#it’s so difficult confidently feeling like a guy when all these fucked up hormones are going insane

[merriclo]

ahsjkdkw dysphoria rant. in the tags

[merakiui]

..... Sunday + halovian darling + stepsister👀👀👀 + pregnancy kink??!?!?!

👁 👁 accidental pregnancy/(sort of) baby-trapping as well…… wondering how you managed to get pregnant when you’re certain you’re still a virgin. You have no idea that when you’re sleeping your dear stepbrother who you trust so very much is all over your unconscious body. Maybe the first time he fucked you you bled a little and he couldn’t help himself. >_< not that it was his intention to be safe about sex. As head of the Oak Family, he’ll need an heir. But more than that he desires ways to keep the two of you chained together as the couple you’re meant to be.

Sunday who is the first one to extend his help when the news reaches his ears. Maybe you confided in your stepsister Robin first and she was there to listen and offer her comfort/congratulations depending on your feelings. You’re conflicted, but Robin is there to keep you grounded. It’s nothing to panic over. She’s sure this is going to go smoothly. But she doesn’t have all the answers, so why not ask Sunday, who always knows what to do even in the most challenging situations?

He manages to convince you to keep the child. Gently combing his fingers through your wings, petting the soft feathers while he makes you look at yourself in the mirror. Standing right behind you, one hand over your belly. Do you not see how beautiful and miraculous this is—how beautiful and miraculous you are? You’re thankful he’s so supportive, but the degree to which he’s supportive is not very…platonic. Ever since then, he’s even more paranoid and controlling. You can’t go outside. You must stay near him at all times. You must eat a certain diet. So many things to do, so many rules to adhere to. He tells you it’s for the baby’s sake, but is it really when your stepbrother is making you wear thin, sheer nightgowns just to be able to see your bump or heavy tits months into your pregnancy? He’s such a pervert, but it’s all veiled under the guise of being for the baby.

You start sleeping in his room because you’ve grown attached to Sunday. Some days you can’t explain this phenomenon, and other days you think it might be because he’s such a soothing presence and you’re mistaking him for the father of the baby. And of course the attachment is difficult to shake when, in the midst of wild hormones and an intense libido, he’s helping you through it all. You’ve given up on reminding yourself that he’s your stepbrother. After all, as Sunday’s told you time and time again, who else is going to help and support you? Who else if not him? Why would you ever think of finding solace in a stranger when he knows you best? He’ll take care of you. You’ve nothing to worry about.

He dresses you himself with the wardrobe he’s curated for you, and he always spends a long time palming your belly, admiring just how much the baby’s growing. :) he’s the kind of guy to find pregnancy sex so extremely alluring. He’s always gentle every time and knows the right positions to assume to keep pressure off of your stomach. When he fucks into you, he whispers in your ear about how he’ll be careful not to disturb the baby’s room. So sugary-sweet… maybe the puzzle pieces will finally click when the baby is born and looks startlingly like a certain someone.

[thoughtsaladblog]

Here's an update

From crying in a cafe to hooking up with the wrong guys, to flirting with the wrong guys- the spiral continues.

I suppose I'll need to give a nickname to this one too- because Lord knows we don't want ANYONE guessing this one. So let's call him Logan (iykyk). Alright well, Logan is not someone to be concerned about in "that" sense, but lately our friendship has played with the fringes of intimacy- only in conversation of course (for obvious reasons). And while it has been simply for the sake of humour and whatnot, I am fearful of how this could impact both of us and our friendship as time progresses (once he realises that was probably not acceptable). Needless to say, that type of playful banter is unacceptable within the confines of this type of friendship- even if it isss simply playful banter. And I've got to admit that sometimes, when my fucking hormones are raging I project those built up (ahem) "emotions" onto him- and it's not always meant in humour... Also, it has given way to a sense of closeness that my lonely ass seems to be using to fill up my empty life. And by that I mean I may be seeking consolation and time from someone out of my league (in a difference sense of the phrase, of course). I feel.. nay, I know, that it is unacceptable and wrong and unholy (even though the intentions are innocent and come from a place of loneliness and vulnerability and are in no way vulgar or corrupt). What I mean by unholy is- it's not the right kind of relationship, where I can seek that kind of closeness or bond from him- even in the form of a friendship. So I'm in a battle- a battle with myself to set down boundaries and distance myself from what he doesn't yet realise, but I know, is not acceptable.

It's innocent, yes. Well... except for those recent comments made in jest. But still innocent. I claim him as a brother but honestly love him like a friend. A best friend tbf. But my best friend can't be who he is- even if we do feel closely connected. Also given that I'm the more "experienced" one in this friendship, it is my responsibility to do the right thing- because he doesn't see it yet that I am putting him in a difficult position by depending on him and confiding in him. He in his state of inexperience, feels the need to be there for me and support me in some way- he feels responsible. It's the innocence of youth, I suppose. But I know that had he had my "experience" he would know that it's not upto him to be there for me in that sense. Therefore, it is my duty to free poor Logan from this friendship. It's not easy and that's what I need to project here.

I've come to enjoy his company- I wait for us to meet. I hug him harder than anyone else. I take a personal interest in his progress and success. I am invested in his well-being and I love him very much. Platonically... Well, most of the time... I mean.. Do I find him attractive? Yes. And I admire his good looks- not in a creepy perverted way, but more like a "damn, he's become quite attractive" or "damn he's pretty tall, and his physique looks good"...hmm.. is that creepy? I don't mean it to be...

Anyway, getting back to the point... I know I can't say goodbye without it drilling a hole in my heart. It's like losing a brother- but actually like losing a cherished best friend. I can't imagine my days without our calls. But I suppose given some time that would be inevitable... So do I wait for time to teach me to let go? Or do I let go first, and let time do the healing?

In the meantime let me fill that void by doing all the wrong things, that drive me away from the place I'm supposed to be, and seek temporary validation and attention, as I spiral towards rock bottom.

[nicistrying]

this is gonna be a long work rant re: my post yesterday about closing up with my manager and not wanting to fuck up so feel free to scroll on past, I just need to vent somewhere 🙄

I got in at 3.30 after he asked me to start early and he said there was quite a lot to do. I thought I could probably get a reasonable amount of it done. Started with helping my friend get our usual work on frozen out of the way which took from 4-6pm. He'd asked me to work the chiller, change over a deals cabinet and put some tickets out by 9. It'll be tight but if I go fast enough it is possible!

Started working the chiller and some guys turned up with a cherry picker saying they needed to fix the air con but couldn't start working until we closed at 9, and would be working for 2 hours. So my manager comes to me and asks me to stay til 11 bc there have to always be at least 2 staff. The other 3 people who were in all live further away and don't drive so I said I would.

Working the chiller somehow took until 8.30, manager did the deals changeover bc time and I took my break bc I was starving.

9pm comes around and we can't find his keys to get into the office to get into the safe to be able to bring the tills to cash up. We found them by 9.20 so I ran down to empty the tills, but the keyring that these tiny keys are on is broken so they keep falling INTO the counter caches (deep metal boxes with fiddly bits in them which are intentionally difficult to get your hand in. Thankfully I have tiny hands and managed to get them out after a few tries and a lot of cussing).

I could not for the life of me get the safe open even though I KNOW how to do it, and have opened it several times before. My manager is laughing to try to calm me down but I'm just getting really panicky and embarrassed bc I've already told him he makes me really nervous and I always fuck up when he's there. He came to show me something earlier and I got flustered and he's standing there laughing saying why are you going red. It's not that he's intimidating or anything, I just really want him to know I can do my job but bc I want that so badly I end up fucking up. He eventually has to open the safe for me and I finally start cashing up at 9.30 and everything is going fine, he's left to do other stuff, 3 tills are pretty much balanced, I get to the last one and it's £10 over. So I text him to come in the office. He recounts it and it is indeed £10 over so he declares it.

He asks me to count the safe and I'm so panicky by this point that I have to count everything twice bc I'm so convinced I've miscounted somewhere, I give him my numbers and he puts them into the computer. The safe is now £30 over and we have no idea why. So he has to start counting everything again himself and I'm just sitting tensed up in my chair by now, just panicking and thinking if I don't do anything I can't do anything wrong, but he'll think I'm not capable of doing it myself, so I ask what I can do that's actually useful. He remembers about stuff on the shop floor that he'd forgotten about, so I go do that while he finishes recounting. He comes out at 10.45 and says he figured it out and the wrong money was in the first till I did by myself 🤦🏼‍♀️ So I'm extra embarrassed and feel dumb as fuck.

I tell him this and that I'm worried he just won't actually be able to leave me to ever close up by myself, and he tries to make me feel better by saying I can just do early shifts instead. I didn't really say anything back bc I kind of took that as confirmation that he agrees I probably can't do it. I know that's not actually what he meant bc he just kept saying I'll get better etc etc but I just felt so shit and it was such a knock to my confidence (which I did not need) bc I know I can do all of it myself, I've done it all myself before and been totally fine because I was in with deputy manager who is super chill about everything and just lets me get on until I ask a question. Which is what he did last night too, he even left the room so i would panic less but I still fucked it up.

We finally leave work at 11pm. He showed me his baby car seat in the back of his car all ready for when his baby boy arrives (not due until July. It was adorable). Matthew pulls up to pick me up and I tell him I fucked up. My manager is super nice about it and says 'she did not fuck up she just freaked out everything is fine she's fine she just needs to calm down' and I give him the finger because he was also very much freaking out. We all laugh and say goodnight.

I get in the car and have the actual panic attack I've been trying to hold off all night and cry to Matthew for a good 10 minutes solid when we get home.

I've woken up this morning still feeling a LOT of residual stress and anixety AND I came on which explains the whole fucking thing but I can't really tell my manager that. I thought about texting him to apoligise for having such a shitty attitude but I'll just leave it bc the less I say to him the less weird shit can come out. I'll laugh it off on Friday when I see him. I just feel bad bc at one point I told him I didn't want the keys or the responsibility any more and that he should give them to someone else. He laughed and told me to fuck off lmao and said I don't have a choice bc he's told his bosses he's training me and this other guy and he insisted I'll be fine eventually but ugh. I'm annoyed at myself for having such an awful attitude but I now know it was partly down to hormones which is kind of a relief but kind of just sucks. Trying to look on the bright side, I'm just grateful that he recognises that I have such low confidence and is willing to work with me like this rather than just giving me the keys and hoping for the best.

It's 9am and I have a lot of housework to do before I go back into work at 12 and I just feel so anxious and overwhelmed by it that I genuinely want to call in sick. I can't do that bc I'll get into a depression spiral if I'm sat at home by myself and I'm hoping that once I'm there I'll be okay bc deputy is in charge today and I love her. Might actually go in early just to ask for reassurance tbh.

I have a lot of other stuff I really need to do and organise for the weekend but I can't think about it right now bc even getting up and washing the dishes feels overwhelming atm. Hoping I'll feel good enough to text some people and make some plans when I finish tonight. 🤞🏻

[the1918]

Filth that I direly need your input on (that I was planning to write but didn't feel confident enough to flesh out): A/B/O 'verse Stucky where Bucky ends up knocking up Steve w/out either of them knowing about it... for whatever reason the first sign Steve gets is them good ol' horny pregnancy hormones- like Steve just is EXCESSIVELY horny all the time & then Bucky puts it all together & thinks *dramatic gulp* if he's needing it this bad now... how bad is he gonna be when he's big & round?!

Okay, so as I’m sure comes as no shock to you-- I love this. My preggo Steve kink was itching and you have given me a good scratchin’.

You should write this, Nonnie! Here are some little nuggets to chew on and maybe get you started:

Steve is a horny boy on a normal basis, but it’s usually in a way befitting of a soldier’s routine nature: he likes to get dicked down in the morning when he wakes up, and he likes to have his alpha eat his ass before sleep. So when Steve starts sniffing after knots in the middle of the damn day? In the shower? On the quinjet??? Bucky knows something is up.

They fuck for like a week straight when they get a positive pregnancy test. Steve is horny as he’s been, yes--but Bucky instigates more than half the time. How can he not, when he’s only just found out that the brickhouse blond bombshell that’s always walking around their apartment is also now growing Bucky’s baby?

