#i really need to get like a better camera or something

[botanicsoul]

Behind the Screen

Pro Hero | Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Blogger Reader | Aged Up

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧. 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

—

You post it as a joke. Kind of.

It’s late, and you’re curled up in bed with your fanfic draft open and half a Twix in your mouth. Your followers are going wild in the replies, and you’re riding the high of being the “unofficial Dynamight smut queen” of the timeline. You’ve been known for your over-the-top thirst tweets, but this one? This one’s feral.

—

@/blastyourbackout

“Dynamight wouldn’t even take the suit off. He’d fuck you with the gauntlets still on, breathing heavy through gritted teeth, all ‘Shut up and take it—this is what you wanted, right?’”

—

You toss your phone. That’s enough unhinged behavior for the night. Until the morning comes—and you wake up to hell.

Your tweet is trending. His name is trending. People are tagging him.

—

“this is NASTY and i love it.”

“@Dynamightofficial please read this and confirm or deny.”

“If Dynamight didn’t do this, I’d be shocked.”

“SOMEONE CHECK ON HIM”

“@Dynamightofficial thoughts??”

Then it happens.

—

@Dynamightofficial :

“Who tf is behind this account.”

“If you’re gonna talk like that, be brave enough to show your face.”

You nearly throw up. Your DMs? Melted. And sitting right at the top.

[Private Message – @Dynamightofficial]

“You write a lotta shit for someone who hides behind a screen.”

“You really think I’d leave the fuckin’ suit on?”

“Show me your face if you’re gonna say it like you know me.”

Your heart is pounding. And you shouldn’t. But you do. You send a selfie. Just a soft one. T-shirt, messy hair, bare face. You look like someone who absolutely shouldn’t be writing the filth he just read.

There’s a long pause.

He starts to finally type:

“…fuck.”

“You’re cute.”

“like super fuckin’ cute”

“You don’t look like someone who says I’d blow your back out against a fuckin’ window.”

You:

“I mean… would you?”

Him:

“You really wanna know?”

“You clearly think you know it all, writing the way you do.”

“So what—wanna let me show you what it’s really like?”

You pause. Breathless. Fingers trembling.

“Yes.”

⸻

A few days later, the meet-up actually happened.

You gave him your address—half-joking, half-panicking when he immediately replied with a thumbs up and a “Bet.”

You spent the next two days spiraling.

Cleaned every inch of your apartment. Shaved, exfoliated, moisturized places you didn’t even know needed it. Practiced how you’d open the door without looking like you were seconds from passing out. Told yourself it was just casual, just fun, just… whatever. you totally weren’t about to get fucked dumb by your fav pro that you write smut about.

Except it wasn’t. Because now. He’s at your door.

And he’s in the fucking suit.

Mask off. Jaw set. Gloves still on. That big, broad chest rising and falling.

Black and orange, thick with tension and sweat and that sharp smoky scent that clings to him after a patrol. His hair’s a mess. One gauntlet is attached, the other dangling from his hip. And he’s just standing there—broad, massive, silent—like he owns the whole building.

You freeze. Your heart slams.

“…Hi,” you manage to say.

His eyes drag over you—down your legs, over the shorts you probably could’ve made smaller and the tank top that wasn’t technically meant to be seductive, but absolutely became that under stress.

“Damn,” he mutters. “You look even better when you’re nervous.”

You try to laugh but it comes out breathless. “You really wore the suit?”

“uuuh yeah? did you think I was gonna show up here in a hoodie after all the shit you wrote about this thing?” He steps closer. “Thought I’d let you see it up close before I ruined your sheets.”

Your knees go weak.

You try to respond—something witty, something smug—but your words get caught somewhere between your throat and the fact that he’s already inside. Pushing the door shut behind him. Glancing around like he’s checking for cameras, or exits, or maybe just where he’s gonna lay you out first.

“You ready?” he asks, voice low. Rough. Already undoing the gauntlet from his wrist with one hand, tossing it aside.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah.”

He smirks—steps in closer until you’re backed up against the nearest wall, breath catching.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been losing sleep over the way you said I’d fuck you in this suit.”

You stare up at him, completely wrecked just by his presence, and whisper, “Was I right about some of this stuff I wrote?”

He dips his head down, lips brushing yours—barely.

“I’m here to fact check it.” he growls.

You shudder.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, eyes dragging down your body like he’s mentally ripping off every layer.

He hasn’t even touched you properly yet—but your back’s against your door, your legs are trembling, and Bakugou’s towering over you like he’s already won.

“That tweet got me thinkin’ about you all fuckin’ day, baby. Let’s see if you write better when you’re sore.”

His hero suit creaks with every breath. Heavy-duty gauntlets still locked around his wrists. His undersuit clings to him, black and orange and unforgiving across his chest, his thighs—everything.

“You scared?” he asks, voice low. His hand comes up—gloved fingers trailing under your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Or just nervous I’m actually gonna live up to that filthy little imagination of yours?”

Your breath catches.

“…both.”

He smirks. Then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s everything you wrote about—demanding, rough, obsessed. He kisses like a man starved. Like he’s been reading your tweets on loop.

And god, when his hand slides down your waist—those big gloved fingers gripping your ass, hoisting you up—your back hits the wall and you let out a soft, stunned whimper.

“That the sound you make when you’re not behind a screen?” he growls, lips dragging along your neck. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re even better in person.”

You try to answer, but he’s already slipping one hand between your thighs, dragging his knuckles over your heat—still covered by your shorts.

“Wrote that I’d be mean with it,” he murmurs. “That I’d tease you. Make you beg.”

His gloved finger presses just right over the damp spot in your underwear.

“So beg.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You feel insane.

“P-Please.”

He groans. “That all I get after all those filthy paragraphs?”

“Dynamight—”

His eyes flash. “Katsuki.”

You pant, skin burning.

“Please, Katsuki.”

“Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He carries you to your room practically kicking the damn door down. Your back hits the mattress, but he doesn’t follow right away. He stands at the edge of the bed, breathing heavy, gaze dark and hungry.

His suit’s half-unzipped now—exposing his chest, glistening with sweat and tension—but everything else stays on. That thick black material clings to his arms and thighs like sin. The gauntlets drop to the floor with a heavy thud, but the gloves? Still on. And he flexes his fingers slow—just to watch you squirm.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” he mutters, eyes dragging over your body like he’s trying to memorize it. “Sittin’ there on your little blog, makin’ people think you’ve got me figured out.”

Your thighs squeeze together. He notices. Smirks. “Lemme show you how right you were.”

He crawls over you like a storm. Muscles shifting under his suit, voice dipping low, filthy, as he shoves your shirt up, lips ghosting over your stomach.

You arch when his teeth graze your hip. “Katsuki—”

“That’s right, baby,” he mutters, pulling your shorts off slow. “Say my name when you write about this later too.”

