#idk what time it is for the americans that make up far too much of this website

[jevilowo]

Happy Orangeboxiversary!! I'm amazed that nothing related to that is trending. Or even mlp, whose birthday it is also. Fallout also.

I'm hoping the 7th tf2 comic will be out today, but I'm not confident. Sigh! Can't have shit in the tf2 fandom.

[svtskneecaps]

literally it's 3am where i live and i'm on mobile but FUCK IT i haven't posted any actual writing in like a YEAR on this blog whose description include the words "I WRITE" and i can't tell if i'm even going anywhere with this so fuck it under the cut is the prospective absolute mess of the first chapter of the flipo family time loop fic. (for clarity, flipo family as in slime, mariana, and juanaflippa) this covers loop 0, aka the relevant parts of canon. words: 1630

parts of it i popped off with and other parts i hate; up to you to identify them. also the italics and other formatting got erased when i copy pasted and i'm re-adding all of it by hand so if i missed a spot, no i didn't. if i missed an accent on a letter in spanish that was a typo, if i missed a ¡ or ¿ that may have been on purpose.

oh and for obvious reasons, content warning for mentions and mild descriptions of child death and child murder. no blood, and most of it is a three word mention; i'd say the brief paragraph beginning "Tilín didn't scream" is most of the reason this warning exists.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

He’d been hoping for a bright, sunny day to start their vacation, but was sorely disappointed. The portal had apparently taken them pretty far, since they’d gone from noon to night time. Talk about jetlag. They hadn’t even been on a plane.

“What happened to the other guys?” he wondered aloud as he stepped onto the platform.

“Yeah no clue,” Phil said, scanning the empty station. “Thought they’d meet us here.”

“Guys!” one of the Spanish speakers--Vegetta, he’d said, when they’d all met up at the first station--called, from a lectern at the wall. “There is a book!”

They crowded around as he read the instructions aloud--something about pressure plates, Slime wasn’t paying that close of attention. He was a little more preoccupied with making sure it only felt like his brain was dripping out of his ears. That would be kind of embarrassing.

Which was not to say that he wasn’t enjoying the constant onslaught of people talking over each other using words he may or may not understand. In fact, it was the opposite; he was frankly thriving in the absolute chaos that kicked back up around him as a timer appeared in the wrist communicators they’d been provided along with their tickets.

“Como se dice ‘we are going to die now’?” He giggled, chasing Phil and Fit to one end of the station.

“¡Vamos a morir!” shouted Spiderman, echoed seconds later by the black bear in the collared shirt.

Giddy over the high of attempting to use his high school foreign language for the first time maybe ever, Slime absolutely didn’t contribute much to solving the puzzle, and before long the sound of the timer ticking down was accompanied by a loud buzzing alarm.

“It’s been an honor!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs. “It’s been an honor!”

The bear ran past them again, shouting, “I’m going to die!” in English this time.

“Adiós amigos!” Slime yelled.

The countdown ended.

And then his communicator buzzed, and there was a video playing on the screen, showing a cartoonish yellow duck in front of a blurry beach stock photo. He skimmed it absently--some generic welcoming message and another side quest for them--distracted by Maximus audibly losing his shit laughing across the station.

“Come on, I’m trying to take a vacation, I gotta work now?” Fit complained. “This is ridiculous.”

Slime wanted to jump on that bit, but the message cut off with coordinates marred by static and the noise of the emergency weather alert system and he lost his train of thought completely.

“I got the English book!” Spreen called, holding it with two fingers like it had personally offended him.

“English leader,” Vegetta said, seeming to find that amusing.

“English leader.” Spreen laughed and flicked the book away. Slime stepped back but somehow it still nailed him in the chest.

“Guess I’m reading then,” he said cheerfully.

“In Spanish?” Maximus said.

“Um.”

Vegetta called something, backing across the plaza with the book open in his hands. Phil backed up to the wall.

“Here,” Phil instructed, “we’ll read it here.”

“Okay okay.” He flicked it open. “So we have to get water wheel planks--”

Their peace lasted a grand total of thirty seconds as voices suddenly began shouting, overlapping in chaotic chorus.

“What is that?” Fit demanded.

“Is that coming from the other side?” Phil stared up at the top of the wall.

“This is the thinnest thick wall I’ve ever seen,” Slime said, giddy laughter bubbling out of him again. “Is this thing made out of pencil shavings? If I sneeze on it, is there gonna be a hole?”

“Nevermind, we’ll read it over here.” Phil dragged them away again, but the Spanish speakers were dispersing into the trees.

“Forget the book,” Fit said, “follow them!”

(In the end it was explosives that took the wall down, which in hindsight was a precursor to how a not insignificant portion of time on the island was spent. The first day, however, it was just funny, much like everything else.)

(That was to say, the first first day.)

The communicator had indicated that today there was something special planned, so he made an extra effort to wake up.

“Morning Jaiden!” he called to his upstairs neighbor.

“Hi Charlie!” He could hear her farming through the wall. “Glad you woke up on time!”

“Well you know, you know, El Backflipo couldn’t miss it,” he joked, sifting through his backpack. “Got any spare food? I’ll trade you uno backflipo.”

“I have so much toast, come here and get some, free of charge.”

With a quick backflip and some toast to start the day, he popped open the map.

“There’s a lot of people down the wall,” he noted, their green dots so clustered they formed one. “Wanna check it out?”

“Yeah sure.” Jaiden tossed some seeds into a chest. “Do you know what this event’s gonna be?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted cheerfully.

She laughed. “Yeah, me neither. I guess there’s an egg involved, but that’s all I know.”

He dug around in his backpack for a paraglider, nodding along. “Yeah, yeah, un huevo, I get you.” Shuffling the landmine from Vegetta to one side, he yanked out his glider and threw himself out her window. “Let’s go!”

(nothing like getting struck by lightning to wake a guy up in the morning)

Slime fiddled with the communicator as he waited for the line of people to get through the ticket machine; he already had his own, a nice B for Backflipo. The new live translations still boggled his mind. He had to fight the urge to chant weird shit under his breath, just to see what the bubbles would say.

He paid a little extra attention when Mariana walked up to the machine. That guy seemed cool. They’d done that pequeño dormir together on day one, and he had a good sense of humor. Egg parenting would probably be funny.

He was thrilled to see the B for Backflipo on the ticket Mariana stepped away with, even if Mariana was decidedly less so. This was gonna be good.

(it was, and it wasn’t)

So, Mariana wasn’t exactly the coparent of dreams. Then again, Slime was pretty sure Mariana could say the same about him. In fact he was pretty sure Mariana had said the same, but in Spanish, when he wasn’t checking the translation.

It was great. They thought they’d killed a child immediately and then decided to fake their own child’s death to get away with it, and then confessed their sins to a bilingual angel and built a farm and then he buried himself beneath an improvised cross and went into a coma until his sins were forgiven, or something, except his sins weren’t forgiven in time to save his own child’s life.

And then Juanaflippa was dead. Dead at Mariana’s hand.

His bitch wife killed their daughter.

(Everything went faster, after that.)

Slime wanted to kill him.

Slime wanted to kill him for killing their fucking daughter, but of course, Mariana couldn’t even be bothered to be around to take care of her alive, never mind to pay for his crimes when she died by his hand!

(in a better world, his rage started and ended there. in a better world, the anger fizzled out with the lack of a target.

this was not that world)

There couldn’t be an Egg Event with no eggs.

If he killed them all, it would bring her back.

(in a worse world, he succeeded. in a worse world, the Egg Event ended there.

this was not that world)

They held a trial.

If he won, it would bring her back.

(in another world, he didn’t convince them. in another world, they left his daughter in Hell.

this was not that world)

Tilín was still before she hit the ground.

Tilín didn’t scream. Maybe they didn’t have time. It happened so fast. He was sure it happened fast. Almost too fast. But everything went so fast, now, even though Flippa was back. Yet, time slowed down for this, like a rubberneck driving past a highway accident, watching him desperately trying to shock their heart back into motion.

“YOU KILL MY BEST FRIENDS,” Flippa wrote. He begged her to understand. She wrote, “i can’t believe it.”

She wrote, “I HATE YOU.”

(in a better world, the error would have been caught in April instead of July.

this was not that world)

His daughter fell to his bitch wife’s sword. The same way. The next day.

They’d only just gotten her back. And Mariana killed her again.

He only left eggxile for the funeral. She wouldn’t stay dead, but he had to be there.

Time went even faster after that. He was Gegg, or maybe Gegg was him, or maybe Gegg was Gegg, or maybe. . . ?

He went back to eggxile.

He wasn’t leaving without them. Tilín. Juanaflippa. He would do whatever was necessary. He would pray to any higher power. Lil J still owed him a goddamn favor, but the guy wouldn’t pick up his calls. Maybe if he put more shit in the shrine; angels liked shiny shit, didn’t they? He went back to the mine, where the gasses swirled in his head. He built the shrine. He mined. He built the shrine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

“This is where I sit, this is where my bitch wife sits, and this is where my daughter sits, if I had one!”

He’d said that before. No he hadn’t. Yes he had.

No, he just needed to clear his head.

Charlie Slimecicle went back to the mine.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

[sugume]

CONJUGAL VISIT w/jujutsu Kiasen

Description: in which an inmate of a prison or jail is permitted to spend several hours or days in private with a visitors

More: Fem!Reader, explicit content, unprotected sex, some d/s dynamics with Toji, American prison system? (idk if other countries allow this lol?) 

☾ Ryomen Sukuna 

He's been in solitary for so long that you start to think you'll never see him again. He finally fixes his attitude enough to come in contact with others and eventually gets some visitation rights. Get used to having sex with him here because the guards inform you he isn't leaving for a long time.

 “s’too much Kuna!” You whine into the flat pillow but your boyfriend Sukuna could care less and keeps pounding into you from behind.

“Think I care slut? Been away from this pussy for months now, shut up and take what I give you.” He grits out, pushing deeper into your back with one hand, fisting your hair with the other. He’d be damned if you tell him what to do after all this time away. Do you know how spineless he had to act in order to get this visit, on his ‘best behavior’, desperate to finally be able to sink in some cunt after being surrounded by irrelevant men and guards with their heads up their asses?

“Feels s’good,” you moan when Sukuna hits your special spot. “I’m gonna cum!”

“That fast slut, it hasn't even been ten minutes” He chuckles, leaning down to bite your shoulder.

“Missed you, ‘Kuna, c-cant cum ‘out you.”

“Can’t do shit without me, bet you can’t even function out there without me,” He groans in your hair, you don't understand half of what he’s saying you just nod mindlessly and slam your hips back on his cock.

“Then cum on my cock, whore.”

☾ Gojo Satoru 

He's on a mission that requires him to go to jail. The prison warden is in on it, but that doesn't mean your boyfriend doesn't want to experience the "real deal." He convinces the warden to allow him weekly fuck sessions because he says he can't complete the mission without them.

“i-Im gonna cum ‘Toru!” you whine aloud, to far gone to be embarrassed that your boyfriend is fucking you on scratchy sheets in a bed that probably hasn’t been thoroughly cleaned in years or the fact that multiple other girls have probably been in the same position you’re in with other inmates, on the same bed.

“So tight love, haven't you been using your dildos in my absence?’ he questions as he thrusts into your glistening cunt. Watching as you throw your head back, tears running down your cheeks.

“They’re too small ‘Toru!” You wrap your legs around his hard ass trying to get him as deep as he can.

“Aww, they can't make you cum as hard as I can, can they love?” he pouts against your swollen lips. You shake your head furiously, listening to the sounds your squelching cunt makes when he thrust back in, his balls slapping hard against your ass.

“Think i'll ask if I can get out early on good behavior. I can't leave my girl unsatisfied now.” He chuckles before diving his tongue into your mouth.  

☾ Toji Fushiguro 

Your mans got locked up again! This isn't the first time, nor will it be the last. You don’t know how he convinces the guards to allow you to visit time and time again, but you won't complain. You always miss him when he's gone every few months. The guard just sighs when he sees you’re here for visitation again

“You miss me, little girl?” he grins, sticking thick fingers in your already sopping cunt. “You know I always miss you when you’re gone, daddy.” You gasp, your back hitting the cold concrete wall behind you when Toji curls into your g-spot. 

“So so bad.” you whine, grinding your aching clit on his hard stomach, legs tightening around his slim waist when you find the perfect spot.

“You wanna cum little girl?” he asks while marking up your neck. He needs others to know you’re taken and if he can't be around you at the moment he’ll make it known another way.

“Yes Toji!” You scream.

“Yes what?” He stops his fingers.

“Yes daddy,” you whisper, moving your hips desperate to not lose the orgasm you were chasing. “Please make me come daddy, please!” 

“That's what I thought little girl” He says before continuing his movements and biting down on your heavy bottom lip.

☾ Choso Kamo

Too ashamed that he ended up in prison to allow you to visit him for a while. After much reassurance from you that you don’t look at him differently he finally comes out of his shell and makes friends. Get’s out early on good behavior.

“You think someones watching?” You mumble, looking back at the camera in the corner of the dark lit room.

“F-fuck baby, don’t fuckin’ stop,” Choso whines, gripping your waist, trying to make you bounce on his stiff cock. ‘Who cares if they are, baby? They won’t touch.”

You turn back around and grin down at your boyfriend “mmm, isn't that how you got in here in the first place Choso, beating up a man for touching me?” You start grinding on his cock again.

“Do anything for you, baby.” He moans gripping your waist when your tight walls start squeezing down on him, trying hard not to bust a nut so quickly.

“Yeah,” you moan out, feeling his cock twitch in you. “Now you’re stuck in here for months away from me.” You pout and claw at his chest when Choso starts to bounce you on his cock. God, if only he didn’t beat that man up you’d have this every night.

“Worth it.” He looks up at the camera, imagining the security guard looking down at your ass recoil when he slams you down on his cock

[pix-writes]

For the NSFW requests; what kinks do Stan and Ford have? 👀

👀 I've got you, anon 😉

18+ under cut, minors DNI

Stanford:

Edging - likes to experiment with it to see how far he can go, what are the limits of his patience? He's working out his self control like he's stretching out a muscle. And with you as well, how far can you stand to be teased? Knows it's worth it for the intensity of the orgasm(s) when he finally gives you what you both want. Likes the sense of control he gets from it too!

Biting - likes when you bite into him when you get close/overstimulated/want to keep quiet, makes his feral side come out, wants to mark you too as he nips and nibbles at your skin, all over. A darker, protective (*cough* possessive*cough*) part of him enjoys seeing the hickeys and marks he leaves on your skin. Ford has a lot of scars and other unwanted traces on his body (laser tattoo removal can only do so much), so he feels so loved when you leave marks on him.

Temperature/nipple play - warm wax (and ice) on his body gives a contrast of overstimulating sensations that feels nice to him, have no idea of how or when/if he finds this out though, perhaps it's a way for him to feel light pain in a good way? Likes when you pay attention to his nipples too as they're sensitive.

Clothed sex/dry humping - (kind of goes with the kink below) actually really turned on by dry humping, gets incredibly flustered even though neither of you have taken anything off yet.

Tights - idk why it just seems right to me. Ford loves how the fabric feels and how it smooths over your skin. Maybe he's always been attracted to how they look on people in the past, but it's not until you are grinding against him fully clothed that it really awakens! The silky feeling of your tights on his cock, the thin layer between him and your heat has him staining them with his pre cum. (EDIT: tights aka pantyhose or stockings, I always forget Americans have a different name for them sorry)

Praise - will praise you a lot but he likes it back the other way, I hc Ford is a perfect switch, so whether he's taking the lead or not likes to know he's doing well, has been starved of affection for so long so praise helps him to know he's doing good.

