#but that was the MOST important thing to her

[mynqzo]

reposting this information to it's own post because asker was a racist.

What's going on right now in the Republic of Georgia / Sakartvelo? A new legislation just passed that official bans - human rights essentially, gay-marriage, gender-firming care and surgery, any 'promotion' of queer identity. Soon after this legislation passed, trans model Kesaria Abramidze was murdered as a direct consequence of this.

Why is this super extra bad? Besides the several many lives at stake, the safety of queer families and the lethality of hate crimes, Georgia's wish to enter the EU is falling to a complete simmer due to this, soon to be extinguished completely. Here is an article about the international reaction to this legislation:

What can you do to help? The biggest thing we currently rely on is international push back especially from the EU members and the possible overturn of this in the upcoming election. It does not help that this law is implemented due to greedy fucks and Russian puppets in Georgia who benefit from this. source:

You might hear many refer to this as 'Russian law' which is due to the fact that Georgia, under this puppet-leadership mimics Russian laws like the 'Foreign Agents Law' that was put into work only a few months prior the law assumes 'only receiving foreign funds makes an organization a foreign agent.' and I don't think I have to explain how horrendous that is.

We also rely on our president to veto the legislation before it goes into 'full effect' (though the consequences and effect have already begun) but even with this the political party which instated this legislation argue to over-ride her veto in parliament. source:

The most important thing right now is vocal pushback, and public support of the queer community. with what happened to Kesaria (may she rest in peace) a lot of trans people are fearing for their lives, and queer families no longer can remain in their own country if they want to continue to be themselves in any way.

Spread love, a lot of it like as much as you can offer to queer Georgians everywhere.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Recount Your Kids, Batman

[A loose continuation to this post]

Talia doesn't visit the Wayne manor. At least not regularly nor officially. All the batkids and Batman know she comes sometimes, just to check up on Damian and maybe bother Bruce from time to time, but this is the first time she has ever shown up to a dinner.

And, as they all take their seats, she gives Damian a long curios glance. Then, she looks to Bruce.

"Is that everyone?" She asks, easy and lighthearted. One might think she is simply not acquainted with the number of Wayne children or that she is teasing Bruce on the sheer amount of them. But Damian is looking down to his plate, and Tim knows for sure Talia keeps up with Wayne's head count, and Dick is fairly certain Talia would never tease Bruce, at least not so subtly.

It could have been some sort of a hint at Jason. If he was not here, that is. But he is, for once, so this is really all the family at one table.

"Yes?" Dick tries, looking around the table just to make sure. Steph and Babs are not here today, but that's definitely not what Talia could have meant. Bruce also looks just a little confused, which is a nice change of pace since he looked guarded and on edge from the very moment Talia showed up.

The woman hums, her eyes studying Damian. The youngest bat keeps his gaze down on his empty plate. No one really understands what's going on, but they all feel like there's something important and heavy hanging in the air.

Then, Talia stands up and turns to Alfred, "We will be dining later. It has come to my attention that kids are a lot more secretive than I thought," she explains cryptically and smiles at Bruce, "Beloved, will you come with me to the training grounds? I have something to show you."

Bruce doesn't move for a long moment, and Talia's smile becomes almost gentle, "It's about your son."

At least that makes the man move.

When they get down to the Cave - since Talia insisted this was not a matter that could be resolved in the manor's training room - it's not only her, Bruce, and the little bat there, of course. The whole family was way too intrigued, and some were even alarmed.

The most alarming part, though, was the fact that Damian had been uncharacteristically quiet on their way down. Yet, when Dick looked to Cass, she just shook her head slightly. The boy was not worried. To Cass, he looked almost resigned, if a bit displeased.

"Your sword, Damian," Talia commands, and the boy presses his lips into a thin line.

"This is not necessary, Mother."

"It is," the woman looks amused, but there's an underlying layer of concern to her tone.

"...Yes, Mother," Damian nods his head on what feels like surrender and takes his katana. Not the training one, the real blade. Bruce makes a soft, alarmed grunt, but Talia waves him off.

"Not to worry, Beloved. I will not harm our brethren."

She doesn't take a stance, nor does she pick out a weapon, simply lunges for Damian as soon as they are both on the mats. Two daggers seem to appear in her hands out of nothing, and, contrary to her words, her aim is towards Damian's neck. The boy blocks, jumps away, and blocks another attack.

Tim steps closer, "You can't just-"

"Step away, Drake," It's the first time Damian has spoken to them since they've sat down for dinner. His voice is tense, but not derisive. If anything, it sounds a bit tired.

Talia lunges for him again, faster, meaner. Metal clings against metal.

"You understand this can not keep going, my child," she tells the boy, startlingly gentle on the contrary to her definitely dangerous strikes.

Damian doesn't answer.

The rest of Batfam are forced to simply watch the encounter: Damian is mostly on defense as Talia goes for him, harder and harder with every hit. Until, without any warning, the woman strikes for Damian's arm, making him drop his katana, and-

A few things happen at once.

Talia lunges for Damian's throat. Bruce jumps onto the mats so fast that he almost trips. Tim yelps.

But Talia's blade doesn't strike.

A figure of another child, eerily similar to Damian and wearing the League of Assassins uniform, is standing in front of the littlest bat, two crystal clear blades in his hands, blocking the dagger.

Bruce halts midstep. The rest of the family holds their breath.

But Talia simply smiles and drops her daggers, backing away and looking at the boy between her and Damian with a fond gaze.

"Danyal," she greets, and the boy huffs, lowering his weapons. He doesn't drop them - they simply dissipate in the air, turning into tiny snowflakes.

"Mother," he greets back begrudgingly, and his voice is the exact replica of Damian's. A clone? No, because Damian reacts to him nothing like he had to the clones, simply clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

"You could have simply asked, Mother," he comments, taking a step forward and stading near the other boy. Danyal. When standing side by side, they look nearly identical - same facial features, same posture, same hair, even if Damian's is a little more tame.

But Danyal's eyes are just a few hues off. Still green but lighter than Damian's.

"I assumed if you have spent years living here and never bothered to mention your brother, I would need a little more than asking, my love," Talia doesn't laugh, but it sounds like she wants to. Both boys roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Hold the fuck up, brother?

"Huh. I thought you died," Jason mentions offhandedly, and the whole family whips their heads to him. Yet, before any of them speak, it's Danyal who answers.

"I mean, I did? Kinda?" He waves his hand in the air and shrugs, and he acts so unlike Damian while also simultaneously having his face, that it makes Tim shiver a little.

"You-" Bruce starts, seeming to finally find his voice, but the boy cuts him off.

"I'm not actually yours," he snorts at Bruce's facial expression, "Yeah, I know I look like I am. Blame the ghost sewers, Chronos, and my stupid ass for making decisions while not being fully awake."

There is so much to unpack in that sentence that no one has the barest of ideas on where to start.

Damian curves his lips down in a sneer.

"The longer you stay there staring, the colder the dinner will be when we return," he reminds them, and Danyal suddenly perks up.

"Dinner? Can I join? It's been ages since I've had anything home cooked," he smiles, like there's some kind of an inside joke in that sentence. Damian rolls his eyes.

"The food doesn't come alive in this household, Danyal."

"Bummer," the boy looks a bit disappointed, but not too much. "And it's Danny, for the thousandth time."

Talia picks up her daggers, hiding them somewhere in her clothes in an unnoticeable motion. Then, she gives Bruce a small, if a bit sly, smile.

"You can not call it 'family dinner' if not all your family is there."

[muffinpink02]

Alexia with the new Cupra picture is giving me ✨sugar mommy who spoils you in every way✨ vibes

(fic?)

Spoilt Princess

Thank you for the prompt anon!

Warning - smut 18

“How does it look, amor?” 

You fixed your hair in the changing room mirror, trying on the 100th dress of the day.

“Good, I like it.” You smoothed down the edges of the short red dress. 

“Show me, princesà.” 

You smiled at the nickname. Alexia did well and truly treat you like a princess. The Spainard loved to spoil you. Just like she was doing now, she’d spoil you on any occasion she could. From buying you the newest pair of Nikes, to flying you abroad to a five star resort. The girl never let you go without. If you wanted it, you had it. You wasn’t a brat about it, well, sometimes, but Alexia would fuck that out of you very quickly. 

You pulled the thick curtain open, Alexia was sitting in the plush velvet chair in the corner of the private fitting room. A number of high end branded shopping bags sat at her feet, the majority of them being yours. All purchased by Alexia, of course. 

You couldn’t stop the shy smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth as you watched her piercing hazel eyes snake down your body. 

“Do you like it?” You asked.

It was a pointless question really, of course Alexia liked it, she was the one that picked it out. The short dress showed off all her favourite parts of you. From the swell of your breast, to the firmness of your thighs and to the most important, the curve of your arse. Her most favourite part.

“Turn around, let me see you.” The Spaniard commanded.

You smiled as you turned around for the blonde, making sure to wiggle your arse as you did. 

Alexia bit her bottom lip as she took you in, you looked good, she loved you in anything red and this dress was doing wonders. It fit you like a glove, like it had been especially made for you. That being said, you had countless dresses that she had got especially tailored for you, but it never hurt to have more. 

“I love it, amor.” She smiled a genuine smile at you. 

“Let’s add it to the pile.” You winked.

“Sí. Did you want anything else? What about those heels you were looking at or those earrings you spoke about?”

“No, I think you’ve spoiled me enough today, Ale.” You chuckled softly. 

She tutted, her calm face scrunched into a cute frown. 

“It’s not true. I’ve hardly got you anything. And they would look good with this dress, no?”

You smiled at her little pout. It wasnt a secret that Alexia loved fucking you in heels, it was her thing. Something you had worked out very quickly into your relationship, the girl would always leave the item of clothing last when stripping you. Sometimes never taking them off at all.

You walked over to the blonde, shaking your head as you laughed at her pout. You bent down between her already spread legs, holding onto her thighs for balance. Her eyes followed you, dropping to the now very revealing angle of your cleavage.

“Ale, baby you’ve got me a lot today.” 

The blonde rolled her eyes, she cupped your chin with her hands, tilting your head higher. 

“But I haven't, cariño. It's been a while since I got to spoil you.”

That was a lie, she had only bought you a new camera last week, just because you said you were thinking of doing a photography class. And she didn't go cheap, she bought you a camera that even the most professional photographer would envy. 

“Ale, baby, you know I don’t need it.” 

She kept her hand on your chin, she moved closer to you, her lips now inches from yours.

“But I want you to have them. At least pick one.” She whispered softly against your lips. 

You felt your body tingle from the simple gesture, and other things may have tingled.

“Hmm, the heels.” You smiled widely. You moved forward, closing the gap between you. “Thank you.”

Alexia hummed against your lips, inhaling as she felt your tongue glide against her lips.

You pulled back, winking at her as you stood up from the familiar position. You looked at yourself in the mirror, looking over your shoulder.

“I guess you're right, they were really nice.” You smiled in the mirror.

“Sí, they will. They will go with most of your dresses.” The blonde nodded.

“Hmm, or nothing at all.” You looked over at the girl whose cheeks turned a shade of pink.

“Sí, or nothing at all.” She chuckled softly at you. She stood up from her chair, you watched her in the mirror as she approached you from behind, she put her two large hands around your waist, pulling you into her front. She laid her chin on your shoulder, locking her eyes with yours in the reflection.

“But, I did see a red lace set that would really suit you.”

—-----------

“Princesà? Are you ready?” Alexia called in from the ensuite. 

You gloss your lips, finishing off the last touches to your make up in the floor length mirror. You were getting ready for your date night, you had been looking forward to this day for a while, Alexia had somehow gotten a table at a very exclusive and very expensive restaurant. 

“Nearly.” You sang out. 

She walked into the bedroom where you stood, she smiled when she spotted her new favourite red dress hugging your body. She slowly walked over to you, her eyes fixed on your arse.

“You look beautiful, mí amor.” She pressed her lips against your bare shoulder, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. 