He pushes your thighs open, and he goes down. Tongue eager. Desperate. He eats you out like he’s proving a point—like he’s got something to prove to every single tweet you’ve ever posted. Groaning into you, gripping your thighs tight like he wants to leave handprints. You’re moaning, shaking, gripping the sheets, and he’s just eating it up—literally.

He comes up with his mouth slick and eyes wild. “Not even close to done with you.” And he isn’t.

He flips you. Presses you into the mattress. One hand on your hip, the other grabbing your wrist and dragging it up the bed.

“Hold that headboard, princess.” You feel him line up—still in the damn suit—and your breath catches as he sinks in.

Slow. Deep. Bruising.

“Fuck,” he hisses, jaw clenched. “You feel like I imagined. So fuckin’ tight, so wet—shit.”

You cry out. He starts moving. Harder. Deeper.

Every stroke is a claim. His hand slides down your back, then back up to wrap around your throat—not choking, just holding. Just letting you feel it.

“Write about this next time” he growls into your ear. “Write about about me makin’ you cum multiple fuckin’ times.”

You whimper—high, breathy, wrecked.

“That’s right. Take it. You wanted this.”

“I did,” you gasp. “I wanted you—”

“You fuckin’ got me now.”

When you fall apart—completely, wildly, back-arching and moaning his name like a prayer—he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

Because he’s obsessed now. Addicted.

Your thighs are trembling. Your voice is hoarse. Your sheets are a mess—twisted, damp, clinging to your skin like the heat of him isn’t already enough.

He’s still going.

“One more,” he grits out, thrusts snapping into you slow and deep. “C’mon, baby—just one more for me.”

You’re barely hanging on—nails dragging helplessly down his back, vision blurry with overstimulation, body trembling under him as he rocks into you, all tight grunts and low, broken groans.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temples. “Takin’ me so good—fuck—you feel like you were made for me.”

You moan, shattered.

He growls, fucks you harder, chasing his release like a wildfire. And when he finally gets there—when you clench around him, gasping out his name in a breathless sob— He snaps.

“Knew it,” he groans, hips stuttering. “Knew I’d fill this pussy the second I saw you.” oh, and he does. Deep. Warm. Heavy. Flooding you.

He keeps moving—shallow, deep rolls—just to push it in. Just to feel it drip. Just to make it last. His head drops to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin.

You barely register him pulling out until you feel it—messy, hot, dripping down your thighs.

“fuuuck you’re beautiful” he murmurs smirking down at you. Wrecked, ruined, glowing. He lays down beside you, just looking at you like you were a fucking trophy.

He then reaches for his phone.

—

[New Tweet – @Dynamightofficial]

“Just fact-checked one of your little fantasy tweets. 11/10 accuracy. Would reread. Would re-enact.”

—

You see what’s he doing and it snaps you out your daze, your eyes go wide. “You didn’t—!”

“Too late,” he shrugs. “Let ‘em guess which one it was.”

You grabbed your phone just as quick to quote it.

—

[New Tweet – @blastyourbackout]

“Just know the gloves stayed on.”

—

The internet breaks.

You can barely feel your legs.

And Katsuki Bakugou? THE pro hero Dynamight?

He’s already rolling over, tugging you to his chest, muttering in your ear, “Hope you’re not tired, princess. I’ve got a lot more tweets to prove right.”

[lazysoulwriter]

only you. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you for sending, lots of love!

---

You knew this part of Pedro's job. You really did.

Late nights on set. Red carpets. Press tours where he had to smile and laugh with people he barely knew outside of the screen. You never thought you’d be the jealous type — not with Pedro. He was warm, and loyal, and yours in every way that mattered.

But lately... lately it was harder to ignore.

You sat curled up on the couch, the TV playing some mindless sitcom you weren’t even watching. Your phone buzzed constantly on the cushion next to you — notifications, articles, tweets. PEDRO PASCAL SPOTTED GETTING CLOSE TO CO-STAR! A NEW ROMANCE BLOSSOMING ON SET? WHERE'S HIS GIRLFRIEND IN ALL THIS?

You hated how easily the words cut through you.

There were even photos — staged or not, it didn't matter. His arm slung loosely around her shoulders, both of them laughing like they shared some secret world you weren't a part of. It was for the cameras, for the movie, for publicity, you reminded yourself. They needed to sell the chemistry. You knew that.

And yet... you couldn’t shake the feeling. That tiny, ugly voice whispering in the back of your mind: What if he realizes he could have someone easier? Someone just as charming, just as magnetic, who understands this life better than you ever could?

By the time Pedro got home, your heart was a tight knot in your chest.

The door clicked open, and you quickly wiped at your eyes, pretending to be engrossed in the TV. Pedro’s voice floated down the hall, soft and tired.

"Baby? I'm home."

You answered with a weak, "Hey."

He appeared in the doorway, still wearing the casual outfit he'd thrown on after interviews — jeans, a soft, worn t-shirt that clung to him unfairly well. His hair was messy, his eyes a little puffy with exhaustion.

And yet, the moment he saw your face, he frowned. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head quickly. "Nothing. Just tired."

Pedro didn’t buy it for a second. He crossed the room, crouching in front of you so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. His hand found yours — warm, calloused, grounding.

"Talk to me, cariño."

You tried to keep it together. You really did. But it tumbled out of you anyway, raw and broken:

"I just... I know it's stupid. I know you’re just doing your job but—" Your voice cracked. "Everyone is saying things, Pedro. About you and her. About us. And I know you love me, but hearing it over and over... seeing it... it just messes with my head. It feels like maybe... maybe you deserve someone better."

Pedro’s face shifted, from confusion to heartbreak to something almost like anger — but not at you. Never at you. He squeezed your hand tightly.

"Baby. No. No. Don’t even—" He shook his head, looking almost panicked. "You’re the only person I want. The only one."

You sniffled, feeling stupid and small. "It’s just so loud, Pedro. It’s everywhere."

He took your face in his hands, gently, like you were something fragile he couldn’t afford to break.

"Then let me be louder."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Pedro stood, tugging you up with him into a tight embrace. His heart pounded against your ear where you pressed into his chest.

"I should've seen it coming," he murmured into your hair. "Should’ve realized how this would feel for you. I’m so sorry, amor. I didn’t think— I didn’t think it would hurt you."

You clutched the back of his shirt, feeling the tension bleed out of you the longer he held you.

"I don’t care about the movie, about the press," Pedro said fiercely. He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes. "I care about you. I want everyone to know that. Everyone."

You didn’t even have time to ask what he meant before he was pulling out his phone. With one arm still around you, he opened Instagram, switched to his camera, and took a quick selfie — the two of you together, your puffy eyes and his tender smile.

