#i was like this about peter graves too

[fourthreee]

Mood

mission impossible perhaps the first and only instance in recorded history of me being severely disappointed at the prospect of seeing leonard nimoy

[kaleschmidt]

My last post before I sleep. Are like. All the phoneheads in dsaf just legally dead. Like they're alive but they Did die. There's the whole fucking hubbub "death of the ego" (but not really) n stuff. I can't keep thinking deep like this

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hii I don't know if you write for TASM peter but if you do could you write one of the nsfw alphabets for him? (From nwh)

Also I love your writing btw. I've been reading it for maybe 2 years now

Peter Parker (TASM) nsfw alphabet

Had this request for a while, and I’m finally getting down to it. It’s been a while since I watched the movie.

Most versions of Peter are pretty similar when it comes to my writing outside of small quirks, so if I wrote about other versions of Peter, they would end up very similar to this one. Maybe a bit of comic peter in this one too.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Peter is very clingy afterwards, in the sense that he just wants contact. Too bad if you feel sweaty and gross afterwards, Peter is gonna lay on top of you, and try to cover as much of your body with his own as physically possible. He also just likes you petting him and cuddling him as aftercare. He also purrs, because I say so.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself its his legs and ass, and Peter will regularly pose in the suit and ask if it “makes his butt look big”. He likes it when you say yes. On his partner, his favorite part is strangely their heart, or more rather the sound of it. he will lay his ear against your chest and almost go into a trance at times because it puts him at ease.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Hes a damn hound for it, you never have to worry about getting it on the sheets because he’s licking it up before it can get there. You swear you’ve heard him chittering before, which would have killed your hard-on if you still had it. he’s got a thing for rubbing his own into your skin, or yours into his, but Peter only does it when he’s really fucked out.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has some very wild fantasies he’s pretty sure is from the spider bite. Like, why else would he get off to the thought of you trapped in his web, or biting you and injecting you with the venom he doesn’t have, so you get nice and pliant so he can ride you. There was also that one time he had a very horrible fever and dreamed about erotically eating you. He will never bring this up, and take it with him to the grave. Rest in fucking pieces if you have some immortality power.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Depends on when you guys start dating honestly. If you guys date early on he doesn’t have too much, just a bit with Gwen but that’s about it. if you guys first start dating after NWH Peter would have a bit more, if he has people like Black Cat in his universe.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Some crazy flexible position hes only able to pull off, because Peter claims his bones got all “loose” after the bite. You don’t like thinking about what that means. Loves to ride you as well, it gives Peter some wild kind of thrill to pin you down and go at it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Peter is just goofy in general, so of course he’s goofy in the bedroom too. If he isn’t, then you know something is wrong and you guys need to stop and talk.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Hes very well groomed, Peter shaves most of his body since he doesn’t like the feeling of body hair against the inside of his suit. Peter does leave a tasteful patch of happy trail, because he knows you like it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Hes so stupidly romantic sometimes it could make your teeth rot. Especially, if it’s after some violent villain attack, or some situation where you might get hurt. Then Peter is all over you, clinging to you, face pressed under your chin or staring deeply into your eyes, as he repeats how much he loves you over and over.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Enough that Peter is embarrassed to admit it. It’s not every single day, but almost. When he first got bit he blamed it on puberty, but as he grew up Peter realized having a higher need, so to say, had to be a result of the bite.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Predator/prey fantasies (will never admit to these)

Bondage, especially with the webs

Cocooning? Don’t know what to call it… completely wrapping you, or himself, in webs, or tape, whatever you guys got

Scent, musk and sweat

Cumplay, of any kind

Throatfucking, hard enough that he’s about to pass out

Doing it in the suit, obviously

Roleplay

Being helpless? I don’t know what to call it, he loves to be at your mercy and knowing there is nothing he can do about it

Doing it in the dark, it triggers some primal part of his brain

CBT… I won’t elaborate (unless you guys ask, of course)

Being ignored or treated like a toy/object (after discussing it first)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

I feel like his favorite place to do it would be the ceiling or somewhere crazy like that, on the side of a wall maybe? Loves to do it in a chair too, better watch out if you’re trying to work from home, he’s gonna be circling you like a tiger.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It’s pretty easy to get Peter turned on, and it only seems to get easier with time. It’s like the longer you two are together, the hotter he finds you. Easiest way to get him going is honestly just to give him the look and a good ol “come here” finger motion, and Peter is stumbling over himself to follow.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Isn’t comfortable with kinks that could really hurt you or him. Not a fan of sharing you. Hed be fine with himself being in the middle, but seeing someone else kiss or rub on you makes his blood boil.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers giving. Hes not that good at it in the beginning, like at all, but he’s got the spirit. Its all sloppy and wet and loud, with Peter choking and spilling tears, but he gets it with time. He doesn’t mind getting head in return, but he would much rather be eaten out.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Likes a fast pace, which has resulted in you calling him a rabbit from time to time, with how fast he can go when he’s really excited. When things have been stressful or Peter just needs to feel loved, then he takes it slow.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Big fan of them. There are days where that’s all you guys can have, since he’s busy with spiderman work, actual work, and you have work too. You guys figure it out.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Few things scare peter, so he’s open to try most things. This is where he learned he couldn’t stand others getting too intimate with you. Peter is also a huge advocate for communication and safewords, you can never be too safe.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Incredible stamina that you can only keep up with if you have some kind of power or mutation as well. It takes hours to wring him dry when Peter is doing fine. On days when he is already exhausted, he has the libido and stamina of the average person.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Owns a couple, but nothing too extreme, like a massager, a fleshlight and a vibrator or two. Peter is all up for using them, especially since he knows its hard to keep up with him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Peter is such a tease, even if its just small jokes and flirty comments, or if its full on grinding and dry humping as he mumbles the most filthy things into your ear.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Hes surprisingly quiet, at least in the beginning. Peter is embarrassed about how loud he gets, so he tries to stay quiet. But if you wind him up enough, he starts whining or making sounds that are almost sobs, but without tears. Will growl and get guttural when he’s jealous.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Enjoys both star wars and star trek, but just calls himself a star wars fan since he liked that first, and he doesn’t want to argue about only being loyal to one. Spends way too long on designing his suits and always wonders what would look coolest like a toy. Its not like he gets anything out of it but… he likes seeing the toys and costumes people make, so he wants it to be cool.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Slightly above average in length and thickness, but not too veiny. Tip is weirdly cute and pink, makes you wanna kiss it just seeing it. cut.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Has a pretty high drive but doesn’t let it control him or his day. It’s easy to put aside if there are other things to focus on, but when he gets the time, he lets his mind wander, especially if you two are alone.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends on how tired he is honestly, but if you guys have the time he likes to at least lay there and doze off with you, since being in your arms always puts him at ease.

[marauder-misprint]

Party

Remus Lupin x gn!reader

microfic - 978 words

cw: drinking, fluff

You stand outside the house, tentatively bouncing on the balls of your feet as you debate going in. You can hear the sound of music and conversations through the door. You aren’t sure why you had come; you had only met Sirius a few times. But he had invited you to the party, saying he wanted you to meet one of his friends, which you found odd because you felt like you barely knew Sirius so why did he feel like he needed to introduce you to his friends?

You knock on the door. There’s no answer right away. You wait for about a minute, trying to hear if anyone was coming for the door. They might not have heard your knock since the music was so loud. You try the doorknob and it opens. You feel stupid. Of course it’s open, it’s a bloody party. Why would they lock the door when people were constantly arriving?

The warmth of the house welcomes you as you walk in. You look around for a face you know, but you don’t see Sirius or any of your friends who on the off chance might have met Sirius at one point or another and met the same fate of being invited. You walk down a hallway, looking for the kitchen. You assume that’s where drinks would be and you really want something to hold in your hands so you feel less awkward. Thankfully, Sirius is in the kitchen.

“Mate, you came!” he yells, practically jumping over a chair to meet you.

“Was I not supposed to?” you ask sarcastically.

“No, no! You were. Because now, you can meet Remus!” he says. “Oh, that’s James and Peter. They live here too.” He gestures to the other boys in the kitchen.

You exchange polite waves with them.

“Can I get a drink before you go around introducing me?”

“Uh, yeah! Prongs!”

The taller boy with glasses calls, “Already on it.”

He grabs a bottle from the fridge and passes it to Sirius who hands it to you. You smile a thanks and follow Sirius to a different room. There’s a group playing a loud drinking game in the middle of the room. You are about to groan when he points to the lone boy sitting on the couch. He’s watching the room with an amused expression, seemingly content to observe the drinking game rather than participate in it. 

“Moony! Come ‘ere!” Sirius yells. 

The boy looks away from the game and shifts his gaze to you. A wide smile graces his face as he stands up and makes his way over.

“Padfoot, what’s up?” His voice has a playful tone.

“I have found you a friend!”

“A friend,” the boy repeats, looking you over with curious eyes. 

“Darling,” Sirius says, giving your shoulders a squeeze, “this is Remus.”

“Hi,” you say, clutching your drink close to your chest.

You’re not sure what to say as you take in the boy in front of you. Messy sandy-colored hair, honey brown eyes, scars across his face, more than a few inches taller than Sirius. He gave off a comforting aura though, as if you could tell him anything and he would take your secrets to the grave. 

“Are you the one he’s been talking about all week?” Remus asks you.

“Has he? Am I?” you ask each boy in turn, looking between them. How were you supposed to know if Sirius, ever the rambler, had been talking about you?

Sirius just nods and walks away without another word. He left you alone with Remus, who stands as if a little unsure of himself. The group let out a cheer as someone had to chug their drink.

“Um, do you want to step outside? Kind of loud in here,” Remus offers and you nod, following him into the backyard. “It’s fine when I’m not trying to talk to anybody,” he adds with a chuckle. 

“Did Sirius really talk about me all week?”

“Yeah, and so far, his evaluations are right. You are ‘cute as a bug.’”

You feel a hot blush creeping up your neck. 

“He also said that we’d get along. Claims he could just sense it,” he says, giving you a polite smile. “What can you sense?”

“I, uh… You seem cool.” 

Remus laughs. It’s a warm sound that surrounds you like a hug. 

“I promise you, your senses are misleading you if your first impression is that I’m cool.”

“No, that wasn’t my first impression.”

He raises one eyebrow. “Then what was?”

The blush rises higher. “That you’re a comforting person who’s going to keep everyone’s secrets safe. So, I guess, you appear loyal?”