“You look beautiful, baby.” You smiled at her reflection in the mirror. 

The blonde looked good, she looked like she was ready to command a room full of businessmen. She was fitted in a grey two piece that showed off her muscular arms. Her blonde hair fell down her back, with her silver hoop earrings hanging off her ears. 

“Gràcies, cariño.” 

You picked up your silver necklace that Alexia had purchased for you a little while back. It was a simple piece but you loved it, you wore it everywhere. It had her initial attached to it, making you feel like she was always with you.

“Here, let me.” Alexia moved your hair out of the way and clipped the jewellery around your neck.

“Perfect.” 

“Nearly perfect. I have something for you.” 

She stepped back from you, a mischievous glint sparkled in her beautiful hazel eyes.

“Alexia! Baby, what could you have possibly gotten me?” 

She ducked under the bed, grabbing out a small white box. Alexia opened the lid revealing the eye watering priced earrings you had been eyeing up.

“Oh my god! You got them for me? How? When?” Your mouth gaped open in shock.

“I made a call. It wasn’t hard. They were delivered when you were in the shower.” She shrugged.

You jumped up and down like a kid on Christmas, giddy at the thought of Alexia getting you yet another present.

She watched as you put your new earrings on.

“Sit, I’ll help you put your heels on.” 

You did as she said, sitting on the end of your shared bed. Alexia kneeled at your feet, holding your ankle as she placed your feet into the strappy heels. You really were her little princess, she made you feel like a real life Cinderella. She slotted the straps into the holes with the most gentle touch. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

She gave your bare leg a kiss, then another then another, slowly moving up to your thighs. Her mouth melted when she smelt the vanilla scented cream on your skin. 

“Ale.” You shakily breathed out. 

“Hmm.” She didn’t bother looking up at you, too distracted at your buttery skin. 

“Baby, we’ll be late.” You tried to convince her, but you couldn’t even convince yourself. 

“Just a little taste, please amor.” She begged as she already started to push your dress up, revealing your new red laced thongs. 

You could never say no to Alexia, especially when she was literally begging at your feet, but you knew you were already running late for your reservation. Your eyes closed as her lips started to kiss your lips through your underwear, her warm breath making your legs open more for her. You felt yourself melting for her, wanting so badly to just let her take you, have her way with you, but that fucking table.

She gently pulled your underwear to the side, revealing your sex. 

“Tan bonica.” She husked before swiping her tongue through your folds.

“Fuck.” You gasped, you had to hold yourself back from pulling at her hair, you didn't have time for her to fix it again.

She took another slow swipe, running her tongue gently against your folds. You groaned at the electric sparks it sent through your muscles, your body already feeling like it was on fire from her expert touches. 

You knew if you didn't stop her now you wouldn't make it out of here tonight, let alone on time for the table.

“Baby, we got to go- fuck!”

Alexia had made it just that bit harder to leave as she wrapped her lips around your clit, sucking your sensitive bud with a precise precision.

Your head tilted back as she suckled on you, you bit your lip trying your hardest to force yourself to stop her. You looked down at the blonde between your legs, she was in her own world of pleasure. You let out a loud sigh, knowing you had to stop, even though you really, really didn't want to.

“Ale, come we have to go.” You groaned at your own words.

Her hazel eyes finally looked up at you, you could see the hesitation in her eyes, she clearly didn't want to stop. She groaned in annoyance, she gave you one last lick before she pulled herself away. 

“I regret booking this now.” She mumbled between your legs.

You let out a breathless chuckle. “So do I. But once we’re done we can pick up where we left off. We can even try that new thing you want to do.” 

Her eyes lit up at that. “Really?” 

You nodded, smiling wickedly at the blonde.

Alexia stood up, picking up your red thongs that were crumpled on the floor.

“I’m keeping a hold of these.” She tucked them into her loose pocket, smiling cheekily at you.

—------------

“Gràcies.” Alexia smiled, placing her card on the receipt tray.

The evening had been amazing, the food was delicious, the atmosphere was calm, the conversation had been flowing and the fingers dancing between your thighs was…mind numbing. 

Since the moment you sat down Alexia had taken advantage of the now missing barrier between your legs. Her fingers had been relentless, skating up, down and around your ever growing sensitive lips. 

“Alexia.” You whispered, you didn’t once tell her to stop, you didn't want her to. She felt so fucking good.

She had you nearly screaming out in the busy restaurant as her talented fingers circled your swollen clit, she smirked wickedly at you when she felt your essence dripping onto her fingers. 

She didn't think to stop when the waiter came over. 

“Would you like to see the dessert menu?” The waiter asked.

“No!” You choked out a shout. The waiter looked between you and Alexia, a little confused from the outburst. You eyed the blonde, who kept that calm stupid smile on her face. 

“Erm, sorry no.” You cleared your throat. “Just the bill please.” You forced a smile, trying your hardest to hold down the filthy groan that wanted so desperately to escape your throat.

Once Alexia paid the bill you couldn't get out of the place quick enough. 

—------------

You waited outside the restaurant as a bell boy brought your car to the front. 

The teen boy smiled as he passed over Alexia’s car keys. “Nice car by the way.” 

“Gràcies.” Alexia smiled politely, slipping the boy a tip. She nodded her head eyeing the vehicle. “She's a beauty.” She agreed.

It was her new car, her pride and joy. You weren't into cars, you just about knew the different names, but you could appreciate a nice car when you saw one. It was sleek and smart, and Alexia looked fucking good in the drivers seat. 

She opened the passenger side door for you, smacking your bum as you climbed into the leather seat. 

“Oi!” You laughed as the blonde playfully winked at you. You watched as she waved at the bellboy, before jumping into the driver's side.

Finally, you were on your way home and you couldn't ignore the way your body was thrumming with desire for the blonde next to you. You was dizzy, dizzy with the thought of Alexia fucking you with her big strap. Fucking you until your legs were shaking and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head, stuttering your words as her hips bucked between your thighs. Making you scream her name-

“Everything okay, amor? You seem a little distracted.” She hummed as she looked over at you, that same smug smile on her face.

You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting out a long sigh. You could feel your cunt aching, verging on almost painful. 

“You could say that.” You looked out the window, praying all the lights stayed green.

Alexia let out a loud laugh, the laugh that you loved. You looked over at her, her beautiful smile plastered her face. 

It only made you want her more. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning over so you could easily access Alexia's neck. 

“Amor, I’m driving.” Her breath hitched as she felt your tongue glide against her skin.

“I can stop if you want?” You said it as you kissed behind her ear.

“No.” She smirked.

You hummed, smiling as you gently bit her favourite sweet spot. “Thoughts so.” You whispered in her ear, bitting a little harder at the soft skin, causing the Spaniard to let out a small gasp.

You kissed down her neck, moving to her throat. You gently sucked on the vein that you loved, lapping your tongue over the ridge of her skin, you lightly hummed as you felt it beat under your touch. 

You brought your right hand to her trousers, easily slipping past the loose band.

“This is not fair.” She looked down between her legs, her breathing quickening as she felt your fingers stroke at her thighs.

You gave out your own smug smile when you felt her hips rock up into your touch. 

“I just want to taste.” You whispered, repeating the same words she had said to you.

“W-what? Now?” 

You nodded your head, bringing your lips between your teeth. 

“Right now. Pull your trousers down for me.”

“God, you can make me do anything, can't you princess?”

You let out a low chuckle, your fingers still teasing at her lips.

She finally stopped at a red light. You couldn't stop the smirk on your face as she clumsily tried to pull her trousers down for you.

“Here baby, let me help. Lift your hips up.” You purred.

Alexia did as you asked, so you were able to slide her loose trousers and thongs down to the top of her knees. 

You smiled as you spotted the wet patch. “Is someone a bit wet?”

“How could I not be? You were so good for me in the restaurant, letting me play with you.” She stroked your loose hair back as she moved forward, connecting your lips in a deep kiss, her tongue easily pushing itself into your mouth. She pulled back, smiling devilishly at you.

“My good girl.” She whispered against your lips.

You pushed your hair to one side and moved forward, leaning your head down between Alexia’s spread legs. You connect your lips with her thighs, slowly making your way closer to her sex. The angle wasn't the most comfortable, but you needed the girl. 

“Merda. Wait, let me.” 

Alexia fiddles with something, allowing her seat to move slightly back, giving you both more room. Her free hand moved into your hair, pushing you back between her legs.

You take the hint and lick through her already wet folds.

“Shit.” She sighs, her fingers flex in your hair. 

Her mouth gaped open as she looked down at your head in her lap, she had seen you in this position plenty of times, but being out in public and easily being spotted made the situation just that little more thrilling.

You groan at her familiar taste, it instantly makes your mouth water. You go slow, moving your tongue easily though her essence, smearing her juices around with your tongue. The lights must have turned green as you feel Alexia’s body move above you, good thing the car is an automatic.

You flick your tongue across her swollen clit, her low groans spur you on, you easily wrap your lips around the bundle of nerves and gently stroke the flesh with the tip of your tongue.

“Bebé!” The blondes' lashes flutter in pleasure. 

You lifted your head, looking at the pretty pussy in front of you. Alexia was wet, you could see the leather seat underneath getting messy with hers and yours fluids. 

You shifted a little, getting yourself more comfortable. You leaned on your knees with your arse in the air. Alexia’s hips twitched, clearly wanting you back on her. 

“Amor, please.” Alexia begged. 

“I’m right here, baby.” You reassured her, kissing her dripping lips.

Alexia bit her bottom lip as she felt your breath ghost her wet sex, she was trying her hardest to control herself. Your loose hair was flowing down her thighs, tickling her sensitive skin, causing her to shiver. 

bobbing up and down as you sucked her into your warm mouth. 

The blonde was finding it hard to concentrate, all she could feel was your talented tongue swirling around her clit, drinking her in. She gently began to thrust her hips into your mouth, all while keeping her eyes on the road. 

You groaned loudly, loving the way she was slowly losing herself, you could hear her breathing becoming shallow. 

Your own clit was still throbbing, you could feel the air hitting the wetness on your lips. You would have loved to have seen yourself right now, being the princess you always was for Alexia. 

The blonde came to another red light, she took the opportunity to scoop your hair into her free hand. Having more control of your movements she forced you further down, needing more friction on her clit. She smirked as she watched your head bobbing up and down as you sucked her into your warm mouth. 

You whimpered when you felt her touch, trying to move the way she wanted you. She began to slowly fuck you face, pushing her hips harder into your face. 

“Sí, Sí, princesà. You’re so good, don’t stop, never stop.” She husked out.

You groaned at the fast movements, you could feel Alexia's clit twitching in your mouth. 

“Fuck, baby, I can’t drive and do this.” She let out a low groan.

Alexia took a quick turn down a quiet road, quickly turning off the engine. 

She pulled over just in time as her orgasm took over her body. Both her hands grip your hair, moving you to her rhythm.

“Amor. I’m going to come, don’t stop. Keep sucking.” Her head fell back against the seat, her mouth opening as she began to pant. Alexia cried out, screaming your name as her clit pulsated in your mouth.

You didn't stop, you kept your mouth on her until she rode out the final spasm. 

Alexia tried to catch her breath, as she stroked your hair back.

“I can’t believe you had me do that.” She let out a breathless chuckle. 

You stroked your tongue over her once more, kissing her clit as you moved away. You smiled smugly as you came face to face with the blonde, her hazel eyes completely blown. 

“You spoil me in every way.” You winked as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

[ariestrxsh]

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, blowjob, voyeurism, blackmail, mean!roughdom!chris

🖤 author's note: 🖤 part two is going to be some of the filthiest, roughest shit i've ever written, so proceed with caution.

🖤 summary: 🖤 your manager, chris, finds out you've been giving away free drinks at your bartending job, and he blackmails you. he won't tell your little secret as long as you can give him what he wants..

this story was requested/inspired by this ask 💖 (promise that i will be serving filth in part two)

Closer part one

You rolled your eyes when you walked into work, saw the schedule, and realized who you were closing with.