He didn’t even hesitate before posting it with a caption that read:

"Coming home to my favorite person. Every day, every time. Always. ❤️"

Your mouth dropped open. "Pedro— you didn’t have to—"

"I wanted to," he cut you off, setting the phone aside to kiss your forehead. "No more rumors. No more doubts. You're it for me, baby. Always have been."

You buried your face in his chest again, overwhelmed by the way he didn’t just comfort you — he chose you. Loudly. Proudly. Without hesitation.

Later, as you curled up together under the blankets, Pedro whispered against your temple:

"I don’t care what the world says. I only care about you knowing, deep down, that you’re my home. Always."

And somehow, finally, the noise faded away — leaving only the steady, unwavering beat of his love.

-----

[mysteriousxgirls]

A soft giggle slipped from Luna’s lips, muffled against his shoulder as he laced their fingers together. Her grin was lazy, content—the kind born of rare, quiet peace. “Mhm… don’t act like this isn’t one of the things you like about me,” she murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to his shoulder before slowly untangling her hand from his. Her fingers dragged gently along his as she pulled away, reluctant but deliberate. She stretched out beside him, her body curling into the familiar imprint of her pillow, a contented sigh slipping free as her eyes fluttered closed. “Let’s sleep,” she said softly. “I think we both need it. Feels like I haven’t really rested in days.” For a beat, she was silent—then her voice rose again, quieter now, thoughtful but laced with resolve.

“By the way… I’m going to host a charity event at the orphanage. I want to use the money to get better security—outside, inside. Cameras. Staff. The whole thing.” She paused, her hand brushing lightly against his. “Will you come too?” Her eyes were still closed, but her voice held a note of something fragile beneath the steady strength—hope.

He didn’t press her. Didn’t demand an explanation for the way her voice had caught, fractured on unsaid things. If there was something buried beneath her silence, she’d confront it on her own terms. Whether or not she ever let him in—it was hers to hold, hers to offer. And he would never coerce truth from trembling lips. Not from her. Not like this. Instead, he fixed his gaze on hers as she knelt before him—unflinching, unyielding. The words came again, those soft, unwavering declarations. Promises he’d never been taught to believe in. How could he? When all his life had been sculpted by abandonment—by the hollow ache of being forgotten by those meant to protect him? Manipulation had been the first language he’d learned. Solitude, his oldest companion. So no matter how fiercely Luna spoke, how steady her hands were, none of it meant change. Perhaps not ever. But he let her believe it. Let her think she was dismantling the fortress he’d spent decades fortifying. Let her think he wanted to be saved.

Then she moved again.

He remained motionless as the mattress dipped behind him. Then warmth—her chest pressing to his back, her arms encircling him, anchoring him in a way that felt almost mythical. His shadows stirred—disoriented, bristling—then stilled. As if even they recognised the sanctity of her nearness. Slowly, he turned his hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “You really are the most stubborn person I've ever met.”

[electrosuite]

where no one would see us

warnings: swearing, fingering, oral sex, descriptive sex, rough sex

word count: 2k

masterlist

"What the hell are you doing here?" Peter asked, trying to keep his voice down the best he could. He dragged you back into the alleyway he was hiding in, getting you both out of view.

"I knew you were doing this shit again, Pete. You promised you were done. Stalking escaped convicts, for what? To see if they're putting the city in danger?"

"Yes!" You tilted your head in frustration. "Baby, it's my job."

"No, your job is to take pictures for the newspaper. That's it! You don't even have your camera on you."

"I have my phone."

"Which is in your pocket."

"What do you want me to say? Huh?"

"I want you to admit that you broke your promise and are doing the Spider-Man shit again."

"Hey, baby, don't disrespect the suit." You just stared at him, clenching your jaw. "I know I promised you I was done, but if I can do something to help catch bad guys, you can't expect me not to do it."

"Yes! I can! You promised me. You're this close to getting yourself killed, and I can't just stand by and let you do it. And you're doing this right before our dinner reservations. I put on a nice, sexy dress for you, you're in a suit! If you needed to were you gonna just ditch me at that restaurant?"

"Please calm down and lower your voice. You're gonna get us caught."

"Oh, I'm gonna get us caught? Says the guy stalking a criminal in plain clothes. I might as well just walk up to him and tell you who you are myself."

Within a split second, his hand was clamped tightly over your mouth and he had you pushed up against the wall.

"Peter!" you exclaimed, your voice barely audible past his hand.

"Baby, please just be quiet for one second."

From a distance, you could hear two male voices talking. "I heard his voice from over here."

"You sure it was him?" This voice came from the man Peter was following.

"Oh yeah. I'm sure."

"Shit," Peter said, scooping you up and swinging the two of you through the alley and a few buildings down. You landed in a different alleyway, this one with a brick wall blocking the other men's path to you. "You almost got us killed, Y/N."

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?" There were a few seconds of silence between you two. "Look, Pete, I'm not upset about you being Spider-Man."

"Oh, could've fooled me."

"I'm upset because you lied to me." He sighed. "I don't want to lose you. And I don't like being lied to. And I really don't like the idea of you not showing up for dinner because you're fighting someone."

He nodded. "I know. I shouldn't have told you I was done, and I shouldn't be doing this before our plans. I just wanted you to feel better about all of it."

"I know. And, I mean, it doesn't matter how hot I think you are in that skin-tight suit." Your voice had changed, your tone sultry and low. He looked up at you, squinting a bit. "Or how good you look webbing up those bad guys."

"Is that so?" He slowly stepped toward you. You walked backwards at the same pace, eventually bumping into the wall.

"Mhm. Or how good your arms and your thighs look in the suit, too." He was only inches away from your face, his eyes darting from yours to your lips. "It's so private here."

"It is, isn't it?" He placed his palms flat against your sides, his mouth latching onto your throat and leaving gentle yet firm kissing to your skin.

"Mhm. You could do anything you want to me and no one would hear. No one would see us."

"What do you want?" he whispered. "Tell me."

"I want you to pin me up against this wall and fuck me so hard I can't walk home."

Within a second, he was on his knees, pushing your dress and underwear out of the way. He immediately attached his tongue to your clit, and you whimpered shakily. You lifted your left leg and propped it in his shoulder, giving him more access to you.

Goddamn, he was good at this. And he knew just how to overstimulate you. Two fingers entered you, and you were already so wet they went in with ease.

The sounds echoing in the alleyway were unholy and disgusting, your moans mixing with them to create the sound that Peter loved so, so much.

Normally the two of you would be as quiet as possible so as to not wake up his aunt May or your parents. It, admittedly, wasn't very sexy. But the times you guys would fuck while home alone, he was sure his neighbors hated your guys' guts.

Your hands pulling his hair and your thighs shaking was how he knew you were getting close. And as you began thrusting your hips to grind on his face, he knew you were teetering over the edge.