But okay, then the morning sickness starts to set in (btw I 100% acknowledge the fact that I am getting pregnancy symptoms all out of order, but it’s a fantasy and it’s a/b/o so let’s just chalk it up to omega males experiencing it differently) and Steve is too nauseous to wanna fuck. Bucky is a good partner, holds his hair back, even gains five pounds of his own (sympathy weight).

But then the first trimester passes, and the nausea goes away! Yay!

Oh, shit.

Steve cannot. keep. his hands to himself.

It’s a fucking problem, is what it is. I mean, Bucky... look, don’t get the guy wrong; his omega is knocked up with his kid and starting to show a pretty little bump and Bucky’s definitely hankering for a taste of that ass but dear. god.

Steve legitimately wants to fuck eight or ten times a day. It’s like he’s in heat 24/7/365. No one can get a damn thing done. The kitchen is a fucking mess, because Steve won’t let go of Bucky’s dick long enough for either of them to do the dishes, and when Bucky finally puts his foot down and tells Steve ‘nO’ one day because “baby, sweetheart, doll... we have NOTHING LEFT TO EAT ON,” Steve just begs and pleads and finally convinces Bucky that he’ll load the dishwasher himself if he can do it with Bucky behind him while they’re waiting for a motherfucking knot to go down.

It doesn’t get better when Steve gets bigger. It just gets more difficult. Steve wants to bend over for Bucky’s mouth but he also is complaining about his spine in that position and he’s also complaining that they ran out of tapioca pudding, and how the fuck is Bucky supposed to go buy more or even talk about buying more when he’s got his tongue shoved up Steve’s sopping wet cunt 27 hours a day?!?!?!

(Bucky has already accepted that--sometimes--you just gotta answer the door for the delivery driver with slick all over your beard. There’s just. There’s nothing that can be done about that one.)

Go write!!!

[hockeytrashgoblin]

Ice Cold ~Part 17

A/N: Sorry for the wait I’ve been so crazy busy. Enjoy!

We got back to the house just in time for the boys to go to practice. I changed into dry comfy clothes and went out ready to find Morgan and Mitchy. It didn't take much now that I could hear everything. I knocked on the door to Morgan's office and came in when he told me to.

"Hello."

"(Y/n) I'm so happy to see you awake! Mitch has been telling me about your day. How are you feeling?"

"I'm good! I can't even explain how incredible I feel right now. I am kind of thirsty though. Will said that I could have some more when it started to hurt?"

"Yes of course. Mitch will you go prepare a cup for her?"

"Of course. I'll be back in a bit. Give you guys a chance to talk and pretend I can't hear it."

"Thanks Mitchy." He nodded and left leaving me and Morgan.

"I understand you have some questions for me?"

"Morgan I'm pregnant. Or I was? I don't know anymore since I kind of died and I don't know how any of this works. I don't want to tell William until I know a little more."

"Well congratulations. It's not a guarantee that the pregnancy is terminated. There's a pretty high chance that the baby could have been a vampire. You becoming a vampire would be the best thing for it."

"Is there any way I can find out if it was a vampire or not?"

"How far along would you be?"

"Only a couple weeks. Like maybe 4?"

"If you lost the baby your body would expel it like a normal pregnancy. You still bleed as a vampire. You won't have a normal cycle at all but the reproductive system works pretty much the same for children and length of child bearing years. Now if children happen there's no chance of a human baby."

"How is it even possible?"

"It has to do with lineage. William's family are among the few original vampires. He and his siblings can have children. Who turned you also has to do with it although if it wasn't with William it would be very rare."

"Oh okay. That makes sense I suppose."

"You don't need to do most of the prenatal things that mothers usually do now. Your baby will get everything it needs from the blood."

"What do I do to keep up with it?"

"I would be the primary physician. As long as you're comfortable with that of course. I have experience in the medical field. I delivered William and all his siblings."

"I would probably be most comfortable with that actually."

"I'm glad. If you want to be sure about whether the baby is still there you could take another test. It's been long enough since your passing that the hormones would be gone by now if the pregnancy was over."

"Okay I might do that then. Can I go to the store and get one or is it like, not allowed?"

"Do you feel confident that you won't hurt anyone?"

"Absolutely."

"Alright then. I'd like you to go with Mitch if that's alright? It's not that I don't trust you, it's just-"

"Morgan it's okay I get it. I haven't been around people like this."

"He should be ready with your blood now. Go ahead and leave once you feel the burn leave your throat."

"Okay. Thanks Morgan. For everything."

"You're welcome." He gave me a warm smile and I left for the kitchen.

"Goin on a field trip huh? Willy would not like that."

"Why not?"

"Because being around people isn't easy. If he had it his way he'd wait for like a year."

"Well I'm not fucking doing that. Gimme my cup." I took it from him and took a long sip. "That's so much better than it should be."

"I know. You'll get used to it quickly. The eating animals part is hard to get used to but you probably won't have to do that for a while. New vampires don't usually take too well to it until a year or so after changing."

"That's fair I suppose.  I hope it's not too bad of a change when the time comes."

We were quiet while I drank but the drive to the store was full of chatter. He was telling me all about his first few weeks as a vampire and I was telling him about how much I never noticed before that I can now.

"How are you feeling right now with more people around?" He asked as we got closer to the city.

"I feel fine. It's weird being able to smell everyone. I don't think I like that too much. It's a little overwhelming."

"You'll get used to it quick enough.just don't breathe, that helps."

"Mitch how do I just stop breathing? It's such a habit."

"Just stop. You'll still be able to talk and do everything you just won't get as many smells." 

"Oh this is weird." I said trying it out. "Better smell wise but so weird."

"You'll get used to it."

"That's what everyone keeps saying."

"Hey you're already doing a million times better than me. I had already drank from someone and got locked in the cell by this point."

"Mitch I've only been awake for 7 hours!"

"I was wilder than you."

"You're wilder than everyone." I teased laughing with him.

"Alright we're here. Are you ready to go in?"

"Yeah I guess. You're coming too right?"

"Of course. If I see anything that makes me nervous we'll leave. It'll be okay."

"Alright let's go then." I got out of the car and was hit with no many gross smells.

"You're hilarious." Mitch said reading my thoughts.

"Okay well it smells like piss Mitchell what do you want me to say?"

"Nothing let's just go. Put sunglasses on. Your eyes are red."

"Oh shit okay." I took them from him and put them on quickly.

"Don't move so fast. Not very human looking." He whispered as we walked.

We got into the store and out without much trouble. I didn't really worry about picking the best pregnancy test. At this point a dollar store test should be able to tell if I was or not. No one recognized us either which was also good. We got back to the car and back to Morgan's pretty fast. Mitch was definitely speeding. 

"Okay give me some privacy please." I said going into the bathroom.

"Oh come on why?"

"Mitch!"

"It's not like I haven't accidentally seen everything in William's mind already."

"What?!"

"William thinks about you naked all the time. Sometimes it's impossible not to see."

"Well whatever I don't care, I want privacy."

"Ugh fiiiiiine." He walked away and I waited until I heard him go to Morgan's office and start talking to do my thing.

While I waited for the test I couldn't help but hope that it would be positive again. The thought of a little William or little me was just too much for me to handle. A little vampire just so small and precious. I wouldn't be able to really bring my kid around friends until it was older. Wouldn't want them to get bit or anything. But it would really be the most incredible thing to have a little baby right now. I realized I'd just been standing there for a while and flipped the test over. Very strong second line. It was positive. Suddenly the door burst open and Mitch was holding me.

"I'm so happy for you! Congratulations!"

"Thank you Mitchy. I'm so happy." I wiped tears from my eyes. "I really thought that the whole changing thing would've ended the pregnancy but this means the baby was already vampire.. how interesting. Oh God I have to tell Willy!"

"Yeah that would definitely be smart." He said rolling his eyes.

"Shut up." I smacked his arm. "You and Morgan don't tell him anything when you see him. I want to tell him."

"We won't (y/n). You have my word." Morgan said from the doorway.

"Thank you. I appreciate that." 

"We will leave you to yourself for a little while. We have to get going for the game. Will you be okay on your own? Tessa should be home in about 2 hours."

"Yeah I feel okay. Can I have another drink before you guys leave?"

"Oh course. We'll prepare two. One you can have right now and the other in a few hours when your throat starts burning again. You'll need more blood than normal because of the fetus."

"Okay that makes sense. Thank you." 

"You're welcome. We'll leave you be and put the two cups in the fridge. See you later."

"Bye Morgan, Bye Mitchy. Good luck tonight."

"Thanks (y/n) see ya later." Mitch said following Morgan through the house.

I cried a little bit once they left before going down to get a drink. It was a really nice day so I went back out to sit on the ground to sip away. I could feel the wind again like it was buzzing under my skin. The sun felt so good on my face. I picked up an old dead leaf off the ground and twirled it's stem in my fingers. I let it go and it stayed in the air in front of me. I blinked and shook my head and it fluttered to the ground.

This was pretty curious I thought. I tried it again and it happened again. I moved my finger around over top of it and it started to twirl. I decided I had to try with more. I got a few in a pile and concentrated really hard. It was really difficult. I'd only get one or two up at a time. I was getting frustrated. I had been out for a long time trying to make these leaves dance to no avail. I took a frustrated breath and tried again. I got a lot of them to raise but the twirling didn't really work, they just moved in the wind a little bit.

"What are you doing?" Tessa asked breaking my focus, making me drop the leaves again.

"I don't actually know. I could make one twirl so I've just been sitting here trying to do more. That was the first time I got more than two off the ground."

"You're gifted." She said matter-of-factly.

"I am?"

"Well I mean look at yourself, you're manipulating something to keep the leaves up. Morgan said he had a feeling you would be very gifted. I don't know if he saw anything specific though."

"Darn, not very helpful."

"Maybe it's telekinesis? Can you move anything else? I don't know I was just doing the leaves."

"Try to lift up your cup?"

"Okay sure, good idea." I tried my best but it just would not go at all. "Tess, there's no way. I don't feel the vibrations with the cup."

"Well then it must be something else. I'm sure we'll figure it out. Would you like to watch the game with me? It'll give you a mental break and you can think about how you're going to tell William your big news."

"You know?"

"Yes honey Mo told me a long time ago that you would be having a little one soon."

"Oh. Does anyone else know?"

"William has no idea if that's what you're asking." She said sitting on the couch beside me. "You know Mitch so Auston probably knows but he'd never take this away from you."

"I hope you're right. I really want his genuine reaction, not the one after he's processed it, ya know?"

"Yeah I totally get that. You deserve that."

We were quiet most of the game. It was something I really loved about Tessa was that I could just be quiet with her or should I say not say words. I still cheered all the time but it wasn't a conversation at all. After the game was done she got up and stretched, letting out a yawn. With a goodnight, she left for upstairs. I followed not long after. I sat in William's room with the big window open, just sitting and breathing in nature. I heard them talking long before they got to the house. I just stayed put and waited for William up there.

"Hi darling. What are you doing up here?" He asked, sitting down behind me. I held onto his arm that slipped around me.

"Waiting for you."

"Morgan tells me you have some news for me?"

"Yeah I do. Pretty big news actually." I turned sideways in his arms to look at him.

"Tell me then (y/n). Don't leave me waiting in this suspense." He teased kissing me.

"William.. I'm pregnant."

"You're what? Wait really? You are? We are?" He asked, his eyes lighting up as it sunk in. His smile was blinding and so contagious.

"Yeah we are. We're going to have a little baby." 

"I love you so much." He said before giving me a million kisses.

"I love you too. I'm so excited to expand our family."

"Me too. I hope it's a little girl that looks just like you."

"I also want a girl but I want her to have your blue eyes and blonde hair. She'd be so pretty. Or having a little boy that looks just like you would be incredible. I don't care what they are or look like. I'm just so excited."

"You're going to be the best mom in the world." He said, pulling me up towards him.

"You're going to be an incredible dad."

[scottyunfamous]

Heauxtivation 2021

HAPPY MUH FUCKIN’ NEW YEAR, YOU SENSUAL UNICORN FAIRY!

Before we begin:

On 20th December 2020, Instagram updated its terms of service making it difficult for sex positive creators and those who work in the adult industry, including educators (because apparently humans learning about how their body functions is naughty), to operate on the platform. This includes our posts showing up on your feeds less and less, posts being removed, discreetly making followers unfollow our pages (turn on your post notifications btw), accounts getting suspended, our accounts not coming up in searches, shadow banning our accounts and community hashtags, and tighter restrictions on what images and words we’re allowed to use.