You loved everything about being a bartender. You liked serving drinks, flirting with the customers, and listening to music all night. You made decent money, and you even liked your coworkers. Well, most of them.

The one thing you couldn't stand about your job was Chris, your manager, who was insufferable to work with. Anytime the two of you shut down the bar together, he'd waste time either playing around on his phone, sitting in his car smoking weed, or hiding in the backroom doing god knows what. This meant you'd end up doing most of the closing tasks alone.

All Chris really did was count the money and lock the door at the end of the night, and it always pissed you off that he got paid more than you. It's not like he was better-qualified for the position or had a better work ethic than you did, but he'd landed himself a position in management because the owner was his best friend's dad.

"Can't wait to close with you, sweetheart. You always get us out faster than I do with any of the other girls," Chris grinned at you with a tooth pick between his teeth while he leaned up against the stainless steel counter in a black tanktop and jeans.

"Wow, that's crazy, because we'd get out even faster if you could go one shift without getting high in the parking lot, and instead helped me rinse out all the beer taps," you snarked back.

"You know, I have way more important shit to worry about than wiping down surfaces. That's why I have you," Chris remarked, flashing you a smirk and brushing the back of his hand across your cheek. You pulled away and scoffed at him. "Love when you play hard to get," Chris whispered before wandering off towards the back. You rolled your eyes.

It was Friday night, which meant it'd be busy, and you were hoping to pull in enough tips to make rent by the end of the shift. You were getting into a flow, mixing drinks, and engaging in witty banter with some out-of-towners when your eye caught Chris heading out to the parking lot. There was a pretty blonde girl with him.

You finished serving the drink in your hand and turned to your coworker, Sam. "Hey, cover me while I go have a cigarette?" You leaned in and asked. She gave you the thumbs up. You went to the back, shuffling around in your purse for your American spirits.

You weren't gonna spy on Chris. You were just curious to see where he was going, who he was with, and what they were doing. Okay, fine. You were spying on Chris.

You made your way outside, sparking up the end of your cigarette, and heading towards the back of the building where the smoking area was. You didn't see Chris or the girl anywhere at first until your eyes landed on Chris' car. Chris was in the driver's seat, and it looked like he was alone.

That was until you saw that Chris had a fistful of her blonde hair in his grip, bouncing her up and down on his lap. You studied Chris' expression, the way it was steeped in desire, the way his jaw hung slightly open, and the way he was peering down. He was definitely getting head in his car.

The girl's head bobbed up down, disappearing and reappearing behind the dashboard. You knew you shouldn't be watching, and you always thought you'd be grossed out if you ever caught Chris doing anything like that, but you couldn't take your eyes off him.

You sat there, taking drag after drag off your cigarette while you watched Chris enjoying himself in his car. In your deepest, darkest fantasies, you wondered what he sounded like behind the glass windows.

A wetness started to pool between your legs, and it's not that you were jealous that you weren't the one doing it, but.. fuck, were you a little jealous? You watched in awe until you'd smoked your cig all the way down to the filter.

You knew it would be hard to hate Chris and be annoyed with his closing process when your mind was overwhelmed with daydreams about sucking him off. You threw your cigarette on the ground and smushed it into the asphalt with your sneaker.

Thankfully, the night stayed busy, and you were able to keep your mind off the incident momentarily when an older gentleman who immediately caught your eye walked in through the door and sat at the end of the bar. You noted how handsome he was with his salt and pepper hair, his nice suit, and his intense stare. He looked like he could be in his forties, but you didn't mind. You liked older men.

"Whatcha drinking?" You smiled, approaching him. "A double of your finest scotch. Neat," he replied, looking deep into your soul. What a refined drinking order. He paid for his scotch right away, probably not planning on staying very long, but the two of you hit it off.

For next hour or so, he nursed his drink while you got to know a little bit about each other. You learned that he was a professor who taught philosophy, and he learned that you were a avid lover of philosophy. The subject had meandered towards absurdist theory and Albert Camus' works.

"You know, I remain unconvinced that life or anything at all really, has any meaning," you leaned onto the bar, looking into his dark, sultry eyes, "if there is no inherent meaning, then that takes all the pressure off." You grabbed his empty glass off the counter between the two of you, and you gestured to see if he wanted another.

"Please," he accepted, "don't you think it's a little sad if you don't give life some kind of meaning?" He squinted at you, trying to pick your brain.

"No, not at all, because we humans subconsciously give meaning to nearly everything that happens in our everyday lives, and it actually distorts our view of objective reality and keeps us assuming and imprisoned to a slew of reactions based off of a bunch of self-drawn conclusions," you replied, "plus if I were sad about life not having any meaning, I'd be a nihilist, not an absurdist." You topped off his glass and slid it over to him with a smug look on your face.

"Hmm. Smart girl," he responded, picking up his glass and taking a few sips. You liked that you'd found a man who could actually hold an intellectual conversation with you, and you boldly requested his number. He wrote it down on a napkin and slid it over to you.

"Does this mean I'm gonna see you again?" He stared at you longingly. "It can mean whatever you want it to mean," you smirked at him.

When he finished his drink, he pulled out his wallet to pay, but you stopped him. "Last one's on the house. Thanks for the mentally stimulating discussion. I don't get much of that around here," you insisted.

"Maybe that's because you're talking to boys instead of men," he suggestively raised an eyebrow at you and left you a generous tip before leaving the bar.

Shit. You hadn't even caught his name.

The rest of the night went well. It was fast-paced, everyone was in a good mood, and the tips were flowing in. Last call rolled around, and you started to clean up your station. "Who was that pretentious douchebag you were talking to?" Chris came up behind you, rasping directly into your ear and startling you, causing you to drop a shotglass.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think he sounded a little jealous.

"Shit!" You exclaimed, bending down to clean up the broken glass. Chris' eyes were drawn to your perfectly-shaped ass that your jeans hugged so well. "He teaches philosophy at the University. But I didn't catch his name," you replied.

"But you got his number," Chris snatched the folded napkin hanging out of your back pocket. "Give me that back!" You exclaimed, reaching for it as Chris held it above his head.

"I'll give it back to you, but first. You and I need to talk," Chris' tone got a little more serious. "About what?" You asked, picking up on the sudden shift in his voice. "You know, Professor Pretentious was drinking Macallan Scotch Whiskey, don't you?" Chris inquired as if that was supposed to mean something to you. "And?" You asked, shrugging at Chris.

"Do you have any idea how expensive that shit is and how dead you would be if Boss Man knew you were giving it out for free to old men you wanted to bone?" Chris leaned in close and gave you a disappointed look. "Well, we won't know, because he won't find out about it, will he, Chris?" You shot him a look.

"Well, the cameras show you handing him two drinks, but his bill only has one listed," Chris responded, indicating he had evidence. "Chris, come on. You wouldn't do that," you sneered at him. "Sure, I would. Unless you give me something I want. Then I won't tell boss man, and I'll give you professor dickhead's number back," Chris smirked at you deviously.

"What do you want?" You rolled your eyes, not really having a choice but to hear him out. "I'll think about it. In the meantime, I'm gonna go do inventory and count the safe, and you're gonna clean this shit up. Fucking loser," Chris said, motioning towards the broken glass on the ground and rolling his eyes. Then he left out the front door, presumably to go smoke weed in his car.

The clock hit 2:00 a.m. It was the end of the night, and no thanks to Chris, all your closing duties were done even earlier than you'd expected. The two of you were the only staff still there, and you were ready to hear whatever sick ultimatum Chris was about to give to you.

You trudged into the office where he was sitting on his phone with his feet kicked up on the desk. "All done, princess?" Chris asked, lustfully glancing you up and down. "Ew, don't call me that," you responded. "Why? You like it too much?" He chuckled at you.

"What's it gonna take for you to keep your mouth shut and give me back my future husband's phone number?" You crossed your arms, avoiding addressing his accusation. Chris fixed his contemplative eyes on you and gave you a bit of a malicious grin, "All you have to do is let me fuck you."

You were immediately taken aback, thinking you didn't hear him right. "What!?" You swallowed hard and narrowed your gaze at him. He stood up and got into your face, making you feel small and weak. "What? You liked watching me get head in the parking lot, and now you're getting all shy on me?" Chris cooed, stroking your cheek with his knuckles.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, and you found yourself unable to say anything. You were completely humiliated by the fact that he'd seen you peeping on him.

"Don't worry, princess. I won't tell anyone you like to watch. But I will tell Boss Man about the scotch if you don't let me do whatever I want to you," he said in a low, sexy voice, his carnal needs carved into the expression on his face.

"It kind of feels like you're not giving me a choice here," you studied his hypnotic blue and eyes and your gaze fell to his full lips.

"Well, then here are your choices. Let me spell them out for you. First scenario, I tell the boss, you get fired, you go work at a new bar, and you never have to see me again. Second scenario, you get on your fucking knees and you let me use that little back-talking mouth of yours and whatever other way I want to have you, and I'll make this whole problem of yours disappear," he winked at you and leaned in, chuckling into your ear,

"And if you choose the last option, I'm just letting you know in advance, I like it disgustingly rough."

part two posted here 💖

taglist: @bsturnzmtt @sturniolo-girl @munchingmini @butterbean-01 @coolasice01 @theyluvme-2315 @zariyam @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @miss-delicious @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @mattsfavbigtitties @new2024cats4life @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @sturnrc @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @aalirosesblog @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @karttpet @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @slxtformatt @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mynameisuser834 @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx

[thetransfemininereview]

Do you have any recommendations for gaining access to these books? I have a pretty long list of ones I want to read but can't afford most of them. The library has the big ones (Whipping Girl, Detransition Baby, Nevada) but the newer or less well known ones have been difficult to find

No this is actually so real though. Let's talk about it.

One of the big problems that I'm trying to address here is the fact that there is a lack of ability for trans books to reach their perhaps core audience, trans people. Over the last few years trans librarians have been trying to increase the number of trans books in circulation, but that's super contingent on where you live. Not to mention the fact that, at least in the US, states are actively trying to criminalize circulating trans books in libraries.

I know Tumblr is allergic to economics a lot of the time, but you've gotta look at the math to understand why this is the current state of things. Essentially it's a vicious cycle. Lots of trans people can't afford to buy a $25 hardcover on a whim, and traditional publishers put a lot of stock into how well a book performs on release, cause that's how they make money. So when the core audience can't afford it and isn't marketable, they register that as a lower demand, which means that fewer trans books get published, fewer end up in libraries, and the cost of an individual book is driven higher. Low demand, high price. Then because the price is high, trans people cant afford the books, and the cycle continues.

It is the dilemma of the transfemme author that most of their core audience is also gonna be transfemme. It's a self-selecting process that's very hard to break out of. And at the end of the day, there just isn't very much money to go around in the trans community because trans people so frequently get cut off from generational wealth. So when you get an ecosystem of transfemmes selling books to other transfemmes who also sell books to them....

I took a class on the Sociology of Art a few years ago, and one of my core takeaways was that the boundaries of a field (yes my teacher liked Bourdieu, come for her ass, not mine) are fundamentally governed by institutions and entities with the money and power to dictate their rules of play. In Althusser's language, you would call those ISAs (Ideological State Apparatuses). When you read Weber, he talks about how culture needs to have some level of social legitimation in order to become a force of power in the world (I butchered that but it's the gist lol). And it's like.

The people who have the money to read the books dictate which books receive the money. Organizations like Lambda Literary, presses, big name publishers, etc. One of the big problems in the field of trans literature up to this point is that the only people who've had the money to produce social legitimation from the organizing schema/matrix of an ISA have also only chosen to read a very small slice of the extant literature. Then, because those non-profits and presses and companies only champion a small selection of books, that in turn dictates for those who have less money which of those books deserve social attention, critical acclaim, sales, library slots, etc.

And like, all of that is an illusion, but it produces a material reality for the transfemme author. It dictates the material conditions for the reproduction of said literature and who can participate in it.