Fucks left your mouth like breaths and he had to hold you up to keep you from falling over. But he didn't stop once your high ended. In fact, he kept going until you had another orgasm, and then another.

"Peter, please, just fuck me already," you begged after your third.

He shot to his feet, quickly spinning you around and pressing your chest into the wall.

"I don't have a condom with me," he whispered as his lips attacked your shoulders.

"Good."

He almost growled at this, the thought of fucking you raw making him almost feral. He pulled your dress back up above your ass, moving your underwear back out of the way, and reaching in front of you to begin fingering you.

You were so sensitive at this point that you couldn't stop your hips from bucking backwards into his crotch, feeling how hard he was.

"Goddamn, you are dripping," he whispered. And it was true. It was like a leaky faucet, your thick juices covering your thighs and running down your legs.

You wanted to lean back against his chest but he had you pinned to the wall, keeping you perfectly still and submissive.

"Peter, please, just fuck me."

He clicked his tongue three times. "No rushing, baby. You have to be patient."

By the time your fourth orgasm washed over you, you were screaming, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Such a tease," you breathed.

He was fully holding you up at this point, your legs too weak to support yourself.

You heard him undo his belt and then his pants, the anticipation making you take a shaky breath.

Feeling his dick glide up and down your pussy lips, soaking himself in your wetness and sliding across your unbearably sensitive clit drove you insane.

But the feeling of him effortlessly sliding into you, stretching you out and filling you to the brim and then some, it almost made you collapse.

He didn't start slow this time. He immediately picked up speed, slamming into you at a speed he normally reserved for rougher sex like this. He was like a fucking machine, knowing exactly what spots to hit to make you turn to puddy in his arms.

His right hand reached up to grip your neck and pull your back against his chest, then took you a step forward so your stomach was flush with the wall. He kept your head pinned back against his shoulder so he could kiss your neck and cover your skin with hickeys.

He pulled your arms behind your body, crossing them and gripping your forearms where they overlapped. Every time he slammed into you, your body hit the wall. It took the air out of your lungs, and that combined with his hand firmly around your neck made it so it was difficult to breathe. But it turned you on to unimaginable levels.

This is the type of rough sex you loved. Being completely at his mercy and being completely controlled by him. Not even being able to reach back and touch him, almost as if you were tied up, made you antsy. You needed to be able to grip him in some way, and he knew this. Taking that away from you only established his dominance and gave him control.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours and echoing around on the concrete walls of the alley was much louder than he meant for them to be, but he was so distracted that he barely heard it.

He moaned and groaned in your ear as he drilled you, your cries of pleasure only pushing him to go faster and harder. You squeezed him so tightly, making it a slight challenge with every thrust. But he was so strong that he barely noticed, only able to focus on fulfilling your request to make it hard for you to walk home.

Peter was the only person you'd ever had sex with that could make you cum during just penetrative sex. At first you thought it was because you were already sensitive from him eating you out, but the first time you guys had sex where he didn't go down on you he still got you there just by fucking you. And typically you only had two or three orgasms during sex.

But you were approaching your fifth one in just a few minutes, and you honestly weren't sure you could handle it.

"P-Peter, fuck, I don't know if I can take another."

"Ooh, but you can, baby. I know you can."

You shook your head. "Too much."

He knew your safe word, and so did you. But you didn't want to say it. You wanted to be fucked out of your mind, to cum so many times you're out of it for hours. You wanted him to push you to your limit and see how much you could take.

"Nothing is too much for you, baby. I know it's not."

The second he pushed you over the edge, the hand on your neck went to your mouth, covering it tightly. You screamed into his hand, seeing stars and feeling him have to keep you on your feet. He didn't slow down to give you a break afterwards, in fact he somehow went even faster.

But this didn't last for long, as he could feel himself getting there too. His thrusts were becoming ever so slightly out of rhythm and his grip was tightening on you. And you noticed.

"Peter, please, cum inside me."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Fill me up, baby. Please."

He was so focused, so driven by your begging. Your ribs were slamming into the wall but you didn't care. The pain felt good. Him using you as nothing more than a fuck toy felt good. And the idea of him filling you with his warm cum was something you needed.

You squeezed down on him once more and he slammed so hard into you it hurt. With a long 'fuck' he emptied his balls into your pussy, the white substance dripping out of you, onto the ground and onto his pants.

He leaned against you for a moment, not moving either of you. You were both so dizzy and so tired that you just needed to catch your breath.

"Fuck," you whispered.

"Was that what you wanted?"

You nodded. "So good."

When he eventually let go of you, you leaned your back against the wall. You situated yourselves back to look relatively normal, aside from the sweat. He checked his watch and grimaced.

"I think we missed our reservation."

"Ah shit. By how long?"

"Ten minutes." You nodded. "Wanna just go home and shower?"

"Yeah, we need one."

He kissed you deeply and you both smiled at each other.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too."

"Let's get home before the cops show up, yeah? I think we were pretty loud."

"Yeah, please."

And with that, you were wrapped around his back as he swung you two back to his apartment.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Crimson Ties ~ 13

CRIMSON TIES MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,670ish

Summary: The Stark's get together to make sure Obadiah understands that he has crossed a line.

Warning(s): sexual talk and touching, non-consensual touching, bruises, abuse

Notes: Honestly, it’s just going to get worse before it gets better. Please send in ideas, reactions, etc!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

The doors swung open with a bang as Tony rushed into the house. His eyes were scanning for any sight or sound of you. Steve hadn’t told Tony why they needed to hurry back, but Tony knew it had something to do with you. He wasn’t used to being concerned about someone like this. It was pushing him way out of his comfort zone. Finally, Tony caught sight of Yelena and Clint outside on the porch. Steve followed Tony out there.

“Where is she?” Tony immediately asked. 

“She’s reading under the tree over there,” Clint answered, his head motioning towards you.

Tony’s eyes snapped over to see you sitting on a blanket, leaning up against the large tree in the corner. You had a book in your hands but, even from where Tony was standing, he could see that you weren’t really focused on it.

“What happened?” Steve wondered.

“It’s my fault,” Yelena admitted. “I was too busy on the phone with Natasha. Obadiah walked in and headed straight for her studio.” Tony’s eyes never left you as his body tensed at Yelena’s explanation. “He… He threatened her and…”

“And what?”

“Slapped her.”

Tony’s head snapped in Yelena’s direction, eyes wild. “What?” The single word came out sharp and quiet.

“I watched the video footage,” Clint added. “He wants her to find a way to get Brock into the house. She tried to tell him no and he slapped her. Stane is a complete idiot for thinking that there were cameras in there.”

“How is Y/N doing?” Steve wondered.

“She hasn’t said a word,” Yelena sighed. “I’m worried that she’s scared to say anything after that.”

“Well, everyone’s on their way, including Howard and Maria. We’ll come up with a plan to make sure Obadiah isn’t allowed to come near her again.”

