#honestly its like no one around here thinks!

[thevibraniumveterans]

This.

Admittedly I don’t read the comics but I’ve seen screenshots here and there that basically have Steve saying he stood for America’s ideals on which it was founded.

Isn’t that the more or less the same thing that Chris Evans and Anthony Mackie said anyway?

Several years ago, when/after TFATWS aired, there was this meme going around that Steve!Cap was who the USA thought it was, Sam!Cap is who the USA should be, and John!Cap was who the USA really is. And honestly, I think that still fits - the mantle and symbol of Captain America is a pretty solid one, and the role represents, or should represent, all that *should* be right with the USA, and all it takes it someone to either elevate it (Steve and Sam) back to its ideals upon which the character was based, or tank it (John) much like what is happening in reality.

And he’s RIGHT. Fuck everyone who is throwing a fit over Mackie speaking the truth. He and Chris Evans know this role better than anyone. Captain America is a figure of American propaganda both in the real world and in the MCU, despite how the characters Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson and actors Chris Evans and Anthony Mackie feel. If you just see the red, white and blue, the propaganda, and not what these characters have stood for, that’s on you. And if you think that America represents honor and dignity for everyone, wake the fuck up. Honestly, just look out the window.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

now on a3 HERE

.

“Holy crapsticks, Derek! Some sort of warning of your imminent wolfy arrival wouldn't go amiss you know? You do own a cellphone—I've seen it with mine own two eyes!”

Derek goes to close Stiles's window, turning his head first to hide his almost-smirk.

“Hey, are you laughing at me?” Stiles asks, affronted.

Derek obviously hides it badly. Or maybe Stiles is just better at catching him out than most people.

Stiles whips off one of his socks, balls it up, and launches at Derek's head. Derek catches it easily before fully turning back around. He then sniffs at it, eagerly, just to gross Stiles out.

It smells—nice, honestly.

Stiles gags. “Oh my God, you are such an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” Derek shrugs.

He kind of can't help himself. It's fun getting snarky with this shithead kid, and it's been a while since he's known what fun looks like.

Derek's an asshole. And he's selfish. Does selfishness makes you an asshole by association? Whatever. He figures he's allowed to be a selfish asshole after everything. He stopped caring about social niceties a while back. Stiles—even if undeserving of a selfish asshole like Derek messing up his life more than it's already messed up—doesn't seem to give two shits about that sort of thing anyway.

There is also something awfully delicious about watching Stiles get riled up. That little jackrabbit heart of his thumping even faster against his frail, human ribcage; those usually pale as the moon cheeks flushing hard as he blushes beautifully from a baby pink through to a deep, blood red.

Selfish Asshole is a pretty good position to be in from where Derek is currently standing, watching a satisfyingly scarlet-faced Stiles flail his skinny arms about like an inflatable tube man outside a cheap car sales room.

He asks Derek what he wants and Derek thinks, you.

It's not exactly a revelation. He's had thoughts. Thoughts he's acted on when he's horny and has a precious few minutes to himself. He'd thought it was just a physical thing, at first.

Until the pool.

He licks at his lips and tastes both Stiles's irritation and his desire.

It's the same for him. Stiles annoys the living crap out of him, but he makes his dick hard too. Plus his heart a little soft, dammit.

It's fucking annoying.

Even more irritating is how there are rules for this shit, ones he actually finds himself wanting to abide by for once. He doesn't really know why but maybe it's because everyone he's been with since the fire has thought he was human, and he doesn't have to pretend with Stiles. Maybe he just likes Stiles more than he thought he did.

He rolls his eyes (not just at Stiles) and shucks Laura's old record bag off his shoulder before opening it and carefully taking out its contents.

“Here, take this.”

Stiles eyes him suspiciously before reaching out and taking the small-ish bundle from Derek's grasp, looking at it as though it might be poisoned. It could be for all Stiles knows, he supposes. The kid sniffs at it with only a fraction of the enthusiasm Derek had for Stiles's sock.

“Dude, why in the name of all that is sacred have you brought me a nosegay? Like, what the fuck is this shit? Looks like a really old Dolmades and smells like, like, I dunno, like somebody shoved a bunch of dead flowers in my Dan-O's jar of Italian Herb seasoning, man. Dear lord,” Stiles complains, holding the homemade smudge stick in the air between a finger and thumb as if it's a dead rat.

…which Derek very much could have gone with instead of an apotropaic charm. To be fair, if he'd chosen an offering as a token of his affections, it probably would've been something a little larger like a rabbit.

Stiles should think himself lucky.

“It's a smudge stick, you idiot,” Derek informs the kid, rolling his eyes again for good measure, and reason. His sockets perpetually ache around this dumbass.

He tosses his bag onto Stiles's desk chair, and himself onto Stiles's bed. Hiding out here a while back left him fairly comfortable around the place.

“Oh! I've read about these a ton on like, magic sites and shit, just—I never actually saw one IRL before.”

Derek scoffs. “Nobody actually says IRL in real life, genius.”

“Well they clearly do, Douchey Mc Dickbag, because I just said it, right here, right now,” Stiles sasses and pulls his tongue out at Derek.

Derek wants to bite and suck on it.

“You don't count. You're not real; you're just one of my recurring nightmares,” he sasses right back because it's fun to.

Selfish asshole.

“Awww, Der-bear! So you not only bring me what is essentially a bunch of flowers on Valentine's Day, but you dream about me too? Honestly, I didn't know you cared, big guy!” Stiles moons, clutching the smudge stick to his chest like a fool.

There's a record scratch moment where Derek has to go back over what Stiles just said.

Valentine's Day?

Before giving himself a chance to panic at the extra pressure this brings, he hears himself saying, “What if I am? And what if I do?” because maybe, actually, thinking about it, this will make it easier for Stiles.

Stiles's heartbeat stutters as he sucks in a big, staccato breath that Derek doesn't think he necessarily meant to take, and he sounds a little incredulous when he whispers, “What?” on the exhale.

Derek gets up off the bed and lopes over to where Stiles is standing, planting himself directly in front of the kid, their noses practically touching. He watches, rapt, as Stiles' cheeks go from moon rocks to rose petals to pools of blood, in a matter of seconds.

“There's white sage and sweetgrass and cedar. And yarrow. Wild indigo. Marigolds, too. And, uh, chamomile and mugwort and rosemary and bay. It's for protection. For you. Because,” he pauses, then thinks fuck it, before barrelling on. “Because I want to protect you, dip-shit,” Derek tells him and hopes, and hopes, and hopes.

I don't know who's gonna protect you from me though, he thinks as Stiles swallows. It sounds like a rock in a lake.

“Oh,” Stiles breathes, batting those long, pretty lashes up at Derek as if he has no idea what effect it has on his predatory nature.

He's never known Stiles to speak in one word sentences before now, and he thinks he very much likes knocking the sass right out of the brat like this.

Stiles squirms a little. “Um, I feel kinda bad, now,” he lies, looking down at the singular sock he's still wearing. He doesn't feel bad at all. He smells of pride and excitement and arousal. “I don't have anything to give you.”

Derek says, “Yeah you do; you started leaving your window open again, ” because they both know that ever since the pool, Stiles wants to trust Derek.

This is not a good idea, he thinks. But Derek is a selfish asshole—remember?

He licks at a canine, and Stiles whimpers.

Fuck, Derek thinks as he says, “Also, you could let me do this,” and licks Stiles from jaw to hairline, before he's nestling his entire face into Stiles's neck with a satisfied growl.

“Oh my fucking fuck, Derek, I am so nosegay for you,” Stiles literally whines, and Derek grins as he nips at the kids throat. “It's Happy Valentine's to the both of us then, I guess,” Stiles practically hums, flinging the smudge stick onto his desk before pushing Derek backwards to fall gracelessly onto his bed.

And for the first time in his life Derek thinks, thank fuck for Saint Valentine's.

.

completely unedited so pls be kind, and a very HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY 💕 — awoooooooo!

[sturnslutz]

matt surprises angel for valentines day.

honestly no warnings besides fluff, smoking, and cursing. happy vday everybody! :) angst at the end, i'm sorry it's dirtbag!matt if u don’t wanna read the plot twist dont read the last sentence

matt was never one for valentines day. you were though. he's spent a couple valentines with a couple girls over the years, but never once bought something for them, other than just a good fuck.

he felt different for you, though. he knew you absolutely adored valentines day. all the pink, the hearts, the love in the air. he wanted to make you feel good, and not just with his dick. he wanted to see you happy.

he still denies having feelings for you.

when he told chris and nick his surprise for you, they couldn't even fathom thinking matt could be this nice, especially for someone he's know for 4 months, max. but they weren't complaining, and they knew you would love it.

this day has been hell for you. you wanted to be happy with valentines day, but your school work was piling with reviews for finals soon, and your job booked you a double shift, which made you confused because it was a library, and you didn't really expect anyone to come on valentines day. you were wrong.

it was around 6:30 that matt had texted you that he was picking you up from work after you mentioned to him earlier that you were working a double. luckily for him, it gave him extra time to set up and to do whatever he needed to do.

he texted you that he was outside, and you clocked out at 6:45. he was waiting outside on the curb, leaning on the passenger side with a blunt in his hand. when the doors opened, he looked over and smiled a bit. "hey, baby." he walked over, wrapping his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

you didn't say anything, just hummed and wrapped your arms around his body. you inhaled his warmth, and his scent of weed and his cologne that you absolutely loved. he noticed your quietness and leaned his head down, kissing your cheek. "y'tired angel?" he asked softly in your ear.

you nodded, pushing your head deeper into his hoodie. "cmon. let's get you in the car, you're freezin'." he pulled away from the hug, but wrapping his arm across your shoulders as he walked you to his car. he opened the passenger side door, gently putting you in.

he got into the car, and started it, and giving you the blunt in his hand, which you happily accepted. "i got a surprise for you, angel. for valentines." your tired self looked up at him as your face lightened almost immediately. "really?" you said happily.

he nodded, smirking. "y'gonna love it. y'can go to sleep. i'll wake you when we get there." he rubs your thigh a bit, before squeezing it and turning on the seat heater for you, just like you like it.

you nod, handing the blunt back to him before leaning your head on the window, immediately letting sleep overcome you. about 15 minutes later, you wake up slightly to kisses on your hand.

your eyes flutter open, but a hand is covering your eyes. "are y'awake baby?" you nod a bit. "okay, i'm covering y'eyes because we're here. i want you to keep your eyes closed and i'll help you get out of the car, okay?" he says softly before kissing your hand again.

you nod again. "promise." he takes his hand off your eyes, and just like you promised, you kept your eyes closed. you heard his door open and quickly run to your side, opening your door now. he grabbed your hand, still making sure your eyes were closed, as he went behind you, pushing your back against his chest as his hand once again makes its way to your eyes. he begins walking slowly and then stops.