So, what's to be done about it?

"Buzz" is a big deal in the publishing industry. A good review, an award, a thinkpiece - all of that can be the difference between a successful book and a flop. Publishers look for that. If nobody talks about a book and it doesn't sell well, they'll drop the author faster than you can say Susan. Again, vicious cycle. But like, at the end of the day, a "field," an "ISA," a "legitimated" work of art, that's all just a class prerogative. The different between a Very Important Literary Blog and a "person talking about books on the internet" is money. Like. It's just money. The reality of it is really banal.

It's who has the money to read books. It's who has the money and time to write about books. It's who has the money to gain institutional access to book. It's who has the money to read enough to say, "Oh, well that might seem true, but if you look at X, Y, and Z it's clearly not." It takes money to fact check. It takes money to challenge institutional myths. It takes money because when an institution makes a claim about a book and none of the people who care enough to argue with them have the cash to challenge it, the claim tends to stand.

And like, the honest truth is that between the books, the website, and the education, I've spent a lot of money bringing this website online in the form you're reading it in. A lot of the books I've read were really fucking expensive. I grew up in a wealthy family, my parents were accepting. They have both the means and the desire to support my passion projects. I'm lucky.

The goal of The Transfeminine Review is to create at least one independently trans-run website that can challenge that brand of institutional legitimation work from non-profits and big publishers and cis outlets, a website that can actually highlight transfeminine literature as it exists in the world, not as the Big 5 publishers have dictated it. Topside, Metonymy, Arsenal Pulp, LittlePuss, etc. They've all taken on that challenge from the angle of producing books, but there hasn't been a corollary trans secondary ecosystem dedicated to documenting and critiquing them. Or there is, but it's extremely diffuse and hard to find if you don't know exactly what you're looking for. Then there are the general queer outlets, like them. and whatnot, and they do their best but literature is a side hustle at best. There's the queer-helmed literary outlets like Electric Lit (shout out Denne Michele Norris) but they spend most of their time talking about cis authors. None of it is designed to help or review self-published literature from poor authors, and let's be frank, most transfeminine publishing is still done indie or self.

It's an investment, essentially. On the longshot, the hope is that this website will inspire others to do similar work, and that eventually through the collective efforts of trans authors and their readership, we can begin to change the math on trans publishing and help to spread it to a wider audience.

Now.

None of this changes the current reality that trans lit is expensive.

Unless you're lucky, you're probably not gonna find much trans lit at the local library even if you dig for it. Another good place to find free trans books is transreads.org, but their selection is mostly non-fiction, and the fiction is, again, largely the same few books you can find elsewhere. Another good online queer library is https://www.queerliberationlibrary.org/, which might be a good place to look (shoutout to Skye for bringing it to my attention!)

There are a couple of cheaper places to find trans books. If you shop around on itch.io, a lot of self-published trans authors have "name your price" models, which can be more accessible. Creators on itch will also bundle their work on a fairly regular basis, so you can get like 10-20 books for $10, which is, by my token, an excellent price.

If there's a particular author you're interested in, a lot of self-pub trans authors have Patreon accounts where they serialize their novels. You also can find serial (pre-edit) versions of a bunch of books on Scribblehub.

This has gotten steadily less affordable over the last few years cause Amazon is evil, but Kindle Unlimited ($11.99 a month, but there's a free trial) has thousands of trans books. Most of them are erotica, but like, there are a lot of hidden gems in there, and if you're a voracious enough reader, then it'll definitely be much cheaper per book than buying trad.

The problem with all of these, though, is that they tend to favor specific genres and tropes. Like there's only so much variety on itch.io or Scribblehub or transreads.org or KU. So if you like the genre conventions, then awesome! But if you don't it's probably not for you.

And none of it will give you access to some of the rare older tradpub books or the new but scarce releases that I've been going through unless you're willing to pay the full price for them.

I wish I had a better answer, but that's unfortunately the current state of the industry :/

Hopefully this ramble is helpful.

Beth

[shrimpybbq]

affection is a remedy for many a problem

continuation of a contended husband is no menace to the kingdom

______________________________________________

Aegon doesn't entirely change just because he feels loved and cared for, no. The trauma and lack of affection in his childhood still incites his drinking, but it's to a lesser degree. Still, it's not uncommon for his niece to wake to his slumbering frame reeking of cheap Flea Bottom ale, his late night antics with his sleazy friends having ended with the guards dragging his body into their shared chambers in the early morn. One would think she would be repulsed by such situations, and yet, Aegon often finds himself in the large tub with his wife washing his hair, her delicate hands bringing a soothing pressure to his waning headache. The Prince would be silent as a deep sense of shame settles over him, his expression settling into a grimace as he remembers the conversation that led him to Flea Bottom this time. His mother had been yelling at him for declaring his lack of desire for the throne - a desire that had never increased no matter the number of conversations they had. A sharp slap to his cheek before she sent him away from her chambers had been his final straw. He didn't remember much after that. Aegon is thankful that his sweet wife understands him, knowing he is trying to be better for her. She is always by his side.

The one thing that cheers him up the most is seeing his sweet little babies. The twins had come soon in the course of their marriage and though he'd been reluctant to become a father, there was soon nothing more important to him than caring for his children. He saw opportunities for redemption in them, and his wife was so good with them. She was motherly in a way that his own mother had never been, always coddling them and squeezing them tightly, praising them and laving them with affection. To see his own children loved so much healed something in Aegon. The married couple spend many hours together with the children in the nursery each day, playing with them and conversing. When the Twins had learnt of their mother's second pregnancy they had become even more excitable, always babbling to the babe and asking when their brother or sister would be born. As Jaehaera clings to her father and plays with his matching silver strands, Aegon can only look over at his wife and Jaehaerys as he presses his ear to her stomach, seeking to hear the babe. His heart swells at the realisation that he finally has a family that love him, and he who loves them more than anything in the world.

(I 100% believe half of Aegon's problems could be solved with a lot of love and affection)

[pickingupmymercedes]

A smile like that - Lewis Hamilton

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: playful, silly and sassy

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Lewis was smiling and so were we❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

I should’ve known what would happen the moment I sent that text.

So, the secret ingredient to you is a shitty Friday and some drama, then?

When Lewis has something to prove, he really proves it. Not just to himself, to the entire world.

And in typical Lewis’s fashion, he doesn’t miss an opportunity to boost about it, even when I’m literally working.

I’m properly miffed as I storm into his driver’s room—no knock, no warning. Just righteous annoyance, fully loaded and ready to fire.

I can’t let him get away with this one, I tell myself. Not today.

Not after that ridiculous Instagram post. I was working, for God’s sake. Interviewing drivers, doing my actual job. And he’s out there, posting photos like it’s some romantic movie.

I should stay mad at him for at least a good ten minutes, minimum. Really drive the point home this time.

But as I catch sight of him, slouched on the couch with that ridiculous grin, my resolve wavers.

Damn it. It’s like trying to stay mad at Roscoe.

He’s still in his Mercedes shir, looking far too pleased with himself, his braids peeking out from under his cap, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Honestly, it should be illegal for someone to look that good after sweating like they do on those cars.

“Oh, hey, love,” he says casually, not even bothering to look up.

Oh, we’re going with casual now.

I close the door with a deliberate click and lean against it, crossing my arms. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

He finally looks up, eyes twinkling with mischief. “What?”

I scoff, unfolding my arms as I march toward him, pulling out my phone with the offending evidence.

“This” I practically shove the screen in his face. It’s his Instagram post, the one where he posted a photo of himself gazing down at me in the media pen with: Had to make sure her smile was also because of me.

It takes all my restraint not to groan aloud. Because honestly, the audacity.

Lewis leans back, completely unfazed, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You were smiling though?”

“That’s not the point, Lewis,” I deadpanned, even though, yes, I was smiling.

But of course I was. It’s impossible not to when he’s around, and that’s exactly the problem?

I hate how he does this to me. One minute, I’m determined to stay mad, the next, I’m grinning like an idiot just because he threw me a smile. It’s infuriating, and yet…

Yet here I am, standing in front of him, and no matter how much he drives me up the wall my traitorous heart does a little somersault because he’s sitting there, giving me that crooked smile like he’s some damn rom-com lead who just said the most heart-melting thing in the world.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s gearing up for a negotiation. “It’s totally the point.”

I blink at him. “You seriously posted this just to see if I’d show up here?”

“Well…” He pauses, his eyes flickering over my face as if he’s gauging just how annoyed I really am. “That, and because of your text earlier. You know, the one about my shitty Fridays ?”

I raise a brow. “That was sarcasm.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, not buying it for a second. “I was just making sure you had a smile like that for me, too.”

God, he’s infuriating.

I huff, but it’s weak. “You know, I was working. Like, interviewing drivers. Doing my job.”

Lewis stands up, taking slow, deliberate steps until he’s standing right in front of me, way too close for comfort—except it’s always comfortable with him. “And one of us was making sure the most important person in the room was smiling.”

Oh. Great. He’s bringing out the charm now.

“You’re unbelievable” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it anymore.

“And yet, you’re here” he says, stepping even closer, his hand brushing against mine.

I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch, betraying me. “Don’t get used to it.”

He smirks. “Too late”

I let out a long-suffering sigh, even as my heart betrays me, pounding a little faster.

His hands find my waist, warm and steady, and with one gentle tug, I’m pulled into him.

I tell myself I’m still annoyed, but the way his fingers trace small circles against my back makes it impossible to hold on to that thought for long.

The scent of sweat and his signature cologne fills the small space between us, and I hate how comforting it feels.

I should be making a point here.

Instead, I find myself leaning into him, my cheek pressing against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding my own.

Because it’s Lewis, and no matter how annoying or cocky or insufferable he is in these moments, I’m always going to melt when he holds me like this.

And should I say it? The words are there, right on the tip of my tongue.

Once I say them, there’s no going back to the easy banter, no covering it up with another snarky remark.

But he deserves to hear it. Especially today.

I lift my head slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. His teasing grin has softened, replaced by something quieter, something that makes my chest tighten.

“You know,” I murmur, my voice a little more vulnerable than I intended, “I’m really proud of you.”

He freezes for just a second, his eyes searching mine. And then his grip tightens, just slightly, like he’s anchoring himself. “Yeah?” His voice is soft, cautious, like he doesn’t quite believe it yet.

“Yeah.” I nod, the corners of my lips tugging upward despite myself. “Never doubted you, not for a second.”

For a moment, something flickers across his eyes, and I know this means more to him than he’s letting on.

Lewis can put on a front, make jokes, tease all he wants, but deep down, this sport is his entire world, and today had been a good day.

After a Friday where nothing went right, after a car that was fighting him every step of the way, he still pulled through. And I’m proud. Proud because I know how much it takes, how much he gives.

He lets out a breath, resting his forehead against mine. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

I grin. “Part of the job, remember?”

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against my skin. “I’m still gonna hold you to that smile thing, though.”

I snort. “You’re so needy.”

It’s ridiculous how comfortable being in his arms is—how easy it feels, even if it shouldn’t.

I tilt my head back slightly to meet his gaze again, my hand sliding up his chest to rest just above his heart.

“So,” I say, my tone casual but laced with a hint of something more, “tomorrow…”

His eyes darken with interest. “Yeah?”

I give him a coy smile. “I could make it worth your while if you get a win.”

He raises a brow, his grip on my waist tightening. “Oh? And what exactly does ‘worth my while’ entail?”

I shrug, playing it cool. “Guess you’ll have to win to find out.”

He groans dramatically, leaning his forehead against mine again. “Now I’ve got pressure.”

“You love it though” I tease, throwing his words back at him.

He pulls back slightly, eyes narrowing playfully. “I’m holding you to this.”

“Good. But this is if you win.”

He pouts, an exaggerated look of defeat crossing his features. “Podiums are awesome too! Come on, at least give me top three.

I tilt my head, pretending to think about it. “Hmm, tempting… but no.”