When I first caught wind of this, I wasn’t particularly worried as I’ve never suffered at the hands of Instagram (despite creating posts dedicated to dique sucking techniques .it’s here if you want it lol) and I also didn’t want to jump on any hive mind hype in the community until I saw the effects for myself. Regardless, I resolved that it may be in both of our interests (yours and mine) if I stop using Instagram to blog and use my ACTUAL blog instead -MY GENIUS KNOWS NO BOUNDS! LOL

How this helps you: My content is easier for you to find rather than lost in a sea of curated images and I can give more explicit advice…not that my advice was particularly tame, but you get what I mean *holds up an uncensored picture of a vulva *.

How this helps me: I don’t get my account removed.

So this is where we shall convene more often, in the safety of my heaux haven, where the only rule is PRIORITSING YOUR PLEASURE!. I’ll also be sending monthly newsletter updates highlighting any content you may have missed, merch drops, events, giveaways and things like that.

Now that we’ve gotten the serious stuff out of the way, here’s the actual blog post:

My new years resolution is to be an even bigger, fancier heaux. I’m dead serious. That’s really my resolution and as January is my birthday month (Jan 31st) I’m going full steam ahead with this one.

Every year we set the same mundane resolutions: lose weight, learn something new, give up an addiction that is bad for us and something to do with getting rich. While these resolutions are all well and good, they're the ones that usually run out of steam, the same ones we end up setting for ourselves every fucking year like a broken record of failure, torturing ourselves to actually stick it out this time...patiently waiting for when the ‘New year, new me’ hype wears off.

I’m over it. 

I stopped setting resolutions that didn't excite me in 2019 and I urge you to do the same. Set resolutions that don't feel like suffering -plis, 2020 is done. We have suffered enough! Set resolutions that spark joy. Resolutions that make you look forward to sticking them out and elevate you to be more than you thought you were.

 So like I said, my resolution is to be an even bigger, fancier heaux. My resolution for last year was to learn how to pole dance. Thanks to this pandemonium, that never happened and I am still the modest pillar of purity I always was.

In short, being a heaux means being a sexually liberated, sex positive woman who knows her worth and treats herself the way she deserves to be treated so that when others want to experience her, they know there’s levels to this shit. She lives by her own rules, she’s confident and doesn’t seek external validation because she knows she doesn’t need it, she loves herself fiercely (because loving yourself is nothing to feel guilty of) and empowers those around her to do the same.

Here are some of the elements of my resolution that maybe you may want to include in your life this year too:

Self-care everyday because fancy bitches deserve to be pampered.

Exploring my sexuality even further, starting with getting comfortable with experimenting with anal sex. I will provide updates on this.

Building the perfect womb shed week kit so that I am carefree, leak-free, hormonally balanced and still have great skin.

Giving even less fucks and enjoying my life without worrying what anyone thinks.

Adorning my beautiful body with more silk dresses, pretty lingerie, and serving ass and tiddies *sings * ass, ass and tiddies, because it makes me feel powerful to turn when my presence commands attention, plus, you’re only young once. Indulge.

More sensual movement like erotic yoga, a cheeky bit of Zumba so I can live my Latina namesake’s fantasy SHAKIRA SHAKIRA and just move in general coz lockdown has us on our asses a lot. Also if you see me twerking on your timeline, just click like, sit back and enjoy.

Practicing more mindful sex -expect some tantric sex lessons coming up

More beautiful, luxury sex toys in my life because I love being surround by pretty shit.

Living sensually. This means that I want to be present and enjoy the full extent of every experience, even if it’s just a cup of really good coffee.

Read/watch more romances. I’m very over the angry feminist approach. It’s draining finding things to be mad at and men to hate all the time. It’s counterproductive and can put blocks in our healing process. Hella counterproductive. Love is such a big fucking mood so let’s celebrate that and invite more of it into our lives.

Doesn’t all of this sound uplifting and enjoyable? This is your heauxtivation, betch. Take some of mine or set your own fun slutty resolutions.

I’m very much looking forward to helping you guys grow into the best heaux’s that you can be and growing with you. Wishing you all an orgasm-filled, hella sexually confident, extra AF 2021.

[the-drunken-fist]

October 19th.

Yeah, it’s here.

I was thinking a lot what I could do for my lovely boy’s bday (and I am not talking about Jon Favreau, u sinners) bc actually I can’t do anything but silly notes about manga. However, one night a great idea came to my mind and said:

“What about Shisui’s appearance?”

“Appearance?”

“Appearance.”

“Shisui’s appearance?”

“Yes, Shisui’s appearance. You know, curly hair, body flicker, non-stop sharingan using, mad oldsters, coups, Uchiha fucking guys… Shisui!”

“Has it been a parody to Snatch?”

And so, I thought it would be pretty… interesting (?) try to realize some Modern AU headcanons about Shisui and his appearance. Let’s do it:

Shisui had some problems with his appearance in the childhood. When he went to the 1 grade, children immediately gave him a name “Potato-Shisui”. And do u know why??? Because of his nose. Shisui had never paid attention to such a feature of him and didn’t even think that his classmates’ name-calling was bad. But soon our boy understood that children went far and everything was changing into bullying. Shisui decided to turn the situation the other way. He was the highest child in the group, so during one of those unpleasent moments it was enough for him just to stand up silently, showing who was the boss in the area.

Yes, Shisui was tall. And slender. Very slender. He was a small copy of Thomas Sangster. But! This body that seemed extremely weak for… life… was actually strong and full of energy. Uchiha had always been the winner in all sport competitions at school. Especially in running ones. And it wasn’t just one-minute activity. It was his life. He run every day, in different weather because it gave him the feeling of freedom, fly, wind. It gave feelings. Great, but Shisui got another name-calling… “Russian wolfhound”.

Hair. Lovely curls that would make girls moan in the attack of cuteness in the future. But at that time he couldn’t find any advantages in them. Only big problems in hair care. Once a boy from his group even asked him if he was a Jewish. Shisui was surprised and seriously started to think about it. He knew much about his ancestors but that idea had never been in any of his family’s books and documents. But for him it sounded cool. And interesting.

Shisui didn’t consider himself handsome at all. And, yeah, such questions were opened when the period of his adolescence became. It wasn’t an idea-fix, u know, it was automatically because there were a lot of talks about it, hormones and all such unexpected things. But our 13-year-old baby didn’t even realize that he expressed such charismatic, self-confident, strong aura that made him much more incredible than even the prettiest face could make.

With time the body of our Shisui started to fill itself with visible physical strength. The shoulders became wider and more massive, the muscles like layers were growing on arms, legs, torso aki on titan in Shingeki. After the vacation like a new person came back to the classes. He looked much older than all his coevals. And his voice… when a teacher first time called him to answer the homework after such metamorphosis and the boy opened his mouth, all pupils in the classroom twitched. Gentle, light voice had changed into deep, strong, with features of whiskey and honey.

Continue the previous paragraph. It’s extremely necessary to mention the type of his speech. Oh, boys and girls… he was a talented orator. Shisui spoke absolutely clearly, accurately, confidently. But this talent became the reason why teachers always asked the boy to participate in something like “Competition of readers”. Shisui was a polite boy, so his answer was always “Ok, with pleasure”. Despite the fact of his incredible skills in a such activity Uchiha didn’t pretty like it. To stand in the center of people’s attention was a nightmare.  

Later the traits of his beauty transformed into more masculine. All the parts of his face, that had always seemed too big for it, started to add very strong and self-willed features to boy’s appearance. He wasn’t a kind of guys with “traditional beauty” like Sasuke. He had something strange in his look (in a good way), contradictory. Big soft eyes with long eyelashes went with a strong jaw and high cheekbones in an extremely fantastic manner.

Clothes style. I say only two words – dark/casual. Boy, I can understand u absolutely. And Itachi inherited this style from his friend. Sometimes, when people see Itachi and Shisui together, they think that the boys wear the same clothes. Honestly, it has sense bc Itachi got some Shisui’s hand-me-downs. And the reason isn’t in difficult financial situation. Itachi doesn’t follow fashion but near there is always Shisui who can say “U have always liked this hoodie. Take it, i’ve become too big for it”. Would you refuse?

At 17 Shisui understood that it was time to stop pretending. He had terribly bad eyesight and it was becoming worse and worse. The problems continued from the time when he was 7, but our boy tried not to pay attention to it (oh, yes, lovely, I know…). He spent 2 hours in the optical store surrounded by long shelves with enormous amount of glasses of different styles, forms, colors. He was confused. Highly confused. Thanks to a nice woman there who helped him recommending many pairs which should suit him.

 Accessories. Shisui has always been a big fun of little details in the look (and he wasn't even supposed). Bandanas, caps, wrist braces, belts – are his favourities. He even presented а nice necklace to Itachi for his birthday. And after “the-optical-store-incident” he found out that glasses would become honorary members of his small collection.

 Bonus! Some songs from Shisui’s playlist. Naruto calls it “Grandfather’s album”:

Gone With The Sin – HIM (!!!!!!!!!! – forever love 1);

July - Noah Cyrus;

Thoughts & prayers – Grandson;

Six Billion - Nothing But Thieves;

Lonely - Palaye Royale;

O'clock - Emilie Zoé;

We Are Young feat. Janelle Monae - Fun. feat. Janelle Monáe;

About Her - Malcolm McLaren;

How We Roll - Hollywood Undead (at all HU was Shisui’s adolescent love);

Enough's Enough - Paris Shadows (Sasuke’s recommendation);

Where Did You Sleep Last Night – Nirvana;

Let It Go - Def Leppard;

When the Smoke Is Going Down – Scorpions (!!!!!!! – forever love 2);

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? - Arctic Monkeys;

Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon - Urge Overkill;

Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood - Soundtrack Wonder Band (Itachi always prays to all possible Gods to stop Shisui rampaging (dancing) during this song);

Otherside - Red Hot Chili Peppers;

Satisfaction - The Rolling Stones (rampaging song №2);

Chinese Democracy - Guns N' Roses (“No, Shisui,” Itachi said wearily. “Yes, Shisui. My car, my rules.”);

HUMBLE - Kendrick Lamar (unexpected but Naruto insisted. His “cool track” should “colorize” grandad’s list);

Lounge Act – Nirvana;

That's all for today. Thank u for your attention. And now go drink to the health of such a perfect man 🎁🎈🎂🌸💫

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (On Tumblr): here

Summary: “I’m egging your house for a dare, but you’re parent is a cop and now they’re yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you’re coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don’t want to go to jail” AU.

When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho’s house, he never thought he’d find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 6/7

Words: 7,418

Finally done with Chapter 6! Sorry for such a long wait, this chapter was a pain. A lot goes down, though - So, I hope you feel as though it was worth the wait :)

Baz

Staring into my reflection, I fiddle with my hair, desperately trying to smooth out a particularly disobedient wave. Realistically, it doesn’t matter (From the persistent tangle of Snow’s curls, it’s fairly apparent that he doesn’t mind the messy, untamed look), but it feels important.

Clicking my phone, I check the time once more. 11:07 - Seven minutes late, typical.

We haven't met up since whatever happened last time, and I’m anxious to get the potential awkwardness of seeing him again over with, as soon as possible. We completely ignored it over text (Since he never brought it up, and I wasn’t exactly thirsting to accidentally expose my idiotic crush), but I'm not sure when can do the same face-to-face. I mean, surely it'll be more difficult to just pretend it never happened, confronted with the face of the memory, in real life. Although, despite the optimistic spark of hope buried deep within my gut, I doubt it really meant anything to him - So, maybe it won’t.

Either way, I just wish that he’d get here soon. The anticipation is killing me.

————————————————————————————

Just as I’m about to call and berate him, the doorbell rings.

Scrambling over to the door, I swing it open, pitifully enthusiastic.

“What time do you call this then?”

“Dunno,” he smiles, stepping inside. “I bought scones, though. So I think I’m worthy of forgiveness.”

My pulse slows at the sight of him, the trepidation thrumming throughout my body cooling. Bright and smiling, he’s the same Snow as always. So, it seems that, despite it all, nothing is weird. Just as I suspected. Which is good, obviously (I mean, I didn’t want to ruin what we have), although, somehow … Mildly disappointing, too.

