#i wrote this in public i have no shame

[justp34chy]

im aware this isnt one of my usual posts soooo erm, enjoy?

both parts have previously been posted in a community so if you've seen it already hope you liked it :3 both parts ARE in here and a 3rd one might be made later

Bully!Yandere, GN!reader

!!!mention of blood, mugging, drugging, kidnapping, stalking and bullying [duh]!!!

mc is very vulgar, it's fineeee, they're just confused. they'll get used to their new home soon enough :3

written in 1st person

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

I met this guy a while ago, I was in my earth history class when he threw a balled up wad of paper that just so happened to hit my head on a particularly bad day. I was already on the edge of breaking down, I swear he threw an entire notebook's worth of balled up paper at me. No one was doing anything about it, even the professor just brushed it off. He laughed when I started to tear up and apparently he liked that reaction because after that- every. day. was. Hell.

I swear I see him everywhere. Out with my friends? He’s tripping me to the ground as we walk. On a date? He’s flirting with my date right in front of my face, he didn’t even like it! He had this grimace on his face whenever my date flirted back... At the club? He’s forcing me to pay for his drink. At home? He moved to the vacant apartment next door. I'm getting sick and tired of seeing his face around every corner, I swear it's making me go insane. I see him when I'm out for a late night walk, hiding in the bushes. I see him outside my window at night, I live on the second floor so I hope I'm just hallucinating.. Though there is a balcony that looks into my room… And he does live next door…. And our balconies are close enough for him to climb over….. And- and… fuck I am going insane..

He’s been acting weird for a couple weeks now. Sitting with me instead of his friends just to pick on me, following me to my favorite cafe at lunch, and I swear he wasn’t in philosophy with me, did he switch majors just to fuck with me? What really cemented the fact that something was off, was when he found me bloodied in an alleyway. I had gotten the shit kicked out of me. I was fucking mugged and he stepped in at the last possible second, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry before. I swear he would’ve killed those people if he didn’t look back at my pathetic expression in pity, he ran at them with a knife for fucks sake. I heard him kneel next to me after tossing something to the floor. My bag, he actually got my bag? Why would he do all this for me? I thought he hated me. He made it a point to pull my head up by my hair to look at him. Blood ran down my bruised face as he snapped a couple pictures with his phone.

“You know, you look pretty hot like this~”

“The dirt really brings out the colour in your eyes”

He sounded so sinister when he said that, I thought he would hurt me just like those people did. He even had that same shit eating grin on his face like always, but this time his voice wasn’t filled with malice as per usual, no… it was obsession.

“Ooo~ that’s a nice picture of you, I think I might just frame it.”

His expression slowly fell when I failed to respond, forming a soft frown. I could hardly see anything with the tears and blood staining my face, but I could feel something warm wrap around me, then his strained voice murmured close to my ear.

“It’s alright dork, I’ll make sure no one hurts you ever again. That’s my job. And you’re my nerd.”

“You’ll be safe with me, my darling~”

I may have passed out after that, mix of exhaustion and blood loss. I thought he would take me to a hospital or something but of course he didn’t. I woke up in an unfamiliar room, it was dark but I could make out a few details from the sunlight peeking through the blinds. Everything in the room looked hastily put together, like many things were taken out or moved just before I was put here. When my tired eyes threatened to shut once more, a grating voice and the sudden brightness of the overhead light being flicked on assaults my senses.

“Wake up dumbass, I have breakfast.”

I groan in pain at being flashbanged by the lights along with the residual pain of being beaten to the ground last night. And then I smell it. Are those? Pancakes? My confusion is pushed to the side as I feel this confusing asshole kick my leg.

“Hellooooo, earth to neeerd~ Hey are you alive?”

He pokes me a couple times and I flinch in response before I reluctantly sit up in the bed. He tosses a tray at me and when I'm fully situated, he places a stack of pancakes in front of me along with a cup of juice. I ask him why he made me breakfast and he just shrugs as he exits the room, the door shutting with a click. Stupid asshole…. Why am I even here in the first place? Is this his apartment? It's kinda bare. Why would he take me to his apartment when I literally live next door…… God these pancakes are good. He even put whipped cream and strawberries on it- I love strawberries…. What is wrong with him?

I finish the pancakes in like 10 minutes flat, way quicker than I usually eat, I even chug the juice afterwards just to chase it all down. The juice tasted a little off but I chalk that up to the juice being a different brand then I'm used to. Feeling a bit better than I did before I decided the best course of action is to look around the newly illuminated room, I wobble a bit as I stand up and wince from my muscles aching. I honestly expected to be chained to the bed or something. I immediately b-line to the door, I attempted to open it but to my dismay, the door was locked. That mother fucker locked me in here?!

Fine! You wanna play like that?! I frantically search the room, finding my bag haphazardly discarded under the bed along with a couple dirty articles of clothing I won’t even dare to touch. I rummage through my bag along with my pockets just to make sure everything's there and- fuck. My phone’s gone. My phone is gone and I'm locked in this stupid apartment with him. Fucking Sebastian. Why does he even live in this tiny roach infested apartment complex? I thought his parents were like- filthy rich. I know for a fact he only enrolled in this college because his parents donated a ridiculous amount of money to it every year. Annoying ass nepo baby!! 

I kick the closet door in frustration as I pace around the room, said door swinging open with a loud bang to reveal a seemingly empty, dark walk in closet. I sigh before I flick the light on, my eyes going wide at what I see. What. The. Fuck….. Are those? Pictures of me? Jesus there’s so many.. It’s like every inch of the walls and floor in this tiny excuse for a walk in closet are completely covered.. Pictures of me when I'm out on walks, photos of me at work or in class, images of me sleeping…. And right in the centre of the wall parallel from the door. That fucking picture he took yesterday of me beaten to a pulp. Framed just like he said it would be… I hear the door to the room creek open. Fucking psycho.

“You better not be snooping in here.. You’ve always been a slippery little bastard”

“YOU ASSHOLE!!!” I yell, spinning on my heel and charging at him. “You- fucking creep! You- You! How could you?! How long have you been doing this?! Why have you been doing this?!” I repeatedly pound my balled fists against his chest as I scream at him. My attempts were futile as I began to feel my body grow heavy and sluggish. Though my hits slowed, I still tried my best to injure him. He didn’t even flinch, he just stood there, taking it with more of an annoyed look then a hurt one. “You- fucking… stalker……” I accuse as I feel my knees buckle below me, eyes closing as I fall into his arms.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[blazingstar29]

ain’t no way i just saw a cis guy say dylan mulvaneys is invading women’s spaces SHUT THE FUCK UP

[miange1]

nfhshdhrv thanos with a male reader who he likes dressing up🤤

like during sex he has all these little outfits saved for him just to fuck him in

can u do it in the form of your head cannons?

THANOS

cross dressing, body type isn't mentioned but reader is shorter than thanos, use of boy(my boy, pretty boy), leaving marks, im hungry, i love jake gyllenhaal, choi su bong can tongue kiss me, sort of black mailing but it's more like a couple type(for example if you don't gimmie a kiss im making you do the laundry.), wrote this in the school bathrooms mb

— at first you thought it was stupid. why would he dress you up like some girl when you weren't one? he made it clear he would only make you wear it if he felt like fucking(which was all the time.)

— he first thought of the idea when you're the one who told him that back in maybe high school, you got dared to wear the female uniform for an entire day or until a teacher told you to take it off and would give you a new one.

"thanos im not wearing that."

"oh come on, please!"

"no."

— it was a school uniform for girls, which was far too skimpy. the tip was cropped almost above your nipples if you moved too much, the skirt enough to cover your dick a bit but it had no issue showing every curve of your ass.

— would purposely embarrass you by staring for way too long before starting anything. if you cross your arms or legs he'd curse at you and tell you to cut that shit out.

"can you hurry up.." your face was burning, eyes averting his gaze as you tried to comply. the both of you knew you were into it, just very embarrassed about it.

"oh pretty boy." he slapped your arms away, gripping your waist and pulling you in closer. his rings pinched your skin.

"if i didn't wanna ruin the fuck outta you, i could stare at your ass all day."

—every single thing would end up with your body twitching, and your hips bucking into nothing once he was done with you. leaves so many marks whether they're scratches, hickeys, bites, it didn't matter.

— pushes you even when you're too tired.

"c'mon, arch that pretty back for me." you'd try your best, but you were so used and stuff that you could barely move on your own.

he shook his head, making a 'tsk, tsk,' with his teeth. "sorry my boy, that won't do." his hand came to the middle of your back, harshly pushing down and making you yelp and wither so your ass could poke up just the way he liked it.

"there we go.." his hands went back to your hips, pulling you back. "wasn't that hard now was it?"

— sometimes he would make you wear that stuff in public. nothing too bad, mainly miniskirts and tight shirts to show off your figure. he had no shame, and would stare at it whenever he pleased.

— most of the time it was willing, other times he'd practically blackmail you.

"this is embarrassing.."

"hey, i asked you and you said you would." you gave him a dirty look, scowling. "no. you said you'd make me cook dinner if i didn't." the man couldn't even cook, so you don't know why you even cared.

— he made a promise to never fuck you in public, he would never do you like that! but that didn't mean he wouldn't rile you up. his hand coming down to graze below your ass when he could, squeezing your thigh a little too close between your legs, and just whispering things he'd do to you in your ear if he could.

— and then he would use his promise to his advantage.

"su-bong, please.." it turned him on when you said his actual name. he didn't know why, he just loved the way you said it especially when you were needy for him like this. "hm? what?" he'd act like he would have no idea what he was doing.

"you know what." your body stuck to his side, arm around his and you were practically grinding on him, but it was barely noticeable to others. "oh, but i have to keep my promise. no can do."

— as much as he'd want to fuck you, he'd want to tease you just as much

[nordickies]

What's the story or reason behind "Sweden is gay" jokes?

I could just say “it’s a comedy trope” and leave it at that—but the truth is, the topic is much more nuanced and, in my opinion, genuinely fascinating. The perception of Swedish men as “gay” in Finland isn’t some modern invention; it’s generational. The trope has been around so long that most people have no idea where it actually came from. So let me give you a proper, researched answer!

For most of history, same-sex relationships weren’t explicitly named in Sweden's (and by extension Finland's) criminal law. Instead, sexual crimes were defined through Biblical principles, such as the sins of Sodom, and punishments were meted out inconsistently. In the late 19th century, however, the criminalization of homosexuality became a public issue, driven by contemporary medical debates that aimed to purge society of its supposed moral decay in the name of racial hygiene. Homosexuality was medicalized, and it began to be classified as a psychiatric illness—an abnormal deviation from “biologically normal heterosexuality.” At the same time, psychoanalysts were also looking for ways to "cure" this deviance.

Contradictorily, homosexuality was seen both as an innate trait of certain “lower-class” people and as a contagious epidemic that could "infect" anyone who wasn't careful. Sexuality, now central to modernity, became heavily regulated by social norms. In Sweden, the government appointed numerous commissions focused on sexuality, primarily concerning sexual hygiene and procreation, essentially regulating who was allowed, or deemed desirable, to reproduce.

World War II brought the topic of homosexuality further into public discourse. Beyond the documentation of violent Nazi persecution of homosexuals, Finland began to confront same-sex relationships that emerged on the front lines and in blacked-out Helsinki during the war. War placed people into heavily gendered environments, where same-sex intimacy could form more easily. At the same time, Sweden decriminalized homosexuality in 1944, which brought the topic into Finnish media. Finnish tabloids wrote extensively about Swedish homosexuals and the spread of the so-called “Swedish disease.” Scandals in neighboring countries—like the 1955 Prostitution Network case in Copenhagen and Sweden’s Haijby and Kejne cases—distorted the topic, connecting homosexuality and pedophilia in the Finnish debate.

Stockholms Tidningen 22/1950 - "Homosexuals are a serious problem in Stockholm – rural youth are the victims"

The homosexual, as the "other" and the opposite of the heterosexual, was depicted as a moral threat to society in the 1950s. During the anxiety of the Cold War, the “other” became a public enemy and a danger to national security.

After the war, the national rebuilding project included a focus on moral reconstruction. Attitudes toward sexuality became increasingly conservative. The fear and panic around homosexuality led Finnish authorities to monitor, e.g., parks and public bathrooms, where gay men were believed to meet each other. The 1950s saw the highest number of convictions for homosexuality in Finnish history, with over 1,000 men prosecuted. Public discourse and reporting on homosexuality led to the police becoming more active to prevent a moral panic, which in turn led to new convictions, which were reported in the tabloid magazines—starting a self-feeding cycle. Sensational headlines framed victims of sexual assault as complicit, citing “loose morals,” drunkenness, or a tendency toward debauchery, the victim-blaming adding shame to an already stigmatized homosexuality. There was also the threat of blackmail, real or fabricated, that could ruin people’s personal relationships, careers, and public image.

Viikon Totuus 11/1959 - "Male homosexuals in the limelight: Is the 'Swedish disease' spreading in Finland?