He shakes his head, but he’s grinning now, his dimple making an appearance. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you love it” I say again, and this time, I mean it in more ways than one.

“Okay,” he says, his tone amused “but when I win, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re that confident?”

He smirks, leaning in just close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. “You just gave me one more reason to be.”

There it was again, that damn confidence. How was I ever supposed to resist that?

The heat of his body seeps into mine, making my pulse quicken, and for a second, I realize he’s the one with all the control here.

“Good,” I murmur, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. “Now go do whatever it is you do here.”

He watches me with amusement as I head toward the door. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah. Some of us have work”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable”

“Stole my line Hamilton” I glance over my shoulder, giving him a wink “But now you’re the one smiling.”

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

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[vivwritescrappythings]

king of the joust

knight!könig x plussize!fem!reader

you go to a tourney, a knight you’ve never seen before wants your favor

an: this could become a series—not sure, just wanted to write this. inspired by a drawing of könig by @whocaresabouttactical that i just could not get out of my head (your work is amazing btw).

tw: fem reader, plus size reader

word count: 1.8k

masterlist

—

Tourney days were the worst of all.

It always devolved into madness–your mother devoted to getting your sister prepared enough to catch a knight’s eye. You primped and pinched and cinched all morning, stuffing her into a dress she could hardly breathe in and pulling the corset strings tight.

You were dressed similarly, your gown far less expensive and hair left loose around your face rather than the intricate braided style she wore. It was not worth it to spend the time on your attire. Your sister was older by a year and the prettier of the two of you, securing a marriage swiftly was becoming one of the most important things in her life.

You were welcomed with the other noble families beneath the tented area of the stands, your parents headed toward the back to greet your brothers and their wives as you milled near the front railing with your sister. She was staring dreamily at the arena.

The knights were already out, walking with their horses and talking with their squires.

“Do any catch your eye?” you asked, watching your sister’s gaze flicker over the armored men below. Some had their helmets off, casting charming smiles into the stands of onlookers. You could hear young ladies giggling around you.

“Maybe Ser Garrick,” she said after a few moments of contemplation. You followed her stare, seeing him speaking to another knight with his helm still on, the face of it shaped like a skull.

He was handsome, you couldn’t deny that. If anything, you were surprised he was a knight. He looked as though he had never seen a day of battle, his skin smooth and clear, no lines of worry etched into his face to match those of his companions.

You hummed, nodding. “He certainly is pretty,” you murmured with a giggle. Your sister rolled her eyes, embarrassed as she shyly agreed.

You could see it, the two of them married with an estate and children of their own. Rumors of Ser Garrick promised that he was kind, if not a bit vain. But your sister was vain, too—it would be perfect.

You both had favors: your sister kept running her fingers over the crimson scarf she’d brought with her while you twisted your woven laurel of leaves and flowers and ribbon over your wrist. You knew someone would ask for your sister’s favor—she was so beautiful that men would pine for her even if she were common born.

It would not be a stretch to assume that you would be bringing your favor home with you. You were of marrying age, but destined to be a spinster. It was your nature to let your sister shine, often lingering along the edges of the room or in her shadow.

The horns signaling the tourney was about to start pulled you from your reverie as your sister yanked you into the seat next to hers. Right in the front.

While you hated tourney days, jousting sent a thrill through you like no other—you often were halfway out of your seat, peering over the railing as you watched the knights. The horses were huge and sleek, their muscles rippling beneath their coats as they charged. The splitting sound of lances on shields echoes through the arena filled you with adrenaline as though you competed amongst them.

The knights trotted just below the stands, calling up to girls between bouts and earning favors. Your sister practically fainted when Ser Garrick shouted up to her, his lance resting on the railing in front of you. You had to shove her forward.

“My sister was telling me that you look rather gallant this morning, Ser Garrick,” you said, smiling sweetly at her as you nudged her with your elbow. The mortification was clear in her expression before she tweaked it into a smile as she nodded primly.

Ser Garrick laughed, the sound clear and deep. “Well, I would be pleased to have your sister’s favor if she is offering it,” he said, gaze focused on her.

You bumped her again, finally snapping her out of her shock. She smiled demurely, producing the scarf she had tied into a circle. The fabric was wispy and light, the baby pink contrasting with his black and red lance as she looped it over the end and let it slide down to the pommel. “I wish you luck,” she said, batting her eyelashes prettily at the knight.

“I thank you, my lady,” he called back up to both of you, smiling at your sister and nodding to you before bringing the visor of his helmet down and going to take his place.

You fell back to your seat with your sister, her hand wrapped around your arm as she squealed. Her excitement was plain to read, the grin on her face and the sparkle in her gaze said more than enough as she pitched into you. Her laugh was absorbed in your shoulder as you chuckled.

You never doubted that he would gaze at her.

Ser Garrick jousted admirably, defeating his opponent in just a few bouts. You could not be bothered to know who it was, only that his armor was dented as he was cleared away with his horse in tow.

The rest of the morning blended into listening to your sister blather on about Ser Garrick and the crack of lances on shields and breastplates. It was easy to stop listening, making soft sounds of agreement and occasional nods of understanding as you twisted your favor around in your grip. You knew if you listened you would only feel jealous.

Your thoughts wandered, pondering the way the bodice of your dress cinched in your soft stomach, the sleeves of your gown loose until they gathered at your wrists to cover the gentle slope of your shoulders and the extra flesh on your upper arms. You rested your chin on your hand, trying to subtly pull back the softness of your jaw. There was no hiding that you did not look like your waif of an older sister.

You knew that. The difference between you two was easy to feel, to understand. The way eyes glazed and shifted over you as though you were not there, as though you did not deserve to be there. The whispers of your parents discussing arranging a marriage with one of your father’s friends haunted you. But lords and knights and even common boys looked right past you regardless of your noble blood.

“Sister.” The sharpness of her tone brought you out of your spiral of self-pity. She was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Yes?” you asked, blinking a few times as you sat up in your seat.

There was a lance resting on the railing.

“I think he means to get your attention.”

Your brow furrowed, the words took a few moments to make sense before you stood. You placed your hands on the polished wood, carefully peering over.

The knight below was one you had never seen before. He was huge, limbs thick with muscle beneath his dark armor. The warhorse beneath him was large to accommodate him, dwarfing the other horses and squires. He wore no helm, holding it on his thigh as his other hand steadied the lance. But you still did not see his face, a black cloth with two circles cut for the eyes covering his head.

Like an executioner.

“You wished to see me, Ser…” you trailed off, waiting for an introduction.

His blue eyes simply crinkled at the corners like he was smiling beneath the shroud, he nodded. Then his hand left his helm carefully balanced on his leg, retrieving something from near his stirrup.

In a flash it was tossed up to you, harmlessly glancing off your arm. Your sister practically dove to retrieve the object, showing you a stuffed bear with a perplexed look on her face. It was small, but crafted nicely. There were two little X stitches for the eyes, no mouth or other features stitched onto the soft fabric.

Your brow furrowed as you reached out for it, turning the bear in your hands with care. It was sweet.

The knight was watching you carefully, seemingly waiting for your reaction. You could feel your cheeks warming, a threat smile made the corner of your lip twitch. You had never received a gift from a man that was not a member of your family.

Your sister cleared her throat. You were taking too long.

“Well, I suppose a favor for a favor is in order,” you said, loud enough for the knight to hear you below.

His eyes crinkled at the corners again. Another nod.

You took your favor of weaved flowers and grasses and ribbons scraps, pressing a kiss to the leaves before looping it over the edge of his lance and watching it fall toward him. The colors of the foliage matched the forest green spiral painted on the wood.

“I wish you luck,” you said, clutching the bear in one hand as you leaned over the railing.

He was looking at the favor, running his gloved fingers touching the ribbons and caressing the flower petals. Then his attention was returned to you, he tapped the lance against the railing one, two, three times.

It felt like a thanks.

You watched him settle his helmet over his head before returning to your seat. The shocked expression on your face was mirrored by your sister, the two of you staring at the small stuffed bear in your hands.

A gift from a knight was unheard of at a tourney. Maybe a gift would suit a marriage proposal, or an attempt at courting. But not a simple tourney day.

And not from a knight you had never even seen before.

The smash of a lance against a shield made you look up, watching the knight’s opponent go crashing off his horse. And it continued. Every competitor that faced him ended up bested, sprawling across the dirt.

One pulled his sword, the mystery knight sliding off his horse to meet the challenge. He was taller than you anticipated, standing a full head over his opponent as he drew the sword from his hip. It was hardly a contest, the smaller man made to yield after being quickly disarmed and a blade at his throat.

It was only at the end of the day you learned his name. Ser Kilgore—it was announced proudly across the arena in light of his victory. Whispers calling him “King of the Joust” carried as you found your parents and prepared to leave.

You kept looking over shoulders and heads in the crowd, standing on your tiptoes to try to get a glimpse of Ser Kilgore. The fluttering at the pit of your stomach already told you all you needed to know—you wanted to see him again.

It was only in the carriage back to your estate that you noticed the stitching on the leg of the bear, black and a bit clumsy.

KÖNIG.

[anniebeemine]

spoiled- s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: Spencer spoiling his kids def comes back to bite him in the ass

Spencer wanted nothing but the best for his children. Since finding out he had one on the way, he spent weeks hunched over online articles, debating the best car seats, the safest family cars, and the most comfortable strollers. He read everything—from parenting blogs to consumer reports—until his eyes burned and his back ached from sitting for so long. No detail was too small. The color of the car seat, the weight of the stroller—everything mattered because this was his child.

As Melanie grew, so did his tendency to spoil her. He carried a mini fan around for her in the summer to make sure she was cool enough. In the winter, he always had a stash of hand warmers to stuff in her pockets. He didn’t care if people thought it was excessive; he’d do anything to keep her comfortable and happy.

But now, standing in the middle of the mall with his daughter screaming at the top of her lungs, Spencer realized some of that spoiling had been a mistake.

It had started innocently enough. Melanie needed a few long-sleeve shirts for school, and with the temperatures dropping, Spencer thought it would be a nice afternoon outing. They’d stopped in the store she loved, all girly pink and frills, the kind of place that lit up her eyes. He’d let her pick out earrings, scarves, and other trinkets he wasn’t sure she’d need, but the way her face lit up made it worth it.

Then, she saw the tiara. It was glittering under the store lights, solid gold with delicate rhinestones, sitting in a glass case as if it were meant for a real princess. Melanie’s eyes had widened, and she reached out for it like it was the most important thing in the world.

"No, Mel. Not today," Spencer had said gently, kneeling down to her level. "It’s too expensive, and you don’t need another tiara."

But she wasn’t having it. Her lip trembled, and before Spencer could even blink, she dropped to the floor, her light-up sneakers kicking out as she let out a blood-curdling scream.

Every head in the store turned toward them, eyes wide. Spencer’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to calm her down, but Melanie wasn’t listening. She was kicking, screaming, and pounding her fists against the floor.

“Melanie, stop it,” he said firmly, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up his neck. Other parents passed by, some averting their eyes awkwardly while others gave him knowing, sympathetic looks.

Spencer picked her up, her little body thrashing in his arms as her cries echoed through the mall. He carried her to the parking lot, feeling every pair of eyes on him as he walked, his face flushed with embarrassment. When they reached the car, she fought him again, pushing his hands away when he tried to buckle her into the car seat. Her face was red, tear-streaked, and contorted with anger.

He sighed, stepping back and waiting. He couldn’t force her. He had to wait until she calmed down.

After what felt like an eternity, Melanie finally stopped thrashing, her sobs quieting down to soft hiccups. She allowed him to buckle her in, but as he drove home, she kicked at the back of the seat, whining and crying about how they hadn’t even gotten the pretzels they always got when they went to the mall.

By the time they got home, Spencer was exhausted. Melanie, far too old to be throwing tantrums like this, stomped into the house, her little fists balled up at her sides.

"Melanie," Spencer said, his voice stern, but not angry. He pulled her little pink chair from her tea set and placed it in the corner of the living room. "Sit here."