Risking a lingering glance, I take him in, appraisingly. It’s immediately apparent that he’s made an effort with his appearance today - Although, I consciously avoid thinking too deeply about why that is, knowing that my love-plagued mind would only lead me down the dangerous path of wishful thinking. He’s obviously attempted to brush his hair, which, going by it’s strangely loose, fluffy appearance, was a remarkably stupid idea. And he’s sporting a simple, white shirt. Objectively speaking, it’s a little too tight for him, the fabric pulling obscenely against the swell of his chest (Although, personally, I can’t say I object).

He’s a sight to behold - A little dishevelled, perhaps, but no less wondrous. I'd lavish in it all day if I could, although, conscious of getting caught, I tear my eyes away from him, reluctantly, and stare down at the floor, instead.

“Now that … Is entirely up to me, Snow,” I drawl. “And, I’m not convinced that a packet of scones is enough to earn you my forgiveness, especially considering that this isn’t your first offence.”

“Offence,” he snickers, bitterly. “I’m ten minutes late, at worst!”

Showily, I lift my wrist to glimpse at my watch (It’s set at the wrong time, so is, in reality, useless - Although, I won’t tell him that).

“Twenty three, actually.”

He glares at me, and murmurs something incoherent under his breath (Probably a swear word. He always resorts to those, when he’s frustrated), so I decide to ease off. He's only been here a minute - And there really is no need to do all of our bickering now.

“Come on up, though,” I call, biting back a laugh, and padding up the stairs - The heavy clunk of Simon’s stomping, following behind me, momentarily. “I’m sure you can make it up to me somehow.”

————————————————————————————

“Just to let you know, I like talking while I’m watching movies.”

“Oh god,” I groan. “I should've known, you’re one of those people. Why didn’t you warn me?!”

“I just did, you pillock!”

“Yes - As I’m putting the bloody disc in! That doesn’t give me enough time to mentally prepare for your onslaught of meaningless commentary, Snow!”

“Hey! It’s not meaningless! I’ll have you know that I’m very perceptive ... I’m sure that my commentary will only enrich your movie-watching experience.”

I raise my brow, entirely unconvinced. If he was really so perceptive, I doubt that we’d be spending the day watching Pride and Prejudice - Considering that there are many other things I’d rather be doing with him, right now.

“You're such a liar,” I tease. “You best not just sit there spouting a bunch of useless crap, and claim your being insightful. If your chatter gets to be too much, I retain the right to clobber you, you know - So be warned!”

Apparently at a loss for words, he sticks his tongue out at me - His nose scrunching up, sweetly, as he does. Oh god. I even find that pathetically childish display endearing. Clearly, I’m disturbed - I mean, poking his tongue out, seriously? I'm in need of some serious correction.

Sucking in a breath, I try to push Snow out of my mind - Which is an undeniably big ask, considering that he’s sat barely a metre behind me, laid out on my sofa, grinning to himself, boyishly. So it’s no surprise that, I fail - My mind trailing off into thoughts of whether Snow’s chest is as freckly as the rest of him.

I sigh, frustrated. I’ve had crushes before, obviously (I mean, Rhys from Year Eleven Maths was an absolute God), but none have been quite as virulent as what I have for Snow. Nobody else has ever consumed my thoughts, so entirely. Nobody else has ever made my heart stutter, so dangerously. Nobody else has ever …

I seriously need to stop. He’s barely been here half an hour, and I’m already subsiding into a hormone-fuelled madness. If I keep this up, it's going to be an insufferably long two days.

————————————————————————————

True to his word, Snow has managed to ramble over pretty much every scene, so far (With an unhelpful 'He sounds like Snape!' here, and a 'Her legs must be super tired, if she walked all that way!' there).

The urge to throttle him (or shut him up another way) was certainly growing. Although, beneath the seething anger, I must admit that his menial observations were somewhat winsome.  

We’re about three-quarters of the way through the movie, when Snow flops down onto my leg, with a dramatic puff - His cheek pressing against my thigh, heavily.

Suddenly tense, I clench my hands into fists by my side, and try to refocus on the movie.

“He’s cute isn’t he? I like that guy,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled against the fabric of my jeans.

I glance down at him. He’s staring up at me, his blue eyes bright, and his lips curved into a soft smile.

“Really?” I ask, my tone laced with judgement.

“Yeah? You don’t think?” He asks, his brow furrowed deeply. His forehead folds into small crinkles, and for a mad moment, I imagine reaching out and smoothing them out with my fingertips. I don’t. Obviously. But, I could. He’s right there - Within my reach. It wouldn’t take much (Except a level of confidence I simply don’t have).

Pathetically, I look away, unable to hold his gaze any longer (My treacherous face, already flushing with heat).

“No. I never said that-” I scoff.

I didn’t say that, because it’s objectively untrue. He is, as Snow so eloquently put it,'cute' - His hair ruffled excellently, and the hint of a dimple popping each time he smiles (Just like somebody else, I know). And while he is, undoubtedly, a blithering idiot, somehow, on him it’s charming. So ... It would be unfair to call him unattractive.

“- He’s … fine. But this is a very emotional scene, Snow. I thought you might have more to say than 'He’s cute'. I pity your English teacher, if that is your level of analysis!”

“Oi nah! I got a B in English. And my teacher loved me! She gave me a homemade cookie on the last day, and everything - Only a few people got that! So don’t be a bellend!”

“Sure she did,” I taunt. “I mean a B … That certainly is impressive. I got an A star, but -”

I’m interrupted by Snow jabbing his fist into my thigh, as hard as he possibly can, his knuckles digging into the muscle, sharply.

“Fuck off, you arrogant tosser!” He gruffs.

I laugh, despite myself - Embarrassingly loud and cackling.

“Ow, dick! You didn’t have to hit me so fucking hard,” I whine, snapping my head down towards him, and swatting at his arm, teasingly.

“You deserved it.”

“I know, I know,” I laugh. “I’m only winding you up though - A B is a perfectly good grade. It’s just funny to watch you pout ... If it’s any consolation, I only got a C in DT. My shitty attempt at a table fell apart before it was graded, so the coursework sort of tanked my grade. It’s my greatest shame. I told everybody else I got an A, so you're the only one who knows the truth.”

He beams over at me, his tongue pressed against his front teeth, goofily.

“Really? Well … That is unfortunate. I got an A star. But I guess we can’t all be so talented.”

I glare down at him, my face twisted into the cruellest scowl I can muster (It’s a fairly weak effort, though, but, in my defence, he does look adorably happy when he’s pleased with himself).

“Oh ha ha. So hilarious,” I drone. “Just shut up and watch the film, you numpty!”

With an over-exaggerated huff, he rolls his head back towards the screen, his weight shifting against my leg, warmly.

Unobserved, I smile down at him, the movie significantly less appealing than the sight of him beneath me - His curls swept to one side, and his face smushed slightly where it’s pressed against me.

He doesn’t look back up at me after that.

I try not to let it bother me.

————————————————————————————

I leave Simon playing Fortnite alone, to go to fetch our dinner (He’s better at it than me, anyway).

“Hello, you,” Daphne smiles, scooping a mush of baby-food off of one of the twin’s chins (I find it impossible to tell them apart when they’re not in their colour-coordinated clothing, although she always manages to, somehow). “Your dinner is in the oven- I wasn’t sure how long you’d be, so I thought I’d keep it warm. There’s dessert in there, too … If you’d like. Your favourite.”

I scrunch up my face, awkwardly.

“Cheers.”

“No problem. So … How is it going? How's Simon?”

“Good,” I drawl, suspiciously. “We’re only playing on the PS.”

“Okay,” she shrugs. "I was just wondering.”

I turn, scrambling with the casserole dishes, and hurrying over to the door, hoping to nip this mortifying line of conversation in the bud.

“Hey what!” Mordelia shouts, finally looking up from her plate. “How come he gets to eat in his room? That’s not fair! If he gets to, why don’t I?”

I falter, my hand on the door - Freedom laying tantalisingly close.

“Because,” I spit. “I have a friend over. When you have friends over, I’m sure Mum will let you, too.”

Daphne nods in confirmation. “Let Basil get on with his dinner, Mordie.”

She crumples up her face, angrily, apparently dissatisfied with the idea. Oh, Christ, here we go!

“Does Dad know about your friend?” She presses, an sinful tinge to her voice.

My shoulders drop, instantly. Shit. Of fucking course.

“Don’t tell him,” I command, sternly.

“Why not?”

I press a fist to my forehead, in irritation.

“He doesn’t like my friend. Okay?”

“Why?” she coaxes. “Are they a girl.”

“No,” I sigh. “Obviously not. Look, I really don’t have time for this. Just … What will it take for you to keep your mouth shut?”

She grins, manically. Even though she’s just a child, she’s already worryingly devious (I suppose, in that respect, she takes after me).

“You … Have to help me with my violin practice, this week,” she chirps.

I think of her horrifically, screechy 'playing' with dread, and look over to Daphne for help - Her perfectly painted lips, pulled taut, into a poorly suppressed smile. For God’s sake!  

While I do enjoy spending time with her, I’d really rather skip the whole violin tutorial element of her bargain. Although, I suppose, a short-term earache, is a small price to pay for avoiding Father’s acrid disapproval.

So, loathfully, I agree - Storming out of the kitchen, and jogging back upstairs, in a rush.

————————————————————————————

Simon

I peek a glance around Baz’s head, staring over at the casserole dish on his dresser.

“Do you normally have dessert?” I ask, innocently, shovelling the final spoonful of Shepherd's pie into my mouth.

“Not normally, no,” he laughs. “Although, I made sure that Daphne made one, especially for you. Which I think you may have suspected, given that you’ve been gawping over at it for the last five minutes."

I scrub the back of my neck, and chuckle awkwardly, embarrassingly exposed.

He flashes me a smile, mercifully free of mocking.

“I can get you a serving now, if you’d like?”

I definitely would like. Although, Baz still hasn’t finished his main - So, I should probably wait (Penny said it’s rude to make people feel like they have to rush their meal).

“Oh no. It’s alright,” I murmur. “I’d rather wait a minute.”

A knowing smirk spreads across his face, and an eyebrow raises, suspiciously.

I wish that I could do that - The eyebrow, thing. I tried practising it in the mirror the other day, but I didn’t look all cool, and elegant like him … I just looked like a constipated twit.

“You don’t have to wait for me to finish, Snow,” he beams, his voice alluring velvety. “If you’re hungry now, then I’ll serve you up a bowl - It tastes better warm, anyway.”

“Okay,” I chirp, contented. “That’ll be perfect. Thanks.”

Siding his plate off of his lap, he stands, treading over to the dresser, and spooning the pudding into a bowl for me.

I try not to stare at him (I’ve been trying all day), but it’s proving increasingly difficult.

He hasn’t tied his hair up today - Leaving it free, draped in loose waves against his face. And, he’s dressed more casually than I’m used to - Having opted for a navy-blue T-shirt (Rather than his usual boxy button-ups). But, in spite of his more dressed-down style, he still looks ridiculously expensive - His jeans dark, and perfectly fitted, and a thin, silver watch glimmering against his thin wrist.

“Here you go,” he says, thrusting the bowl into my hand.

Excitedly, I snatch it out of his hand, and peer down into it. The look of it catches me off guard - The bowl filled to the brim with a mildly peculiar looking, light brown, slush.  

Confused, I scrunch my face up.

Baz sighs, rolling his eyes upwards, exaggeratedly.

Fuck. That was definitely rude of me.

“It’s nothing sinister, Snow,” he assures. “Don’t worry. If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn’t waste a perfectly good dessert, on it. I’d just spike one of your scones, or something.”

I school my face back into an uncertain smile. God, I’m such a dick.

“No, no, sorry,” I stumble. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s not bad. I mean … There’s nothing wrong with it. It smells delicious. I just … Don’t know what it is. That’s all.”

“Om Ali,” he shrugs.

I still have legitimately no idea what he’s talking about, but I decide to just drop it. I wasn’t lying, it really does smell nice - So I suppose that it hardly matters what it actually is.

Clearly, he sees right through me, though - Rolling his head backwards, and scoffing, dramatically.

“It’s sort of like … A Bread and butter pudding. Just with proper flavour ... It’s Egyptian.”

“Oh, I see,” I say, smiling, and digging my spoon into it. “Are your family like … Egyptian then?”

