass, man.” Dean attempts to turn around, but John pulls him back. “I’m not done.” He says sternly. John forces himself to be eye to eye with Dean, his cavillous demeanour ignites a fire inside you. He carries on.

“Listen, man, you don’t get to have an apple-pie life. End of the day she’ll be the first one to run when the bullet flies - and you know what? You’ll end up being the one to pick up the pieces, or the one that gets killed. So don’t you dare come back to me when you realise how much you regret being with her and you wanna come back to hunting. It ain’t gonna happen. Once you give up your life here; there’s no going back.” He threatens. John’s eyes are dark. Menacing. You feel as if you’re rewatching Dean’s teenage years reappear right in front of you. He has always mentioned that his father is a very strict person when it comes to ‘protecting’ his boys. That’s what he calls it. You open the door and meet them halfway. John turns his head and notices the scowl on your face, his aura stagnant. “John.” You state, not even bothering to make eye contact with Dean, but you can feel him staring at you. “I don’t care what you think about me, but what you’re saying to your son is far from the truth.” You say.

“You don’t know me. You clearly don’t know your own son and you have no idea about us being together. I don’t care whether you approve of me or not, but what I’m trying to say is that I love Dean. He may be your child but he’s sure as shit nothin’ like you.” You assert yourself, and John’s demeanour changes. His eyes soften, gazing upon your whole body. He looks at Dean, then huffs. Dean almost refuses to look his father in his eyes, as if he’s scared of what he could say next.

A smirk creeps up on Johns face as he’s still looking at you. His posture relaxes as he lets out a small laugh.”You’re the first person to ever stand up to me about my boys. You’ve got balls, Y/N. I like that.” John says, which takes you by surprise. This whole time you assumed John didn’t like you, turns out it’s quite the opposite. “You’re headstrong and you’ll look after my kid. You may not seek my approval but I’m giving it to you.” Jon looks over at Dean, who’s just as shocked as you are. “Thank you, sir.” You nod, and John walks back to the car. Dean sighs.

“Well, that could’ve gone a lot worse. I was starting to get a little worried.” He looks at you with a shine in his eyes, one that screams ‘my-father-finally-agrees-with-something-i’ve-done’.

“Thank God.” You breathe. Dean takes your hand and walks you toward the car. He opens the back passenger door, planting a kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.”