“Huh.” He crosses his arms across his chest, holding his bottle by the top of its neck. “Really hope Sirius calling you cute wasn’t a secret then.”

You shrug. “You seconded it. More of a confession on your part.”

“Can I confess something else?”

“If you’re an ax murderer and use Sirius to supply your victims, please spare me.”

He gives you a bewildered look.

“Not at all what I was going to say.”

“Oh, then carry on. Confess away, pretty boy.”

The slip of ‘pretty boy’ makes your whole face grow hot, but you see Remus blush as well.

“You think I’m pretty?” he all but whispers. 

You nod, not trusting your voice or your choice of words. He takes a step towards you.

“Then I feel less awkward about admitting that I think I want to kiss you.”

“I-I’m okay with that,” you say quietly, looking into his eyes before your gaze flicks down to his lips and back up. 

“Just okay?” He’s leaning in slowly, giving you time to back away or say no.

“More than okay.”

He closes the distance between you and you feel that Sirius was right. You and Remus do get along. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just the Two of Us: Feverish

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: Steve stops by unexpectedly.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your phone shakes beside you on the futon. You grumble and roll over, the motion making your head pound even worse. You snort back phlegm and check the screen as you go to mute the call. It’s Steve. You hesitate long enough for the call to time out. 

Before you can put the phone down, it rings again. You cough, it’s like razors in your throat, and you swallow tightly. You drag your thumb over the screen. 

“Hi,” you force out hoarsely. 

“Hey, you missed my call,” he greets. 

“Sorry, I was...” you stifle a cough and take as deep breath as you can. “Steve...” 

“What’s going on?” You hear the suspicion is his voice. 

“Noth--nothing,” your chest aches horribly with each breath. 

“You sound horrible. Not to be mean, but yikes,” he says. “You at home.” 

“Mm,” you hum crisply. You don’t have the energy to do much more. 

“Starry?” He says gravely, “are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah, I--” you hack uncontrollably before you can start the sentence. Your ribs rattle and your head throbs. You clutch your phone tight and whimper as each cough shreds your throat. “I’m laying down.” 

“I’m on my way,” he says. 

“What, no--” again, you can’t argue as your body quakes in the storm of coughs. You push away the blankets as sweat slakes on your skin. You’re hot and cold at the same time. “Steve.” 

“Just relax, won’t take me long,” he insists. “See you soon.” 

The line clicks. He’s gone. Great. You told him not to worry when he left the day before. It’s not his problem. 

You stay on your side, staring at your phone screen. You close your eyes as your skull pulses and shiver despite the heat radiating over your skin. Everything is hazy and distorted. You just need to sweat it out, let it pass, you’ll be okay. 

The buzzer roars through the apartment. You groan and plant one hand, pushing yourself up halfway before you fall back. You can’t even get up. It buzzes again and you lay helpless as you are. Maybe he’ll get the hint and go away. 

There’s a hammering on the door. How did he get up there? You try again to get yourself off the futon. No use. You hear a grinding and click and the door opens. 

“Steve,” you gasp as you lift your head, “what--” 

You choke on the coughs as they fill your chest with lead. He hurries towards you. He tucks something into his pocket as he lowers himself onto the edge of the mattress. 

“I told you, you were getting sick,” he says. 

“No,” you babble dumbly. 

He sighs and touches your head, “Jeez, you’re burning up,” he turns his hand and puts his knuckles lightly against your cheek. Your eyes widen and you stare up at him. He’s gentle but the reminder of another set of knuckles flashes in your mind. “You got a fever.” 

He shifts and bends over you. He puts his ear to your chest as you let out ragged breaths. He tuts and sits up. He shakes his hand as he stands and looks around. 

“You have pneumonia. I can hear it,” he says. 

“No, how could you...” your voice peters out into nothing. He’s probably right and you’re too weak to question him. 

“I’ll... I’ll get you to my place.” 

“Steve...” you rasp. 

“You can’t stay here. Not with the heat off half the day,” he searches around the single room. “I’ll just grab some of your things.” 

You surrender to the moment. You can’t stop him and you know enough about him to know he won’t stop. You close your eyes and hug yourself as another tide of coldness flows through you. Your teeth chatter and you reach to pull the blanket to your shoulders. 

He comes back in and you listen to his footsteps. You can barely tell if he’s close or not. Your ears feel cloudy. It isn’t until his arms slip beneath you that you realise he’s right there. He lifts you easily off the couch and your head swims as you open your eyes. 

“Steve,” you croak. 

“Don’t argue,” he says as he heads for the door. “You know I can’t leave you here.” 

You whine and lean into his warmth. Your body feels tiny against him. You shrink further as another bought of hacking takes over. You swallow more phlegm and wheeze, “I know.” 

⭐

Steve lays you on something plush. The journey has been bumpy, at times, indiscernible. You feel yourself getting worse. You also feel how helpless you are to stop it. He props you up against some pillows and keeps the blankets folded back at your waist. 

“You gotta sweat out that fever but you can’t overheat yourself,” he says. “And you need to stay sitting up. You don’t want your lungs filling up.” 

“Huh? How do you... know?” You sniffle. 

“I used to get pneumonia every other week,” he scoffs. “Trust me.” He moves around the room. “I’ll bring some tissue. You don’t wanna keep swallowing that mess, you gotta get it out.” 

“Steve...” 

“I got a friend, he can prescribe you antibiotics,” he explains. “Didn’t have those until the thirties.” 

“Oh,” you garble senseless as your eye threaten to roll back. You’re just so tired. 

“Remember, stay sitting up,” he points at you then marches from the room. 

You wait and he returns with a glass of water and box of tissues. He puts the latter on the night table and sits to offer you the former. You don’t move. He puts the cold brim to your lips. 

“You have to stay hydrated, alright?” 

You gulp down the water, it’s soothing but chilling. You drain half of it, choking it down, before he finally relents. He sets the glass down and your head slumps forward. He gently cradles your chin and leans you back on the pillows. 

Your eyes skim the room dozily. It’s nice. Bright. The walls are a soft shade of blue and the bed is large and cushy. The blankets are warm and rich. It’s all so much nicer than your place. 

“You should rest,” he says. “I’ll stick around and keep an eye on you,” he slowly stands. “Can’t be too careful. We don’t know how bad it is. The antibiotics will help.” 

You don’t reply. You can’t. You’re content to do absolutely nothing. 

He goes to the desk and pulls out the leather chair. He sits and stares at you, an elbow on the wood surface beside him. You close your eyes and exhale, setting off another scatter of agonizing coughs. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he says. “I won’t let you go, Starry.” 

His voice fades away. Everything is on fire; your ears, your scalp, your insides. You feel yourself burning up as the flames boil in your head, searing through the world around. 

[wisteria-lodge]

Male Crying in the Harry Potter Books

(this is a clean-up of an earlier post, incorporating some of the excellent feedback & additions I got.)

Men do 32% of the crying in the Harry Potter books, even though they represent 66% of the characters (pretty much as expected).* However, I’m interested in why the crying happens, and what it says about the characters. Because for the ladies, crying is pretty neutral - they all cry, and for all sorts of reasons (tired, frustrated, stressed, emotionally overwrought...) Bellatrix, Augusta Longbottom, Ginny, Tonks… all cry. Hermione cries thirty separate times over the course of the books. There is a point where where the narrative framing judges them for crying too much (Cho) but mostly it's a non-issue.

Male crying though, is something that gets mocked (by Slytherins.) Pansy calls Neville a “fat little cry baby,” and after Rita’s article (falsely) says that Harry was crying, Draco comes in with “Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?” There’s also “D’you think [Hagrid]’ll cry when they cut off his hippogriff’s - ” right before Hermione slaps Draco. So making fun of people for crying is bad right? 

Let’s get into it. 

1 : Crying because of a death

The most acceptable reason for male crying. Mostly it happens *right* at the moment of death, or possibly at the funeral/next to the grave. Severus cries over Lily's letter (the ripped one which Harry later finds) which is certainly grave-adjacent.

In Book 3, Harry cries while talking to Lupin about hearing his parents dying (although the narrative voice DOES let us know that he’s kind of embarrassed about this.)

“Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see.” 

This attempt to hide hide tears shows up a few more times. Sirius *also* cries when talking about Lily and James' deaths... or does he?

[Harry] was pointing at Black, who shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly overbright. "Harry...I as good as killed them," he croaked. "I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me. ... I'm to blame, I know it. ... The night they died, I'd arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he'd gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents' house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies...I realized what Peter must've done...what I'd done. ..." His voice broke. He turned away. "Enough of this," said Lupin, and there was a steely note in his voice Harry had never heard before.

@strawberrybasilsorbet analyzes this passage extremely well:

"Suddenly overbright" is a particularly memorable descriptor for me. What an unusual way to describe having tears in one's eyes! It verges on euphemistic. "His voice broke" is much more direct, but still relies on implication instead of mentioning tears outright — which, considering that the intended audience is young readers, could be seen as subtle. Like Harry in the example above, Sirius clearly considers crying something to be ashamed of: he turns away to hide his tears. And in this moment, the sentences also become short. Halting, stilted. The narrative voice evokes Sirius's feelings here instead of describing his actions in detail. It isn't until later in the scene, when Sirius and Lupin begin to take action, that we get a straightforward description: "[Sirius] approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face." But even here, it is an understated observation. We don't get a description of actual crying, or even holding back tears."

Sirius also cries in Book 4, while listening to Harry describe seeing the shades of his parents come out of Voldemort's wand.

At this point, Harry found he could not continue. He looked around at Sirius and saw that he had his face in his hands.

@strawberrybasilsorbet continues,

"[this] example is more ambiguous — Sirius might be crying, he might be trying not to cry, or he might just be overwhelmed — but either way, the scene reflects a similar approach to strong emotion. Sirius covers his face to hide his sorrow; the narrator makes a short, declarative observation that leaves a lot between the lines. These scenes suggest that masculine tears are most respected by the narrative when they are (1) in response to grief, (2) irrepressible, despite the character's attempts to obscure or prevent them. Sirius and Harry are the two characters who represent this most clearly, although Lupin's sudden steeliness in the PoA scene implies that he shares this perspective. (This is also reflected in Lupin's decision to switch from talk to action: he cuts the conversation abruptly when Sirius begins to cry, demanding that Ron hand over Scabbers immediately. He is likely trying to spare his friend the ordeal of further emotional vulnerability). The narrator's voice seems to share this instinct, giving Sirius the dignity of subtlety when describing his emotions. This contrasts strongly with characters like Peter, whose tears are described in vivid and humiliating detail. What I think is especially revealing is how...discreet?...the narrator's voice becomes when Sirius is the character who is crying.