Whereas homosexuality was associated with communism in the United States and the United Kingdom, in Sweden, homosexuality was seen as a problem within the right-wing and upper classes of society, with young and impoverished working-class men being the victims. In Finland, similar ideas arose, as homosexuality was primarily considered an urban problem. Until the 1950s, Finland was a largely agrarian society where people, regardless of gender, were expected to contribute to agricultural labor. Oftentimes, it was the women who had to do labor-intensive work while the men were drafted as soldiers. This fostered a less rigid gender hierarchy, to a point it's argued that rural life didn’t necessarily stigmatize the "feminized" man in a same-sex relationship. Same-sex relationships were seen as less problematic than extramarital relationships between women and men, which could result in illegitimate children. As long as everyone contributed to the community, same-sex couples could often go unbothered. However, this concealable nature of same-sex relationships meant that rural communities weren’t exposed to homosexuality as a concept until the media framed it as a threat. What had once gone unnamed became a symbol of urban moral decay and a danger to national purity.

Viikon Totuus 1/1963 - "Homophiles chase boys and men in central Helsinki"

In Western patriarchal societies, homosexuality is “othered” because it challenges hegemonic masculinity, which relies on the expectation of unequal heterosexual relationships. Male bonds are expected to remain non-sexual to uphold the social hierarchy. Men who deviate or fight against these norms are seen as weak, effeminate, and thus lacking masculinity. This dynamic fosters homophobia, misogyny, and heterosexism, keeping heterosexual men united in opposition to anything deemed feminine or non-conforming. By associating homosexuality with something “other” in the new wave of moralism in the 20th century, it was possible to create an image that Finnish masculinity and homosexuality are not compatible. Homosexuality becomes the “other” to the Finnish man’s identity—something that cannot co-exist within him. Swedish men who are “feminine and interested in men” create a contrast to the “strong heterosexual Finnish man”. The othering of the Swedish man was easy because Finnish national identity was, from the start, shaped in opposition to Swedishness. By excluding homosexuality from the cultural narrative, society reasserts its ideals of masculinity, moral integrity, and national cohesion. The othering of the Swedish man gives a satisfying itch to the inferior complex and validates the national identity.

I personally think it's worth noting the upper class of Finnish society being traditionally Swedish speaking (and gayness seen as a vice of the rich), alongside the rural flight which lead to over 400,000 Finns moving to Sweden between 1950s-1970s and thus exposing Finns to more liberated sexual environment, have in my opinion certainly also contributed to the pre-existing conception of Swedishness as inherently homosexual compared to that of Finnishness.

Norwegian petition in Dagbladet magazine, 28.6.1979. "We demand that the competent authorities in Finland immediately repeal the anti-gay law to bring Finland into line with other Nordic countries."

Timeline of the development of same-sex rights in both countries:

Homosexuality criminalized: 🇸🇪 1864 / 🇫🇮 1894

Homosexuality decriminalized: 🇸🇪 1944 / 🇫🇮 1971

No longer classified as illness: 🇸🇪 1979 / 🇫🇮 1981

Anti-discrimination laws: 🇸🇪 1987 / 🇫🇮 2000

Registered partnership: 🇸🇪 1995 / 🇫🇮 2002

Adoption rights: 🇸🇪 2003 / 🇫🇮 2009

Marriage equality: 🇸🇪 2009 / 🇫🇮 2017

During the HIV crisis in 1987, Sweden passed a law banning gay saunas and prostitution (repealed in 2004). In Finland, although gay sex was decriminalized in 1971, it was replaced with a “Promotion Ban,” which made "promoting" or discussing homosexuality effectively illegal until 1999. This vague law created a culture of censorship and fear, discouraging media from covering LGBTQ topics positively—or at all. As a result, many queer Finns sought refuge in more progressive countries like Sweden and Denmark, forming small diaspora communities. It's worth noting that Sweden and Denmark also liberalized porn in the late 1960s, while Finland had strict regulation regarding "promiscuous publications" until the 1990s. Swedish and Danish magazines and films were imported both by private consumers and smuggled by sex shops, reinforcing the association with sexuality, and especially sexual deviancy, with the Western neighbours.

Attitudes towards homosexuality in Finland started to change slowly after the decriminalization. However, the repeated generational perceptions of "effeminate" Swedish men compared to heteromasculine Finnish men continued to shape the perceptions of homosexuality in, e.g., comedy tropes. Additionally, the perception of homosexuality as a sensitive issue that wasn’t being talked about during the Promotion Ban left a mark. Belonging to a sexual minority was seen as a private matter that should not have any weight in public debate, which left especially politicians hesitant to bring up LGBTQ issues forward, and thus, LGBTQ legislation in Finland moved forward painfully slowly.

Homosexuality, since its appearance in wide public discourse in Finland, was associated with Swedishness from day one, being framed as an urban disease, sensationalized through scandals and pseudo-science, sparking moral panic. The issue cut deep into medical, social, and cultural anxiety. The othering made it easier for Finnish society to distance itself from homosexuality by projecting it onto a "familiar" outsider, the Swede, who was easy to make fun of.

Recommendations for further reading:

Juvonen, T., Vastapaino. 2021. Varjoelämää ja julkisia salaisuuksia — Homoseksuaalisuuden rakentuminen sotien jälkeisessä Suomessa. https://www.finna.fi/Record/fikka.5795725?lng=en-gb 

Kettunen, S. 2022. Martti rakkaani: Hiljaisuus ja vaikeneminen seksuaalisuuden kokemuksessa miesparin kirjeenvaihdossa 1956–1961. https://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:tuni-202210267896 

Hagman, S. 2014. Seven queer brothers: narratives of forbidden male same-sex desires from modernizing Finland 1894-1971. https://hdl.handle.net/1814/32118 

Põldsam, R., Taavetti, R. 2024. Sisters Across the Gulf: Transnational Connections and Frictions in Estonian–Finnish Lesbian Networks of the early 1990s. https://doi.org/10.34041/ln.v29.933 

Rydström, J., Mustola, K. 2007. Criminally Queer: Homosexuality and Criminal Law in Scandinavia 1842-1999. https://library.oapen.org/viewer/web/viewer.html?file=/bitstream/handle/20.500.12657/34830/353810.pdf. 

Sundén, J., Paasonen, S., & Tiidenberg, K. 2024. Sex at the Borders: A Special Issue Introduction. https://doi.org/10.34041/ln.v29.928 

Söderström, G. 1999. Sympatiens hemlighetsfulla makt. Stockholms homosexuella 1860-1960.

Nyegaard, N., Heede, D. & Rydström, J. 2022. Special Issue Editorial: Nordic LGBTQ Histories. https://doi.org/10.1080/08038740.2022.2104022

Suomi on Queer. 2023. Yle. https://areena.yle.fi/1-66734852 

[st4rg8te]

Foul Play ♡

Yandere-ish! Scummy Teammate X Athlete! Male Reader

TW: HEAVY NSFW, dubcon, humiliation, degradation, semi-public(?), dirty talk, slut shaming, mind-break, hidden s*x toy.

[A/N: CHARACTERS ARE ALL 18+ Not edited. I literally cannot believe what I just wrote, sorry everybody.]

✦✧✦✧

✦✧✦✧

The shrill sound of your coach's whistle, accompanied by your teammates' frustrated groans immediately snapped you out of your feverish daze. 

You had messed up again.

“Haah…”

A heavy breath escaped your lips as you quickly rubbed the sweat away from your forehead with the back of your hand. The basketball fell from your grasp with a dull thud, and you braced yourself for the next scathing words to come your way.

"That's the third time today [Y/N]!" Your coach shouted as he quickly walked to where you were standing, his face contorted in displeasure, "What the hell's gotten into you?"

 You could only look down at the ground in shame at his words, feeling your face heat up further from the disapproving gazes of your teammates that were now directed toward you.

"Sorry coach, I... didn't mean to." You managed to squeeze the words out through gritted teeth, feeling your body beginning to tremble.

"Why is your face so red?" Your coach's eyebrows knit together, clearly puzzled.

"I…Ah~!”

Before you could answer him, a wave of pleasure suddenly hit your body, and you buckled under your knees with a yelp. 

Your shoulders were grabbed by a firm pair of hands, keeping you in place. It took every ounce of strength not to flinch as they made contact with your hot skin. A deep, familiar voice rang out behind you, sending a wave of goosebumps down your body.

 "Sorry coach, it’s my fault. [Y/N] didn't want me to tell you that he wasn't feeling well today. I should have stopped him sooner." 

His warm breath tickled your ears, and you swallowed hard before glancing back up, meeting the dark gaze of the taller male. The corners of his eyes crinkled as his lips pulled up into a smug smile. 

That bastard... He was doing this on purpose!

However, your coach seemed oblivious to the interaction between both of you, and nodded his head at your teammate with a sigh, "Of course he didn't… You, go sit out or head to the nurse’s office, I don't need you dragging the other players down." 

"I can go along with him, sir."

"Wait, I can go on my own—" You helplessly squirmed under his grasp.

"Can I entrust you with him for the rest of practice then?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but a glare from the older man immediately shut you up. You could only let yourself be dragged away by your teammate, dreading for what was to come.

✦✧✦✧

The moment you reached the vacant school corridor, the taller male immediately shoved you into the storage room, making you slam painfully against the wall. 

Before you could react, a hot, wet tongue slid into your mouth, forcing its way inside. You struggled weakly, clawing against the other male's chest as pleasure began to take over your senses.

He parted away after a brief moment to gasp for air, a string of saliva connecting from his lips to yours.

"Ha-aah.."

"Fuck. I've never been so turned on before." He groaned lowly, "You’re such a slut, moaning in front of everyone. Did you want to get caught that badly?"

You were beyond humiliated. Face burning in anger, your hands roughly shoved him off of you. He stumbled backward slightly, but an ever-so-annoying smirk stayed firmly fixed on his features. 

"Shut up! Just get that... that thing out of me!" 

The only response you received was a loud chuckle. You looked like you wanted to tear his head off, but how was he supposed to take you seriously? Your red-rimmed eyes stared back at him in indignation, reminiscent of a small, feral kitten trying to defend itself from being bullied.

Ah, how cute.

He wanted to fuck you even harder now. 

His hands reached out to firmly grasp your waist, spreading your legs, before roughly pulling your pants and boxers down. Aside from the jersey you wore, you were completely exposed to the taller male in front of you.

A whimper left your throat as his fingers spread your tight entrance open. You bit down on your lips, ashamed at the sight.

“Christ… you’re so wet.” He muttered.

Nestled deep within was a vibrator that lewdly spat out clear fluids, dampening your shaking thighs. The loud buzzing became louder in your ears as he began to pull the toy out, slowly, inch by inch, clearly taking his time.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

"You f-fucking bastard, stop playing with me!"

A whine escaped your lips. You instinctively bucked your hips, trying desperately to escape from his clutches. His gaze darkened at your actions.

"Don't you think you're being too mouthy right now?" His voice was low and husky. You felt yourself stiffen when rough hands tightly gripped your hips, forcing your wiggling ass to stay still.

"You’re the one with something to lose here, not me. I could just leave you in this room, dripping like a bitch in heat for some poor random janitor to find for all I care." 

"Ngh! You wouldn't—"

"But knowing how much this ass of yours loves cock, you'd probably like that, wouldn't you?" 

In an instant, he slammed the toy back into the deepest part of your core. Your whole body violently writhed in a mix of pain and pleasure, as though a thousand volts of electricity had struck you.

"Aahhhhhh~!"

The male repeated his actions over and over again, each time, the vibrating toy would kiss your prostate, sending you over the edge. 

His grip was firm and unrelenting as he continued to pump away despite your weak pleas. Soon, you were close to your climax, your back arched up, and wet drool lewdly dripped down your chin. 

“I’m-mmf! I’m gonna..”

But before you could cum, he sadistically withdrew the vibrator from your hole, watching as it clenched around nothing, gaping and loose.

“Beg for it.”

He leaned forward, kissing your forehead sweetly as he watched hot tears continue to spill from your eyes. 

“Beg for me, little slut. Beg for my dick.” 

You were too drunk on pleasure to think coherently. So you did as he told you, letting go of whatever dignity you had left.

With shaky arms, you reached for him, wrapping them around his neck and mewled.

"Pleeeeaaase~" 

"Please what, whore? I don't know what you want." You cried out as your hard nipples were painfully pinched by his large hand.

"Hic-I... I want you to fuck me! Pleeaaase!" 

Thankfully, he decided to have mercy on you.

He pushed his thick cock inside your hole in one go, causing you to cry out. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Despite all the preparation you had gone through, the sudden intrusion was still too much to bear.

Your hole burned from the stretch. He continued to slam himself against your gummy walls, fucking you with a relentless pace. Each thrust forced a squeal out of your mouth, which only motivated him to pound you deeper. 

He was breeding you.

Wet squelching noises, mixed with your loud moans echoed throughout the dark room. It stunk with the scent of sex. A small puddle had gathered on the floor between the two of you, filthy and sticky. It didn't take long before the both of you found your release.

"Haah... Who knew that the star of the basketball team was secretly a filthy little slut? Instead of practicing with the rest of his team, he sneaks out to ride on cock all day long."

"Noo~ Ah! Th... That's not t-trueee~!" You protested in drunken slurs, clinging desperately onto his broad shoulders. 

With a final thrust, he released his seed deep inside you, causing you to spasm uncontrollably.

It felt so hot. As if you were filled to the brim with hot molten lava.

Cum leaked from the tip of your dick and spilled everywhere, coating your ruined sports jersey with a warm, gloppy mess. You lay there, unable to move an inch. 

He removed himself from you after a while, staring down at your body, flushed and covered with cum. It was truly a sight to behold.

Fucked stupid, tears dripping down your face swollen cheeks, skin littered with hickeys and bruises, hole gaping and leaking his cum. Nothing but cock on your mind.