“Yes, Snow. My family are 'like' Egyptian,” he drones. “Well, my Mother’s side are, anyway.”

I really am excelling at making a twat of myself, today.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound … I was just - Sorry. Is that your mum, then?” I ask, pointing over to the field of photo frames. “The lady in the pictures?”

“It’s fine,” he laughs, his gaze following my finger. “And, yes … That’s her.”

“She’s pretty.”

He raises his eyebrows, smirking suggestively.  

“Not like that!” I splutter. “Ew, no! I just mean ... You look like her.”

“Yes, well, funny that - That is how genetics tend to work, Snow”

“Sod off!” I grunt. “You know what I mean. You look nothing like your dad.”

“I know, thank the merciful gods! Could you imagine if I'd inherited those non-existent cheekbones … That would be a tragedy of unparalleled proportions!”

I beam over at him, my eyes scrunching half-shut, as my cheeks force themselves upwards. He’s being completely ridiculous, but I still find myself stupidly endeared.

He looks up at me, then, and catches me smiling.

“Just get eating, you divvy,” he chastises, scowling at me fiercely. “You barely breathed between mouthfuls, earlier, and now, suddenly, you’re Mr. Chatterbox ... It really is nicer warm, you know.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice - Plunging my spoon into the bowl, I scoop up the largest mouthful possible, and take a bite. It’s slightly unusual (And much crunchier than I was initially expecting), but so, so good - Filled with intoxicatingly sweet coconut and raisin.

“Oh my god,” I moan, unable to find the words to convey how fucking delicious it is.

He simpers over at me, clearly pleased with himself (Even though he didn't make it).

“I know. I did tell you it was good … It was actually my favourite dessert, as a kid. My mum used to make it for me every Saturday, as a treat.”

“Does she still make it for you?” I ask, the words slurring in my food-stuffed mouth.

Something awful flashes across his eyes, the smug look wiped clean from his face, immediately. Oh, God. What have I done now?

“Uh no. Not anymore,” he mumbles, staring down at his bedsheets, blankly. “My mum, she ... Passed away when I was around five. Car accident.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m such a moron. I’d just assumed his parents were divorced, and that his mum lived in some other mansion, down the road, or something. Not that. I never even considered that.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe.

“It’s alright. You weren’t to know.”

“I know, but still … I really am sorry.”

“Hey. Come on now, Snow. There’s no need to get all gloomy,” he smiles. It’s a shadow of his proper smile, hollow and painted-on - Although, I can hardly fault him for that. “I didn’t 'go all awkward' on you, the other day, so don’t do it to me. That would just be terribly hypocritical, of you!”

“Okay. I won’t. Promise.”

We sit in silence for a while after that.

I occupy myself with the dessert, while he just sits there, scraping his fork over the top of his mash, aimlessly. Regretfully, I think that my line of questioning may have killed his appetite. But, I’ve still got some scones left, so if he gets hungry again, later, we can just share those.

I snatch a glance at him, in my periphery vision. He’s got his brow tugged down, and he's scrunching his lips up on either side of his face, alternatively.

I’m pretty sure he’s thinking, so I just sit there munching, quietly - Patiently, waiting for him to speak (I've learned my lesson. Anything I could say, would probably just make matters worse).

He clears his throat, with a stifled cough, and then he’s talking again - His voice, barely a whisper.

“When Daphne found out about it (The dessert thing, I mean), she bought herself some Egyptian cookbook, and taught herself how to make it. It’s not quite the same, since my Mother used some family recipe she had memorised, but … It still reminds me of her. It was lovely of her, really, but, when I was little, I used to get so mad at her for making it. I’d always pretend that I didn’t want it, but when I thought everybody was asleep, I’d always sneak downstairs and steal myself a bowl. It makes no sense, but I just - Always thought that she was … Trying to replace her, or something. And, you know, nobody could replace her. Not ever.”

He looks at me then, his grey eyes stormy, and flooded with tears. His lips pulled into a hard, stony frown, and his jaw taut with tension.

I gulp, miserably. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to upset him - I’d never mean to upset him. I just … Wish I’d never said anything.

Leaning forwards, I grab his hand - Slotting our fingers together, and squeezing lightly, in an attempt to comfort him. I’ve never really been the best at physical affection (Being unused to it, it always made me feel clumsy, and weird. Sort of like my skin didn’t fit right), but it’s easier with him. Everything is easier with him.

He smiles, meekly, clenching my hand back, and pressing on with what he has to say.

“One day, when I was around fourteen, I confronted her about it. I was properly awful, screaming at her in the kitchen like some spoiled brat, throwing it all right back in her face. But, you know, I was … Well, I don’t know what I was. Just … Not good. I hadn’t been for a long time, either, so I just - Snapped. Accusing her of trying to replace Mother, and yelling at her for even daring to make it. I went so far as to say that she did it on purpose, just to upset me. I mean, can you imagine?”

He snickers, mirthlessly - Wounded, and weak.

“I probably deserved a slap, to be honest, but she didn’t even raise her voice. She just hugged me - Even after I tried to fight her off ... Eventually, I just gave up, and sobbed against her chest. It was all very dramatic, and I can’t imagine how pitiful I must’ve looked. But, afterwards, I felt … Better. Not fixed. I don’t think I can ever be fixed. Something like that, I don’t think that it ever goes away - Not fully, anyway. But, I think that … At that moment, that's what I needed the most - To just … Let go. It had been a long time coming.”

I nod my head, affirmatively, just to let him know that I was still listening.

“Later on, when I’d calmed down a little, she told me that she knew that I used to eat it, secretly - That she’d always known. She apologised (Even though she really had no reason to), and explained to me that she was only trying to help. I think that, deep down, I’d always known that ... I just wanted somebody to be angry at. And you know what’s funny?” He asks.

I shake my head.

“Nobody else in the house even likes the bloody thing! She used to just throw a few portions in the bin, so that I’d feel safe to go and steal mine (Under the impression that, nobody would notice a little bit extra going missing).”

I smile, cautiously, tracing a finger against the inside of his palm.

“I was so cruel, Snow. So bitter, and broken, that I’d torn her apart, when all she wanted to do was help me. I didn’t speak to her for days, after that. I mean, how could I, after I’d been so awful to her? And, I stopped eating the Om Ali, all together. I didn’t deserve it, anymore - Didn’t deserve the joy that it brought me. I thought … If my Mother could’ve seen me, she’d have been so ashamed of what I’d become - Of who I’d become. Like I said, it was always intended as a treat - And ... Bad people don’t deserve good things -”

I interrupt him then, unable to listen to him berate himself, further.

“Please don’t say that, Baz,” I plead. “I know, I don’t know her, but … It’s obvious she loved you, dearly. She would’ve understood. It was a mistake. You’re not a bad person, you were just … Hurting.”

He nods, wordlessly. I don’t know if that means he agrees, or he’s just acknowledging what I said, but he clearly doesn’t want to speak - So, I don’t ask.

“She still made it, every few weeks or so, in that hopes that I’d crack. She even still threw half of it away! And then, you know, on my mum’s birthday she snuck one up into my bedroom, for me. She looked so hopeful, and I just wanted to make her happy, again - So ... I took it. I gorged myself that night - Ate the whole thing, in one sitting (I’m surprised I didn’t hurl, to be honest).”  

He lets out a watery laugh, then, his eyes damp, but a slight, genuine smile breaking across his face. Hesitantly, I mirror him, grinning back, shyly.

He huffs in a shaky breath, and grips my palm tighter.

“It was amazing. I'd denied myself it for so long, as a sort of penance. And I still wasn’t sure that I actually deserved it, but it was so, so good to finally have it back. To have a piece of her back.”

I stare at him, unsure of what to say.

“Anyway,” he laughs, his voice splintered. “I don’t even know why I’m even telling you all of this … There’s me lecturing you about getting gloomy, and then I go and start bloody weeping! Do forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I shrug. “I like … Knowing about you. I want to know things about you.”

“I see … Well, I promise you that the rest isn’t so dreary.”

“Even if it was, I’d still want to hear it. It’s still you.”

He smiles properly then, the reddened skin surrounding his eyes crinkling, slightly.

“Yes, well,” he murmurs, tearing his hand from mine, and reaching up to scrub at his eyes. “We’ll save all of that for another day. Want to play some FIFA, or something? I fancy beating you again.”

Truthfully, I don't, and I don't think that he does either - But, I can tell that he needs the distraction, so I agree.

I mean, there are definitely worse things to do.

————————————————————————————

We’ve been playing for about two hours, when Baz flops back against the sofa, dragging his hands down his face, tiredly.

“I’m going to go and get ready for bed,” he sighs, his voice still a little rough from earlier.  

Despite my initial reluctance, I don't want to stop playing. I mean, it’s only just gone Ten, and I’m finally winning - Four matches to two (I may, or may not have, forced the lads to play with me everyday, since I last saw him, as practice).

“But I-”

“Hey,” he interrupts. “Quit complaining. I saw you yawning, Snow. We can play more tomorrow.”

Displeased, but unwilling to argue, I nod my head. I suppose that, as long as he doesn’t actually intend to go to sleep right now, it doesn’t really matter - Mostly, I just want to talk to him (Beating him at his own game while doing so is just a nice, little bonus).

“I’ll be fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” I sing. 

I don’t trust that timescale, for a second - But, I’ll tease him about that later.

————————————————————————————

Unsurprisingly, he takes ages in the bathroom (Even though all he really needs to do is brush his teeth).

When he eventually reemerges, the familiar scent of Cedar and Bergamot fills the room, although that is not what I pay attention to. What I pay attention to, is what he’s wearing - A set of long, silky, maroon pyjamas, decorated with a deep blue piping.

I let out a wild cackle, clapping a hand over my mouth, in a failed attempt to try and contain it.

“What?” He asks, indignantly. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

I pause, still desperately trying to stifle my laughter. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Pyjamas,” he deadpans, scowling slightly.

I laugh, gesturing toward him vaguely.

“But I mean … Really?”

“Yes really, Snow. Why? What do you wear that’s so much better?”

“Boxers,” I shrug.

He snaps his head down towards the floor, clearly embarrassed.

Whoops. I sort of forgot about that, to be honest. It probably would’ve been polite to bring a pair of trackies to sleep in, or something (Even though, they'd only make me overheat).

“Right well … I get cold. So, I wear clothes, like a normal person … Now quit being a prick, and go and brush your teeth.”  

“Okay, grandpa” I giggle.

He shoots me a warning look, his eyes piercing into me, fiercely. 

Alarmed, I dart towards the safety of the en-suite, slamming the door behind me, and guffawing absurdly.

“Stop laughing right now, you nightmare!" He shouts, bashing against the door, angrily. "Or else, I’ll make you sleep in the garden!”

————————————————————————————

Luckily for me, Baz didn’t actually make me sleep outside. Although, the spare room he does put me in, is hardly any better.

It’s bitterly cold, and the bed is covered in these horrific, carved gargoyles, whose eyes stalk me around the room (Well, maybe not, really - But it definitely feels like they do!).

I thought he was having me on, at first, but one look at his stupid, smug face, showed me that he was (Unfortunately) deadly serious.

I’m just about to text him to voice my complaints (Manners be damned!), when I hear it - An awful, shivering wail. Because, of course, out of all of the rooms in this shithole, Baz just had to put me in the one that's fucking haunted!

Petrified, I bury my head beneath the starchy, old duvet, and pray for safety.

————————————————————————————

Baz

It’s barely twenty minutes before there is a timid knock at my door. My little plot having, seemingly, worked perfectly.

Smiling to myself, I pad over to the door and pull it open as quietly as I can manage (It still creaks, gratingly, but I at least tried).

And there he his - Simon Snow. Standing on my doorstep, his hair mussed, and a blanket pulled over his shoulders like a cloak (Apparently, he wasn't kidding about the boxers thing, then).

He looks a little ridiculous, to be honest, but that doesn’t stop the swelling in my chest. 

“Your house is haunted,” he whines.

“No it isn’t, Snow. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just old.”

“Nu-uh … It’s haunted. There were all these creepy wailing sounds.”

“That’ll be the pipes,” I deadpan. “Somebody probably just ... Used a tap, or something.”

“Well … It’s weirdly cold in there - Like there is a ghostly presence.”

I shake my head, amused.

“Yeah, that's down to the practically non-existent central heating. Like I said … The house is old.”

