#i love you hard man but its so hard to look you up on websites to find fanart

[lila-kriegerin]

OMG, OP!

I was just about to suggest "Now & Then "

but I saw it in your tags.

I'm so sorry this may look like an unhinged rant no one asked for, but someone has to tell people younger than me what I know, so I spent 2 hours crafting a reply/follow-up/addendum to you post, OP. Please forgive any formatting errors. I tried to keep things simple and engaging but a few things may look a little bit odd depending on what sort of device you're viewing it on. I couldn't take the risk of making all the text too small

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQLVzTtt2Ws

The biggest problem trying to find similar films is that they often involve at least two of the girls having some kind of relationship to boys causing drama (I'm looking at you, "Sisterhood Of The Travelling Pants "... and others) whereas a film like "Dead Poets Society " is definitely in that pseudo-homoerotic and explicitly homoerotic range of storytelling.

Why do you think "Little Women" was popular for so long? It was the 1oth century literary equivalent with the requisite brush with death and loss so common to an era before even antibiotics existed... and loss and grief still happen today.

It's true that so few are like "Newsies " and "West Side Story ", but DON'T sleep on hits like "Annie" &

🥁 drumroll, please 🥁

Want to guess what was the first obviously gay song featured in a film from Hollywood (after the Hayes Code)?

The First Gay Anthem: Calamity Jane's 'Secret Love'

It's not "West Side Story " because it's a western frontier musical, and they skirted the lines as hard as they could to have a nice Christian young woman fancying a "tomboy": Calamity Jane (who by historical record seems to have favoured women and men).

Though based on American Western folklore, this premise clearly imitated the successful 1950 film version of Irving Berlin's Broadway musical Annie Get Your Gun, about Wild West sharpshooter Annie Oakley.

But instead of a make-over, Calamity Jane gives its tough-gal heroine a powerfully symbolic pistol; her masculine aggression plays with sexual identity through gestures enlarged to the point of farce. And then it goes deeper--into emotional confusion that grows from Jane taking on supposed male habits. Doris Day brings comic overstatement to Jane's complex repression of her own instincts. Like many a closet case, she exhibits a self-defeating willingness to fit into a male-dominated culture. Her tough mannerisms are also designed to protect her hidden, vulnerable emotions.

You have to dig.

Dig deep, and be willing to watch a film with a different spoken language and culture, but there are some parallels.

Consider the Britney Spears film, which I believe is called "Crossroad(s)" in English. [Sorry, I don't have time to look up the title.]

Now— what if there were a film that's something a bit like a lesbian equivalent?

Touch

A Chinese movie produced/sponsored by the sapphic dating app Rela. It follows three girls on a road trip. Chinese language with English subtitles.

I've never, EVER seen any website draw direct comparisons to other films that way, such as:

If you loved "She's The Man" but want it more sapphic (though ultimately thwarted by the producer), you can't miss "Bend It Like Beckham"!

The photo which was posted by OP DOES contain valid points!! (No one is going to treat you "like a man/boy" unless they truly think that's what you are, and society DOES socialise people differently, so: how would a group of teenage girls or very young adult women ever have experiences identical to those in a film like "Dead Poet's Society"?)

Nevertheless, there are some similar films that are comparable:

"Superbad" — "Booksmart".

I decided to hyperfocus trying to think up some equivalents to "Dead Poet's Society".

Here's a quick comparison I spent far too much time on:

If you’re looking for a Dead Poets Society equivalent with mostly female characters, a few films capture that same blend of deep emotional intimacy, artistic passion, and repressed desire. Here are the best contenders:

1. Mädchen in Uniform (1931 & 1958)

This is the OG queer boarding school drama. Set in a strict Prussian girls' school, it follows a young student, Manuela, who falls in love with her teacher, Fräulein von Bernburg. The film is explicitly homoerotic in a way that Dead Poets Society is only suggestive of—there’s longing glances, whispered affections, and a stifling environment that tries to crush individuality and desire. Like Neil, Manuela faces tragic consequences for daring to express herself.

Cracks (2009) — If Dead Poets Society were darker and more explicitly about queer desire, it would be Cracks. This film follows a group of girls at a remote British boarding school under the spell of their charismatic teacher, Miss G (Eva Green, in all her seductive, unhinged glory). When a new student arrives, power struggles and hidden obsessions unravel. It has all the repression, poetry, and tragic queerness you could want.

Heavenly Creatures (1994) — Peter Jackson (yes, Lord of the Rings Peter Jackson) directed this feverishly intense drama about two schoolgirls in 1950s New Zealand—Pauline and Juliet—whose bond becomes so consuming that it leads to murder. Like Dead Poets Society, it’s about breaking free from repression, but it takes a much darker turn. The homoerotic tension between the girls is undeniable, and the fantasy world they create as an escape mirrors the way the DPS boys use poetry to carve out their own space in a suffocating environment.

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) — This one’s all about atmosphere—a haunting, dreamlike film about a group of girls at an Australian boarding school who mysteriously vanish during a picnic. While there’s no overt romance, the film is full of lingering touches, dreamy stares, and a pervading sense of longing and repression. The rigid Victorian setting and the contrast between the natural world and societal constraints make it feel spiritually connected to DPS.

The Falling (2014) — Starring Florence Pugh and Maisie Williams, this film is weird and hypnotic. It’s set in an all-girls school in the 1960s and follows a mysterious fainting epidemic that spreads through the students. It has the same themes of teenage rebellion, deep female friendships that tip into obsession, and an oppressive institution trying to crush individual expression.

Céline and Julie Go Boating (1974) — This is a more whimsical, surreal take on female friendship and creativity. It follows two women who fall into a bizarre, looping story in a haunted house, constantly re-experiencing and altering the narrative. It has a Dead Poets Society vibe in the sense that it’s about escaping rigid reality through art and imagination, but with a queer-coded, magical twist.

If you want the closest equivalent to "Dead Poets Society"...

..."Mädchen in Uniform" or "Cracks" are your best bets, and Cracks more than Mädchen in Uniform

because the latter is so old fashioned that to further scandalise viewers they paired a teacher with a student.

If you want something more poetic and atmospheric, "Picnic at Hanging Rock" or "The Falling" will scratch that itch.

If all of that is too gay for you (gofuckyourself, tee-hee)

You really, REALLY should try

"Mona Lisa Smile".

(...and if it's not too gay for you, then go watch CRACKS right now!)

"Mona Lisa Smile" [hereafter referred to as MLS] is often called the "Dead Poets Society" [hereafter, DPS] for women, and yeah, it certainly hits a lot of the same beats—

an outsider teacher inspiring students to challenge societal norms,

a prestigious school that values obedience over individuality, and

a group of young people grappling with expectations that threaten to suffocate them.

Where DPS is about breaking free through poetry and self-expression, MLS is about that sort of thing tosome degree, but more about feminism, gender roles, and the fight for intellectual freedom in a world that wants women to be just wives and mothers.

Similarities to Dead Poets Society

The Inspirational Teacher as a Catalyst for Change

In DPS, John Keating (Robin Williams) shakes up Welton Academy’s rigid, tradition-obsessed environment with poetry and passion.

In MLS, Katherine Watson (Julia Roberts) does the same at Wellesley College, using art history to challenge her students’ pre-ordained roles as perfect housewives.

Both teachers are NOT merely instructing— they’re awakening their students, making them see the world differently, and often doing so in ways that put them at odds with their school’s administration.

The Oppressive Institution and Its Ideals

Welton Academy is a suffocating prep school that values discipline over creativity, much like Wellesley College in the 1950s. They outwardly promote academic excellence but ultimately groom women to become ideal wives. (T_T)

Both films show how these institutions uphold deeply ingrained traditions that resist change, even when it's clearly needed.

Both films show some of the human cost of trying, and giving up.

A Group of Students at a Crossroads

Just like Todd, Neil, and the rest of the DPS boys who struggle between expectation and their own desires, the young women in MLS— Joan, Betty, Giselle, and Connie—each navigate their own battles between societal pressure and personal ambition.

Joan (Julia Stiles) mirrors Todd.

Betty (Kirsten Dunst) is like a mix of Cameron and Richard from DPS.

Giselle (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is the Charlie of the group.

The Tragedy of Repression

DPS’s tragedy is clear: someone's dreams are crushed & there is a heartbreaking su*c*de [all the trigger warnings apply]. MLS doesn’t have a singular moment that tragic, but its heartbreak is quieter—seeing some brilliant young women choose societal expectations over their own ambitions because it feels like the only option... that is definitely going to haunt some people more than it may haunt white cis-hetero male viewers.

In both films, someone (one you probably like most of all, in both films) will have something horrible happen to them by their own choice, and that is very haunting.

Additionally, I dont think it's too big a spoiler to say oth films end with the teacher leaving— but to say why would spoil the endings of the films.

The last scenes mirror each other emotionally: in DPS & MLS, a quiet, bittersweet goodbye with both endings suggesting that while the teacher is gone, the ideas they planted will live on.

Key Differences

The Central Conflict

DPS is about breaking free from repression through art and poetry. It’s about passion, self-expression, and the fight for creative freedom.

MLS is about that too, though with more of a (*cough*white*cough*cough*) feminist focus on gender roles, feminism, and intellectual independence to have intellectual and self growth as an individual— and it asks whether women can truly be free when they’re still expected to conform to outdated expectations.

Homoerotic "Sub"text

[be honest: if you miss it in either film you're in denial or unobservent and that is your own journey you need to take]

DPS is filled with homoerotic tension, especially between Todd and Neil. The intimacy between the boys—the longing glances, the whispered poetry, the emotional weight of their friendships—feels deeply charged.

If you DEMAND that level of queerness, MLS ain't it.

MLS has some queer subtext, particularly with [one character], who is coded as more fluid in her sexuality, but the film doesn’t lean into that as much as DPS does because it's focused more on the pseudo-historical narrative from the book upon which it was based.

Don't forget that DPS came out to cinemas...

THEN "The Craft" did,

THEN "Cruel Intentions" did,

THEN MLS.

DPS was intentionally pushing boundaries of censors for queer story-telling when the USA was still afraid for gay people to peck each other with a little kiss on the lips on television before 10 PM.

DPS ends in a tragedy that reinforces the cost of defying the system— [spoilers redacted], and the boys are [narratively] left in a state which leaves the viewers feeling a bittersweet limbo.

MLS is perhaps a bit more hopeful; and although the school seemingly remains unchanged, things in that world have definitely shifted for the characters.

Their worlds aren't fully transformed though for MLS, it’s beginning to open up, but MLS leaves viewers with their own bittersweet limbo like DPS[-lite] with a sliver of a dash of hope.

Final Verdict:

"Mona Lisa Smile" is "Dead Poets Society" through a differing feminist lens.

It swaps poetry for art,

an all-boys school for an all-girls college, and

queer-coded male friendships for female students fighting for their intellectual freedom.

It has the same spirit—

a teacher who inspires students to think for themselves, an oppressive institution trying to maintain order, and young people wrestling with societal expectations.

However, where DPS is a tale of tragic repression, MLS leans toward quiet rebellion— not a fiery "O Captain, My Captain" moment, but a slow, steady push toward change.

just saw this on pinterest and it hit me like a truck

[ltlemon]

throws up all over the floor <- heard a song he hasnt heard before

[dwln-22]

I find it interesting that these two have been shown with an actual dynamic in multiple instances, and it's especially interesting how the field guide specifically added that they have some kind of conflict with eachother.

An unintentionally long analysis of how i see their dynamic under the cut (Unfortunately i am a chronic yapper)

First of all, the field guide

So essentially, Hard man doesn't like how Snake man treats his prey...which is what exactly? Smaller robots specifically built for him to prey upon? Or just any robots he decides to hunt? Does he eat those robots???

Now, if "prey" is actually just someone he's fighting... then I'd say he's pretty justified in using those tactics. Snake man is described as a light and quick topography robot, similar to Quick man and Metal man (Who are also lightweight and struggle with being kinda fragile) but while those two are like glass cannons, Snake man is kinda more like...just glass.

His snakes aren't beating shit!! He can't even hurt Hard man or Spark man!

The only reason it does more damage to Gemini man is because of psychological reasons! And yet, he's never really portrayed at weak or useless. In fact, he does the best that he can with what he has.

I've always thought that the reason robot masters were given consciousness is because the ability to think and feel helps to improve their performance (for example, Quick man who's very confident in himself is a very good fighter despite being fragile), but it could also be a weakness for them. (Gemini man being super weak to search snakes just because he's scared of them.)

I think Snake man understands this aspect of robot masters very well, and it influences his "fighting style" a lot.

However, to someone like Hard man, it just seems like Snake man is some jerk who provokes people, messes with their minds, stresses them out and takes advantage of their lowest moments. Just so he can win, AKA, fighting dirty.

Now, Hard man is a respectable guy. He prefers to fight on equal terms.

But he isn't exactly kind. He'd probably have no problem openly criticising Snake man's tactics, with good intentions, of course.

But Snake man being Snake man, probably doesn't see it that way. From his perspective, Hard man is just some ignorant guy who thinks he's too good to even speak to anyone. Because I'd imagine that Snake man will closely observe people to learn their personality and potential weakness, but because Hard man barely talks he just makes assumptions based on the things he does end up saying.

Which is usually disapproval of his battle tactics.

This leads them to develop this very hostile dynamic, where Hard man thinks that Snake man is a dishonourable fighter that's blinded by his ego and can't take any criticism. While Snake man thinks Hard man is a stubborn asshole who thinks he's better than everyone and can't stand that someone as weak as Snake man could be his equal.

Hard man just wants Snake man to swallow his pride, take criticism, and fight fairly while Snake man dismisses everything Hard man has to say. (Even when it's detrimental to a mission)

TW: Suicide implications during the next parts

But in fundamentally, Hard man just doesn't get it. Snake man wasn't built to be equal with other robot masters. He wasn't built to tank projectiles or hits. There's no such thing as an "equal fight" for Snake man. No matter what, he can't be a combat robot. He isn't built to survive such conditions, and that hurts him deep down. It makes him feel like he isn't good enough, not good enough for Dr. Wily, not good enough for his brothers, not good enough to exist even.

This is tragic and all, but i personally believe in character development and dynamic changes :D

I believe that someday they'd reach a sort of breaking point. Snake man challenges Hard man to a one on one duel, no holding back.

But snake man, he can't even make a single dent. The fight goes on and on, he breaks more and more, but Hard man remains unbroken. More and more, his legs are damaged, and he drags himself with just his arms. He'll keep fighting no matter what happens.

Meanwhile, Hard man is horrified...this isn't a fight, it's just...torture. It's unfair, it's cruel. It's dishonourable.

How could he stand there, beating his own brother into scrap metal? How could he be proud of what he's doing? And yet, Snake man yells at him, telling him to not hold back. To not show him any pity. Even in such a state, he's screaming insults at him...when all he can do is crawl.