“When they arrive, have them go to my office,” Tony stated. “I also want a surveillance detail on every moment Stane and his employees make. I’ll join you all when I’m done.”

Tony stepped off the porch and headed for you. He made sure that his footsteps were loud enough to for you to hear him coming but not to scare you. The closer he got to you, the more he could see the bruise along your face. Tony hated that your own father did that to you. He may not like his own father, but Howard never laid a hand on him. Tony stopped at the edge of the blanket. He stuffed his hands in his pant pockets.

Noticing Tony, you shakily set your book in your lap and angled your head in a way to try to conceal the bruise from Tony’s eyes. You remained silent, trying to ignore the growing pressure inside of you. Tony didn’t have the words to say anything. There wasn’t anything that could fix what’s been done. With a sigh, he got onto the ground beside your blanket and laid down. You blinked at him, confused. Tony’s eyes focused on the clouds slowly moving across the sky.

“I don’t remember the last time I laid down and watched the clouds,” Tony said quietly. You glanced up at the sky through the tree branches. “It’s peaceful.” You pushed yourself off the tree and slid onto the ground, mirroring Tony’s position.

Back over on the porch, Steve, Yelena, and Clint were watching the scene unfold in front of him.

“We got here as fast as we could,” Maria said, hurrying to them with Howard, Rhodey, Peggy, Bucky, and Natasha. “Is she okay? Is she—“ Her worries died on her tongue as she saw you and Tony laying next to each other across the yard. 

“Tony’s trying to handle it right now,” explained Steve. “He would like us to start in his office.”

“Then let’s go,” Howard muttered, leading the way to Tony’s office.

You and Tony laid in silence, alone in the backyard. Tears filled your eyes and slipped down your cheeks. Tony turned his head to see your cheeks glistening with tears. He hated this for you and had no clue how he could make this better.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered. “How can I fix this? What can I do for you?”

“I don’t need anything,” you said softly, keeping your eyes on the sky.

“Y/N…”

“I’m fine. It’s okay.”

Tony scoffed, quickly sitting up to look down at you. “No, it’s not. I can’t— You can’t—“ He sighed, trying to collect his thoughts. “It’s not okay for you to be treated this way, by anyone… Including me and your father.”

“I…” You swallowed the growing emotions. “I don’t know any different…”

“That’s going to change. I’m going to change and I will make sure that your father and Rumlow will never go near you again.”

“You don’t know what you’re promising. They will do anything to get what they want. And I truly mean anything.”

“I don’t care. You deserve to be free of this.”

You shook your head. “They’ll get what they want in the end. They always do.”

“Y/N…” Your name rolled of his tongue like a prayer, causing your eyes to snap to his. “I will protect you.”

In this eyes, you could see that he was being sincere. But you knew what your father and his resources were capable of. Tony hated every bit of this. He glanced back at the house and then back at you. The others were waiting for him, but he couldn’t leave you out here alone.

“We need to go inside,” Tony said quietly. 

“Okay,” you whispered.

You stood up and stepped off the blanket. Tony quickly folded it. You headed towards the house with Tony following behind. When you got inside, you paused, looking around. You didn’t know if you were allowed to go off or if you were needed in the meeting that Tony was holding.

“The house is on complete lock down,” Tony told you. “My father brought his extra security and they’re surrounding the house. You can join us in my office or you can do your own thing.”

“I’m going to be in my studio,” you mumbled.

“Okay. That’s fine. I’ll be checking in on you. Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded before heading off to your studio. Tony watched as you went to shut the do and then decided against it. You opened it as wide as you could and got to work. You didn’t even turn on any music. Tony could tell that you didn’t want to get caught off guard again. He went into his office, where everyone was. Waiting around the large conference table.

“Yelena explained the situation to everyone and I showed the video footage,” Steve informed Tony as he entered.

“Good,” Tony murmured, heading to his seat at the far end of the table. “We cannot allow Obadiah to get away with this.”

“I agree,” Howard said, taking those at the table by surprise. “We need to retaliate.”

“We can’t just go in guns a blazing,” Rhodey warned. “We have to be smart about this or it’s going to back fire. But the teams are ready for whatever we ask them to do.”

“I’ll meet with Obadiah tomorrow, with Tony. We let him know that the partnership is over but that Y/N is still a Stark.”

“He won’t like that,” Clint said, leaning back in his chair.

“We do it on our turf,” Bucky confirmed. “We need the upper hand.”

“He will retaliate,” Natasha added. “There will be a war in the city before we know it.”

“I don’t care,” Tony spoke up. He looked over at Maria. “I understand now where you were coming from when you told me to take care of her. Y/N’s been abused all her life and I’ve only made things worse. I’m sorry.”

Maria have her son a small smile. “Thank you, Anthony,” she said. “How is Y/N?” 

“Not okay. But I promised her that they wouldn’t touch her again. And I do not intend on breaking that promise.”

“We will all help you,” Yelena offered.

“I expect it. Everyone needs to be at the top of their game. This is a fight we have no choice but to win.”

~~~

You stayed in your studio for the remainder of the day. You tried to keep your mind off of everything that had happened. The door of your studio was kept open until you left to go to bed that night. You entered your room with a sigh, leaning back against the door for a moment before heading for into your room. Before you headed into the bathroom, a folded piece of paper on your pillow caught your attention.

With unsteady legs, you made your way to your bed and shakily picked up the paper. Your heart stopped as you read the messy handwriting.

I’m sorry I missed you, sweetheart. Hope that you had a nice chat with your father. Can’t wait to see you soon. - B

You collapsed to your knees before lurching forward with a sob. You were never going to escape this.

~~~

Tony didn’t get much sleep that night. He couldn’t stop his mind from racing. He ended up calling Pepper over just after midnight.  After having a rough round of sex, Tony finally fell asleep, leaving Pepper wide awake. She wrapped herself up in a robe and snuck out of Tony’s room. The hallways were barely lit with soft lights near the baseboards, allowing Pepper to find her way to Tony’s office. She slipped in and headed straight for his large desk on the other side of the room. Turning on the lap, Pepper quickly got to work. Brock asked for the house and security plans. And Tony was an idiot, who told her his password months ago. With ease, Pepper was able to email everything and more to Brock and download it onto a USB.

Pepper made sure that everything looked untouched and slipped back into Tony’s bed without anyone noticing. She smirked to herself at how ease it was. She knew that the security detail was all on your side on Tony’s. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand and she picked it up.

Brock: Got your email. I’ll be sure to keep my girl distracted more so that Tony’s all yours.

Pepper: And I’ll be a distraction anytime for you as well.