he takes his hand off your eyes. "don't open them yet. i need you to know i've never done this for any girl before, or anyone actually. i know i'm a bitch sometimes but y'the sweetest girl i know. chris 'n nick helped me with this. y'can open your eyes now." his speech came out a bit shaky, almost like he was nervous. you've never heard this tone from him before, but your heart fluttered.

you opened your eyes, the sun hitting them directly as the sun was setting. you let your vision become adjusted before actually looking at what was infront of you.

matt had brought you to your favorite spot in all of town, the spot matt had introduced to you, it was where the sun had set right behind the lake and forest, the view being perfect. he had set up a picnic with tons of bouquets of your favorite flowers.

your eyes filled with tears as you smiled big. you looked at matt, who was almost avoiding eye contact as he looked down and picked at his nails. "matt." you said, choked. he looked up at you before his face softened seeing your tears. "fuck- do you not like it? i knew it was cringy but-" "i love it, matt. thank you." you didn't let him get another word out before you hugged the boy, almost knocking the air out of his lungs.

he stood still for a bit, before relaxing into the hug, hugging you back softly. "really? y'like it?" you nod against his chest as he kisses your head before resting his chin on your head, rubbing your back. "cmon. enough cryin'." he says that, but makes no move to actually pull away.

after some time, you did pull away, sniffling. he looked down at your puffy face before he smiles, and you do too. "cmon, angel. let's go eat." he pulls your hand, bringing you to your pink blanket that you left at his house, resting on the grass. once you guys sat down, he thankfully brought his car up close enough to the blanket where you two would be able to lean back against the front, watching the sunset.

what you didn't know was the pics he had of the girl he saw right before he picked you up, in a pair of new lingere he had bought her in your favorite color.

taglist 1: @muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @ilovedanielcaesar @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 @priscillaog @allylovescody @sturniolo101 @mattssslutbby @mattybsgroupie @mattysketchup @m11rx @slut4brunettes @trevorsgodmother @chrislova @slut4christopherr @sturns-mermaid @oopsiedaisydeer @conspiracy-ash @p1mpactivities @sweeetbabysblog @brooklyncameron @chrisgetsmewetter @h3arts4harry @jetaimevous @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @raesturns @sturnsrecord @matteatmeout @luvvs4chriss comment to be added or removed.

[berritart]

toxic!reader x abby nsfw 18+

a/n saw a post that said we need more toxic!reader and what better way to do it is with abby mhm mhm. didnt think it would be this long but i hope u guys enjoy😇

you couldn't even count how many texts your got from abby that night. it was quite hilarious honestly. notifications kept popping up, reading along the lines of "baby what are you doing?" "saw your recent story" or "why are you with your ex?" all you posted was a selfie with your ex girlfriend at a club. yes you might still have feelings for her, and perhaps you did it for pathetic reactions from abby. and it worked.

you never made anything exclusive with abby. she was just friends with benefits. yeah you two would go out, fuck around a lot, and you maybe have a toothbrush and bra at her place, but you never agreed to being her girlfriend. you're just not ready for the commitment.

you're probably oblivious to how abby feels but she never asked you to be her girlfriend either. she never showed obvious signs either. you thought she felt the same way as you, perfectly fine with being fuck buddies. you thought that until you reached the front door of your apartment where a disheveled abby was, leaning against your door.

"abby? what are you doing here?" you question, your voice full of confusion. you were confused as fuck and that might be an understatement. abby's head shot up and faced you, her arms quickly pulling you in her embrace. "missed you...that's all." she whispered against your neck. you pulled away and looked at abby crazy. "at one o'clock in the morning abs?" you enter your front door, abby following behind you like a lost puppy.

"i saw your story and i couldn't sleep." abby admitted, tossing her jacket on the couch. "are you guys together?" you were getting distracted by her biceps and tank top clad torso. if you two wasn't in this predicament you would've been pounced on her but that doesn't matter right now sadly.

"that's none of your business. you don't have the right to pop up unannounce-"

"you always show up at my place and i don't mind. don't be a hypocrite especially right now." abby interrupted your sentence, her eyebrows furrowed from stress. you almost felt bad. and you know you would flip if she posted any other woman. maybe she was right about how she's acting. you would never admit it though.

"no i'm not abby. why do you even care anyways?" you walk closer to her, her face contorted in nothing but sadness. "are you jealous?" a smirk find it's way to your glossy lips, hands cupping her face. "you want me all to yourself huh?"

abby nodded, humming in agreement. her eyes not leaving your lips. she looked so needy, so desperate, so pathetic. and you're making her this way. talk about a ego booster. she nudged against the palm of your hands, rubbing her cheek against them. "need you..." abby whined, letting you guide her face to your lips.

her lips craved yours, almost devouring them as soon as they met. her tongue traced against the opening of your mouth, begging for permission to enter your mouth and you let her. felt like she was sucking the soul out of you, your breath weakening from the prolonged kissing. lips still connected, she picked you up, your legs wrapping around her waist.

as soon as you two entered your bedroom she threw you on your already disheveled bedspread. her hands quickly found its way to the zipper of your mini skirt. "need this pussy and i know she needs me." abby muttered under her breath, loud enough for you to hear. "she can't fuck you like i do. you only need me. say it." abby begged, her eyebrows still furrowed in need. and she's right. no one could make you cum more than 3 times a night, cater to your every need in the bedroom, only she could.

"i only need you baby just please..." you whimpered, only saying it to satisfy her. you brought her hands back to the waistband of your panties, the lacy black thong you only wore because you were seeing your ex tonight. abby wasted no time diving between your legs. she dragged her tongue against your thong, the fabric creating friction against your clit so fucking good. "fuck oh my god-" your nails scratched against abby's sensitive scalp, pulling her messy blonde hair to buck your hips even more. the moan that came out her mouth was almost guttural, only causing her her to speed up the endless torture.

you definitely had authority over abby's feelings, keeping her close with no thought in your head to start dating. but in bed, you're only reduced to a orgasming, moaning mess. abby would always come crawling back to make you feel good, even after 3 days of not messaging each other. she needed you and you sorta need her.

you felt the cold room air hit your folds, your panties getting pulled to your ankles by abby. she didn't give you a lick of time to calm down from her teasing, tongue running through your sopping cunt. she was making louder noises than you, whimpers and whines only causing vibrations to hit your clit. "taste so good angel." she moaned, her blue eyes holding you in a trance, not once breaking eye contact with you. "f-feels so good abby-" you yanked at abby's hair, causing a loud grunt from her lips.

"'m s-so close fuck abby please." you felt the heat in the pit your stomach get worse, your orgasm preparing to wash over your body. her lips latched to your clit, sucking like her life depended on it. you were so close and abby had no mercy, doing whatever it takes to make you cum all over her mouth. you thought that would be it until you felt her thick, calloused digits slip into you cunt, curling in all the right spots. "f-fuck oh my-" your back arched from the bed, grinding against her tongue and fingers. "'m c-cumming abby-" a few more seconds of sucking and fingering your orgasm rushed throughout your body, limbs shaking from the impact. abby held your hips, her tongue cleaning the rest of the juices on your folds. she pulled away to stare at the mess she caused, a grin plastered across her face.

"what else do you need me to do baby? anything you need." abby questioned, her hands exploring your torso under your tank top. "just wanna make you feel good..." your nipples we're between her thumb and pointer finger, pinching and tugging enough to elicit a loud cry from you.

"c-check my drawer." you point towards your nightstand, abby already knowing what you're hinting at. she's too good at fucking you with her strap, especially after an argument (you caused of course). she's definitely on a ten now since she has something to prove and what better way to prove you only need her by drilling you into the mattress.

abby took off her sweats, leaving her only in her tank top and boxers. your lip was between your teeth as you eyed abby as she secured the harness around her hips. not a single thought behind those eyes of yours, only lust and need.

it was a black strap with a few veins running along it's sides. a tad bit too big but it was your favorite on abby. she just knew how to use it, making sure you can feel her in your stomach. you definitely weren't going to be able to walk straight tomorrow morning.

abby positioned herself between your shaky legs, spreading them as wide as she could just so you can be on full display for her. she ran the tip through your folds, pressing it against your sensitive clit. "abby don't tease..." your begs fill the room, wanting nothing more than to have your girlfriend situationship balls deep in your cunt.

"relax baby..." abby hums. "wanna take my time with her." she slipped the tip of her strap in your cunt just to take it out once your gasp hit her ears. you couldn't take it anymore, your head fuzzy, just wanting to be stuffed. you move closer, letting the strap slip into your warm heat. your lips formed a perfect o, your eyebrows being pulled together as her strap continues to stretch your cunt slowly.

"so impatient, we need to work on that." abby shakes her head, sucking her teeth in response to you neediness. she continued slip her length inside you slowly, the stretch hurting so good. she finally bottomed out, the harness already sticky with your cum from your previous orgasm. you started rocking your pelvis area, feeling the tip of abby's strap brush against that spot but not necessarily quite. you were basically teasing yourself, only needing to feel abby fuck you. your weak movements weren't enough.

"you want me to move sweet girl?" abby smiled, her rough hands still pressing down on your legs, keeping them apart so they wont disrupt her view. you nodded repetitively, whines and borderline sobs filling the room. "p-please..."

abby pulled out slowly, only to ram back in with no warning."f-fuck oh my god-" you grabbed her forearms tightly, feeling her strap continue to pump in and out of your heat. she was so fucking deep. you think you almost felt her in your throat. "you can take it mama. i know you can." abby leaned forward, placing your nipple between her teeth, tugging softly. she began to rub her tongue against your hardening bud, still keeping the same pace she was previously terrorizing you with. "feels s'good..." you stuffed your face in the nearest pillow, muffling the noises you were making. you knew in your soul your neighbor would be putting in a noise complaint about you first thing in the morning. but having abby fuck you like she always did, after days on end of no contact, there's only so much you can do.

abby continued to pound into you relentlessly, not giving a chance to really take it in. you felt like you were going to cum any minute now, the pressure in you pelvis area growing more and more, the tip hitting your cervix with no remorse. "'m so close." you cried, looking down to see where you two met.

god it was so sloppy and messy, white painting the black silicone of abby's strap. you swore you could see how deep she was inside you, every thrust causing a bulge to appear near your pelvis. the scene was imprinted in your brain. you don't ever think you could forget how good she is fucking you.