Sigh, It was just too bad he didn’t have his phone with him at that moment. 

"Hey... the bell is about to ring soon," he said hoarsely, messily wiping away the sticky substance that clung to your skin with his palm, ignoring the way you trembled at the contact. "We need to clean up." 

Glancing around the room for a cloth or a towel, his eyes landed on the still-vibrating dildo that had been carelessly discarded on the floor. Insidious thoughts began to form in his head.

Perhaps next time, he should stick vibrators on your nipples and dick as well, or... maybe see how many you could fit in your ass like in that one porn video he watched. How well would you be able to endure it in front of others?

There were so many choices... He could feel his dick twitching again.

You two were going to have so much fun ♡.

✦✧✦✧

[A/N: I don't write smut that much so I'm still trying to practice. This one was really hard to sit through LMAO. Maybe one day I'll expand on this one but who knows. Haven't thought of a name for the ML yet. Anyways, poor Y/N!]

[twihs-blog]

Guilt and Shame:

A few months ago I wrote the below post on my journey of sobriety. Making my sobriety public was never what I had envisioned when I went crawling into AA defeated. I’ve been thinking a lot recently on my journey as a human being on this planet. It’s a beautiful thing. I’ve been thinking a lot on guilt and shame surrounding my slip up and I suppose I wanted to share with you more on that.

I have been invited to a recovery house in America to help them raise awareness and money for their charity. I of course jumped at the chance, after all, giving back is what we are lead to do. I would be lying though if I said I wasn’t terrified. 

The fear of admitting fault of feeling like I let down those around me. Writing this is terrifying but I’m trying to push myself out of my comfort zone and become more attune with me and what my higher power want’s me to do.

I suppose ultimately I want to share this with you as I’ve already opened the door to this part of my life and it seems vital that I continue to do so.

Fear is at the root cause of so many issues regarding addiction in my experience. 

I still have anxiety, yesterday I took the tube to see some friends and had to leave half way through my journey due to the overwhelming feeling that I may at any second pass out. Even at dinner this feeling was hard to shake. It’s hard to describe. I walk out on to a stage to talk with you all or play music or act and I feel little of this, however in daily life it can creep in so quickly. 

Whilst my consumption of marajuana wasn’t what I would call habitual I recognize that it was a poor attempt at controlling my own feelings, anxiety’s and stressors. Which is backwards because it wasn’t exactly helping with those things either as they still were there regardless.

Living the life I am fortunate enough to live now I recognize those things and how I respond to them now is with choice. 

I suppose writing this is an exercise in digging in, in recognizing the feelings of guilt and shame, in owning up to myself and to my world. 

The last thing I ever want to be doing is walking out in to my world with a lie. 

It’s hard to know how to end this post. I suppose a thank you would be appropriate, I have a deep love for the world and for people in it. I have a love for my world and my higher power and I was very much moved to write this.

With love.

Jamie

[adragonprinceswhore]

Warm Me Up

Summary: When his wife speaks out of turn during a dinner with the King, Aemond needs to reprimand her indiscretions.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, wife!reader, dom/sub undertones, temperature play, (slight) humiliation, talk of obedience, heavy petting, (light) bondage, P in V, a little angsty in the begging, a little fluffy in the end

A/N: Okay so editing took much longer than anticipated - you could tell this was the first fic (read: smut) I wrote. This has had a real make-over, please enjoy!

Word Count: 3300

Getting to know your new spouse after a hasty wedding had been a far lengthier process than your swift unification.

When first being presented to Prince Aemond, you’d been unsure of how to approach him. His stoic façade and short-worded answers left you wondering if he’d ever let you get to know him, or if you’d spend a lifetime with a shell of a person; too stubbornly proud to let anyone in. However, with time, you've noticed that the imperturbable prince is a loyal husband, and by opening yourself up a bit to him, he returned the favour by allowing you to get to know him as well. 

You’d now grown closer than you’d ever dared imagined. Most fears from the beginning of your union had been washed away by the prince's attentive nature, and you feel thoroughly satisfied with the state of your marriage.

You and Aemond connect and relate to each other immensely, being far more alike than appearances might presume. Behind closed doors, there barriers previously separating the two of you from each other had essentially vanished.

In public, however, you did not always see eye to eye. 

The grip Aemond has around your arm feels bruising as he led you into your shared chambers, letting go of you only to close and bar the door with a heavy thud.

“Have I not asked you to watch your tongue in the presence of others?”

He's still facing the door, low, soft voice sending a chill through the blood furiously pumping through your body.

The tension in his shoulders is evident, and the way his voice sounds unnaturally calm lets you know that he is trying hard to sound composed. 

You knew from the moment you raised your voice that Aemond would not approve. That he'd be displeased with you.

Yet, you could not hinder the words from spilling from your lips, entire being suddenly consumed with irritation over the thoughtless remark King Aegon had uttered during dinner.

“It was not my intention to speak out of turn, husband. But you know as well as I do that the King’s comment-”

“It does not matter! I’ve asked you to hold your tongue in public, especially when it comes to my brother”, he interrupts, the fake calmness he’d previously tried to maintain slipping away,

“Engaging with him will only rile him up. He will not relent until he’s had the last word and left you humiliated. Do you truly wish to enter a battle like that with the King? You know it will serve no good”

You swallow thickly and look down at the floor, overwhelmed with feelings of regret and shame. Your husbands eyes bore into you, challenging you to fight back, yet you do not feel brave enough to defy him.

You're not even brave enough to meet his gaze.

You hear him sigh and walk towards where you stand, voice calmer yet somehow more authoritative than before,

“Take off your dress and get on the bed”

You knew not to argue, feeling a tiny spark of excitement at the possibility of him disciplining you for your transgressions at dinner. You had gone against his wishes before, hoping he would spank you, as you had found yourself getting impossibly aroused from the act.

During such instances, however, he had been far less displeased with you. This time, you hadn’t defied him with a cheeky grin and a glint in your eye. This time, you had been unable to keep your mouth shut, momentarily forgetting yourself.

You follow his orders wordlessly and take off your dress, quickly working your fingers along the buttons of your bodice in order to yank it down your body. Stepping out of the garment, you raise your head to look Aemond in the eye, showing him that you’d follow his commands without resistance. 

“Your smallclothes as well, wife. Take everything off and get on the bed, on your belly”. 

You do as he says without much thought, feeling your heart beat harder in your chest in anticipation in what’s to come.

You cannot decipher if you feel excitement or dread when pondering on what he will do next, yet you eagerly wait to find out more.

Aemond’s seeing eye trails down your naked form, sternly observing you as you step out of your smallclothes and get on the bed, again heeding his demand without protest.

He undoes his belt and instructs you to tuck your legs under your body, leaving you no option but to press your face against the soft, moss-coloured sheets of your marital bed.

Kneeling on the bed behind you, he takes both your hands and tie them behind your back, the rough, stiff leather of his belt pressing into the delicate skin of your wrists.

He moves off the bed and kneels next to it, taking your chin in his hand. He moves you so that you’re facing him, letting his thumb rest softly against your cheekbone.

He still appears stoic, but you can see the fury dancing in his eye as he looks into yours,

“I will know if you’ve moved”

You swallow thickly. How long does he plan on leaving you here?

He stands up, takes one final look at your naked silhouette, and leaves, shutting the door behind him. 

Once alone, the reality of the situation begins to settle.

The hearth has not been lit, and the chilling autumn air easily penetrates the chambers through the large windows facing the sea.

King’s Landing suffered more from heat than chill, and the Red Keep was built to allow air to flow through the castle, rather than to keep warmth in. Without your clothes and the hearth, you found the room you otherwise regarded as a comforting haven to be chill and foreign. 

After some time of disturbing silence, unease creeps up your chill spine and enters your rapidly beating heart.

Had Aemond locked the door?

What if someone were to enter, just to find you in this humiliating state; arse on display for all to see?

Your heart beats faster.

Fiercer.

You know you could easily turn your body around and get off the bed, despite being unable to move your arms.

The thought feels more tempting as your skin grows colder; gooseflesh spreading over your unmoving arms and legs. Only one thoughts keeps you still,

What would Aemond think?

You’d already upset him, and part of you knows that what you did had been foolish. Speaking in the way you did to the King would have left others without their tongue.

Aemond had spared you.

He needs to know that you regret your indiscretions; that you are a better wife than what your actions had shown earlier.

So you relax your jaw to stop your teeth from shaking, inhale deeply, and wait.

You do not know how much time has passed when Aemond finally returns.

You find it hard not to shiver. Your body has gone impossibly cold, and your feet and hands already feel numb.

He comes up to the side of the bed, looking down at your trembling body with satisfaction dancing in his lilac eye.

“Have you learnt your lesson yet, wife?” he asks. You hum weakly, wishing he would allow you to get dressed, if only to end your agony; both the one evident across your cold skin and inside of your chest.

His eye flickers from your exposed bottom to your face, the hint of a smile pulling at hush lips,

“And you haven’t moved since I left?”

You softly shake your head, watching as your husband’s eye crinkles from the victorious smile he wears.

“I knew you were a good wife. I am so proud of your display of obedience”

As he speaks, he places a warm palm on your cold buttock, prompting you to let out a surprised moan from the intensely pleasurable feeling.

Aemond’s smile grows wider, causing dimples to appear on his cheeks.

You don't know if you’ve ever seen them before. 

“Does my sweet wife need me to warm her up?”

He almost sounds taunting, yet you could not care less. The hand he had placed on your buttock comes back to rub your lower back, and the heat from his palm feels so good; so warm.

So comforting.

“Yes, husband. Please touch me”

Swiftly moving to kneel behind you, he places both of his large hands on the back of your thighs, slowly trailing them upwards, halting at your shoulders. You sigh loudly, relishing in the wonderful feeling of his warm hands on your cold body. The feeling of relief accompanied by his touch is so strong it feels foreign; like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

As he continues to caress your body, you notice the demanding ache of arousal between your thighs intensify. You hadn’t really paid attention to the wetness collecting there, but now that a drop slides down your exposed thigh, you cannot disregard the effect your husbands touch has on you, even when his intentions are not of a entirely lewd nature.

The next time his wandering hands reach your buttocks, they travel to your front, caressing your belly and cupping your breasts. You moan again, no longer recognising yourself or this newly discovered inability to control your mouth. 

You hear Aemond sigh behind you as he leans down over your body, placing a few kisses on your shoulders. His touch stays on your breasts, kneading them with an increasingly harsh grip.

The leather of his tunic and breeches do not feel as comforting as his warm hands and you hiss as your chilled back makes contact with his cold, stiff attire. 

“Please husband, take off your clothes. I crave your warmth”

Aemond hums in reply to your plea, pulling away briefly to discard his clothes on the floor. You try to turn your head and look at him, but the awkward position your body is in does not allow for you to move your head, cheek still pushed into the bed.

Soon you feel the bed dip again behind you, Aemond now so close that his thighs touch the back of yours. 

They say that the blood of the dragon runs hot, and perhaps you’ve never been more pleased at having married a Targaryen; revelling in the way his heated skin gives you relief from the cold air of your stoney chambers. 

Your husband begins to gently trace his palms across your body once more, stopping at your waist before wrapping both of his arms around the dip there, slowly pressing down to rest his heavy body on top of yours.

Again, you moan at how good the warmth of his skin feels against yours, the want between your naked thighs intensifying.

Aemond tucks his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin,

“Does this feel good, wife?”, he mumbles into your hair. 

“Yes”, you sigh, feeling wholly consumed by him.

The familiar hardness pressing against your behind does not go unnoticed, and you take pride in knowing that you’re not completely at his mercy.

He’s at yours as well.

“You’ve been such a sweet, obedient wife for me. Ask me anything and I’ll be a sweet, obedient husband for you” he says, moving his head from your neck to press fleeting kisses down your shoulder.

You know what he wants you to answer; know that he loves you submissive, begging for him to make you feel good. 

“Please, keep touching me”, you request as he moves off of you to sit on his haunches behind your kneeling form, taking your tied up hands in his and gently undoing his belt.

He discards it on the floor next to his own leathers, gentle fingers softly caressing your wrists, noticing the red remnants of his belt there.

Grabbing your arms, Aemond carefully places them down by your head. He leans in to kiss your cheek, tucking away a strand of hair that has fallen to cover your face.

His palms travel from your arms down your torso, ending up on your bottom again. 

“Do you wish for me to touch you here, sweet girl?”

His voice is loving yet his touch is not as he begins to knead your buttocks a bit too harshly for your liking. You do not dare to protest though, the feeling of his warm hands on your cold body too good to endanger.

You simply moan again, head moving to look back at him, the same confident smirk still illuminating his face.

“Or would you like me to touch you here?”

One of his hands trail down between your buttocks to meet your soaking centre, and he huffs out a chuckle at the wet sounds of your arousal echoing in your quarters.

“Such a wanton little thing you’ve become. Does obeying your prince arouse you so?”

Though you adore the feeling of his fingers caressing your womanhood, the lack of his warm body pressing against yours causes you to shiver again.

Aemond suddenly withdraws his hand from between your thighs, evoking a displeased whine to leave your lips.

In return, he releases an amused huff, thoroughly entertained by the desperate way you’ve come to crave him. 

He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, fisting his already hard cock a few times before turning to you, beckoning you to come over with a flick of his head.

You eagerly get up from the bed, swaying clumsily as your stiff legs feel unstable from the extended time you’ve been kneeling on the bed. 