Stanley:

Restraints - here's the thing, Stan's been put in cuffs enough times to hate it, but he's also quite adept at getting out of them (as long as it's a situation where he can of course), he figures that he wouldn't hate it as much if his pretty partner is the one to do it to him 😏 ya know? Though most of the time, it makes him feel a bit too helpless/claustrophobic, but he'll tie you up or put you in cuffs any time (he always has them nearby), gets him going because he gets to tease the hell out of you and you can't do anything about it! (I have a hunch that he's a teensy bit of a brat tamer) Spanking is another he likes too, in theory more than practice, because he may be game for a lot of things but doesn't want to hurt you, feels conflicted about it. Kind of loves it when you give him a firm slap to his behind, as long as he knows you're going to do it (he's hypervigilant), likes when you say nice things about his ass.

Primal play - doesn't know that it's called that but there's something in the playfulness of chasing each other around the house etc., that does it for him in a more serious way, likes to chase you more, though doesn't mind if he's the one on top or bottom, sometimes is nice when his partner is doing the work and he gets to lay back and enjoy the view.

Sir and begging- likes to be called sir (the fact that Alex said this on a stream is WILD, joking or not, and it's been burnt into my brain ever since!), never been really seen as a figure of respect and melts his brain a little to be treated reverently, likes when you beg it's basically praise for him for pleasuring you so well

Marking - likes to mark you but loves it even more if you leave some on him, he'll keep it there for others to see, he's a taken man now 🥴 - that's his expression after you've kissed him and left him with lipstick all over his face

Painted nails - doesn't have to be those fake nails really, he just likes to see them with some colour on them, thinks it's attractive, the way they look when you're placing your hands all over him and maybe scratching across his chest?

[diorgirl444]

From one matt dilly girl to another...🤨

cowboy!dallas how do we feel

Like full on texan accent omggg- 🤭🤭

you get it oh my godddddd. maybe bcs i’m english but this is so mouthwatering to me i can’t even lie to you!!! so much that i’ve written a few cutesy lil hcs for it xxx

cowboy! dallas winston x farmer’s daughter! reader

warnings: bad writing! (girlies i’ve never kissed anyone or flirted so my expression only comes from writing fanfiction so it may not be the most realistic i’m afraid), fem! reader, very self indulgent, unspecified time period. poor understanding of american history i’m english please go easy on me, idk how many words <3

• okay so i see your cowboy! dallas winston and i raise you runaway outlaw! dallas winston posing as a farmhand on reader’s family farm

• i’m thinking he’s an outlaw because after getting in a fight with his alcoholic father he ran away with their horse and in order to survive he stole from carriages and things. a regular billy the kid you know?

• except it’s not easy for a seventeen year old out on his lonesome on all that land and with the law looking for you. but he has no choice so he keeps running till he reaches a farm far, far out west. that night he is so, so tired that he hides in their barn planning to wake up early so he doesn’t get caught.

• but he hasn’t been able to sleep properly in days so he fully crashes. he wakes up that morning with a girl leaning over him pressing her cool hand to his forehead, the sunlight from the open barn makes her hair like a halo and she’s in a beautiful white nightdress and so he briefly wonders if he’s died and she’s one of heavens angels.

• the allusion shatters when she’s realised he’s woken and she calls “daddy he’s alive!” and then his eyes widen and he realises there’s a whole family crowded around him. he excepts to be shouted, to be threatened maybe even hit but instead the wrinkled old man who he assumes is the father of the house says in a gruff but not unkind voice “you got a place to stay son?”

• dallas is vaguely aware that he doesn’t know these people that they could report him to their nearest sheriff or worse eat him or something gruesome like that. but something about the apple cheeked girl, the twin little boys in mismatched plaid and the kind eyes in the wrinkled faces of the parents has him feeling at ease and so he admits “no sir”

• the mother nudges her husband who nods before speaking “well sonny you’re in luck. i’m in need of a farmhand. can’t pay ya but i can offer ya food and board for you and that horse of yours. does that sound like a deal boy?” dallas nods, hardly believing his luck.

• the girl smiles widely and softly whispers to him “i told daddy we should keep you” he decides not to tell her that she could keep him forever if she wanted. maybe it’s a bit early for that yet.

• he falls into a routine pretty quickly at the farm. he does all the hard labour that the father of the house is too old to do now like cutting firewood or rounding the cattle up. he always catches sight of the girl picking fresh fruit and prancing around the farm in her cute little cowboy boots and his heart aches.

• what he doesn’t know is the parents have noticed the way him and their daughter look at each other or ankles press together under the table so they’re always trying little things to get them together. like sending her out to give him glasses of sweet iced tea or getting him to ride their horses with her.

• it finally happens though late one hot august evening. the farm is lazy for a change with most people napping trying to beat the heat. she’s eating cherries and staining lips and hands on the porch swing whilst intently a very sweaty shirtless dallas work on the farm.

• he catches her looking and grins saying “you know what they say about cherry stems?” she shakes her head, batting her lashes at him absentmindedly and he seems to grin even wider.

• “well if you can tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue. means you’re a good kisser” his honeyed southern tone drawls out.

• almost in a trance she hands him a cherry stem and flushes bright red when he cockily sticks his tongue out flashing the knotted up cherry stem. “my turn” she tells him trying to distract herself from the growing butterflies in her stomach.

• “nah doll i got another way to check for you” before she can ask what is, he’s leaning over the porch railings and kissing her. she eagerly kissed him back letting her cherry stained fingers grab onto his hair and he’s groaning slightly against his lips. they probably would of gone further has it not been for the cough behind them.

• they awkwardly pull away, her with red cheeks and dallas with red ears and they meet her fathers gaze “happy to see you two finally pulled it together but if you’re gonna act like dogs in heat do that where the lord can’t see you, hm kids?” he gives them a knowing smile as he walks off.

• and well they listen to him and disappear off the barn hand in hand just as they one day will leave the local chapel dressed in white….

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream when their gf is a football player. 

AN: Idk what kind of football sport is this, so i just chose the football that's also soccer. (Since I am more familiar with soccer rather than american football.)

Mark Lee

He's your number one supporter of course. <3 he got to make sure that you have everything; spare clothes, water, and energy drink. He has to buy extra if he has to! He watches your games and is even there at your practice. People would think that he's the coach because he's like, sitting on the second bleachers and will be so LOUD whenever your team goals. He's not only supportive of you, but he's also supportive of the whole team!

Huang Renjun

Renjun would be the type of boyfriend who watches every game of yours. LIKE he doesn't miss a single one, and he doesn't care if the venue will be far, he'll commute for hours just to be there! He has to make sure that you know that he's there to watch your game. Probably wears your university jacket with your name and number on the back. He's a silent supporter who watches you from afar because he doesn't want you to get distracted!

Lee Jeno

Oh to have an athletic boyfriend. <3 I feel like Jeno's great at playing football, so he sometimes he accompanies you whenever you need to practice more, or on your spare time, you two would play football at a community park! Football dates are a must, and he takes good care of your well-being and health too. Aside from that, you two would often go to gym to do exercise or maybe go out for a run around the university field. 

Lee Donghyuck

Oh whenever Haechan's there, your cheering team should pack up now. He's just a VERY supportive boyfriend, and a very LOUD one too. Like you can really hear his voice even when you're on the field. No one bans him from your games lmao and that's because his cheering doesn't really distract you. Of course, after the game his voice becomes hoarse, so you have to treat him throat medicine or else you wouldn't have your cheerleader every game. 

Na Jaemin

This sweet pumpkin is a very supportive and patient boyfriend. He's not much of a fan of football but I can see him always there during your practice. He'll be sitting on the bleachers, probably doing his homework or just observing your practice. He'll be quiet until the end of your practice. He has drinks and towel prepared for you, telling you 'good job' or 'you did great there!' even stealing kisses on you whenever your coach isn't looking!

Zhong Chenle

I believe in basketball athlete! Chenle supremacy that's why you two are a very famous athlete couple in your uni! He's the captain of the basketball team while you're the captain of the football team! Whenever you have a game, he's there to watch you, and so do you during his games! Students would gush if they see you two together inside the uni, especially when you two are jogging around the field! Power couple me thinks. 

Park Jisung

Jisung thinks that you're so cool because you're a football player! He watches your games and would pass by the field just to see you practice. I feel like he wanted to be more invested in your sports, so he wanted to learn football too! You two would go to the community park every Sunday so that you can teach him how to play football. He's a bit clumsy but practice makes perfect. Also you find it sweet that he's interested in football that he is learning it because of you. 

[anli-rambles]

Idk if the writers intended it or not but the amount of cognitive dissonance between what Haytham says and what he does is so telling of the kind of person he was raised to be. Birch succeeded in making him talk like a Templar, but his actions contradict pretty much everything Haytham claims to stand for. It's as if the brainwashing ran deep enough to make Haytham lack self-awareness but not enough to completely destroy what Edward was able to teach him before he died. Connor points it out verbatim right before they meet up with Washington too. "You've talked a great deal but you've shown me nothing."

Haytham says he wants order but he's just about as chaotic as his father was when he was younger. He says Connor's talks of "freedom" and "free will" are nonsense but literally every time we see him aside from the opening sequences, he's going off on his own, doing God-knows-what without telling any of the other Templars, he drops everything on the spot to go camping with his girlfriend, hell he even murdered a Templar Grandmaster for personal revenge (when revenge has been the driving force between many of the protagonists we've had so far like Ezio, Connor, Arno, Bayek, heck even Kassandra to some degree, while the Templars claim to be above this kind of stuff). He went against Lee's plans to have Connor executed because he felt like it. (The line in his journal is literally "I won't let my son die today.") He says he wants purpose and direction and yet never has a plan for whatever he's doing. He's exactly like Edward on that front, essentially bullshitting his way through everything and hoping it all works out (and it often doesn't). That man has never had purpose or direction in his entire life, and the moment someone tries to tell him what to do, he actively chooses to do the opposite because he doesn't follow orders (and if he does, it's on his own terms).

When Haytham realized he didn't hold the key to the Precursor site, he chose to drop it altogether, because he knew too many would have to die for the cause and it wasn't worth it. Do you mean to tell me people like Vidic, the Borgias, Germain, heck even Torres (who's by far the most reasonable Grandmaster we've encountered in the series besides François de la Serre, maybe) went to impossible lengths to get to the Observatory — do you think any of these men would've just... stopped ? Because more people would have to die ? (The answer is no. William Johnson was willing to commit mass murder just to buy the land the site was on — which by the way Haytham had no idea about (the mass murder part, I mean) until after the fact and he was very angry about it.)

Which is also pretty telling about how involved he is in all of this. He didn't know about what Johnson was planning because he couldn't even be bothered to hold yearly meetings for like 15 years.

In his journal, you can see how he progressively starts to despise every Templar he's working with. He endorses Lee out loud but his thoughts about the guy are that he's "too British to be a good representative for the American people" and he's actually pretty pessimistic about his chances to supplant Washington. He doesn't even believe in what he says about Lee, like, ever (which is why I say it really looks like he's endorsing Lee as an act of sabotage because it really feels like it sometimes.) His Templar kill count is also higher than Connor's — Juan Vedomir, the unnamed mercenary with a West Country accent, Edward Braddock, John Harrison, Reginald Birch, Benjamin Church and Nicholas Biddle (although the game never showed it, the fact that Church and Biddle died only days apart while both in the Caribbean means that Haytham was with Connor on the Aquila when he killed Biddle, so he's at least complicit in his murder.)

Haytham says he's a man with Templar ideals and an Assassin background but to me it feels like the opposite. He's a man with a Templar background and Assassin ideals, but the grooming started so young that even killing Birch couldn't undo the damage that man had done. I think Haytham realized that by the end and that's why he let Connor kill him.

[pinkaditty]

Who's Passing NNN? Tokyo Debunker Pt 3

cliche yeaaa i know we've already discussed this... let me have this...

a/n: no post last night bc last night was U.S. election night. in no uncertain terms i've been going through emotional turmoil as a disabled queer african american living in this hellhole. idk man. im holding out hope that ill make it through the next four years. in the meantime! enjoy this! quick disclaimer that i write these under the assumption the tokyo debunker boys are at least 18 years old. they appear to be present at a university considering there are professors and a chancellor. not to mention the boys drink, smoke, gamble, and refer to themselves as adults.

summary: part 3 of the "Who's Passing NNN?" tokyo debunker thing. for fun id like u 2 guess before u open the rest of the post and comment what u thought. itd be funny 2 me. cw: men jacking off!!!!!!!! MINORS DNI AS USUAL!!!! these things r never proofread i literally spit them out and they're good 2 go.

Frostheim || Vagastrom || Jabberwock || Sinostra || Hotarubi || Obscuary || Mortkranken

(nearly done with sinostra n hotarubi is otw!)

Please respect my boundary. Thank you!

Jabberwock:

Haru Sagara: Fail

Lovingly, he fails. He does not even try for long. He tries a little bit, but the second he gets the itch, it’s all over… If, he can finish his chores first, at least. 

It's a long walk back to Jabberwock from Obscuary. Not that Haru minds, it's just a long walk. It’s dark out, nearly 1am. It wasn’t like him to be out too terribly late, but he trusted Towa had a handle on things, and he was content to relax for a while. The waning crescent moon and sidewalk lamplights illuminate his way home. The stiff, still, crisp and cool night air felt strange against his warm cheeks and neck. He sighs, and his breath is visible in the air, signifying how cold it was.

Usually he’d be speeding home, but he’d drank far too much to be able to do that. The anomalous drinks still left a cloudy, pleasant feeling in his head, though he was still able to walk fine without any stumbling. There was a problem, though. A slight stirring in his abdomen that just wouldn’t go away. It started long before his drinking though, mid-chores. He’d been easily able to tamp if down then, a swath of chores taking up his time and distractions from his dormmates serving him well. But now, he was drunk. His defenses against such sensations has lowered drastically. Each gentle twitch at his pelvic floor sent a surge of feeling through him, to which he’d visibly stiffen and bite his tongue to prevent any damning noises. He could feel his body stir with more heat than before, the warmth snaking down his spine, creeping to the rest of his body, very quickly reaching his already half-hard cock. The walk became pure torture, each stride beginning to feel like a gentle stroke against his hardening length. The building pleasure goes straight to his brain, and he has to stop his stride, panting, supporting himself with his hands on his knees. He feels himself flush at the sight of his cock pressing hard into his pant leg. He straightens his posture and continues on, worrying his lip between his teeth until they turn red.

It’s a long walk back to Jabberwock from Obscuary. He picks up the pace.

Towa Otonashi: Pass

He tries and gets through! He’s mostly obsessed with romance anyway. Physical intimacy typically takes a backseat. Does that mean he doesn’t want romance to blossom into physical intimacy? No, of course not. If anything, he values the buildup.

It’s late, and no classes tomorrow. Towa’s taken up the liberty of watching a movie in his room, one known for being particularly cheesy, with romance bursting at the seams of it. He’s enjoying himself, leaning forward on the bed as he hungrily watches each scene, drinking in the classic love-at-first-sight trope, waiting eagerly for the miraculous buildup.