In that moment Hard man would realize, there's no such thing as a fair fight for Snake man...and himself. Being so heavy, so strong, how could he be equal to anyone? How could anyone have a fair fight with someone like him? How could he be so blind to struggles of everyone else?

In the end finally snake man gives up. He opens his chest, revealing his internals to Hard man. Telling him to just destroy his entire core already, along with his I.C Chip. But Hard man never wanted such a thing, he never wanted snake man to die, he just wanted the best for him. He never wanted any of this.

So after this very traumatising event, is the start of a second chance for their relationship...eventually they'd learn to understand eachother and finally have a proper bond...and thus, this drawing I've made today.

Well i have no idea how this post spiralled into this, but hey, i have to write my headcanons somewhere i suppose. If you actually read this far, thank you and I'm sorry.

[quarterlifekitty]

net meet cute

aka: how they start cyberstalking you. Some of these are more on the innocent side, some are slightly more intense.

Gaz sees you pop up in the people you may know section. He most certainly doesn't know you, but you are his type. As it turns out, you have some ridiculously distant relation of people that leads to his circle of connections (you're like his sister's college roommate's wedding photographer's cousin or something). But that one little tether is enough to make him feel tugged.

Soap started following you for your artwork. He follows anyone who even remotely interests him, and he liked what you made. You become a name he looks forward to on his feed-- he feels a bit parasocial about it, he knows your body of work so well now. And one day, he sees you share a post you were tagged in: It's a photo of you with another artist, both holding up the pieces you'd made to trade each other at a convention. He'd known you were talented, he didn't realize you were gorgeous as well.

Ghost sees you in the background of a video Soap shows him. Some disgusting display where people are trying to identify liquids they're drinking. When it's your turn, your face twists and you stick out your tongue, a little patch dyed umber from the soy sauce you'd sipped. He does a little detective work, finds you have a tiny little channel of your own. Nothing with a consistent schedule, clearly just a hobby, but there are a few videos of you restoring old toys, repainting dolls faces and things like that-- usually just showing your hands, but he finds your voice so soothing and you work with such delicate precision. Pretty soon he's obsessed with you, and fantasizing about ending up on your work table.

Price has very few reasons to surf online, but he does have a guilty pleasure: r/AITA. He loves a bit of tabloid level gossip now and again, and its the perfect place for it. He can see the world's most delusional people hard at work. His favorite ones are when both sides are clearly deranged and meant for each other. But then he sees you, posting about your shitty boyfriend, and all too willing to take the blame for the sorry state of things. And he finds himself rather keen on showing you how girls like you ought to be treated, as well as kicking your current man in the teeth.

I've mentioned this before, but I think König meets you in an online game. At first, you never speak on the microphone, and he doesn't either, but you're quite good, and your playstyle compliments his rather well. So he sends you a friend request on a whim, you accept it, playing a few rounds before turning on the party-only voice chat. And once he can hear you when you thank him for tanking damage, or targeting a player who'd been flanking, or pinging a pick-up for you, he's cooked. Looking you up on every social, trying desperately to find pictures of you, because he's sure you'll be as pretty as you sound.

Nikolai find you on a movie review website. He watches movies by the dozen when he gets some time off, but he's admittedly a little bereft of discussion partners, so review suit him fine. He typically disagrees with most of them, partially because he's naturally a contrarian, partially because the majority of online reviews are made by casual watchers and not lifelong cinephiles. And he comes across you, having written one of the only full, multiple-paragraph reviews for the obscure little number he'd just watched. And it straight up made him smile. Your review was punchy, funny, addressed multiple areas including the score, cinematography, casting, and costuming, and he agreed with a surprising portion of it. What he didn't agree with, he was intrigued by. He looks at your page to see what else you've written. You've seen and shared thoughts on many of his favorites, but quite a few things he's never seen, as well. He ends up watching them all, and feels a certain perverse excitement when it comes time to read another review, like he's a teenager taking you on a third date. Before long he's wondering where you are, if you go to the cinema. If they have non-hostile airspace.

Nikto finds you on the staff of some insanely obscure wiki/ID forum. Like, you help run a website/blog that's devoted exclusively to soviet era stuffed animals produced in Sergiev Posad (formerly known as Zagorsk). You help people identify them from pictures, from vague descriptions sent in to you of something from their childhood. He doesn't know why, but he ends up searching up images from others, often from unpopular and defunct listings on marketplace/bidding sites just to send to you. Just to read what you have to say about the stitch markings and stylistic eyes and the little tab of fabric on the leg seam from where the tag was cut. Maybe he'll take it further, maybe he won't. Maybe he'll find out where you are, just to make sure you're safe. Maybe he'll have to keep you safe. People with hearts like yours don't last in this world.

[heartsforvin]

BAD FOR BUSINESS

guys i got this idea from reading a matt sturniolo fic 🙏🏼

buckle up mfs, its a long one

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, age gap ( r’s 23, v’s 30), use of pet names, fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, cussing, use of pet names, use of y/n, lmk if i missed anything !!

summary: when vinnie hired you on to babysit his four year old, he never expected things to take a turn the way it did

you started the job right before the boy turned one. he was the sweetest infant, and even more sweet as a toddler.

it was hard to believe it had already been three years since you started the job, it feeling like yesterday.

you show up at the household five days a week, everyday like clockwork at seven in the morning just so vinnie could be at work on time.

just like today. it was six-forty-five when you pulled up to the hacker residence, fifteen minutes early.

there was really no actual set time you had to be at the house, but vinnie did say before at least seven-fifteen.

knocking on the door softly but loud enough to be heard, you waited for the man to answer.

you were met with the man on the other side, giving you a greeting smile.

you would never admit this to anyone but you always thought vinnie was attractive. with his blonde curls, strong bone structure, and not to mention the obvious muscle.

he still portrayed that ‘dad bod’ but it wasn’t as obvious as most.

“goodmorning ms l/n,” he smiles. “come on in, wes is still asleep but i’m sure you don’t mind.”

you smiled back with a nod as you walked into the house. it wasn’t big, a single story with only two bedrooms, perfect for vinnie and his son.

over the years you came to find out their story. you found out that vinnie’s girlfriend at the time had just up and left the baby as his responsibility.

it was clear he needed the help, and daycare was just too expensive for him to handle, so he decided to hire an ongoing babysitter.

that’s where you come into play. three years ago you had found this ad on a website, clicked on it and read the description.

once you did you knew you had to at least interview for the family, you didn’t ever expect to be hired.

now here you were three years later, wesley had become someone you truly loved like your own son.

“should i wake him up if he sleeps in a little too late?” you asked the older man as you set your things down on the kitchen counter.

vinnie shook his head. “no, not unless it’s past ten.” he informed.

you nodded and watched as vinnie grabbed his things off the counter. he had tattoos run along his hands that you swore was the hottest thing.

shaking your head, you look at the man across from you as he repeats his words you didn’t hear.

“there’s yogurt and strawberries in the fridge, strawberries are all cut up so all you have to do is serve them. you know he’s going to want apple juice with his breakfast so — water it down.” you cut him off with a smile.

vinnie returns the smile and nods. “right. i’ll be home probably about five-thirty, six so i’ll see you then.”

the two of you say goodbye and that’s when you go and sit down on the couch a bit until the boy wakes up. it was around seven-twenty in the morning so you knew it would be at least an hour or two before he wakes up.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

about an hour later you saw the young blonde peek into the livingroom, wide smile across his face when he noticed you were there.

“y/n!” he exclaimed as he ran up to you. you scooped him up in your arms and kissed his head.

“morning, wes. sleep good?” you asked as the boy squirmed out of your arms and sat beside you on the couch.

with a nod to his head, you smiled. standing up, you grabbed his hand and helped him off the couch before saying, “your dad got breakfast all ready for you, you hungry?”

the blonde smiled widely as you helped him down and ushered him into the kitchen.

you grabbed his booster seat and sat him in it before going to the fridge and grabbing the yogurt and strawberries for his breakfast.

“here you go wes. you want your apple juice?” you knew his answer but just thought to check in case there was a chance he didn’t want it.

like always, wesley smiled as he asked politely for the drink. your went to pour it in a sippy cup and watered it down just a bit like always.

handing it to him, he thanked you as you ruffled his hair with a smile. you had eaten breakfast on the way here so you decided to sit at the table and wait for the boy to finish.

once he was done you cleared the table and helped him out of his seat. you put it back in its respective spot and then took the blondes hand and told him it was time to get dressed.

“which shirt today, dinosaurs or trucks?” you asked the boy as you held up two shirts.

he looked between the two before pointing to the one in your left hand. “dino’s!”

you laughed and smiled as you put the other shirt away. after dressing him, you told him you had to clean up the kitchen and to stay in his room to play with his toys until you got done.

once done with cleaning up the kitchen, you decided to take wesley to the park. it was a pretty nice day out, plus it was the last few weeks of summer so you wanted to make sure he got all his time outside in.

“hey wes, you wanna go out to the park? you can bring your car with.” you ask, the boy’s eyes lit up at the last words you said.

for wesley’s fourth birthday vinnie had gotten him one of those battery operated toy cars. wesley loved it the minute he saw it and was outside for a good two hours riding it around that day.

after getting very excited about hearing he could bring his car with, wesley immediately ran to the kitchen to wait for you.

you laughed at the boy's excitement as thee two of you made it out to the garage.

opening up the garage door, you got the car out and wesley immediately got into the toy car and drove out of the garage.

"hold on bubba, gotta close the door." you informed the boy, seeing as he was already halfway down the driveway.

after closing the garage door the two of you were off to the park. it wasn't that far from vinnie's place, so it was perfect walking distance.

once arrived, wesley stopped his car and you watched as he made his way to the slide.

as you watched the boy, your thoughts immediately went to the older blonde man, more specifically, how attractive he really was.

you shouldn't be thinking like this, especially since he was your boss, not to mention years older than you, but you couldn't help yourself.

you wondered if he thought about you the way you did him. he couldn't have though, he's acted nothing but professional to you for the past three years.

you've always thought about what it'd be like to be in a certain situation with him. how would he react? would he be polite and push you away, or would he give in?

that's what you had to find out.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

back at the house, it was around five-forty-five and you were getting wesley ready for dinner. he had demanded chicken nuggets and mac and cheese to you on your guys' way home from the park.

you of course couldn't tell him no, so here you were, preparing everything for his dinner.

after getting the boy into his booster seat, you finished up cooking the mac and cheese before serving some in a bowl to him, the chicken nuggets were served soon after that.

"had a good day today, wes?" you ask as you sit down at the table with him.

wesley smiles and nods. "when's daddy gonna be home?" he asked you before scooping up mac and cheese.

you checked your phone for the time before answering him. "soon, bub, probably after you're done eating."

wesley smiled and continued to finish his food. about twenty minutes later vinnie walked into the door and wesley immediately ran up to him.

"hey bud!" vinnie said as his son hugged his legs.

vinnie set his things down and picked up his son. "had the best day!" wesley exclaimed to his dad.

you watched with a smile as wesley told vinnie all about your day today. vinnie flashed you a smile and for a minute your plan was working.

"alright bud, go in your room and play for a bit while yn and I talk, okay?" vinnie said as he put the boy down.

wesley ran to his room while you and vinnie watched. once he left you started to clean up the dishes from dinner.

you watched as vinnie rounded the other side of the island and took a seat on one of the barstools. "you don't have to clean up, you're good to go home for the day." vinnie informed.

you smiled and shook your head. "its alright, i don't mind," you told him. "plus you worked all day, it's the least i can do."

vinnie noded and just stay put. after dishes were done you had offered to bathe wesley to help out once more before leaving.

"you don't need to do all that." vinnie says as he takes a sip of his drink. "I can bathe him, he is my son of course." he laughs.

it was the first real laugh you've gotten to hear in years, and you had to admit that you loved hearing it.

although, he was right, you definitely did not have to wash wesley up, vinnie could do it himself. you just loved spending time with both vinnie and wesley, you couldn't help it.

"okay, let me just say goodbye to him and i'll be out of your hair." you tell the man before you walked out of the room.

once you left, vinnie let out a heavy sigh, thanking everything that you left when you did. recently he's been having thoughts no boss should have about the person they've employed.

thoughts like how pretty you are, how pretty you looked in your bathing suit that one summer when he had invited you over to swim because wesley wouldn't stop asking for you.

"fuck." he cursed under his breath, now trying to not get a tent in his pants before he sees you for the final time.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

the next day you arrived at the house exactly at seven. knocking on the door, vinnie opened it moments later with his eyebrows furrowed.

"shit I'm sorry, i forgot to tell you wesley's at my parents house today. you don't have to work today, go home and take the day off." he informed with a smile.

you smiled too, that's when you took in his appearance; tousled hair and sweats, no shirt.

your breath caught in your throat at the sight. you hadn't seen him like this since that summer he invited you over for a little pool party with wesley.

vinnie notices how you react and chuckles. "this looks unprofessional, know," he breathes. "i just needed a day to myself, i know it sounds selfish but it's true."

you shrug it off. "don't need to explain yourself, it's fine i understand." you tell him with a smile.

vinnie returns the gesture. "well i guess i'll get going," you sigh. "thank you, i'll see you tomorrow."

vinnie smiles before he watches you walk off, that was until he called you back over.

"hey actually if you'd want, i could have some help around the house a bit." he tells you, opening the door for you.

you walk into the house and set your things down on the counter. vinnie comes up behind you, hand gliding against your back before he faces you.

he's still in his sweatpants and no shirt. he looks at you and takes in your outfit.

a nice baby blue sundress paired with black converse. he loved how you dressed cute but also a bit casual too.

"so uhm," vinnie clears his throat, making you smile. "you can start with whatever you want first, no rush and you definitely don't have to do this." he explains.

you smile as you start to walk over to the kitchen sink, vinnie follows in suit and sits at the island chair that faces you.

you start with the dishes that are already in the sink before going to the ones on the counter

"what'd you guys do last night after i left that has the sink overflowing?" you ask with a small laugh.

vinnie reciprocates, laughing with you before answering. "wes wanted cookies before bed, unfortunately he makes it hard to say no and so i gave in."

you laugh, the four year old can be very persistent with things. as you continue with the dishes, you can feel vinnie's gaze linger on you.

he watches as you wash the dishes then set them on the counter to dry. watches as you glance over at him and starts smiling.

he smiles back, not even hesitating before he does, almost like its on cue, an instinct.

"you're beautiful, you know that?" he doesn't know what possessed him to say that, but he's glad he did.

the reaction he gets out of you is one he suspected, your cheeks tint to a red color, smiling wide as you look at him.