There is this slight *fan dance* quality present, where we see Sirius before he starts crying, and then again after he has already cried. But really don't see him actually crying.

Harry also has an interesting, sort of delayed reaction to Dumbledore's death:

Dumbledore had weakened himself by drinking that terrible potion for nothing. Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand, and his eyes burned with tears as behind him. Fang began to howl. He clutched the cold locket in his hand so tightly that it hurt, but he could not prevent hot tears spilling from his eyes

There’s a lot going on in this moment: Harry is tired, frustrated, disappointed, overwhelmed. But we still get that note that tears are something that ought to be hidden, and that even though Harry is trying to stop them, these happen to be irrepressible.

Crying because of a death: Full Breakdown

Amos Diggory: 1 (Cedric’s death) 

Arthur Weasley: 1 (Fred’s death)

Harry Potter: 4 (Hedwig, Lily, James, Dumbledore)

Rubeus Hagrid: 4 (Dumbledore, Buckbeak, Aragog, Harry) 

Sirius Black: 2 (Lily, James)

Severus Snape: 1 (Lily)

Argus Filtch: 1 (thinks Mrs. Norris is dead) 

Xenophillius Lovegood: 1 (thinks Luna is dead) 

Fillius Flitwick: (thinks Ginny is dead) 

Ron Weasley: 1 (Dumbledore’s funeral) 

Elphias Doge: 1 (Dumbledore’s funeral

2: Crying because of pain

You’d think this one would also be acceptable. But… not really? Dudley cries when Vernon hits him (but Harry doesn’t.) Peter Pettigrew cries when he cuts off his own hand, Saw style, but it gets framed as blubbering weakness.

Our last guy crying in pain is Book 1 Neville, after he breaks his wrist during flying lessons. He also “sniffs,” while walking into the Forbidden Forest for detention, which *might* count as crying? But really, Neville cries surprisingly little. We get a lot of “looked as though he might cry” and “on the verge of tears”... but that's not actually crying. And I think that’s because… early-books Neville, yes we’re supposed to see him as a little pathetic. But definitely not as pathetic as Dudley or Pettigrew. @blorger writes:

The characters who cry for pain are crying because they're just Not Man Enough (and that's wormtail's biggest failure as a character, isn't it?). Neville, to me, is the perfect encapsulation of JKR's attitude towards crying: he is constantly on the verge of crying, especially in the first books, because we're meant to feel a sort of benign pity for him, his weakness makes him amiable, yes, but there's still strength in his character (he can stop himself from crying! see, he's brave!). Neville does Suffering well, and nothing shows one's character to jkr more than how they handle suffering.

Crying in pain: Full Breakdown

Dudley Dursley: 1 (hit by Uncle Vernon)

Neville Longbottom: 1 (broken wrist)

Peter Pettigrew: (hand cut off)

Bonus almost crying: 

Dudley Dursley: Fake crying

Neville Longbottom: “looked as though he might cry” “on the verge of tears.” 

Professor Quirrell: “looked as though he was about to cry”

3: “Childlike” crying

Sometimes the people who cry are literally little boys. No one is going to judge infant Harry for crying when Voldemort is in the house, or little Severus for crying when his parents are fighting. Interestingly, when Myrtle is talking about Draco crying in her bathroom, Harry assumes she’s talking about someone much younger: 

“There’s been a boy in here crying?” said Harry curiously. “A young boy?” 

But of course, when an adult is crying in a childlike way, it immediately becomes… pathetic. Again we have Pettigrew, who “burst into tears. It was horrible to watch: He looked like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor.” In the Horcrux cave, crying Dumbledore is described “like a child dying of thirst.” Which is also meant to be pathetic, but in more of a ‘Harry has to be the adult now’ sort of way. Also, the potion seems to have made Dumbledore mentally regress back to his youth, so it’s *closer* to a literal “child crying” moment. 

(I considered putting Dumbledore drinking the potion in the ‘pain’ section, but at least in the book I think it’s clear he’s mostly in emotional rather than physical pain.)

Where this gets messy is with the house-elves. House-elves are not children, but they are presented as childlike. They are small and in-your-face, direct even though their problem-solving tends to be very convoluted/not especially logical. I like the present-tense, no pronouns way they speak, but I can’t deny it is kind of baby-talk adjacent. And… house elves are *really* emotional. Dobby, Kreacher (and Winky) cry a LOT. If I had to guess, I would say JKR likes treating house-elves as childlike so it’s more of a surprise when it turns out that one of them was behind everything. But considering that they are slaves, it is gross - considering that one of the main real-world justifications for slavery was ‘slaves are childlike, and therefore unable to take care of themselves.'

There’s also Hagrid. With seventeen separate instances of crying, Hagrid easily cries more than any other guy in the Harry Potter books. And… well… he’s also presented as oddly childlike. He seems much more like Harry and Ron’s contemporary than a peer of the other professors - which is weird, since  if he went to school with Voldemort fifty years ago, he’s in his sixties now. But still, he’s helpless in the face of criticism, he’s comically out of his depth whenever he deals with the Ministry, he’s constantly letting things slip or drastically misjudging danger levels. The first three books all use “Hagrid gets in trouble, the gang has to bail him out” as a plot point, and in Book 4 his sideplot with Madame Maxime gets treated like a schoolboy’s first crush, with all these jokes about him wearing suits that don’t quite fit, and trying and failing to style his hair.

Childlike crying: Full breakdown

Rubeus Hagrid: 13

Dobby: 7

Kreacher: 3

Peter Pettigrew: 1

Harry Potter: 1 (infant)

Severus Snape: 1 “while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner.”  “it was unnerving to think that the crying little boy who had watched his parents shouting ” 

Albus Dumbledore: 1 "like a child dying of thirst"

4. Crying because of strong emotion

The difference here is... does the character try to suppress the crying, or not? If they do try to suppress it, then it stays respectable, almost on a level with grief-crying. If not well... that means that the character crying is meant to read as a little pathetic, a little femme or (lets face it)... both.

Take this example of Ron crying after he destroys the locket horcrux:

Ron was breathing heavily: His eyes were no longer red at all, but their normal blue; they were also wet. Harry stooped, pretending he had not seen, and picked up the broken Horcrux. (...) “After you left,” he said in a low voice, grateful for the fact that Ron’s face was hidden, “[Hermione] cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn’t want me to see..."

Hermione is allowed more tears because she is a girl, but there does come a point where she has to hide them or else run the risk of being perceived as crying too much by the narrative (like Cho.) In terms of the boys - again, we've got a moment like Sirius and Remus have, where Ron is (correctly) hiding his tears and Harry is (correctly) doing a 'I'm going to protect you from further vulnerability by kind of changing the subject / pretending that I didn't see you cry.' Also, similarly to the Sirius example, the description of Ron's crying is subtle, almost euphemistic ("wet eyes.") We are not using the word cry, or tears, or anything like that.

Look at this next excerpt, of Percy's reunion with his family, and especially at how the crying of all three characters is handled:

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. She ran forward, pushed Fred aside, and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on his father. “I’m sorry, Dad,” Percy said. Mr. Weasley blinked rather rapidly, then he too hurried to hug his son. “What made you see sense, Perce?” inquired George. “It’s been coming on for a while,” said Percy, mopping his eyes under his glasses with a corner of his traveling cloak.

Molly is crying buckets, no problem. Arthur gets almost-crying or euphemistic crying. And Percy is explicitly crying, not trying to hide it, and even gets the slightly comedic imagery of trying to wipe his eyes without taking off his glasses.

And well, JKR respects Percy less than she respects Arthur. As @arkadijxpancakes puts it, "When it comes to Percy, I'm still surprised how subdued his crying in that scene is. Because, yeah, Rowling does respect him less. She also has a tendency to write him in a pretty feminine manner. It's still a stark contrast to his mother, however." Even though we catch him in a serious moment, he's still slightly ridiculous Percy.

So from this, we can see that this male heightened emotionality is meant to look a bit comedic - like when Oliver Wood cries when Gryffindor wins the Quidditch cup "to highlight that his weird priorities are funny and slightly ridiculous," ( @blorger.) We also don't see Hogwarts-age Severus actually cry, but considering his nickname is “Snivellus” (ie “crybaby,” since “sniveling” is a synonym for crying) I'm assuming he does. Just the word "Snivellus" is clearly supposed to funny and a little pathetic.

Slughorn has an interesting instance of crying at Aragog's funeral, not out of grief for Aragog, but out of a maudlin sense of togetherness, nostalgia, and camaraderie. It *is* supposed to be funny that he's crying over a giant spider he just met. Like Percy, Slughorn is also a bit femme-coded: a flashy dresser with lilac pajamas, who loves his treats and fancy dinner parties, and is well-connected without being ambitious the way Lucius is. He also is aligned with pureblood-supremacy, but hyper avoidant of violence and confrontation... just like Draco.

Draco of course gets a BIG crying scene in Book 6. We hear about him crying once from Myrtle, and then see it first hand: 

Malfoy was crying — actually crying — tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin.

The narrative voice takes a second to let us know that he was ACTUALLY CRYING, just to hammer in that this is something unexpected and not-normal. I think I want also to attribute Draco’s tendency to cry - and cry because he’s overwhelmed, scared, lonely - to the character’s slight femme coding. And the fact that JKR clearly sees him as a bit pathetic.

The most surprising person to land in this particular category is Dumbledore. I was surprised he cries as much as he does, at such unusual times, and with none of the "manliness" of a crying Harry, Ron, Sirius, or Arthur. He cries when he sees Snape’s doe patronus - because of love or just because he’s emotionally overwhelmed. He cries all through the Horcrux cave, primarily because of guilt. He cries twice during the King’s Cross Station vision-quest, once because of his complicated feelings about Harry while he asks for forgiveness, and once over … Grindlewald.

“They say he showed remorse in later years, alone in his cell at Nurmengard. I hope that it is true. I would like to think he did feel the horror and shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie to Voldemort was his attempt to make amends . . . to prevent Voldemort from taking the Hallow . . .”  “. . . or maybe from breaking into your tomb?” suggested Harry, and Dumbledore dabbed his eyes.