As expected, the buildup arrives, and the two main characters finally confess to one another. He sighs happily as the characters kiss, leaning back and propping himself up with his hands, ready for the credits to roll. He is surprised, however, when the scene continues to escalate past just kissing. He waits for it to stop, simultaneously mystified and mesmerized, his eyes glued to the screen as the characters move from kissing to groping to undressing. His heart rises to his throat. His breathing picks up and his face becomes flushed. He still doesn’t stop watching, even as he feels his cock stir in response to the scene. He continues watching with baited breath as the scene continues to escalate further. Undressing turns to nude groping and nude groping elicits intense noises from the screen. He feels his cock harden further, and feels himself hesitantly reaching for it, his gaze flicking between the sex scene and his aching cock trapped in his uniform slacks. Before he knows it, he’s covering his mouth with one hand and rubbing his cock at a furious pace, in tandem with the gentle plap plap plap sounds coming from the screen. The sex is so passionate, so romantic, and he finds himself wishing for something similar. It is when the couple’s lips meet at the climax that he climaxes, spilling himself between his fingers and onto the plush sheets of his bed. He trembles, blinking blearily as he surveys his mess, and watching as the couple embrace one another, the love between them palpable. 

Ren Shiranami: Fail

He didn’t try and he wasn’t going to. I mean come on now! This is Ren we’re talking about. He is not holding his own… Not unless it’s ramen or video games, that is.

His sweaty hair sticks to his even sweatier forehead. His eyes are wide and glued to his PC screen. His posture is hunched, his teeth are grinding, and his legs are taut. He cannot lose this game. He continues to repeat that in his head, desperately trying to focus his attention to the buttons underneath his fingers rather than the burning need his stiffened length presented. He cannot lose this game. He cannot lose this game. He cannot lose this game. The second stage of the battle was not going to catch him off-guard this time. Not this time. 

He leans towards the screen, steeling himself after defeating the first-form boss. His cock continues to press eagerly against his sweatpants as though begging for attention, but he willed himself to ignore it, even as the hem of his underwear brushing along his tip threatened to make him lose his composure. 

Finally, the next scene starts. He’s ready, dodging as many attacks as he can and dealing as much damage as possible. At long last, he’s so close, just a few blows away from victory. He’s so close. He feels his cock jump in response to those thoughts, and the fleeting thought of being close to bursting flashes across his mind before he shakes his head harshly and returns to his game. His cock jumps again just as he lands a blow, his tip once again pressing into the hem of his underwear. He cannot continue while ignoring the insistent press. He growls, displeased, and reaches down for a quick readjustment, his hands only leaving the buttons for a moment. Once adjusted, he suppresses a gasp at the feeling and returns his hands to the buttons. Too late. The boss took advantage of his momentary stillness and sliced him in half, prompting the “GAME OVER” screen. 

Ren angrily shoves the controller away from him and buries his head in his hands, peeking down at his twitching cock forming a tent in his sweatpants. 

a/n: i love fictional men suffering!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i imagined ren playing elden ring 4 reference (specifically battling malenia) but ur free 2 imagine whatever lol!

note that, as always, i enjoy likes, comments, and reblogs!! please tell me how much you enjoyed my work! it really means a lot!

ALSO WOOOOO HIT 500 FOLLOWERS! if ur reading this, slide in2 my asks with a prompt idea (please don't expect a response!). i want 2 write some juicy porn with whoever comes 2 mind.

final note that i purposely extended haru's part bc @/aayakashii was looking forward 2 it and i thought her tags were so funny lmfao

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — see you next saturday

a night at the bar turns interesting when a masked stranger crosses your path. he's far from approachable, but something about him draws you in until you're coming to the bar every weekend just to see him. he's enigmatic and exciting—exactly what you needed to interrupt the monotony of life. 11.2k

⟢ pairing: ghost x f!reader

⟢ tags: MDNI/18+; author is american and apologizes in advance—this probably isn't how bars in the UK are, sorry; ghost is unnamed for 95% of the fic but it pays off; alcohol consumption (no one gets drunk, it's just some sipping); awkward first meeting; slow-burn??? idk sex doesn't happen til the very end; implied size difference; biker!ghost; semi-public sex; fingering; table sex; praise; unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it); oral sex [m receiving]; facial

Another excited cheer from the table behind you tells you that one of the football teams on screen has scored. Though you couldn’t care less about the game, you catch a glance at the television hung on the wall near the bar to watch the score rise. Aside from sipping on the same drink and watching people filter in and out all night, you didn’t have anything better to do, anyway.

A night out at the bar probably wasn’t the most efficient use of your time, or your money, but after a week of grueling work and the ever-increasing stress of life, it felt nice to ignore everything for a while. As long as you didn’t drink enough to hate yourself the next morning, who were you to deny yourself some fun? Well, as fun as watching drunk people mingle could be. A cheap local bar wouldn’t give way for much excitement.

You were almost thankful for that. The wrong kind of excitement only would’ve added to the weight on your shoulders. Yet, a part of you still yearned for something more than the monotony of asking the bartender for another round while your eyes scanned the crowds. Only two drinks in and already you were practically praying for an interesting face to look your way and add something that resembled anticipation to your life.

You set your glass down on the bartop with a sigh. Another cheer comes from your left, drawing your attention towards the table of patrons with their eyes glued to the television wearing their excited smiles. It’s only a momentary glance, but with your head turned in their direction, you notice the first interesting face you’ve seen all night.

Rather, it was the lack of his face that drew you in. Just a few seats down the bar stood a tall man, dressed head to toe in dark clothing, sliding an empty glass toward the bartender. Perhaps the most notable thing about him is how his hood sits on his head and a mask covers the bottom half of his face. Is that skull print on the fabric?

Whoever he was, he didn’t seem too keen on letting other people know. Part of you was surprised he was even allowed to be served. To say he looked suspicious would be putting it mildly. 

But there was something about him that caught your attention and wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the air of mystery that clung to him, or maybe it was your desperate need for excitement. At this point, you couldn’t quite tell what the reason was, but his presence was magnetic. 

His head turns slightly to look up at the television mounted near the bar. For a split second, you thought he had noticed you somehow. You don’t know why it affected you enough to make your heart leap into your throat, but it was enough to make you stop staring out of fear you’d come off rude.

Your leg bounces nervously on the barstool, itching to walk you over to him. But, Christ, you’ve been out of the game for a while, and you have to assume his…unique sense of attire was to wade off any unwanted conversation. What would you even say to a guy like that? Compliments aren’t easy when you can’t see any part of the man’s face. 

Your fingertips run over the edge of your glass and you can’t help but bring your eyes back over to him. Still focused on the game. 

“What’s with the mask?” The words leave your mouth before you can give them a second thought. You regret it almost immediately, hoping that maybe between the music and the surrounding conversations that he couldn’t hear you. 

There’s a slow turn of his head in your direction. His eyes meet yours, but instead of curiosity you find nothing but a piercing gaze that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s hard to tell in the dim light of the bar, but you swear his gaze moves over you before he turns his attention to the bartender.

Bummer. Well, it was worth a shot…even if you think you’ll have to order another drink to prevent yourself from cringing on the memory later. 

You huff another sigh and swirl your drink, watching the liquid move in the glass. If nothing else, at least you got a good night of people-watching and paid enough attention to the game to know what your coworkers will talk about on Monday. The next sip burns your throat as you swallow. 

“Tactical advantage.” A baritone voice—suddenly very close to you—comes from your left and startles you, making you jump in your seat. 

Your eyes dart to the side, wide in panic, meeting a masked face looking down at you. You curse under your breath, unsure whether it’s appropriate to feel relieved.

“Pardon..?”

“You asked about the mask,” the man gestures vaguely towards his fabric-covered face as he moves to sit on the barstool next to you. The old material groans under his weight. “Tactical advantage.” 

You couldn’t help but continue to stare at him. You could tell he was a bigger guy from far away, but, Jesus, he was even bigger up close. Not just tall, but his shoulders were broad and his hands practically dwarfed the glass he was holding. He was, objectively, terrifying.

Yet, you couldn’t help but smile at his simple, concise words. “Yeah? And what advantage is that?”

“To hide my face.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt at comedy. “Well, I coulda guessed that.”

“You asked.” He looks over at you and instead of the piercing gaze from before, there’s something much warmer in his eyes. You wish you could see if he had a smug smile to accompany his words. 

“That I did.” You take another sip of your drink, hoping it’ll continue to keep your nerves settled. “So why d’you wanna hide your face?”

He’s silent for a moment, looking down at the bar as he folds his arms and leans against it. You faintly hear him sigh before he shrugs his shoulders. “No need to show it.”

“Gotta be hard to drink with a mask, no?”

“Not if you lift it up.”

“Or you could just…take it off.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“‘Cause then I’d get to see what you look like.”

His eyes—you make a mental note of the deep brown color they are—narrow at that. “Oh, I dunno if you want that.”

“I think I do.”

The stool beneath him creaks with his weight as he sits up, straightening his back and reminding you just how tall he is. His chest expands against his hoodie in another deep breath. “Determined, aren’t you?”

Another smile creeps its way onto your face. “C’mon, I’m curious.” You want to lean in, to tease him with your proximity, but you withhold yourself.

Those blond eyebrows that peek out from the rim of his balaclava raise slightly. His eyes move over you in a movement he doesn’t seem to bother being subtle about. Though the gesture makes your heart skip a beat, his silence is deafening.

“Alright, alright,” you concede, hands up in defeat. “I get it. No face.” He makes an affirmative sound at that.

“Smart girl.” He says it so fast, a one-off comment that told you to not bother pressing him for any more information, but something about it makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You have to look down at your drink when you feel your cheeks grow warm. Even though it was nearly gone, you certainly didn’t have enough liquid courage to flirt openly. You wanted to ask his name, to ask where he’s from—what if he lived close by?—but if he wasn’t even willing to show you his face at the bar, you knew the chances were slim. 

From the corner of your eye, you see him shift in his seat again. He digs in his pocket, pulls out his phone, and barely looks at it before he starts to stand. Was he leaving already? Why?

“Where you goin’?” You ask before you can really think about why you cared so much.

“M’needed elsewhere.” 

Blunt, simple, and vague. That seemed to be how he operated. 

“Oh, a popular guy, are you?”

“You could say that.” Your eyes follow him as he moves, but he doesn’t look your way when he stands. Christ, he was a big lad. 

“You didn’t even touch your drink.”

“It’s not mine.” He moves the full glass down the bar until it clinks against your own. It’s then you notice it’s the same color as your drink. Same glass, same serving. Did he really buy you a drink?

“Have a nice night.” You look back at him to see his eyes meeting yours. Maybe it was the last drink still swimming in your system, but you weren’t able to form the words to respond. “Get home safe, yeah?”

And with a nod of your head, he weaved his way through the room until he was out of your line of sight. Despite his size, he was easy to lose in the crowd. You turn back to the bartop and stare at the two glasses. The one on the left—the one he’d bought for you—was invitingly full.

You reach out, fingertips skimming the rim before you bring the glass to your lips. It was the same drink you always ordered when you went out—your favorite. Only somehow it tastes sweeter on your tongue this time.

You’ve never made it a habit to go out and drink. As stressful as life could get, it just wasn’t an outlet you ever turned towards. It was expensive as hell, and you weren’t stupid enough to ignore how much it sucked to be hungover. 

But despite that, you found yourself back in that same barstool when the weekend came around. And for the first time, it wasn’t because of the overpriced liquor.

Only a few sips into your first drink of the night and you were already looking around in hopes that you’d find a skull-patterned mask looking back at you. Desperately you tried to tune out the chatter of people around you, hoping you’d be able to pick out his voice. Maybe it was stupid. It was definitely wishful thinking. 

For all you knew, he wasn’t even in town anymore; you figured he probably wasn’t the type of guy to stick around one place for very long. And, hell, he left so abruptly last time, who’s to say he’d even want to see you again? You hated the tightness that built in your chest at the thought of that. 

Well, you might as well enjoy your drink since you’re here. You tried to pay attention to whatever sport was on the television this time, tried scrolling on your phone, but nothing held your attention. Every sip of your drink tempted you to house the entire bar. But you didn’t figure yourself that pathetic. Still, you were pathetic enough to keep looking over at the entrance, hoping you’d see that tall figure slinking through groups of people.

But you never do.

Fuck. It was stupid to hope anyway. You curse yourself under your breath, rubbing at your temples like it’ll help clear your head. With a huff and a sigh, you finish the last of your drink. It doesn’t taste as sweet as it did last time. You’re more disappointed than you wanted to allow yourself to be.

You decided rather quickly that you’d rather mope and feel sorry for yourself in the comfort of your own home. It wasn’t worth wasting money on another lonely drink.

There’s a chill breeze outside that cuts through you, making you shiver as soon as you walk out the door. You cross your arms, trying to preserve some body heat, as you make your way down the pavement. A still-lingering part of you doesn’t want to leave but your legs don’t stop carrying you further away.

You eventually come to a stop, leaning against a light post as you dig out your phone. Even though you’re supposed to be looking up the rideshare to get you back home, you can’t help but look around last time. You think yourself too desperate for your own good until you see a tall figure just a few steps away.

Standing next to a motorcycle that you can only assume is his, the hooded figure drops a cigarette to the ground, his boot grinding against the pavement to stomp it out. You thought it might be too good to be true, but then he turns just enough for you to see him pull that skull-patterned balaclava back over his mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice you—a fact you quickly want to remedy.

“Hey, big guy,” you call out to him, the nickname a subconscious one you immediately cringe at yourself for. Fucking ‘big guy’? Yeah, that’s not gonna go over well.

But it certainly gets his attention. His head turns in your direction, if only barely. He does a double-take before stopping in his tracks and staring back at you. You have to hope and pray that he doesn’t think you’re crazy as you walk over to him. Luckily, he didn’t move away from your advances. Instead, he turns towards you as if to welcome your approach, dark eyes raking over you in that same conspicuous motion.

It’s when you’re face-to-face with him—well, more like mask-to-face—that you realize you didn’t quite know what to say. You were too sober to be making a fool of yourself like this. After an awkward beat of silence of you taking in once more just how tall he was compared to you, you finally manage to conjure up something.

“I just wanted to say…thank you for buying me a drink the other night. I…I appreciated that.”

“Course.” You’d almost forgotten the gruff sound of his baritone voice. “You leavin’ already?”

You hesitate for a moment, a lie stewing on the tip of your tongue. No, no, I was just hanging out in the cold, what a coincidence, right? How much you wanted to spend time with a man you barely knew was almost pathetic. You resign the thought with a sigh. “Sorry, you’re too late. I already had all my fun.”

“What, waitin’ f’me?” 

You didn’t know if he was just confident or if he somehow truly knew that was what you were doing. Either way, it made you feel like he could see right through you, like he knew you found him interesting. “Maybe I was hopin’ you’d come by.” You bite your lip, gaze hitting the ground before looking back up at him. “You were the most entertaining thing at that bar.”

He takes in a deep breath at that. “M’sorry I missed it.” Yeah, me too. “Can you get yourself home?”

“Yeah. Well, a rideshare can.”

“How ‘bout I take you home?”

The suggestion makes your heart skip a beat, staring up at him, frozen and probably looking half-crazed. The rational part of your brain was sounding every possible alarm. Why would you ever trust a man you met in a bar who never takes off his mask to take you home unless you had a death wish? And yet the winning part of your brain was the one that was extremely curious about his implication.

“Ah, take a bloke I barely know back home? How drunk d’you think I am?”