Brock: Perfect. 

~~~

“She hasn’t been out all day?” Tony questioned after Yelena had told him that no one had seen you today.

“I know she’s in there because she’s said she’s good and just wants to be left alone,” Yelena continued. 

Tony huffed, glancing at your closed bedroom door. “Keep me updated. I’m going to my parents to confront Obadiah.”

“Will do,” Yelena nodded.

Tony met Happy and Steve out at the car then headed to his parents. Obadiah was already settled in with a drink when Tony arrived at Howard’s office. Howard and Tony shared a look before Tony walked around the desk and stood behind his father.

“Well, I take it this isn’t a friendly meeting,” Obadiah said, taking a sip of his drink.

Howard turned his computer screen to face Obadiah. On the screen, the video footage of you and Obadiah in your studio was pulled up. It was paused just before the slap. Obadiah sat up straighter.

“What is this?” He asked.

“I think you know exactly what it is,” Tony retorted. “Play the footage.”

Howard pressed play and scene began on the screen. The sound was off, allowing the silence to increase the tension in the room. While Obadiah’s focus was on the screen, Howard and Tony focused on him. He did not move as he watched himself slap you and you fell back onto the floor. Howard paused the footage.

“You attacked my wife in her studio,” Tony stated, eerily calm.

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Obadiah said. “She tripped.”

“You slapped her!”

Obadiah scoffed. “I asked her to allow Brock onto the security staff. He is my way of ensuring that she’s safe. She told me no and she was taught better than to do that.”

“Brock is not welcome near her,” Howard responded. “He’s also not welcomed in any of our homes, hence why he was stopped at the door today. He’s done too much damage.”

“My daughter has forgotten her place.”

“No,” Tony’s voice was clipped as he spoke. “You’ve forgotten yours.”

Obadiah stood, hands slamming on the desk. “I built this alliance. I gave my daughter to your family to keep the peace and to build a new era. Her last name may now be Stark but she will always be a Stane. She is my responsibility, whether she’s married into your family or not.”

“You gave her up like you were selling a piece of furniture. Do not pretend like you understand being responsible for her.”

Obadiah laughed. “Oh, like you would know? How’s Pepper by the way? She still meeting your every need?”

Tony stepped forward but Howard stopped him with a raised hand. “Enough,” Howard demanded. “You slapped my daughter-in-law, in her own home. And you did it because she refused to make sure that Brock had a way into the house. You did not ask her anything. You demanded it.”

“She knows better to refuse her own father. I outrank her.”

“You don’t outrank me. You don’t outrank my son. And you sure as hell don’t outrank my daughter-in-law in her own house.”

Obadiah looked between the two men, beginning to realize that he may have miscalculated things.

“You and Brock have been abusing Y/N for years,” Tony accused. “Me and others have seen the bruises. We’ve seen the way she flinches and tenses whenever she’s around the two of you. It ends now.”

“You both are soft,” retorted Obadiah.

“No. We’re civilized and you’re obsolete,” Howard replied. “Our agreement is over. Effective immediately.”

“Then Y/N returns to me.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Tony stated.

“There will be no more meetings,” continued Howard. “No more dinners. Anyone associated with the Stane name are not to contact Y/N, every again. And if you or Brock even breathe in the same room as her again, neither of you will see the light of day.”

“You can’t threaten me.”

“I just did.”

Tony leaned over the desk to get close to Obadiah’s face. “Y/N is not your property,” he started. “She no longer a Stane. She’s my wife. And she has the full protection of the Starks. Forever.”

Howard stood up and nodded to Bucky. Bucky and Steve stepped up, one on each side of Obadiah. “They will guide you out of the house,” he said. “I wish things didn’t have to end this way.”

Obadiah stood up, glaring at the Stark men across from him. “This isn’t over,” he threatened. “You just unleashed something you will regret.”

“Goodbye Obadiah."

Steve and Bucky each grabbed one of Obadiah’s arms. He tore free of them.

“Let go of me!” He exclaimed. “This isn’t over!” He turned around and marched out of the room with Bucky and Steve following to ensure he left. Obadiah stormed off to the car, where Brock was waiting. “Get us home, now!”

Brock began driving off. “What happened, Boss?” He wondered.

“They broke the agreement.”

“What?”

“No meetings. No money. No contact with Y/N.”

“They can’t do that. She’s your daughter.”

“They’re turning her against me. And turning you into a target while they’re at it.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

“We are going to remind them what fear tastes like. We’re going to go after the other Stark alliances. The Stark secrets. Everything. But first, we need to send a message.”

“To Y/N?”

“I want her reminded that she’s a Stane, not a Stark. That at the end of all this, she will be right back with us. I don’t want anyone killed, not yet. But scare her.”

“It will be my genuine pleasure.”

next chapter >

[half-bakedboy]

Dialogue Prompt: "Stop crying, we both know it's fake."

this is a direct attack but man did inspiration strike :p

read on ao3

“I always thought I’d die alone. I’ve been nothing but undeserving of this life, Minerva, but you… You made me feel like I deserved something. So, if this is the end and I get to spend it with you, I don’t have any regrets.” 

Each word from the television is like a knife to Eddie’s heart, and he pulls Buck closer to him with each passing declaration. 9-9-9 was the show that brought him and Buck together. Minerva and Billy were the couple that reminded Eddie that he isn’t broken, that he doesn’t need to do anything more than be himself to deserve someone like Buck. 

And now, after eight seasons of more ups and downs than most couples could find their way through, Minerva’s tears soak her face as her fiancé, Billy, says his final goodbyes. 

“It’s just not fair!” Eddie mutters. He wipes at his face, trying his best to hide it from Buck, but the hiccup in his voice gives everything away. Buck chuckles and turns to face Eddie, rubbing his fingers over the runaway tears on Eddie’s neck. 

“It’s not funny, Buck!” Eddie pushes at his boyfriend’s shoulder, only earning another small laugh. 

“Billy’s not dead, Eddie. There’s no way they would be that stupid. Plus, we’ve seen his actor on set since then, and there’s a leaked script and everything!” Buck holds up his phone and swipes through his camera roll. There’s behind the scenes photos, blurry stills of videos, and screenshots of articles that at a glance seem like interviews with the cast and crew following the episode. Eddie feels his heart burst at the effort Buck has obviously put into gathering each careful piece of evidence that his favorite character is alive. 

“Are you telling me that we’re potentially grieving this fictional character all because the writer wanted to,” Eddie squints as he reads the article, “do something the audience has never seen before?” 

Buck nods. “Yupp. It’s like this guy thinks he’s some God among men.” He rolls his eyes and absentmindedly swipes his hand over Eddie’s cheek to catch any remaining tears. “There’s no way they’re going to let Billy leave like that, not after everything he and Minerva have been through. It’s just not good writing. Plus, they have to get married so that we can steal their vows for our own. It’d only make sense.” 