"thank you, vinnie. you're not so bad yourself, even when looking casual." you return the compliment.

you both don't know what is going on right now, this was extremely unprofessional, at least it felt like it.

vinnie didn't care right now though. he'd been having these thoughts about you for so long, he needed to act on them.

taking a bolder approach, he stands up and rounds the other end of the island so he's now by you. you turn to face him, and that's when you notice the slight stubble on his face.

you thought it made him look sexy, paired with his tattoos, you almost didn't want to give in.

his hand travels to land on your waist, you look down at the placement and that's when vinnie asks, "is this okay?"

it shouldn't be, but it sure does feel okay. nodding your head, you give him a verbal response too, just so he knows.

his other hand cups your jaw and that's when you watch as he leans in, so you do the same until you're met in the middle.

the way his lips felt on yours was like nothing youve experienced before. it was needy, hungry, like you've both needed this for so long.

its almost like you did, you've both imagined this moment too many times, and finally acting on it almost felt unreal.

"jump." vinnie says against your lips. you do as told, jumping up so you're now in his arms.

none of you break apart as you feel him gently place you on the counter. his next movements however were not so gentle.

a gasp slips out of you when you feel his hand come in contact with your clothed pussy. he smirks up at you, watching your head tip back as his finger presses against your clit.

"vinnie." is all you muster out, it coming out as more of a moan.

vinnie smiles as he continues to rub at you through your panties. he watches as you widen your legs for him and bite your lip.

"let it out, baby. its only us, let me hear you." vinnie says, making you let out a loud moan once he circles your clit again.

carefully, he pulls your panties to the side and chuckles softly when he sees how wet you are already.

"barely touched you and you're already this wet f'me? dirty girl." he rasps before gliding his finger over your folds.

a whine slips from you and he smiles up at you, standing to give you a quick kiss before going down on his knees.

the sight in front of you almost makes you let go right then and there. vinnie's head disappears from your view and under your dress.

he grabs the waistband of your panties and pulls them down, tossing them on the floor somewhere before dipping his head between your thighs again.

you feel his fingers on you again, making you moan out his name for the second time. vinnie smiles to himself before easing his middle finger into you.

"shit," you moan, holding onto the edge of the counter. "vinnie, please."

he removes himself from between your legs and looks up at you, asking what you want. "you want more?"

you nod an he happily obliges, dipping his head back under. this time, his middle finger and mouth make contact with you.

his finger his sliding in and out of you at a rapid pace as his tongue prods at your clit, eliciting moans out of you.

soon, he gets antsy and lifts himself up again. "can i take this off?" he asks, referring to your dress.

you nod with a smile and before you know it, its off in a second. he asks to take your bra off too, to which you do for him, landing somewhere in the room.

his hands immediately find your chest, taking both of your breasts in his hands and squeezed them, making your head tip back.

he kisses from your lips all the way back down to where he was moments prior. his mouth lands on you again and you grip his hair, tugging softly which makes him groan into you.

"taste so good, princess." vinnie mumbles against you as his tongue laps up your juices.

you push his head into you more, causing a groan from him and moan from you at the feeling. you feel his ring finger enter you and that's when the pleasure intensifies.

"vinnie, g-gonna-" you're cut off by a whine as you feel his finger hit that one special spot.

vinnie looks up at you, continuing his actions as he speeds up his pace on you.

before you can utter the words to him, you're summing on his face in a second. vinnie lifts off of you and smiles, making you smile with him.

"so fuckin' good, baby," he breathes out before kissing you. "stand up f'me."

you do as told, hopping off the counter and standing up. before you have the chance to speak, vinnie's turning you around so you face the counter.

"gonna let me fuck that pretty pussy? huh, sweetheart?" you can't even answer him, the tone in his voice already making you wet.

you nod as you feel his hand make contact with your ass. his sweats pool to his ankles, letting his cock spring free and smack against his abdomen

"gonna give it to you so good, baby." he whispers in your ear as he strokes himself a few times.

you wiggle your ass just to tease him, he smacks it again before asking if you're ready.

with verbal conformation, you tell him you're ready and that's when you feel him push into you for the first time.

"shit, feel so fucking good already, don't know if i'll last." his words make you smile as you bite your lip.

vinnie grabs your hips and starts to move in and out of you at a slow pace. you grip the counter, already feeling like it's too much.

"so big." is all you can say, making vinnie smirk.

his thrusts soon become needy and face paced as time went on. when you noticed, you moved your ass back on him, making him moan.

"that's it, fuck yourself on my cock. good girl." the praise goes straight through you, making you whine in pleasure.

vinnie kisses your shoulder as he fucks into from behind. he can't believe this is happening. he doesn't want it to end.

his hands move from your hips to your chest in an instant, squeeing both of your tits as he thrusts into you.

"feel so good princess," he rasps. "god we should've done this sooner."

you smile at his words and agree. even though this is completely wrong, it feels so right.

"vinnie," you whine when you feel his thumb rub circles on your clit. "baby please."

he takes that as a sign that you're close and his pace along with his thumb on your clit becomes harsher.

"give it to me baby, come on. be a good girl and cum all over my cock."

his words only spur you on more and before you know it you're doing as told. a loud moan rips from you as you let go on vinnie's cock, making him smile as he reaches his release.

with a few more thrusts he cuts deep inside you with a moan followed with it.

"fuck." he says once he catches his breath.

he grabs your dress off the floor and helps you put it back on. he grabs his pants and puts them on himself after.

"that was.." you trail off with a laugh, not even knowing the correct words to use.

vinnie laughs with you, also not knowing the right words to use to explain what just happened.

you fix your hair and dress before you hear the doorbell ring. both you and vinnie go wide-eyed when you hear the door open and the sound of his son's voice.

"shit." he mutters. you watch as he quickly picks up your bra and puts it in your purse.

wesley comes around the corner just in time, followed by vinnie's parents. they've met you before so you say hello before grabbing your things.

"I should head out. thank you again vinnie for letting me help out, i'll see you tomorrow." you say to the blonde man.

he walks you out real fast and as you two are alone, he kisses you quickly. "see you tomorrow."

you smile and walk to your car, checking your purse for your keys. that's when you realize you left something on the kitchen floor, no doubt one of the three people who just walked into the house finding it.

tomorrow's going to be an awkward day.

hiii this has been in my drafts for months so i’m glad i finally got it out !!

i switched to writing on my new laptop but some things i do still have to do on my phone but majority of my writing will be from there (not like you can tell LOL)

but i hope you guys liked this !! i loved writing it <33

tags: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @sturnioloshacker , @khackerr , @42angelgirl , @visualbutterflysworld , @slvthrs , @leqonsluv3r , @bernelflo , @kriissy4gov , @laylasbunbunny , @khxna , @0strawberrysorbet0 , @defnotayonna , @supabhad , @kayleighh , @hallecarey1 , @violet0182 , @skye-44 , @eddieslut69 , @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom , @miilzzy , @jpg3 ,

[silv3rswirls]

Sweet Thing

Requests are open, desperately in need of some more Yandere/dark requests <3

my masterlist for these kinds of fics

Summary: Sweet thing; mourning lamb. Believe him good or evil, or somewhere in between. He doesn’t care, what’s done is done.

warnings: dark yoongi, cults, religious themes, abuse of power, sex, mentions of virginity, corruption kink, mentions of mental health, manipulation, coercion, dead animals, blood, carcass. Can you tell I love a good sacrificial lamb theme

fic playlist for vibes

note: Requested by an anon, I hope you like it <3

You covered your mouth with your hands, your stomach churning and your dinner threatening to come back up.

You didn’t mind the role you played here, enjoyed it even. Until it was time to clean up the mess left behind. Why make the ones who raise the lamb clean its remains? You looked at the table, watching the slow drip of blood fall onto the floor. The room is empty and dark; earlier it had been filled to the brim and bustling with followers. Everyone seemed to like watching the sacrifice, listening to the father rant and rave all night.

You swallowed, filling tears threatening to brim your eyes as you forced your body to approach the animal’s body. 

You loved taking care of the animals. It was your job, along with a few of the other young girls and older women. Everyone had a job. Everyone in the father’s flock contributed. It was one of the many rules you had been presented when coming into their group. You had only been a part of the flock for about a year now, maybe a little less. It was hard to keep track without phones: no television, no internet, and no socializing with the outside world. Only the trusted members of father’s council could. There was a man that ran the organization's webpage, he had the only computer in the compound. The rest of the men that Father surrounded himself with also had phones, allowance to leave, and other perks for being more devoted, you supposed? 

All you really knew was that you didn’t, and likely never would have those kinds of gifts here. You were new, too young, and didn’t know enough about father’s words. You weren’t sure if you ever would. You liked it here, but it was confusing sometimes. Maybe you just needed to pay more attention. 

You hadn’t been looking for the word of father at the time. You had been heading home after another failed job interview. Anxiously waiting for the train home, watching the crowds of city goers weave around each other. 

You didn’t attend college, and your marks in school had never been the best. It was getting harder to find jobs to apply to now. No one wanted you. Not educated enough, and seemed to demure and slow to think in your interviews. At least, that’s what one particularly rude man had told you at the end of one. You didn’t even want to work, your family was pushing you. You couldn’t make them understand what was happening inside you. You couldn’t even explain it to yourself, let alone articulate the abstract happening in your head. 

Your train was running late, you looked down at the folded flier in your hand. A man had practically forced you to take it from him. You were used to seeing it; crazy people out this time of night trying to recruit people to their schemes.

You unfold it, looking at the paper that spared little information on their group. Not a cult, they insisted with a laugh. An organization for those who felt lost, and needed help and guidance. 

“We take care of each other, we’re family.” 

There was a code hidden on the flier, if you could solve it you would gain access to their website. You went home that night, and two days later you had solved it. Not long after you found yourself wandering out to meet with them. The rest had unfolded so fast, so smoothly. You pretend, as we often do. You were pretending to be an ignorant cynic. Terrified of waiting, or wanting something that you may never get. Daring to dream for anything more than what was on the platter life presented to you at birth. You hardly noticed the change, and soon the remnants of your old life faded. Father’s words set in, rooted inside your being. You liked him, and everyone here. You had never heard of Father’s God, but you didn’t mind turning to him just to have someone to take care of you.

You closed your eyes and scooped up the lamb, setting it in your wagon. You turned back to the blood smeared over the stone table and began to scrub.

It took a long time. Your arms felt like jelly and your back hurt from hunching over. It was washed and dry for the most part, but the past stains of blood remained. Faint traces left over from years of the same ceremony. You looked around the empty, dark room. Everyone else had left by now; your tasks always took the longest. The windows here were stained so dark even during daylight you couldn’t tell if it was light or dark out. It was late though. Most of the candles stacked around the room had burnt out, a few stays remained flickering.

You stood up, giving a big stretch and turning back to the lamb's body. When you saw the dead little lamb you could feel yourself starting to cry again. Too wrapped up in your woes, you hardly noticed the gentle click of the room’s door closing. Soft footsteps slowly make their way towards you. A comforting hand brushed against your back, murmuring slowly about how your tears should be of joy. Their sacrifice would make your life better, this would lay yet another small stepping stone to the future Father was building for everyone here.

The voice, so smooth and quiet, you recognized. Min Yoongi, a man you had never spoken to before about a month ago. He seemed to be good friends with father and was one of the higher-ranking members of the organization. He had taken notice of you on one of his many walks through the meadows you and the other girls watched over the lamb. He had come, snaking through the thick grass and wildflower, stopping just to look down at you. Asked about how much you liked the animals, made small talk, and came back every day afterward to keep talking.

It was odd at first. You were never sure of what to say or do in his presence. He seemed a bit untouchable during the rare moments you caught sight of him. Standing up there with father, and six other men. Men who felt like gods at his side. But he was persistent, and he liked you. 

“We’ve talked about this” he smiled at you, his thumb tracing your cheek to push the tears aside. You nodded, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Did you miss me?” He asks, his smile a bit cheeky as he waits for you to nod. You do. You missed him the past few days and have grown used to his presence. You weren’t sure about the feelings you held for him though. It was confusing, as was everything else in your head. But you liked him, liked the way he would kiss you just out of sight of everyone else. How he would guide you to his room some nights and spend hours basking upon you.

Yoongi moves in to kiss you, to which you meet him and return it. He smiles again, “have you thought about what I said the last time we met?”

You hesitantly nod. “I’m just not sure…I mean, father wouldn’t be happy if we were caught, right?”

Yoongi scoffs, laughing a bit as he looks around. “Baby, he doesn’t care what I do.” 

“And what about what I do?” You frown. You hated the way Yoongi could insinuate that he was above everyone else. Maybe he was, maybe father didn’t care what he and the other higher ranks did. Maybe they were favored, you just didn't want to think about it. But there were rules. Rules everyone here was expected to follow. Did father rules apply to him, you wondered for another moment. He would decide who got together for marriage; God would tell him. But, did it matter if it was him? Did it matter to who he chose to be close to? 

Would Yoongi marry you?

You looked up at him when he stood, peering through your eyelashes nervously. You liked Yoongi, he made it hard not to like him. 

“Just lay down here, come on.” He coaxed. Yoongi wet his lips, his eyes fixed on you. He wanted you. Wanted more than kissing and holding you, he was getting bored of it. He wanted you to lay back for him, let his hands roam your body, peel back your clothing, and trace every soft inch of your skin. 

Your will tetters and grows tighter as you lay back for him, finally snapping when he gives you one last reassuring smile. You try to relax, ignore the faint stain of lamb blood under you. “Exciting, right?” He asked and you nodded, your stomach swirled with excitement for him and anxiety for the room surrounding you. You wanted him, you had never felt such an urge for someone before in your life. Guys never looked at you before, and when you joined Father’s word it was far from everyone’s mind here. But Yoongi had been trying, peeling away every reserved and anxious layer on your body. He poked and prodded, his interest was never a secret.

He got close and kissed your cheek rather than your lips again. Then your jaw, just under your ear, then your neck. The way he moved, feverish but restrained, his breath hot and lips tracing your neck. He would stop and peck, and bite. It felt like he was trying to get to your throat, bite it open to listen to your secrets and hushed words spill out. Everything goes blurry when you experience him, you aren’t sure why or how. You wanted him, but here? Your eyes scan the room again. A sacred place like this, laying on the same table the pierced lamb on. Yoongi wanted it to be here, were you his lamb now? 

You unbutton your blouse for him, growing meek under his hard stare. His hands are cold as they run up your ribs, stopping just at your breast. 

Yoongi's breath hitched in excitement. How long had it been since he’d been with someone? A few months maybe. While you, he knew, had never been with anyone. He wouldn't admit aloud that that was what attracted him to you. The meek, reserved vibe you gave off. He liked women like that, he liked walking the fields and searching for his next. 

He loved it. Watching you shrink under him, turn away, try to cover yourself up in embarrassment under his hungry eye. The noises you made, noises you likely hadn’t made before. Your legs around him, pulling him closer. His hips pressed against yours, how eager you are, how you would look back at him. 