He looks over you again in a beat of silence. “You aren’t. That’s why I’m askin’.” Knowing he didn’t want to take advantage of you eased some of the lingering anxiety in the back of your mind. But, as if he could sense that anxiety, he continued, “You don’t gotta let me in, I jus’ wanna make sure you’re safe. I’m cheaper than a rideshare, anyway.”

“Well, can’t beat that, I suppose.” You move around him to approach his parked motorcycle. You didn’t have to know much about bikes to realize it was a nice one. Sleek, but not flashy. Your fingers glide over the leather of the seat as you eye the streetlights reflecting off of the shiny black body. “I’ve never been on a bike. People say they’re dangerous.”

“They can be, if you don’t know what you’re doin’.” You hadn’t noticed how close he was—moving as silent as ever—hovering just behind you as he grabs the helmet strapped securely to the bike. Holding it out towards you, he gives you a nudge. “Here.”

You take the helmet, holding it carefully like you’re afraid to leave your fingerprints all over it. You could already tell it’d be too big, but the consideration was nice. “I trust you know what you’re doin’, then?”

“Most of the time.”

Well, wasn’t he quite the comedian.

You slot the helmet over your head with a roll of your eyes. As you guessed, it was certainly too big, tilting forward over your brow and obscuring your view. A bitterly sweet smell floods your senses as you clasp it in place; you can only assume it’s his sweat, mixed with a faint air of tobacco, embedded into the foam lining.

A heavy hand rests on the side of the helmet, holding it steady while he slides the visor up. His head tilts as those dark eyes of his greet you. “Bit big on you, innit?”

“Yeah, just a li’l.”

“How far we goin’?” You should have been a little hesitant before telling him your address, but you don’t even stutter. He spoke like he had to know, like ordering people around was what he did for a living. An affirmative hum comes from behind his mask as he slides the visor back down. “You’ll be alright.”

You struggle to balance both yourself and the helmet long enough to swing your leg over the seat. You were thankful that the helmet obscured your face to shield some of the embarrassment, at least. Then you feel that same heavy palm on the small of your back, trying to keep you steady, only to make your body tense up. The helmet swings lazily on your head as you finally straddle the seat.

Once you’re situated, after asking if you’re comfortable, he slides his hand off of you. He has no problem getting himself sat, taking up the front half of the seat as he slots in the space before you. He turns his head and, though you have to lift your head awkwardly to see him through the visor, you hear his voice say, “Hold on tight. Can’t have you fallin’ off.”

What, did he plan on speeding out of here? Hesitantly, your hands find purchase on his waist. It was gentle, barely enough pressure to feel his hoodie under your fingertips, let alone his body underneath.

You think you hear him scoff. “I’m sure you’re stronger than that.” His fingers wrap around your wrists, guiding your hands forward until they rest on his chest. The movement shortens the gap of space between your bodies as your arms hover awkwardly around him. “I promise you won’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. C’mon, tighter than that.” You strengthen your hold, closing the distance between your chest and his back, practically hugging him. “Atta girl.”

Your face heats up at that, and you were thankful the helmet obscured the sheepish smile that had painted itself on your face. 

The engine suddenly roars to life, loud enough to surprise you. The power behind it vibrates through the leather seat and seeps easily through the padding of the helmet. Though his takeoff was as smooth as it could’ve been, it didn’t stop you from tightening your hold around his body. 

The cityscape passes by in a blur of vibrant lights and towering buildings. The hum of the motorcycle’s engine overpowers the surrounding cars, echoing off of the asphalt and thrumming a rhythmic hum during the ride. The already-cool night air bites at your skin as it whips past. 

Though you have no reason to, you find yourself gripping him tighter on every take-off after a stop. And despite the chill on your skin, you felt the heat rise to your face as you realized you could feel how rigid and tough he was under that hoodie. 

There was a thrill, you realized, that ran through you and made your heart race. Not only because you were on a bike for the first time, but because of how close you were to the man in front of you. Holding on tight to a stranger whose name you didn’t know so he could bring you home safely sounded like something out of a novel. The smell of him embedded in his helmet and filling your senses, your body close to absorb some of his heat, the pure generosity of even offering to drive you home: everything made you want to abandon all self-respect and invite him in when you arrived.

The internal battle you fought over that distracted you for the rest of the ride.

You could barely see out of the helmet without cocking your head awkwardly, but you could tell when the trip was nearing its end. A pit formed in your stomach—a part of you unwilling to let the ride end just yet. It wasn’t until he slowed down enough to pick out your building that you realized how difficult it was to see over his broad shoulders. With a point and a nudge in the right direction, you guided him to your stop.

He pulls the bike up to the pavement before parking it. The sounds of the neighborhood replace the monotonous hum of the engine as he turns it off. Your movements are hesitant as your hands slide off his body, something you quickly regret and hope he hadn’t noticed. He helps you off the bike just as he had helped you on, reminding you of his gentle touch, thankful yet again for the helmet obscuring your shy smile.

You don’t ignore the sense of disappointment you feel knowing that he has to leave. Just taking off the helmet was enough to make you miss him and ache for something more, even when he stood right by you on the pavement. You knew it was strange to feel close to a man you barely knew, but he gave you more comfort than most. He made you feel intrigued in a way no one else did. 

“So,” you start, dreading the awkward silence, “do I get to know the name of my chauffeur?”

He pauses for a moment of consideration. Your heart beats faster, something akin to excitement making you hope for an answer. Finally, he looks up from the pavement. “Maybe next time.”

Initially, you felt more disappointed than you wanted to allow yourself to be. Surely his name was the one thing he could give up? But then you find yourself clinging on to that phrase. Maybe next time…Did he expect a ‘next time’? Should you expect a ‘next time’?

As you walked up to your door, he didn’t follow, staying true to his words from earlier. He kept a respectable distance to not crowd you, as if he didn’t want to make you nervous. If only he knew everything about him made you overthink your every move.

There’s a beat of silence when you grab your keys. An invite inside sits on the tip of your tongue, fighting with the rational part of your brain, consequences be damned. But his voice beats you to the punch as he breaks another long and empty silence.

“So d’you go and drink every Saturday?”

Your fingers toy with the keys in your hand as you debate your answer. “No, I don’t,” you admit after a beat of silence.

He hums a deep sound that you can’t quite identify the emotion behind. “So just a coincidence, then?”

You don’t respond to that. Instead, while fighting your sheepish smile, you look back at him. 

“Thanks for takin’ me home.”

“‘Course.”

“Maybe next time you should drink with me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest when the words leave your mouth. Eagerness didn’t seem like such a shameful thing anymore. Not when you were sharing body heat with him just a few minutes ago. Not when he knew where you lived because he cared enough to make sure you were safe. Maybe it was too hopeful to expect him to want to see you again, but when your eyes meet his under the streetlight, you’re confident the hope isn’t unfounded.

His eyes rake over you in a slow one-over as he nods. His voice is low in that same charming gruff timbre when he responds, “I’ll see you next Saturday, then?”

Fighting off an over-excited smile proves to be the most difficult thing you’ve done in a while. You sigh, calming your racing heart. “If you’re on time.”

“It’s a date.”

It wasn’t actually a date.

Surely he couldn’t have meant it literally. Still, it was enough to have you barely managing a flustered goodbye before fumbling with your keys at the door. Even after you were in the comfort of your home your face felt hot, your body practically vibrating from adrenaline. All from a stranger. The faint sound of the revving engine of his motorcycle moments later only served to remind you of his voice, the warmth of his body, and—hopefully—the promise in his words. 

You had to remind yourself constantly, every time your mind wandered throughout the week, that you were hoping for too much. You were daydreaming about a face you hadn’t seen yet from a man whose name you didn’t even know. And, God, that made you feel more pathetic than ever.

It was just a night out, spending time together over a drink, nothing more. Maybe you could learn his name if he was feeling generous enough. But to hope for anything more—a follow-up or anything deeper than friendliness—was foolish. Still, your mind kept wandering back to his words. It’s a date. 

No, this wasn’t a date, you scold yourself in the mirror, shaking your head as if it’ll dismiss the thought faster. That was just a throwaway line, something to draw you in to make sure he’d see you tonight. Nothing more, nothing implied, nothing to hope for. You knew that by now, practically drilled it into your own head. 

So why did you spend way too long looking at yourself in the mirror, obsessing over every little detail you could nitpick? Why did you drudge through your entire closet to make sure you picked the “right outfit”? Why did you stress about what perfume to wear and what drink to order? It wasn’t a date after all. 

Right?

It was too late to fight yourself on it once your rideshare pulled up. The implication of his words was irrelevant at this point; your heart seems to beat quicker with every turn of the wheels that brings you closer to the bar. Despite the cool air making you regret choosing to wear a skirt, you felt hot and stuffy—just downright nervous. Christ, you nearly felt like you could throw up when you saw a familiar tall silhouette outside the bar. 

He was on time. And he was waiting for you.

Every insecurity you nitpicked before comes to the front of your mind the moment you step onto the pavement. You force the thoughts away with a sigh and, for the first time in your life, your steps towards the bar are hesitant. His eyes meet yours as you approach and you almost wish you could see his reaction under that mask. But the more you thought about it, maybe you were better off not knowing.

He straightens up, pushing himself off of the wall, looking down at you with a face obscured by shadows and fabric. “I was startin’ to think I came too early.”

It was a huge relief to see him here, waiting and willing to see you again. You couldn’t hide your smile if you tried. “Well, lucky for you, I like an eager man.”

His steps are confident as he makes his way towards the entrance. “That’s definitely one way to describe me.” You barely hear the sentence when he utters it, which only makes your heart beat faster. He pulls the door open, holding it for you to make your way in. 

The bar is as crowded as it is every Saturday. Plenty of people scattered around, watching whatever team was on the television this weekend, drunkenly shouting overtop of the music. It never fails to overwhelm you when you walk through the entrance. A hand rests on your back, grounding you and making you all too aware of your posture, slipping to your waist before guiding you through the bustle of people.

Your date—it still felt weird to call him that—guides you towards the bar, towards the backend where fewer people crowded the space. His presence was comforting despite his silence. Not to mention how perfectly his hand slotted against your waist, a thought that had you too nervous to bring attention to his sudden touchiness.

The stools squeak and groan as the two of you settle into your seats. The bar is anything but quiet, yet an awkward silence hangs in the air between you. Something told you he wasn’t the type to care about the awkwardness, but you were far too sober to not overthink every thought that popped into your head.

You clear your throat, hoping it’ll boost your confidence to speak. “I wasn’t actually sure you’d show,” you admit. “But I’m glad you did.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You weren’t sure how to respond. He raised a good point, one that spit in the face of your insecurities and anxiety. “I dunno…guess I worried I wasn’t exciting enough for you.”

“Well, you’re no mask-wearin’ bike rider.” He leans in your direction and nudges you with his elbow. “But I think you’re plenty excitin’.” You look up at his eyes just fast enough to catch his wink.

Flustered, you avert your eyes to the bartop as you laugh. “You don’t know me well enough, clearly.”

“I’d like to. That’s why I’m here.”

That brings your eyes back to his. You may not have been able to see his face, but those eyes told you everything about his sincerity. There shouldn’t have been any doubt left in your mind after that. The man admitted to having an interest in you—in getting to know you—and it surely set your heart on fire. 

“Well, that and to drink, I’m sure.” Your smile is an attempt to distract from the way you stare at him. It was like you had yourself convinced you could make out his features if you just studied him long enough. 

“Ah, that’s just a bonus.” He gestures for the bartender with a simple wave of his hand before fishing in his pocket for his wallet. 

“So what’s the drink of choice for a bloke like you?”

“Bourbon.”

You aren’t sure why that admission surprises you; of course a big guy like him would drink whiskey. Something about that fact makes you feel warm inside. You request one for yourself, an excuse to have something in common with him. 

Your eyes follow the bartender as they move, but your mind is far from the alcohol. Everything was going well—probably the best it could’ve gone meeting someone who could still classify as a stranger for the third time. But there was still something gnawing at the back of your mind, festering insecurity and uncertainty.

“Can I ask you something?” You almost surprise yourself with the lack of hesitance with which the question leaves your mouth.

“Shoot.”

“That night we met, when we spoke for the first time, you left awfully quick.” Your fingers tap against the bartop in an anxious rhythm. “What was that about?”

From the corner of your eye, you see him shrug. “Wasn’t my choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was work. It asks a lot of me sometimes.” Work calling at such a late hour was hard to believe, but the way he said it—a layer of exhaustion sullying his words—had you convinced. “Trust me, I would’ve preferred staying to talk to you.”

You believed that, too. 

“What do you do for work?”

He pauses, taking in a deep breath, like he’s thinking about how to phrase his response. You’ve started to learn how deliberate he was with his words. “A lot of dangerous shit.”

That definitely piques your attention. You hear the two glasses clink against the bartop, but you were more concerned with him than the alcohol. “Yeah? What kind of shit is that?” You didn’t have a lot of hope that he’d open up any more than that, but the curiosity ate at you. 

He reaches for one of the glasses, sighing as he moves. “The kind of shit that makes you want to drink to forget it.” He lifts the glass in your direction. “So let’s drink, yeah?”

Even if he didn’t completely open up, it was a sentiment you could sympathize with. You may not know exactly what he spent his time doing but you knew enough to hope he saw your company as comforting. You reach for the other glass and lift it until it clinks against his own. “Just don’t drink enough to forget me.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be forgettin’ you anytime soon.”

You smile at his sentiment, taking a sip of whiskey to wash away the anxiety-borne tension in your throat.

It’s done in a split second before you notice it, but he lifts the bottom of his balaclava over his mouth, resting the hem on his nose. It gives you a view of the blond scruff that dusts the sharp angle of his jaw, of those peach lips that look surprisingly soft as he raises his glass to take a drink. The way his mask sits makes you aware of the crook in the bridge of his nose—a sign of cartilage broken multiple times over. He’s rugged and rough underneath the soft cloth, far more attractive than anything you could’ve conjured up in your own mind. And that was without seeing his entire face. They were features that any other man could have, but he hid those features from the world for reasons you couldn’t fathom. Maybe that was what made him so alluring.

“You’re starin’.”

It takes a moment for his words to register in your head. You only realized he was speaking because you could actually see his mouth move. You scoff, brows furrowing as you finally blink for the first time in a while. “I wasn’t starin’.”

He grunts in response. You didn’t have to hear him speak to know he doesn’t believe you. Hell, you didn’t believe yourself. You roll your eyes at the sound, taking a sip of your drink and averting his intense gaze by catching a glimpse of the television behind the bar. You didn’t care one bit about the scores on the screen.

Especially when you suddenly felt the warmth of his hand on your thigh. There was no way he didn’t notice the way your muscles tense, flinching at the sudden contact. It’s indescribable the way it makes you feel. His rough and calloused touch barely underneath the hem of your skirt to feel the smooth and tender flesh of your thigh sends a jolt down your spine, a heat coursing through you that you haven’t felt in a while.

“You’re a terrible liar.” It isn’t lost on you the way his voice deepens when he whispers to you, leaning in close and quiet so he can make sure you hear him.

Your mouth suddenly goes dry, your face hot and your heart racing. “Piss off. The…bourbon’s just strong.” You force the words out in a half-hearted tumble as you bring the glass to your lips. 

His grip tightens ever-so-slightly, gently squeezing your thigh. Something about it tells you he doesn’t buy that lie either. “Ah, s’that what it is?” 