"f-fuck me too." abby's thrusts became sloppier, the slowed friction pushing you over the edge. your whole body spasmed, hands gripping harshly on abby's biceps, leaving marks on her freckled skin. you couldn't even warn her or say you were about to come, only noises could be produced. your release coated her abs and the base of her strap, gluing you two together. your soft pants and whimpers combined with her grunts, her orgasm hitting her once you finished yours.

abby collapsed beside you, lazily taking off her strap. she immediately pulled you in to embrace you. her nose traced against your neck, hands squeezing your waist. "missed this so much..." she hummed, sleepiness washing over her.

you say there, letting the guilt wash over you. you know once she leaves tomorrow morning you ex will still be on the back burner, always there waiting when you're tired of abby. maybe when you wake up you'll have a change of heart, wanting to settle down and start building a better relationship with abby. however, you doubt that completely.

[glasvera]

@nupppuff and @mosh-mosh, I hear you loud and clear! ;)

Blooded Moon

Moon Knight x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Description: When you're on the run, cursed to be a vampire and chased by the superheroes that want to save the city, Moon Knight finds you first. Maybe saving you isn't his best idea, but he'll be damned if he leaves you behind when you're this terrified. Being easy on the eyes also helps.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Gets a little spicy at the end but no smut (yet...?), cursing, angst, blood, blood-sucking, pretty vivid descriptions of the taste (I mean, it's a vampire reader, so what'd you expect?), hurt and comfort, starts out with you being chased

A/N: This has been cooking in my head since I got the first request for him, and honestly, I most likely will make a smutty part two. The main reason I took so long on it was because I wanted to research and be respectful of his DID, but then I ended up barely incorporating it anyway because I didn't feel it necessary and didn't wanna shoehorn it in either.

Word Count: 2.7k

You were one of the first to turn after the moon turned crimson and the sky froze in eternal night. It wasn’t something you asked for, and frankly, you were even more terrified now than you were before becoming a vampire. You weren’t looking for extra power, and even if it smells incredibly good now, the thought of drinking blood made your stomach turn.

The worst of it was how utterly alone you felt. You couldn’t go back to your apartment, returning to your job was out of the question, and you didn’t trust yourself around friends and family.

Oh, and there was the fact that being a vampire made you one of the targets of the superheroes trying to save the city.

This is how you find yourself now, scrambling over a concrete wall as your claws desperately search for purchase against the grit and gray. They're close now; you can hear the distinct rumble and whir of Iron Man's propulsion jets, and Moon Knight's steps clang against the rusted metal of a nearby fire escape. You manage to make it over the wall and into a small alley, tumbling into a pile of garbage bags that only barely soften your landing, but at least you can hide amongst the trash. You cower in the corner and desperately try to contain your breathing as staggered sobs choke in your throat. 

“I lost her!” you hear the distorted, robotic voice of Iron Man as he zips around in the sky.

“All right, you go check the other areas. I'll keep an eye on the ground here,” Moon Knight replies from what sounds like the next building over. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. But you're too weak; you've gone too long without the sustenance your body now craves, and you've expended far too much energy avoiding them until now. Your body trembles, your breaths quivering, and you cover your head with your hands as you curl up and wait for the inevitable. His steps get closer, closer, and you hear his boots crunching over piles of garbage. A soft whimper echoes in your throat.

Surprisingly, a gentle hand gloved in white rests on your shoulder. “Hey… he's gone. Are you okay?”

Wide-eyed, your vision flashes from that hand to the face of its owner, and you let out a terrified and shaky sound at the sight of Moon Knight's hooded and masked visage. His fingertips curl a bit firmer onto the tattered remnants of your sleeve before his thumb rubs soothingly against your skin.

“It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. I can tell you're scared,” he explains as he kneels next to you, his words cold comfort against the fear wracking your feeble frame. “Tony's an idiot; he thinks we're better off getting rid of most of the vampires… but you didn’t become one by choice, did you?”

You shake your head, nose sniffling before you wipe it on the back of your wrist. Even though you can't see his face, you can see the way his body slumps slightly and hear his heavy sigh.

“Thought so. Do you have somewhere safe to go?”

You shake your head again.

Moon Knight looks from side to side, and before you know it, he's scooping you out of the trash heap. You're too frozen to do anything about it, but honestly, you had been half expecting to die from this encounter anyway. Something about his hold is comforting, though, and you're finally able to relax ever so slightly. 

“I'm gonna get an earful for this later, but I'll take you somewhere safe. I promise,” he utters before carting you off into the eternal night. 

-----

You find yourself waiting in a lobby of the Baxter Building just outside the room where Iron Man and Moon Knight argue back and forth. Occasionally, you Mr. Fantastic butt in too.

“She could be dangerous! What if she brings more of them to her?”

“Our location hasn't been a problem in the past. Or did you forget that we're holed up in one of the most prominent buildings in New York City?” you hear Moon Knight's muffled voice through the wall fighting back.

“That's not what I meant! We don't know what these new vampires are capable of. If she's able to breach our defenses and let them in--”

“She didn't ASK for this!”

You jump in your seat when you hear the booming voice of your savior. It appears to have a similar effect on the rest of the room's occupants, as you can't seem to hear any more talking now. There's a murmuring of a woman's voice--likely Invisible Woman--but it's too quiet to make out the words. You hear stomping boots approaching the door and promptly sit up in your seat. Probably best that you don't let it be known that you were eavesdropping. 

The door opens with a click, and Moon Knight's white masked visage greets you. 

“Let’s go,” he says gruffly without any greeting. “I'm tired of dealing with these big time idiots.”

Unsure of what to offer in reply, you wordlessly stand and begin following him as he winds through the hallway towards an elevator. The air is heavy between you as you try to study him for any sign of what he's thinking. Though, you don’t have to wait long before he starts talking again.

“No, Khonshu. She’s different. Scared.”

“I-I’m not--”

But he seems to ignore you in favor of the voice only he can hear. “You--through me, I might add--are supposed to protect your travelers in the night. Why doesn’t she count as one of them?”

Suddenly he cries out, clutching his head in pain as he nearly doubles over. You instinctively reach a hand out to his shoulder before he flinches away from you, his movements panicked while he frantically grabs the railings along the elevator’s wall. Scared and unsure of what to do, if anything, to help him, you pull away and press your back against the opposite wall. Your breath shakes in staggered puffs through your nostrils.

“You know it to be true! You’re the one who talked about reversing it all! She needs our help!” he calls out to the air in anguish, and you can only watch on, terrified. After several more long moments, standing across from him as he slowly gains control of his breathing, it seems as though the intrusive presence he suffered has conceded for the moment. Something tells you that wouldn’t be the last time you would see him like that.

“...Moon Knight?” you murmur hesitantly, pushing off of the wall just barely. He’s still hunched over and shaking his head.

“Don’t… Don’t worry about me. Used to it,” he replies, and that’s all you get from him when you exit the elevator. He doesn’t speak again until you’ve made it to what seems to be his own private quarters for the time being.

His head turns to you, his masked face regarding you with unknown emotion. He cocks his head to the side, nodding for you to come in with him. “You’ll be safe here. Promise.”

It’s well-equipped, and it seems even more comfortable than your old apartment to boot. It makes sense, of course, but still, it’s so nice you almost feel like you’re intruding. You glance around at the standard yet luxurious furnishings, and you take note of the various bits of discarded clothing strewn about or the crumpled papers that didn’t quite make it into any of the waste bins. This eternal night must keep everyone busy at all hours.

“This is… I can’t--” you move to protest, but suddenly he draws back his hood and removes his mask.

“Don’t sweat it,” he interrupts you, giving you the barest hint of a smile. He’s handsome, you realize, with scruffy brown hair and kind doe eyes to match. “I saw how scared you were… it… reminded me of myself once upon a time. A fate thrust upon you that you never asked for. I could see it in your eyes.”

Your lips part softly before you press them shut once more, and your gaze finds sudden interest in the wooden floorboards.

“Hey, you don’t have to talk about it. ‘M just explaining my reasons,” he adds before he wanders further into the apartment. “...Even if Khonshu doesn’t like it one bit.”

Khonshu. There’s that name again, and you swear you’ve heard it somewhere before. “Is… Is Khonshu the one who made your head hurt in the elevator?”

Moon Knight scoffs, shaking his head as he pours you both glasses of water. “Yeah. He’s not too pleased by defiance, and he gets even more pissed off when I point out his bullshit. Typical god stuff.”

Your eyes go wide. “A… a god!?” you exclaim in surprise. Though, perhaps it shouldn’t be all that surprising, you realize, when you consider the amount of heroes and villains that are gods themselves.

“Khonshu, Egyptian god of the moon… and vengeance. What, did you think I picked the name because it sounded cool?” he jokes before handing you a glass.

“I…” You stop and bring the glass to your lips, choosing to shut yourself up instead of embarrassing yourself any further. The water is cool, and it should be refreshing, but it stings like ice going down your throat and leaves you feeling even more thirsty than before. You wince and nearly drop the glass, but he sees your reaction and catches your hand in his to steady it. “Shit…” you mutter, feeling ashamed at the weakness that washes over you… and the warmth you feel creeping up your face at his touch.

“Right. Vampire. Probably more in the mood for blood, huh?” he asks before taking the unwanted cup from your grasp. You vehemently shake your head, curling your lip in disgust, and he snickers. “Like it or not, that’s the only thing that’ll work for you right now.”

“And you, what, just have some on hand?” you inquire half-heartedly. “I don’t want it, either way. I can’t… I’m scared I’ll lose control if I give in.”

He sighs, shaking his head. Clearly you had missed something. “We can worry about it later if you’re so against it. For now, you should at least clean up and get some rest. I’ll keep Stark off your ass in the meantime. Bathroom’s down the hall and to the right. Should be a clean robe in there, and I’ll ask Sue if she’s got some clothes you can borrow.”

When he dons his mask and hood once more, readying himself to leave, you reach forward and catch him by the crook of his elbow. His head turns to face you, and you suddenly feel vulnerable once again under that unreadable stare.

“I… thank you. I don’t know how to repay you, or why you went through this much effort to help me, but… I am grateful,” you tell him softly as your fingertips curl into the white fabric of his sleeve.

“Repay me by staying alive. Make it through this with your humanity intact. It’s all any of us can do,” he responds, clasping his hand over yours. A muffled chuckle sounds through his mask as he adds, “Guess you being pretty might have had something to do with it, too. Wouldn’t mind coming back to that face for a while.”

Oh, how incredibly unfair of him to say that behind the safety of his mask. Your eyes turn to saucers, your grip loosens, and your jaw hangs agape while heat blossoms across your cheeks. No words find themselves before he withdraws, giving you a little wave and heading out the door.