Eddie almost misses it in the casual way Buck says the words. Buck’s thinking about marrying him, about using their favorite show in their vows, about having a future with him… And yeah, Eddie knows that and feels the exact same, but to hear it like this, while he’s already a bundle of emotions over a character he relates to so viscerally. It causes even more tears to stream down his face. 

“Stop crying, we both know it’s fake!” Buck admonishes, and his tone forces a wet chuckle from Eddie’s throat. 

“I’m not crying over Billy, Evan, I’m crying over you,” Eddie admits. After a few seconds of confusion made obvious by the way Buck’s eyebrows pull together, Eddie adds, “You spoiled yourself so that I would feel better about this episode.” 

“Yeah, so?” Buck asks, confusion still evident, like it’s just another Friday in their house. “I know how much he means to you and obviously to everyone who watches 9-9-9. He’s… what makes the show what it is. He’s the reason that I fell in love with the show, fell in love with– you…” Buck blushes like he didn’t mean to make that admission, but Eddie can’t hold back a grin. 

“You really think he’s alive?” Eddie asks, curling into Buck’s side as their next show begins. 

“If he isn’t, I’ll write you his resurrection myself.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

[deadfuckingpoetry]

TY YUKA <3 @yukalovestopgungays

Hmmm 10 random side quests ok here we go!!

1. Learn to do something like knit/crochet/sew so I can make my own accessories or plushies

2. LEARN TO SING. I can only play my instruments when I’m home alone because oh god I can’t sing along to it well

3. I’m half danish and I understand it completely, but when I speak it (especially with the accent I have in my first language) it’s kinda obvious that it’s not my actual first language, so becoming fluent is def one of my goals in life

4. Starting a sport!! I really need to get more active and I really wanna start Thai boxing and/or volleyball (hmmm volleyball I wonder why)

5. Further decorate my room, my walls are already plastered with posters and album covers but I have a lot of room + tons of pics in my camera roll I wanna print out and make a collage of

6. MAKING JEWELRY!! I have a semi alternative fashion sense and finding accessories that fit what I like can be difficult sometimes, so this would be perfect (especially since I’d rather die than give any money to websites like shein or temu)

7. Get a pin maker and just go to town, my current pins are made from tape and cardboard and their structural integrity isn’t amazing

8. Ykw I’ve always wanted to ride a motorbike too and you bet I’d get a jacket and sunglasses just like mav has

9. Become a better artist, I’m okay as it is but kinda mediocre and I would really love to better visualize my OCs or draw scenes from fics

10. Make something like a short film, I’m already going to school where my “major” (idrk how to describe the Swedish school system) is in media and I would LOVE to be able to actually create something based on that

Tagging @screewithahat because again I don’t know that many people on here lol

Inventing a tag game-

What are some side quests you want to do? They can be completely unserious, maybe hobbies you want to pursue sonetime or something utterly outlandish?

I have quite a few. In no particular order-

1. Figure skating. Don't want to compete or anything. Just casually want to be able to do this.

2. Contemporary dance.

3. Being in the orchestra as a background vocalist of atleast 1 Sufjan Stevens song.

4. Leaning how to play the piano, how to crochet and pottery

5. Publishing a poetry collection, a novel and releasing an album in the same year, getting famous enough that I earn enough money to pick up a painting hobby.

6. Major in English Literature with a psychology minor (for context, I'm preparing for med school)

7. Having collections (of fossils, coins etc etc)

8. Giving a ted talk.

9. Owning obsure clothing and jewellery (fish tie, odd graphic tees, knife earrings etc etc)

10. Having a room where every square cenitmeter (METRIC USERS UNITE) has posters or vinyls or plants. Maximalist wet dream.

Tagging my mutuals -

@glitteredbubbles @youraveragestreetlamp @xxcherryberriezxx @florenceandthejellybean @wilsons-three-legged-siamese

@lc-27 @la-luna-del-lupo @yourfavvgal @scrunchybugzzz @clodyghost @nicoandthepoets

@sillyhyperfixator @sensationalstardust @lv3buzzz @ace-misplaced

[ashclouds366]

bisexual ass @agropuff

[m0e-ru]

no idea if youre into p5 at all but,, could i get a ryukita (ryuji/yusuke),,,, they are very important to me

hi so after 13 business months manager has finally gotten to the. suggestion box. i hope you enjoy and rate 5 stars

[bitchfitch]

it is amazing what fathers will do and think is a good idea. "Hi I sold your car (that your godmother very kindly gave you) without warning you and am only telling you ahead of your mother arriving with the one I traded it for because she threatened to just not come if I didn't warn you ahead of time. Isn't she such a drag for ruining a good surprise?"

[tayalisn]

Emotional support... who? Can't you just be normal and have a blanket or something... or a baby? Jack can be your emotional support human. Writing me sonnets? Alright, now we must collab. It's in the cards. Especially since you know I'm writing sonnets all damn day long. Folklore candle sets, huh? Is this you declaring your favorite era? I must say, I'm impressed. Most people's favorite era is Evermore and I feel like Folklore has always been at the bottom, so... my Folklore heart is full. You can't even pour a bowl of cereal without hearing that Mulan song? From bestie to bestie... I think you need to get checked out, bro. Broski is full thrust in and he's belting out, "LET'S GET DOWN TO BUSINESS TO DEFEAT THE HUNS!" Help... help is needed. Benjamin really is. My little baby boy. My only boy. I need to learn how to swaddle Benjamin. Can you teach me? You're just swaddling Jack and I'm over here swaddling my cat. I'm weird. I'm a weird person. Listen, I'm glad. Not to sound like a hater, but, I'm glad something as powerful as our collab could break the internet... and not a picture of someone balancing champagne on their ass. Sorry... feeling petty. I'm over it now. I'm glad you finally came to your senses about him, though. Don't you feel so much better without him in your presence? Oh! Like you always say, cinematic and layered. I love it. I love the vibes. Someone take a video camera and film you in black and white. Let's make this a movie. You're really curious about this bestie basket, huh? Well, knowing me, only the finest of goods. Ninety percent for Jack... and about ten percent for you. And no whining. It's his world now. He gets all the gifts.