The sarcasm in his voice makes the whiskey burn as it slides down your throat. You take in a breath to try and combat the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. Squirming in the stool, you press your thighs together to quell some of the heat pulsing through your veins. Nerves and excitement battle for control over your body. 

“I didn’t take you for a touchy lad.” Your own voice quietens to a whisper, almost too nervous to acknowledge his bold move.

“Usually m’not.”

Setting your glass down, you’re almost disappointed to find the mask is settled back over his face when you finally make eye contact again. “Mm. You must like me, then?”

The question wasn’t really meant to have an answer, but he didn’t hesitate to give you one. “Was that not obvious before?”

“The confirmation is nice.” You force the words out before you can think too hard about his reply. 

He liked you. One of the most enigmatic, confusing, intriguing people you’ve ever met—who should’ve made you feel scared��actually liked you. It was relieving and exciting and terrifying all at once.

You look down to see his hand on your thigh. The sight is enough to turn excitement into something much stronger that pools in your core. You run your fingertips over his knuckles, the discolored skin telling you they’ve been wounded multiple times over. You didn’t have the guts to ask. The contact makes his grip tighten slightly, his thumb slowly brushing gentle strokes against your skin.

The whole thing had your mind running wild. You certainly didn’t have enough to drink to excuse the images that flashed in your mind. But seeing his hand on you—feeling his touch—in a way you could only describe as intimate had desire pumping through you. You don’t know how good a job you’re doing at hiding it, either, but you’re certain he can feel when you squeeze your thighs tightly together.

“So,” you start, clearing your throat as if to excuse the rampant thoughts in your head, “do I get to know your name yet?”

You look over to see his eyes lingering absentmindedly on the television. “Depends on how this night goes.”

Well, it wasn’t a ‘no’.

You scoff, feigning annoyance. “What, y’gonna wait until I’m too drunk to remember it?” Your hand moves to your glass, raising it in his direction before taking a sip.

“Oh, I’m not gonna let you get drunk.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you couldn’t argue if you wanted to. Then, his hand moves carefully, readjusting his grip until the plush fat on the inside of your thigh is squished between his fingers. “Can’t have any fun if you get yourself plastered.”

At least now you knew you had no chance of embarrassing yourself in a drunken stupor. But your mind was far more preoccupied with that word—fun. Sure, he could have meant it literally; maybe he planned on taking you somewhere more exciting than a cheap bar after this. You silently scolded yourself for being disappointed with that reality. 

“I suppose you’re right…” The words came out breathlessly into your glass. You didn’t know if he heard you, but it didn’t really matter. He seemed like the type of man to be dead set on whatever he was determined to do. You just hoped the ‘fun’ he had in mind was the same type that had your heart pounding whenever you thought about it.

His hand slides off you and—God help you—you almost whimper at the loss of contact. Your eyes follow his movement, watching him slide his mask up enough to take another drink. You didn’t think you could ever forget what he looked like. It was a sight you swore you could spend the whole night staring at, but you looked away before he had the chance to tease you about it.

“Y’know,” he says with a voice quiet enough that only you could hear, “if you need somethin’, you can just ask.”

Your eyes dart over to him with an unconscious, wide-eyed look of guilt and confusion. There was no doubt in your mind that you needed something from him, but you hadn’t intended that to be obvious. A bewildered “what?” is all you manage to force out while you try to convince your rapid heart to slow.

“If you need somethin’ from me, you can just ask me for it.” He speaks slowly this time, looking in your direction with brown eyes so dark it was like his pupils had blown wide. Fuck, did you look like that too? He sets his glass down with a sigh when you don’t respond with anything more than a confused scoff. He leans in close, so close you could feel his breath on your ear and a whiff of tobacco and musk in your nostrils. “You were practically humpin’ my hand.” You swear he growls the words. “That makes me think you need somethin’.”

That immediately shot down any hope you had that you were doing great at hiding your wandering thoughts. Excuse after excuse ran through your mind, trying to justify why his touch made you squirm. But…was there really any point in denying something he so clearly had picked up on? He read you like a goddamn book—not that you were difficult to read—and something about that only made the desire heavier. And, most importantly in your mind, there was no sign that he disliked it.

Your lips quiver as they part, hesitation making your mouth run dry. “Maybe…maybe I do need somethin’...” It feels like your heart has jumped in your throat. But it wasn’t nerves that made your skin run hot. “Are you…offerin’ me somethin’?”

He straightens in his seat and pulls the balaclava back over the lower half of his face. From the corner of your eye, you watch him tap his fingers against his glass. Just before you think he’s going to end the conversation there, you hear the rumble of his voice from behind the skull-patterned fabric. “There’s a storage room in the back hall, last door on the right. Hardly anyone goes back there.” His tone is almost conspiratorial. “If we go one at a time, less chance of being noticed. We could have some privacy there.” There’s a pause before he looks in your direction, not bothering to be subtle when his eyes move over you. “That’s what I’m offerin’.”

Holy shit.

There was no reason to think he was joking, but you still couldn’t believe it. You also couldn’t believe that you were so desperate that turning him down didn’t even cross your mind. “You’re serious? Here? In the bar?”

He shrugs like the thought is obvious. “Well, you said it yourself: can’t take a bloke you barely know back home.” He leans in again, eyes boring through you. “I promise I’m worth all the hassle.”

Somehow, you didn’t doubt him one bit. You play off the disbelief and hesitation with a scoff, shaking your head. “Yeah, you better be.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you for a moment. You wish you could hear his thoughts or see his face, get some inkling of an idea of what was running through his mind. 

Then he sits up straight, cocking his head in the direction of the back hallway. “Go on, then.”

Truthfully, his impatience had you relieved; at least now you wouldn’t have to be the one to initiate. But that didn’t mean you wanted to be the first to get caught sneaking around the back of the building. “Why am I goin’ first?”

“So I can make sure no one follows.”

“Is that your specialty?”

“Somethin’ like that.” You weren’t sure how to feel about that confession. Just how much sneaking around was a guy like him doing? “Go on.”

You’d marinate the thought later. With a sigh, you slide off of the barstool. Looking at him you find his eyes on the television screen once more. With no reassuring glance or even a flirtatious wink, you set your sights on the hallway in the back of the bar.

You’re relieved to find that no one was waiting in a line outside the bathrooms. At least that would make the sneaking around part a lot easier. You felt ridiculous, like a teenager trying to avoid their parents when they snuck out. But the promise of what could’ve been awaiting you was enough to will you to walk down the dim hallway.

There was a door towards the end of the hall, on the right side, just past the bathrooms. Just like he had said. You didn’t have time to wonder how he knew it was here, or how he knew it was a storage room. But sure enough, after slinking past the bathrooms and quickly pushing the door open, you were greeted with a room full of boxes, cleaning supplies, and old furniture. The smell of mildew made your nose crinkle as you stepped further inside.

It was then you realized he didn’t tell you how long to wait. Your thoughts spiraled from there; What if he flakes? What if an employee comes back here? Each second felt like an hour, your anxiety mounting with every moment you were alone in the stuffy room. You move to an old table shoved in the back corner. A thin layer of dust coats your finger when you run it along the trim.

Your heart jumps when you hear the door click. You were prepared to play the part of a drunken fool looking for the bathroom in case it was an employee, but you’re relieved to see the large figure you’d come to recognize slink through.

“Hey,” you call out to him, casually greeting him like you hadn’t snuck in here under the implications of sex.

His steps are slow as he moves towards you. “Hey.” That gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. The room feels smaller with every step he takes in your direction.

“So,” you sigh, “do you take all your dates to storage rooms?”

“Only the lucky ones.”

He stops just in front of you, closer than he’s ever stood before, making your breath catch in your throat as you look up at him. “Suppose I should feel lucky, then.” You don’t mean to sound breathless, but you weren’t too concerned with appearing composed.

“I’d hope so.”

“I will if you take off that mask.”

You think you hear something resembling a laugh from beneath that skull-patterned fabric. He tugs at the mask and, for a moment, you think he’s actually going to remove it. But the hem only moves to the bridge of his nose, taunting you by not revealing any part of himself he hadn’t already. You must look expectant, or disappointed, because he gives you an incredulous look in return. 

“What? You seemed plenty happy with this earlier,” he gestures towards the lower half of his face, earning an eye roll from you. He scoffs, leaning in and tilting his head to follow your gaze. “If I remember, you couldn’t stop starin’ at me.”

“Fuck off. I liked what I saw.” His teasing made your cheeks feel hot. That same heat thumps in your veins when your eyes meet his again. “...Still do.”

You barely feel the warmth of his fingertips as they graze your skin, tracing your jaw. He was gentle, exploratory, like he was waiting for your approval. When all he got from you was a sharp intake of breath, his thumb ran gently over your bottom lip. 

“So do I.”

You’d chastise yourself for leaning in if you were any more self-conscious. You’d blame the eagerness on the alcohol, or the way he seemed to pull you closer with his hand, but there was no denying the want stirring in the pit of your stomach. Nothing else mattered except making your lips meet. And when they do, all you find is gentle hesitance and the taste of whiskey. 

It was soft and careful, yet completely consuming. His lips were as soft as they looked and moved perfectly against your own. You couldn’t stop yourself from sighing into his mouth and inching your body closer, bringing your hand to his chest and feeling the soft fabric of his hoodie go taut as you curl your fingers into a fist. Afraid he’d move away if you didn’t, you kept your grasp firm and pulled him closer. 

He was the one to close the gap between your bodies. It was like he was waiting for that confirmation that you wanted this. His hands move to your waist as his groan vibrates against your lips. Gentle kisses slowly turn more desperate as both of you breathe heavily. The taste of cigarettes and alcohol is sickeningly sweet on your tongue.

Strong hands move down your body and over your hips. You half expected him to grope you and leave it at that. And while you would’ve been fine with it, you’re surprised when you feel his hands move down to your thighs to lift you off the ground. The sudden movement makes you yelp and gasp into his mouth, fingers clawing at his hoodie to keep you balanced while he haphazardly sets you on the edge of the dusty, wobbling table. 

It’s brash and hurried but it’s exciting. The type of exciting that makes you forget about the dust on the tabletop and the possibility someone could walk in. Nothing else mattered when his mouth was on you, trailing over your jaw with hot and wet kisses that took your breath away. 

“You’ll tell me if I’m too much, yeah?” The rough sound of his voice surprises you, grounding you amidst the overwhelming sensations. 

You nod, running your hands over his shoulders to try and feel the rigidity under his clothes. “Y-yeah, course.”

“Good girl.”

A small kiss is planted on your neck before he pulls back enough to look you over. As your hands fall from his shoulders, he hastily rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie. Not only does the sight of sinewy muscle hidden underneath make your blood pound in your veins, but the intricate sleeve of tattoos on his left arm catches your attention. In any other scenario you’d ask him question after question about each line and symbol. But right now his hands are running up your thighs and under your skirt, the muscles in his arms flexing as he kneads the fat between his fingers. 

The way he groans at your softness makes you throb. He nudges your legs further apart—a movement you would have done on your own volition—and pushes your skirt up as he moves to hold your hips. You lean back on your hands and watch mesmerized as his eyes lock onto the sight between your legs. 

“Pretty pair,” he mutters as his thumbs rub circles against your hips. It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about your panties. “Makes me think you were hopin’ I’d see ‘em.”

Seems like it paid off to overthink every part of your outfit. “Maybe I was.”

“Yeah? Hopin’ I’d see how soppin’ wet they are?” His thumb moves inwards, running over your slit through the wet fabric. The fabric clings to your sensitive skin, proving his point, as does the way you whimper and buck your hips.

“Yeah, that too.”

His fingers hook into the strip of fabric covering your cunt, pulling the garment to the side with a forceful tug. And you swear, even in the dim light, his pupils dilate at the sight. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Two fingers drag through your slit, through that slick that told him just how much you wanted him. His fingertips are rough but his touch is gentle. You gasp when he finds your clit and toys with the swollen bud by circling it teasingly. His lips find yours again with bruising kisses that swallow your sounds as you pant into his mouth. His fingers spread you open, gliding over your cunt and teasing every inch, gathering your slick as he circles your entrance.

Even though he moves slowly, the stretch of his thick fingers is certainly more than you were expecting. You whine as they curl and pump in and out in a rhythm that makes your cunt flutter and squelch with each push. Your head falls back with a moan when he hits something deep inside that sends shockwaves through you. 

His mouth moves down to your now-exposed neck, marking your skin with wet and sloppy kisses. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” his voice vibrates against you. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You hum a broken “mm-hmm”, unable to focus long enough to form a proper response. But it’s that confirmation that has him moving faster and harder until your hips are jerking forward to meet his movements. 

“Yeah, y’couldn’t sit still ‘cause you were achin’ for it.” His free hand cups your face, gently squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. His eyes are dark with desire and something desperate that bores into you. “Just needed your pretty pussy fucked, huh?”

Your cunt flutters around his fingers at the praise, heat building in the pit of the stomach. Your pants turn into a moan as your breath catches in your throat. “Yes, I need it. I need it so fucking bad.”

His hand picks up speed as he coos a soft “I know, baby,” against your lips. His fingers curl and push just right, hitting every soft spot that makes your toes curl and your cunt tighten. One of your hands flies to his chest to claw at his hoodie as your body begins to tremble.

“Fuck,” you groan, barely able to get the words out, “d-don’t stop…”

“I won’t, love. Not ‘til you cum for me.”

For him. He wanted to see you fall apart under his touch and cling to him like he was the only thing in the world. You’ll care more about the sweetness of the thought when you aren’t stuffed full and moaning in the back of a bar. 

Whether it’s that thought or his touch or the heady mix of both, it’s not long before the muscles in your thighs go taut. Your breathing turns heavier as your moans and whines grow louder on each exhale. If it wasn’t for your subconscious fear of being caught and his need to feel your lips against his own you’re sure you would’ve screamed until the sound echoed off the walls. 

But even if your sounds were restrained, the sensations surely weren’t. That heat stirring in your core spilled over and your cunt clenched around his fingers until all you could hear was soft squelching as he pushed your slick cum back inside. Your thighs trembled and your chest heaved with the effort to catch your breath. It wasn’t until you could see straight against that you noticed the sweat along your brow and the ache in your back.

His fingers slid out, their girth just enough to leave you feeling loose. Before he could even take his hand off of you, his mouth was latching onto your neck for another set of rough and wet kisses.

“Turn around,” you barely hear his gruff instruction over the sound of your own breaths, “bend over.”

Still, you aren’t one to disappoint. You land on shaky legs after sliding off the table, using his sturdy form to balance yourself as you turn around. Your forearms rest against the table as you bend over the wobbling piece of furniture. 

You feel your skirt flip up, the fabric resting along your waist, before his large palms run over the swell of your ass. They’re warm and heavy and you can feel each callous as he kneads the fat in his grasp. He’s not rough, but it’s like he wants to savor the softness he finds.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cum.” That was enough to make you twitch, but then he runs a finger over the cum-slick fabric of your panties. “Think you can do it again for me?”

You barely muster a nod and an “mm-hmm” before his fingers hook into your panties and pull them down to your knees. His impatience was only riling you up, especially when you felt him spread you apart and groan at the sight. 

��Christ, look at you…” you hear him mutter, the sound accompanied by the jangle of a belt buckle coming undone. 

You could practically feel his stare boring into you, branding your skin with his gaze. You think you hear him spit before a hand rests on your ass to knead your skin again. That hand moves to your hip, holding you firmly in place while the head of his cock glides along your slit and stops at your entrance. He isn’t even attempting to push in and it already has you whimpering. You can feel it—thick and warm and heavy—waiting to split you open. 