-----

It’s been a few weeks now, and you have learned quite a bit during your stay. Moon Knight--or rather, the system that is Moon Knight--had opened up to you over time, and you had come to know not just Marc Spector, but Steven and Jake as well. His system as a whole seemed to take a liking to you, and on the rare occasions that he actually had the time, you would often sit together on the couch and talk about everything and nothing. He seemed strangely content to listen to you ramble on about your past life, the friends and family you left behind, even ready to offer you a tissue or a shoulder to cry on should you need it. You had little need for sleep anymore, so you were happy to indulge in time with him every chance you had. Never did you feel trapped in this apartment; in fact, you found yourself waiting in anticipation for him to come back after every mission. He was starting to invade your thoughts even when he wasn’t with you. No one had ever treated you like this before, comforting and caring for you without making you feel lesser or like a burden.

Of course, that didn’t diminish the hunger pangs that gnawed more and more fervently at your entire being with every passing day. Marc had warned you that it might be even more dangerous to go without blood for this long, but you held fast in your convictions, and he at least respected that.

That is, until that hunger has you doubled over before curling into a fetal position. It felt like your stomach was devouring itself before draining the rest of your vitality, sapping all the remaining energy you had as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. That’s how Marc finds you when he returns, bloody and bruised.

He’s never smelled better.

“Y/N!” he calls out, hurrying over as fast as his slight limp will allow. He rips off his mask and drops to his knees to cradle you in his arms. Your breathing is shallow, and there’s an unmistakable hunger in your bloodshot eyes. “Hang on, I’ll… I--”

He frantically glances around the room even as he scours his own brain, trying to think of anything to alleviate your suffering. He’s warmth, he’s comfort… but the pounding in your head, the red that blurs at the edges of your vision, you can’t… you can’t…

“Ah, shit--fuck!”

You come to after a few moments with a rush, groaning and inhaling deeply as your fangs dig into soft flesh. Coppery… salty… sweet… the heady feeling of hot crimson hits your tongue and you forget everything else. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck as his head lolls to one side, his grip on you tightening as you drink his life’s essence. Nothing has ever tasted so good, so fulfilling, so powerful. You fall deeper and deeper into hedonistic bliss and crawl into his lap, straddling him as you take and take and--

No. No, this isn’t you. You can’t--

You break free of your blood trance, ripping away from him as he eyes you groggily. His blood is still hot on your lips, tacky as it dries before you instinctively collect it with a swipe of your tongue. Bracing your hands on his shoulders while your claws reflexively dig into them, the realization of what you’ve done fills you with horror and dread, and you stiffen with a gasp.

“Marc, I’m so sorry, are you okay!? I--”

Your apologies are silenced when he crashes his lips against yours. It’s messy, metallic, your lips sticking together every time he pulls away for breath. His hands slide down your sides, tickling your ribs before trailing down to your hips and gripping tightly. He tugs you against him. A soft moan hums in your throat, and his tongue takes the opportunity and delves into your mouth. Blood dilutes into saliva as he seems to seek it out, devouring you body and soul through his lips and tongue. To say your mind was a mess was an understatement: a violent whirlpool swirls with your emotions. You feel alive again, rejuvenated, powerful. But then there’s shock, arousal, a different hunger, a longing that leaves you panting.

Weeks worth of tentative talks and longing glances, coupled with the passionate hunger that accompanies your vampiric nature, have come to a head. When he draws back, chocolate eyes blackened with lust, his own blood smeared across his lips even as it trickles from the fresh wound on his neck, you knew one thing with certainty:

Moon Knight was an absolute freak. And you were so into it.

[concreteangel92]

I am, if you give me a bit more detail then I’ll let you know

Well I'm embarrassed to ask but I need one where the reader hates her body and Noah hadsher perform 🫠 in front of mirror so she watch the pretty mess she makes of herself. Noah falls in deeper love with her but the ex comes back and tries to steal her away(vinny from MIW)

Long story short I need a “you're not leaving me” obsessive Noah and a “she's mine” obsessive Vinny😵‍💫 sorry I am scattered

Noah Sebastian x female reader (x Vinny from MIW)

18+

Warnings: talks of hating your body, fingering in front of a mirror, choking, smut, obsessive behaviour, dom/sub relationship, slight hair pulling, biting/marking

I’m so sorry this is so late!! This request was sent back in October! Honestly I just wasn’t sure how to write it for ages and kept leaving it for another day and was even tempted to not do it at all but I decided to change the story ever so slightly and I found some more inspiration to write it, Vinny is only mentioned in this and isn’t actually in the story itself. I’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted but I tried my best 🫣

Permanent Taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lacy1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @tosoundlessdarkistare @ichoosetenderomens @hurricanesfollowyou @concretejunglefm @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xmads-omensx @chey-h @xxkittenkissesxx @lyschko666 @rumoured-whispers

Masterlist

Your head was thrown back against Noah’s shoulder as you sat in front of him on the edge of the bed with your legs wide open and his fingers knuckle deep inside you.

“Eyes on you baby, I won’t tell you again”

Noah once again reminded you to watch your reflection in the mirror directly opposite.

He’d caught you looking at your body in the mirror as you’d been getting changed, he’d seen the sad look on your face, how you were over analysing every imperfection you saw within yourself and his heart broke. How could you not see how beautiful you were.

And now here you both were, Noah making you watch as he whispers all the dirty praise in your ears while working your body like a violin.

“Look at you…you’re so perfect, I don’t know how you can’t see it”

You struggled to look in the mirror but forced your gaze to stay ahead, watching as his fingers were thrusting in and out of you while his other hand was holding you around the middle or wandering up to your chest to play with your nipples, rolling them between his fingers as he kissed the back of your shoulders.

You whimpered out his name as a gasp as his fingers suddenly pulled out and then spread your lips apart so you could see your own juices all over your lips and inner thighs.

“Look angel, look how messy you are for me…can you feel what that does to me?”

You could. You could feel how hard he was pressed up against your lower back.

“You’re beautiful, you’re so fucking perfect and I don’t ever want you to think otherwise”

You groaned loudly and your head went to rest back until you felt his free hand in your hair righting you up again as he gripped you by the roots firmly.

“Ah, ah, ah”

His fingers were working you faster, his palm grinding against your clit beautifully with each thrust and you could feel your high building extremely quickly as you moaned in his arms.

“Mmm Noah….”

You heard him hum in response but he didn’t say anything, you felt his mouth ghosting over the skin of your neck and ear.

Your lower stomach was starting to twist itself up as your body started to shake on its own accord, signalling you were getting closer.

“There was a reason I’d come up here in the first place though angel….you left your phone out on the sofa”

Your brain kicked in slightly to listen to his words, Noah not once stopping his movements.

“And guess who was calling and just happened to send a text that I could see….”

His fingers had slowed down ever so slightly, as if to prolong this, causing you to whine in frustration.

His grip in your hair tightened.

“Vinny was trying to get hold of you again”

Your eyes shot to meet his in the mirror, seeing a dark glare across his features as he mentioned your exes name.

“Wha..”

“We need to talk. I want you back.”

You and Vinny had been broken up for a year now but in the last few weeks he’d been trying to get back in touch again and was trying to win you back…. conveniently after the fans had found out about you and Noah after you’d been caught hugging and kissing on camera together backstage at one of his shows and it had blown up everywhere within the fandom.

Noah pulled your head to the side slightly to expose more of your skin to him.

“That’s the first line I was able to read. You can imagine I wasn’t very impressed baby…”

You went to say something but your words suddenly lost in your throat as his hand sped up and his teeth were suddenly biting harshly into the flesh on your neck causing you to cry out as the sharp pain mixed in beautifully with the pleasure he was giving you.

“Oh fuck….”

You felt his teeth digging in, no doubt it would leave a very dark bruise in its wake for the whole world to see, something you knew was his intention.

Your thighs had started to tremble, your body was wound so tightly, you needed to cum so badly and knowing Noah was marking you was pushing you towards the edge.

He pulled away and his hand that was in your hair came down to wrap around your throat.

“Who do you belong to baby?”

You felt your breath being restricted slightly making your head feel light and dizzy.

“You….fuck….I belong to you Noah”

You were so close, you could practically taste it.

Noah smirked at your reflection.

“That’s right angel, you belong to me and only me. You’re not going to cover that up you hear me? Leave it on show for me”

His words mixed with his fingers curling up inside and his palm grinding against your core sent you over the edge with a loud cry, you eyes squeezed shut as you shuddered violently in his arms and he held you tightly against him while he talked you through it.

“That’s my good girl, you look so fucking perfect making a mess over my hand like that…now on your hands and knees for me, let’s show you how fucking beautiful you look when you get all cock drunk for me”

[masorciereviolette]

The Weight Of Grief

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader // Agatha x Reader x Rio

Warnings: Slight Angst / Violence

Summary:

Centuries ago, Agatha Harkness was condemned by her own coven for entangling herself with the dark arts, yet when they tried to execute her she turned their magic against them, draining them of their power and leaving nothing but hollowed husks & ashes in her wake. In the aftermath of Salem, she found solace in an unlikely love, forging an unbreakable bond with the Reader and later with the cosmic enigma herself, Rio Vidal. Their passion burned bright, but fate is rarely kind to those who defy its balance.

When Nicholas Scratch was born, he was not just your son but a child of magic, a gift from Rio—one that came at an unforeseen cost. Fearful of the price that would one day be demanded, Agatha ran taking Nicholas with her in a desperate attempt to keep him safe. But no amount of magic, no amount of hiding could change what had already been decided.

Years later, Agatha stands on your doorstep, stripped of her power and seeking aid. But the wounds of betrayal are not so easily mended and the weight of grief is not so easily forgotten. How dare she return now, after all this time—after leaving you to grieve alone. Love, loss, and the cruel hands of fate weave their story together once more, But some wounds do not heal without a price.

A/N: I’ve been toying around with my story trying to perfect it but I honestly think that the writing anxiety may never leave so I’m gonna post and hope for the best lmaoo. I have the summary here & as much as the first I’ll say 900-1000 words, just to get a feel for the vibe im reaching for. I’m currently trying to wrap up the story, It’s sitting at like 5000 words right now and I have a more to cover so I may just post it in parts if anyone ends up interested 🤷🏾‍♀️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue:

The past has a cruel way of refusing to stay buried.

You never thought you’d see her again. Not after everything. Not after the night she disappeared, your son clutched tightly in her arms, leaving nothing behind but the ghosts of what could have been

Yet here she stands.

Agatha Harkness.

Her name alone is enough to stir something violent in you. Fury, sorrow, longing—they tangle together in your chest, an unbearable weight pressing against your ribs. You grip the doorframe, knuckles white, grounding yourself against the storm raging inside.

She looks different. The Agatha you remember carried herself with unshakable confidence, a woman of wit and wickedness, always two steps ahead of everyone else. But now… now she stands before you stripped bare, her once-powerful presence reduced to something raw and vulnerable. The sharp lines of her face are worn with exhaustion, her usually effortless smirk absent. And her eyes—those piercing, cunning eyes—are filled with something you never thought you’d see from her.

Desperation.