Her face dropped, and she looked at him with wide, apologetic eyes, as if she suddenly realized she had gone too far. Normally, he would’ve caved, let her go about her day with a warning or a talk. But not today. Today, he needed to set a boundary.

Melanie sat down slowly, her tiny toes barely touching the floor. She sniffled, her lip quivering, but she didn’t argue. Soft cries escaped her, and Spencer’s heart ached, but he stood firm.

You had heard it all from the other room. When you walked into the living room and saw Melanie sitting in the corner, her head bowed and her small shoulders shaking, you knew something had happened. But instead of going to her first, you went to find Spencer.

He was in your shared bedroom, sitting in the chair near the corner that was often inhabited by a pile of unfolded laundry. His head was in his hands, and his whole body looked tense, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You knelt in front of him, gently running your hands over his forearms until he looked at you.

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Melanie?” he asked, his voice quiet and tired.

You chuckled softly and smiled. “I came to talk to my husband, to find out what she did. And why he put himself in time-out.”

A small, exhausted laugh escaped Spencer, and he shook his head, sitting back in the chair. “She threw the biggest tantrum I’ve seen in years... over a tiara,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face. “I tried to reason with her, but she just... lost it. I had to put her in the corner." His voice lowered. "I’ve never had to do that before.”

You squeezed his hand. “You did the right thing.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with guilt and frustration. “I don’t know... I feel like I’ve spoiled her so much that this is partly my fault. She’s never acted like that before.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “Parenting isn’t easy, and she’s growing up. But setting boundaries is important. You’re doing great, Spencer.”

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little as he finally let go of some of the tension. “I just hate seeing her like that.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But she’ll be okay. And so will you.”

After a few minutes of quiet, Spencer stood up from the chair, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion but his mind clearer. He walked back into the living room, where Melanie still sat in the little pink chair, her face flushed and tear-streaked. Her legs swung idly as she sniffled, her fingers picking at the hem of her shirt. When she saw him coming, she straightened up slightly, her big eyes watching him closely.

He knelt down next to her, making sure they were at eye level. Spencer wasn’t one to raise his voice or discipline in anger, and he wanted her to know this was about more than just the tantrum. He needed to help her understand.

"Mel, do you know why I asked you to sit here?" he asked gently, his voice soft but steady.

She hesitated, her bottom lip wobbling. "Because... I was bad," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Spencer shook his head slowly, reaching out to take one of her tiny hands in his. "No, you weren’t bad. But the way you acted at the mall—screaming and kicking like that—it wasn’t okay. It’s not how we handle things when we don’t get what we want."

Melanie looked down at her shoes, her face flushed with embarrassment. "But I really wanted the tiara," she muttered, a little tremble in her voice.

"I know you did," Spencer said, squeezing her hand gently. "And it’s okay to want things. But sometimes, we can’t always have everything we want, especially if it’s something that’s too expensive or something we don’t need right now. I told you no, not because I didn’t want you to be happy, but because I thought it was the best decision. That doesn’t mean you throw a tantrum when you don’t get your way. We can talk about it, but you have to stay calm."

Melanie sniffled again, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Spencer smiled softly and brushed a few strands of hair from her face. "I know you are. And I’m not mad at you, okay? I love you more than anything in this world. But I need you to understand that acting like that isn’t the right way to get what you want."

She nodded, her eyes watery as she looked up at him. "I understand," she whispered. "I won’t do it again."

Spencer nodded, feeling a bit of relief wash over him. "That’s all I ask," he said, pulling her into a gentle hug. She wrapped her small arms around his neck, clinging to him as if she was afraid he’d still be upset. He held her tightly, letting her know that everything was okay now.

When they finally pulled apart, Melanie glanced up at him with wide eyes. "Maybe... we can look at tiaras tomorrow?" she asked hesitantly, her voice small but hopeful.

Spencer chuckled softly, the tension in his chest finally easing. "Maybe," he said, smiling down at her. "We’ll see if we can find something more reasonable, okay?"

Melanie nodded eagerly, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. Then, with a seriousness far beyond her years, she patted his leg. "But you need some time to calm down first, Daddy," she said, her voice filled with that innocent wisdom only children possess.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and full of affection. "I think you might be right," he said, standing up and holding out his hand to her. "How about we both calm down together, maybe with some ice cream?"

Melanie grinned, taking his hand as she jumped up from her chair. "I like that idea."

As they walked toward the kitchen, you appeared in the doorway, watching the two of them with a soft smile. You’d been listening from the hallway, and the tenderness in their exchange made your heart swell. Spencer caught your eye and gave you a small, knowing smile. The storm had passed, and you knew that, together, you’d figure out the rest.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

there’s something so harrowing about the jar innards being mob enemies.

in most of Fromsoft games there is always that one all-female group that was either maimed or killed for a greater purpose, but Elden Ring shrine maiden is the first time they are connected to an existing, NAMED character we know AND we are aware of the full process of their suffering AND we still literally have to perpetuate it just to get through a game level.

Fire Keepers are mostly NPCs, they could be harmed but it’s not required. That one ending in DS3 where you literally not only kill her but step on her head to get what you want? I never do that ending. It already makes me feel awful.

The Blood Saints (Adella, Adeline, even Arianna & Iosefka), same thing. They could be fought, but you could also leave them alone, and they are still NPCs more than active hostile enemies. The Ookami warriors… let’s be real how many players actually know they are human girls being sacrificed and eaten by the Mist Nobles to perpetuate their cycle of immortality? It’s a subtle form of horror that would fly over most players’ head if they are not paying attention.

But the shrine maidens? Just the fact that they were connected to the most important character in the game makes them stand out from others before them. Yet they are not NPCs. We can’t talk to any of them. They are actively hostile enemies we can’t even reliably run past. I don’t even feel this horrible fighting pregnant Yharnam.

Idk, if I go into another play through I think i’ll just skip the DLC gaols entirely. Especially the Lamenter one. They scream and cry in it my god.

[pinesorneedles]

the thing i just don't get about the whole "buffy should be alone" thing is that her most consistent internal struggle throughout the show is a sense of perpetual loneliness due to her position as the slayer. like, her being 16 and forced into duty that she's not able to step away from. and when the show transitions from being about growing up to living in adulthood, the biggest thing that stays with her is this sense of perpetual loneliness.

and the way that "a woman should not be defined by the men she's involved with" associates to "women aren't deserving of support systems" is so,,, fucked up. that faux-feminist idea that women having independence is more important than women being involved in community (and the way the scoobies, including spike, initially form such a "it takes a village" approach to raising dawn) does such a disservice to what i feel the strengths of the show are.

and come ON! buffy holds her own both narratively and in the story of the show. she's never a character who's traits are changed or defined based on who surrounds her. while i certainly have criticisms of the writing of the show, buffy is such a consistently well-drawn character. but she is affected by the people in her life at any given moment. in the way any good character should be.

anyways let my girl be happy with a man who's able to see her in both her loneliness and her joy.

[its-avalon-08]

it all fell down (ln4)

part11

multipart story! part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8 part9 part10

✦ pairing - lando norris x female reader

very important note at the end - pls read it

summary : lando norris and y/n were friends for 20 years, fell in love and dated for five. until it all fell down. they left each others lives abruptly and never spoke again, until they met again in the most unexpected way. can they find their way back or will certain scars never heal?

Y/N and Lando walked back to her apartment in silence, the cool rain still falling lightly around them. Their hands were entwined, the contact grounding them as they made their way through the quiet streets. Every step felt like a promise, every glance a reassurance that they were finally on the same page, ready to confront the past that had haunted them for so long.

As they entered Y/N’s apartment, the familiar warmth of the space enveloped them. She flicked on the lights, casting a soft glow over the room, and dropped her keys on the counter. For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of what had happened between them settling in the air.

Lando took a deep breath, breaking the silence. “We should talk.”

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding. “Yeah, we should.”

They moved to the couch, sitting down with a cautious distance between them, the tension from before replaced with a more vulnerable kind of anticipation. The kind that came from knowing that the next few minutes could either heal them or break them all over again.

Y/N was the first to speak, her voice trembling with emotion. “I never wanted things to end the way they did. I was just… scared, Lando. Scared of how much you meant to me, scared of losing myself in you. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Lando’s eyes softened as he looked at her, the pain of their breakup still fresh in his memory. “I get it, Y/N. I was scared too. But the way we both handled it… the things we said…”

His voice broke slightly, and Y/N reached out, her hand finding his. “We hurt each other so badly,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ve never regretted anything more than the way I treated you. I thought pushing you away would make it easier, but it just… destroyed us.”

Lando squeezed her hand, his own eyes glistening with tears. “You said dating me was a mistake, and it killed me, Y/N. I kept hearing those words over and over, wondering if you ever really loved me at all.”

Tears spilled down Y/N’s cheeks as she shook her head, her voice cracking. “I didn’t mean it, Lando. I was so angry, and I just wanted to hurt you because I was hurting. But I never, ever believed that. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Lando’s breath hitched, his own tears now falling freely. “It wasn’t just you, though. I said things too, things I can’t take back. I was so hurt by what you said, I wanted you to feel the same pain I was feeling. But all it did was tear us apart.”

Y/N leaned closer, her voice breaking with emotion. “I hated myself for letting you go, for saying those things. Every day, I missed you, Lando. But I was too proud, too scared to admit that I was wrong.”

Lando’s hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb gently wiping away her tears. “I missed you too, more than I can even explain. But I was so angry at you, and at myself. I felt like I wasn’t enough for you, like I couldn’t make you happy.”

Y/N shook her head, more tears falling. “You were everything to me, Lando. I was just too blind to see it at the time. I let my fear control me, and I lost the most important person in my life because of it.”

Lando’s voice was thick with emotion as he spoke. “I felt the same way, Y/N. I lost myself in the anger, in the pain of losing you. I started acting out, trying to forget, but nothing worked. Nothing made me feel better.”

The air between them was heavy with all the unsaid words, all the pain that had been bottled up for so long. Y/N’s heart ached as she looked at Lando, seeing the hurt in his eyes, knowing she had put it there.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “For everything. I wish I could take it all back, Lando.”

Lando shook his head, pulling her closer. “We can’t change the past, but we can start over. We can try again, if you still want that.”

Y/N’s tears flowed freely as she nodded, her heart swelling with hope. “I do, Lando. I want that more than anything. But I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Lando pressed his forehead to hers, his voice a soft, broken whisper. “We’ll figure it out, Y/N. Together this time. No more running away, no more pushing each other away. Just us, facing whatever comes together.”

Y/N let out a sob, the weight of the past finally lifting from her shoulders. “I love you, Lando. I never stopped.”

Lando’s own tears fell as he pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her as if he would never let go. “I love you too, Y/N. And I’m not going anywhere.”

They held each other for a long time, their tears mingling as they finally let go of the pain that had kept them apart for so long. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms, ready to start over.

Y/N and Lando sat on her couch, the heaviness of their earlier conversation giving way to a lighter, more playful atmosphere. The weight of their past had been lifted, leaving space for something new—something familiar, yet fresh.

Y/N curled up, tucking her legs under her as she sipped on the hot chocolate Lando had made. She glanced at him, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “So, tell me… how many dates did you go on while we were broken up?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Me? Dates? Nah, I was just too busy being a ‘man of mystery’ or whatever the tabloids were calling me.”

Y/N chuckled, nudging his shoulder. “Oh, come on. You know I kept tabs on you. You weren’t exactly subtle about it.”

Lando grinned, leaning back against the couch. “Okay, fine. I went on a few dates… but none of them ever felt right. I’d be sitting there, trying to make conversation, but all I could think about was how you would have rolled your eyes at the things they were saying.”

Y/N laughed, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks. “Well, for the record, I didn’t date much either. I tried, but every guy just felt… off. They weren’t you.”

Lando’s smile softened as he looked at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “So, we were both equally terrible at moving on, huh?”