“Breathe for me, baby. Just relax.” His voice is soothing, deep and soaked in desire, and it makes your body obey without thought. 

A few deep breaths later and your mouth is falling open in a loud gasp as he pushes in. He moves slow, pausing every time you whine to mutter soft encouragement through clenched teeth. And while his voice was soothing, it didn’t exactly ease the stretch that had your cunt pulsing around him. Nothing had made you feel so full before.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget the way he groans when he’s fully seated inside you. Both of his hands hold your hips tight as he mutters a curse under his breath. Slowly, he starts to move, pulling back only to push in deep. You swear he hits deeper every time, every push forcing the air out of your lungs in a desperate moan. 

“That’s it, you can take it.” His voice was somewhere between gruff and breathless, tense beneath clenched teeth and restrained moans. Your back arches and your hips push back to meet his movements halfway to encourage him to speed up his steady rhythm. “Oh, good fucking girl.”

All you can manage is broken strings of curses and moans. Between his constant praise and the fullness of his cock, you couldn’t think straight long enough to focus on anything except the pleasure shooting through your veins. If your nails were any sharper, you might’ve left claw marks on the table beneath you as you held on.

“Fuck me. H-Harder.” You knew you were being greedy, aching for more every time you accustomed to his pace. But you were still so sensitive from your recent climax; you knew it wouldn’t take much more to hit that high again, especially when his cock kissed that spot deep inside that made your eyes roll back.

“Yeah, you need it harder, baby?” He put up no argument as he moved his hands to your waist for a better grip. He pounded into you with a force that made your legs shake, his hips meeting your ass with an obnoxiously loud sound that you couldn’t care less if anyone heard. “Goddamn, this cunt’s perfect.”

Underneath your squeals and whines are his own moans and growls, each one making you clench around him just to draw another one out of him. Knowing he was as lost in pleasure as you were filled you with pride. 

His hands move up your body, snaking under your shirt, feeling you tense and tremble underneath him. Strong palms find and grope your chest, kneading you eagerly while he bends over you. His thrusts don’t cease even as his lips find your neck.

Soft bites and hot kisses only add to the sensations wracking pleasure on your body. You almost don’t hear him when he mutters against your skin, “Simon.”

“...Huh?”

“Simon.” He repeats, moving his mouth to your ear so there’s no doubt you’ll hear him. “Say it.”

“Si—fuck…Simon…” The name comes out in a moan, something he seems to enjoy judging by the receiving growl in your ear. 

“Atta girl. Now you know what to scream when you cum for me again.”

Your panting lips curl into something resembling a smile. Simon. You were too far gone to recognize the implication of trust behind his sudden openness, but you did know how sweet his name felt in your mouth. And, evidently, it wouldn’t take long for you to mutter it incoherently as your body begins to tense.

Heat and pleasure and everything warm builds in your core with each hit of his cock. He—Simon—mirrors your heavy breaths with his own. He must feel the way you tighten; his fingers dig into your skin so tight it’d probably hurt if your mind was less hazy.

“M’gonna cum—shit, you’re gonna make me cum, Simon.” Your eyes flutter shut, all your focus narrowed to the pleasure between your legs. 

“I know, love. Cum for me, let me feel you.”

His rough and steady pace makes the build-up all the more sweet. When your climax hits, it hits hard. White-hot pleasure shoots through you, making your hips twitch and your legs shake, a breathless cry that you try (and fail) to hold back ripping through the room. Your cunt pulses around his cock, sucking him deeper while he fucks you through the high with much gentler strokes. The obscenely wet sound is accompanied by his groans on every push. 

“Fuck, y’gonna make me cum squeezin’ me like that…”

That was enough to snap you out of your haze. Perhaps a much less restrained version of yourself would’ve let him finish inside you right then and there, but you’ll entertain the thought another time. Still trembling and panting, you force yourself to sit up. “Wait, wait. Pull out, hold on,” you urge, pushing him back with your hand.

He follows your movements, his hands sliding off of your body as he leans back. The emptiness that follows as his cock slips out of you leaves you feeling gaped in the best way possible. Your body aches, sore from the rough treatment and the wobbling table underneath you, as you stumble to your knees in front of Simon. Your eyes immediately land on his cock, a dumbfounded grin you’re sure looks ridiculous painting itself on your lips.

Fuckin’ hell…that was inside you?

It was every bit as impressive as it felt. Thick and heavy and so damn hard you could practically feel it throbbing with the need to cum. No wonder he needed to prep you, and no wonder you felt so stretched regardless. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?” Simon’s voice startles you, bringing your mind back to reality.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding it to your mouth as you lean in. Licking a slow, wet stripe along the underside makes him hiss and twitch against your tongue. You could taste yourself on him, your cum mixed with his musk, and the heady combination made your head spin.

Your eyes flicker up at him, at that mask still obscuring half of his face. “Dunno if I can take all of you,” you admit as your hand glides up and down his cock. “You’re a big lad.”

Simon curses and you watch his jaw tighten as his cock twitches in your hand. “Don’t worry about it. After the way you felt around me, I’m not gonna last long anyway.”

You flash him a smile—a cheeky one that, no doubt, showed how proud that made you feel—before closing your lips around the head of his cock. His musk hits your tongue and fills your nostrils and you can’t help but groan at the taste. The rest of his cock fits in your hand, throbbing under your palm while you stroke. 

“Christ, that’s good, sweetheart.” One of his hands lands on the back of your head. He doesn’t push you down or force more into your mouth, he just rests it there, watching you through heavy eyes. “Real fuckin’ nice…”

You swallow around him, taking more of him into your mouth. His hips buck involuntarily in a movement that makes you gag when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat. He mutters an apology that you ignore, groaning around him as your head bobs and your tongue swirls.

“Fuck, I can’t…” Simon’s other hand flies down to his cock, replacing your grip as he wraps it around the base. “M’gonna cum, baby.”

The way he growls the words makes you hum, the sound vibrating through him. You give one last firm suck as your mouth slides off of him. “Cum on my face,” you utter before you can even catch your breath.

“Y-you sure? Your makeup—”

“M’not askin’, Simon.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He can barely get the words out as he strokes himself, fisting his cock with a lewdly wet sound thanks to your spit and cum coating his sensitive flesh.

You can hear his breath grow heavy, slowly turning to moans as his body tenses. All you can focus on is his face—what parts you can see—watching his mouth as he pants and seeing his brows furrow in pleasure. You think you’d give just about anything to see him like this without that mask on.

His hand stills on his cock just before he mutters a curse and spills onto your face. His cum lands in thick, warm globs across your skin, and you’re thankful he seems to have enough awareness to avoid your eyes. He taps his cock against your lips, spreading his cum just to revel in the sight. 

Simon’s growling breaths steady out as he comes down from the high. “You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he sighs, peach lips curling into a smile.

Your tongue darts out to clean your lips, tasting the unique saltiness that painted them. “You’re not too bad yourself. Simon.”

He offers you a hand and pulls you up to your feet. His thumb brushes against your cheek, collecting some of his spend before bringing it to your mouth. You gladly accept his digit into your mouth, moaning around it as you suck it clean. With a growl and a curse, he pulls you into a rough kiss.

“Next time,” he starts, still panting as his breathing steadies, “how about we go to your place? Then we can have a proper go at it.”

Your heart skips a beat. ‘Next time’…he wanted a ‘next time’... 

“As long as you’re a gentleman and drive me there.” You pat his chest before pulling back enough to readjust your clothing. There wasn’t much you could do about the smeared makeup and tousled hair, but you weren’t the only person in the bar who looked a little worse for wear. 

“Deal.” You can hear the shuffle as he refits his own clothes. Thankfully, the mask doesn’t come back down. “You fancy another drink?”

“Uh…m’not sure, why?”

“‘Cause if you don’t, I can take you home right now if you’d like.” You meet his eyes and he matches your smile with one of his own.

“Deal.”

[nevermorgue]

Okay but what about modern Amnabel's group food preferences?

cracks knuckles. Alright, let’s get into it.

Annabel Lee - complicated. Annabel likes to have the upper hand in every situation, even in casual afternoon lunch outings. She will adapt to almost anything put in front of her. For example, if she goes to someone’s house and they serve tea and scones, she will claim that they are her favorite. Are they? Who knows. She will play it as if whatever is given is something she enjoys immensely, creating the illusion that the world seems to cater to her- that she got lucky that it was her favorite meal. She does this ALL. THE. TIME. “Oh, they are serving pie. That is one of my favorites.” No it is not. She is just making it seem like it is to create the look that “Wow, how lucky for her. The world seems to love her- they’re serving her favorite food!” You get it? She says it’s her favorite for convenience sake. This is why Prospero brings her so many varied pastries when he can. He’s trying to figure out what she actually likes.

As for what she actually likes: She has a pretty varied palette. She does prefer food that is considered more “common” as it tends to have more flavor, and she absolutely loves American food far more than what she had at home. Is the type of person to eat popcorn one piece at a time, but then resorts to shoving 4-5 pieces in her mouth when she’s invested in whatever she’s doing.

Keeps up appearances by ordering what is expected of her. Teas, light foods with small portions.

- packs snacks throughout her school day like grapes or small cheese cubes. Dainty, barely filling little things.

- She loves spicy foods. Hot curries, salsas, she loooves the burn.

Ada - Also keeps up appearances, but obviously not the same way Annabel does. She will pretend to only like more expensive things, but she honestly thinks such things are too bland. She’s a southern girl used to flavor and savory dishes.

- LOVES cheap frozen dinners. She would rather die than admit this of course. Like think those frozen mac and cheeses you put in the microwave.

- She can and will force herself to eat something she doesn’t like, especially if Annabel/Prospero is eating it.

- Hates squid. Calamari? Yuck.

- She likes to comment on things she eats like she’s doing a shitty food review on Youtube. The only person that listens is Will, but you can’t really tell that he’s even paying attention.

- Loves celery

Prospero - This man has a sweet tooth, but he knows how to keep it tamed. He has a very balanced diet and makes sure to make every lunch or breakfast filling enough to last him through morning classes.

- Salad man. He will put so much shit into a salad. He’ll make days worth of salad and sometimes he and Annabel will just eat the whole thing in between classes.

- His favorite dressing is balsamic vinaigrette.

- Very rarely eats fried foods. Corn dogs are cool and he’s more likely to eat one of those rather than something else fried

- For snacking he always gets the things that are called “thins” or “light”, and he is very strict when it comes to the “no eating three hours before sleeping” rule.

- This man hates cashews

- I HC prospero as a mama’s boy idk i get the vibe. He grew up having homemade pasta and refuses to eat it if the restaurant isn’t like locally Italian.

Montresor - Big on steak. Big on potatoes. Big on veggies when they’re roasted or oven baked or anything where they’re mixed up and peppered and cooked. Dude will eat a raw carrot for fun though

- crunches loudly on chips. he does it on purpose.

- has a surprisingly shitty spice tolerance. It’s not BAD, but his face will get red and he tries to play it off.

- Likes messy finger foods like ribs

- Licorice kind of guy. specifically red.

- Prefers green apples over red ones

- really likes blue cheese, especially for his wings

- cannot STAND marzipan anything

Will - Peaches peaches peaches peaches pea-

- Prefers simpler foods. Basic ham and cheese sandwiches, a bag of chips…normal and boring.

- gets overwhelmed when served anything more complicated than what you’d get at an Applebees. He doesn’t really think he nor his body are suited to eat such things. They’re TOO delicious and he isn’t worth it.

- He loves cheesecake brownies. He’s literally only had them twice in his life but he would go insane if he ever saw any for sale anywhere

- The drinks he gets at coffee shops are considered “girly” to Montresor, so he only buys them when he’s alone. Like fruity refreshers and stuff.

- He would like a lot more food if he actively attempted to try new things, he just has no desire to treat himself.

- eats wheat thins for fun

- Only eats 1 singular fruit for breakfast or just skips it all together.

- would probably start crying if he ate a soup. it’s warm and filling and it makes him feel like a waste of space. the warmth settling in his stomach reminds him that he’s real and he hates it.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Leaf Pile | Roach x/& Reader

Day 14: Playing in the Leaves w/ Gary “Roach” Sanderson

Summary: You find a very lost, mute, British soldier in your very American base, and someone had the audacity to knock over his pile of leaves.

Word Count: ~ 1.4k

Warnings: Americans sorta bullying roach :( but it’s ok they make up, pure crack+fluff tbh

A/N: idk what was happening in this one it just wrote itself honestly, can be read as platonic or romantic, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Some British boys had come to base, was the rumor going around.

British boys coming to your very American base for Marines, mind you.

There had already been jokes going around, mocking the ones that had been seen for their accent, and you could’ve sworn you’d heard “bo’ol o’ wo’er” about a million times by now.

You didn’t care much. Men came and went all the time, like that group of German(?) men who’d been gone within the day, rumors starting up that they were haunting the place, vengeful spirits from World War II.

The rumors were stupid, but you worked with Marines, and they were bound to be idiots, even joking around with you, the one responsible for keeping everything behind the scenes up and running properly. You had a close bond with most of them, being the “mom” of the base, so maybe that was why you felt bad when you saw your men picking on one of the new British soldiers staying here for a few days for God knows what.

“C’mon, say it!”

One recruit shouted, another grinning as he nudged the silent man dressed in his full military gear, British flag clear as day on his uniform, face covered, gun hanging by his side.

He simply stood there, not doing anything.

Huffing to yourself, you strode over to the group of men while on lunch break, swatting whoever you got closest to.

“You’ve got shit to get done, I’m sure. Get moving.”

You nearly barked at them, and they quickly snapped back into place, mumbling little “yes ma’am”’s and skittering off to wherever they should’ve been, leaving the silent man behind. You approached him, raising a brow.

“Sorry about them, they’re idiots,”

You said, glancing down at his uniform, not finding a dog tag to read or a name tag in the slightest on him. That was usually how you knew to address most people around here, or the new ones, at least.

“What’s your name?”

You asked, tone more information-seeking than curious. He hesitated for a moment, before fumbling with his hands, making a whole lot of gestures you didn’t understand. At first, it just looked like he was drunk, crazy, or very confused and nervous. Eventually, it hit.

“Oh, sign language. That’s what you’re using.”

You said, tilting your head slightly to the side. He gave a little quick nod, and you reached for your phone, about to have him type it out, considering you hardly knew any sign language at all, only to find your phone missing.

Lunch break. You’d left it in your office.

“Shit,”

You mumbled, mind working to find a solution. Your office was too far from here to walk back again, and this poor man looked lost.

“How about a game of charades?”

You offered, and he frantically nodded, whether he was excited or just anxious wasn’t clear.

“Alright, how about your name?”

He gave a slight nod, and held both of his hands out, holding one arm steadily in front of him, his pointer fingers curling up, thumb remaining straight as he put it on his forearm, moving it very, very slowly.

“…A curly fry?”

You asked, very confused, before he shook his head, seeming frustrated until you realized.

“A snail?”

A nod.

“Your name is Snail?”

He shook his head, looking a bit frustrated.

“Alright, keep going.”

Next, he let his arm down, taking one hand and spreading the fingers out, in the shape of a star.

“A star?”

His hands twitched slightly before he made a rolling motion with one, in a gesture of ‘keep going’. Your brow wrinkled as you tried to figure out what he was trying to say before he pointed to the water fountain nearby.

“Water…star?”

You asked, confused, before making an ‘ohh’ sound.