You stand in front of him, between his spread out thighs.

He appears just as calculated as he always does; long, silky hair neatly falling down his broad shoulders, and brown, worn eyepatch securely fastened around his head.

It’s only his eye, the expressive one on display, that shows his true intentions.

His hunger.

Aemond leans forward to place a chaste kiss to your stiff nipple, then moves to do the same to the other. Both of his large, warm hands find home on your hips, and you sigh at the wonderful relief yet again.

He turns you around, grabs your hips once more, and manoeuvres you so that you’re bending down with your back towards him.

He grabs his cock, hard and leaking with arousal, and moves it up and down your slit, allowing it to explore the path from your pearl, all the way down to the cleft of your arse.

He smears your slick everywhere; there’s so much of it that it taints your entire centre. Had you been more sensible, you might’ve found the act sullying and lewd. Now, it causes more desire to drip out of you.

When he places the tip at your entrance, he wraps his muscular arms around you, pushing you down in a swift motion to impale you on his cock.

Although you have had him more times than you can count, the stretch stings as he forces you to take all of him at once.

More overpowering, however, is the feeling of relief your cold skin is granted as Aemond envelops you in his arms, holding on to you so tightly it’s like he wants to squeeze the life out of you.

He does not neglect your desires though; his cock instantly finds that spot within you that makes you feel weightless and heavy at the same time.

It’s almost too much to handle; the sharp, intense pleasure.

You groan loudly, throwing your head back to rest on Aemond’s shoulder. 

He continues to thrust up into your cunt, using the grasp he has on your body to continuously impale you on his cock. You try to keep up with his pace, but the immense pleasure sprinting through you being leaves you incapable of doing much, so you stay limp in his unyielding hold, allowing him to use you in any way he pleases.

The harsh sounds of your skin smacking against his, his cock repeatedly fucking your wet hole and your combined breaths fill the room, seeping out of the still uncovered windows.

Aemond keeps a steady pace, the muscles of his toned arms flexing around your body as he takes his pleasure from your cunt.

His face is pressed to yours, cheek to cheek, as he breathes loudly through his nose. Tilting his head, his mouth right next to your ear, he whispers,

“You do not know what you do to me, sweet wife. I cannot stay cross with you for long, even when I wish to”

With the little strength and physical control you still possess, you turn your head to face him, pressing your lips to his in an attempt to pour all your pent up feelings of excitement, nervousness and devotion into the kiss.

One of your hands seeks his, and you pry it off the grip it has right under your breast, taking hold of it and guiding it down to the apex of your thighs. With his hand in yours, you begin to draw small, determined circles on your pearl, pressing on his fingers to let him know how firm you want his touch to be. 

Your peak approaches you quickly; aggressively, as the knot in your lower belly tightens within you. As it finally bursts, you press your head back against Aemond’s shoulder, a cry loud enough to alert the entire Red Keep of your activities accompanying the pure bliss overtaking you.

Your body jerks in Aemond’s arms, pleasure sending lightning bolts from your core down to your toes and up into your chest. 

“Fu-, fuck, your cunt’s-”, Aemond interrupts himself with a groan as the tightening pulsation of your heat around him sets off his own peak. 

His hips buck up into you for a few more seconds before he stills, holding you tightly in his arms as his weary head moves down to rest on your shoulder. 

“Would you like me to call for the servants to pour you a bath, my love? Warm you up?”, he inquires, still out of breath.

You let out an exhausted laugh and turn yourself slightly in his arms to face your husband again.

His cheeks are flustered and pink, eye half-open. He looks equal parts tired and satisfied, and you realise you probably look the same.

“You have successfully thawed me, dear husband. Now all I ask of you is that you allow me to stay in your embrace”

For a second he almost looks bashful at your words, but before you have a chance to ponder it further, he lifts you off of him and helps you lay down on the bed, this time tucking you in underneath the furs before quickly fetching a cloth to clean you up. When he’s done he tosses it on the floor and climbs down to lay next to you, pulling you towards him with your face right in front of his, so close your noses bump together.

“It is not my desire for you to mind your tongue when we are alone”, he speaks quietly, meeting your eyes in an attempt to reason with you.

“But you must understand that life at court is unforgiving, especially if you attempt to speak against the King”.

You nod softly.

His thumb travels down to caress your cheekbone,

“I could not bear to see you hurt. I only wish for you to obey me since I care for your well-being”

It feels like your heart is melting at his words; spilling from your chest down into your limbs. You press your forehead against his and close your eyes, revelling in the feeling of adoration you have towards your husband.

You realise that you’ve never said it before, but you could not have stopped the confession from slipping out even if you’d wanted to,

“I love you”

[deepestnightcolor]

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Kinkmas - 2nd of December⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

ᴀ/ɴ: What's behind door two? Let's find out, shall we? thank you for your time and I hope you enjoy!

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sebastian x Fem!Reader (ᴀ/ɴ: I CANNOT believe I have written Sebastian. I can't write this man for the LIFE of me, but I hope you enjoy what I wrote nonethless :D).

ᴡᴄ: 1095 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: dirty talk, degrading, unprotected sex, kinda public sex, pretty much getting caught, cream pie, cursing.

Sebastian loved winter, and there were so many reasons for him to do so! The sun was really weak, the air was nice and cold which meant that he wasn’t sweating his balls off the moment he set foot outside (fuck that, he didn’t sweat his balls off from just lying in bed), and best of all? Society didn’t fucking expect him to go out just because the weather was nice. Quite the opposite! It was perfectly acceptable to stay bundled up inside of your fucking house, the most he had to do was to look out a window every now and then and sigh wistfully – that was his fucking jam!

So, now riddle him this – how the hell had he ended up on Ginger fucking Island, where the sun showed no fucking mercy, making him sweat his balls off? Ginger Island, one of the most crowded places to be, given that most people used this as an escape of the winter wonderland back home? Why the hell was he allowing the sand to burn his feet, even though he could be at home, in his bed, aimlessly scrolling social media, maybe, and he would never admit that, making himself some hot cocoa and admire the Winterstar tree his mom had set up? Well, the riddle wasn’t all too hard to solve – the reason he was on this stupid island was right in front of him, looking up at him with those glazed-over eyes, bikini top messily tugged down to reveal kiss-bitten, spit-covered tits that bounced with each thrust that he oh so cruelly hammered into your messy cunt. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, baby? Dragging me out here? Cock stuffed in your dirty little whore cunt in a fucking changing room? Chose the busiest day of the week, too, it seems…Would be a shame if anyone heard how good I am fucking you, huh? Or maybe that’s what you fucking want…Oh, fuck yeah, you are clenching around me baby- that’s exactly what you fucking want, yeah? Letting them all hear who’s fucking you dumb, who’s making you a fuckin’ whore for dick,” He whispered, voice nothing above a dangerous snarl as his hips mercilessly kept up his pace, only fucking you harder when he felt your cunt wrap tighter, sucking off his cock oh so sweetly. You see, Sebastian hadn’t even planned for this to happen. Sure, he had let you persuade him to join you, but he had fully expected to sit in the sand for an hour, maybe watch you swim or play volleyball with you, and then get the fuck out of there again, settle back in his castle of ice (his basement, but don’t blame him! It was fucking cold down there).

Plans had changed as soon as you stepped out of that changing room in that new bikini, grinning at him proudly. “I got it on sale!” You had told him, letting that waistband of the colourful bikini bottom snap against your paling hips. And well, you had told him to have fun at the beach, hadn’t you? And this was his way of having fun – you impaled on his cock, head thrown back as you tried desperately to hold back those sweet, sweet sounds that were threatening to spill, sounds that would be revealing what the two of you were up to, pressed together with one of your legs hooked around his hips, allowing him deeper access in that gorgeous cunt of yours. Sebastian didn’t have the heart to tell you that you that your pussy was already doing a good job of betraying you, squelching loudly as he forced it to take his quick, hard fucks. “That’s it, baby. That’s fucking it, look at you. You look gorgeous on my dick, you do know that, don’tcha? And your cunt is just sooo wet for me, fuuuuck… You make even summer pleasant for me, baby. That’s right, squeeze my cock- Good. Fucking. Girl,” he snapped, cock seemingly trying to pound his words into you, making sure you would forever remember who you belonged to – him, and only him. He let out a shaky breath as he bottomed out inside of you again, hand digging into your plush ass to give you fast, little fucks, making your mouth hang open, eyes rolling back in your skull. Seb felt his heart swell in his chest, his cock throbbing numbly in your wet pussy. Yoba, you had him tied down and locked up, had him ready to bow to your every little whim, and he just wanted to fuck it into you how much you meant to him.

“That’s fuckin’ it, baby. That’ssssss it, cum for me. Cum all over my cock, baby, c’mon- know you can do it for me, sweet angel,” he growled, trying to bite back and swallow his own moan as you looked at him like this, so stupid, thoughts long gone, only concerned with getting fucked and being able to gush around him. Yoba, did you know that you were his greatest gift on earth? Whatever would be under the tree on the Feast Of The Winterstar couldn’t keep up with you. Couldn’t keep up with the way you broke down on his cock, letting that high-pitched moan slip. Couldn’t keep up with the way your nails dug in his back and dragged down, down, down. Couldn’t keep up with the way you silently mouthed “I love you” as you came undone on his dick, back arched in oh so prettily. Shit, he loved you too. Way more than you would ever know. Or maybe you did? He had come here for you after all – and not even to fill you up with ropes of cum like he was doing now, accompanied by a little groan of your name, breathed against your neck where he was hiding his face away, fucking his cum inside of you to make sure you would feel it all the way home. “I love you, too, my little raindrop,” he panted, kissing the sensitive skin of your neck, making you sob out quietly.

“Come on, guys! I wanna make it fucking home before the fuckin’ Feast, idiots!” A voice suddenly called, big fist slamming against the door, an obvious grump seemingly having waited long enough. Sebastian gave you a chuckle, looking down at your fucked out form, feeling that swell in his chest again. “Come on, let’s get outta here,” he whispered, helping you adjust your bikini. Too bad you couldn’t even get to the sea.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Amanda Marcotte at Salon:

It's starting to look like Donald Trump is deliberately wrecking the economy. As Robert Kuttner at the American Prospect wrote this week, "no other president has gone out of his way to create a collapse," but there's no other way to interpret Trump's actions. Pointless tariffs will only jack up inflation. Illegally shutting down much of the federal government and laying off thousands at random will suck money out of the economy, forcing a recession. Both consumer confidence and the stock market are diving and a likely surge in unemployment — driven in no small part by Elon Musk recklessly firing federal workers without regard for law or necessity — will make it worse. And if all these federal cuts lead, as expected, to people not getting Social Security checks or health coverage, the disaster will likely spiral.  Kuttner can't decide if Trump wants the economy to crash or if his actions are "based on sheer ignorance and impulsivity." Trump, however, indicated malicious intent during his seemingly endless speech in front of Congress on Tuesday night. Trump mocked the fears over imminent inflation by sneering that it's merely "a little disturbance." It's a familiar rhetorical move of his to paint his victims as whiners. In this case, however, his victims include most Americans, who aren't independently wealthy and can't simply afford rising costs and massive job losses.  Trump mocked the fears over imminent inflation by sneering that it's merely "a little disturbance." It's a familiar rhetorical move of his to paint his victims as whiners. It's an understatement to call it "unprecedented" to have a president who hates most Americans, including his own voters, and wants them to suffer. But, as Jamelle Bouie of the New York Times persuasively argued Wednesday, Trump's psychology makes it explicable. Trump's "every executive function exists to satisfy his ego," Bouie wrote. He continues to whine on a near-daily basis about losing the 2020 election. "[I]t stands to reason that Trump would want revenge against the public," Bouie concluded, adding that Trump is now undergoing "a retribution campaign against the American people." Thomas Edsall of the New York Times spoke with psychologists who confirmed Bouie's layman understanding of Trump's disordered mental state. They affirmed that Trump suffers from "a congenital sense of entitlement," whose personality is like that of "street toughs, bullies, abusive husbands and hate-crime perpetrators." Even in the 2024 election, he didn't get over 50% of the vote. It makes sense that, after nearly a decade of most Americans rejecting him, a malignant narcissist like Trump would detest Americans categorically, and wish nothing more than to punish them all.  As for his supporters, there's good reason Trump enjoys hurting them, as well. One of his favorite moves is to humiliate people who are dumb enough to fawn over him. Even during Tuesday's speech, he reminded us he loves to kick someone in the face after they bent to kiss his feet. After congratulating Marco Rubio for getting the secretary of state job — for which Rubio had to repeatedly prostrate himself — Trump threatened him. "Good luck, Marco. Now we know who to blame if anything goes wrong," Trump said, relishing one more bit of public shaming of a man who has done so much to flatter him. 

Like most abusers, Trump's go-to move when challenged is to blame his victims. Unlike most abusers, however, Trump has a small army of spinmeisters and apologists who will echo his victim-blaming rhetoric. As the economic damage starts to balloon out, the number of people who will be told that they brought this on themselves will grow — likely until most Americans are being blamed for what Trump inflicted on them. 

Malignant traitor Trump victim-blames Americans for his struggles to get a functioning economy.