“Pretty much,” Y/N admitted, laughing. “I even went out with this one guy who was super into cars, hoping it would make things easier. But all I could think about was how much you’d love to debate him on whether Ferrari or McLaren was better.”

Lando snorted, shaking his head. “That poor guy didn’t stand a chance.”

Y/N giggled, the sound light and infectious. “Nope, not at all. And every time I’d see a photo of you with some model, I’d convince myself that I was totally over you… but then I’d stalk your Instagram and see your stories, and I’d realize I was just lying to myself.”

Lando chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I may have done some stalking myself. I’d see you posting about all the new things you were doing, and I’d try to convince myself that you were happier without me. But it only made me want to reach out more.”

Y/N shook her head with a smile. “It’s kind of sad, isn’t it? We were both trying so hard to move on, but we couldn’t stop thinking about each other.”

“Sad?” Lando repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I think it’s kind of sweet. We’re both just hopeless when it comes to each other.”

“Yeah, hopeless,” Y/N agreed, her voice softening. “I guess that’s what happens when you fall in love with your best friend.”

Lando’s expression grew tender as he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I missed you so much, Y/N. No one could ever compare to you.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his words, and she placed her hand over his, squeezing it gently. “I missed you too, Lando. Every single day.”

They sat there in comfortable silence, their fingers intertwined, both of them reveling in the warmth of their reunion.

Lando glanced at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, if we’d just swallowed our pride a little sooner, we could have avoided all those awful fucking dates.”

Y/N laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “True. But then we wouldn’t have these funny stories to tell.”

“Fair point,” Lando conceded, grinning. “And, hey, at least we know now that no one else stands a chance.”

Y/N smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “No one ever did, Lando. It was always you.”

Lando wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. “And it was always you for me, too.”

As they sat there, cuddled up on the couch, the weight of the past fell away entirely, leaving only the warmth of the present. They were no longer two people trying to move on from each other—they were two people who had finally found their way back home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------avaspeaks - hi lovelies! im so sorry for being gone for so long, exam prep threw me for a toss and i was so occupied and busy. but now im back for good and ready to update the blog. i felt so awful for not updating because i know the frustration when a series is just left unfinished. but worry not because your girl is back and ready to finish all the requests and series!

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

taglist ---> @misspygmypie @kol67-t @sltwins @f1fantasys @sarx164 @imboredway2much @demandealalune e @elz-xo o @bellelovesharryy @hey-there9-its-me @marauders-wife @itsjustfranzi @l-sofiamia-l @ironmaiden1313 @01rrdbull @avni-sarai @maddy27

comment to get added to the taglist

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Soldier Of Death (7)- Recruitment

Natasha Romanoff X Super Soldier Reader 18+

Summary: Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

This fic will contains dark themes. Please read these warnings before starting any of these chapters: graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore and torture, heavy angst, mental issues.

Please consider these warnings before reading

Word Count: 2.7k

General Masterlist | The Soldier Of Death Masterlist

Chapter Warning: Dark thoughts, anxiety, brief reference to torture

—

"You wanted to see me?" Natasha says as she strolls into Nick's office, him requesting her presence as soon as possible. The redhead ditched the mission reports she was doing to come and see the Director, having a feeling this was something far more important.

"How are things progressing with our Soldat Smerti?" he asks as his eye is trained on her, his expression blank as he doesn't want to give away his ideas. Natasha also keeps her face stoic as for some reason the name he called you bothered her, did he not see that your name was Y/n on the file she submitted?

"She's open to talking more, still very hesitant and cautious but that's understandable for someone who's been institutionalised for a large amount of time, especially someone who was maltreated," Natasha replies, having spent more time with you over the last couple of weeks, still delivering your food but also trying to get you to talk more, expressing how you weren't going to be hurt here.

"You have taken a liking to her," he says, a little out of nowhere, catching the redhead by surprise. "You would have made your assessment by now but you seem to be waiting for something," her jaw clenches subtly, not liking how somehow this man was always able to have some sort of read on her. "What are you waiting for?"

"She wants to accept our offer," Natasha answers honestly, the man's smile sneaking onto his lips as his own plans were falling into place, the assassin unaware of his ideas. "She's just scared."

"Do you think she could be an Avenger?" He asks and she pauses for a moment, thinking carefully about his question. She could see that same glint in your eyes that she had when she was first rescued from the red room, that hopeful glint that you would be able to be more than what they made you, but at the same time the fear of betrayal hovering at the back of your mind.

"In time, yes," Fury moves to stand from his chair, moving to lean against the front of his desk while Natasha stands in front of him, her arms crossing over her chest as the man ponders for a moment.

"Why are you so sure about her?" Natasha watches the man's curious gaze, his hands resting against the wooden desk as the redhead responds to her boss.

"When Clint didn't take his shot against me in Budapest, he told me that he had this gut feeling about me, that I could be more than what they made me," Fury listens with interest at Natasha's words, remembering the mixed emotions he felt that day when Clint disobeyed his orders but helped saved what would soon become one of his most valuable agents. "I have this same feeling about her," she confesses and the man knows not to take this lightly, the Russian never letting her emotions affect her work, renowned for her professionalism.

The room lingers in silence for a moment, both figures letting the weight of the situation settle before Fury speaks up, a plan having formed in his head.

"Talk to the team about her being potentially recruited, see what they make of it," he says and Natasha is a bit suspicious as to why she was doing it, Fury normally taking the lead on these types of situations.

"What are you going to do?" she asks and he just chuckles at her scepticism.

"I'm going to talk her into accepting our offer," he says, the smile now visible on his lips as he sees the small one tugging at the redhead's lips, "See you soon Romanoff."

***

"He wants to do what?" Steve's tone laced with disbelief as he braces his arms on the kitchen island, having just finished making a smoothie after his morning run.

"He wants us to give her a chance," Natasha answers, the super soldier letting out a sigh before taking a large sip of his drink, the rest of the team gathered in various places around the common room, listening in to the conversation.

They were all up to date about you, brief knowledge of your past and known abilities being sent to them all in your file once you were brought back into the base and put in the glass cell. They knew you were powerful and loyal, so the question was would you be able to betray Hydra and trust them.

"Why should we do that? She's done nothing to prove she won't just try and kill us all," Steve says, still bitter about the pain in his side, multiple ribs having been broken during the last encounter with you, the moment where you almost decapitated him also being added to the list as to why he wasn't fond of you. "She's powerful and dangerous," he says, caution in his tone as he tries to get his point across, "She's also clearly not in control."

"She needs our help," Wanda cuts in, taking a few by surprise as she tended to stay quiet during conversations like this, only speaking once someone asked her opinion. "We can help her, that's what we do right? As Avengers?" Her words settle in a few, Natasha smiling at the brunette woman and nodding her head subtly in appreciation.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this," Tony says, finally speaking up which was unlike his character, normally first to voice his opinion in literally anything. "I agree partly with the old man," he says, earning a disapproving look from Steve at the nickname, "We can't be sure it's safe. Statistically, the chances of her losing control or hurting one of us is extremely high."

"See someone who agrees-" Steve tries to say, being cut off by the billionaire.

"I haven't finished Capsicle," he says, a mocking smile on his lip at the other nickname he called Steve who just glared at the man. "But since when has anything we have done been safe?"

"That's because of you Tony," Steve mutters, "You're the one who always puts us in these situations,"

"Last I recall, you were the one who wanted an ex-hydra brainwashed murderer to join our team, what's different about this one?" Steve's jaw visibly clenches at Tony's description of Bucky, the brown haired man making a valid point though. You were extremely similar to Bucky, if they could help him, why couldn't they help you?

"Bucky's different," he grits out, defending his best friend while everyone else in the room notices the tension rising in the atmosphere. "I know him."

"Knew," corrects Tony, "You knew him, Hydra changed him."

"This isn't about Bucky," Natasha cuts in, not wanting a proper fight to break out between the two, the billionaire lacking the care of stepping too far over the line, Steve being far too defensive about his friend. "Look at the facts, yes she's hydra but how many of us here have a past we want to forget, we want to put behind us? She's no different to some of you when you first joined, so why should we put that against her?"

Everyone listens as Natasha takes control of the room, Clint hiding a smile at his best friend and noticing this was her moment with you. She wasn't taking her shot with you just as he did her.

"As Steve said, she's powerful, we need that if we want to stop Hydra and any other threats."

"Since when did you do the speeches Romanoff," teases Tony, already making his mind up about his stance on your potential recruitment to the team. "How about we have a vote?" he says, using his typical cocky voice to get the other's opinion, "Who thinks Y/n should join?"

In his usual manner, Tony playfully raises his arm, making a show of himself before looking around the room to see who else agrees. Wanda raises her arm up shyly, Natasha doing so more confidently, just not as dramatically as the billionaire, Clint also raising his hand up as he trusts Natasha's gut feeling about you, the rest of those in the room, being Steve, Bruce and Vision, Sam and Thor currently not available, keeping theirs down.

Steve goes to protest, but the sounds of footsteps can be heard, interrupting the conversation.

"Well, I'm glad the vote went in our favour," Fury says as he strides into the room with authority, the room going quiet as they see you standing by his side, face stoic to mask your nerves.

Everything was so loud, the electricity buzzing around the room, the tv playing in the corner, the sounds of fists clenching, bodies tensing, hearts starting to race, it was all too loud. It was overwhelming. Steve's heart in particular started to pound against his rib cage, the memories of your last encounter causing him to be tense and on edge, your gaze meeting his blue for a split second before flickering away.

They think we're a monster. They're scared and they should be.

Taunts the darkness, your mask slipping for a second, showing a brief sense of doubt behind your eyes before your face returns to being stoic, mind fighting the gnawing corruption and forcing it to be silent.

"Meet Y/n, your new teammate," Fury says nonchalantly but also in a tone that leaves no room for argument, a few shocked faces as Natasha said potential teammate, not someone who would be joining instantly.

"Fury..." Steve's voice dies out with the glare sent his way, your eyes fixated on the view out of the window, everything else seeming to fade away.

 The compound overlooked acres and acres of field and forest, the sun gently shining down onto the grass causing it to look vibrant, the simple sight of nature almost a phenomenon to you. Too busy staring out of the window, you miss the small smile that creeps up on Natasha's face, Fury going to have a private word with a few of the team while you slowly made your way towards the windows.

You could feel a few people staring at you, your mind trying to stop the racing thoughts and focus on calming down, not wanting to have some sort of panic attack from all the attention on you. You had to block out the incessant heartbeats, the signs of their fear and tried to focus on the steady one nearby. Only once you turned your head did you realise that it was Natasha who was calm, casually walking up to you as you turned your head back to admire the view.

"It's beautiful," you whisper, not used to having such a clear view of outside your surroundings. You were used to concrete walls surrounding you, or even glass ones in a secure room, not the large windows that practically filled the entire wall, displaying the wonders of the outside world.

"It is," she murmurs back, turning her gaze from you to back outside. The others watched from the distance as you two stood near the window, Natasha talking to you while you made sure to memorise every detail you possibly could about the view. "What made you accept the offer?" she asks, curious as to what Fury must have said to you to get you to finally accept it, her emerald eyes scanning over your relaxing features.

Before you can reply, the sound of Steve's voice becoming louder interrupts the moment, Fury's stare hardening at the super soldier.

"This is going to go wrong, it isn't the right move," he says in warning before grabbing his smoothie and leaving the room, shaking his head as he enters the elevator, "I thought we did things as a team Fury, made decisions together."

"You did and you were outvoted," Fury replies and Steve just scoffs at the idea they were using a random voting method to decide your place on the team. He doesn't bother arguing back, letting the doors shut, Fury dismissing everyone and asking for you to join him in the kitchen, away from everyone.

"Remember our deal," he says, tone serious as he addresses you, "Any indication that you're not being honest with us, and you're straight back in a cell, don't make me have to do that Soldier." You nod in understanding, eyes flickering over to a glass on the table, your reflection staring back at you.

What have you done? This was a trap.

Get us out now. If you don't do it, I will. I won't be merciful.