“Hello, darling.” Her voice is rough, as if the words scrape against her throat. A feeble attempt at familiarity, but the term of endearment is a knife twisting in your gut. Your body moves before your mind catches up. The slap echoes in the still night air, your palm stinging from the force of it. Agatha barely flinches. If anything, she looks as though she expected it.

“How dare you,” you breathe, your voice shaking. Not with fear, but with rage. With grief. “How dare you show your face here.”

Agatha exhales slowly, a ghost of a smile on her lips—humorless, self-deprecating. “I suppose I deserve that.”

You scoff, stepping back, gripping the door as if it’s the only thing keeping you from crumbling. “You deserve a hell of a lot worse.”

A gust of wind rustles through the trees, and for a moment, silence stretches between you. Heavy. Suffocating. Agatha glances past you, as if trying to peer inside, but you move to block her view.

“There’s nothing for you here,” you say coldly.

She hesitates, her throat bobbing as she swallows whatever words she wants to say. “I wouldn’t have come if I had any other choice.” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Of course. Agatha Harkness, only ever looking out for herself.”

Her jaw tightens, and for the first time since she arrived, something sharp flickers in her gaze. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” The words taste bitter on your tongue. “You ran, Agatha. You didn’t even give me a chance to—” Your voice catches, a lump forming in your throat. You force yourself to swallow it down. “You left me.” Agatha flinches. It’s small, barely perceptible, but you see it.

“I thought I was protecting him,” she says quietly. “I thought—” She exhales sharply, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I thought if I could just keep him away, keep him safe, maybe…”

“Maybe you could cheat fate?” you finish for her, the words laced with venom.

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. You both know the truth.

Your fingers dig into the doorframe, your breath unsteady. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to feel this—this unbearable ache in your chest, this longing for something that can never be undone.

Agatha steps forward, cautiously, as if afraid you’ll lash out again. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “But I need your help.”

You let out a slow, measured breath, staring at the woman who once held your heart in her hands—who crushed it just as easily. “Give me one good reason-” you say, voice hollow “-why I shouldn’t slam this door in your face.”

Agatha meets your gaze, and for the first time since she arrived, her walls crumble completely. “Because I have nothing left.”

Damn her—damn her for making you care, even after everything.

—————————————————

Please like & reblog if you enjoyed I’ll post it all if people find themselves interested just lmk, I will also take any notes on how to improve!!! 💛💛💛

[scorpio1205]

WE BECAME PARENTS FOR 24 HOURS!!! (TO EGGS) Ft Bambi

Summary: Bambi, Matt, Nick and Chris became parents to eggs for 24 hours

Warnings: swearing, fluff, Matt being a simp, Matt being in love, cuddling being 'parents', Bambi being over the triplets shit lol

"For the next 24 hours... You can call us daddy"

Matt and Chris' mouth fell open in shock, turning to each other and awkwardly laughing.

"What on earth possessed you to say that on camera?!" Bambi laughed walking into the frame in shock.

"I honestly don't even know"

She laughed grabbing a Fanta from the fridge "So what does that make me? Cause i'm sure as hell not a daddy?"

Matt smirked slightly with raised eyebrows and a slight head tilt, as if wanting to make a joke or comment.

She moved behind him her hands running into his hair "Don't even think about it, baby."

He closed his eyes for a moment leaning into her touch "Alright."

"To clarify for the next 24 hours Me, Matt, Bambi, and Chris are going to become parents of-"

"little eggies."

"Little baby. Little baby eggs."

"I'm just here to beat you three." Bambi mumbled before opening her soda with her teeth.

Matt snickered "Eggs, so delicate... They can crack."

"that's morbid"

"For the next 24 hours, us four are going to have to be parents to these little egg babies.... They don't have faces or identities yet so we're going to spend the next few minutes-"

Chris was tossing his egg up in the air repeatedly. "Stop! Stop"

"Okay, so you all saw that mess. We all have new eggs and are cleaned up." Bambi laughed as the video cut back in, her sitting on Matt's lap.

"3 new eggs cause Bam was able to keep her egg out of Chris' grasp." Matt laughed softly "Already a better parent then all three of us."

"We cleaned up the crime scene that was in front of us"

It wasn't long before Nick Matt and Chris started talking over each other.

"You're doing great sweetie." Bambi mumbled annoyed with the bickering.

Taking the hint they got to the point, Matt and Chris drawing on their eggs as Nick went over the rules.

****

"Alright here's our eggs. My egg" Nick showed his egg. "This is Chris' egg" he showed Chris' egg on the screen.

"He has a red hat on"

"Yep" Both Nick and Bambi spoke with a snicker.

"This is Bambi's egg" He showed Bambi's egg making her smile cutely. "And this is Matts egg"

Bambi smiled happily "Mine's the cutest."

Bambi sat in the passengers seat her egg in her hands where it had been all day, she loved the boys but when it came to challenges like this.... She didn't trust them. But she looked up confused as Matt pulled over. "What?"

"I think I cracked my egg"

"WHAT?!?" Nick immediately handed her the camera to vlog it. "Show the vlog."

She pointed the camera "I'm showing the vlog"

"this isn't fair cause I have to drive."

"Give me your baby. I'll take care of it." Nick grabbed the egg.

"Hold him"

"Don't worry" Nick smiled "Since the four of us are amazing parents we're taking our eggs outside for some Adventure time"

"Its crazy that we're only going outside to bring our eggs out"

"Our kids" The two began to go back and forth.

Bambi rolled her eyes at them "If you guys start bickering we're turning this car around."

"Sorry Bambi" Nick and Chris both mumbled immediately, not wanting to annoy Bambi.

****

They were all at the beach when Chris looked at Bambi who was on the swings. "Bam-Bam"

"Yo"

"What's your eggs name?"

She got quiet for a moment for smiling "Evangeline"

Matt tilted his head at her with a soft smile. "Why Evangeline?"

"Evangeline is the star from The Princess and The Frog.... It's one of my favorite movies" She grinned sheepishly.

"Okay, she won" Nick grumbled a bit.

"So, we have to get up in the middle of the night to comfort the 'babies'" Bambi cut off both Matt and Nick who were trying to get the point across but kept bickering. "I'm not doing it for 10 minutes though. I don't have kids yet for a reason. So can we cut that time in like half" She put the egg in the box next to Matt's egg

"Yea, I wanna be able to go back to sleep. I wanna be able to keep my tired, so I can go back to sleep."

"Okay, so for three minutes then?"

Bambi nodded getting up "Fine by me"

****

Bambi groaned in frustration as Matt's alarm went off to go cradle the eggs. "No"

"Here" He mumbled handing her his pink Hershey teddy bear shirt and a pair of boxers, as she was.....not exactly dressed

She sat up taking the clothes from him getting dressed as he stumbled out of the room in his pj's and a blanket wrapped around him.

As the triplets sat on the couch grabbing their eggs "Where's bam-bam?"

"She'll be out in a sec" Matt spoke barely above a whisper.

Just then Bambi stumbled out of the room tiredly running her hand through her......'bed' head, before grabbing her egg and crawling under Matt's blanket with him. "Start the timer" She mumbled gently rocking the egg.

"I always forget she's not as nice when she first wakes up." Nick mumbled.

"Your mother."

"Bambi" Matt grumbled.

She sighed "I'm sorry, Mary Lou is the sweetest woman I know. What I really mean is, your fucking face."

A tired Chris started laughing softly pointing at Nick. "She got you man."

The camera cut a bit where Matt was sitting up with Bambi half asleep in his lap still rocking the egg tiredly.

"How've you guys been sleeping?" Nick mumbled to Matt and Bambi still mostly tired.

Matt shook his head and Bambi groaned a bit "not good."

"Why?"

".....We fell asleep like an hour ago."

Nick made a face "We went to sleep like 4 hours ago-" He cut himself off seeing the look on Matt's face. "Oh" he made a grossed out face.

"You asked"

The next several hours were pretty uneventful. Until the end. Nick Matt and Chris dropped their eggs and Matt's broke. Whick lead them to where they were now, Watching a video Matt made and edited talking about how he replicated, stole, and ate Nick and Chris' eggs.

"....Is it bad i've never found you hotter?" Bambi spoke after her, Nick and Chris sat silently for a few minutes.

Matt grinned kissing her head "Case in point to you two... Don't fuck with me."

Comments:

User414: Did Matt and Bambi just imply that the reason they were up so late was cause they were.... you know....

User222: Bambi walking out in MATTS shirt and boxers is wild

User778: SHE HAD SEX HAIR!

User111: Honestly.... Bambi's a mood

@sturnmeovr @big-poppa23 @colorthecosmos444 @sturns-mermaid @mattsstarlet @iammattswife @pinksturns @courta13 @conspiracy-ash @middlepartmatt @raesturns @mattscherries @emely9274 @harls-sturn @loser41ifee @trevorsgodmother

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws

[yassbishimvintage]

Holaaaa! Love your writing! Can we see a first date between Kelvin and a reader who he has been trying to get with for a while and she finalllly agrees? She was hesitant at first but wound up really enjoying herself. 🤭 -saturnville

A/N: First and foremost I'm sorry I took forever. Ya girl has so much to do. And two I'm sorry its so short.

The restaurant’s dim lighting cast a warm glow over the table, reflecting off the glass of wine Kelvin had barely touched. Across from him, Nova—who had taken way too much convincing to even be here—shifted slightly in her seat, adjusting the strap of her dress as she glanced around. The place was nice, too nice. She had expected something casual, something low-pressure, but Kelvin had insisted on making this special.

"You still thinking about an escape plan?" he teased, leaning back with a small smirk, his dimple making a brief appearance.

Nova scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be."

"Mm-hmm." He didn’t look convinced. "I had to ask you three times, Nova."

She sighed, sipping her drink. "Four, actually."

Kelvin chuckled, shaking his head. "You were playing hard to get."

"Or maybe I just wasn’t sure," she countered. But even as she said it, she knew she had been making excuses. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Kelvin—he was Kelvin Harrison Jr., after all, charming, talented, and effortlessly cool. It was just that she had built a habit of keeping her guard up, and he had a way of making her feel like she didn’t need it.

And that was scary.

But now, sitting here, watching the way he absentmindedly drummed his fingers against the table, the way he listened intently every time she spoke, she found herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t expected.

"So, what made you finally say yes?" Kelvin asked, tilting his head.

Nova hesitated before answering. "Honestly? I ran out of reasons to say no."

Kelvin laughed, nodding like he’d known that all along. "Fair enough. But now that you’re here, are you regretting it?"

She thought about that for a moment, letting herself really take in the night—the soft music playing in the background, the warmth of the restaurant, and the way Kelvin was watching her like she was the only person in the room.

She smiled, a real one this time. "No," she admitted. "I think I’m actually having fun."