“Thank me for picking you. Come on say it again, thank me.” His breath hitched hearing your voice. So perfect for him at this moment.

“Thank you” you managed to get out between breathy moans. Your arms around him, tight and desperate to hold on. His face pressed into the crook of your neck. Teeth sinking into your skin, soft violent marks left in his wake. 

Was it poetic in some odd way to be taken on an altar of sacrifice? You’re head lulled back, your throat exposed for him to press hot kisses to and nip at. You looked up at the ceiling. The same stained panes of glass circled above you. The faint spears of moonlight leak in. The candles burned out as the seconds passed. 

“My sweet lamb.” He hissed, “So perfect for me.” His body dropped closer to yours. His mouth latched to your shoulder sucking marks onto it. “You’ve been waiting for me to come, right?” His fingertips press into your hips, kneading the soft flesh, nails pricking your skin. 

Was that all you were? An animal, standing alone in a clearing waiting for its mother to return. Fawns do that. A young doe placed among flowers to wait for her mother, or anyone really to return for it. Placid and waiting, like now. Waiting for him, or someone else? Your mother, when was the last you had seen her? Talked to her, was she waiting still? Did she know about you, what you were up to? Had she left or had someone taken you, you couldn’t tell anymore. Your memories were blurry. How have you found your way here again?

What had you thought when you first met the recruiters? You couldn’t remember. And when you were sentenced to the farm, slaving away for the lamb. Was that better than your old life at home? What had been your old life anyway? And him; what of him? When he walked the fields until finding you. You looked at him, and you knew he wasn’t the one you were waiting on. But everything was cold, and warmth was warmth. Had you been left there, but by who? God? Fathers God, or God himself? What had he done to find you; why had you sat patiently waiting.

“Sweet thing, little lamb” Yoongi’s breathless, eyes clouded as he looked down at you. Your chest rising and falling, your breath still trying to find you again. He gets off of you, but you take a second to lay there to soak up the feeling. Yoongi, how good he had felt, yet how much anxiety weighed your stomach. You could feel him on you, sticky against your inner thighs. Dripping from you, onto the altar. Thick and sticky, you would have to scrub the table off once more tonight. 

Yoongi finishes fixing himself up and moves back to you. Standing over you, eyes piercing your being once again. He twirls a piece of your hair gently between his fingers. “Sweet thing” he grinned, more to himself than you. “Finish up here, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You feel him tilt your head towards him. His lips pressed against yours one last time. You watch him go, and the stark silence of the room rings in your ears.

What fear a man like him, and those around him brings upon those like you. A woman like you and the unfortunate circumstances thrust upon you in early childhood. You didn’t want him to look at you anymore, and he could see it. In your eyes, he keeps looking. Eyes so dark, yet bright. You can see them, even through the thick darkness of the room. He was there when you spilled your first blood, and now your second. Standing, looking. No good, no evil, he was simply him; man, being, animal, serpent- whatever he was and would continue to be well after you.

taglist: @aft3rhrs

[bowieandqueen11]

Love For You / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: I just found your ao3 account a few days ago and your writing style is excellent! Legitimately some of the most visual and evocative writing I've seen on that website, and I've been devouring your izzy hands fics since I caught up on season two! Can I request another izzy x reader post-amputation and just the reader caring for him while he's pining hard? Maybe the reader has some medical experience so they've been able to help him a little better than the rest of the crew, making sure he's taking time to heal in a difficult moment (physically as well as emotionally, god knows he needs that.) Letting him know he's loved and him realizing he hasn't...heard someone say that to him or treat him this gently in a long time

Thank you so much that's so kind of you to say, it's so lovely people finding me from AO3!! Honestly one of the best feelings, and goodness knows Izzy needs this :)

Okay so I haven't been able to watch the new season so all my knowledge is coming from Tumblr gifs and posts, so I really hope this isn't too ooc my lovely!! Anyway let's get this man some comfort!

I spent all day writing this, so all comments are much appreciated! Thank you! :)

Warning: mentions of blood/injury, mentions of physical abuse, mention of smoking, kissing and some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Something monstrous seemed to be creeping up the shuddering walls.

No, it wasn't the stifling silence that had seemed to envelop those of Blackbeard's crew still left, hiding their heads between their legs and closing their eyes as they felt the quicksand drain out through the fingers. Nor was it the creaking organ snore of Wee John thrumming up the timber; the rest of your usually upbeat crew grew despondent as they wracked their brains together and came up with a way to save you all from imminent demise, having flopped onto their sides and fallen into fitful sleeps just before sunset. Sadly it wasn't even the feel of Lucius' finger stroking yours through the cold grates of your jail, his smile lost and forlorn as he thumped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as well, feeling even more entrapped in himself than you did.

It was, in fact, the hard glare Izzy Hands was shooting into the side of your face. He hadn't spoken a word since Stede had left, choosing instead to let out the odd sniffle from his corner bucket and busy himself by watching you like a man possessed: like something wild, something smothering itself in the shadows to stop its howling heart from devouring the light around itself. From tearing his dagger out of his scabbard and devouring his heart himself with clawed hooks. He looked ghastly, and he looked gargantuan as the life seemed to convulse within him, leeching out and darting its tongue around the creaking wood until it filled up the room and began to fill your heart up with a hope you thought had been lost weeks ago.

He looked beautiful and proud and defeated and assured in spite of it all, and you were finally beginning to understand why Zheng Yi Sao had locked him away in this cage.

And in a way, it terrified you that this cataclysmic, lucent shadow was creeping its merry way straight for you.

The tenebrosity was quickly broken by Izzy's shining eyes gliding across the bridge of your nose to land instead on your top lip. He wasn't entirely sure why exactly he was feeling so timid. It wasn't as if Frenchie was still awake, as he was too busy hugging his free arm around the remaining muscle of Izzy's thigh and burying his head into the muscle with a soft murmur of contentment. Yet the idea of being caught leering at you like a dopey boy was enough to make him judder with embarrassment, and enough to send Frenchie's head keeling sideways so his lips were rammed up against his trousers.

Thankfully, it was exactly Frenchie's floppy head that gave away the fact that he was fast asleep, and allowed you to steal Izzy away for yourself. With a gentle lift, you were quick to replace your friend's cheek with your own hand, giving the side of Izzy's thigh a reassuring squeeze.

'You look like you're bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders', you sighed as you took in Izzy's harrowing form. It wasn't his paleness that worried you, or the redness that cracked and splintered around his irises. It was the way he was watching you, eyes trained steadily on your face for the last hour and a half, as if he were doing his best to memorise everything he could before he ran out of time. As if he would never have the chance to look at you again.

The edges of his lips curled up, and he thumped his head back against the wall. 'Me? I'm feeling fucking fantastic. Never been better. Why do you ask?'

'Well', you began as softly as you could, straining to reach the vials in your hip knapsack to retrieve some salve for the scarring that had begun to pucker around his skin. 'We are about to be executed. I guess I just wanted you to know this is a safe space to let it all out before we are. A confessional of sorts, if a little makeshift.'

He wet his bottom lip as his eyes darted down to you, confused.

You pointedly looked him in the eyes, before unscrewing the vial and dipping your pointer finger in. Making sure he didn't seem too uncomfortable, you leant forwards as innocuously as you could, trying not to startle him anymore than he already had been. With a swipe, you began to rub the herb mixture around the sore looking welts left around his cut leg, making a point to run your fingertips soothingly over the goose-bumps that began to rise at the feel of you against him.

'I wanted you to know- to know that you're always safe around your crew.' You did your best not to let your voice tremble, no matter how much your throat tried to choke you. You turned your head back down to his leg, trying to hide the fact that your mouth was crumpling in on itself.

He winced as your hand brushed against a tender point, and you ran the back of your knuckles over his skin in apology. He felt like he was burning alive: a fire blazing so furiously in the pit of his stomach he was sure it was gushing out, swinging around the room and warning everyone of his impending falter as he fell upon the crags of your fingers below. He had no idea how, in all the seas, you couldn't possibly see how ecstatically devastated he was to be sitting here with you.

He didn't mind dying. He wasn't scared of it. As long as you were there to enhalo his misty light in the end. As long as you were there to love him until his last breath. As long as, no matter what form he took, you were still enclosed around his heart.

'Who says I have anything to confess?', he glanced at you with heavy eyelashes, eyes bleary but sharp as he started straight into your soul. I don't have to confess it, he thought, it's so fucking painfully obvious.

How could he confess something so inexplicable? Something that wrapped around all of his bones, that wormed its way into parts of himself he thought long numb: long lost. How could someone ever articulate the feeling of life itself? It was insurmountable, far too transcendent, too impetuous for mortals to to unsnarl into words.

'Oh Izzy', you said, mouth falling into a frown at the way his hips reflexively bucked up at the feel of a new cream being slathered around his leg to try and numb the pain. He moaned, trying to mask the sound by clenching his fist into his mouth and biting desperately into his knuckles. One more touch, and he was about to fall apart. 'Your eyes are drowning in so many regrets I can barely see the stars in them anymore.'

He huffed out a laugh, looking at you with incredulous, wild eyes. He willed his hand to stop shaking as he let it rest, still clenched, by his quivering chin. 'Not in my eyes. You never could. That's not possible. Not me.'

'I could.' You were quick to reply. 'I always could. You're our guiding light, Israel Hands.'

Oh boy, if he wasn't devastated before he sure was now. His face fell immediately, and for a moment you felt your heart ache with a sore regret at the silvery tears that began to cloud in the crinkles of his eyes. But then he does something that surprised even you.

The way he opened his legs up was almost miniscule: too small for anyone who didn't know this man's quirks and intricacies and giveaways to notice, but a well aimed shot that sent a rush of heat prickling up your cheeks. Before he changed his mind and retreated into himself again, you were quick to scoot your backside over and come to rest far too intimately between the tightening leather of his inner thighs.

'You can't be surprised that we care about you', he started after a moment of comfortable silence, leaning the side of your head to rest gingerly on his intact leg. 'That the whole crew has always cared about you. Look, someone even got you a mop-', you gestured to his side, trying to make him laugh before the sun rises, and thankfully you succeeded.

He shook his head out as if trying to refocus himself as his chuckle died out in his chest. He didn't want to laugh right now. He wanted to focus on the weight on his leg: on the feel of your nose brushing on the length of seam running up to his groin. He blinked back heavy tears that spread along his lashes, sniffling coarsely. He probably should laugh, he thought. He should be fucking howling, spitting, going rabid at the irony that the one thing he had been yearning his whole life was lying right there on his lap, and he only had a few hours left in his pathetic life to savour it.

'How are you doing, by the way? Seriously', you jolt your head up to watch him quizzically. He did his best not to meet your eye, choosing instead to stare at the black grains above Jim's slumped head. 'After, you know, everything that happened with Ed-'

'You don't need to worry about me', he sniffed, but his hand twitched as he lifted it up to rest on his thigh, just above the top of your head. 'It's my job to worry about all of you. Not the other way round.'

'When are you going to get it through your thick skull that we want to worry about you. This isn't some kind of weird mandate or self-preservation tactic on our part Izzy. You may be a fucking idiot, but you're our fucking idiot. Let us take care of you too, like you've been looking out for us.'

He squeezed his eyes shut, his head beginning to shake furiously enough to send his stray silver locks clambering over his eyes. He was glad for their cover, so he wouldn't have to see the way you had lurched forward: the way you were pleading with him with your eyes, as you rose onto your knees and pressed your hands firmly around his waist, just where the joint of his legs met the soft squish of his tummy.

'Don't you shake your head at me. We all know you've been trying to direct Blackbeard's anger your way. We do!' You cocked your head, trying to follow his face as he squirmed in your grasp. Losing your patience, you gripped his jaw with your thumb and pointer finger, directing Izzy's widening eyes back your way. 'We do, Izzy. We know what you've been doing for us. What you've been sacrificing. And I'm sorry - I'm sorry that none of this is fair. I'm sorry that any of this happened at all.'

One. Two. You tapped your finger a third time, your fingernail swirling over the fine nuances of the holster running over his sawed leg.

It had always been your little secret: a shared confidence, between you and Izzy. One tap. Two. Three on each other's arms after battles, three taps there on your shoulder before you went down to your bunk, three fleeting touches burning at the back of his spine to let him know that you were alright: to let him know that he was alright.

You only stopped when you heard a brisk inhale: a sharp whistle that broke through your indulgent repose and made Roach roll over. Thankfully, a moment later, the cook's arm was splayed out across the floor again, and his leg kicked out backwards with a swift jolt up poor Button's behind. Izzy, though. Izzy, despite the surprising tenderness of the moment, was almost smouldering. The muscle by the side of his femur began to writhe underneath just the point of your fingertip, the feeling of just your warmth making him feel too feeble. Too needy to even control the rest of his body; he desperately tried to reach out a hand to shove your shoulder back and push you away, but his mind was too busy swimming with the concentration of trying to remember how to inhale.

The sharp breaths he dragged in painfully were starting to worry you, as were the wracks of his spine as he seemed to writhe backwards and forwards, back arching off the wall before collapsing back down on itself painfully again.

He felt your hand clench around his back, guiding him to sit still again. You were close, far too close - your noses almost touching, as you took a risk and used your free hand to slowly.... god, so fucking slowly he felt like he was going to split in half. He looked like a wounded animal: something terrified of being hurt as his eyes stayed trained on your approaching fingers, face wary until your fingertips touched his hair and tucked it behind his ear.

And then he felt that warmth. That warmth against the shell of his ear. He bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood, and for once, he was glad for the taste. It was comforting. Familiar. Deserved. He wasn't one for the fucking heartache of tenderness. And god, how his heart ached.

'Come on,' you nestled yourself between his legs again and perched your elbow up on his left leg. 'People must have cared about you before. Might as well get it all out in the open. Be honest with each other now.'

He paused, before the stubbornness wormed its way in again. 'No, they haven't-'

'Well, what about your parents? Your parents must have been kind. Besides, the crew obviously cares about you. I obviously care about you. Stop being so pig-headed.''

He startled you with a laugh: he seemed to choke on it, his teeth baring as he barked it out, yet he still couldn't seem to look at you quite yet. That's alright. You had an eternity left in these few hours.

Kindness?

He couldn't remember a time before joining Stede's crew that he had ever felt such a thing, let alone let it fester in the crevices of his ribcage until he felt the dreaded thing was going to claw its way out. Perhaps, if he let himself fester in the silence for a moment, an image of his mother would squirm its way out of his long repressed memories. Clawing and scratching and digging her pointed nails to dig her way out. No, his mother had never offered him a jot of comfort. She could stay buried in that coffin he had stuffed her down into, instead of rotting inside of him. He had enough barnacles to scrape off his body as it was.