The darkness claws at your mind, your stare going blank for a second as Fury continues to talk to you. The man notices how you seem to grow distant for a second, blinking before returning your attention towards him.

"I will leave you to adjust to everything," he says, catching the nervousness in your eyes and assuming it was from the new environment, not your broken mind. He knows it will be hard to adjust, but he has faith in the rest of the team to help you, especially after the talk he just gave them.

With Fury gone, you're left to sit alone, basking in your thoughts as Natasha holds back with Wanda, watching how the witch seems to be able to hear some of your thoughts while also keeping an eye on you, reading your body language.

Your leg bounces steadily, fingers gripping the glass a little too tight, her brows furrowing at how anxious you seem, never having showed signs like this when you were with her in the cell.

They're always going to be scared of the Soldat.

They sneer, your fingers loosening around the glass as you can feel it straining, about to shatter, the darkness laughing at the close call of losing control already.

You're going to snap. Lose control. This will all be for nothing because I will get out. I will get out and do what needs to be done.

You remain quiet, not in the position to be able to snap back at the darkness, letting them taunt and tease you, trying to get you to lose your composure. You had to learn how to deal with them, how to keep them under control, otherwise they were right. You would snap.

I can't wait to watch the life drain from their eyes, to watch them suffer.

Your jaw clenches painfully, their words purposely trying to rile you up, to prove Steve right that you were dangerous, but you don't react as Natasha comes to sit next to you. She sees straight through the small smile you send her way, Wanda having quietly told her that your static-like mind was growing louder and you needed some sort of distraction, and decides to inform you of the plan for the rest of the day, Fury having told her before he left.

"You've got a busy day ahead of you," she teases softly, emerald eyes matching her tone as she watches you fight yourself internally, your gaze eventually turning to meet her gentle one. "I'll show you around the compound first, then it's medical tests quickly and then showcasing your skills so we have a better understanding of your abilities, is that alright?"

"Medicals?" you say, hesitation evident in your eyes, Natasha's gaze going to your fingers , how they subconsciously trace your veins where you were most likely tested on before.

You can remember the agony you felt from all the injections they forced into you, the searing pain that felt like it was burning you from the insides, test after test, torture after torture, you didn't want to go through that again.

"We just check your vitals to make sure you're healthy," she explains, still watching how your fingers moved to trace a scar instead, your mind still processing something.

"Would I be alone?"

"I'll be there with you," her tone reassuring, the redhead noticing how you visibly relax, hands dropping to your sides to rest. "Now come on, we've got an entire compound to go around," she says with a playful smile, standing up from the chair and motioning for you to follow her, ready to give you a tour of hopefully your new home. 

[abyssal-ilk]

A thing that people always forget when chastising vivienne for being so apathetic to cole is the fact that she is a circle mage. People whom are forced to learn that you should not trust demons nor spirits or else they’ll put you down AS A RITE OF PASSAGE. Think back to what Mouse says in DAO. “Keep your wits about you, mage; true challenges never end.” She knows that for the rest of her life, demons will tempt her and try to possess her. She has seen mages turn into abominations, knows how they get them- of course she will support templars who have the skills to subdue them. And now to have a spirit scurrying around without supervision what is the last bastion against a Tevinter Sidereal… I too would be worried as hell if i were a circle mage.

EXACTLY!

not only is vivienne a circle mage, but there are also a few other factors that play into it that make cole so untrustworthy to her. vivienne underwent her harrowing when she was young– in fact, she was the youngest mage to have ever gone through a harrowing and survived it. we don't get to learn much about what she went through during her harrowing, but we DO have this banter between her and cole:

harrowings on their own are already traumatic enough, and with the added insistence from the circles that all spirits and demons are dangerous (which we see vivienne repeat above, "all it can do is harm."), it makes complete sense on why vivienne would be so put-off by cole! especially given how kind he is! she thinks that kindness is a ploy, and why wouldn't she if her harrowing was anything like the warden's in DAO?

and then that's not even acknowledging the fact that cole isn't just ANY spirit. he's the ghost of the spire. he's killed mages before and admits to doing so. and even though he was wrong to do so and realizes that what he did was wrong, that does not mean that vivienne automatically has to suddenly be okay with what cole did. of course vivienne takes cole being the ghost of the spire harder than everyone else in the inner circle. she is the only circle mage there. it is entirely plausible that she sees cole as a threat and views herself as being the person most able to recognize that threat because of what she was taught. it's why she struggles so much to empathize with cole on any level.

ive already talked about this briefly on another post, but cole is also fairly antagonistic to vivienne as well. it's easy to look at their dynamic and think that, well, cole is just trying to help vivienne but he... isn't? his version of helping her is prying into her thoughts without permission and continuing to do so even after she has shown clear discomfort with it.

cole drags her worst memories and thoughts out publicly in front of not just vivienne, but the rest of the party and anyone else who may happen to be standing near them. it's DANGEROUS, what he does, because vivienne is a player of the game. her position at court is a precarious one, and to have someone like cole who can just pick into her brain whenever he wants with no repercussions? it's scary! it's scary because vivienne has no defense against it, especially if the player supports cole and downplays the harm he does. and what can vivienne do about it? she's an ally of the inquisitor, and that makes her cole's ally by proxy. telling cole to stop doesn't work, insulting him doesn't work, trying to get the inquisitor to intervine doesn't work– nothing seems to deter cole.

which is why THIS piece of dialogue is so important to me:

despite everything i've said above, vivienne still cannot help but care about cole. no matter how dangerous he is, no matter what she was raised to believe, she still cares about him and worries for him. their dynamic is SO interesting to me and i really wish people dug into it a bit more rather than just dismiss it as vivienne being needlessly cruel to cole. it's so much more than that.

[oposssumsaucee]

When the preservation responder finally arrives Mensah could have said anything but when she was put in touch with Secunit the first thing she says is I'm here. Not a request for a report no assertions but I'm here. I dropped everything I was doing so I could be here. The most important things to convey is that no matter what happened and what the news is I'm here and ready and that comes first over anything else. That when she was desperate and vulnerable and powerless on tranrollnhyfa SecUnits mere presence was so immense, so powerful it changed everything and gave her hope, and she would be there to return the favor and protect her loved ones (INCLUDING SECUNIT, even if it doesn't believe so) no matter what until the day she dies.

[orcasoul]

Joel Miller Headcanons

Joel when you're ill.

This idea came to me while dealing with a stomach bug and, oh how I wish Joel Miller would take care of me :)

Joel's bones ache as he rides into Jackson after an eight hour patrol. Knees creaking as he dismounts at the stables, he presses his hands into his lower back and stretches out, a satisfying click rippling through his spine. All he wants now is a hot bath and quality time with his girl. After settling his horse in the stable, he makes his way outside with Tommy, where Maria is waiting to greet her husband.

"How was it?" she asked, pressing a chaste kiss to his Tommy's lips. "Nothing much to report," Tommy began, "A couple 'a' straggler Runners-" "But Tommy shot them from half a mile away," Joel ribbed, at his younger brother, thumping his shoulder. "Damn right!" Tommy grinned and Joel rolled his eyes. "I'll catch you both at the Mess Hall. Just gonna meet Y/N at the greenhouses and we'll join you."

Joel began to stroll away but Maria's next words brought him to a standstill. "She went home earlier, Joel. She's not feeling well." Joel spun to face Maria, eyes wide and chest pounding from a sudden surge of adrenaline. "What's wrong with her? Is it serious? Is she okay?!" "Joel..." Maria raised and lowered her hand. "Breathe... she's alright," Maria insisted with a reassuring smile, "I checked on her a couple of hours ago. Probably just caught a bug."

Joel doesn't have time to hear any more. He needs to get to you now. The thought of you sick and alone is unbearable! His legs move before his brain can catch up, his stiff knees and aching back no longer of any importance. He bursts through the front door to find you balled up in a thick fleece blanket on the settee, fireplace crackling and glowing and a bucket on the floor below your head.

You've always been a light sleeper, and the fact you've remained sound asleep despite the crashing door indicates to Joel just how bad you must be. He kicks off his muddy boots and closes the door, quietly this time so not to disturb you. kneeling in front of you, Joel removes his gloves and gently places his calloused palm on your forehead, instantly feeling the reason for your flushed complexion.

Next he checks your pulse, relieved that it seems normal. He takes a moment to study your face. Even though you look peaceful he feels his heartstrings being tugged at the sight of you so weak and vulnerable. He's overcome with the desperate desire to scoop you up into his arms, to hold you close and make it all go away. If he could trade places with you, he would in a heartbeat.

At the flutter of your eyelids, Joel's pinched eyebrows give way to a tender smile. "Hey, darling," he whispers while smoothing his fingers over your cheek. "I was worried about you. How are you feeling?" You blink slowly and grumble, "Like crap." Joel's lips purse, accompanied by a sympathetic frown. "I'm sorry, baby. What can I do to help?" You shake your head as if to say 'nothing'.

"Have you been drinking enough?" "I've been asleep most of the time," you answer sluggishly. Joel immediately heads for the kitchen, returning moments later with a glass of water. "Here, let me help you up." He sets the glass down on the coffee table, and turning back to you, slides his arm under your shoulders to sit you up, despite your protests that it's hard to keep anything down. The most important thing for you now is to stay hydrated, and he's going to make damn sure you do.

"Hey, why aren't you in bed?" Joel asks softly but sternly as you take little sips. "Wanted to wait up to see you," you smile as you lay back down. Joel tuts and shakes his head. "Darling, you should be in bed, resting properly." "No...," you mutter. "I'm sleeping here tonight. I don't want to pass this onto you." 'Like hell you're sleeping here!" Joel scoffed, his eyebrows hitting his hairline.

"Joel-" "No!" Joel cut you off firmly. "Either you sleep in bed with me or I sleep on the settee with you. Either way, I'm not leaving you alone." "So stubborn," you chuckle, tapping his cheek. Now Joel knows you must really be out of sorts if you're not even going to fight him on this. "Bird's of a feather, sweetheart," Joel retorts with a teasing smirk. He carefully lifts you off the settee bridal style to carry you to bed.

The feeling of you snuggling into his chest begins to calm his racing heart. The warmth of your body, the rise and fall of your ribcage against his, the complete trust you gift him with, once again reminds Joel of his purpose; that he's here to care for and protect the people he loves. This is what he was made for, it's what he knows and it's what makes him, him. He tucks you into bed and pushes any loose strands of hair behind your ear.

With a soft lingering kiss to your forehead, Joel whispers, "Be back in a flash." Pulling himself away from you goes against every natural instinct he has, his entire body thrumming with the need to settle beside you and hold you in his arms. But he's dirty and sweaty from the trail and wants to be clean for you; besides he knows you'd give him hell if he got into bed in his state. A very quick shower will suffice.

After rushing through his shower, he goes downstairs to bring you the glass of water and the bowl - just in case. Climbing into bed next to you, Joel slips one arm under your side and the other around your chest, pulling you into him until your back is flush against his torso. He smiles as you sigh and wrap your arm around his as if you can't get close enough to him.

"Joel?" "Mmm?" "Have you eaten?" " Not yet..." he presses a kiss to the back of your head. "I'll make something later." "Make sure you do," you reply with a hint of finality in your voice. Joel's heart feels close to bursting with the love it harbours for you. What did he do to deserve you? Even when you're sick and exhausted, you're concern for his own welfare never wavers.

Joel tightens his hold on you, running his fingers along your forearm; a sensation, he has learned, which always helps you drop off. "Don't worry about, baby. You just focus on getting better, okay. I'm here for whatever you need, I'll look after you," he promises in earnest. "I love you, Joel." Another kiss to the back of your head. "I love you too, Y/N. Get some sleep now. I'm here."

Joel listens as your breathing evens out. Now that you're asleep, relaxed and safe in his embrace, he can feel the tension in his muscles dissipate. His mind starts to clear and now, and only now can he join you in your ease. As long as you're okay, he's okay.

@pedrospurplerain @picketniffler