I think Dumbledore gets all these tears because he is actually, deliberately queer coded. JKR announced that Dumbledore was gay just a few months after Book 7 was published, and I think she had that character interpretation in her head as early as Book 6. My proof of that is Dumbledore's increased emotionality - and also this interesting passage from Book 6: 

This younger Albus Dumbledore’s long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing. “Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled.

Now, okay. Wizards out and about in the muggle world often wear unusual colors like purple and emerald green. However. That adjective flamboyantly is only used one other time in the entire series, to describe Fudge’s hand gestures. Here, it is used to describe clothes, a purple velvet suit which is honestly more than a little bit Oscar Wilde. And “flamboyantly gay” … those are two words often heard together. 

Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but I am pretty sure this is the only opinion about clothing Harry ever expresses aloud. @niche-pastiche hit the nail right on the head with the observation that "Nice suit, sir" is SO the response of a young adhd boy in the early 2000s trying not to say "thats gay." 

And so that's my say. In JKR's head, crying isn't "manly," so if you are crying, it's because you're a woman, you're a child, you're funny/pathetic, or you're ambiguously femme-coded. A noble single man tear is allowed at times of intense grief, but otherwise you have to turn your head away.

Crying because of strong emotion: Full breakdown 

Draco Malfoy: 2

Severus Snape: 1

Albus Dumbledore: 4

Horace Slughorn: 1

Oliver Wood: 1

Arthur Weasley: 1

Percy Weasley: 1

Ron Weasley: 1

*My list of 208 Harry Potter characters comes from TV Tropes, which had the most complete breakdown. I am excluding characters from Cursed Child and the Fantastic Beasts Films. Also, please tell me if there are any instances of crying that I missed.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

Hey so I don't usually request so sorry if this is a mess but can you do how Peter Parker would deal with you being dusted right in his arms and the aftermath of how he'd cope. (Even better if your starks daughter and they share the grief)

okay so i wrote this with you and peter getting dusted and how tony would cope, but pt. two will be how you and peter cope with tony’s death🤭🤭

i promise it’s still angsty!

WARNINGS – gory, angsty asf, rewriting the ending of infinity war so if you watched it recently it might feel repetitive, i forget if there’s swearing but here you go just in case<3

✨masterlist.✨

1.5k.

You knew it was risky to follow Tony and the wizard that morning. God, you knew it was risky. It’d been like any other morning–out for a run with your dad: talking about projects, talking about his engagement to Pepper, watching the immediate protective shift he had when a portal appeared on the shoreline path in front of you.

The grave look on his face said it all.

And you knew the risks. You’d signed up for these kinds of dangers when you were born with the Stark name. It was a target sewn to your back by DNA. The same genes gave you the stubborn spirit to sneak onto an alien spacecraft to help your dad; genes that made you look like the spitting image of him when you’d found out Peter Parker also had the same idea.

In hindsight, you were glad your boyfriend made the trip. It made you feel better protected.

Especially seeing as you lost.

If someone were to tell you on your run that morning that you’d take a punch to the gut and a dagger to the thigh by later that evening, you would stand speechless. If someone were to have told you that you’d lose this badly, and nearly lose your dad in the process, you wouldn’t believe them.

Laying on the dry–graveled surface of whatever planet this was, you pushed yourself up as high as you could. Your upper thigh screamed with blood and the burn of a fresh cut. It was the deepest one you’d ever received. A hushed whimper forced a response out of you at the feeling, making your father turn his attention towards you.

You regretted even being there the second it all happened.

With his head turned to his left, toward you, Tony lost his footing, meeting the fatal kiss of Thanos’ dagger right to the stomach. You watched the blood instantly choke out through his lips, and the way he stammered back as the purple giant shoved him harshly into a rock.

“NO!!” You shouted, as if your cry stop it. As if it would save him. You couldn’t lose your father. You couldn’t live without him. You didn’t even want to think of the possible outcome.

One of your arms gave out, shoving you face–first back into the ground beneath you. Your eyes welled with tears, and you tried to fight against your own pain to make your way over, to say goodbye. To try and fix this. You had to fix this.

“Stop!” The world stilled as Dr. Strange spoke up “Spare his life..” Dr. Strange sat up, pained. Pained and protesting, but willing. The tone of his voice gave you chills. “And I’ll give you the stone.” It wasn’t a request, nor a bargain, rather than a demand.

“No tricks?” The single drop of blood glistened off Thanos’ temple in the several setting suns of the planet, highlighting how little patience Thanos had left, too. Highlighting just how much Tony Stark bled out at his mercy beside him.

Without a word, Stephen maneuvered the air and the Time Stone appeared between his thumb and his first finger.

And thus, Thanos agreed.

In a manner of moments, you’d pressed yourself off the ground, standing. You used some tech your father lent you to spray some sort of temporary stitch–up over your wound for the time being. Looking up, you met your father’s eyes and saw the stabbed indent disappear. Dr. Strange handed the stone over with a white flag and a twinge of regret. You felt the world shift as it happened, the gravity of it growing heavy.

Everything you knew was changing.

Thanos vanished, leaving you all to sit in the feeling and process what had happened. You felt it in your gut that this loss would be horrendous, but the only thing that ran through your mind was making sure your dad was okay.

Limping, you rushed over as quickly as you could, hugging him with all the strength you had to muster. You didn’t care that you were crying. You didn’t care that your body was lined with dirt and blood and bruises. You held him tightly, and kept yourself from processing what the hell happened. Kept yourself from the distraction of Peter Quill blasting the space that Thanos just stood in.

“Did we just lose?” He asked, misery and frustration and denial clear in his voice.

But you and Tony ignored him. Your father held your face in his hands, taking you in with the fear that it might be his last time ever doing so. “Whatever happens, I love you.” He told you, and the words tattooed in your memory and stood alone among anything else he’d ever told you. You cling to them with every ounce of energy you had left.

“Whatever happens, I love you too.” You repeated back to him, ignoring the trembling in your lip.

Peter rushed over to the two of you, hugging both of you tightly. Both your dad and Peter helped you stand upright, but Tony handed you off to Peter while he confronted the wizard.

Tony looked at Strange with a look of both gratitude and confusion. “Why would you do that?”

“It was the only way.” Dr. Strange took a few shaky breaths, his expression unreadable. “We’re in the endgame now..” Was the only response he allowed, the universe allowed.

“Uhh, Mister Stark!” Peter called out, his grip morphing on you. The way he held you suddenly got tighter, more secure, more protective; as if you slipped through his fingers, or you would, or you were dying. His breath quickened, like something grave was happening. “Mister Stark!! Something’s happening!”

Tony didn’t waste a second before he walked over to the two of you, watching as Peter lowered you to the ground, cradling you in his arms. Nothing was happening, as far as you were aware, you didn’t feel anything. And Tony didn’t see anything.

But the sweat that traced Peter’s temple wasn’t something unnoticed. The way he held you, the way he looked at you, Tony knew Peter was sensing the state of their loss. “Kid?” Tony asked, sitting beside you two, grabbing one of your hands and squeezing Peter’s shoulder with the other. “Kid, what’s happening?”

Peter was between hyperventilating and being entirely speechless. His head shook rapidly, glancing from you and Tony. “I’m not–” Tears lined his eyes, quick to run down his face. “I’m not sure.. But I don’t–”

“Something’s happening.”

Each of you turned to Mantis as she spoke, soon obliterating, turning to dust on spot and dissipate into nothing. She was simply gone.

Panic. Pure panic flooded the air.

Drax’s focus went to his hand as it started in his fingers, his hand disappearing. “Quill?” His tone was nothing but concernment, uncertainty. Then he was gone, too.

“Steady, Quill.” Your dad quipped, watching the space where Peter Quill stood.

It started in his legs, traveling up his body as he turned into the same textured substance. “Oh, man..” And his face lingered, imprinting the dust before blowing off with the breeze.

“Tony..” Stephen spoke up, seeing the look in your dad’s eyes. Seeing the thoughts as they ran courses, miles, laps in Tony’s head. “It was the only way.” He repeated. His tone was apologetic as he, too, fractured into immeasurable pieces. His body turned to molecules, fading into the air.

Peter swallowed thickly, beads of sweat dripping from his hairline. His knuckles were white around your hand as you brought them to your lips and kissed it. You weakly squeezed your father’s hand, smiling up at the both of them. “I love you guys.” And as if you knew what was happening, spouting from your legs and spreading to your fingers, you turned to dust, too.

Your father tried to catch it, squeezing his fingers tightly around the space your hand had just been. He felt tears sting his eyes as you vanished in front of him. His whole world, his daughter, gone in a matter of seconds.

“Mister Stark..” Peter broke the deafening silence. “I don’t–” His eyes studied the hand that had just held yours, eyes glossy with grief and denial. “I don’t feel so good..”

His breaths were choked, ached, agonized as his legs gave way. Tony watched the way he turned to dust just as everyone else had. He kept hold of Peter’s shoulder, speechless. Tony couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

Peter looked to him, panicked. Completely and utterly panicked. “I don’t wanna go.” He repeated the phrase like it was all he knew, “I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go–” And when the pain became immeasurable, undeniable; when his fate was sealed, he took a final breath, clenching his jaw to try and keep himself from breaking in his final moment. “I’m sorry..” And just like that, he was gone.

He was gone, and Tony was alone. He stared at Nebula, nervous that if he looked away, she’d disappear too. The two didn’t know each other well at all, but her company was something he grasped onto like water. He clung to anything and everything she had to offer, hoping to God they’d make it out of this.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to live without you, but knew he needed to. If there was any shot or hope or reality of getting you back, Tony needed to get to it. He had to find it, and he wouldn’t rest until he did.

[maxedes]

Nico Rosberg gave his opinion on the whole George & Max fight on Sky Germany before FP3. Here is the translation.