[sweet-hedonist]

Lessons in Restraint

Viktor x fem! reader

After losing a bet to your partner, you end up having to deal with the consequences of your actions, no matter how much you beg.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dom/sub dynamics, bondage

A/N: wrote this in a fugue state at 4am and finished it on public transit, I’m a god of creation lol. Not proofread at all but I like it. This is so horny and debauched have fun. Reblogs and comments make my day (I read every single one)

“You know, it’s incredibly satisfying to see you like this after talking such a big game.” His voice is lilting and thick and like a haunting melody that weaves its way into your brain and doesn’t leave, no matter how hard you try to expel it.

The smirk is audible and as you stare up at this man from your place on the floor, rage bubbles deep within you, flavoring the already cultivated desire that has been driving your instincts.

A bet. A stupid, idiotic, ridiculous bet was all it took to end up here: naked, bound, and kneeling before Viktor as if he were your king.

The bet had been simple.

“You have no self control.” He’d mocked you one late night in the lab as you lay draped over him on the small beat to hell couch they’d brought in for you. Basking in the post-sex glow, you laughed airily, your mind still a bit foggy and blissed out.

“Neither do you. Can you blame me? I’m a girl who knows what she wants.” You punctuated your statement by snuggling further into him.

A chuckle, then “Patience is a virtue. God you’re probably not even able to last a week without needing me.” His hands tracing lazy patterns on your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Is that a challenge?” Your eyes narrowed at him from your place on his chest.

“Perhaps.”

He’d been right of course. You didn’t last a week without needing him, folding just on the morning of day 6, practically begging him to fuck you, touch you, anything at all.

The smirk that split his face was so vile and hypnotizing that you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. Of course, he obliged and fucked you so good you couldn’t walk for a day.

“You need lessons in restraint, humility. And seeing as you lost the bet…”

Which led you to right now.

Two in the morning.

Completely alone in his lab.

At his mercy.

The soft rope around your wrists and ankles caresses your skin, knots only tightening as you squirm. Wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and just for an added kick in the mouth, wrist to ankle. Knees spread and back arched as Viktor sat in his desk chair, which from this angle looked much more like a throne on which an emperor sat.

Alas, it would not be the benevolent kind.

“What, no witty comeback or retort for me? Are you all out of fight? Or are you just learning to mind your tongue?” he leans forward, forehead almost touching yours but not quite. He hasn’t touched you in over an hour. Just lingering stares or fabric or even the occasional breath of air. Nothing else.

“Or…” he leans close to yours ear, “you’re just being quiet to avoid the shame?” White hot fear washes over you. It’s so hot it’s freezing and you want to simultaneously worm away from the sensation and also surrender to it.

“Pity. This is a lesson in humility. Obedience. Discipline. Trust.” His voice softens at the last word and there’s a brief moment where his gaze shifts, full of adoration and love and awe. It doesn’t last long though; enough for you to smile back, and give a quick confirmation that ‘yes you’re ok and want to keep going’.

“Well? Nothing at all?” He sits back up, towering over you and you cannot help but avert your gaze underneath his stare. It pins you to the wall like a pretty butterfly in a shadowbox.

“Unh-unh…” he tuts disapprovingly and it’s all the warning before the end up his cane is tipping your chin back up, allowing you to properly look at him.

“None of that. So rude, absolutely no manners. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He stares down the length of his cane at you, eyes molten and burning as he speaks.

“I…” but there’s nothing you can really say for yourself now. He’s right. As he usually is. You are ashamed.

“No? Not a thing in that pretty little head of yours is there?” He removes his cane from your chin and lets it fall to the floor, hands folding on his lap as he ponders what to do with you.

Eyes rove over your twitching body, no doubt a puddle of wetness below you dripping from your aching core. It’s pathetic and humiliating and some sick fucked up part of you relishes in it. He knows it too, head tilting as he looks down.

“Oh, poor thing. You’re just drenched aren’t you?” the mockery in his voice stirs a frustrated whimper out of you, pulls it from your chest like one would pull a hook from the stomach of fish who’d swallowed it. Bloody and violent and unable to do a damn thing about it.

“Such a pretty sound.” It’s not to you, just musing to himself. You whine again, roll your hips as you stare up at him, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Touch you.

“Viktor…you’re being cruel…” your voice is fucked out and ragged, despite the lack of stimulation. He’s brought you this close with barely anything but his voice and a few lengths of rope. A feat, really. He’ll brag about it for the rest of your life.

“Am I? Or are you just not prepared to accept that your actions have consequences?”

“I just wanna touch you…” you crane your neck up at him, staying rooted to your spot but reaching. He is a planet and you a mere comet pulled into his gravitational field, circling.

He thinks for a moment, you can see the gears working in his head.

“You want to cum?” No one, nor any amount of liquor could get you to admit how earnestly you nodded your head at his words, how desperately. With a quick move you weren’t expecting, he bends forward in his seat and wraps a pale hand around your throat. The sensation is near overwhelming as he hasn’t touched you in an hour, fingers now digging into the delicate column holding up your head.

“I think…” he tilts your head this way and that, ever the scientist, taking in every observation, every bead of sweat, every tremble, “…I have a compromise that will suffice.”

With a bit of a gentler hand, he pulls you forwards by your neck, his own rolling chair moving to meet you as you shuffle forward. He pulls you closer, closer, until his knee is flush with your sternum, and you’re situated directly over his shoe.

Fear washes over you, curls its fingers into your hair, your spine, your stomach.

“You want to cum so bad?” He jerks up his foot at the end of his sentence, bumping it against your clit in a way that has you nearly doubling over and letting out a strangled yelp.

“Go ahead, sweet thing.” Your neck is still in his grip, so you know he can feel the way your pulse races forward like an engine.

“B-but-“ a protest forms in your mouth but it’s squeezed out of you as his hand tightens.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not making the decisions around here. And that wasn’t a request. Do it.” His tone is icy and piercing and it scares you in a way that urges you forward, letting the humiliation continue to worm its way into your synapses.

He lets go, a little roughly, and straightens his back, looking down at you as if you were an amusing pet.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shut your eyes briefly and take a deep breath, pushing it out rather forcefully.

The first roll of your hips is torturous. It’s friction you haven’t had in hours, so sensitive and swollen that the leather and lace send fireworks through you.

But it’s something, and you’ve been so patient, so agonizingly horny that you’ll take anything. And he knows that.

And the motherfucker is laughing.

“Oh…wow…I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Just so eager to please and be pleased aren’t you?” A deceptively gentle hand caresses your cheek and you lean into it instinctively, the sweetness juxtaposed to his cruel treatment making your head spin a bit.

“What base creatures we humans are. Willing to throw pride and dignity aside all for a biological need to fuck each other like rabbits. All for the pleasure of climax. Slaves to our hormones; all the blood being sent to your swollen cunt, none left for your brain.” The last bit is a coo, a mocking pity that weighs heavy on your sensation addled mind. His hand on your cheek is a cool balm on your feverish skin, tracing your cheekbone in reverence as the words he spits tear at you.

You move faster, chasing the high that is slowly but surely building in the lowest part of your stomach. It’s a dull burn that exponentially increases in intensity and heat. Every word he says is a stoke to the catching blaze.

A low rumble of appreciation stirs from Viktor’s chest, and the pride that swells in you as you look up at his appraising gaze pushes much of the embarrassment aside. The joy of approval, the delicious praise that a mere look can bestow; you need it like you’ve never needed anything before.

“Oh you are splendid, sweet thing. Such a good girl, so eager to please.” His hand drifts to your open mouth, fingers dancing along the pad of your lip. With no other instruction, you lean forward and take two of his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits in such a lewd manner that the workers of the brothels would blush.

There’s a small intake of breath from your Viktor, a brief slip of composure as he stares at you in awe. His eyes sparkle with want and need and adoration.

“You…are perfect, so wonderful for me.” His other hand cradles your head as his fingers push in deeper, pressing down on your tongue slightly. You double your efforts at his sweet words, spurred on with renewed vigor. For me. Yes. For him, always for him, his, his, his, his.

“Oh you liked that did you? You like when I tell you how good you’re doing for me? How beautiful you look there on your knees, fingers in your mouth, truly you put fine art to shame. You were made for this, perfect, so perfect.” He muses, and the heat in your core grows hotter with every breath he takes to speak. Your poor hips are stuttering, so desperately close to cumming all over his pristine leather shoes. Moans spill forth around his fingers as you lose your grip on sanity, oh but what a sweet descent into madness it is.

“Go on. Go on darling, cum. That’s it, make a mess of yourself, that’s it, good girl, oh…” he marvels at you as you contract into him, the force of your orgasm pulling a strangled scream from your lungs. It’s wave after wave of white hot ecstasy, and your hips undulate a few more times as you ride it out, milking it for every last drop. His hand retracts from your mouth and he holds you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Wonderful darling, you did wonderful, absolutely perfect. So good, so good for me.” Fingers card through your hair, hands guiding your head to rest on his knee. You’re grateful for the support, it’s getting awful hard to keep your head up. The thigh of his good leg is sturdy and strong from baring the brunt of his weight. It’s grounding beneath you.

Slowly but surely, your breathing evens out, his hands petting your hair reverentially, holding you as you come down from your high. You stay like that for a while, until your knees start to hurt and your wrists ache, causing you to whimper at the newly forming pain.

“Are you alright lásko? Can I move you?” He whispers, hands never stopping his movements. You nod against his leg, weak but sure.

“M’good. Just go slow.” Your voice is hoarse and crackly from exhaustion. He bends down, kisses your head, and picks it up off of his thigh. With a twist, he adjust his chair so it’s a bit lower to the ground, closer to you. He reaches around, kissing your shoulder as he does so, and unties the ropes around your wrists and ankles. They fall away, and your arms instinctively reach for him.

“Soon, miláčku. Can you stand?”

“Mhm.” He grips your hands, helping you to your feet, and you’re alright for the most part, just a bit shaky. Viktor reaches for his cane, stands, and leads you by the hand to the couch in the corner of the lab. The leather is cool against your skin as he situates you in the cushions.

“I’ll be right back, just getting you water. Wrap the blanket around you alright?” You nod, his voice your tether to reality. In mere moments he’s back with water in hand, and not long after he’s sitting next to you, pressing you into his good side, arm an anchor over your shoulders. You curl instinctively into him, clutching the blanket around yourself.

“Are you sure you’re ok, sweet thing?”

“I’m sure Viktor.” Your voice has returned to you, as has most of your facilities. The weight of Viktor against you helps immensely.

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed.” He knocks his head against yours, and you laugh, snuggling further into him.

“I can’t say I didn’t know you had it in you, because you’re the most in control person I’ve ever met, but holy shit Vik.” The smell of his cologne and shampoo washes over you as you nestle closer into his neck, so ineffably him.

His cheek is pressed to the top of your head as he says , “I hope that is a positive ‘holy shit’.”

“Oh certainly.” You sit up slightly to look him in the eyes, “Vik. That was amazing. I…you were fantastic. It was everything I could’ve wanted.” A dopey smile spreads across your face and you can see the blush forming on his cheeks, the pride swelling in his chest.

“Thank you for trusting me with you.”

“Vik I trust you with my life.” You kiss his cheek, and he chuckles, a pretty sound that you wish you’d hear more often. But as the months go by, it’s starting to become a bit more familiar.

“And I trust you with mine.”

“Yeah but I just use that leverage to get you to bed at night so you don’t die of sleep deprivation.” He snorts as he pulls you in closer to him.

“Isn’t it common practice for someone in your position to nap after a scene?”

You laugh, but acquiesce and snuggle into him further, “you’re just deflecting, one day I’ll fix your sleep schedule.” But your eyes are already closing and his hands are playing with your hair.

“Sure, lásko. Sleep well. I love you.”

You smile, though you’re already halfway to sleep, “love you too.”

[https-lvesick]

GISELLE AS YOUR ROCKSTAR GIRLFRIEND

❪ ᶻ  𝘇  𐰁 ❫ 𝓒 ontent ⋮ fem!reader, smut, fingering, scissoring, public sex, thigh riding, dirty talk, caught in the act

𝒩 otes ⋮ idk... i think i wanna change themes again 😿 (and sorry i'm just a sucker for partners that are obsessed with their so that they need their name tattoed anywhere! would i do that? never 🤩🤩)

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who lives for your support and praising. she knows you'll praise her even she fails, but you're the love of her life, aren't you? anything you say will cheer her up and bring the best of her.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who takes you on tours because you're her lucky charm, but if you can't, she's gonna facetime you so you can be there too.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who, at the end of the shows, thanks her parents and you for everything you had done for her because that's why she's here today.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who wrote a full album just for you, declaring her love.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who needs to have you close so she can smell your scent for inspiration (her words).

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who will always dirty talk before performing if you're there, making you wet on purpose so she can finger you with the same skilled and barely calloused fingers she plays the bass.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who doesn't let you watch her like a real fan with the others. she'll drag you to the backstage.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who always teases you about her fingers. playing the keyboard, the bass, or with your pussy.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who has no shame and will definitely scissor you on the couch before the performances. she just needs you so much, she can't wait until the end of the show, it'll be torture!