okay, hold up, let me grab my emotional support helmet because you’re coming in hot and i’m loving every second of it. layered and cinematic was just the start — keep this up and i’m gonna be out here writing you sonnets and tying them to the bestie basket you’re about to ship over. i’ll take mine with some folklore candle scents and maybe a custom cat battle armor set, thanks. honestly, bad blood part 2 with a literal army of feral, beautiful cats sounds like the revenge anthem the world didn’t know it needed. meredith would be the general, olivia the strategist, and benjamin would just be out there distracting the enemies with his pure vibes. also, no, you are not crazy for bursting into "let's get down to business to defeat the huns!" — because same. that song lives rent-free in my head at all times. i cannot even pour a bowl of cereal without hearing it. it’s the battle cry of our generation. benjamin truly is too pure. like if golden retrievers were somehow reincarnated into perfect, squishy little cats? that’s him. and yeah… i still can’t fully believe it. one minute you're worrying about tour outfits and studio sessions, the next you’re googling "how to swaddle a baby without them looking at you like you owe them rent." boss baby is 1000% real and he's got the tiniest, most powerful grip on my soul. are you kidding me? we wouldn’t just break the internet — we’d annihilate it. the swiftie and belieber crossfire would cause seismic activity. news outlets would be calling it "the great pop quake of 2025." the cat army would be our PR team. don’t worry — he who must not be named is permanently on mute. your razor scooter threat lives rent-free in my heart. someone may or may not have blasted "the tortured poets department" on a suspicious amount of late-night drives while pretending they were in an indie film about lost love and self-discovery. no shame. now tell me, what’s going in this bestie basket?

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

ty to the people who continuously support me and love me I just. I love yall a lot <3

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

rewatching 13s era for me is not so much diminishing returns as it is something opposite and eviler...............increasing losses? increasing losses

[rokurookajima]

waking up ready to cry but also .. with a cruel angel’s thesis stuck in my head lol

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Impulse's adventures in Tumblr

Scar: You get too deep in Twitter it gets scary. Impulse: I got too deep in Tumblr, I had to back off. Scar: (surprised) Ooh. Impulse: I started going down a-a little—Gem saw! Gem saw it happen. Gem was helping me with Tumblr and—and I started going down and she's like, "nope, stop. you gotta do a filter for that one." (he laughs) Scar: Uh oh. Impulse: I got a little too deep— Gem: Yeah, but seriously. You guys, y-y-you want to be on the Tumblr, but you don't want to be on the Tumblr, because—you don't have the right…attitude about the Tumblr! If you're gonna be on the Tumblr, you're gonna see the fandom stuff. And if—then you gotta be okay with seeing the fandom stuff. If you're not okay with seeing the fandom stuff, then you gotta let me set up your Tumblr! (beat) I'm personally okay with it all, I don't really care. Scar: (sounding like he's far away) What's the fandom stuff? Impulse: Like the shipping, and…stuff. Scar: Do they get into like, the rates on shipping these days? It's crazy.

Impulse: A-U? What do they call it, A-U? What's A-U stand for? Gem: Just, Alternate Universe Impulse: Alternate Universe, okay. Some of the alternate universe, I read some of those things, they're actually pretty cool. Gem: You shouldn't say that out loud. (Impulse begins laughing) Impulse: Oh, my bad. I'm not supposed to be there, sorry, safe place for you guys, I'm back out—I'm out. I-I didn't— Scar: I never venture to Tumblr. Impulse: Reddit was-Reddit was slow! Okay? If—listen. If Reddit's gonna be slow, I need an outlet for—(laughs) for my—(getting quieter) reading. Stuff. About myself. Gem: I'd be-I think Tumblr's fine, you just have to have the correct mindset. And you also shouldn't be talking about it on stream— Impulse: Yeah, my bad— Gem: —because it freaks them out, and then they start being weird. Tumblr's much better when they're just-they're just normal. Impulse: There was-there was plenty of normal stuff. I just-you can't go down the rabbit holes, I learned. (pause) And then people-people take—they take screenshots of me when I'm standing weird. (He holds up a picture to the camera) Scar: (starts laughing) What, wait what? Wait, hold on— Gem: Oh, wait, we can-we can tell about this. There-there was a Tumblr post that was, that was-that was pointing out all of the times that Impulse stood (Scar exhales a laugh) and-and-and yeah. Yeah, they-they were pretty pretty princess Impulse? Impulse: (talking over her) I stand so macho, what are you talking about (he laughs) Scar: I'm so confused, I-can I get a— Impulse: I literally had to work on my—stance, before Sunday because I saw something Saturday night and I was like, oh— Gem: It's very cute, it's very cute. (Impulse laughs) Scar: Can I see a photo? Impulse: I was pretty princess. Here, I'll bring it up again. Do you have my stream open? Scar: I wanna see it. Impulse: I'll find it again. Scar: Can I just say, can I just say real quick while he's doing that? Impulse—really swoled out. He looks like he could pick-pick up an ox. (Impulse laughs, clearly pleased) I really noticed it, like, Impulse-I see those guns, I was like, "this man could pick up an ox. If I fell on the ground, Impulse, one hand, could pick me up." Impulse: Thanks. Scar: O-oh my god, I just pulled up your stream, except there's an ad, so I just see it up in the little tiny box at the top— Impulse: Oh shoot—c'mon ads! Scar: —so it's even funnier. Oh, there it is. (he laughs delightedly) Little princess. Gem: Tumblr's so good, though, cause you just get to see funny stuff like that, and don't have to scroll through all the politics and crap that's on, like, X. Impulse: Mm. Scar: It's so bad, Gem. Gem: And Reddit. And is dead. It's just nice, I like seeing the fandom at it's purest form, please don't ruin it by telling them that you're on there. Impulse: Okay. Nah, I-I was just on there 'cause I, y'know, I was excited about the event. There was so many things being posted and stuff, I wanted to see—everything that was being said, about w-how people thought about the weekend, and favorite clips, and all that kind of stuff, I wanted to see it all, so I dipped into Tumblr. Just a little bit, just-just to dip my toes in, just a lil bit. I'm back out, I'm fine. I'll be alright.

Scar: But was it nice? Impulse: It was alright. Scar: Because it feels like Reddit, they just nitpick the smallest things, like— Gem: I don't find the Tumblr to be nitpicky at all. Th-they're more like a celebration of the fandom. Whereas the Reddit is like…hates the fan—hates-hates us, a lil bit. Lowkey. Scar: A little, there's a little there, there's a little there, it's—there's an enjoyment of nitpicking. They find the nitpicking more fun, and then Twitter, they're just confused over there. They don't know what's going on. (Impulse laughs) Gem: Tumblr definitely doesn't nitpick half of the—every now and then I'll come across a person who's like. A bit…odd. But you could just block that one person and it normally goes away. Impulse: I didn't understand Tumblr about—cause you can't see when something was posted. At least not on just the scrolling through, it seemed like. I didn't see anything that was like, "this was posted x amount of hours ago." And I'm used to that. So that felt weird to me. And then I didn't quite understand how, like, replies and stuff work. There's something about notes? And then I click on that and it got weird, and, I dunno. Gem: Oh, I can teach you, I can teach you that. Impulse: I just didn't get it. Gem: I didn't think you were going to be getting into like, actually posting. Impulse: I'm a boomer when it comes to—Tumblr. So I think—I'm okay. N-next time we hang out you can help me with my—filters. Gem: I think you should just pretend that you don't use it. Cause— Impulse: Yeah, just, I'm not gonna get on there ever again. (Windows error noise) Say what you want. Uh oh.