“Whatever,” he huffs. “Can I just … Sleep in here, with you. I’m too creeped out to go back in there, alone!”

I roll my eyes in faux displeasure, and step to the side.

“Come on in then, coward. I’ll protect you from that dastardly pipework.”

“Just shut up,” he mumbles, shuffling into the room, and plopping himself down onto my bed.

He stares down at his hands, picking at his nails, savagely.

“Do you - Do you want me to sleep on the sofa, or something?”

My throat constricts, purposelessly, as I swallow down a nervous lump. I definitely didn’t think this through, properly.

“Up to you,” I drone, moulding my voice into a cool, nonchalance.

“It might ... Be warmer if we’re both in your bed,” he breathes, his voice so quiet that it’s barely audible.

“Sure. That makes sense,” I shrug. “Just get in, then.”

Tip-toeing across the room, I slide into bed besides him, and stare up at my canopy, expressionless.

“Baz,” he whispers, turning his body to face mine.

I mimic him, immediately - Rolling onto my side, to face him. His eyes are wide, with barely a slither of blue still visible - His pupils fully dilated in the dimness of the room.

“Hmmm,” I hum.

“Do you like ... Anybody?”

I puff out a breath, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Yes, Snow. Obviously, I like some people.” I answer, tartly.

“No, you dick. You know what I mean! Do you … 'Like like' anyone?”

“Oh wow,” I sneer. “'Like like', Really? What are we twelve? I can go and fetch Mordelia, if you’d like. I’m sure she’d be very interested in this conversation.”

“Just answer the question, you knob,” he groans, shoving the hell of his palm into my shoulder blade, painfully.

“Alright, alright,” I laugh. “Yes, Snow. I 'Like like' someone … How about you?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, his eyes fluttering shut, and a soft smile gracing his face.

My stomach twists uncomfortably, as bitter jealousy pulls at my gut.

“What’s he like, then? - The guy you like.”

I scan my eyes across his face, taking him in properly - His stubby, bronze lashes, the slight rosy tinge of his full cheeks, the perfect constellation of moles that adorn practically every inch of skin. He’s perfect. Indescribably perfect.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice pinched.

He opens his eyes then, beaming over at me, cheerfully. My chest swells, pitifully, at the sight of him. Drenched in moonlight, he’s the Sun - Bright, and warm, and beautiful. And, painfully untouchable.

“You must know,” he titters.

“Well, yes. Obviously. They’re just - It’s just hard to put into words.”

“Oh wow! The great Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch speechless, they must be special!”

“They are,” I reply, thoughtlessly.

His eyebrows jump upwards, clearly shocked by my earnestness.

“I see,” he drawls. “And have you known Mr. Special long?”

My heart stutters within my chest. I'm walking on dangerously thin ice, here.

“No. Not really. How about you? Have you known your person long?”

“Guy,” He rushes, his tone urgent. “They’re a guy,”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Have you known your guy long?”

“Nope. But, that doesn’t really matter … Does it?”

“Not really, no … I don’t think so, anyway.”

He smiles softly, then, but his brow quickly follows, furrowing conflictingly. He looks - Well, I don’t know how he looks. Disappointed? Pained? Worrying his lip, he screws his eyes shut, firmly.

My eyes dart across his face, madly, desperately trying to read him.

“Snow,” I call, poking a finger to the inside of his wrist. “Are you alright?”

Opening his eyes slowly, he sucks in a breath, and lifts his lips, weakly.

“I’m good. It’s good. I’m just -”

He sighs, frustrated, tugging at the curls that lay over his forehead, roughly.

“I don’t know. I just … Don’t know how to say it.”

I nod slightly, my pillow crinkling beneath me.

“Okay. Just take your time.”

"I don't think - I mean, I don't think that rushing is what's wrong. I can ... Maybe try and show you, instead. If you'd like?"

“Sure?” I answer, my voice creeping with uncertainty. “Whatever is easiest for you.”

Trembling slightly, he reaches forwards, timidly, and carefully tucks a wave of hair behind my ear.

My breath stills, as my treacherous body tenses up, defensively.

“Okay?” he whispers.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

He huffs out a breath, relieved, and reaches up, laying his hand against my cheek, properly. Tracing his thumb along the high-point of my cheekbone, softly.

His eyes trail downwards, tantalisingly slow - His gaze, impossibly hot, as it lands on my lips.

My heart skips a beat - A momentary break, from the insistent careening of my pulse.

I don’t really know what I’m thinking anymore, my mind trapped in a useless haze.

It’s completely overwhelming - Being looked at like this, being held like this. Like I’m something precious. Like I’m something worthy. Like I’m something … Loveable.  

He must know - Surely, he must see it. His touch rendering my utterly defenceless, it must be written all over me, the truth of my affections tattooed across my skin, clear as day.

He’s right there, his face mere inches from mine. His hand resting against me, warm and reassuring.

I think I might do it. Just forget words, forget an explanation, forget caution, and just do it. Just end this exhausting charade and kiss him.

“Simon, I -”

And then he kisses me. Surging forwards, and crashing our lips together desperately.

For a moment, I freeze, stunned into stillness by the newness of it all. But then, instinct takes over, and I’m kissing him back - Sliding my lips against his, hungrily.

I have no idea what I’m doing, but doesn’t seem to mind - Humming against my lips, contentedly, his hands clasping at my hair.

He just his chin forwards, confidently, and I feel it everywhere - My body thrumming with his fire, from my tingling lips, to the white-hot heat, stirring deep within my stomach. It’s a wild push and pull, and I take everything he has to give me, willingly - Savouring each and every spark, greedily.

Utterly blissed out, and unstoppably happy, I smile against his lips, helplessly.

He pulls away, giggling breathlessly - Grinning down at me, his hair hassled, and his cheeks flushed.

Pushing my shoulder lightly, he presses me down into the mattress, and clambers on top of me, clumsily. Holding himself up above me, before leaning down and pushing his face into the crook of my neck - Nipping at the skin there, teasingly.

“I cant keep doing it if you keep smiling, idiot” he sing-songs, the deep gruff of his voice vibrating against my neck. “As much as I like you, I don’t really wanna kiss your teeth.”

Still floating, I laugh openly, my heart squeezing within my chest.

“It’s not my fault,” I mumble, leaning upwards, and pressing a chaste kiss to his exposed collarbone.

“Hmmm,” he hums, cradling the back of my head in his hands. “Whose fault is it, then?”

Refusing to answer, I stare at him - His eyes sparkling, and a wicked smirk, plastered across his face.

“Shut up,” I smile, rolling my eyes jokingly.

“You’re gonna have to make me.”

I raise my eyebrows, suggestively, reaching up and tugging him down towards me by the back of his neck. Our lips mere millimetres apart, I whisper against him, coquettishly.

“Oh. I will. Rest assured, when I’m finished with you, you’ll barely be able to string a sentence together.”

Puffing out a shaky breath, he trembles against me - A needy whine escaping his lips, as he does so.

I did that to him. Me. Fucking marvellous.

Wonderfully pleased, I snake my arms up his body, pulling him forwards, minimally, and claiming his lips with mine once more.

————————————————————————————

I’m sat propped up against the headboard, now (Snow pulled me up a while ago, grumbling about how I was 'Too far away'). He’s seated himself atop my thighs, our hands laced together between us, and his mouth working against mine, insistently.

I don’t know how long we’ve been wrapped up in each other (Long enough that my leg is prickling through lack of movement), but I’m certainly not complaining.

Shifting backwards, he beams over at me, a playful glint, sparkling in his eyes.

Enraptured, I trail my eyes over him, appreciatively, my gaze falling on his neck. Reaching a hand upwards, I circle a thumb over the small, red mark, blooming against the fair skin, a strange sense of pride welling up within me, as I do so.  I hadn't set out to do it (Starting off with completely innocent intentions, I'd only hoped to press a kiss to a particularly appealing mole), but I’d quickly gotten carried away, his breathy huffs urging me ever onwards.

With a chaste kiss to my brown bone, he rolls his hips down against mine, just-so - The friction eliciting a pathetically needy moan, from me. I grip his hips, tightly - Pressing my fingers into the softness of his side.

Humiliated, I thunk my head down against his shoulder, hiding my face away, as it fills with a burning heat.

“Eager,” he giggles, his lips moving upwards, brushing against the peak of my forehead.

I pinch his thigh, lightly, in retaliation - Simon yelping against me, in surprise.

“Unless you want to discuss what’s currently pressed against my thigh, I suggest that you shut up! Otherwise, you can sleep alone,” I threaten.

“No, Baz,” he cries, throwing himself down onto the bed besides me. “You can’t do that to me. I’ve been proper nice to you, all night!”

I flip onto my side, so that I’m facing him, again - Apparently incapable of keeping my eyes off of him, for even a minute.

“I'm pretty sure that I can.”

His shoulders drop slightly, as his hand pats along the bed in search of mine.

“Yeah, but ... You wouldn’t, though. Would you?”

“No, Snow,” I breathe, weaving our hands together. “I wouldn't.”

Harumphing, he pouts his lips outwards, sulkily.

“What?” I chuckle, pushing myself up onto my arm, and leaning over him. “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

“Yeah but - You called me Simon before.”  

I press out foreheads together, helplessly charmed.

“No, I never,” I argue - Because, despite all my unforgivable softness this evening, I’m still me. Irritatingly petty, to a fault.

“You definitely did.”

“Hmmm,” I hum, airly. “Well … I have no memory of it.”

He scoffs then, rolling his eyes, and peppering a flurry of kisses against my jaw.

“You definitely did. But ... No worry - Deny it all you want. I’ll get you to say it again, soon enough. I just need to soften you up,” he shrugs. “And that is easy, enough - A couple of snogs here and there, and hey presto ... I’ll get myself another 'Simon'”

I wince at his awful imitation of my accent. I don't know why he even bothers trying, with it - He always just ends up sounding like a drunken Prince Charles impersonator.

He chortles, bright and joyous, but is interrupted by a long, gasping yawn.

“Tired, Snow?” I goad.

He nods, smiling lopsidedly.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Why ever not?” I pry.

“Nervous … You know - About this,” he murmurs, stroking the pad of his thumb against my lower lip.

My chest swoops joyfully, an unbridled grin breaking across my face.

Pursing my lips, and kissing his thumb, quickly, I reach down, and slot my hand into his. Interlocking our fingers, I drag our joined hands down, underneath the duvet, and spread his palm flat against my left breast.

He giggles lightly, pushing upwards, and pecking the tip of my nose.

“Your heart’s going super fast,” he breathes.

“Yes, well. You are aware of what we’ve been doing for the past … I don’t know how long.”

“Uh huh, I’m aware,” he affirms, the smugness plain in his voice. “It’s okay - Mine is, too.”

“Is that so?”

He nods, driving forwards, and pressing our lips together, once more. It’s slower this time, although no less exhilarating, his lips moving against mine, languidly - Our frantic desperation, replaced by a slower, sweeter indulgence.

I sigh, joyfully, luxuriating in the feeling of him against me. Melting into his touch, I’m putty in his hands - Open and relaxed. My heart feels exposed - Beating proudly, unprotected outside of the walls of my chest. But, I’m not afraid. I know he’ll treat it tenderly.

Snaking his free hand upwards, he tugs against my hair, enticingly. Moaning against his lips quietly, my stomach sparks with heat, once again.

Despite my eagerness to continue, I'm increasingly conscious of the hours slipping away from us, and so pull backwards, mournfully - Lifting my hips away from his, to remove temptation.

“Enough of that, you insatiable thing,” I chide, twisting a bronze curl around my finger, absentmindedly. “We’re going to have to wake up early, to put you back in the right bed, in case Daphne decides to check. And, if we don’t stop now, I’m not sure we’ll ever get to sleep.”

He huffs petulantly, his eyebrows pinched, and his lips pulling into a deep frown. I shake my head at him, unimpressed.

“Fine,” he whines. “Just - Roll over then.”

“What?” I cough, flustered.

“I said - Roll over. I wanna cuddle you.”

“Oh my god. 'Wanna cuddle you',” I groan, disdainfully. “Seriously?”

“Yes seriously, you wanker. Don’t pretend you don’t want to. It’s definitely a too late for you to start playing hard to get, Baz.”

Called out, I abandon my false protests, twisting onto my side, and wordlessly surrendering to what I want.