Peter Hardenacke: „Nico, you are close to the Mercedes team and know both drivers pretty well. What is your opinion on this dispute?“

Nico Rosberg: „Well first of all, I think we all want Verstappen and Russell starting next to each other in the race.“

(PH: „That’d be good“)

NR: „I think that’d be my biggest wish. (laughs) It’s obviously incredibly funny to watch. From the outside at least! Internally It’s super stressful, because the whole world is watching & participating. Your family, your team, the team principals have started a fight. Toto Wolff & Christian Horner. It takes up so much energy. It’s so stressful internally. But from the outside it’s incredible. On the one side we have ‚the street fighter’ Max Verstappen, I think he’s (inaudible because of wheel guns :/), partly rightfully so & George Russell who’s… well, I don’t know, trying to… The dutch people say he should get put back into his, what do you call it? The thing you push babies around in?“

PH: „A stroller?“


NR: „Yeah, they say should be sitting in a stroller with toys in his hand“

PH: „Oh, so George Russell is too soft? You think so too?“

NR: „Well you can’t call him soft! He’s fighting super hard, really pouncing on it now. He’s holding his line and pushes back. Can’t call that soft, it’s good!“

PH: „Is that his way of putting himself into his new role at Mercedes as the team leader, once Lewis leaves?“

Ralf Schumacher: „I think so, yes. Seems like he made it his mission to improve himself and stand stronger and harder, but it isn’t really authentic. I don’t buy it. I believed Max when he said that George knows what he wants and isn’t really straightforward and honest about it. That’s by the way what you keep on hearing from internal sources, that Geore changed his personality quite a lot and not only in a positive way and I think you can notice that based on his comments.“

PH: „Nico?“

NR: „Hmm I’m gonna stick to… Well I see what [Ralf] means, and I think it’s partially true, but…

RS: „It’s still entertaining though!“

NR: „For sure, incredibly entertaining but obviously you can understand George’s perspective. The rule is he has to stay over his minimum delta time and the other driver has to move over. That’s the basis of this whole thing. Hence…anyway“

PH: „Netflix was filming the drivers parade in Qatar and was super close to the dispute between the two of them there. It was going on for three to four minutes and they had two cameras on it, but the sentence George mentioned about Max threatening to bash his head into a wall apparently wasn’t said. We’re looking forward to the DTS episode.“

NR: „No you should absolutely believe George. He wouldn’t make that up.“

PH: „But Max also said he made it up!“

NR: „Well, come on! I’m not so sure about that. It certainly happened. Pretty believable that Max would say something like that! I mean he’s the one that said in a press conference once that he’d headbutt the journalists if they kept rubbing him the wrong way.“

PH: „Oh, he really said that?“ (truly shocked hahaha)

NR: „Yes of course! Back then… So it’s not surprising he’d say something like that. He’s a just a ‚street fighter.’

Disclaimer: this is my translation & not a word by word. If I made some grave mistakes or misquoted them I am open to constructive (!) criticism.

If you can make out what he said while the wheel gun was going of please tell me.

Sorry if the video quality is trash, had to compress the video because it was too big originally

I love Nico, George & Max, so i enjoy a good discourse but blatant hate against anyone in reblogs/comments will be blocked

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

Spider-Woman, NOT Ghost-Spider

This is a tip for people who want to go as canon as possible WITH THE MOVIES, since I feel a lot of people do this mistake because they look into the comics and mix things up.

If you want to call Gwen, Ghost-Spider in your fanfic/fanart/etc because you think is cool, go ahead! Go nuts! I'm not the canon police.

BUT-

In the movies, Gwen still calls herself Spider-Woman.

An explanation as to why this is important in the read more.

(Spoilers about the Spider-Gwen comics, I guess because I am not spoiling anything that came after 2019.)

When I say "important," I mean it in the stick-it-to-the-details type of deal; if you care about technicalities you care about this, but I know that's not the majority.

However, I do want to bring it up because the reason why Gwen switched in the comics, or rather, why chose Ghost-Spider of all things- is really neat and interesting story line that I feel a lot of people skip over when they 'chose' to call her that without knowing why she chose that name.

If you think Gwen has it rough in the movies, don't read the comics because they put this girl through the wringer.

Let's go a little bit before she chose that name.

As you can see, Gwen feels that she has always been marked by death, some way or another.

First her mother, then Peter, and is now hitting pretty hard after losing Spider-UK (is not Hobie, or Malala, I don't think he has appeared in the movies,) Noir and Karn, though arguably Billy was the one who hit her the hardest.

She went to other dimensions to tell their love ones that Billy and Noir passed away; it is implied how this is her way to try to make amends to what happened, make peace with herself.

But is not really enough, the topic doesn't leave her mind,

Death and pain certainly follow her often; she almost lost her dad for good, and she was definitely shaken after Harry got gravely injured precisely because he was always there for her.

That last panel never stops hitting hard for me.

There is just some quietness to it, about how no matter what she does, how hard she tried, Death continues to follow, one way or another. Even when she tries to be a hero, to do the right thing, death follows her.

In the comics, Gwen switches her name because she is studying in Earth-616 rather than her own dimension, so she switches names in order to avoid stepping in any toes.

So, in the movies, is kind of hard to think the switch would happen. Sure, Gwen is interacting with Jessica and other spiders, but believe me, the multiple spider-man haven't changed their names, so having Jessica in the spider society doesn't change much.

However, I do bring all of this because I think implementing this story line in the movies not only is feasible, it would be *amazing.*

The phrase "Death loves Gwen Stacy," not only hits hard for the Spider-Gwen in the comics, but for the movie counterpart too.

Think about it for a second; in the movies, Gwen feels she can't have friends because otherwise, they may lose them like Peter, she has convinced herself it can't work. And then. she goes to the Spider-Society.

And now she feels Gwen Stacy and Death always go hand in hand.

She learns how in so many universes, Peter is the one bitten, he is the one who lives, while Gwen Stacy dies, over, and over again. It almost seems like she is the outlier out of spite, how because she gets to live, everyone else pays the price.

Because Death loves Gwen Stacy, powers or not, that's not changing.

But at the end of the day-

And that's why, no matter what, she will continue fighting to protect her people.

[dontforgetukraine]

Nestor Bilous was born in 1889 in the village of Lebiazhe, Kharkiv region. He completed three grades of the church-parish school and participated in World War I. He began keeping a diary in 1911, but his most detailed entries describe the beginning of the Civil War, the mass man-made famine of 1921-1923, and the Holodomor of 1932-1933. Bilous essentially became a chronicler of the Soviet government’s destruction of Ukrainian villages. In 1937, Nestor Bilous,who was then the manager of the collective farm “Chervonyi Kolos,” was arrested by the NKVD for “discontent with party policies.” During the search, the NKVD confiscated a notebook with his notes, that became the main evidence of his “counter-revolutionary activities.” Bilous spent six years in forced labour camps and only returned home a year after Stalin’s death. Here are just a few entries from his diary: —Holodomor Museum

---

April 30, 1933 It rains often, and it’s cold. Sowing is progressing very poorly because there is no grain, no horses, and even if someone has a horse, it’s too weak to work a full day in the field. So, this year there will be even less sown. People are constantly dying, and they bury six in one grave because there’s no one to dig individual graves. On April 27, Mykola Fedorovych Butenko died, a young man, 22 years old, a real guard, tall and handsome. He had to die of starvation just because the village council didn’t give him a certificate, as the son of a dekulakized father. Without it, no one would hire him. And in the spring, when he was already too weak, there was work, but he couldn’t do it, and he died of starvation.

---

May 13, 1933 The warm weather started on May 8, and all the crops are sprouting. Beetroot and seedlings are being eaten by beetles and fleas. We need rain, but there isn't any. The collective farms keep sowing; they will probably be sowing until St. Peter's Day. People are still dying of hunger. On May 12,Paraska Chorna,an activist and party candidate,died of famine. When people were being sold out for not meeting the grain requisition quotas, she danced in the school out of joy in the evening,and now she has died of hunger, like a dog.

---

May 20, 1933 Every day, people die of famine. The village council has appointed a sanitary commission to collect the bodies and bury them because there is no one to do the burials. Now, the village council drives people out to dig a large grave for about ten people, and then they bury them. Many adults and children, and when you look at them, they are living corpses.

---

Since the beginning of the invasion of 2022, Bilous' native village Lebiazhe was in the grey zone for a long time, suffering from Russian shelling. The crimes continue... —Holodomor Museum

[two-white-butterflies]

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part six

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

series masterlist |

<<previous chapter

"To hold on, to the days when you were mine." - Peter, Taylor Swift.

These past few days, something has deeply changed in Daemon's psyche. He was always a neat freak, preferring to remain polished and clean on the outside while his mind was an overgrowth of plants that clouded his thoughts. He couldn't think straight then - but he kept a facade, pretending that he was sane. He wasn't.

Since seeing you in St. Joseph, he's lost all remnants of himself - the facade broke down and he was thrown into disarray. "Why is your shirt always untucked?" you chuckled, taking a step forward, as if it was second nature to fix his polo and tuck it into his pants.

"I was rushing," he found himself mumbling, confused at your sudden proximity to him. How long has it been since he's felt you? Had his fingers dance against your skin and body? You were always warm, and that was all he remembered about you.

Everything seemed to zone out in the background. He almost forgot that he was in a parking lot, and the sound of cars zoomed past him. All he could see was you, all that he could hear was you. He takes a deep breath, quickly composing himself.

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday, Rhaenyra herself even admitted that it was wrong. We shouldn't have fought in front of a guest." he apologized, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "If I'm lucky, I won't be a guest for long." you teased, fixing the strap of the handbag on your shoulder. "Mhm." was all he could muster.

The thought of you being married to his nephew made him want to puke. It made him want to kill himself.

He senses the awkwardness, he decides to clear his throat and look at his watch. "I guess this is goodbye. I'm running late for a meeting." he lied, staring at the side. "Of course, nice talking to you." you answered, equally as awkward as his intonation.

"See you tomorrow?" he smiled, walking past you.

"See you tomorrow." you replied, but he was too far to hear.

(ISLAND NEAR THE GHISCARIS)

Your mother descended from a long line of voyagers. Her family remained in Lyss, and life led her to Westeros. The skill of voyaging was long lost. You couldn't command a ship, even if your life depended on it - luckily, you were able to meet a group of female pirates on their way to the liberated islands near the Ghiscari Empire.

It was untouched due the large wall-like fortress that surrounded the shores. "I am surprised by your aptitude, not a lot of people appreciate the oceans well." Serenei, the woman that promised to keep you safe, handed you a cup of tea, the liquid inside of the cup was moving back and forth due to the waves.

"It's much like riding a dragon, though you shouldn't compliment me that much - I emptied my stomach a few hours ago." you giggled, remembering the reddish hue that your face turned into. Oh, your ancestors were turning in their graves. "Don't worry, it'll only be a few more hours until we reach the shores of Pharmaka." she placed a hand on your shoulder.