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who is often caught by her manager riding your thigh. she looks helpless and shameless, both of you, actually, at this point, it's just a casual thing. but again, she can't wait. if she needs her girlfriend, then she'll have her. anywhere, anytime.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who proudly shows you and your promise ring off. as long as you're hers (forever) and as long as you're comfortable with that, she'll keep doing.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who has your nickname tattoed on the inside of her bottom lip.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who has a picture of both of you that she carries everywhere. if you're not there, she has you.

rockstar girlfriend!aeri who plans on proposing you on a performance.

masterlist | all rights reserved to @https-lvesick don't copy or translate my works!

perm taglist | @jungaji

[hamsterl0ver]

kats vs overly fanservice-like reader ⋆☕︎ ˖

warningz⋆ fluff, mild language, reader is genuinely strange

blurb⋆ in which the katseye girls have to deal with an overly eccentric member who loves doing her job... a little too much. A person of the people they call her but her fellow members just thing she's a curious case.

wordz⋆ 2.041k

a/n⋆my first ever official fic ☕͜ (ᵔ ̮ ᵔ)› more to come, but a short and sweet one for all the girls, i wrote this to be as platonic as I could, but you can perceive reader to be in a relationship with any of the girls. nd if your curious i heavily based readers personality on a chinese cosplayer Karina! thought it'd be cute (oh and requests are open!)

Manon would be repulsed— in a teasing way, she would see you amongst the other girls as you all sat in a row, giving your all into pleasing a fan. The fans of course eat it up as usual while Manon watches you from the corner of her eye with a scrunched up face, feeling absolutely freaked whenever you do a cute pose, or laugh at some tacky pickup line at your grown age. She isn’t entirely disgusted at your actions, more just curious on how fast you can play out these corny scenarios.

It had been like any other fan meet, your drowsy body laid pressed up against the edge of the table as you held hand in hand with another one of your dedicated fans. It was only supposed to be a 5 minute long greet but after signing the SIS album, you felt as if the whole ordeal was being dragged on. The ghanaian sitting next to you emphasized with your exhaustion as she tossed you a knowing glance, before taking her focus to the woman in front of her. Manon’s peripheral vision was enough to keep track of you and your wary state.

You had been bored our of your mind— despite this being your first public fan event, you found it profound that your interactions with your fans where been heavily monitored as if you'd cross the line. Though, it didn't take long before an overly enthusiastic fan piqued your interest with her odd comment, "Doesn't my perfume smell great", the girl spoke as she sat curiously in front of you. Your eyes practically widened as she motioned towards her wrist, the location with the most concentration of the sweet scent. "Mhm, just like a fresh flower bloom" You hummed, Manon found your comment intrigued, but didn't raise an eyebrow at it, that was until she saw you raising your hand towards her as your fingers looped around her wrist from the corner of her eye.

Poor Manon tried giving her undivided attention to the fan in front of her but she couldn't puzzle what you where doing. Her eyes widen as you grab the girl's wrist and smell her perfume "seductively" as you call it, while the fan freaks out. This is when Manon cannot hold in her emotions anymore— she is BURSTING out laughing as you try your best to keep your composure. She's teasing you like crazy when you both get back home, and when clips of you with the "Oh she's that type of girlfriend" videos circulate around tiktok she's sending all those to you. And best believe she's teasing you about it on weverse with comments like "Oh guys, best believe I'll be next!" or "Some people lack shame, but thats okay."

Sophia is just, confused? She's known you since day one, assuming that the both of you where attached to the hip since Dream Academy. Sophia has genuinely never seen you like this until now, to be fair, you had been joking about being an absolutely "stud muffin" even during pre-debut days, but she never truly expected you to go through with it— AND be this committed to the bit. Best believe she's staring you down during every interview and every fan interaction, just to make sure you don't accidentally slip up and cause another viral yet incrimination moment for the girls. But despite that, she'd much rather be a fool with you, than you making a fool out of yourselves, so yes she is entertaining your strange behaviour.

She only really started playing into it during a promotion live for touch, the both of you as per usual, where too preoccupied mugging the camera that you failed to notice that both of you where too close for comfort. It hadn't occurred to you how close in proximity the two of you had become, it wasn't until Megan sweetly read out a comment along the lines of "Oh my, my sophy/n heart" that it made everything abundantly clear. Sophia opened her mouth to defend herself only for you to butt in just as quickly. "Mhm, me and my beautiful glorious queen Sophia..." You drone, your words slow as you reached your hand over the table which held all the sweet treats and grabbed the nearest edible thing and raised it up to your face.

"Are just such a great duo." You giggled, pushing the sweet up to Sophia's glossed lips, her eyebrow raised before finally giving in. As she let the sweet treat enter her mouth you continued to speak "Isn't that right Soph?" You asked, the bewildered filipino kept her composure as she mumbled 'sure' under her breath, as Megan and Lara laughed at the two's antics. Which lead to a scolding right after the camera's got shut off.

Daniela is so befuddled, to the point she's physically screaming, and running away, crying, throwing up, all of the above, she's everything but pleased. She's never been one who was used to this whole idol culture, on top of the fact that she's constantly having the please the fans is horrific to her. Which isn't as horrifying as watching one of the closest people in her life being a fan-service advocate, such as yourself. She finds you genuinely terrifying how good you are at reading people and flirting with others. Honestly, she really found you charming during the production at Dream academy, even whenever you joked about "putting your skills to the test", she never took your charms seriously, that was until she saw your true form on stage.

It had just been another stage performance, the heat the lights, the music, it all had gotten to you, the sweat dripping from the side of you neck got a some fans in a stir, but nothing notable. Walking off the stage, (which forced you to make contact with a few fans before going backstage) you hopped off with a signature smile on your face that your charm was really put to the test. As a bead of sweat fell from your face, a towel was handed in your direction, presuming it was a staff member you grabbed it within a heartbeat. With Daniela behind you, she tried her best to stop you but it was too late, it was a fan who graciously offer you their hand towel. And now you where stuck between a rock and a hard place. You could either A, play it out and pretend this was all part of your grand plan or— yeah, that was the only viable option.

Daniela wide eyed gaze faced you as you continued to wipe your neck with the towel, your ego dying a little more as you tried to keep the smile plastered on your face. "Thank you baby." You hummed folding the towel to give it back to the crazed fan, who just insisted that you keep it, and of course you did, sliding it in the back of the hem of your skirt before gliding away from the situation. As you all head back stage, Daniela who's still in shock and disgusts pulls you into an empty room to debrief. Asking you questions along the lines of "Why'd you do that" and "Are you mad?", with your only response being "Felt like it" or "Y'know that was a good show— and you like good shows!" Only earning yourself a slap on the cheek as a response.

Lara loves it, she really does because that just means you match her vibe so well. She loves seeing you do it, and she loves playing into it with you, almost always making a whole show out of it to farm some more content from the fans. Any given moment she's coercing you into doing/saying something freaking on camera or in public, just because she finds it so entertaining, best believe she's the only one among the girls who actually approves of the fan service agenda. Although Lara does have some limits, because her parent's do see all the clips that go viral of her, but she teeters on the edge of what she can or cannot do with you. It's gotten so bad, that Sophia and Yoonchae have to cover the both of you whenever your on screen, because personal bubble does not exist with the two of you.

It's always when the two of you get on live alone, which always has the PR team in shambles, having two members who have no filter is hard enough but having the two of them by themselves is practically hell. You don't understand the concept of "to much information", (Lara does though, but seeing you embarrassed in the morning after getting post sleep clarity is hilarious) so when Lara read out a comment asking you for dating advice for girls you happily obliged! "I believe that the most important thing with flirting with girls, is eye contact..." You happily answered, turning your head to Lara as she was holding back tears of laughter.

"Look for example" You chirped, fixing your gaze to the Indian as she batted her eyes up towards yours, your faces inches apart as she stared at you curiously. This lasted for a good 7 seconds before she broke it off with her laughing uncontrollably, despite everything she did find her face heating up under your gaze. You turn you eyes back to the camera with a gummy smile, "See look! If it was a few more seconds, we'd be happily married. That's the secret to flirting with a girl." You cheerfully answered as Lara was huddled off from the view of the screen laughing her ass off.

Megan is indifferent, because she knows your getting hella bag from this, she's honestly just impressed on how well you can keep your composure till you break. Doesn't mean she's any less weirded out by it, but she's also not judging, "get that bread" one may say, and yeah she's a little jealous from how much the fan's eat it up but that only gave her more of the incentive to see what she can do to get that persona to crack. Even if it means playing along, or playing dirty, she just wants to see whats your absolute limit before you call it quits.

One time during a fan event, everyone was handed a pair a fluffy animal ears and fluffy paws to match, of course if any other regular grown woman where to put this on, they'd hurl, but you weren't some regular woman. You where on a mission, so you swallowed the remnants of your pride and put it on, the others where only brave enough to put one accessory on (Manon refused to put any of it on), you put everything on, quite literally decked out. Almost instantly the girls where suppressing their laughter and second-hand embarrassment, but the flashing lights of the cameras made it worth while. You had just expected to stay in this half costume for a few pictures until you took it off to sign more albums until you heard Megan's voice on the microphone as you got ready to slide the paws off.

"Hey, Y/n! This fan told me you should do a cute pose" She snickered as the fan waved in your general direction, almost like a glass crack, your smile faltered, making Megan burst out laughing, but that didn't stop you. You lifted you hands up to your face and made a claw like gesture with the signature smile plastered on your lips, before moving into a pout. Yoonchae who sat between you a Megan just glared up at you in pure disgusted, before you embarrassingly sat down. You huffed, knowing that even your members where laughing at you, but you knew that it'd be that end of that, "no more pictures" you mumbled under your breath as Megan kept your eyes on you.

As you carefully tried to take off your paw-like gloves you heard the mic tune in again, with Megan's giggle on the other end. "Hey c'mon, she wants you pose again" Megan cackled as she motioned to the same fan, she watched as you shot her a killer glance before begrudgingly following her orders.

[motthe]

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds [part 3]

ཐིཋྀ wrote this part very late and half asleep so bear with any mistakes or things that could've been written better

warnings: child abuse and threat of death, mental health crisis, heavy mentions of sexual assault, lots of violence and panic, one moment where this feels a bit like a crack fic but shock does weird things so yeah

masterlist | ao3

A week and a half went by.

The mental training wasn't easy by any means. Every shame room you had to coerce Bob to drag you into was not without its own consequences to your own mental health, but each time you were able to show Bob how to detach. How to accept the pain, understand it, and ultimately let it pass.

The problem was, you had steps ingrained in you from years of therapy. Bob had nothing but his own hands holding him together.

Bringing him into your psyche with a firm grip, you allowed him to see your own broken days of youth. There was a time you'd both lived on the streets. But where he fell into drugs, you were tangled up in petty thievery and coercion of strangers giving you a place to stay and warm food.

“By fifteen I could insert memories or mess with them,” you'd told him over lunch. “It was enough to get people to trust me.”

“Better than a meth-crazed chicken,” he grumbled, still very much beside himself that you had managed to slip you both into that particular memory. 

“Yeah, wasn't too bad until I screwed with the wrong person.” The cold tone had surprised both of you. It took a moment to wave the dark cloud out from over you—a story for another time. “Look we all have shit days, but we can outgrow them.”

You allowed him to walk through some old therapy sessions to get a taste of the environment. Dr. Arlington had been of monumental help to you and you hoped, with Bob's consent, she could be the same for him. While it had been some time since you'd seen her, you knew she could be trusted around super people and their psychological problems.

“I can't help you with the underlying issues. I wish I could,” you sighed, making sure to keep pace with Bob as you walked. It had been a nice day and as much as the man was a homebody, you pushed him to get some fresh air at least once a day. The public gardens nearby were usually peaceful in the earlier hours and he'd agreed to have easier lessons here for today, which mainly meant building up walls and you breaking them down.

“I know I need therapy,” he murmured, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “But what if we start talking about something and I snap?”

That's the part I'm helping you with, you assured, smiling as he blinked and worked to shake you out of his head. “Better,” you said. A little light came back into his eyes.

“I can section off pieces of your powers,” you continued, “but only the psychic parts and not for long given your strength.”

His slate blue gaze skated the grooves in the sidewalk, tongue working inside his cheek. It popped as he sighed, a breeze sending little hairs across his forehead. “Everything feels like a risk.”

“Life is a risk, constantly,” you huffed, both of you pausing as a flock of pigeons flew by to land in the center green. Perfect timing.

You shouldered your bag around to grab the bag of cooked rice within, guiding Bob towards the nearest bench. It wasn't until he was watching the birds eat that you finished your earlier statement.

“The best part is when you don't have to take risks alone. Little less scary.” A jogger going by scattered the birds but they quickly swarmed your feet again. “And you can trust your team for that. And hopefully me too with a bit more time.”

You caught Bob staring as you scattered another handful of rice. He didn't turn away even when you hummed in question.

“How can you be so nice?” he mumbled.

You just laughed because he made it easy to be kind, but that part he didn't see.

By the end of the first month, Bob was scheduled and going to therapy twice a week. You drove him there and back, always in the next room with a gentle presence at the border of his consciousness in case he grew to be too stressed. If he ever felt out of control, you were there to shield him.

Better yet, Dr. Arlington adored him, but that she told you in confidence as you caught up over the phone.

“You're calming,” Bob told you, looking cozy in the corner of your favorite café.

It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon after his fourth therapy session. He'd been a man of few words today when you picked him up. You hadn't pushed, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and a new sweater adorning him. It was all muted stripes and fall tones. The weather had gotten colder and while you hated to be chilly the aesthetic fit him alarmingly well.

“Am I?” you asked, setting his tea in front of him. “It’s still a little hot. Be careful.”

“You don't think so?” He was getting a lot better at holding eye contact in these quiet conversations between lessons.