It wasn't as if he had any surprisingly sweet memories of his life before. His mother had never been one for grace: her words always bit at his brain like a frenzied tempest, his actions never good enough. Once, when he was six years old, he had tottered up before the sun rose and followed his older brother down to the docks, trying to please his mother. Even so young, he had spent most of his years yearning to be seen as anything but the 'nuisance' or 'pest' his mother used to spit at his feet, and yearned to return with a line full of fish to please her. To help her with the chores that she always yammered his father had left her to rot with. Had left him. That he rotted away her youth. When he came slinking into the doorway, a nervous smile twitching at his ruddy cheeks, his mother had taken one look at the muddy, damp fringes of his trousers and had slapped him clean across the face for his troubles.

Another part of him remembered her warmth. The same that radiated off your palm as you spread your fingers across his knee; the way she would sometimes scutter into his bed at night, and he could smell the harsh sting of alcohol on her breath as she curled up and hugged him close against her chest. Of the way she would sometimes let him sit on her knee once the three of them had returned home after service, and she would brush back his growing hair and he would curl himself up to chase the stray ray of sunlight that glowed against her neck.

It had left him a Gordian mess of a man. Simultaneously spending his life seeking any kind of validation, any kind of affection, while his stubborn self-preservation did its best to push everyone away.And yet here you came, watching him with those sweet, sad eyes. Swinging the sword to undo him.

'I don't remember much about them', he replied curtly, but not unkindly. 'My father left us when I was young. I was... mainly left to my own devices.'

You nod slowly, letting his words thinking in. Letting the misery drenching every seething heave of his tongue wash over your head. 'Well', you began to rub your thumb in circles against his trousers, 'at least you have us here now. One good thing to add to the pile.'

There we go. The knot's slowly being undone.

You tried to smile, but the intensity of his gaze falling on you again unsettled you.

'You're right.' His voice was far too earnest for his own good. 'I have had one good thing in my life. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

You nearly jolted when you felt his hand smack down on top of yours. He had closed his eyes to try and hide himself from his discomfort, but his gloved fingers still slid between yours and squeezed despite himself. Once he was assured they were firmly intertwined: his own grasping tight enough to bust the leather at the stitching, he dared himself to finish his train of thought before he lost his nerve.

'I do... I do care about the crew. None of this was their fault, and they shouldn't have been fucking blamed for it. But I- I, I care about someone else far more than all of this twatty lot put together.'

It's a whisper into the darkness. A despairing yell of defiance against the solitude. A smothered light, long lingering and far longer forgotten. A spark of hope against the threat of ruination. It was a silver tear, glinting like starlight against his iris and falling with a content plop onto the back of your hand.

'I-I-', he stuttered out, clenching his teeth as he wills himself not to cry. 'I-'

The words refused to unlatch from his throat. Luckily, you were adept enough to notice the longing that drew a sad ache across his face.

'Izzy, I-'

'Let me finish', he stumbled out, his whole face now contorting as he struggled with the weight of it all. His bottom lip began to wobble against his will, face falling in on itself.

'I have-I have... love. For you. 'What I'm trying to say is'-, he shakes his head, chiding himself.

'Izzy, I know, it's alright. I know. I understand.' You grabbed tighter onto the back of your hand, enveloping it with your free one until his stopped shaking, begging him to realise you could see him.

'No-. No. If I don't say it now, I'm worried I never will.'

'Take your time, take your time. We have all the time in the world'. A sob finally gasped out from Izzy, chest heaving as he felt you draw his hands up towards your mouth. Still safe. Still warm. Still firmly cupped between your own, but the feel of your lips brushing against his knuckles was enough to send him reeling. The gentle peck that followed, though, was enough to finally let him break free.

A tentative finger reached out, checking for any signs of repulsion before landing awkwardly to point into the blade of your shoulder. He seemed to freeze: immobile marble frozen in fear as he seemed unaware as to what to next. After a few wary blinks, he clumsily spent a few seconds trying to manoeuvre the rest of his arm to cross across your back, before tugging your torso to lean closer towards him.

For a moment, it finally seems as if the world has skittered upright on his axis again. It felt normal. It felt right, feeling him grow comfortable with affection again as he melted, for the second time that week, into your hug. For his sake, as he burrowed his head into the pulse point of your neck until his stubble began to tickle your collar bone, you pretended not to hear the maimed whimpers that struggled past his closed lips.

The only time he moved was to raise his head up towards your nose, bumping it playfully against the tip of your own. Then another graze. A rub, and then another one, his eyes the whole time languidly drawn down to stare at your cupid's bow, until he slowly brought himself down to breathe unsteadily against your mouth. After a final moment of contemplation, he blinked placidly before closing his eyes and tilting his head to close the miniscule distance between the two of you.

His jaw was tense as you ran your finger down it, so busy trying to commit to his memory the pressure of your lips against his bottom one that he was forgetting to breath. But he didn't pull away. In fact, his hand clamped around your neck, digging almost painfully into your back as he stumblingly latched onto you, forcing himself further against your opening mouth. His hand found solace by cupping the back of your skull, chest squeezed against your breasts as he opened his lips and almost devoured you whole.

A loud 'awww!' erupted from your side, making the two of you jolt apart. The only problem was, Izzy's bottom lip had been rather firmly attached to yours. This meant that as you drew back, Izzy, in his stubborn unwillingness to let you go, let his bottom lip drag down along your inner mouth until a line of saliva connected your bottom lips, which only made the person the other side of the brig giggle even louder.

'You guys are cute', Black Pete yawned with a wakening stretch.

'Yes!', Roach chimed in as he teddy bear rolled his lanky legs round in front of him. 'I swear!', he continues, ostentatiously wiping his finger underneath his eye, 'I must be crying! I'm two seconds away from going up there and commencing our escape myself.'

With a tilt of your head that hit Izzy's chin, you looked at the cook incredulously. Izzy only gazed down at you past the crook of his nose, wonderstruck as the he let the words wash over his head.

'You. You really think you can take on all those very competent pirates up there.'

'Of course!'

'You cried for twenty minutes earlier about soup!'

Roach waved his hand unconvincingly in front of his face. 'Broth, it was broth! But I'm great with knives, remember! I have one hidden in my underwear right now!'

'Why... why is it in your underwear?', Oluwande piped in as he rested his head on the side of a barrel.

'Yeah, you weren't captured', Archie added, shuffling her own head off Jim's shoulder to look out past the bars. 'Why isn't it, I don't know, in your pocket or something.'

Even though Roach has opened his mouth to answer, his train of thought is broken by the tired grumble of another one of your friends. 'I hate to admit it, but that was actually very sweet', Lucius chimed in, twisting his lips into a shit-eating grin as he eyed the both of you up, another cigarette now firmly tucked in and freshly lit between his fingers as he took a drag.

'Is everyone on this fucking boat awake?!', Izzy cried, wrapping a hand protectively around your shoulder joint.

You snorted, burying your head protectively against the soft skin of his bellybutton. The sound of the crew beginning to argue with an increasingly impatient Izzy was like music to your ears; the monster was beginning to retreat.

No longer did it hang and shake and pierce the walls with its talons until it bled umbras. It retreated: chased away by the comely love of your crew. Of your family. Of the man who held you protectively against him, blinding you with his tender love.

[emrowene]

Webserials and Why You Should Read Them

Welcome to a short primer on webserials! The concept behind them is pretty simple: webserials, also called webnovels or webfiction, are serialized online novels. If you read long fanfics OR webcomics, you're probably already familiar with the concept. Authors release new chapters on a fixed basis, usually one chapter a week (but sometimes more, sometimes less).

You can find webserials in several places: on big platforms like tapas and royalroad, on individual authors' websites or patreons, or on newsletter platforms like substack.

So now we know what webserials are, but why should we support them?

Because webserials are fun. Because webserial authors are sharing amazing works online for free! Because the publishing industry is disproportionately hard to get into for queer and marginalized folks, and those are the people writing webserials.

To climb a little higher onto my soapbox, I believe webserials are the future of accessible and diverse publishing. There's been more and more discussion about the problems with traditional publishing: how publishers are turning it into a "fast fashion" industry, spitting out books while overall book quality decreases. Regardless of whether you believe that, it's true that the industry prioritizes "marketability" over anything else. Experimental books, passion projects, books that have a lot of heart but no pithy "tropes" -- they stand little chance in the world of traditional publishing, and self-publishing is incredibly inaccessible for most of us. It's expensive, but more than that, it takes an incredible amount of time and effort. It's a business, and at the end of the day, some of just want to share the stories we love with people we hope will love them too. And that's the beauty of webserials!

One complaint I've seen about webserials is that "you never know what the quality will be like" - and I've seen this from people who regularly read fanfiction! Like fanfiction writers, we have our beta readers, we have our editors, we pour our hearts into developing our stories. So give us a try!!

Some recs and places to get started under the cut:

My webserials:

Fractured Magic - A queer epic fantasy series about a broken hero’s hunt for redemption and an elven prince’s quest to rescue his kidnapped king. The two estranged friends are racing against time - and dead gods - to achieve their goals. Will they make up and work together before it’s too late? (This story is currently ongoing)

The Case Files of Sheridan Bell - An old-school detective mystery set in Tamarley, a fantastical city with magical murders and doors to other worlds. Basically (queer, autistic) Sherlock Holmes but with more faeries. The first mystery is complete; the second will be published soon!

Some other webserials I follow/followed from start to finish:

What Manner of Man by @stjohnstarling - a queer gothic romance novel about a priest and a vampire.

The Warthog Report by @warthogreporter- this substack contains a selection of nonfiction writing, misc. fiction writings, and Battles Beneath The Stars, a serialized story about a tournament in a fantasy world, styled like a fighting game script/walkthrough.

Kiss it Better by DogshitJay - A (definitely 18+) queer adult romance about the messy endings and messier beginnings of love.

Warrior of Hearts by Beau Van Dalen - a queer slice of life romance following an online friendship that blossoms into something more. (Beau has lots of other great webserials as well!)

More places to look:

Tapas (Community novels page)

Royalroad (mostly known for its litrpg scene, but you can find other novels and genres here as well!)

The ao3 "Original Works" tag!

[safekeeperscosm]

Little surprised you haven't been joining the Billford resurgence after Book of Bill pretty much made it canon

ME TOO HAHAHGSHS it's hard when I have 2 other fixations at the same time as well 😅

I have been kinda keeping up tho! on my gf @arson-of-dreams sideblog. tbh billford is second to the euclydia side of things, next to jheselbraum,, but either way TBOB has definitely been vindicating to me about my own hcs and view of their characters in canon. unfortunately all I want to do is silly light-hearted jokey stuff cause man they weren't kidding about the heavy things. I loved every word of torture and torment its heartbreaking and terrifying AND the pines especially ford gets their closure/happy ending 🥺 I hope the theraprism is a nice rehab cause on one hand bill my silly billy bill needs help and kindness and compassion, but on the other hand I got some bad vibes with the asylum side of things...

it really popped off with the bill stories of possessing the undead, eating people, all good stuff. AND PACIFICA GETS SOME LOVE how did both my fave characters end up covered in blood teeheehee

haven't heard much of gideon, but the parallels go soo hand in hand

I've always believed in ford was obsessed with bill, then the turn tables with bill obsessed with ford after the breakup, and ford is still obsessed but that admiration adoration has turned into vengeance and hatred, they are so divorced and ford is so over him, bill fumbled so hard he died lmaoo I never expected sympathetic bill to be canon but I've always known it ever since the penthouse scene. AND JHESELBRAUM LORE I REALLY THOUGHT WHAT WE HAD WAS ALL WE WERE GONNA GET

excuse me I'm very sleep deprived and have been very sick, take some doodles 💝

I did the last two before the website happened 💀 also look at my billford hatechild I made from my last gf fixiation teehee

[the-californicationist]

Excerpt from Gunslinger - "Appaloosa"

OMG!! I commissioned this artwork from the incredible @captain-natey who RETURNED TO ME WITH THIS MASTERPIECE!!!! I just wanted to plug their work (their commissions are OPEN! visit their website here!!) and I wanted to post the chapter excerpt from "Gunslinger" (Price/Reader) that it belongs to. Hope you enjoy! Please go show Nate some love! Thanks for reading. TW: reference to past domestic abuse, Reader has call sign and speaks Spanish

Price sat beside you and pulled your chair closer to his, looping an arm around the back of it,

“Look, love, you don’t have to do anything you don’t -”

“Capitán! Quit whispering your sugary words into her ear. This is the woman who survived Miguel ‘El Matador’ Moreno for diez pinche años. She may look like a little lady, but she’s done nastier work than all four of you perritos combined. She is the reason why the infamous Jefe Luis Villagomez doesn’t travel north of the Rio Grande. Charon doesn’t ferry the living very often, amigos. She only takes the dead. Porfa,” Alejandro waved a hand in the air dismissively, unamused by Price’s coddling tones. 

Ale may have been embellishing a bit, but he wasn’t wrong. You didn’t need your hand to be held.

“I can’t leave the animals,” you said, checking to see how far these men had thought this plan through. 

“Laswell called Tony, and he’ll be here Wednesday,” Gaz told you. 

Tony had watched the ranch for you once before. He was a sharp-witted veteran that had run his own ranch for decades, so you felt good about leaving the farm to him. Tony could take care of himself. He did tend to spoil the goats, but there were worse things. 

“How long?” Your question hung in the air like a balloon losing its air, floating, surrounded by silence. 

Vargas and Price shared a look. Price repositioned himself in his chair, not thrilled about having to answer you,

“Not sure, love. Is that alright?” 

It was a test. What were you willing to sacrifice for this man and his makeshift band of brothers? Your peace? You’d fought so damn hard for that peace. You’d survived a devil of a man in order to sleep warm and safe and knowing you could take care of your damn business unaided. After giving up years of your life to unrest and fear, your reward had been the reconstruction of your independence. Price was asking you for your hard-fought freedom. You weren’t ready to give that up. You weren’t ready for sleeping on floors and reloading guns. You weren’t ready to face more devil-men. 

But what else could you do? Price had you, threatening your heart. If you woke up tomorrow to his empty bed, you didn’t know if you could take that pain. You imagined that Kahlo’s Wounded Deer felt much the same; shot through the chest with nowhere to run, stuck between the cliff’s edge and your lover - your hunter - both promising suffering in different ways. No escape. 

The captain studied you like a heeler dog studied its herd, watching for even the slightest movement to strike, to react. He witnessed the fear flash in your face, and in turn, you saw the despair shadow his. It was so slight, that change in his expression, but to you, it was like he was screaming. You, too, were screaming. 

“Okay, but just for this mission. Then, I need to get back to my life,” you decided, making your limitations known, quietly but firmly. 

The relief that washed through Price’s eyes was palpable. 