“A starfish?”

He nodded, before moving on to the next object, making a square with his hands, and using a finger to poke figurative little holes in it.

“Cheese?”

Nope.

“A sponge?”

A nod. An excited nod this time.

“I still don’t get it. A snail, a starfish, and a sponge. What does that have to do with your name?”

He shook his head, making the gestures for all three all over again, making a plus sign, then an equal sign with two fingers. A snail plus a starfish plus a sponge. The answer you came up with sounded stupid in your head, but it was better than nothing.

“Spongebob?”

He hopped up from excitement, landing on the tip of his toes as he nodded, gesturing in a ‘keep going’ movement again and making the snail symbol.

“The snail from..Spongebob? Gary?”

He nodded, giving a thumbs up. You sighed in relief at the mental wild goose chase being over. At least you knew his name was Gary now.

“Alright then, Gary, I’m assuming you’re lost?”

He nodded. You didn’t blame him. This Base was big, bigger than the usual ones, and it was easy to get lost in the hallways, and corridors, not to mention all the buildings outside.

“How’d you get lost?”

You asked, mildly interested, and he leaned over, picked up an orange leaf from the ground, pointed to it, and threw it up in the air in a flying-away gesture.

“You followed a leaf?”

You asked, trying to keep the judgment off of your face and out of your tone. He shook his head, pointing to the lead again, but making a gesture of big, like a large leaf, or many leaves, and then pretending as if he were holding some sort of mop, broom, or probably a rake, sweeping the leaves together.

“You were trying to make a pile of leaves?”

He nodded, making a ‘follow me’ gesture, before jogging off down one of the courtyards, leaving you to follow him as he led you to one of the quiet areas on base during this time of day, closer to the barracks where not many were right now. Truth be told, the pile of leaves he led you to was small and mildly sad, and his posture seemed to droop as he looked at it, as if disappointed.

It didn’t take much to figure out that someone had messed with his pile of leaves while he’d been gone, probably to find more leaves, the trail left behind showing evidence of someone kicking it over.

You pursed your lips at the sight.

“You stay right here, I’ll be back.”

Lunch break be damned, you followed the trail of leftover leaves and the slightly dirty footprints left behind from the dirt on some of the leaves, only to find it leading to the canteen, where some recruits, some experienced men were sitting, chowing down on their meals.

You could call most of them by name, at this point in the year.

As they saw you walking in, sour look on your face, they must’ve known something was up, seeing as most of them quieted up very quickly, the ones who didn’t being elbowed enough to shut their mouths.

“Who kicked over the leaf pile in front of the barracks?”

Your stern voice rang out, waiting for an answer you wouldn’t get as everyone remained silent.

“If nobody wants to own up to it, I’d better find a pile at least five feet high when I go back out there. On your feet, boys!”

You barked, and they got to their feet, moaning and groaning as they lumbered outside, moving to go collect leaves while you took your lunch break inside, munching down quickly on a basic sandwich, going back outside after around fifteen minutes, finding all of your men and Gary with a giant pile of leaves, brown, orange, red and yellow blending together as they took turns jumping in it.

The less enthusiastic men took their lunch outside, chatting in the sun or wherever they could find shade, the autumn breeze blowing by.

You grinned as you watched them, leaning against the corner of the canteen building’s sturdy walls, watching as a disgruntled man with a mohawk, and a shorter man with a skeletal mask on almost walked straight past you, when they stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the grown ass men playing in leaves.

“Wot.”

The masked man said simply, confusion palpable in his gaze.

“I’m guessing Gary’s yours?”

You asked, and the mohawk-man turned to face you after spying out his man in the crowd.

“Aye. Which one’s yours?”

He asked, Scottish lilt to his tone obvious, but comforting somehow.

You sighed.

“All the rest.”

Tags:

@hawke1917

[headspace-hotel]

Thinking of your post on the problems of veganism as a movement vs veganism as a lifestyle choice/one technique amongst many, that also applys super well to my issues with degrowth (And anticonsumerism as well) as a movement vs degrowth as one technique amongst many for dealing with the hydra-crisis of overproduction/resource overuse/destroying people and places for resources.

Like, in particular as an autistic person the continual recurring insistence that we need to just "change our desires" creeps me out. As someone who's difficulties were dismissed as just "having a bad attitude" and who's interests were so often dismissed as a waste of time instead of preparing for a job in the "real world" IDK if they truly understand the full horrifying implications of that line of thought.

So here's the thing with the concept of "overconsumption"

I had to do this whole project on overconsumption in my Anthropology class where I compared my consumption habits to those of someone 2 generations older, the prof clearly had in mind that we would discover a particular result that I did not end up finding.

I had to watch this documentary called "Affluenza" which was all about how Americans consume too much and they shop and buy things for fun and it's killing the planet, and it kept making these statements like "The average american does X..." and "X" would be something insane that I've never dreamed of doing.

Now I technically grew up below the poverty line, we were always financially insecure and struggling to pay bills and there was never any extra money lying around.

But my upbringing felt average, even privileged. We had a house instead of a trailer on cinder blocks, we had food and clothes. Compared to the upbringing of my mom and virtually everyone she knew growing up, we lived in fabulous luxury.

And the "overconsumption" lesson was bizarre to me because it brought up things like "going shopping for fun once a week" and "owning 20+ pairs of shoes" as if they were normal. I wear my clothes until they're unwearable and shop for clothes like once a year, and my mom has half as many clothes as I do. She feels guilty buying anything for herself and HATES shopping.

It feels like the dominant resources on living an eco friendly lifestyle presume that we have far more agency in what we buy and use than we actually do, instead of being stuck with the cheapest or closest available thing, and that our lives are full of extraneous, non-essential "consumption."

That class brought up the idea of "conspicuous consumption" a lot, or buying things to obtain social status instead of for their concrete utility. The way "conspicuous consumption" was addressed in the class was not very immediately relatable to me—I never had the option of buying clothes just to appear "with it" socially. My parents couldn't buy an extra car to fit the aesthetic of the American dream—we had enough trouble keeping the one we had running. The "conspicuous consumption" that class addressed was just not available to me.

However, I don't think conspicuous consumption is endemic to stable members of a certain socioeconomic status, because consumption is partially driven by the trauma of poverty. People who grew up poor will buy you more Christmas gifts than you can store or use, because they want to spare you the shame they experienced. Their brains are molded around the trauma of not having enough, and giving you enough is their way of keeping you safe.

Conspicuous consumption as a habit is pushed on you if your ancestors were shaped by this trauma. It is a misrepresentation to think of it as driven by pride, because your ability to perform the behaviors and mimic the appearances of a higher socioeconomic status has a concrete effect on how people treat you.

I know J.D. Vance is a nutjob now and Hillbilly Elegy was...not great (I'm more appalachian than you bitch, and I'm not even appalachian!) but the one thing that book got incredibly right was the idea of "social capital" and the way access to financial security and wealth gives you social capital. This is the main thing the current understanding of "conspicuous consumption" gets wrong—the need to escape the appearance and behaviors of poverty is seen as vain and self-indulgent, when it's a survival mechanism and it's something you're expected to engage in to gain opportunities and respect.

Poverty is humiliating. People with money never think about the fact that they have money. They think of themselves as average, if they think of themselves in terms of socioeconomic status at all. Being poor ends up embedded in the grooves and folds of your brain.

I remember when I was about 12, I gave my friend an informal tour of our house the first time she came over, showing her every room. I realized later that this wasn't exactly a normal behavior—I had done it because my mom did the same thing when she brought her friend over, and my mom had done it because it was a way of saying look, I survived. Look, I have a place to live to call my own, isn't this nice?

At its worst, anti-consumerism just reinforces the myth that your consumption is purely a matter of personal choice. And unfortunately when the conversation is ruled by the privileged, this idea will appear substantiated—because rich people can choose the aesthetics of poverty without concretely affecting the way the world treats them. A rich person can choose to live in a "tiny house" but they will never be "trailer trash."

Anti-consumerism revolves around ideas that are almost irreparably tainted by the mythology of an unequal society. Rich people possess and control the aesthetic of restraint and frugality, allowing them to playact living a Simple Life where they live in a tiny minimalist cottage and eat Healthy Vegan Oat Gruel, while McDonalds is the emblem of American excess. It is poor people's behaviors and habits that exemplify excess and greed.

Anti-consumerism isn't going to change anything until it openly confronts the fact that poverty is traumatic and consumption patterns often arise from poverty survival mechanisms.

[ynbabe]

Fake texts au- pt.11 bffs with the rookies+ Melbourne in the summer

guys y/n's alr been doing so much idk how many more scandals I can come up with 😭 pls lemme know what situations yall would like to see these 4 in hehe 🫣 comment it or dm me my inbox is always open to yall 🥰

| Masterlist |

It had been a long few weeks before you could see your best friends once again, not having been able to attend any of the races for the rest till the summer break, but now? You were finally free and ready to cause problems for your favourite people.

You laughed to yourself as you landed at Melbourne Airport, having been to the Piastri household many times, so much so that his mother had begun putting a stocking out for you at Christmas, knowing that you'd probably be celebrating with the Aussies, much like Logan would be. He too had his own stocking.

You'd called his Mother beforehand, asking if it was okay to come over and she'd told you, she'd be keeping your favourite Shepard's pie ready. She'd also told you that Logan was staying over as well, having arrived with Oscar.

You remember all the times the three of you had spent in Oscar's room as teenagers, talking about everything and nothing at all them complaining and marvelling about racing, you listening and giving advice wherever you could. You went to them with all your problems and they to you.

You trusted each other with your deepest, darkest, secrets. You, Logan and Oscar, and then you met Arthur, and he had been an unlikely addition to your peculiar little group, but the three of you had soon come to realise just how similar the boy was, and decided it was only fair to adopt him into your weirdness.

"Two hours!" you whisper-yelled at yourself, looking at how much time you'd have to spend in the uber to get to the house, maybe more with traffic. So you did what you did best, just to pass the time.

You got out of the app, not knowing how much chaos could come from one simple tweet. Turning on some mind-numbing show on Netflix, you settled in till you could be with your best friends again.

The two hours went by faster than she realised as the Uber pulled up to the house, she told the driver to pull over, earning her a weird look. She paid him his fare and took her luggage right behind the house. Thankfully the old trellis was still there, a little rotten and overgrown with vines but still there.

She climbed up with practised ease, settling just outside her friend's window, where Oscar and Logan had been sharing the Aussies' room, just like when they were young.

She sat just outside the view of the two boys Logan who was sprawled on the bed scrolling through Instagram and Oscar on the fluffy mat right below, snacking on nachos, passing some to the American as they spoke.

She couldn't help but giggle, stopping as she almost slipped off the roof.

She pulled out her phone, trying not to fall to her death or alert the residents of the house.

She moved to see the boys' reaction, only to see him smiling, kicking his feet up.

"Oh my god, this is fucking adorable," she whispered to herself, clicking a picture, how they still hadn't noticed her was a mystery, weren't F1 drivers supposed to super attentive?

She went back to texting the unsuspecting boy.

"Huh?" you heard the boy whisper to himself, perfect, both were distracted, now was your chance.

You jumped through the open window, making the two jump and scream. It was high-pitched and loud, making the brunette's parents run up to their room.

"IS IT THE SPIDER AGAIN?" His mother yelled, "OH HELL, DID A SNAKE GET IN?" His father questioned, as they pushed open the door, eyes wide looking around their son's room, only to find the laughing girl and their boys standing on the far end of the bed, hiding behind one other.

"How do you always fall for that?" The girl asked laughing at the prank she had been playing on her friends since she started coming home with them from their races at 16.

"Oh, sweetie, how was your flight?" His mother said, pulling you in for a hug, she ruffled your hair a little as she held you at arm's length to look at you, "It's been far too long since you visited!" She smiled and said.

His father patted her shoulder as well, "Oscar, go get her bags." he said while walking out of the room, making the boy still in shock complain, "But dad,", "Now, Oscar!" Was the only reply that came, making the girl stick out her tongue at her friend.

"How are you my parent's favourite!?" He screamed walking out the door.

"Actually, it Y/n, me and theeeeen you," Logan spread gasoline on the fire, "SHUT UP LOGAN," the boy threw a few nacho chips at the blond.

The girl let herself fall on the bed, taking Logan's phone off the charger, the boy followed suit, resting his head on her stomach, the girl lowering her phone so he could see what she was seeing as well.

She opened Twitter to find her simple tweet had practically gone viral.

"Doesn't that bother you?" he asked making the girl raise her brow, "All these people who don't even know you and they hate you,"

She hummed as she wrapped a coil of blond hair around her finger, letting it loose and moving onto another, "I mean not really?" she started, "Sure it hurts when they call me just for hanging out with yall but it doesn't matter much cause at the end of the day I'm hanging out with yall," she explained, "It'd matter if y'all said something cause you know, you know me, but these don't mean shit, bruv," she said further, showing him the screen, where someone had suggested a club.

"Sounds good," he replied, beginning to doze off.

The flight had taken a lot out of the young girl, the jet lag finally catching up, "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU HAVE IN THESE BAGS-", Oscar yelled as he walked into the room but quickly shut up as he saw his friends fast asleep. He pulled out his phone and quickly took a photo of the two for blackmail reasons and pulled a blanket over them.

Why he had to sleep on an air mattress, on the floor, in his own house, was a mystery to him but all of them had grown used to unpredictable chaos when they were together.

what i wouldn't do to have her life 😮‍💨 also next Y/n and Arthur get home aloned and his brothers go through the 5 stages of grief thinking they'd gotten their 20-year-old brother and his friend kidnapped.