Wrapping a strong arm around my waist, he pulls me backwards slightly, and tucks me against his body, neatly.

With my face hidden from view, I smile, privately - The simple innocence of having him besides me, embarrassingly thrilling.

“G’night, Baz,” he mumbles, drowsily, blessing my shoulder with a feather-light kiss.

Uncontrollably lovestruck, I decide to indulge him (And, if I’m being honest, myself).

“Goodnight, Simon,” I coo.“Sleep well.”

With his smile against my skin, I flutter my eyes shut, and snuggle against him. Unfamiliarly content, I succumb to sleep, quickly - My mind blissfully quiet, and my heart seeped in love.

[goodnightallwhites]

Snowkitty By BlackingPacking

Snowkitty 

By BlackingPacking 

Submitted: January 23, 2019 Updated: January 23, 2019 

Selina Kyle has never been a big part of the Batfamily. Nor has she ever fucked a big black cock. The two are more related than you might think. 

Contains: NTR/Cuckolding, Interracial, BBC, SPH 

Provided by Hentai Foundry. 

Chapter 1 - Selina gets Blacked 2 

Chapter 2 - Along Came a Black Spider 9 

Chapter 3 - Stephanie Brown and the Blackedcomputer 

18 

1 - Selina gets Blacked 

Selina Kyle loved Bruce Wayne. Catwoman loved Batman. 

But she also loved money- and, while she’d never manipulate Bruce into giving her access to Wayne Enterprises for a job, she had no qualms with breaking into the place- just a quick in and out really, and, just to be extra nice, she wouldn’t steal any extra goodies for herself. 

Worst case scenario, she got found and Bruce came- she’d lose the contract, but would have the fun of playing with him, and then the thrill of escape, always a plus. 

(She also wouldn’t mind getting a little closer to Bats than she usually did, but, despite all the black he wore, he was still white down there.) 

As she disabled the motion sensors on the window of an office atop Wayne Tower and climbed onto it to cut a hole to climb in, she thought about all her experiences with men- at this point, she had pretty much accepted that big dicks were a myth, and had learned to accept the ‘motion of the ocean’ guys and a good-sized dildo when she could. She was always too busy to watch porn. Maybe she’d break into a studio one day and ask what their secrets were. 

She was in, the only lighting in the office being the moonlight making everything, from the flat screen TV to the $2,000 chair to the tall, plastic plant in the corner. Artificial but comfortable- like a dildo- 

Goddammit, you have to stop getting distracted! Head in the game, Selina- you’ve got the hardrive, all you gotta do is plug it in- wow, right way on the first try- and now for the data dump. Corporate espionage and the secrets of the rich and powerful? Child’s play. 

She waited for all that lovely compromising information to upload, lounging on the chair and, when she head the light but firm steps indicative of a muscular man approaching the door, she unzipped her costume down to her crotch, exposing her stomach and all of her cleavage to the cool air. 

When the door was opened, she was unsurprised, for a second- she thought she recognized the broad shoulders, the biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt- but then she realized he was wearing a t-shirt- Bruce never wore t-shirts- and, what she thought she should have realized first, he was black. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked glaringly, tapping something on his wristwatch. 

She kicked the desk, pushing the chair away from it, spinning around the office, her tits jiggling, “I could ask you the same question- who the hell are you supposed to be?” once she spun the chair in front of the dest, she stood up to face him. 

“I’m the guy who keeps trash like you out of this building.” 

“Trash? Puh! Is it because of how I dress? I didn’t know it became the Victorian Age when in a tower 

this tall, Mister, ah-” she pulled out a black leather wallet- “Luke Fox.” 

“Wha- how did-” 

“Oh, the CEO’s son, I see. I’ve met your father and your company’s owner, but I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced,” said the Cat. She leaned on him, tits rubbing against his chest. 

“You’re right, but I think, after all you’ve done with Bruce, I know you well enough.” 

Selina encircled one of his muscular legs with her lissome one, but, truth be told, she was concerned- did Luke here know that Bruce was Batman? And did he know how much they’d fucked over the years? 

She decided not to let it get to her, “Well, sorry to say, but I don’t really have time to stay and chat,” she said, slinking back, grabbing the drive, and digging her claws into the glass. She waited for the dark young man to make a move. 

“Good, because you won’t be talking to anyone except your lawyer,” he declared. Like clockwork- it surprised Selina how much he acted like Batman. His face looked even more driven than Bruce had in his early days, when he was angrier and brasher. She’d forgotten how sexy it was. 

Still, no time for reminiscing. Selina pushed into the cracked glass, totally shattering it, letting it fall like water behind her down to the street far, far, far below. She took a step back, and Luke took a step forward. He proceeded towards her, but not before she jumped out the window, totally free. 

What she sure didn’t expect was for him to jump after her. Not only did she question what the fuck she was gonna do know, but Luke’s very sanity. 

But then she saw a package rocket out of the building, making a beeline towards Luke, then attaching to and encasing him, before the sleek metal parts tightened around his form. It turned on, blue neon aesthetic lights and glowing eyes and, most importantly, a blue bat-symbol on his chest. 

So Luke was Batwing. That explained... a bit. 

Before she could think of what to think next, he shot down toward her, caught her, and flew her to the concrete top of a nearby tower, one not half the height of Wayne Tower. 

She fell on her ass- dammit, he better not have hurt her lovely ass!- while Luke stood tall above her. 

“What did you steal?” He asked, voice robotic. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you if I can talk to the real you,” she cooed, “take off the mask,” she could feel the open air on her nipples- presumably, the fall made her tits flop out. The price of mixing fun and work- but it wasn’t like the fun would be over now. She hoped she could use Luke easily. 

He gulped audibly as the mask receded from his face, exposing his head and neck. He shifted uncomfortably. 

She giggled at him, “Well, first of all, I stole this-” between two clawed fingers, the cat held a button. The kind that belonged on expensive business pants. The kind- 

“What- dammit!” Luke realized what caused the discomfort in his pants. He turned around to fix them, opening up the bottom half of his suit to adjust himself, muttering in his deep, throaty voice, “Damn new suit.. Shoulda worn the cup..” 

“Ah, the cup?” asked Selina, hoping to get him so aroused he couldn’t catch her, “Oh c’mon, you were staring at mine, why can’t I see-” 

“No, I-” he fell forward as he felt Selina push against his leg, but in doing so showed Selina what she wanted- his cock half hard, pushing out against his grey underwear in a massive bulge. 

“Oh- oh come fucking on, you’re wearing a cup now!” 

“No- no, you don’t get it,” he said. In a move clearly done by pure hormones, he pulled it out to show her- and holy hell was it a sight. 

Darker than the rest of his milk chocolate skin and, even when at best half hard, as thick as her wrist and twice the length of her hand, it protruded from his muscular pelvis, curving down until the large, deep mauve head pointed straight at the floor, nearly touching Selina's sensitive skin. 

Selina’s sultry, deep breaths stopped cold. She reached out to touch it. In her hand, which she couldn’t wrap around it, of course, she felt his blood pump, making his width tug, his head throbbing just a bit. 

It was frightening- how was he so big? Bruce's sat snug in her hand when he was rock hard, but this was barely above flaccid, and it fit in her hand, the squishy, yet strong flesh spilling out of her hand. He was like a handful of sand, something she couldn't hold, while Bruce was just one stone. Or a pebble. Eventually, she managed to get her lithe fingers to touch all the way around it, but, as her breaths turned waveringly deep, she felt them barely brush each other, and then be pulled totally apart as he rose to hardness. 

She decided that she didn’t want to run away anymore. 

“H-how big does it get?” She stared. 

“Fourteen inches,” he gulped, more confident now. 

“Christ-” she lifted it up, letting the head brush her face, “do they even make cups this big?” was all she could ask. 

“It’s.. difficult,” he chuckled, “And the suits are a whole nother thing... this is a new one, you see. I haven’t made the necessary adjustments yet... I’m sorry, lemme just-” 

Selina grabbed his plump cock, “Oh fuck no bitch! I’m gonna get this cock- Goddamn it’s big! And why the hell don’t you have your suit fitted for this? Not that I’m complaining...” 

“No- I, I make the adjustments myself. Bruce makes the suits-” 

“Say no more,” smiled Selina, working her arm to pump his fat cock to hardness, “Goddamn, those rumors are true...” she felt a massive urge to lick at his black cock. 

“Rumors?” 

“Oh, you know- about black guys’ dicks- don’t tell me you’ve never been in a locker room with any of Bruce or his, heh, little Robins?” 

“I don't think you should trust me to be honest.” 

“Well, I’ll be honest, I’ve never fucked a black guy, but if I ever had, I’d be thinking about that cock all the fuckin time.” 

“Never fucked a black guy, Miss Kyle?” 

“Not even when I was a hooker- and no need to be all formal. It’s Selina, at the very least,” she smiled widely as she smacked his meat against her snow white face. 

“Alright, Selina- I think I’m there. Wanna take what you want?” 

“Don’t ask next time. It’s hotter,” she replied, and then, just slow enough to taste every inch of the massive thing, Catwoman decided she'd go all in, and inhaled his cock, its blackness more than she had ever had before. It tasted musky and strong, pulsating on and heating her little pink tongue. 

She widened her jaw to take in his girth, his dick filling both her. She was great at the blowjob face, sucking her cheeks in, but with a black cock the limber woman felt like a chipmunk. It was heavy, too, pushing down on her poor straining lower jaw. Worst of all, she was about halfway down the actual length. She pushed on, feeling her throat expand as she swallowed his length. 

She gargled it, then pulled out, coating his big black dick in saliva, more than it looked like her cute little mouth could produce. 

Her eyes, however, told a different story. One that said she needed more of this massive dick to suck on, to lick, to drool over, to fawn over, to get all up inside all her holes. With one suck, Selina Kyle became another victim to black cock lust. She totally forgot how she felt about Bruce- emotions were a thing of the heart, and right now, her dripping pussy was the captain of her actions. 

She happily slurped him down again, ropes of spit sticking to his veiny dick every time she came off it. She sucked him like a vacuum, her ruby lips stretching across his shaft as she pulled back before going all the way back down again. Lipstick smeared on him, only to be licked back up when her tongue darted all over his cock every time she went down on him. 

Slurping, sucking, kissing and licking, Selina gave Luke the best head she ever gave, and the best he’d ever gotten. 

“How.. how close are you?” she gasped, just off his hot dick, strings of spit and precum hanging from her lips, dangling onto her creamy breasts. 

“To cumming?” he asked, “Not really.” 

Well, fuck! Selina’s usual routine (both before and after she found robbing was more fun than sex) was to make him cum with a blow job, then fuck him. But it seemed this ugy had a big dick and could last twice as long as the normal guy, 

“Change of plans,” she announced, gulping as she realized her throat felt much wider, “do you wanna take your costume off?” 

“For what?” 

“To fuck me silly, silly!” She smiled, stripping, letting her leather catsuit fall onto the roof as she crawled back to his erection, licking its tip playfully. 

“I’d like to keep it on, if that’s fine with you.” 

“Oh, God yes it is,” she licked his balls and up to his very tip, then let his dick drag between her pillowy tits, “keep me naked, all submissive and helpless, you’re so fucking hot.” 

Luke didn’t see it that way- he just didn’t want to be disarmed in case he had to fight this crazy white cat burglar bitch, but every second it seemed more like that wouldn’t happen, since she wasn’t stopping. 

She gave him a short, toying titjob, rubbing her pale breasts all over his pole, and then stood further up, rubbing his precum against her firm but smooth stomach, before finally standing up straight, his cockhead poking just under her navel. 

“Oh, take me, Batwing,” she cooed, no sign of remembering all the times she’d said Batman instead. Luke kissed her, making out deeply, slimy tongues rolling over each other. He then grabbed her by her soft asscheeks, not as impressive as her tits, but still a wonderful pair. He smacked them, pushed into the soft flesh with his strong fingers, and then cupped her sexy ass in his hands to lift her up onto his cock. 

“You feel so big,” said Selina, biting her tongue as she held onto Luke, her pussy lips rubbing on his shaft. 

“You feel so wet,” responded Luke. 

“Better to guide you in with, Lukey baby,” she said, pushing her stomach against his abs, guiding his cock up to point right at her cunt. She closed her eyes, braced herself, and sat on it. 