Vargas served dinner in his chaotic way, family style, sharing plates. Everyone was eating with their hands, cradling the homemade tortillas like little flowers, using them to scoop up meat and sauce that dripped down their palms like nectar, spicy and sweet. 

Ghost didn’t take his food into the other room this time, feeling secure enough to flip up the mouth of his painted mask to eat. It was like seeing him naked; he was always covered up, so any skin was somehow too much. Soap crowded Ghost from his corner of the table, trying to steal more asada, laughing and joking with Ale. Gaz and Price were huddled, murmuring about something, talking with full mouths in low tones. 

It was almost too serene. There were times in life where you understood that you were in a moment you could never return to. You may have similar ones in your future, but somehow, you knew when certain wrinkles in time were singular. As you watched your guests, you knew that this was definitely one of those moments. 

Price had his arm draped across your chair, keeping you near him. You crafted a bite for him in your hand, pinching the soft tortilla until it held the perfect amount of Ale’s asada. 

You nudged Price with your free hand,

“Toma, come esto, papi.” Here, have a bite, daddy.

He turned away from Gaz and found you there, his bite of food in your hands, and his face lit up like a flame. Bending his head down to meet your hand, he grabbed your wrist in his huge fist, trapping your arm. Then, slowly, he put his mouth around the morsel, lips touching the pads of your fingers, tongue licking the sauce from them. 

Vargas watched your interaction from the other side of the table, open-mouthed. Soap smacked him on the shoulder as if to cash in a bet.

“No, animales! Not at the table!”

The men shared a lighthearted groan and laughed good-naturedly, giving you and their captain a hard time about your little display of affection. 

You smirked, feeling accomplished. Price had wanted to tell them, so you thought a dropped hint or two would be alright. To your relief, he laughed with them, chewing his food before making a comment,

“Sabe buena.” Tastes good. His voice, still badly accented, was mirthful and suggestive, dragging out another round of playful jeering. 

Then, to your surprise, the captain pulled your chair back away from the table, leaning it on its rear legs, holding it at an angle, and kissed you deeply. You let out a little cry of shock, silenced by his mouth. But, you recovered, kissing him back, wrapping one hand around his jaw and the other running through his hair. 

It was all in good fun. Normal. Just a couple flirting with each other, but for Price, you could tell it meant more. It was one thing to bare your souls to each other in front of the farm animals, or to sneak off and rediscover original sins in the quiet of your room, but it was something else to show the world that you chose him. To show his men that you were committed to their captain. That you weren’t just a rest-stop on their long journey. You got the sense that by committing to him, you were also committing to them: his family. 

The rest of the meal passed in that same warmth, filled with laughter and jokes, stories and questions about each other. Intimacy. The whole time, Price couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Your thigh, your hand, the nape of your neck - he was grabbing you like a lifeline. He shared his food, making you try his chili relleno, giving you sips of his drink when yours ran dry, doting on you. 

“Okay, time for dessert, yes?” You asked the others, picking up dirty dishes as you retreated back to the kitchen. 

You heard exasperated groaning, their bellies full and struggling, but you didn’t hear a no. Vargas followed you into the kitchen, pretending to help,

“Dios mío, necesito un cigarrillo después de verlos a ustedes.” My God, I need a cigarette after watching you two. 

“Cállate, cerdito.” Shut up, piglet. You smiled to yourself, cutting up what was left of the cheesecake, giving Price’s plate the largest piece. 

“¿Estas enamorado, morena?” Are you in love, darling? His voice was a quiet whisper. It felt like a gunshot wound in your chest. 

“I don’t know,” you said, in English, not trusting yourself to tell such a lie in your native tongue. 

Your old friend covered his mouth with his hand, eyebrows heading skyward, giving you an obvious look. He replied in English, understanding the secret you’d been trying to conceal,

“You know better, Charon. We are not men who should be loved. I hope you know what you’re doing, mija. ”

You didn’t reply out loud, but on the inside, you heard yourself say, “Me, too.”

Even though they lived in the shadows, you weren’t sold on the idea that they should be priests for their causes. Men like Price typically followed two paths. The love of a woman, if she becomes his family, could break his heart, making him forget his purpose, distracting him from his quest for justice. Or, she would light a fire in him, turning him into a dragon. You were afraid to find out which path he would choose.

You wondered if he loved you. 

You delivered the cake and poured more tequila into all the little cups that were thirsty for it. 

John was rolling a cigar in his fingers absentmindedly, and you could tell he was aching to smoke it. 

“You wanna come outside with me, love?” Price invited you, rubbing your thighs in big, sweeping strokes, making your blood rush through them, somehow knowing what you wanted. 

Everyone else was chatting, or watching Gaz play that video game of his, backseat driving, telling him where to hide and who to shoot. Which gun to use. You slipped out onto the porch with Price, avoiding any more ribbing. 

You stood against the porch railing, facing the yard, staring out at the darkness of the night, the rain finally dying out to a drizzle, casting little blue galaxies in the flooded grass, reflecting the light from a huge moon. Price stood directly behind you, pressed against your body, wrapping one hand around the railing, closing you in. He held his cigar in the other hand, smoking it in circles, trying to make the ashes burn evenly. 

“You surprised me at dinner,” he commented, obviously looking for a response. 

You feigned ignorance,

“Oh, why?”

“Feeding me by hand like that. Can’t be doing that in public. Makes me go a bit hard, love.” His voice was right next to your ear, gravelly and delightfully threatening. 

You smiled sweetly, your words coated in pretend innocence, playing with him,

“What do you mean? I just wanted you to have a bite. One little bite can’t hurt, can it, John?” 

“It’s bloody mental, the way you make me feel,” he took a long drag from his cigar and let the smoke tumble out as he spoke, leaning over you, “I’d fuck you right here, pretty girl, given half a chance.”

He took a deep breath along the side of your neck, smelling your skin beneath your hair, and when he exhaled, a moan was wrapped quietly inside it.

You pressed your ass into his crotch, finding him nearly hard. Touching his hand gently, you took his cigar and stuck it in your mouth, the wet leaves tasting like him. You curled the smoke with your tongue, locking eyes with him over your shoulder, watching him suffer deliciously,

“I dunno about ‘mental’, John. But it seems like you have an oral fixation.

You punctuated your last two words, saying them with a soft, sultry undertone. His eyes narrowed as he smiled down at you in a sinister grin,

“Do I ever.”

He stole the stick back from you and smiled even wider, teeth gleaming, his incisors seeming like fangs in his wolfy smile. 

“Think they’re watching us?” You let your eyes turn over to the window, covered with a sheer curtain, fully aware that the view outside was more visible than your view into the house. Trick of the light. 

He shrugged,

“Not if they know what’s good for them.”

Price’s cock had fully hardened now, and he thrust it up into your body ever so slightly, rubbing himself through layers of clothes, rocking his hips once and then twice like a promise of things to come. It made you feel a deep, primal lust, understanding his need without his words, your bodies engaging in an ancient art that had remained untainted by eons of time. You returned his invitation, rolling your hips back onto him, your ass pressing soundly into his pinned shaft. 

“We should get some sleep. Early start tomorrow. It’s five hours to El Ojo,” Price groaned, whispering, rutting against you mindlessly, burying his face in your hair, staining your scent with his smoke. 

You turned around to face him; he didn’t stop his idle grinding, looking tranquilized by his heady tobacco. Hypnotizing you with his casual eroticism. 

“You don’t seem sleepy,” you commented, letting your hands roam over his chest and belly, tracing his nipples beneath his smooth shirt. He shuddered at your touch, sighing deeply. 

With his cigar perched carefully between his fingers, he grabbed your jawbone, and you could feel the wet end press into your cheek. You could sense the warmth of the ash on your skin. He began to kiss you, all of the smoke and musky scents of him blended together, and his strong, masculine cologne made your head spin. His kisses were controlling and long, moving your head where he wanted it to be, sucking your lips and tongue, keeping them from exploring on their own. He was the guide for your passion, showing you all the ways he would be able to please.

He broke away, but only far enough to keep your lips from touching, his breath hot as it warmed your mouth when he spoke,

“Early. Tomorrow. We have to get up early. We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you sighed, a little dramatically, easing past his grip, removing yourself from him, untangling his vines from your bones, “if you say so, John. Buenas noches.” 

You walked inside, swaying your hips a little more than you needed to, knowing he was looking, his blue eyes burning into your curves. Just before you went through the door, you glanced over at him. In the darkness of the porch, cast in shadow, the smoldering tip of his cigar glowed in his open mouth, the light from it gleaming off of his teeth and coloring his lips and beard a fiery orange. He was grinning, like a fox in a henhouse. When he saw you looking, he made a small show of readjusting himself, pawing at his swollen rod to release it from where it was trapped, and in the dimness, you could see its threatening outline. 

You shut the door behind you, hands shaking. The other men mostly ignored you, but you caught them glancing your way, trying to sneak looks. Soap was not as sneaky as the rest, staring blankly as if he had a secret he shouldn't have.

As you wished them good night, they returned the sentiment casually, but it was then that you noticed the window. Price was still at the railing - in full, clear view, smoking. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel the flush tingle against your skin with embarrassment. 

An hour or so later, you were already asleep when Price came upstairs. His heavy footsteps pulled you from your slumber. He was pacing in his room, packing perhaps. You went to the bathroom and pulled open the door. Upon hearing you, he opened his as well.

“Hey,” you whispered, squinting from sleep. 

“Hey,” he was breathing heavily, dressed in nothing but the jeans and boots he had worn that day. 

The captain watched as your eyes feasted upon his skin, gazing longingly at his thick waist where his pants were slung low on his hips, showing off just a bit of hair from below his belt line. One of his giant hands gripped the door frame, high on the plank, stretching his chest into a sweeping display of muscle. His armpit, arms, and torso were covered in the thick, dark hair you had let your hands roam across last night during your joining, and you knew how it would feel to touch. 

Price slid his hand down the frame, making a slow scraping noise, stepping fully into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a click, his icy eyes never leaving yours. 

He was enormous in the small space. His body was a powerhouse of visible strength. The meat of him hung heavy on his large bones, and he seemed, in the clean white tile of the bathroom, as if he was a specimen in some sort of display. Some museum exhibit, showing off, in sterile composition, the ideal form of Man. Built to fuck, to kill, to dominate the beasts of Eden from the lamb to the lion. Top of the food chain. 

Still a little shy from realizing you’d given his team quite the show earlier on the porch, you averted your gaze, turning toward the sink. Before you could run the water, he was behind you, quick, crowding your space exactly as he had on the porch.

He positioned himself behind you and, much more luridly this time, began to kiss and lick your neck, grinding himself into you as he did so, slipping a warm hand under your loose top, finding your soft flesh waiting for his touch. You could feel the roughness of his denim jeans through your cotton shorts, and the contrast between his soft, melting kiss and the hard, unforgiving feeling of him trying to fuck you through your clothes was too much to handle. Your body was trying to reconcile the two, splitting your thoughts, making you love-drunk on his ministrations. 

Price pulled off your shirt, raking it over your head, tossing it to the floor. He laced his hand through your hair and began to tug your head back, forcing you to look at yourself, bare to him, in the mirror. There was only the nightlight, more like a small Christmas bulb attached to a plug, so the room lacked any harsh contrast. Your bodies, your faces, the walls - everything began to swirl together, all colorized in the same, peachy glow. 

You felt his hands on your breasts, and you watched him touch you in the mirror. Seeing yourself being pulled and manipulated by such a large man was gratifying. His hands massaged into your softness, leaving warm trails on your skin, the tell-tale feeling of where he had touched and where he still had left to go. The captain saw himself in the mirror for the first time, then, looking up from leaving erotic kisses on your neck and shoulders. 

He sighed, locking eyes with you in the glass. That sigh trailed off into a groan, a ghost of the one he’d given you last night in the midst of his ecstasy. 

“Fucking hell, look at you,” he said in his lowest tone.

Suddenly, he was tugging at the button of his jeans and unzipping the fly, freeing himself and stroking his cock to attention using your plump ass. Through your flimsy shorts, you could feel the burning heat that radiated from him. Reaching behind you, his hardness fell into your palm and you watched the sensation crawl its way through his expression in the reflection. He gasped, resting his head against yours, whispering - yes, yes, yes - into your ear in a hiss through clenched teeth. 

John’s hand found your pantyline and pried it away from your skin with a confident finger, traveling down into your folds, searching for the swelling bundle nestled in the crest of your slit, rubbing it in long, loose ovals.

It wasn’t feverish; it was measured. His was the hand of a practiced man. As he worked, you joined him, rolling your wrist to rub his foreskin up and down in achingly long pulls, letting his wet head graze your skin as you teased him. The thick length was drooling with precome, and you could feel its stickiness on your palm. 

It didn’t take him long to find your particular rhythm, the one you used when staring at Pinterest photos on your phone of Keanu Reeves in his John Wick era; sweaty, bloody, and great with a gun. Price’s movements felt personal, like he’d read about what you wanted in your diary somewhere, as if he was in on the secret. It brought you to the summit very quickly, and he noticed the flush in your cheeks and breasts, only then increasing his intensity. 

You tried to continue to stroke him, but as you began to come in Price’s hand, you could only hold onto his cock, grasping it like the handle in a car driving too fast, careening downhill, rushing to its inevitable crash. 

“Yeah, love, come for me. Just like that, you gorgeous fucking thing,” he watched you tumble over the edge, crumpling in the mirror, reaching for him. 

“John! Please,” you cried.

You felt the tension burst inside of you like a mortar, hot and molten, pouring out of your core and into your body in waves of climactic pleasure. No one had ever made you come that hard, that quickly. It was hard for you to stand. Price steadied you, using his talented hand to hold you to him while you remembered your legs. 

Once you regained your senses, you removed your hand from him to pull down your shorts and panties, letting them pool at the floor beneath your feet. You returned to his cock, now swollen and throbbing, and fed it into you. Your come made his entry smooth and slippery, and he filled you up, your body celebrating his return.

He returned to his slow, grinding dance on the porch, thrusting himself into you rhythmically in aching, rolling motions. It was not the slamming pugilism of two people trying to find release. This was a concerted effort for him to fuck your walls into his memory, rubbing his dick along them to sense every ridge and sweet spot, and to find the ones that made you scream. 

When you let slip a desperate moan, he would pause, reflect, and return, hitting it again and again, watching you writhe and begging for him to help you.

“You feel so good in me,” you admitted, talking to him in the looking-glass. 

His eyes were full of mismanaged control, and his grip on reality was slipping, 

“Bloody beautiful. So warm and wet for me. Goddamnit, I’m not gonna last.”

But, he did. Your beast had stamina. He returned to your clit as he thrust in and out of you, dragging his fat cock through your body, ripping two more orgasms from your lips before he surrendered. 