Kelvin grinned, leaning forward slightly. "Good. Because I plan on making sure you have the best first date of your life."

And for the first time in a long time, Nova thought that maybe, just maybe, she could let herself enjoy it.

Tags 🏷️

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayesworld @haechvn @writingsbytee @grlsbstshot @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @megamindsecretlair @kimuzostar @kenshisluvrgirl @planetblaque @pocketsizedpanther @bimbosnbutterflies2026 @chewingmy3xtragum @easybrezzy @blowmymbackout @melaninpov @todorokishoe24 @chaoticcoffeequeen @gopaperless @jenlovey @notapradagurl7

[monarchberrysblog]

𝑼𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍

part 2 — take me out to the ballgame 🧢

an inspired baby daddy au from @yougavemeyourheartyouknow as I wanted to add my own spin to it

🍼 baby daddy! miguel o’hara x fem! reader 🍼

“I think I like you best when you're just with me and no one else.”

⚾ synopsis — your paths keep colliding! and what do you do? go out on a date… maybe?

⚾ content warning/tags — miguel talks about baseball (lmao), mentions of baseball positions and innings, first–date shenanigans (?), there really isn't a date but there is (idk how to explain), subtle sexual tension, silly playful teasing

⚾ word count: +1.4k words (ik its short. Don't come for me pls)

⚾ author’s note — here we are! this was honestly a fic waiting to be continued as I have gotten busy with university and rarely have the time to write for funsies. Life got too real for a moment but here we are! I hope you guys enjoy! Happy Valentine’s Day!!

🍟 not proofread! 🍟

The chime from your phone snapped you out of your daze, directing your attention away from your laptop. The notification bar appeared on your lock screen, showing a message from Miguel. The screen slowly faded to black before the phone screen flicked back on with a new notification—double texting. You tap on your phone screen, allowing the device to open the unread notification. “I got two tickets to the Dodgers and Yankees, and my brother can’t come, wanna join? I’ll pay for your snacks if you'd like to join.”

“A Dodgers game…” You mumble to yourself. The laptop that was once on your lap was now moved to your couch’s cushion instead. The excitement churned your lower stomach, waking up the butterflies in your gut. Your eyes dart onto Bella, her small body curled up on one of your cushions. Her soft breathing is evident, her sides rising and falling into a steady tempo. “Should I go to the ballgame, Bella?” You ask the canine as if she were your parent.

The soft pets against her back slowly snapped her away as she slowly stretched, her tail wagging happily. She lets out a happy yip before pawing her way to your lap immediately. Her dark eyes looked up at you with a glisten, encouraging you to attend the date, if you can even call it that.

A date… A first date? Is it even a date? It’s just a hangout, right? He just has an extra ticket and he didn’t want it to go to waste…

You think for a moment, rather you take ten minutes to think, despite your gut pleading with you to go.

“Should I go, Bella?” You ask her again, picking her up, holding her up like your infant. She quietly yawns before licking your face and glasses, leaving a smudgy trail behind on the dirty lens. “I take that as a yes…” You mumbled, her soft puppy licks slowly coming to an end. “But I don't know! I like being around him; he makes me laugh, and I don't know if he even feels the same way with me…” You sigh, gently placing the happy, yapping puppy on the couch. She tilts her head to the side before putting her two front paws on your thigh and kneads, pleading for you to go to the “date.”

“I know it’s too soon to say it, but I feel it.” You cover your face in frustration, reclining back onto the couch. You hold back for a moment, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard. The simple question is enough to drive you into madness, but leaving the message unread is a dirty feeling. You move your thumbs quickly, swiping to the notes app, letting your thumbs throw up incoherent sentences that make no sense until your brain eases down.

It felt childish enough that you waited another ten minutes to respond, but having to open your notes app to type a laid-back response is terrible enough as it is. You didn't want to look desperate.

“Sure, what day and time?”

The lively crowd in the stadium filled the ambiance as you munched on your cheese fries, the same fries that would inevitably give you stomach cramps at the end of the night. But the cheesy bacon concoction only had you return for seconds as you nibbled on the seasoned fry. Your eyes are glued on the green field before you as his arm is wrapped around your shoulder. “Hey, I'm gonna get us something to drink. Do you have a drink preference?”

You momentarily ponder as a small glob of nacho cheese stuck on your cheek. “A margarita, please.” You beg, looking up at him from where he stood. He chuckles before licking at the pad of his thumb, wiping away the nacho cheese and tasting the salty yet creamy sauce. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He chuckles as he awkwardly moves down the aisle, trying not to step on anyone’s shoe. You giggle when he stumbles up the steps. He whistles at you and gives you a playful wink before tripping over his feet.

You giggle before he leaves you at your seat, and you continue to enjoy the game as the pitcher pitches a perfect strike. The crowd roars in mixed reactions, some cheering while others protest.

Your teeth nibble at the plastic prongs of the fork, sitting with anticipation of the next pitch. Everyone in your row seemed to have the same nerves rattling their core, seeing the pitcher raise their arm, ready for another serve.

“Did I miss anything?” His voice brings you back as he sits, holding the two beverages in one hand. “No, just a couple of fowls and strikes.” You keep your eyes on the field before Miguel steals a couple of french fries from your tray without your knowledge. “Hmm, this pitcher, Sato, definitely knows what he’s doing,” Miguel mumbles, popping a fry into his mouth. “I think a little too well…” You state, watching the batter hit the pitch and witnessing the baseball hit the fowl post.

“And there they go, time for the Dodgers to bat,” Miguel claps his hands together, seeing the players run to gather their needed items. He chuckles before taking a sip of his Dos X and wraps his arms around you once more. “Look at that!” He tilts his chin towards the large screen, which will show entertainment for the next five minutes. “Kiss cam.” He chuckles, seeing a couple fall victim to their fifteen seconds of fame. The couple shook their heads before the crowd booed at them, encouraging them for a smooch.

“Do you think that is gonna land on us?” He asks, watching the next couple fall victim. “Nah,” you dismiss, taking another bite of fries.

A series of different couples shared the same thing: a small, innocent kiss. But then the crowd cheers fill your section as the camera is now on the both of you, catching the both of you at your worst moment: you eating filthy stadium food and Miguel drinking the mediocre beer. You choke on a small chunk of fries as Miguel spits his drink into the glass bottle. The section booed at the two of you, bringing you back to the humiliation you felt as a preteen when you didn't do a dare.

Miguel shakes his head and makes a sawing gesture at his neck, telling them to move on to the next pair. “It's our first date!” He yells, but his voice is barely audible through the books from your section. When the camera did so, you sighed in relief, reaching for a napkin to wipe your lips.

“Watch, they're gonna put the camera on us after them.” You quip, quickly swig your cocktail, and place it into the stand’s cup holder. It seemed God wasn't on your side as the camera panned back to the two of you. The crowd only cheered loudly and demanded a kiss.

“Spoke too soon, mamas.” He chuckles, gently tugging you close to him without your knowledge. You groan, frustration coursing in your veins. “Let's give them what they want.” His voice drops when he whispers the six-worded sentence to you. “With what I was eating? Hell no—”

His lips coaxed the harsh words out of you, silencing you immediately after. The gesture is soft but silences the voices inside your mind. An aloe gel on a scolding, hot burn. He slowly pulled away as the crowd cheered, but the color on your cheeks only proved it.

“Now was that so hard?” You sat on your seat with an open mouth, enough space for your soul and dignity to creep out of your lips and land on the concrete floors of the stand, floating away from you. “No, not at all…”

/

The wind from the spring breeze swept your contorting mind, whispering your messy words to be straightened up. But the simple whisper of the breeze made your brain into mush. The walk back to your car felt more protracted than expected, mainly because you parked closer to the stadium. “Can I be honest?” His voice cuts the silence between the two of you. You swallow dryly at his words—nervousness creeps into your gut.

“…yeah.” You choke up, clearing your throat after. “About the tickets…” You held onto the non-existent hope that he enjoyed being around you.

“I lied when I said my brother couldn't make it. I wanted you to go with me.”

A white noise filled your ears before you can conjure up an answer. But your words finally come back at bay, a single sentence comes out. “Why?”

A single worded question with endless answers. But there was only one answer that can ease your storm of a brain.

“Because I wanted you to come with me. I like being around you.”

tag list: @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @opaloharas @hyjionie @zaunsin @keiva1000 @slushycoookie @miguelsfavwife @ilovetaquitosmmmm @migueloharasoulmate

[poorlydrawninstarsandtime]

Can we turn them to human size?

the light hasn't even left this one's eyes yet!

[ids in alt]

[dennisboobs]

:) i certainly have no issue dressing in drag :)

^guy who has no issue dressing in drag btw

glenn said that dennis' drag name is victoria von hemen btw

(Source)

[fabdante]

honestly ok im not done with this asdfghjk and im not making it it's own post so i can open myself up to argument. i don't feel like i've read the book enough times to really make an argument that isn't a lot of rambling, you know?

but like i went into wuthering heights aware some people theorized heathcliff being brown. it was one of the many straws that broke the camels back for me. i found this intriguing.

i did not anticipate that it was just a legit piece of canon that is brought up incredibly often that large swaths of people just ignore (or worse, argue vehemently against) because he himself does not state clearly and with certainty his ethnicity, a thing that would not happen in the narrative because its not even in his perspective. on the contrary the novel is, largely, in the perspective of people who don't particularly care to find out what heathcliffs race actually is because they are just satisfied knowing he is other. i don't think it occurred to nelly once that he, perhaps, had his own culture and language before being taken here and that he is aware he's not the son of indian and chinese royalty. she doesn't ask. neither does lockwood.

however, i thought about this a lot. and it's under the cut

disclaimer: i've only read wuthering heights once and while i am sure it has entered my yearly reread list (which will only deepen my thoughts and analysis), this is literally just my impressions after my first reading of the book. some things may be misremembered, or perhaps further mused on upon a reread. some things i would have liked more specifics, if this was a real essay (like the exact number of times heathcliff is suggested to be romani, or how often he's compared to animals vs how often everyone else is). this is a post i wrote over the course of several weeks on tumblr.com and it reads like one.

we are confronted with numerous characters assuming what race heathcliff is and its usually not white, and it's certainly ethnicities that would be other to the people around him.

like its baffling to me how much of this conversation is taken up by the hand full of times he's described as dark skinned, a fair argument but easy to argue against because of the time he's also described in a fit of colorful language to be paler then the wall behind him. that and like, the way he's described as dark is also in line with how the term dark was used at the time by brontës contemporaries (though i personally don't think that's all she meant by referring to heathcliff specifically). it's easy to argue against the constant descriptions of his dark hair and dark eyes and dark skin as emily brontë, perhaps, trying to suggest he is just over all a dark, imposing character tying into theories that heathcliff is a literal demon (some people suggest this?). now, don't get me wrong, i agree with the assessment that regardless of the metaphor heathcliff is like a darker skinned guy with black hair and black eyes however it's the type of evidence that's much easier to argue against rather then him, repetitively, having characters pull the 'lmao what are you???' question or how intrinsically his race is tied into the plot and his character.