“I dunno,” you hummed, popping the cap off your drink. The steam left your chin sticky as you blew into it. “I'm happy you find me calming. I feel like a mess most days.”

“You're really put together from where I'm standing,” he mumbled through a smile and the soft jab at himself left you brave enough to nudge his foot under the table, passing looks that would've felt too much at the Watchtower. Too big.

He grabbed the door on your way out, your arms brushing. Even through your clothes, you felt his warmth and the sudden need to inch a bit closer. A bit deeper. 

Don't. The warning was distant. A ripple in the ocean of your mind. Don't do that. You have to be an anchor.

You shut your eyes and took a breath before thanking him, keeping space between you as you returned to the car.

It was late when you shot up in bed, every hair on your body singing at the sense of wrongness in the air. There hadn't been a nightmare and reaching out with your mind, you found no others in the vicinity of your apartment.

Focus. You gripped the bedsheets under you, slowing your breath and closing your eyes. Something was wavering at the edge of your consciousness, whipping like a red flag at the coast. You tried to pinpoint it, but the problem was too far away. Just on the horizon. 

Your eyes snapped open.

“Bob,” you whispered, springing from bed.

Your phone blared against your bedside table as your feet touched the floor. Buchanan trailed across the screen.

“Bucky? I'm on the way,” you said, grabbing your bag and shoving your feet into sneakers by the door.

“Damn, you feel it from there?” Bucky scoffed.

“Give me a report,” you demanded, scaling the stairs to the ground floor. Thank God you were only on the second level. “What happened?”

“Not sure. Walker was up and found a wall of black where Bob reads. Yelena already tried to go in.”

“Tried?”

“Tell her to fucking hurry!”

That sounded like her.

“Usually we get transported in the weird memory room things, but it's not pulling us in. On the bright side—”

“Don't talk about a ‘bright side’ when there's literally an entire part of the room blacked out!”

That sounded like Ava.

“—it's not spreading,” Bucky finished as a roar broke through the speaker. “Don't throw a fucking chair at it!”

“I break through darkness to save Bob!”

“We don't need to be breaking anything! You’re gonna piss it off!”

“You just throw shield at it, why not chair?!”

Shit, you'd just ran a red light. Well, whatever. This was more important than—you glanced at the dashboard clock—4AM traffic laws.

“I'll be there as fast as I can. In the car now.”

“Okay. I'll unlock the elevator for you. Alexei quit—!”

The call went dead. You tossed your phone into the passenger seat and floored it.

The minutes went by in flashes. You didn't stop to find a parking space or grab your purse. You shoulder checked one of the sliding glass doors when they failed to open fast enough off and slammed into the elevator that was open and waiting.

Panting up a storm, the floor had barely begun to rise when something kicked against your mental barrier. The psychic blow had you careening back against the wall, gasping as you fought to hold them intact.

“Hurts. Hurts. I don't want to be here. Stop yelling. Please. Don't hurt them. I always ruin everything. Stop. Please.”

“Oh, Bob,” you choked, hand going straight to your chest. Even through your shield you could hear his thoughts screaming out of the void. Every word was distraught, beating against you like armored fists. You wanted to let him in, open your arms and wrap them around him and show him he wasn't alone. Whatever he was seeing wasn't real.

Hearing the ding of the elevator, you ran head first as the doors opened and about crashed into Ava.

“Sorry!” you gasped out, scanning the room. It took less than a second to spot the clouds of ink seeping from Bob's book nook. The rest of the team was huddled on the outskirts, arguing before they turned at your entrance.

“I thought you were helping him!” Yelena yelled at you as you approached.

“I'm doing my best. Healing isn't linear!” you yelled right back, sweating through your tee and moving towards the darkness.

Bucky intercepted before you could reach out for it. He wore the wartorn look of a leader as his metal fingers clutched your elbow.

“Let's stop and think about this for a sec,” he grunted.

“If you can't get in I can try to force my way in.” You looked at him, eyes watering, “Please. I can feel him. He's in pain.”

“What, we're supposed to just send her in there alone?” Walker snapped. “It took all of us to pull him out last time.”

“Last time it snatched us, but this? This is different,” Yelena hissed, running her hands back over her hair. Her piercing eyes landed on you. “If you can figure out a way to get us in, we can help him.”

“I'll try, but I can't just pull you all into his psyche. Your minds—they don't move the same,” you explained in a rush.

“What the fuck is a sigh-key?” Walker grumbled.

Bucky let go, pointing a harsh finger over your shoulder. You turned to find Alexei rolling his eyes and letting go of the couch.

“Whatever, just do what you can,” Yelena said and maybe you made a face or maybe she noticed herself how cruel her tone was becoming but she added, softer, “please.”

Nodding, you ushered them back towards the elevator and double checked your mental shields as you stood at the precipice of the darkness. There was nothing beyond it, just a wall of rippling smoke.

“Okay,” you whispered, listening to the stream of thoughts pouring out. “I’m coming, Bob.”

One slip of your shield was all it took. There was a resounding THUMP as your physical body was wrenched out of reality. Your feet hit a new floor, knees buckling as you crashed down breathless.

Okay, guess that's letting me in. You'd been in numerous shame rooms, had felt the mental landscape like any other space you would create for yourself in meditation. This was one step further as your heartbeat rose to your throat. He brought all of me into his psyche.

The amount of energy that would take—it was far more similar to Ava with how she could phase out of one room and into another. You could link someone to your mind, show them everything, speak to them but you couldn't bring them in, not like this.

You knew Bob was powerful, but this was on a whole other level.

A door opened, lighting up the space you occupied. The figure of your mother was backlit as the hall light stretched into your childhood bedroom.

No. Fuck, not this one again. She walked straight by you, humming a song that had chills breaking down your spine. You tried to mute the scene and found you had no control as you had once had before. Now it blocks me.

Your toddler-self turned over in her bed, blinking wearily as your mother sat down next to her. “Mama?”

You shook your head, hating how hard the floor was against your hands and knees as you pushed off it and towards the door. Your body crashed against it, hands smacking over the fake hallway.

“Bob?” you called loudly, reaching out with your mind and wincing at the onslaught. His voices echoed and bounced every which way here. Bob, it's me. Where are you?

“I'm sorry, baby, it's time to go,” your mother whispered and you refused to turn around, but you could feel the phantom touch of her hand brushing back your hair.

“Go where?”

Bob! Can you hear me? Where are you?

You turned from the fake hall and sprinted towards the window, attempting to open it. Out of the corner of your eye you could see your mother's hand settle over your little self's throat.

“It'll be better, I promise,” she whispered, sniffling.

“Bob!” you screamed, banging on the glass.

“(Name)?”

You jerked your head up at the sound of him in your head and noticed movement in the window's reflection. You recognized that sweater.

Whipping your head around, you found that same fake hall before turning back. You could just make out his horrified expression as he found you through the window. Bob! I'm here!

You blocked out the sounds of little legs thrashing against a bed and the hysterical crying of your mother as you backed up a couple of steps.

This wasn't real anymore. You were done with this place.

Yelling, you ran and threw yourself into the window. The wooden frame splintered as glass shattered. Halfway through, gravity shifted as your body ripped backwards. You saw your legs above you a split second before your upper back hit cold, wet ground.

A crumpled mess, you whimpered at the aches building in your body before noticing your old bedroom hanging above you. The door opened to your mother's outline once more.

“Come back,” she called, hands reaching out. “It'll be better, baby. I promise.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, turning over broken glass shards. “Oh God dammit. No.”

Metal bars greeted you a few feet away, the door opening into another poster board hall as a familiar uniform stepped over you, ignoring your presence completely.

“Nothing without your little mind tricks, huh?”

This was the one shame room Bob hadn't encountered with you, yet, and by far the worst.

I knew it was coming. I can get past it. You refused to look behind you, taking deep breaths as you pushed off your shoulder to get upright. Glass was embedded in too many places—you instantly blocked the pain out. All receptors shut away into a little corner for later.

While you couldn't affect the landscape around you anymore, you still had your own mind to control. That was something.

Bob, where are you? you called.

“You're getting closer. Hold on, let me get try this way.”

“Don't…touch me.”

You covered your ears, hating to recognize your own slurred speech as you kicked at the fake wall. I'm out of here. That prick is dead. I'm free.

“They call you a witch. Do you look like one under there, too?”

You kicked harder, eyes watering as the voices slipped in. It was like someone had turned up the volume as the jangling of handcuffs echoed against stone and your tired, pleading voice swarmed your head.

You let out an ear-piercing scream as you flung yourself away from the wall and dove at the uniformed man, ripping him away from your teen self and slamming him against the ground.

“Don't touch her!” you yelled, split flying as those cold eyes stared up at you.

“Finally,” a voice reiterated from his mouth, echoing into your mind. “A way to break you.”

You froze, nails digging into the neck of your tormentor. This wasn't the man you remembered anymore, but that voice was one you recognized now tinged with hatred.

“Void,” you whispered.

The man lunged up at you, darkness settling over his skin as a hand grabbed your throat and threw you to the side. You wheezed, grabbing at his arm as a man made of darkness settled over you, eyes pinpricks of molten silver staring down into your very soul.

The sound of your name caught your attention as well as his. There was a hole in the wall of the jail cell, hands ripping chunks of stone out as flashes of Bob's face came and went.

“Let her go!” he yelled, halfway through before you felt the ground around you sink. You couldn't take a breath as you went under, Void's hand squeezing.

“See what happens when you ask for help?” You thrashed, attempting to bring your legs out from under him but his weight pinned you into the dark liquid. “You ruin everything, Robert.”

Don't listen to him! You projected, grunting as the pressure. You still couldn't feel any pain, but not being able to breathe was never comfortable. You can take control of this, Bob. Pull yourself out!

“You keep trying to teach him, but he'll never learn.” Void's fingers dug between the tendons of your neck. “Give up. Go back to your worthless job and pretend to be the hero you will never become.”

Bob's yell was muffled through the water you were half under as he landed on top of Void. He punched and kicked and pulled, but the darkness wasn't letting you go. “Fuck. How do I fix this? She's helped me and I'm hurting her. Figure this out. Do something! Come on!”

Fear crept in as you saw the ink of Void bleeding into Bob. It wanted to overtake him. Control him.

Weeks ago, he had told you the one thing Void wanted above all else was for him to end up alone. He'd tried everything that day in New York to make as many people as possible suffer the same fate.

“You don't die there,” he had explained. “You're just…stuck. Stuck with the pain and it gets worse and worse.”

“He didn't try to kill any of you?” you'd asked and Bob's tired eyes had found yours, empty of hope.

“I think death would be too easy for him.”

He wants us to suffer. You reminded yourself. He won't end it.

Focusing your direction on your mind, you rammed it against Void above you, imagining your thoughts—fine needles digging into his head.

“That won't work here, mind reader.”

Panic was overwhelming you, but you’d trained for these situations. You could hear Nat yelling instructions, remember Wanda's soft guidance at the back of your mind. If landing hits on him, physical or mental, wasn't going to work you needed a new angle.

You dug your mind into Void's mass, meat hooks into skin and felt your heart thunder as those pinprick eyes shuddered and shock crowded the consciousness around you all. Even Bob stopped fighting behind him.

Got you.

His entire upper half flew down over you, sending all three of you into a sea of black. You continued to drag him into yourself as you sank, gathering the darkness like bundles of clothes slipping from your arms and holding it close to your core. Bob was caught up in it, that sweater brushing your hands as you dug your fingers into it.

You felt all of Bob's terror and hatred, every negative emotion bubbling up and held it tight.

Its okay, you told him. I'm right here. Everyone's waiting for you.

“I messed up again. He took over.”

Then take it back. You've done it before, so do it again. That angry mass fought against your hooks. Panic licked up your consciousness. Grab him by the scruff and put him in the corner or something!

Your words shocked Bob enough that everything went blank. You took the chance to hold tight and slam your shields up and over, crowding over that endless pit stuck between the two of you.

Void struggled, slipping through your fingers like congealed oil before another pair of hands encompassed yours helping you drag it somewhere deeper, somewhere safer. A door closed, or maybe a lid sealed and there was a flash before reality split open.

Both of you were panting, your arms between each other and hands tangled. Bob's face was close enough your noses skimmed and your weight settled in his lap, your legs tense around his waist as his folded around you.

“S-scruff?” he choked through a breath, blue eyes wide. “Like a kitten's scruff?”

You tried to nod but you were too close and far too tense. “Uh, yeah. I think so?”

Bob sucked in a breath and tumbled into hysterics, tears slipping down his cheeks. It was fine until his tune changed and the sobs took on the sadder variety, leaving you to pull from his hands and wrap your arms around him.

You noticed the city through the windows a few feet away as he bawled into your shoulder. The reflections of the New Avengers lay behind you, all of them different types of disbelief.

“Was he laughing?” Walker whispered as you rubbed Bob's back.

“He's crying now,” Ava murmured.

“Hugs are really best weapon against Void,” Alexei stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I'm sorry,” Bob gasped out, pulling back and wiping at his cheeks as your arms fell away. “That came out of nowhere and I was hurting you, but then you made a joke and I'm still in shock I think.”

“I told you I'm messy,” you mumbled, rolling off his lap and checking over your body. Your pajamas weren't ripped anywhere and there was no blood. Releasing your pain receptors only had aches surfacing. Okay. No actual injuries, noted.

“What happened in there?” Yelena asked, careful as she approached. “Bob, you okay?”