You watched him come, crying out darkly in his reflection. He had pulled himself from you and was painting your generous ass cheeks with his load. The tacky fluid was searingly hot, and it ran down your skin in drips. 

You smiled, bending back to kiss him,

“Messy boy,” you chided playfully, a naughty tone in your voice. 

“Wanna clean you up,” Price sighed, satisfied and spent.

Do you want 30 more chapters of these two? Read "Gunslinger" here.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

[lululandd]

being captain john price’s significant other would include:

>:3

♡ quick maffs.

you know for a fact its faster to ask him than to get your phone out, unlock it, open the calculator app, and typing the numbers in. it’s a blessing, really.

♡ never missing any appointments.

he just… rmemebers. man has near eidetic memory and even when he’s away at work he would message you to remind you of an appointment. man does not forget.

♡ would i lie to you?

price watches this show religiously. borderline obsessive even. can he find their tell on first watch? can he guess if its true or false? if you're both watching he would tell you tidbits about how to spot lies and all that. he had only been caught off guard twice watching this show. once was the one with claudia winkleman and her pet turtle yoshi, the other was kevin bridges accidentally buying a horse.

♡ lots of emoji replies.

you could be asking him for a quickie and he would answer with a “🤔🕦❓ 🕚❓”

♡ knowing features on your phone that even you dont know about.

“longpress the spacebar, love, it’s faster.”

“you can screenshot whole website pages, you don’t have to take individual shots.”

♡ zero tolerance for childish/bullshitty behaviour.

hes a funny man. silly. goofy. hilarious even. loves bantering around and mucking about. but the moment you try to act out to get in trouble or do something stupid for attention, he’s immediately captain john price. the change is drastic, immediate, and you don’t ever wanna see it again. mans has discipline ingrained into every fibre of his being and would not tolerate anything that could jeopradise both your image and your safety.

♡ having Nik and Gaz around on random holidays.

one day he just brought them over for christmas. Nik brought a simple two layered medovik (honey cake), and Gaz brought in potato dauphinoise. to this day you cannot replicate both dishes to perfection no matter how hard you try.

♡ random phone calls on random hours of the day no matter if he’s on duty or at home.

“hello?”

“allright?”

“yes john im fine.”

“good.”

and then hangs up.

you will never forget the one time he was so absorbed in research and paperwork that he called you. from the next room. you came into his study and he looked at you dumbfounded for a couple of seconds before you both burst into laughter.

♡ english breakfast.

in every brand imaginable. he likes certain brands in the morning, some brands he says are better drank during the rain or some shit like that. you tried pranking him by just giving him assam tea to see if he can tell the difference, and apparently he can distinguish immediately by smell so there goes that prank :’)

[thisismeracing]

King of my heart | ms47 | part 02

Pairing: hamilton!reader (she/her) x mick schumacher

Warnings: curse words, twitter environment, mention of food, not proofread etc etc. Minors DNI!

summary: Y/n and Mick interactions are now being noticed by everyone and some people are ready to share all the details with the internet.

a/n: none of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps. everything else is made up by me and I do not give permission for it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

part. 01 | series masterlist | part 03

theofficialyn

liked by mickschumacher, lewishamilton and others

theofficialyn We worked day and night to create the confiest and safest boots without losing its fashion sense. I am really proud to announce that we are launching one more colletion 🤎 I am still testing all the possibilities and designs to deliver only the best, but soon enought these babies and the rest of our collection will be at the stores ready to create good memories along with you guys 🤍 ynthebrand is really grateful for all the love! Check our website and account for more infos.

view all 5430 comments

sunshineyn OMG THESE ARE FANTASTIC, YN, YOU KEEP OUTDOING YOURSELF!!!!

lewishamilton I keep waiting for you to design man shoes, would most def wear them all the time

disneyf1mick I see a certain golden retriever pilot lurking around the likes 👄

user00 I just find really funny how she’s outed as Lewis sister and suddently theres a new collection being launched…

⤷ carloscars omg yall like to theorize everything, get a grip!

⤷ ynpoptart she’s been talking about this launch for months now, the date was already set, the Lewis incident have nothing to do with it. That’s why she did not want people to know he is her brother, because there are some shitty people like you that will try to dimish her hard work. Honestly, I feel sorry for your fan base, must be a toxic environment.

ynfantastic what about the heels she was wearing last pic? 😫

⤷ sunshine198 I think she’s launching it next, or maybe it was just a test?

⤷ theofficialyn they are on this collection, love! will launch it soon 🤍

⤷ ynfantastic OMG SHE ACTUALLY ANSWERED, HEY QUEEN ILYSM

user10 would never use them, they look kinda ugly and unsafe as well.

mickschumacher

liked by georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1 and others

mickschumacher Good that everyone got the “crossed arms” memo @mercedesamgf1

view all 928 comments

schumachereign He looks waaaay too handsome ugh

⤷ f1racing2 toto, mick or the other guy?

⤷ schumachereign honestly, all of them lol

theofficialyn the energy is immaculate

⤷ ynnyc mother???? what are you doing here?

⤷ charlessainz2 god forbid but I already pictured her and mick dating, where are my fic writes at ✍🏾✍🏾✍🏾

georgerussell63 you guys rock! 🖤

theofficialyn stories

theofficialyn

liked by zendaya, mercedesamgf1 and others

theofficialyn Going through a list of vegan places 💚😋

view all 3,230 comments

mickschumacher 🐟🐟🐟

⤷ theofficialyn HAHAHAHA I HATE YOU!

⤷ f1fantastic your honor, they're in love.

⤷ potteryn they have their inside jokes already. It's their world, we’re just living in it

fan2 You look stunning 😭😭😭

lewishamilton The only reason I forgive you for not going with me is because you’re bringing it home as well 🤨

⤷ theofficialyn You’re the one who told me you did not wanna come!!!

⤷ abcdyn I wonder who she could be going with 😗

charles_leclerc I am counting on a bag of vegan donuts at my desk again this weekend to give me luck…just saying 🚶🏻

⤷ pierregasly he’s actually begging, yn

ynautumn how does it feel to be this pretty?

estebanocon 😍😍

⤷ charleslechair OMG WHAT IS THAT?? *nicki minaj voices*

⤷ norrisfav I thought Pierre was into this steal-your-girl thing not you, Esteban

ynandf1 the whole grid loves her and it shows

swiftieyln Im so happy seeing yn after she was outed as lewis sister, she looks less afraid to be herself, and she’s been feeding us sm I can only say thank you to the holy trinity

sainzsaint charles, pierre and esteban are here too, now y'all gonna say they're dating her as well?

⤷ estiebestie98 yes.

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

make sure you like and reblog <3 feel free to talk to me as well, my inbox is always open!

wanna be tagged on my stories? click here

[peppertaemint]

Let's talk about Taemin and Key of SHINee wearing the Scottish fashion house Charles Jeffrey Loverboy, an openly queer unisex brand. There’s a lot of talk about whether idols know who they are wearing and, when relevant, do they understand the meaning of what they are wearing. We know there are clear examples of artists not understanding what they’re wearing. Indeed, 23-year-old, non-English-speaking Taemin admitted in 2021 that he had no idea the fly of his pants read “Open Here” during View era. Yet, a lot has changed this 2015/16. Taemin’s English is quite proficient. And what about Key, who has studied English since he was a child? I think we can consider understanding the words and understanding the context or broader meaning behind words or, as the case may be, symbols, which can be universal.

Taemin in the Advice album photobook, 2021.

The Charles Jeffrey Loverboy brand is no ordinary brand. It’s a spunky, fun and edgy unisex brand with genuine British flavour. From London Fashion Week's write up:

"Looking back to look forward, the collections re-render historical references as intrinsically modern while paying respect to an ancestral line-up of costumiers, performance artists and queer icons. Jeffrey’s nightlife-influenced thirst for experimentation, and belief in the validity of mistakes, result in a colourful tension between control and chaos.

"LOVERBOY’s roots are fixed in London’s queer nightlife scene, having been born in 2014 as both a fashion label and a cult club night. The LOVERBOY parties, first staged while Jeffrey was studying for his Masters in fashion design at Central St Martins in London, were attended by the city’s up-and-coming artists, performers, musicians, drag queens and poets, many of whom became Jeffrey’s future muses and creative collaborators."

Live performance of Advice, 2021.

The tartan in these looks is known as the loverboy tartan. In the current collection, they have an “odorable” loverboy tartan raincoat with giant floppy bunny ears. I’m too lazy to link it, but do look it up and peruse the punk-meets-whimsy items on the website.

Taemin’s stylist for Advice was Kim Wook. You can read an interview with Kim Wook in translation here. Wook talks about he and Taemin wanting to do something impactful before Taemin entered the military, and they settled on working with silhouettes that are usually seen on female dancers. I could do a whole post on Taemin’s styling for Advice (maybe I will!), but to connect things back to the brand at hand, the flamboyantly unisex Loverboy brand seems to be at home with the goal of Advice’s styling. Advice was Taemin’s way of saying “I will go my own way and trust myself over others,” and I don’t think the androgynous or even gender-fluid looks he presented are a coincidence; Wook’s interview shows that it isn’t. These looks feel like a push forward for Taemin, and he’s been clear in saying Advice was a breakaway from his past. Act I and Act II were leading to this moment.

Taemin has been wearing Charles Jeffery Loverboy upon in return in 2023. I think the most significant choice is the non-binary shirt he wore a fan meeting during Hard era. The t-shirt is a jab at conservatives’ obsession with the love lives and indeed, bathroom usage, of LGBT+, saying, “They’re happy and satisfied. Are you?” There is a also a good-sized, unmistakable non-binary symbol on the shirt. I hadn’t seen this symbol before but it was still easy for me to comprehend. As an artist who is increasingly wearing gender-fluid outfits, it is likely a conscious choice to wear a shirt that supports non-binary rights.

Now, we can’t forget fashion-forward, English king Key in all of this. Key has always had a love and fascination with fashion; we saw in One Fine Day his interaction with a local London fashion brands. He’s a man who knows his fashion houses, so it seems unlikely he wouldn’t know about the Loverboy brand or its ethos as a unisex brand.

Key primarily wore Charles Jeffrey Loverboy accessories for his Gasoline promotions in 2022. The adorable hat with ears is statement wrapped in cuteness, that speaks to the camp motif present in both Key’s body of work and the Loverboy label’s. It’s cute, but not too cute. It’s loud but soft, and the Loverboy stamp is there for all to see. I think that Key embodies what LSF wrote about the Lovery label as “a colourful tension between control and chaos.” Key is never afraid to experiment, and he can go from creating iconic androgynous silhouettes reminiscent of ancient gods and Beyoncé to the retro-camp shown below that almost looks like it could be at home in a Ghostbusters film. Almost.

There are contexts where, like the above, it is more than reasonable to assume that the artists understand what they are wearing and that the choices made are conscious and in some cases made with the goal of the comeback in mind. And there are situations where it’s possible or even confirmed by the artist that they didn’t know what they were wearing or what it meant. I think it can become an obsession for some to want the styling to be conveying a secret code. With the case of Charles Jeffrey Loverboy, there’s no code and it’s not secret. It’s simply known and recognised by those who know, which is enough.

[somebluemelodies]

@atthebell's SPIDERBIT WEEK DAY SIX: it couple | enigma revisiting the coffee shop au for this one, which you can read here! consider this a couple months or so post first date :> featuring: qroier being hopelessly in love and qcellbit being a total fucking nerd (/affectionate. and also hopelessly in love) this is a little lengthy like the last one my apologies-

"Roier, I can hear you thinking from here, man."

Roier abruptly stands from his spot leaning against the counter. "Perdón."

"Keep thinking that hard and you're going to destroy your last functioning brain cell." Mariana eyes his best friend. "Are you still trying to ask that guy out?"

"Yes," he answers, exasperated. "I don't know what the fuck to do."

"Just fucking ask him, man! It's not hard."

"I don't want to just ask, man! I want to do something cool for him, you know? He deserves it." Roier eyes Mariana right back. "Besides, I don't think you're allowed to offer relationship advice. You and Slime just started making out every day and eventually slapped a label on it."

Mariana looks smug and punchable. "And we're engaged now."

Roier only flips him off, leaning back against the counter and returning to his moping pondering. The other barista huffs after a few seconds, finally attempting to make himself useful. "Well, what does he like?"

"He's an investigator," is how Roier answers, "he—"

It's like a flip is switched in his brain, and he shoots back upright. "That's it! I know!" And before Mariana can question it, he's rushing out back to grab his phone.

When he returns, he's near-silent for the next several minutes upon grabbing a pen and napkin, save for occasional mumbling to himself as he studies intently whatever is on his phone screen.

Mariana doesn't bother stepping over yet, watching as Roier eventually starts writing something down on the napkin. Only when the pen has been capped, and Roier sighs to himself, seemingly satisfied, does he finally question the other again. "Happy now?"

Roier nods, smiling. "Sí."

(And so it goes.)

...

“And someone left this on one of the tables?”

Roier nodded. “Sí. Shortly before my shift ended.”

Cellbit seems mildly skeptical, but he doesn’t question it. Besides, who would he be to pass up solving a jumbled mess of letters?

“Well, it’s not a Caesar cipher. Doesn’t make sense. But…” He leans down, reaching for his satchel and rummaging through its contents before he finds a piece of paper, placing it on the coffee table alongside the napkin.

Intrigued, Roier scoots closer from their spot on his couch, hooking his chin over Cellbit’s shoulder. It looks like a table, but it’s full of letters instead of numbers. “What is that?”

(It’s just to get a closer look.)

(Cellbit wills his cheeks to cool down.)

“It’s for a Vigenère cipher. The letters in the middle are for all the encrypted letters. The left-hand column is the alphabet for whatever the key is, and the top row is the plaintext, or the 'normal' letters, if you will. In this case, it's what we're going to solve for."

(Cellbit explaining is leagues better than reading a bunch of words on a screen.)

(He could listen to Cellbit talk all day.)

“So how exactly do you solve it?” Roier asks. He has somewhat of an idea, but it was mostly him filling out the criteria on the website to encrypt it for him.

“I want to try and figure out the key first. I’m guessing the little coffee cup in the corner here has something to do it.” Cellbit points to the little doodle in the bottom right-hand corner, thinking for a moment. “It might not work, but let’s say the key is the word café. Vigenères are polyalphabetic ciphers; it utilizes multiple Caesar ciphers inside of itself, but the increments depend on whatever the key is— sorry, not important— polyalphabetic just means that they—"

“Use multiple alphabets?”

Cellbit smiles, and warmth blooms in Roier’s chest. “Yes!”