There was silence between the both of you, in fear of the unknown. You stared at the small round window beside you.

Would Daemon love the ocean too? You remember the War of the Stepstones. A sigh escapes your mouth, the wars have marred him and he wouldn't have loved the smell of salt air as much as you. "It's an island filled with women, not a single man is allowed." Serenei continued with a smile, and for a moment you pondered if she went though the same things that you did.

You shake your head. You wish that she didn't.

"It must be heaven, then?" Alyssandra leaned on the doorframe, trying to keep herself steady due to the treacherous waves that pumped against the ship's bodice.

"It is - utopia is what they call themselves." Serenei continued telling the story, a smile ghosts your face. Your life had turned into a story indeed, finding true love with a Dragon Prince - losing him and being forced to live through the tragedy in Harrenhal, and now you were halfway across the world, riding a ship that is going to a place that calls themself utopia.

(ST. JOSEPH SCHOOL OF DRAGONSTONE)

The steam of your coffee littered your face with kisses, and a groan escapes your mouth. You couldn't believe that you feel asleep through your entire free period. Those dreams weren't stopping, but the scenarios were drastically changing.

At first, they were filled with love - of scenes with you and the 'Dragon Prince' then they changed into nightmares - of ones that you couldn't remember, only waking up in tears - but now, you were in a ship to some unknown island that made you feel hopeful.

Once the story ends, would you be free of those dreams? Would you be free to live your life without those headaches that forced your head open, telling you that there was something that you forgot?

AEMOND NEW SIM How are you? You haven't messaged me in a while :(

YOU sorry i fell asleep hehehahaha 😭

AEMOND NEW SIM Sleeping on duty? tskk

Daemon interrupts you from replying by sitting next to you. There was a pang in your heart, something deep inside your mind telling you to run towards him and offer him a warm embrace. Flashes from your dreams come to you. The small round window, the small of salt breeze and his lavender eyes that felt like a thousand sleepless nights cuddled by the fire.

"Congratulations." Daemon opened his mouth to speak. He stared deep into your eyes, almost peering inside your soul. There wasn't an expression in your face that he hasn't seen a million times. "For what?" you inquired with a slight smile.

"The students proficiency in math has improved since you started teaching them." he informed, and you quickly remember that he attended a meeting earlier today.

A nervous chuckle escapes your mouth.

"They're struggling with the basic stuff, things that they're supposed to know in the first and second grade. I try to go back to those topics before getting back into the complex stuff." you explained, and the smile returns to your face, happy to speak about your passion.

"Whatever you're doing, it seems to be working." he continued to compliment, liking that look in your eyes - the fire. Your body shifts unconsciously, your elbows much closer to his. Your coffee has long gotten rid of its heat, but there was still a million things you had to talk about with him.

"By the way, I thought that you were familiar even before I got to know you - then Harwin and the family talked about that trip to Italy that we both had at the same day. I know it sound a little weird, but I'm pretty sure that the picture you posted on your instagram was taken by me." you opened up the conversation, and he freezes like a deer caught in headlights.

August 23. He remembered vividly, right after you took that picture of him, he promptly collapsed on the curb and was brought to a hospital. That was also the day that he finished remembering his past life. His memories were revived by you?

"A funny coincidence," he managed to choke out.

The Gods were playing a cruel joke.

He stares at your face, seeing your squinting eyes - waiting for his reply. He decides that this might be the right time to talk about Tirano. "When you left, I actually collapsed." he chuckled, playing with the ring on his finger.

"What? Why?" your eyebrows merged into each other.

"I don't know if I'm the only one but - when I was younger I used to dream about weird things, dragons, kings, wars. At first, my parents thought that it was just the result of an overactive mind but the dreams persisted until I turned into an adult - actually I think I was in my late thirties or early fourties when they stopped. It stopped after that trip to Tirano." he monologued, now evading your gaze.

If you weren't able to make the connection, then he would've revealed himself for nothing. "I dream about those things too. Strange." you whispered, your voice suddenly decreasing in volume. "I'm not the only one then," he looked to the side.

"But you said that they stopped? How did they stop?" you asked, wanting to rid yourself of those nightmares. He smiled, remembering seeing your face before everything faded to black.

"I dreamed about myself dying, and after waking up in a hospital bed feeling like I slept a million years, I never dreamt about it again." he confirmed and your heart sinks to your chest. "Holy shit, this sounds so fanatically cultish." you cursed. "- you're telling me that I need to die in the dream to stop dreaming about it again?" you repeated.

He replies with a shrug.

"Well that's going to take a long time. I'm in like, Act Three of the whole novel." you decided to keep the conversation light, although the topic was serious and you weren't sure if you were there to believe him. "How many acts are there?" he raised an eyebrow. "How many acts are in Madame Butterfly?" you quizzed.

"Three...so you're near the end." he smiled. "I'm not sure, for all we know it might just be the end of the beginning." you answered.

He stands up, hearing the bells ring.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure that you'll find a cure of your own." he bid his goodbyes and disappeared from the teacher's lounge.

AEMOND NEW SIM Can you pls catch a ride with someone u work with? I'm a little busy here in mom's house She's moving a few things Yknow her trip to Turkey

YOU Okay, what time will u be home?

AEMOND NEW SIM Probably before dinner If I'm out past six have dinner before me

YOU Alright, take care

next part >>

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

In 2017 I interviewed Bernadette Wren, then head of psychology at the Tavistock Gids clinic, and asked what effect puberty blocking drugs have on the adolescent brain. Looking highly uncomfortable, she replied that the evidence so far was only anecdotal but that the clinic would study its patients “well into their adult lives so that we can see”.

Even back then, before whistleblowers had exposed the rush to medically transition children, it was alarming to hear that heavy-duty GnRH agonists such as triptorelin — used to treat advanced prostate cancer and “chemically castrate” sex offenders — were being prescribed to arrest puberty in hundreds of children as young as 11.

Moreover, they were being used “off-label” before any clinical trials. And the long-term study Wren promised never materialised: Gids (the Gender Identity Development Service) routinely lost touch with patients, and the 44 it did follow reported little long-term mental health improvement.

This shocking chapter in medical history, where the ideological objectives of trans rights campaigners trumped the welfare of disturbed children, is coming to an end worldwide. The decision by NHS England effectively to ban the prescription of puberty blockers comes after the Cass review noted these drugs could “permanently disrupt” brain development, reduce bone density and lock children into a regime of cross-sex hormones requiring life-long patienthood.

NHS England unites with other national health services including those in Finland, France, Sweden and, most notably, the Netherlands — where the “Dutch protocol”, a regime of early blockers then hormones, was devised in 1998 — in pulling back from prescribing them.

Even in the United States, where a toxic combination of extreme activism and medical capitalism has pushed child gender medicine to grotesque extremes, with double mastectomies performed on 14-year-old girls, there is some retrenchment.

Leaks from the World Professional Association for Transgender Health, the body which formulates guidance on “trans healthcare”, reveal doctors perplexed at how they should explain to an 11-year-old child that drugs will render them infertile. Crucially, liberal media such as The New York Times are now reporting grave medical misgivings about child transition, once dismissed as a culture-war issue for the Republican right.

Yet the question remains: how was this ever allowed to happen? For years, puberty blockers were cheerily billed as a mere “pause button”. In 2014, Dr Polly Carmichael, the last head of Gids before the Cass review ordered its closure, went on CBBC in a show called I Am Leo, saying of blockers: “The good thing is, if you stop the injections, it’s like pressing ‘start’ and the body carries on developing as it would if you hadn’t started.”

The BBC permitted her to make this unevidenced claim to an impressionable audience of six to 12-year-olds. Imagine hearing this as a developing girl, freaked out by your new breasts and periods. No wonder Gids referrals subsequently rocketed.

Carmichael failed to mention that she did not know if pressing “restart” on puberty is always medically possible — it is not — and in fact, almost every child Gids put on blockers went on to irreversible cross-sex hormones.

After years in a Peter Pan state while their peers developed, they understandably felt there was no way back and forged on with treatment. Yet if allowed to experience natural puberty, almost 85 per cent of gender dysphoria cases resolve themselves.

Nor did Carmichael tell CBBC kids that the blockers-hormones combination, if taken early enough, not only results in sterility but kills the libido so that a young person will never experience an orgasm.

At the 2020 judicial review brought by a former Tavistock clinician and Keira Bell, the brave young detransitioner rushed onto hormones by Gids, judges expressed astonishment at Gids’s lack of an evidence base.

Reporting on this issue for seven years, I too have been struck by a complete clinical incuriosity. Not only was data not collected, but those who queried treatments or pressed for evidence faced angry condemnation. Perhaps activists knew what research might find because one long-term Finnish study, recently reported in the BMJ, destroyed the myth used to justify blockers: that a child will commit suicide if denied them.

The Finns found that “gender-affirming care” does not make a dysphoric child less suicidal. Rather, such children had the same suicide risk as others with severe psychiatric issues. In other words, changing bodies does not fix troubled minds.

Yet even after NHS England’s announcement, activists refuse to heed the now-overwhelming evidence. In its response, Stonewall persists with the myth that puberty blockers “give a young person extra time to evaluate their next steps”.

Many questions remain unanswered: will private clinics still be permitted to prescribe puberty blockers; and is Scotland’s Sandyford child gender clinic still determined to close its ears to all evidence? Plus, we have few details on how the NHS’s new “holistic” treatment for gender-questioning children will operate when it opens next month.

This repellent experiment — in which girls who like trucks or little boys who dress as princesses, and who invariably grow up to be gay, are corralled inexorably down a road towards life-changing treatments — belongs in the book of medical disgraces. As do the cheerleaders who raised money for Mermaids and those who persecuted whistleblowers or damned journalists asking questions as transphobic.

In 50 years, chemically freezing the puberty of healthy children with troubled minds will be regarded with the same horrified fascination as lobotomies — which, never forget, won the Portuguese neurologist Antonio Egas Moniz the 1949 Nobel prize.