Taglist: @dark-night-sky-99 @cashtons-wife @i-wish-this-was-me @thehufflepuffavenger1 @eugene-emt-roe @fangirl-dot-com @landosgirlxoxo @aquangxl @sachaa-ff

[xflixer7]

all of my yellowjacket headcannons (so far)

word count is like a trillion ok i’m not counting all of this

hi it’s been 8 months i finally counted (1865 words)

lottie

she/her transfem! lesbian bottom (i wanna eat her whole)

-schizophrenic

-definitely has some type of ocd

-ptsd

-autistic because i say so

started playing soccer when she was little

will actually go insane is you steal any of her clothes if you look at her she will actually be drooling with heart eyes

plays piano

also knows violin because her parents made her take it doesn’t play is anymore though

lottie isn’t jealous but very protective

her favorite (modern!) singers are

-phoebe bridgers

-clairo

-#1 laufey fan on the world

-fiona apple

unironically knows every katy perry song by heart because she used to be her favorite when she was little

her room is huge

likes putting her hair in pigtails

golden retriever girlfriend she’s so sweet ugh and loves to spend time and money on her person you always staying at her house would literally kiss the ground the person she is dating walker on if they asked her too:((

also the worst cooker you ever met like how did you fuck up toast why is the smoke alarm going off??

favorite color is blue

lottie definitely has a hairstylist she goes too every month to get permed and there really close i can see her telling them about ALL the school drama

lottie wants write story’s when she’s older maybe romance or mystery idk but i can just imagine her having a typewriter and writing you story’s she has wanted to do it since she was a kid and is very passionate about it:((

what i think her favorite shows are:desperate housewives,american horror story,sailer moon

so scared of horror movie like she will start crying

her favorite characters are:

-emily (corpse bride)

-bree (desperate housewives)

-starfire (teen titans)

always goes on and on about how she’s bubblegum and your marceline she LOVES adventure time

her favorite movie is bridge to terabithia

lotties favorite animal is a bunny and she really wants a pet bunny

BEGS you to give her your bra and your confused but you give it too her and she makes a bracelet out of it and wears it practically every day proudly

also think that lottie is a great artist? like sketching and painting wise

nat

SAY IT WITH ME transmasc! (he/they) definitely bi because i say so

-depressed

-dyslexic

-ptsd

started playing soccer in middle school

LOVES christmas like has an unhealthy obsession with it (tries to act like he doesn’t)

northern italian knows the language pretty well also a great cook

wants to play electric guitar

his favorite (modern!) singers are

-tyler the creator

-radiohead

-alex g

-hole

-is so obsessed with mistki don’t even get me started

randomly painted his room black one day when he was bored

usually prefers his hair down

you give him haircuts he doesn’t trust anyone else someone definitely fucked up his hair once and he never went back

his favorite color is black or gray

just wants to be famous tbh but he wants to be in a band

what i think his favorite shows are:rick and morty,bojack horseman,shameless

LOVES horror movies and reality tv like 90 day fiancé and the kardashions (his guilty pleasure)

also likes claymation

his favorite characters are

-ash (fantastic mr fox)

-alyssa (the end of the fucking world)

-coraline (coraline)

his favorite movie is little miss sunshine

nat’s favorite animal is a panther he saw one in the jungle book when he was little and just thought it looked cool

always headcannoing characters as trans like finn from adventure time or jeff from clarence he’s so cute:((

nat skateboards too definitely not great at it but does it when he’s bored

jackie

(she/her) jackie is just a bratty pillow princess lesbian you can’t fool me

-adhd asf

-neurodivergent for sure

-ptsd

started playing soccer because she was bored eighth grade tbh i don’t think she likes it as much as the others but she thinks it’s fun

chronic hoodie stealer

this girl is a vegetarian for sure

jackie is jealous always period

her gay ass button ups bro

her favorite (modern!) singers are

-ariana grande her fav

-rihanna

-billie eilish

-harry styles

-lana del ray

pretty mainstream music taste

all pink room it’s very like coquette?

ponytail girl but also enjoys her hair down

favorite color is light pink duh

wants to be a makeup guru or just stay at home honestly she hates working

what i think her favorite shows are:euphoria, grays anatomy,glee,vampire diaries

i think she likes very drama files shows and will rant about tv show characters and there dynamics and why she think that there like that and etc for HOURS

ughhh jackie is such a girls girl like she is the friend who always has your back and has gum or a tampon for you she is the friend who would check you on your period

her favorite characters are:

-maddy (euphoria)

-regina (mean girls)

-winnie the pooh (she thinks he’s cute)

her favorite movie is DEFINITELY jennifer’s body

jackie is a cat lover and has 2 i can see her with a orange and a gray cat and they always fight

shauna

DEFINITELY bi (she/her)

-bipolar

-ptsd

joined soccer with jackie in eighth grade

has like thousands of boxers

russian

knows how to play saxophone (she doesn’t even know how she learned she just did) she doesn’t own one though

so jealous but never says anything (this girl cannot communicate to save her life)

her favorite (modern!) singers are

-the cranberries

was so mad when they got popular on tiktok and had to let everyone know they where her fav since day 1 (everyone knew)

-suki waterhouse

-cigarettes after sex

-never got over halsey since 2017

-the smiths

(a TRUE music lover over here)

she honestly doesn’t care how her room looks but it’s never clean

doesn’t do anything with her hair really

dark green is her favorite color

shauna’s hair may seem simple but she’s VERY picky about how it’s cut and is always worried there gonna cut it bad so she gets it cut like twice a year(she always ends up hating it)

she wants to be some sort of doctorate she’s fascinated by the human body so i can see her wanting to be a surgeon

what i think her favorite shows are:good girls, queens gambit,13 reasons why

her favorite characters are:

-velma (chicago)

-cassie (euphoria)oh the parallels…

-amy (gone girl)

her favorite movie is chicago (loves musicals)

a simple gal she really likes dogs

taissa

she/her lesbian

-anxiety

-ptsd

joined soccer in fifth grade

mixed (duh)

used to be in the marching band

her favorite (modern!) singers are

-frank ocean

-post malone

-has a soft spot for shawn mendas has all of his albums

-really enjoys 60’s music so she really likes the beetles

her room is pretty big too not huge on decorating

doesn’t care about hair like at all will wear a headband sometimes

a good girlfriend like if your cold she will give you her jacket type she has a temper never jealous either girlfriend material she’s the type you would want your kid to date y’know?

respectful to adults gets good grades and stuff

her favorite color is like a pearlescent white and everyone is like what the hell is that (she is trying to be different this is one of my favorite colors😿)

cuts her own hair thinks it’s overpriced and dumb to have someone professionally do it

tai wants to be something important like president or some shit i can see her being a lawyer

what i think her favorite shows are:the umbrella academy,big mouth,skins

tai only watches skins and euphoria type shows because she loves the drama

her favorite characters:

-hermoine (harry potter)

-patrick (perks of being a wallflower)

-nadine (edge of seventeen)

her favorite movie is the 6th harry potter movie she also thinks it’s the most underrated

she likes tigers

van

she/her and lesbian duh

-ptsd

joined soccer kinda randomly in seventh grade

irish

plays the trumpet but is kinda embarrassed by it

her favorite (modern!) singers are

-bruno mars

-tori amos

-girl in red duh

-david bowie

-was ziggy stardust for halloween when she was 8

can’t convince me her room is not painted red

doesn’t care about hair either puts in a ponytail to keep it out of her face

is a great girlfriend all the same traits as taissa except not the best at school she’s honestly surprised she graduated

favorite color is red

her uncle cuts her hair for like five bucks out of his garage also i definitely think she used to have a bowl cut when she was little

doesn’t really care about money she just wants to be happy wants to own a record store or be a professional soccer player

speaking of records she definitely has a lot of collections like lowkey a hoarder…but her stuff is cool though! like funky pops hot wheels cd’s records etc

what i think her favorite shows are:beavis and butthead, avatar, south park

mostly likes adult animation

her favorite characters are:-harley (suicide squad)-ron (harry potter)-beast boy (teen titans)

her favorite movie is the bee movie or lego batman there cinematic masterpieces

van likes pigeons for not particular reason she just thinks there funny looking

i can see van as a surfer too like her dad definitely is one also i can imagine her being really close with her dad and they have a local family business bakery:((

misty

she/her and idk her sexually like i genuinely have no idea

-autistic

-ptsd

always wanted to be on the team but knew she was bad at sports

german definitely

her favorite (modern!) singers are

-any female kpop band

-justin bieber

-pink-

melanie martenz is her favorite forever

light purple room has justin bieber posters everywhere

lowkey forgets she has hair whenever people comment on it she’s like “oh yeah!”

very obsessive of you and loves you almost too much sometimes you think it’s creepy but than your like “awww she’s so cute”

likes the color yellow

her favorite colors are brown and orange (there her favorite because she feels bad everyone calls them ugly)

i can see her being a k-pop stan too

(her bias in bts is j-hope)

also is a famous editer on tiktok and no one knows😭her username is like “gxxbflix” or some shit

literally has had one haircut in her life like it never grows?

i see her as a pharmacist

what i think her favorite shows are:walking dead,mlp,monster high

has SO many online friends

definitely loves romance anime

she’s in like every fandom ever because she wants to have online friends and be included on discord😭

plays clarinet

is in band

favorite characters:

-cruella (cruella)-alice (alice in wonderland)-edward (edward sciccor hands)

and mistys favorite movie is alice through the looking glass (because it shows the queen of hearts back story and misty loves her)

and misty likes birds duh

those are my headcannons for them i know it’s a lot but i’m obsessed ok send requests if you have any please

-🙈

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

INTRO: who's y/n anyway? ew.

— the one where everyone tells you who are.

warnings: ignore the timestamps please, online harassment.

masterlist ✢ next

Soft jazz is playing in the living room of y/n y/ln's apartment in SoHo, with all the curtains pulled back the golden hour feels like a golden infinity. We're already in our second cup of coffee, a specialty brought from Veracruz, Mexico by y/n herself.

This is not our first meeting, y/n and I go back a few years, when the box-office hit 'Supercut' sent her straight into stardom and earned her a place in the public's heart. Since then, there has been no other way but up for the young star.

From humble beginnings and a list of failed castings, roles as an extra and endless photoshoots with stock images, y/n knows what it's like to work hard to achieve what you want.

"Sometimes, when I look back at my struggles I wonder what made the universe align in my favor. Hard work only gets you so far, I am incredibly lucky too." She says, eyeing the framed picture of the wrap-up day of her very first movie 'Loneliness', where she played the daughter of a struggling waitress.

"I was in about six scenes, but I couldn't have been more thrilled. It was the first time I felt like a real actress."

Of course, there are other aspects of her life where y/n is extremely fortunate. It has been two years since she started dating Asian-American hearthrob Aidan Kim. Looks like 'Supercut' really was her luckiest strike.

"We do like to keep some things to ourselves," y/n laughs after I ask her for an update on her relationship, I want to know the details behind the lovestagrams we get on a regular basis. "We love and respect each other deeply."

Night has fallen in SoHo and while y/n shuts the curtains, I take my surroundings in once again. A loveseat with a stain on the cushion, a coffee table that Aidan brought from a trip to Nepal where he filmed his newest project, framed pictures of the couple and their families crowd the room. This is the home they have built for themselves.

Some may argue that y/n's specialty are romantic comedies where she gets to play the doe-eyed love interest to the dark and handsome male protagonist, but y/n has her sights set on bigger things. An Oscar nomination, maybe?

"I have fun with the movies I make, but I do want to expand my horizons. I have so many ideas I want to try, I just need a shot to prove myself." She beams with hope, in an ideal world, type-casting wouldn't be a thing.

Speaking of tall, dark and handsome, just as we're about to wrap things up, the door to the apartment opens and Aidan Kim himself comes through bearing a bouquet of roses and bag of take out. A sheepish grin bursts through his face as he realizes the interruption, and does his best attempt to disappear, not before giving a proud thumbs up to his girlfriend. This peek into their private life is enough to see how much they love each other.

"Thank you so much for coming," y/n has been an excellent host this evening, and I am happy to leave her to attend to her love nest. "It was a pleasure."

TWITTER SEARCH: y/n

Y/N’s SOCIALS

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ynstars pretty! hope you had fun babes

effmeaidan you’re only famous thanks to aid

cestbren please tell me you’re really going to be on euphoria

dropbeastsss she’s so fake idk why people like her

dropbeastsss I’m not even aidan’s fan btw

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softforyn mY PARENTS

aid4nshoe you followed him to Paris? God let him breathe

loladell my friend saw her today and she refused to take a pic lmao💀

ynflowers can’t wait for you two to get married🥺

↺ FROM ❛FLIXFANS ❜PODCAST MARCH 2022

Chelsea Gonzalez: I just- I feel like y/n is so lazy at this point. Girl you have been doing romcoms for years read a different script.

Gabriel Irwin: [laughs] I don’t think she even reads them anymore. It’s the same role every time that’s just the way she acts on a normal basis now.

Brianna Martin: that’s so mean! Honestly I just feel like she needs to switch agents, there were rumors about that marvel movie and then nothing happened?

↺ FROM YOUTUBE INTERVIEW WITH Y/N IN ❛ONLYFLIX❜ CHANNEL SEPTEMBER 2022

Y/n: I just love being on set, I have so much fun getting to be somebody else and it really feels like I’m in another world.

Ryan Campbell: But your movies aren’t too distanced from your real life situation are they? You have your own movie-like love story with none other than Aidan Kim!

y/n: Oh, uh… yeah I mean, one is fiction and another one isn’t? [laughs] real life relationships are definitely not like the movies.

Ryan Campbell: But how does it feel knowing everyone wishes they were you? I know I do!

y/n: [laughs] I really think we should go back to the movie talk!

↺ FROM ❛IT TALK❜ PODCAST NOVEMBER 2022

Riley Green: [cont.] I mean I loved her look on the red carpet, her stylist LOVES her.

Martha Vincent: y/n is a gorgeous woman, I think that’s why she’s so loved by the public.

Greg Zane: She’s certainly a rising It girl, I just wish we saw her more rather than her fiancé? Boyfriend?

Riley Green: Oh take that back Greg, I’m not about to get cancelled for your shade towards Aidan Kim.

─── team principal radio: ❝ this is my first fic for a f1 driver! exciting! i hope you enjoy this series as much as i'm enjoying creating it. i would love to know your thoughts through comments/reblogs!♡❞

[i-yap]

Hello, good evening, how is everything there?

I was wondering if you could write something about Dick taking his cute girlfriend [Us] shopping (clothes, shoes, jewelry) and also what it would be like to do grocery shopping with him. I love going to the supermarket, it is one of my favorite activities.

By the way, you are like an angel fallen from heaven, there are so few writing about Dick and the Bat-family in general, I feel like writers who are fans of them are becoming extinct.

I just hope they continue making content with these characters, maybe the fandom will resurface once again.

praying for DC and Warner.

Bro same, Idk why but it feels like the fandom is dying but also batfam content is dying? Like I don't remember the last good batfam show was out ..fingers crossed ig.

Dick grayson x reader- Shopping headcanons

Best batboy to go clothes/fashion shopping . He has great style, can pull off anything, very supportive and all the store ladies are really jealous. He gives genuinely good advice and honestly he is like your personal styler and this point.

i dont think you even need to go shopping cuz he gifts you so many dresses and for home wear- his tshits exist?? why would be need sleepwear? why??

but its fun and I get it , sometimes even the perfect man forgets to buy something for his gf. He does keep track of whatever is about to finish, so idk honestly.

Maybe he drags you to go shopping, let him "spoil you" as if he doesn't do that enough already. Or if there's a gala and the 100 dresses in your closet arent enough?

um dressing room sex? yes sorry but yes. Honestly you probably will get jealous of hot seeing dick but dw if you don't initiate, dick totally will.

Mostly fancy ish stores, but unlike bruce he does shop as excitedly at smaller shows( you can find great deals there and really good fits)

Grocery shopping is so cute, he holds the cart and gets all the important stuff while you run around putting sweets and chocolates and while he might say "20 bags of chocolates may be a bit much sweetie, they'll go bad" he doesn't mean it. He is just teasing, and you know that so you play along with a pretty please and big pleading eyes. Thats all he wanted tbh, that and to pull your cheeks.

On the other hand if you look at a snack but don't buy it because you don't want to be excessive , he puts 5 of each in the basket without you noticing. you just notice when they show up in your cabinets .

Will need you next to him or in his eyeview, don't you dare run too far otherwise he will joke about tying you to him( actually considers it)

Will hold all bags and when you offer, he just gives you his hand and tells you that you have the responsibility to make sure not to drop his hand.

All smiles and excitement. Will want coffee afterward or during and will happily try out now boba places or anything cute you wanna have.

Will die if you guys share a piece of cake in a cute cafe..like that is so fricking cute, sharing a drink and a cake and omg he lives for it.

He genuinely enjoyed shopping with you and out of all batboys he is probably the only one that would enjoy it (maybe tim in certain cases) In the end, he got to spend time, compliment and dote on the love of his life..what more can he ask for?

lowkey wanna do all batboys now..maybe if I get time after the requests..i love grocery shopping too. the big American stores- literally dreamed of them growing up. the first time I went to America I just ran around the grocery shop( thebig ones) with my brother and it was so much fun.