He pulls a pen from his chest jacket pocket. “We’re going to repeat café until it matches the length of the message.” He starts writing the letters underneath the cipher, continuing to talk. “We’re only going to be using the C, A, F, and E letters on the left-hand column, none of the others. Let me just finish this…”

Roier waits patiently until Cellbit gets to the last letter. When he does, he reaches for the table he’d pulled out. “Okay! So, now, to actually decipher it, we’re going to take the first letter of the key, C, and we’re going to locate the first letter of the cryptic message, Y, in C's row.” Cellbit’s pen lands on the letter Y. “Next, we’re going to follow that up to the top row for the plaintext.” The pen travels up. “W. So, the first letter of the decrypted message is W. Does that make sense?"

The barista nods as the investigator glances over to check. "Yeah. You're very smart, gatinho, you know that?"

Cellbit chuckles. "Gracias, guapito."

With that, he starts to work on decoding the rest of the cipher. Roier can't help but marvel at the speed he's able to work at - and doing it manually at that, not just putting it through online like he did. But Cellbit solving it fast is doing nothing for his nerves, his heartbeat starting to pick up.

He lets the other work quietly, trying not to shuffle and shift too much from his place leaning against him. He can't tell if he's regretting this or not, with the way the anticipation is killing him.

(But he also knows shit like this makes Cellbit happy, so maybe it won't be the complete end of the world.)

When Cellbit gets to the last word, though, he starts to slow down, processing exactly what the message is in front of him. He becomes acutely aware of Roier's head on his shoulder, the way his dark eyes are flitting back and forth between him and the papers, and pieces start clicking into place.

But he finishes it, because he knows Roier made it. Because he's stunned someone would go to this length for him. And so, the decoded cipher stares back up at him.

(WILL YOU BE MY BOYFRIEND)

Cellbit reads it back over to himself, once, twice, heart hammering in his chest as a haziness washes over him. He feels Roier lift his head, momentarily mourning the loss of contact, but wills his voice to work. "Roier..?"

"Well?" Roier asks after a moment, and Cellbit feels brave enough to glance over at him. They lock eyes, and he looks just as nervous as Cellbit feels, if not more. "Will you?"

For a moment, Cellbit doesn't move, expression unreadable, and Roier wonders if maybe this was a mistake after all. But then he sits upright, and orients to face him. "Cellbo—?"

He's effectively cut off by lips pressing against his, one of Cellbit's hands cupping his face as the other rests against the back of his neck.

Roier's eyes close immediately, melting into it as one arm wraps around the investigator's neck. His other hand goes up, threading through Cellbit's hair and subconsciously deepening the kiss.

(It feels warm, it feels right.)

They only pull apart when their lungs demand oxygen, foreheads resting together.

"Does that answer your question, guapito?" Cellbit breathes out.

Roier grins. "I think I need a little more clarification, gatinho."

Cellbit can't help but laugh. "Let me try again, then."

"By all means."

And somehow, the second kiss is almost better than the first.

(Enigma solved.)

[goodluckclove]

Your Eccentric Older Brother Has A New Artist to Suggest (Free Surrealist Musical/Comedy Albums)

Hey, fucko. What's up?

No, I'm fine. I mean - it's whatever. I'm just...I don't know. It's whatever. It's good. Stop looking at me like that.

Oh, mom and dad told you to be extra nice to me because I'm depressed? I don't know, man. I don't know, man. I don't think that means you have to talk to me like I'm grandma's old-ass dog. I wouldn't call that nice. Makes me worry that I'm about to be put down.

I - you can stay. No, I'm not busy. I'm just listening to - oh, you heard?

I mean, it's not music. It has music. But, uh...okay, so just sit down and I'll tell you about it.

So it's this guy called The Minute Hour. It's one guy, and maybe five albums and a bunch of other little bits and bobs and stuff over, like, ten years. There's music, but it's mainly short-form sketches. Like Monty Python, but specifically the albums.

Yes, they made Monty Python albums. Albums of the sketches. It's like radio theater, you know?

Don't give me that look. Shut the fuck up. I know you aren't talking but shut the fuck up. I get it, liking British humor makes me seem like a specific kind of shitty guy. This guy's American, okay? Happy now? He's American, he's not from the 70s, if he probably is at least aware of the same types of dank memes as you are. Fucking hell.

Fucking hell. Sorry. Ignore me. Don't ignore me, though. Keep listening.

So this guy does short form sketches and sort of like - absurdist monologues. Some of them have been animated and they are really great and a particular kind of chaotic. I personally love the energy of comedy albums - not only Monty Python, but also That Mitchell and Webb Sound. Maybe I'm nostalgic for it because I used to listen to them a lot growing up. I don't care. It kicks ass.

The Minute Hour is one of those things that's underground enough that you can't easily access it. Only one of the actual albums are on Spotify. This is like one of the ultimate niche, hidden gems, and more people should know about it. The guy is a seriously brilliant artist and an even better collaborator with other crazy alternative creators. He also seems to be a little mentally ill - he's either going through psychosis right now or building up hype for a new project, it's hard to tell.

But left-of-center artists, right? People who bring something new to the table and create communities of intensely passionate people. And you can download all of his work for free on his website. I did it already, man. It's fine. It's great, actually. Physical media is cool. I saw that post you reblogged saying that, it's time to put your money where your mouth is.

Anyways. I don't know. It's not important, it -

You want to listen with me?

Uh. Yeah! Yeah, that's - yeah. I'll just start this over. No, fuck it, I don't care. If you're going to do it you should do it right.

I was eating Cheese-Its do you want some?

cool.

[poetryandfluffycats]

haii i love your writing so much!! can you please do tsumugi x fem reader nsfw with him giving her lots of body praise bc shes insecure and calling her a "good girl" and his "babygirl" and stuff 🥺🥺 thank youuu

A/N: mugi day. i would die for this man.

Pairing: Tsumugi Aoba x insecure!fem!reader

Content: You've been invited to go as Tsumugis plus 1 to a company party, which you're truly grateful for! But, you just can't seem to find the right dress, everything looks too big or just plain unflattering. So, you turn to Tsumugi for help.

Warnings: NSFW, soft sex, fingering, penetration sex(p in v), body worship, soft dom tsumugi, slight breeding kink I think, praise, reader is insecure, negative self talk, body image issues, petnames(darling, baby girl), mugi is kind of mean in beginning

Words: 1.9k

NSFW oneshot under cut!

Majestic Lover

You twirled around in the mirror, the ruffles of my white dress flying up around me as I did so. You sighed as they fell down to your waist again, bringing your hand down to smooth them out. This dress had looked absolutely majestic on the mannequin and the model on the website, but on you...

"I don't know, what do you think, Tsumugi? Does it look okay?" You turned around, cocking your head at the blue-haired man, who was currently sprawled out over the bed with his nose stuck in a book.

He let out a hum in response, eyes not leaving the page. "Everything looks great on you, darlin'"

"That's not what I asked" You huffed, turning back to the mirror. "I mean... does it make me look fat?"

Tsumugi sighed, closing the book and placing it on the bedside table, his eyes still not meeting yours. "You're not fat, (name), why do you keep saying that?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You're not answering my question! Do I look good or not?" You whined, crossing your arms over your chest. It felt like you could never get a straight answer out of this man, no matter how hard you tired.

"You look beautiful"

"Liar!" Your bottom lip stuck out in a pout as you threw yourself dramatically onto the ground, legs tangling in the puffy fabric of the dress. A childish look, sure, but it got the point across. "It looks horrible, everything I try on looks horrible. Forget it, I'm not going to that stupid party"

Tsumugi let out a soft huff as he rose from the bed, carefully leaning down to take a seat next to you on the hard floor. His lanky legs stretched out in front of him, long and lean, a stark contrast to your short and pudgy ones. The two of you sat in silence for a short while, you wallowing in the endless abyss of your own self pity and him staring off into space, probably thinking about how much he'd rather be doing anything else than sitting with you.

Or at least that's what you thought.

"Why is this party such a big deal for you, anyway?" He broke the silence after about 30 seconds that felt like a lifetime, wrapping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you in closer.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, pout still plastered on your face. "What do you mean?"

Tsumugi shrugged. "It's just a silly company party, why are you fussing so much over what to wear? Its not that serious"

"Its not that!" You buried your face into his shoulder, trying to hide the ever growing blush on your cheeks. "You don't think I'm pretty enough for you"

The mood suddenly shifted, and you felt Tsumugi stiffen beneath you. You had expected him to laugh, to call you silly and kiss the top of your head, and then you could continue arguing the point until he gave up and left you alone. That's was usually happened when you had an outburst, and it only added to your doubts that your boyfriend loved you at all.

But he didn't laugh, in fact, he didn't speak at all. This was it, you thought. He had finally had enough and was going to break it all off right now and you were going to have to pack your bags and leave, because what man wants a girl who throws a tantrum over a little extra fat on her thighs? You braced yourself for the worst, tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

But the worst never came.

What came in its place, however, was far more shocking and heart-racing than any breakup would have been. Tsumugi sighed, before using all his strength to pull you up by your hips, lifting you back up onto the edge of the bed and climbing on top of you, legs either side of you own caging you under him.

"(name)" He breathed, leaning down until his face was mere inches away from yours. "Do you really think I'm that awful? That I would go out with someone who I didn't think was the most beautiful lady in the whole wide world?"

Your words got caught in your throat, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air as you attempted to find the right thing to say here. You couldn't, so instead, you simply shook your head, feeling your whole body going hot and red with embarrassment.

"That I'd spend all of my time with someone I didn't truly love?" Tsumugi began to kiss down your body, leaving no bare surface untouched from your forehead, to the tip of your nose, to even the little beauty marks in between your fingers.

"That I'd fuck a girl that I didn't want to marry someday?" You gasped as his hands slid up your dress, using their size to his advantage and easily pulling the fabric off your body. His fingers made their way to the hem of your panties, gently tracing over the white waistband. Dammit, you were already beginning to soak through and he had barely touched you yet. Why did he have to be so good at this?

"Do you really think, my most beautiful, sweet, wonderful baby girl" His fingers were hooked under your panties, pulling them down your thighs, throwing them somewhere across the room and leaving you completely bare besides from the white bra still attached to your chest. Cold air brushed against your exposed core, but was quickly replaced with the warmth of Tsumugis hand rubbing along your folds. "That I'd do this to someone I didn't utterly adore?"

You couldn't manage a response, the only sounds coming out of your mouth being tiny whimpers and whines. Tsumugis fingers worked like magic, teasing you and pleasing you just the right amount and in all the right places. The pad of his middle finger prodded your dripping hole, circling a few times and dipping in just a tiny bit, as if to test the waters. He would push in a little deeper each time, stretching you out in a way that made you feel like fine glass-or a virgin.

"Tell me, baby girl, how do I prove to you how much I love you?" He pushed the digit in deeper, wiggling it around and pressing up on a spot that had you squirming for him. "I mean, do I need to fuck those insecurities right out of that pretty little head of yours? Cause I'll do it, baby. Whatever you want"

"Yes!" You cried as he added another finger, pumping in and out at a rapid pace and abusing your g-spot. "F-fuck me Tsumugi! Please!"

Heavenly, that was the only word you could think of to describe the feeling in your veins. Like an angel was touching you, bringing you closer and closer to the pearly gates with each thrust of his fingers. Whatever thoughts that plagued your mind before, gone. A heat was starting to build in your belly, spreading like a rash throughout your whole body. You couldn't get enough, it was addicting, a painful but oh so pleasurable burn.

Tsumugi suddenly paused his movements, withdrawing his fingers and earning a whine of protest from you. Your childish mindset from your earlier tantrum reappeared, and you found yourself wanting to kick and cry once more. What was he doing? Why did he stop? Why why why why why?

He chuckled at the pout that came back to your face, hands moving down to fiddle with his belt buckle. "Roll over, darlin'. Facing the mirror"

Oh God.

You did as you were told, flipping over so your face was squashed against the sheets and your ass was lifted in the air. You wiggled it around a little bit, giggling at the reflection of Tsumugis flustered face looking down on it in the mirror. His pants and belt had already been swiftly discarded and his raging erection was straining against the thin material of his boxers, twitching as you shuffled backwards to rub up on it.

"Patience" He reminded, reaching his hand out to caress the skin of your backside, kneading it in between his fingers.

His hands were large enough to cover most of one cheek with one palm, and they left a trail of warmth wherever they touched. From your ass, to your thighs, then down to where you were most insecure about. His fingers stroked over the softness of your belly, running the pads over your stretch marks as if he were trying to memorise every part of you. Then he moved his hand to under your chin, forcing you to meet you own reflection in the mirror "Look at yourself. Look at that gorgeous woman there and tell me shes ugly"

"Tsumugi-"

"You can do it" He encouraged, moving the hand that still sat on your ass to the band of his underwear, pulling down and letting his cock free, giving it a few lazy strokes. "You're beautiful, say it"

You gulped. "I'm beautiful..." The words were whisper, barely audible, like it was a secret.

"And this" Tsumugi trailed the hand holding your chin back to the plush of your stomach, giving it a small squeeze. "Isn't fat, alright? The only time it will be is when I stuff you full of my babies"

With that, he plunged in, bottoming out with one harsh thrust. The angle was perfect, the tip of his cock resting snugly on your g-spot causing you to throw your head back in a moan, the loud sound bouncing off the walls. Tsumugi didn't give you much time to adjust, beginning with a soft pace mere seconds after pushing in. It was hard not to cum on the spot, with his hips rocking back and forth so nicely, cock pushing up against every little crack and crevasse inside you.

"I love you, (name). Ah~" He panted, leaning down to press a flutter of kisses down your back. "I'm so lucky. All mine. So pretty"

"Ah!~ L-love you too!"

Each praise was accompanied by a particularly hard thrust, a subtle but not-so subtle reminder that every word he spoke was the absolute truth. Heat spread from the tips of your toes to your core, your orgasm brewing as Tsumugis thrusts sped up. You were so close, and so was he-if the way his cock throbbed inside of you was any tell.

"Mugi~ Wanna cum so bad"

"Yeah? Lets cum together baby girl. Show me just how perfect you are"

You couldn't help the squeal that left your throat as you came undone over his words, the heat in your belly exploding like a volcano and flooding your brain with nothing but thoughts of your lover and how good he made you feel. Tsumugis came soon after, hips snapping to meet yours as he released his hot seed inside you, coating your walls white and filling you to the brim.

The two of you collapsed on the bed, bodies sticky and clammy with sweat and other bodily fluids. Tsumugis gently pulled out before laying down next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, bringing you in closer to pepper kisses all over your flushed face. "I meant it, you know? I love you so so much"

"I... think I'm starting to believe that now, I'm sorry, I guess I'm just now used to someone loving me this much" You confessed, burying your head deep into his chest. He smelt nice, a nice mix of that woodsy cologne he always wore and both of yours sweat. "I love you too"

He hummed. "I'm glad. Now, can I get back to reading my book or...?"

"Cuddles?"

"Course, darlin'"