He nodded, the backs of his hands smoothing over his eyes. He blinked a few times before he frowned at you, taking something in.

“Uh, there was… What happened again?” he mumbled, eyes going distant.

Walker groaned in the background as Bucky sighed out, “Figures.”

“It's okay. It'll come back to you when you're ready,” you said, grunting as you got to your feet. The amnesia you'd heard about and it was a very logical reaction to trauma. Seeing it happen in real time was a bit overwhelming on your side of things, but easy enough to handle.

“You good?” Bucky stepped forward to help you up, steadying you as the world swayed a bit.

“That was…a lot,” you admitted, glancing at Bob as Yelena pulled him to his feet. “But we learned some stuff and we made it out.”

“Did I do it again?” Bob murmured, guilt weighing on his features.

“You did amazing,” you swore to him, offering a smile when he looked at you.

“Why are you in your pajamas?” he questioned, eyes lowering to your half-shoved on sneakers.

“Oh shit, my car!” you gasped, darting towards the elevator before Bucky wrapped his prosthetic arm around your waist and dragged you back.

“I'll handle it. Just stay with him for now.”

“Maybe it's best you stay here tonight,” Yelena suggested, eyes shifting between you and Bob. “You're sure you both are okay?”

“Nothing therapy can't fix,” you promised, trailing after Bucky. “I think I parked on the curb. My purse and phone are somewhere in there.”

“Got it.”

“I help as well,” Alexei said, winking at you as he went by. “As thanks for your help. Also to see the car. I hear it's nice model.”

“Yeah, well, might have some bumps now after that drive,” you sighed, thanking them again as the elevator doors closed on the men.

“Are we good now?” Ava sighed. Everyone left in the room remained silent. Yelena shrugged. “I'll take that as a yes. Good night.”

You watched her phase out of the room, the weight of your body beginning to take a toll. Sleep sounded nice.

“So,” trailed Walker, easing up next to you, “you two seem close.”

You sidestepped away from him, assuming he meant Bucky. “Yeah, we were around the same people. I've known him for a few years now so it would be a little weird if we weren't.”

“No, I meant Bob,” he said.

“What?” Both of you turned as Bob shuffled down from the book nook. He ducked his head at the attention. “Sorry, I thought I heard my name.”

“Let's get you back to bed, Bob,” Yelena advised, a hand on his back. He didn't argue, but you'd be blind to miss the countless glances he took of you over his shoulder as she guided him away.

Your mind crossed the distance, smoothing over his. It's okay. I won't be far.

“He hurt you didn't he? I hurt you.”

Technically, no. I shut my pain receptors off.

“Wait, you can do that?”

I can do a lot of things, but they're not very superhero based.

“I think you'd be a great hero.”

Your heart skipped. Thanks. Try to get some sleep. I'm here if you need me.

You retreated a bit, crossing your arms and sighing. A clearing of the throat had you looking at Walker who had a knowing look on his face.

“Word of advice,” he murmured, nose scrunching, “you could do better.”

“Word of warning,” you replied, eyes narrowing, “I can make you shit your pants.”

He nodded slowly, raising his hands in surrender before heading off.

Left alone in the living room of the New Avengers, you let your head fall into your hands with a quiet groan.

[for-a-longlongtime]

To all the fans in the Pedro fandom who feel like they don't belong

I see you. We see you. You have a place here among all of us, and we want you to be here - we really do.

No, this isn't a Kumbaya post, I'm fuckin' for real.

To all the writers...

... who receive racist messages, death threats, are being told their reader insert isn't good enough, that this and this character wouldn't be with someone who looks and sounds like you, that you're not using the right words or that you misspelled something --

I am so fucking sorry people had the fuckin' gall to direct that hate at you, because you don't deserve it. You share your stories and characters with us, and they are adored and read and celebrated exactly for who they are - not despite of who they are.

To everybody who lurks, reads, but doesn't feel like they can participate...

... who see how their skin tone, language, identity, gender, body type, sexual orientation, culture, type of relationships, and so much more is underrepresented or actively treated with hostility --

I'm so fucking sorry, and I - as many of us - understand completely why you feel that way, because it's absolutely valid. But I promise it's not how the majority of people feel about you. I know that doesn't make up for shit, but I do want you to know that most of us care a lot.

Nobody should stay in an environment where they feel like they're not wanted, or where remarks are made carelessly without regard for how hurtful stereotypes are. But if this has ever happened to you, be it out of ignorance (or at times malice), please know - your presence matters.

To everybody who has ever felt insecure about their kinks or liking smut... ...please don't. Seriously. Your kinks are what they are and they are completely fine. Liking smut is fine. Liking Pedro characters in smutty fic is fine too. Kink exploration in fic should be a safe space and respected.

Don't shame others here, especially not as an anon. Yes, certain topics that writers address in fic may be challenging for you for a number of reasons, but guess what? You don't have to read it! You don't have to dissect *why* someone wrote that! Don't like smutty fic? Cool, so don't wade into fics marked as explicit. Don't like certain kinks? That's cool, just read the warnings and skip fic when it doesn't appeal to you. Sure you're entitled to your own opinions, but you do not need to air them out in public or trash an author because you didn't like how they wrote something.

To everybody in this fandom...

... especially those of us who are white, able-bodied, straight, cisgender, had formal education, are a native English speaker, and/or many of the other privileges that a lot of us carry in our backpack every day:

We need to do better. Please. For so many reasons.

We need to be aware of our blind spots, biases, the fact that at times everybody fucks up - because we live in a racist, homophobic capitalist patriarchy -, and that occasionally means admitting we were wrong. That we unintentionally said something that was hurtful and that we're sorry for hurting people with our words. That ignorance can slip so easily into words that we type, and that the only way. But own up to it and please don't pull the 'I'm sorry you feel hurt' card - no. Take actual responsibility. Particularly when underrepresented voices explained to you why something is wrong.

And please, call out your friends on things like this - especially if you're white/straight/cis. It's your responsibility to speak up because you're closer to them. White people should be the first to call out racism; it's not up to the people that already are on the receiving end of prejudice (or worse, hatred) to fight that battle.

Exclusion doesn't only happen if you're actively spreading hate - it also happens by not taking accountability for when you fuck up, or when you are erasing and ignoring identities. If the word 'representation' doesn't mean much to you, that's probably because you constantly see yourself reflected in the stories and people in society (that, in itself, is privilege too) - and hey, good for you! But there are many of us who that doesn't apply to in the same measure.

I've had many conversations lately about this with fellow queers as well as brown/black/Latinx folks, so I really wanted to post this. Not as virtue signaling or whatever the hell, but because I know a lot of people are seeing and reading things that are understandably make them reluctant to engage.

So hey, let's do better and look after folks in our community whether we directly engage with them or not. The amount of comments that are always gushing about 'I love how Pedro cares about others/is an ally!' is very disproportionate to seeing similar support expressed for creators and fellow fans. Let's also not forget he's a Chilean man, the son of socialist refugees, who has always actively been on the barricades for LGBTQIA+, rallies against white supremacy and the toxicity of patriarchy -- so if you appreciate his dedication to 'causes', lets apply that to the very real people in this fandom too. And fyi, this isn't just about a single instance or a single person - it's so much bigger than that, and we all know it.

(oh, and if you feel like I'm being a moralist about this - feel free to unfollow or block my ass. You do you! I don't care. I care about the people here who don't want the community harmed by anons who get their kicks from being a bully.)

[nothorses]

"the public education system is intently evil and all teachers are abusive because it was the worst experience ever for me personally"

guys, look, I'm legitimately sorry that happened to you. that's fucked up. it shouldn't have happened, and it shouldn't be allowed to happen again to you or anyone else. I'm sorry.

public school was hard for me too, at times, and I'm still suffering the consequences for the harsh grading, the arbitrary deadlines, the hours of completely useless-to-me homework. I could name a few teachers who have been pretty fucking terrible. the fact that nobody considered getting me evaluated for ADHD has had an impact on my self image and academic success that I can't erase.

and also.

I grew up in an area where education, in particular, is incredibly progressive-leaning. educators are working really hard to create and try out education philosophies and practices that prioritize kids and their learning, rather than teachers and what they think kids should learn.

My sex ed was comprehensive, and came entirely from school. My gay sixth grade teacher taught me about HIV/AIDs in a useful, accurate way. In high school, I learned about the way orgasms work & I was prepared not to feel shame for normal stuff.

I learned that Communism was not what the USSR actually practiced, and what it really means. I learned about atrocities and, specifically, the genocide of indigenous people committed in/by the US. I learned about the military industrial complex, the school-to-prison pipeline, and I learned about manifestations of racism specific to my local area. I learned about Stonewall, and the intersection of the civil rights movement with gay rights and disability justice.

My creative writing teacher taught us about LSD, and the real reasons we shouldn't do it, after a hilariously ineffective assembly run by some local cops. He spoke gently, carefully, and emphatically about his friends and his own experiences. Later in the semester, he read us a story he wrote about two gay men finding each other in a deeply homophobic environment.

My sci-fi teacher made me feel safe & seen as a kid with "weird" interests. My US History teacher helped me research and put together a 10-page paper on the modern relevance and mission of Feminism. My government teacher made me feel appreciated for the work I put into the class, and the thought I put into what I said in it, even though he disagreed with a lot of it. My sixth grade teacher bought me books to read with his personal money, whichever ones I asked for. My third grade teacher made me feel safe. My science teacher in middle school made me excited for and passionate about science, and saw and nurtured the effort I put into her class.

A lot of stuff sucks, absolutely. But I am seeing new teaching methods being tried out all the time, and I am watching teachers get really excited when I teach their students about the roots of modern graffiti in US black history & to question property laws, and just...

There's hope. there are so many people doing so much work to make things better. so many people agree with you on what education should be, and are trying so fucking hard to put that into action, and so many public schools- not just teachers, but whole schools and even districts- are really doing that work. so much is getting better.

I had more to say, about necessary childcare and trusted adults and outside contacts and time away from abusive family. But like. Please just sit down and listen to more people on this, and please talk to educators and education professionals about what's really going on in this big huge world of philosophy, science, and practice.

[vaspider]

Last year I wrote about what happened at Pride when a couple of kids didn't understand why us older folx were so bitter about Reagan.

This year, I have something a little softer.

Someone who looked a little older than me came up to the booth wearing a pink t-shirt proclaiming him one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, San Francisco chapter. As I was ringing him up, I asked if he'd been involved for a while.

"Yes," he said, "for a bit," in that way us middle-aged people do when we're sort of wincing and feeling old.

"Okay, well," I said, sitting at my register in my queer booth full of queer clothes and patches and pins, topless in public for the first time. (I had pasties on for my own comfort bc I was working, but I live in the city of the Naked Bike Ride, and I took full advantage). My baby brother and both of my partners ran around behind me, my brother wearing a loose tank top that makes his scars visible.

"I need to tell you that you all helped keep me alive."

He blinked at me as I continued, "I was a kid in high school in the early 90s. I lived in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, and what you all were doing was so loud and so out there that even I heard about your work. It was one of the things that kept me alive. So thank you, and please thank the rest of the Sisters."

I heard about them through people in my parents' church complaining about them, and then I sought more information through the beginning of the internet, through newspapers, through anything I could find. I found the cover of Newsweek that one of the Sisters was on. I read about their "exorcism" of fundamentalist preachers whose books sat on the shelf in my parents' basement and probably still do. I saw how loud and colorful and unapologetically queer they were.

The knowledge that someone was out there, so full of defiant joy, refusing the shame that people kept trying to put on them? Oh, that kept me alive. I saw them, and I knew I could make it through. I wrapped my hands around that knowledge, and I held on so tight.

It took me a long time - a long, long time - to unwind most of it for myself and get to the point where my fat butch ass was sitting bare-chested in the July breeze, looking up at him as he held out his arms and said "you're actually giving me chills." I answered, "I mean every word. You helped keep me alive. So thank you."

I never know what to say when people come up to me in public and tell me that I helped them or changed their life in some way. I appreciate it, and I genuinely love the people who apologized for "fanpersoning" at me last weekend, I just never know what to say. I'm incredibly grateful that the Sister I spoke to was incredibly gracious, saying "usually we give blessings, but I feel like you blessed me." Another member of the party let me pet their tiny dog, who was not very interested in me, and that's okay. It was an overwhelming day. Then, they moved on.

Me? I'm still sitting with the fact that I looked last weekend into the faces of people who didn't know they were holding my head above water, and that I got to tell them the work they do matters. It's a rare thing to get to tell someone, "You saved me," and I'm treasuring it.

Last weekend, I wore my new battle vest with nothing underneath it, unless it was too hot, and then I just sat in my chair, chatting and ringing ppl out with my skin free to the air. I decided last year that top surgery isn't for me, but that also I'm going to love this body unapologetically, and it's no less a transmasculine body because the soft new dark hair on my belly isn't accompanied by pink scars along my ribs.

I didn't get here on my own. I got here because someone else cut through the undergrowth ahead of me so I could take another step forward. Here I am, decades later, still taking step after step, one at a time, and trying to lay paving stones behind me.

Last weekend was another step along that way, another step through unwinding the fear and shame and sadness that my parents and their church built into me. Another step out of hating myself for hiding parts of myself for so long, for acting out in other ways to distract people from my queerness, for feeling so much guilt when other people tell me I'm brave, because I know how much of myself I hid for how long because I was a coward, because I was afraid.

Another step into expiating stigmatic guilt.