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

{Article source (behind paywall)}

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Associate

Mark Hoffman x F!Reader x Peter Strahm Threesome

Summary: Peter is the new guy at work, and the reader takes a liking to him.

cw: degradation, voyerism, oral m!receiving, creampie, possessive!Mark,

a/n: this is my first time writing for Strahm in this way tell me why I’m nervous

~~~

“New guy’s here,” Mark came up behind you whispering into your ear. Shooting a glance over your shoulder meeting his blue eyes. You nodded as you stood from your desk and followed behind him.

“This is Special Agent Strahm,” one of your higher ups boomed his voice across the room. You and Mark standing shoulder to shoulder against the wall as you both examined the new agent walking in.

“He’s kinda hot,” you whispered.

Mark’s lip twitched. Jealousy taking over his senses at your remark. Scoffing at you and rolling his eyes. Desire of getting the new guy out of the picture swirling around his stomach. Already cautious about him finding out Mark’s secret, but now that you were showing interest in him? He could not let that happen.

“Think I’m gonna go introduce myself,” you patted down your clothes.

“Oh yeah, make sure your thong is showing for him too. Gotta really reel him in,” Mark gritted his teeth. Mocking you. You stuck your tongue out at him as you walked over to the new Special Agent.

Clearing your throat as you tried to get his attention. Turning to acknowledge you behind him, soft eyes scanned up and down your body. Resting momentarily on the exposed bit of cleavage around your collar.

“Hi. I’m Detective Y/L/N,” you extended your hand out to him.

“Oh, yeah. Chief told me about you. About how you’re an absolute power house at solving cases. Nice to put a face to the name. And a beautiful one at that,” Strahm smiled as he took your hand in his. His compliment rushing to your cheeks.

Mark watched from across the room as you and the new guy casually chatted. Exchanging laughs back and forth. Clenching his fist when he saw your fingers dance down his arm. Flirting. A volcanic level of anger coursed through his body.

“You can call me Peter,” Strahm leaned into your ear. Whispering with his gravely tone. You blushed at the informality. You smiled at him. “You should let me take you out sometime,” Peter discretely ran a hand down your back. Stopping right above your ass.

“I can show you a good time,” you whispered with hooded eyes. Pulling your lip between your teeth as you stared into his piercing blue eyes. His tongue coming out to wet his lip.

Mark felt like he could explode. Knowing the look in your eyes. Unfortunately knowing what was crossing Strahm’s mind. He could shoot him right here and now for putting his hands on you. His face grew red with anger. Calming himself down when he saw you walking back over. Your hands immediately ghosting up his arm, tapping the bottom of his chin. Leading him back into the hallway where you pressed yourself against him momentarily.

“Gotta make sure new guy is on our side,” you bit Mark’s earlobe. A shutter ran through his body at your touch.

Still his girl.

Later on that night…

You leaned against Mark’s back as his sat at his desk. Your arms draped over his shoulders, head resting against his body. A almost completely silent room other than the sound of his finger clicking the mouse and an occasional type of the keyboard. You watched over his shoulder as he clicked through more and more photos of the latest Jigsaw murder.

Your lips found their place on his neck. Kissing the tender flesh. Feeling his pulse against your lips. A soft groan vibrated in his chest, head falling to the side to allow you more access to him. Hands played with his tie along his broad chest. Feeling up his entire torso, trying your best to get him away from work.

“I’ve still got a couple things to handle,” Mark sighed loudly. Chills prickled down his body when one of your canines grazed his skin. You whined into him.

“You’re always so needy,” Mark smirked as he turned around to face you. Large hands cupping both sides of your face, thumbs circling your flesh. You took your normal seat in his lap. Leaning in for a kiss when his thick finger stopped you. Pressing itself firmly into your lips and pushing your head away.

“I’ve got something to take care of first,” he cooed against your skin. Lips and nose tracing your neck. Agging you along. He knew when you got like this you would do whatever he asked. Craving anything he would give you. He patted your thigh urging you to get up. Standing silently before you. Heading down the hallway into the room on the other side of the interrogation room. You followed behind him. He opened the door letting you in first. You looked around the room, confused on what needed to be taken care of in here. The sound of rustling from the other side of the glass catching your attention.

Peter Strahm.

Watching as he laid out some papers for some questioning he had to do about the Jigsaw case tomorrow. Pictures of the suspects, along with crime scene photos peaking out of the folders. The way he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows sending a feeling deep inside you. Imagining how they would look as he wrapped his hand around your throat as he fucked you.

Mark’s hands around your waist pulled you back into reality. Your body meeting the curve of his. One of the hands exploring your clothed core. Electricity shot through your nerves at his touch. Plump lips kissed along your jawline from behind.

“He can’t see us,” Mark growled into your skin.

You felt a warmth pool inside your stomach. Mouth running dry momentarily as chills danced from where he touched you. Arousal filled your cheeks. The sound of him undoing his belt with one hand rang in your ears. Instinctively shimming your pants off to give him access. He bent you over the small table in the room. Large hands groped your bare ass. Massaging the tender flesh, spreading the fat of your ass to get a good look at your soaking core.

“Are you really this horny?” Mark mocked slightly in your ear, finger coming up to play with your leaking juices. Shortly being replaced by the head of his swollen cock. You moaned when you felt the tip spread your folds slightly. “Cause I am this fucking horny,” Mark groaned in your ear as he dipped the head into you.

“Please,” you softly begged him, voice not above a whisper out of fear of Peter Strahm overhearing.

Easing his way into you, Mark took his time for you to adjust to him. Finally feeling himself bottom out, a low moan falling from his throat. Bruising grip being applied to your hips as he began fucking you relentlessly. Sound of his balls smacking against your sensitivity filled the room. Crying out to him every time he hit that spongey spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“You’re such a fucking slut you know that?” Mark gritted through his teeth. Your stomach did a flip at his words. A questioning sigh falling from you.

“Oh, you might be a bimbo but I know you’re not stupid. Soon as another man walks into this building, you’re all over him. Flirting and giggling at his jokes. ‘Oh, Peter, you’re so funny’,” he mocked you. Jealousy spitting off his tongue like venom.

“Mark—“

“And look at you? Wrapped around my cock, getting fucked stupid while your new little crush is right in front of you,” Mark stared through the one-sided glass. Growing angrier when he saw you look up at Strahm. One of his hands tangling in your hair as he arched your neck back. Forcing you to stare at the man on the other side. The slight reflection of you and Mark sending waves of arousal through your body.

“Think he’d like to come watch me fuck you? I know you’d like that. Like to have his cock shoved down your throat. Taking two dicks at once like the whore you are,” Mark snarled. Hips never letting up against you, bruising pace as his skin harshly smacked into yours.

Peter walked out of the room. Mark snorted, “Awe, too bad. Your new boy toy left.” Finally resting your neck, enjoying the feeling of Mark completely filling you up. Sighing and moaning his name over and over again.

The sound of the doorknob.

You jumped, clenching yourself around his cock at the change in noise. Feeling relieved knowing Mark would have locked the door.

- creek -

You felt your heart sink into your stomach. Locking eyes with your new coworker while you were bent over completely exposed. Lewd smacking sounds ringing through the air. Grunts and moans mixing together. You widened your eyes, stunned that you had been caught.

Peter stood in the doorway. Jaw practically on the floor as he watched you getting fucked.

“Hello, Special Agent Strahm,” Mark huffed out not stopping his pace. Embarrassment took over your senses, unable to deny the throbbing of your clit. Knowing you were being watched.

Without a word, Peter walked inside the room. Closing and locking the door behind him. “Like what you see?” Mark questioned.

Peter nodded, hand going down to stroke his growing erection. The sound of you moaning and the sloppiness of your pussy causing him to feel feral. Without breaking eye contact with you, he undid his belt and placed his hand down the front of his pants. Leaning back against the door as he fucked his hand.

“Just what you wanted, Y/N,” Mark’s hand held your chin as he faced your head towards Peter. Mark gestured for Peter to come over and join you. You were shocked. Knowing that Mark was not one to share. Peter pulled his hand out of his pants and walked over to be in front of you. Clear outline of his cock being seen through his slacks.

“I want you to suck my cock,” Peter groaned, pulling his pants down past his thighs. His cock pressed against his upper thigh still in the confides of his underwear. Mouth watering at the sight. Mark’s hands gently ghosted up your sides. Softly urging you. Petting you.

“Do you wanna suck his cock?”

You nodded.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Show him how good you are,” Mark cooed.

Being given permission, you reached forward and wrapped your hand around Strahm’s clothed member. Stroking it slowly. Seeing Peter lean his head back and squint his eyes shut. Hand coming down to meet yours. Guiding you through freeing him from his confides. Entranced by his cock. How swollen the head already was and the way his tip leaked pre-cum.

You doed your eyes up at him before kissing the tip. A shaky sigh falling from him. His fingers lacing through your hair. Steadying himself. You flattened your tongue along the underside, licking a stripe up him. Swirling your tongue around the head, collecting his taste. Finally taking him completely into your mouth. Going down until your nose touched the base. Curly hairs tickling you. Beginning to bob your head in the same motion as Mark pounded into you from behind.

“Oh, fuck,” Peter moaned as you went down on him.

“You hear that? Told you you were good,” Mark praised his voice not above a groan. As you took both the men, you felt that familiar sensation building up inside you. Knowing you would unwind soon enough.

Mark’s head fell back. Nails digging into your soft flesh around your waist. “God, this is the best fucking pussy in the world,” Mark moaned as he practically fully pulled out just to ram back in. Peter shot a look up at Mark, eyebrow cocked in curiosity. Your mouth completely full of his taste.

“Let me cum in her,” Strahm’s broken voiced called out suddenly. Mark chuckled at his desperation.

“You really think you deserve to fill this perfect fucking cunt up? With your halfway decent dick? Please— goddammit — You will never get to finish inside her,” Mark’s hands praised your body.

“Please, Hoffman. I need to feel her,” Peter’s hips rutted forward. Gagging you around his cock. Saliva dripped down your chin. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. Audible choking coming from you.

“I fucking said no. She’s mine— mine! You’re lucky I even let you touch her,” Mark snarled, baring teeth at Strahm. Peter’s face contorted in frustration. Brows harshly arched. A new hatred for one another forming.

“Guess your mouth will have to do for now,” Peter’s attention fell back on you. Locking eyes with you. His expression softening as he looked at your face.