like, i said it reminds me of booker dewitt at one point in my many ramblings and let me explain. booker is often assumed to be white but but he is actually mixed race and is both white and indigenous. and while one can argue semantics about skin color and what not i feel the much stronger evidence to this canon fact is stuff like idk the fact he speaks at least one of the lakota/dakota/nakota language families fluently, doesn't recognize bible verses when they're quoted at him, has slurs thrown at him in earlier versions of the game we have footage of (implying other characters assume he is native american), has another universe version of himself who has found himself center of a phrenology study trying to prove he's native american, and, oh, the time another character straight up tells us about the time booker lost his shit at 16 because people were being racist to him and decided the best course of action would be to become participant in his own genocide to try and make himself himself appear whiter to avoid scrutiny before this fails horribly and he is now haunted by the fact he is participant in the genocide he is also victim of. this is the thing that haunts him, this is the thing that is chasing him, this is why he knows being made 'clean' in the eyes of a god that was forced upon him will not absolve him of the blood on his hands. bookers entire character is heavily influenced by this. like if we look at the time period and craft a probable history for what creates a booker dewitt, the influence of generational trauma and current trauma and just the impact of living in world where he is never truly a part like becomes very clear on his character and other characters around him. like booker is a character who deserved better writing from a writing team more willing to put time into communicating this story, but the seeds are all there.

like the reasons we know booker dewitt is indigenous outside of ken levines word of god statement are things like this that have clear and evident impact on his character and the world of the story. i argue the same is in wuthering heights. like yes, there are descriptions of heathcliff that line up with this to. but the crucial, crucial thing is how him not being white impacts the narrative and him.

but like i mean sure we can fall back on those vague descriptors i guess and argue back and forth about what exactly emily brontë meant because some people just don't want to accept that heathcliff isn't white and can pretend that descriptions of his dark skin aren't actually about him having dark skin.

there's this segment in which heathcliff laments about how he doesn't look like the blonde haired, blue eyed, pale edgar linton. there's another when he meets his son and is essentially like 'lmao why's it white?'. there's the numerous, numerous other people around him constantly throwing their best theory into the ring on what they think his race is which is almost always romani, often indian, and in one time occurrences each, chinese, american, and spanish.

literally when taken in by the earnshaws he doesn't even speak english. nelly, being a white woman from the area who likely has very limited exposure to other languages due to her class and limited education and limited time anywhere that isn't her direct local area, just assumes he's speaking gibberish. but idk perhaps the boy described as indian and romani didn't speak fucking english yet

and this all plays into the themes as well?

like a large theme of this novel is the way cathy and heathcliff do not quite feel they belong here but they feel a belonging and acceptance with each other, a large motivator behind their mutual obsession. (i'm getting to the resentment give me a moment) they understand the abuse they both experienced, they understand what the other wants (freedom, essentially), they understand how they both feel isolated and alone, etc etc. and part of that for heathcliff is clearly how he is othered by everyone else despite being the favorite son, despite how he tried to fit into the social trappings around him. its part of why he laments about edgar. because he recognizes, despite his age, that he's being treated differently because he does not look like edgar. sure it's, as with most things, a very cathy motivated thought i think. the threat that edgar will take all her attention, leaving heathcliff truly alone. hell he even kind of says that when he confronts cathy that one time and is like 'hey, you hang out with him so much more' and we, the reader, know under that he's saying 'and you are leaving me alone with these people'. but back in this moment with nelly he pinpoints rather accurately that edgar has an easier time because he's white. and heathcliff is not. and he can do the song and dance, he even tries to do the song and dance, but he can't become white. he can never just become white.

i think to this plays into the resentments between cathy and heathcliff. she resents that he's not white, that it makes this simple thing very complex, that in her eyes it's part of what makes him beneath her and no one is going to see him as being at the same level as her, that she feels so much belonging and what not with this person seen as other. like its very 'recognition of the self in the other (derogatory)' and i think he similarly resents these things in reverse, right? he resents that he's seen this way, that she might see him this way, that this simple thing is complicated when it should not be. and also, again, that this game is so much easier for cathy to play. she's white, she blends in, she's free to do things he is not because he has to give so much more to be even considered remotely human. and it's frustrating. because he is cathy, after all. except for the part where he's not. because for as much love as there is here, they're two abused kids who speak a similar language here and are angry with each other as well as the world.

like i just the way he's treated to like nelly, being presumably white, seems to assume all of heathcliffs mistreatment comes from him being ill behaved and insane which i mean sure some of it is because he constantly misbehaves and he doesn't want to be controlled and follow rules he doesn't like.

but isn't it a bit...idk...telling that no one really argues with hindley when he decides to make his adoptive brother his servant?

like people find it shitty when heathcliff does that to hearton, the white boy.

but when heathcliff spends years upon years doing all the barn work and getting whipped by his brother and being forced to live in the shitty attic with no access to heating like...the lintons, despite cathys bad behavior, give her an opportunity to 'grow' (force her into a box of polite society which she does not like but falls into anyway). they don't do that to heathcliff, they write him off immediately. their pity begins and ends with cathy who they identify as an unfortunate girl in an unfortunate family who is being raised poorly, despite the fact heathcliff is raised in the exact same conditions and misbehaving in the exact same way. the biggest differences are cathy is white and a girl, and heathcliff is brown and a boy.

like im just saying does the narrative need to spell it out for you?

are you that incapable of reading between the lines when it is literally that obvious.

like ignoring all these little nuances that perhaps i read into or misremember due to my bias here, the fact he clearly looks not white enough for everyone to constantly suggest he's not white implies that...just maybe...maybe that heathcliff is brown

i also wonder how much of this unwillingness for heathcliff to be brown is 'oh but he's a shitty person' and our current movement is to create these pure, stainless, people of color in our fiction. heathcliff is not that. he's the antithesis to that (though more on that later). he's a shitty, miserable person who makes himself more miserable and suffers in a tragedy he himself largely created. though i argue the story ends well for him (i mean he dies happily in cathys room and gets to haunt the moors with her forever in absolute freedom and bliss like that's literally what he wanted he got what he wanted), deserving it to end well for him or not, he's not this picture perfect representation that audiences crave before ripping something apart because they cannot understand that marginalized people do not have one uniform experience or needs from our media.

who cares that he's shitty when he's complex and an adaptation that actually represents him as he is would only make him more complex and interesting and do justice to the narrative emily brontë was trying to craft? it wouldn't necessarily revaluate the narrative, but rather bring to light this element of it which is so often neglected.

emily brontë was trying to make complex people with complex motivations and interests, which often lead them down self destructive paths. which sure, makes them shitty. but it makes them interesting and heathcliffs race is part of what makes him interesting and complex. the way his race and understanding of it balance with his understanding of himself and the people around him and the trappings of the society he's in. like it's such a large part of why he behaves like he does and why people behave how they do around him.

like we can all agree heathcliff is the monster these people created. he became the thing he was told he is because it is what he was told he is. again to bring up booker dewitt, booker is the monster that everyone created by telling him what he is and what he is worth is the violence he can commit so violence booker dewitt becomes. heathcliff, similarly, is told through this narrative by so many of these people that he is lesser, that no matter what he does he is not them. so what he does is go on a revenge quest to become them, to return the favor back to them, to take what he's decided will now be his because he was told he does not deserve it. and here's the thing. here's the thing about it. he kind of wins.

like don't get me wrong his revenge quest makes him miserable and could have been avoided and he did a lot of horrible things on that quest. but he did it, right? he got wuthering heights. he got thrushcross grange. he fucked with everyone's lives. and like sure it catches up to him mentally, but he dies in this success right? that he did the thing he wanted and everyone's miserable. and then he dies. and he dies happily because he gets to run off with cathy in the afterlife doing whatever the fuck forever and always like both of them wanted. like he literally gets everything he wanted in the narrative. eventually.

anyway

denying his race just feels...short sighted? missing the point?

and like i mean ok sure one time he's described as spanish and the actor they got for him is spanish. that's cool. that's great.

but i have to question why we went with the guy who fits exactly one off handed description of heathcliff from a line where he's also, once again, suggested to be indian and also american (it's all in the same sentence the speaker, unsure, suggests heathcliff is all three spanish isn't even a heathcliff race suggestion that gets it's own line)

another thing I've noticed repeated time and time again is 'well, sure, Heathcliff could be a person of color. but that's less important than divides such as class and-' and I'm not going to pretend I'm like deeply aware of the intricacies of late 1700s, early 1800s race relations and concepts in England. However I also feel like this is...really misunderstanding race but also misunderstanding the novel, which, again, makes it clear that Heathcliff's race factors into things. he doesn't get upset that Edgar is white and he's not because he feels equal to Edgar minus the fact he's poor. people don't suggest he's races that are not white because they view Heathcliff as equal.

when cathy and heathcliff meet the lintons, its because they were both behaving badly and spying on them. this gets the dogs to attack cathy as they try to run away. naturally they take her inside and heathcliff follows. much is said about his race during this time. then heathcliff proceeds to make himself look Very Bad in front of them after their dog attacked cathy (though, again, they're very quick to kick him out super late and make him go home and keep white cathy for six straight weeks). when cathy comes back, now the 'proper' lady the lintons made her into, she comments that heathcliff, described routinely with dark skin unlike the pale lintons, is dirty. he does not like this. its hard not to see a connection for him to the fact his skin is brown, and hers is not, and nor is edgar lintons. the lintons are invited to dinner at one point and they make it clear they do not want to interact with heathcliff, so heathcliff is sent away and has his whole 'linton is white and going to steal cathy' meltdown to nelly. who then proceeds to try and calm him down and is like 'we'll fix this by cleaning you up and making you look presentable and they'll have to let you to dinner'. so she does, she cleans him up and does his hair and gives him a pep talk and tells him to behave and she sends him out to the dinner. to which he is met with immediate and immense backlash when he hasn't even done anything beyond try to fit into the game.

he can wash himself as much as he likes, but heathcliff can never truly become 'clean', can he?

there's this idea, historically and otherwise, that dark skin itself is 'unclean'. that one is dirty for having it. its a common racist tactic. if you just scrub enough, you can become paler. if you're bad, your skin will become darker. bleach yourself so you look more innocent. the bad guys with blood on their hands are brown and black and dark and the good guys are pale and white.

perhaps emily brontë is a product of her time and she to saw heathcliffs dark skin as evidence of his bad behavior, as something unclean. (though, again, i'd argue she has him ultimately 'win'. he ultimately succeeds at the thing he wants. his actions are not forgiven or really justified but emily brontë still has him win)

but in our discussion its hard for me not to see such examples of this and not think that race is a huge factor in heathcliffs behaviors and world view. after all, when people look at him, they're not suggesting directly that he's poor in bafflement. they're suggesting hes romani or indian or chinese or whatever else.

the 2011 adaptation i think really puts this in the forefront because it becomes impossible to ignore the elephant in the room here. their heathcliff is black, and everyone else is white. characters use slurs the audience recognizes as slurs rather than words they don't understand are slurs. when cathy comments that heathcliff is dirty off handedly before realizing what she's said, we see him and his brown skin and understand why he is upset the one person who doesn't treat him differently has suddenly said something like that to him. sure there's an element here that cathy has changed and he's scared she's changed, that she no longer loves her moors and wants to run around outside with him forever in them. but the other element of change is that she might see him as lesser, as innately unclean.

like yes class is an element here but to pretend race is not when it so clearly is is...bizarre to me? particularly because class and race are connected and seem deliberately so here. like cathy is allowed to marry up, she is allowed to change class, she can do that quite easily. heathcliff, though, to change class has to run off for a period of three years doing who knows what and he is STILL not respected as being another class when he returns. now I'm sure one could argue 'oh it's because of his personality-' and like sure heathcliff is still very heathcliff like it's not like he's become super personable or anything. but like...neither are a lot of wealthy white men.

also, again, the narrative is very clear. cathy is heathcliff, heathcliff is cathy. they are two sides of the same coin. they are one thing. they are one codependent thing with very similar character traits except cathy is a white girl and heathcliff is a brown boy, which impacts the presentation of these very similar character traits.

we have to question in the text why heathcliff is so unpersonable and the answer goes back to the any time we see him try to play the game and he's immediately shut out. like why should he want to play into this polite society when the polite society has made it very clear no matter what he does, he will not belong here. his wealth is desirable, he is not. the text is asking you to ask why that is and the answer isn't just because heathcliff kinda sucks. because like hindley also sucks, mr earnshaw also sucks. sucking is not a uniquely heathcliff trait in this novel if anything most of the characters suck.

the why this is largely is yes, a response to trauma. cathy and heathcliff and even hindley like all carry the same trauma from their upbringing. but an element of this trauma for heathcliff is the racism. is the way his race plays into othering him, separating him, isolating him. the way his race exasperates that abuse, how it enables further abuse (like hindley turning him into a servant, for example).

i think there's something to be said about horror and discomfort, right? and like wuthering heights isn't necessarily horror like its gothic, its a gothic romance, but it's not necessarily horror despite the gothic and horror like being sisters but like. i do think there's something to be said about the fact wuthering heights wants to be discomforting. it clearly was if you look at reviews of the time and how clearly, clearly it made charlotte uncomfortable to the point where she allegedly burned emily's second manuscript (im not forgiving her for this) and i don't know i don't know if emily meant for this race element to be discomforting in the way i find it as an arab american reader. but i did find it uncomfortable in the way horror is. like i found it very akin to watching a horror film and sitting there wishing the main character just runs or turns around because the slasher killer is right there. it's the perpetual feeling of knowing you are the only brown person in the room and not knowing what that's going to mean at any moment.

i often write little vent posts i delete about this book because i have much to say and much frustration about this denial of heathcliffs brownness that i ultimately decide not to burden others with asdfghjk but in one of them i had a thought.

there's article after article trying to justify heathcliffs white washing in the adaptations where they insist he has to be white or that his brownness is only a suggestion and no one really meant it when they said he looks Romani or Indian or Chinese. and i have to wonder like why is it so important that he is white? does this whiteness impact the narrative? does it change it? is it important to it?

i'd argue the whiteness of cathy and edgar and isabelle and hindley is important to the narrative. it's an extension of how they fit into society, into how they are welcomed to it, as part of their class and their wealth or their ability to just squander that wealth. it's an extension of how they are treated by each other and others, like cathy being brought in and 'civilized' by the lintons for example.

on the contrary, the whiteness of someone like nelly, a character we presume is white due to setting and what not, isn't particularly relevant. it plays no strong element to her story, what race she is, outside perhaps who she chooses to sympathize with.

and see if heathcliff is white...what does that change? a lot of the impact is gone, in my opinion. a lot of the the tensions we see here are alleviated. suddenly the only thing separating him from the society around him is the money he does or doesn't have. suddenly the only factor in his isolation is himself.

if he's brown, though, in whatever way he is...that's a lot more relevant, isn't it?

it's a lot more relevant to the themes, to the story that's happening and the one that happened. he's no longer the only factor here, it's the fact he is in the outgroup and everyone else is in the ingroup and no matter what he does he cannot change his skin. he can't out wealth his skin. he can't escape the way everyone else views him.

it's a lot more uncomfortable to for a society unwilling to look its own racism in the face, isn't it? which is odd to say about a story that regardless of race is entirely uncaring on if it's uncomfortable or not. it wants to be uncomfortable, actually. i refer to watching wuthering heights 2011 as a 'gaping wound' and this is why. it's uncomfortable and it's supposed to be.

idk i just keep tacking segments onto this very long essay because i'm just baffled, you see. im baffled at how this element of this character which is SO OBVIOUS and so RELEVANT to the story being told is just...so ignored? so white washed? perhaps it's just because it was one of the things that made me read the book? because it was i will admit. like i wanted to know. i wanted to know how obvious it was and i came away baffled because it literally only stopped short of having heathcliff turn to the camera and say 'by the way im :insert race here:' like i don't know how emily bronte could have been more clear.

i don't understand.

i hope i have gotten across why i don't understand.

in princess weekes video on heathcliff she notes that, while he is most likely meant to be romani or indian but probably romani, it doesn't exactly matter what specific race heathcliff is what matters is that he is how he is othered and treated due to this race. i think this is mostly a fair assessment because while i do see credence to the argument of the fact he should be played by an actor of the race he is like...most likely to be, nothing significant changes about the narrative if he's romani or indian or black or arab (some have gone for arab heathcliff and i support it despite the book having no backing for this asdfghjk) or so on and so forth what matters is he is a person of color. while how we in the modern day understand that is a little different then emily bronte did when writing the novel, what matters is he is brown.

and yet. every single adaptation. save for the 2011 one. fail to make him brown. i don't understand.

tldr: why the fuck is heathcliff white in almost every adaptation when he so clearly is not if you just read the book good lord

anywho supplemental videos i forgot to add:

the day rue became black by yhara zayd (there was also something from her candyman video i meant to quote after rewatching but forgot to do so also watch that one because sure why not, it was something from her discussion about how its not racist to have characters of color who kinda suck or are villainous or what not but in general everyone should be watching yhara zayd)

heathcliff isn't white by princess weekes

"while under the influence of Wuthering Heights" that's really a real phenomena huh like that's a real thing that just happens to you after you read wuthering heights

[millenari]

whatever the hell is going on here

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

[statementlou]

https://www.tumblr.com/louisupdates/754934426217152513/goodbye-faith-in-the-future-world-tour-272024?source=share

did he or did he not lose fans then?

I will answer this because this anon actually brings a concrete question to the table rather than just "hurhur but you're a larrie??" (tell me you can't actually refute any of our points…). Anyway this post shows the decrease in Louis instagram followers between the screenshots taken directly after the release of Faith in the Future in Nov '22, when he changed his bio to promote that album and the tour tickets, and now, when he changed it again to mention the current release. But I'm putting that response under a cut because I'm tired of the actual POINT of all this nonsense getting lost in a sea of made up things people insist are important:

There is no rational argument you can make to say that Louis has less fans now than he did 2, 4, or 6 years ago. You don't need a spreadsheet of details you need to USE YOUR EYES! He has gone from filling theaters to filling arenas and stadiums. His second album made a higher chart position than his first album. His festival has doubled in size EVERY year of its existence. And for that matter: his insta post engagement numbers remain about the same (despite the fact that older posts should have way MORE likes due to having been there longer, even aside from follower counts.) SO WHO FUCKING CARES ABOUT HIS INSTA FOLLOWER NUMBER???? Serious question: what does the word "fans" mean if these things aren't what matters? ALL of this quibbling about what he should do to make things better and people can't even see that THINGS AREN'T BAD.

Anyway to address the specific question- (con't......)

NO- HE DID NOT LOSE FANS. HE LOST SOME INSTA FOLLOWERS. THESE ARE NOT THE SAME THING. As I said above, literally what does it mean to lose fans if that number change coincides with him having higher sales, more audience members, and higher engagement than ever before? Whatever he lost ISN'T FANS. I wouldn't be surprised if a significant factor was something like a bot purge, but also yes: I'm sure a lot of casuals followed him around the time of his big album release and later unfollowed him. That's extremely normal because that's how casual engagement works, and why the definition of fan really matters. Louis and his team understand this and have referenced it repeatedly, talking about how lucky he is to have *us* specifically, to have the kind of dedicated fanbase he has, to have the KIND of fans he does who will allow him to do what HE wants. @dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram named the issue of depth vs breadth with regard to fans a long time ago, and pointed out why having DEPTH is so much more important. It's like this- artists who are on top 40 radio have more numbers on things like insta follows, and for a time on sales and tickets. But those aren't FANS- they're people with a casual interest. And as soon as that person isn't being forced in their ears 10x a day, those people lose interest and stop supporting them, stop buying stuff and unfollow, and those artists end up doing the 'opener on the jingle ball' circuit rather than their own tours. One Direction as a whole, and Louis maybe most of all or near to at this point, have something MUCH MORE VALUABLE than that- DEPTH FANS. Louis has fans who will support him even if he takes years to release music, or stops parading around with a pretend girlfriend to stay in the headlines at least once a month, or completely changes his image and genre, and that is UNHEARD OF. It's ASTONISHING and worth SO MUCH MORE. And they get that! THAT is why he always bragging about us, why industry people he works with are always so agog about us, why he will do anything for US- not for randos. He is also growing his breadth- and it's OBVIOUSLY WORKING whatever his follower counts are, but that is always going to be secondary to doing things for THE FANDOM because that is his sustainable business model. That is what keeps him onstage and reaching number one. And not coincidentally, the things they do are also working to grow that- much more valuable- commodity. So the fact that that's exactly what these chuckleheads complain about- that he does things that are just fandom facing or serving rather than everything being aimed at recruiting casual fans- does nothing but betray how completely they, unlike Louis and his team, misunderstand the actual drivers of his (actual, existing, happening) success. Luckily for Louis, he and his team rely on their own data harvesting (they do a LOT of it) and growth metrics (they're off the charts) rather than the smug assumptions of random (mostly quite new to this) fans and the few bitter people leading the complaining about everything Louis does.