“Pretty girl. You still want me to take you on that date? Show me around town? Then we can— well, we can keep that for when your boyfriend isn’t around,” Peter’s eyes darted a look to Mark’s face. A smirk written on his expression. Feeling how frustrated he was growing from behind. His thrusts became harsh and sloppy.

The salty taste in your mouth was growing stronger. Strahm’s cock twitched as he approached his end. You hallowed out your cheeks allowed him to fuck your face faster than before. “S-Swallow,” Peter commanded as he shot into your mouth. Ropes of his warm seed coated you, swallowing each and every drop he gave you. Hand grabbing your chin, forcing you to open your mouth. Checking to make sure you did take everything he gave you. Leaning down to place a soft and tender kiss upon your lips.

“If your pussy is half as good as your mouth, I wouldn’t want to share either,” Peter whispered as a faint grin came over his face. Tucking his sensitive member back into his pants. Fixing himself back to presentable. Going to lean against the cold brick wall on the other side of the room. Still watched as Mark fucked you.

Mark’s finger began rubbing circles on your clit. Tightening the coil inside you. “Let’s give him a real show, baby,” Mark purred about you. Feeling your body tremble and shake when he would circle you just right. His thick member hitting every perfect place inside you. You called out his name.

“That’s it. Tell him who fucks you perfect each time,” Mark moaned feeling his high approaching.

“M-Mark— it’s you. Fuck,” you finished around his cock. Walls fluttering and clamping around him coaxing him to his own finish. Hot sticky seed painted your insides. Mark’s cock twitched with each squirt. Your cunt milking him. Taking his finish deeper and deeper inside. You slumped forward against the table. Panting.

“Oh, my girl,” Mark tucked himself back into his pants then flipped you over. Ravishing you with kisses and praises. You felt like you were seeing stars. His lips cooling the blaze that ignited across your sweating skin. Helping you get all your clothes back on, fingers ran through your hair. Tender kisses meeting your lips.

Taking your arm in his, gentlemen like as he guided you out of the room.

“Bye, Peter,” you waved. Catching his eyes staring at your ass as you left.

~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’m really getting more comfortable writing Hoffman and this was something new I wanted to try. I really hope you all enjoy. Thank you all for the support and love I receive constantly! Also taglist and inbox is always open :) //

{tags}

@mrshoffman | @iwmflbb | @l0sercat | @mrsmandylor | @toastnpretzels | @start-simping-for-saw-characters |

[webslingingslasher]

i was thinking about how boyfriend!frat peter would swing his way back to trouble and like thinking if she needs something or what she was doing all the time he was on patrol like

"has she seen the episode we didn't get to finish?"

"nah, she wouldn't... right?"

"i hope she forgot bout it"

"i think she ran out of toilet paper"

"gonna be so mad if she saw that episode without me"

kinda messy in a peter way but he likes to find himself thinking about her after being spiderman because sets him down to earth again <3

the second peter had his hand on your window, your laptop slammed shut. you were sitting a little too straight up, your hands in plain sight.

'were you watching porn?' you sputter, the idea making your chest feel warm. 'no! i was just looking at stuff.' peter's eyebrow quirks, 'porn stuff?'

'no!' your eyes flash around the room, it's a guilty look. 'oh, c'mon, it can't be that bad. what kind of stuff are you into?' peter swears he's joking, but when he playfully reaches for your computer you flatten yourself on top of it.

'holy shit, it really is porn.'

'it's not porn! it's... it's... for you. yeah, it's for you and it's a surprise!' your boyfriend blinks, 'you have to believe the lie to sell it, trouble.'

you couldn't be caught, peter would never forgive you.

'you got me at a bad time, you were supposed to call me on your way over.'

'did you miss me that bad? you had to pregame my arrival?' you huff, sitting up and fixing your hair, you don't realize how close your boyfriend got.

'i wasn't doing that!'

'you were about to.'

'no!'

peter's having way too much fun, 'then what were you doing?'

'i already told you, nothing!'

peter's quick, he grabs your laptop but not before you catch the other side. a gentle game of tug and war. 'i'm gonna look.' you tug, it's useless, peter could rip it from your grasp in a second.

'no! not allowed!'

'then tell me what you're hiding.'

'no!' you screech louder when he takes total ownership of the machine. guilt washes over you, you've been caught red handed. the only solution was looking at your knees.

your boyfriend gasps in horror at the screen, it sounds like how you knew he'd feel about it.

'i'm sorry, peter. you were never supposed to find out.'

'how could you do this to me? to us?'

you can't even make eye contact. 'i know, i'm sorry.'

it's like it chokes him to say, 'how long has this been going on?' you look up at him, if you plead he may accept your apology.

'not long, i promise! it was just today.... and maybe last week. but i swear i'll never do it again.'

'this hurts, trouble. this really hurts me.'

sure, maybe you did betray his trust a little. but he's the one that got you hooked in the first place, he can't push all the blame on you.

'but you've already seen it! and i really wanted to see the next episode and you weren't here and i figured it would be okay... but that was four episodes ago.'

'fine. but you need to keep me updated, because the only reason i'm rewatching it is so i can experience it with you.'

a subtle confession, something you weren't supposed to take to heart, but you did. the whole reason peter got you watching was so he could relive all his favorite parts, but with you.

you pout, peter pushes your computer back in your hands and points at your bottom lip. 'no. you dug your grave, you don't get to be sad that i'm sad.'

'but i'm really sorry.'

'sorry you got caught.'

'no! i'll never watch it without you, i promise.' except you were in the middle of a very juicy scene and you're itching to press play. peter can read you like a book.

'you wanna do it right now, don't you?'

'no.' ..... 'yes.' ..... 'but i won't.'

'god gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.'

peter doesn't understand the restraint you're showing. 'you stink, go take a shower.'

'promise you won't keep watching?'

it's hard, but you can do it for him.

'promise.' 

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

BNHA

something else to pretend by beeclaws

Bakugou apologies. Somehow, this makes things worse.

Retrograde by redrobin1989

Retrograde /ˈretrəˌɡrād/ adjective: directed or moving backwards noun: a degenerate person. verb: go back in position or time.

Seasoned pro heroes Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki are mentally transported back to their younger bodies due to a quirk. All they have to do is wait for the quirk to wear off for everything to return to normal. But sometimes the journey is worse than the destination.

DC

dick move by konan_konan

Part 1 of batfam twitter shenanigans

dim trake ☑ @timdrakeceo・52min guys what if dick grayson IS batman. that’s why he thought he was getting cancelled. it all makes sense. 784K Views | 142 Retweets | 52 Quote Tweets | 63.9K Likes

tason jodd ☑ @jsntdd・49min ↳ replying to @timdrakeceo asshole last week you said i was batman 461K Views | 88 Retweets | 16 Quote Tweets | 18.3K Likes

or: a civilian overhears a conversation between batman and nightwing. twitter does what it always does: makes things worse

the rules of playing make believe by hoebiwan

“We can’t squat in some dead guy’s mansion, Damian,” Tim says. Damian, in the midst of packing all their meager belongings into grocery sacks, ignores him.

“Why not?” Jason demands. “It’s not like he’s using it. Finders keepers, losers weepers.”

Or: Homeless!Reverse Robins squat in Wayne Manor.

Nine Worlds

with a winged heart by celebros

"Cliopher. Cliopher. Cliopher." I blink. It's Conju, standing with his hands on my shoulders, and I go to answer him and realize that I am already speaking, babbling, and Franzel is behind him, wringing his hands and looking near tears. I try to focus on what I'm saying, but it's like a stream, light and splashing past me, too quick to hold, not enough to catch, somehow, somehow – A few weeks before the start of the viceroyship ceremonies, Kip finds himself the unwitting recipient of a truth serum.

Original Work

That Frightful Nest Inside the Throat by whereveryouroam

Part 1 of That Dreadful Clockwork Beats Below

Living horses were in vogue among the high and mighty of the great families, but Peter’s new owners had sent proud motorhorses, clicking over in a blur of cogs and wheels, to draw the carriage. It was a very nice carriage - plush and cushioned. He couldn’t help but think this was sinister. Masters didn’t transport slaves in finery. At least, not slaves like him.

Peter’s spent years under the cruelty of masters who want the Monster inside him to become their weapon. He is quite sure that Lord and Lady Arken will be no different.

Percy Jackson

Through rose-colored glasses (the past is perfect) by Mo13

Part 1 of Rose-colored glasses verse

Luke/Percy were in a non-consensual 'relationship' when Percy was twelve. Percy deals with the aftermath, while constantly convincing himself that his relationship with Luke was fine (IT WAS NOT). Mostly cooperates with canon up to the end of Heroes of Olympus.

The Goblin Emperor

A Complete Education by bomberqueen17

Preparing for the Emperor's wedding, everyone has some things they need to learn about.

Emperor's Best Friend by imaginary_golux

Ino and Mireän decide their cousin Maia needs a special present for his twentieth birthday.

a burning coal of kindness by egelantier for Morgan (duckwhatduck)

When Maia is kidnapped by a faction hoping to halt the construction of Wisdom Bridge, Beshelar, gravely injured, is by his side. It might just be their undoing.

The Stairs Beneath the Heart by hermitknut

Part 1 of Keystone

The reign of Varenechibal IV is over; the reign of Edrehasivar VII has begun. The transition, however, is anything but smooth, as the Alcethmeret household navigates grief and worry as well as adapting to the new emperor.

A series of missing scenes and unseen moments centering around the Alcethmeret household over the course of the first few months of Maia's reign.

[corviidwrld]

hello hello here’s my entry for @scary-monsters ‘s DTIYS!!!! HAPPY 5K KAT!!!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 and MERRY CHRISTMAS N HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!!! I have more yammering under the cut :))

• my modern diego is such an alt guy - he loves his goth rock, he loves industrial metal, and he can be a little pretentious about music sometimes 😭 he’s wearing grave diggers, one of my favorite pair of demonias I own. I totally think he’d wear them all the time JRSGHBKF

• he’s listening to one of his favorite albums, Burning From the Inside by Bauhaus!! I also have in my AU, which is a modern/band AU, that his band takes quite a bit of influence from them! he loves Peter…….

• he’s playing RE4 and struggling while waiting for HP to finish getting ready so they can go out (HP is also very much goth but I WILL be posting abt them later mwah) This man is not. A gamer. by ANY means. But HP asked him to try. And he’s too confident.

• In my AU, they go out almost every weekend to go dancing at the goth club or just to go hang out at the dingy dive bar in downtown hehe

• johnny is texting him, asking where he n HP are!! Diego’s lock screen is of HP holding their cat Cream <3 Cream is basically his daughter. He loves that cat so much.

• how the albums on the wall are arranged is also specific! the top two are one of diego n HP’s favorite albums (HPs - Nightfall by Candlemass, Diego’s - Filth Pig by Ministry), and then the bottom three are three albums they both love very much n like to play all the time <3