“Ah, fuck!” she yelled, loud enough that it made Luke hope no one was on the roof, “It is really big! I haven’t felt like this since I lost my virginity! In fucking middle school! Oh yeah, fuck me hard and deep with your big- big- oh, fuck you’re so big!” Selina turned into a chatterbox by his electrifying black cock. 

“Damn you’re tight! I thought you were a whore!” He bounced her up and down his massive dong, her sweaty, sticky legs locked tight around his waist. 

“Oh, I am! I’m a whore! A dirty, slutty, whore!” 

“Then why are you as tight as a school girl?” 

“Ah, fuck! You just wanna hear me say it! I’m a- fuck I feel it all the way in I’m sooooo full!- I’ve never been a whore for black cock before!” 

“And now?” 

“Holy- holy shit! Ah, I’m getting lightheaded... I’ve never been fucked like this before. I can’t believe I’ve never gone black..” 

He pulled her short, black hair and smacked her ass, “And now?” 

“Now- I went black! And goddamn if I’m never going back! Ahh, fuck!” the usually clever cat burglar had become totally degraded, slick with sweat and eyes wild with pleasure. She held on tight to his armor, gyrating her round, obsessed, child bearing hips on his cock. 

It pushed and throbbed and strained all inside her, stretching her insides, making them even wider than her pussy, which never stretched wider than his steady base. It was his twitching head deep in his canal that made her feel like she never had before. 

“I’m a fucking slut for black cock!” she cried, mind exploding as she felt a rush of hot, syrupy liquid in her cunt spill out and run on her legs. It took her a second to realize that this was not his cum she felt, but her own. 

The BBC whore tried to see what time it was on something, but there were no clocks near. Her screams and cry were replaced with a long, humid moan, that was only interrupted when her whole body shook with one of his thrusts. They could have been fucking for ten minutes or for half an hour. Either way, the man had stamina like she had never felt. 

He pushed her up against the wall of the stairway exit, her back scraping against rough concrete, but if any of her white hide hurt, it was her rose-red asscheeks, which had been thoroughly spanked by the dominant man. 

She screamed his name as she came again. Her pussy tightened, and he kept driving. She loved the pain. She was a white woman- a snowbunny, now. A snowkitty. She loved it. She wanted him to hurt her more. 

He then held onto her back. His gloves had retracted into his armpeices- when, Selina’s dopamine-addled mind didn’t know- and his black, rough palms felt up her back. He didn’t squeeze tight, which she would have loved, but she realized how much hotter it made her felt. 

Stupid white girl! Just let the black man pleasure you, Selina. Let his black... black... 

It felt like he was dominating her, making her more whorish than Stan or Slam Bradley or Bruce had ever done, effortlessly. She was so weak compared to this adonis. 

She was never going back to white boys. 

She felt his round, fat black balls slam up against her ass. They were hanging, the size of tangerines, and as delicious as them. Selina could swear that she felt them churn with his superior african seed, what she wanted- no, no, no, NEEDED- inside of her. 

Suddenly, as she came a third time, her lover granted her wish, and came inside of her, shooting strong, round, fluid ropes of thick goop inside her already wet pussy, drenching it. The solid weight within her ravished hole doubled as his manhood came deep inside. It felt like gallons of his potent sperm was emptied right into her womb. Shame she wasn’t anywhere near ovulating. 

She went limp, falling down, having to be caught with his strong, quick hand around her back. Her head and limbs hung, supported by his one hand and his massive dong, buried deep inside her tight cunt. 

“That was.. The best... I’ve ever had,” she panted, dropping to the ground. She looked at her raw, well-fucked cunt, staring at its strained opening. Then, cum ran out- not gray, thin white cum, but thick, creamy, virile black cum, “You’re so much better than all the other Bat boys... how are you so good...” it kept spilling out, drowning her crotch, soaking the ground. 

Luke laughed, “Secret identity- I’m black.” 

“Of course.. And Bruce had to get a chinadoll to actually have a kid with.” 

“And all the boys are pretty shy in the locker rooms too...” 

“I bet.” 

“‘Cept for Duke.” 

“God, tell me more. I’m already wet...” her hand slid down her sticky creampie. It made a shlicking sound. Selina’s eyes closed as she bit her messy lip. 

“Sure,” Luke cracked his knuckles, “ready to go again?” 

2 - Along Came a Black Spider 

Selina had to wonder if Bruce understood that he was a beta white guy, with a below-average dick and no jet pack. After all, he had given Luke Fox, the guy with the gargantuan dick that made Selina into a black-only snow bunny, the super suit with a jetpack. 

He used both on the way to Selina’s apartment, where he had agreed to drop her off after she had taken a second load of his on her face, still feeling like a spa day, his thick cum masking her pale countenance with enough fluid to fill a bucket. 

She fell naked on her balcony, her ass cheeks redder than her roses from the pounding, her knees more scraped than her old metal chairs from how deep she had sucked him, and her nipples standing erect as the table’s umbrella, the tits they adorned glazed with ropey cum, more than she could swallow- and she loved swallowing his delicious cum. 

He took the flash drive and flew away, leaving Selina, naked, and without her catsuit, to go in her apartment, totally exhausted. She had barely taken a few steps in when she collapsed on the couch, lifting her legs up in the air to expose her burning cunt as she teetered at the edge of consciousness. 

“Fuck, I need a shower.....” groaned Selina as she felt a fat dollop of syrupy cum leak from her used hole, putting her fingers up to herself to feel her creampie, letting it drip on her couch, the fluid ruining it as Luke had ruined her cunt. Hell, the whole couch may have been ruined. She was sweating so much- every inch of her skin was on fire with a pleasure years of white lovers had never given her. She closed her eyes and smiled, tongue lapping at the cream on her lips. 

She began fingering herself. She loved feeling the insides of her tight little cunny, but now it felt like she was hollow, her stretched hole feeling like an abyss around her hand, wider than three fingers. Even when she pushed her whole hand in, her sex stretched easy as a shirt, looser than she’d ever been before. It felt like it would just collapse in on itself if she removed her hand. 

Reluctantly, the wet, dripping, sweaty, cum-soaked mess got up from the couch and meandered into the bathroom, tracking her mess throughout the brightly lit, angular apartment. She passed the balcony in her bedroom there, but, to her sadness, there was no Batwing flying around. The Bat-signal was lit, but she hoped Bruce wouldn’t ever expect anything from her again, because, as good a person he was, he wasn’t a real man. And Selina needed a real man. 

She turned on the steamy water as she felt guilt and pleasure keep washing over her. It wasn’t like she’d cheated on Bruce- they weren’t together right now, and it’s not like it wasn’t seen as normal for a beautiful white lady such as her to cuckold a white guy with a big, dark lover, was it? And god, Luke felt so good, deeper inside her than she’d ever thought possible. 

She played with her clit in the hot bath, finely manipulating it, thinking if she was stereotyping. After all, she’d fucked only the one black guy, what’s to say he wasn’t an outlier? What if she couldn’t, just in 

theory, get herself all tattooed up with queens of spades and ‘black owned’ and be totally satisfied with black guys twice as big as any white ‘man’? 

Well, she could always just be with Luke. He, she knew, was good enough. He was a decade and a half younger than her- did that make her a cougar? Fuck if she cared. 

She kept playing with herself under the water, pinching and pulling at her swollen clit, thinking of the wild night she’d just had. How Luke had picked her up and their bodies sunk into each other, how he’d put her on her hands and feet as he mounted her, her from behind, how he slapped her ass as he pounded her cunt, how his thick pile of meat slapped her tits and her face before cumming all over them, emptying those full, hanging balls she only got to lick a precious few times. 

Even more disappointing than how much she licked his balls was her ass- yeah, the cheeks were as red as could be, but as she moved the finger of her other hand to the pink, tight pucker of her anus, it felt very neglected compared to her gaping pussy. She wanted a big black cock in her ass. 

As she drifted into sleep, fingers holding her clit in a fist as she put another two far up her ass, she dreamed of it. 

She woke up when her head finally dipped underwater- something the expensive in-bath seat was designed to prevent. She stole hard for that, it might as well work! 

Still, she felt comfortable- the water was still somewhat warm, so the heating worked. And judging by the dim light it was dawn. If she had any idea how long it was between encountering Luke and going to sleep, that may have meant something. 

She didn’t want to get up. She kept her face barely above the water so she could keep feeling herself. Her asshole had accommodated to her middle and index finger, and so she pushed another into the snugly held hole. Her pussy, on the other hand, had tightened around her fingers, no longer gaping or full of semen. 

Of course, she’d love it to be again- stretched open and fucked, then poured into with hot, thick sperm. And even more in her ass- god, how she needed a black man to really fill that hole, how- 

She rolled her head over, and saw something in the corner of her bathroom- no, someone. Wearing a black full-bodysuit, with orange and purple highlights, a maroon spider on his face. 

“Ah, shit,” grumbled Selina, hooping out of the bath into the cold air as a throwing knife flew past her short black hair. He pounced at her, so she grabbed the bathroom door and left him to run into it. 

“Black Spider, isn’t it?” She asked, flipping into the living room, soaking the floor again. 

He didn’t respond, simply running after her and firing a line from his gauntlet, missing Selina and catching a chair, which also missed her. 

“Oh come on!” she yelled, keeping on her feet, “I’m right, right? You’re Black Spider- Eric Needlewhatever-“ she dodged more of his swipes- “Shouldn’t you be with Waller? And even then, what 

the hell are you doing in my bathroom, pervert?!” 

“You knew the deal- turn in the drive by 6 am. It’s been an hour almost, so I was sent to check on you. You clearly haven’t bothered, I searched the place, and it’s not here, so I assumed the contract is void, and you know the boss don't accept betrayal.” 

“Ah, fuck you!” She gasped as she narrowly dodged another barbed line, whipping around her bedroom, “I can still get it!” 

“Plenty of people can- and I’m sure the boss is already hiring. You’re done-“ he swung around the line like a whip yet again, “it’s just you and me now.” 

“Can you let me get dressed first then, Eric, before I kick your ass?” 

“How cliche,” chuckled the Spider, switching to wrist-mounted blades to keep Selina on her toes, “and shouldn’t you appreciate the fact that you’re naked? Isn’t sex appeal meant as a distraction?” 

“What? You buy that bullshit? No, I show my tits off because I’m a slut-“ she slid under him to kick him in the back, knocking him down onto a armoire, knocking down a jewelry chest, “be lucky I didn’t go for the dick, asshole,” She grumbled, letting the chest hit him. 

“Oh, you would have liked that, wouldn’t you, slut?” He rolled over, still mocking her. 

“That’s-“ she paused, knowing he wasn’t the one who started that, “Okay, fuck you, I am a slut, and I was having a great time before you showed- wait,” she paused, reaching for his mask, but not taking it, “you’re black, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, and I’m a spider.” 

“No, I meant-“ 

“Bitch, I know what you meant! Yes, I am,” he pushed her hand away to take off his mask, revealing a sharp, goateed black face, “why?” 

She lowered her body, exposed and naked, on top of his well armored one, until her pussy was nearly touching his large codpiece, “I mean... I just wanted to ask-“ she put her hands on his shoulders, pinning him down, “how big is your dick?” 

“...Bitch, what?” 

“I’m serious-“ she whined, “how big? Because I fucked my first black guy last night and need to know if they’re all like that!” 

They both looked at each other, Selina in what seemed to be desperation, and Eric in confusion. 

“AHAHAHAHA,” suddenly, he laughed, “So you’re just another big black cock slut, is that right?” 

“Uh- you’ll fuck me if I say yes, right?” 

“Fuck Batman’s bitch? Any day.” 

“Then yes, I’m the biggest fucking black cock whore on earth!” She exclaimed, almost shaking on him, “oh! And I’m not his bitch- not anymore,” she smiled gleefully, putting up two pinched fingers to illustrate Batman’s little white dick. 

“Hah! You are a bad bitch, aren’t you!” 

“I’ll be your bad bitch if you really do have a big black cock!” 

“Then lemme show you,” he breathed as he pushed her ass off him. She felt her pussy dampen at the feeling of him control her, picking her up with just one big, strong hand. 

He tore off his belt and peeled off his pants, pulling the codpiece down to reveal to Selina what could only be described as an anaconda- as long, if not longer than Luke, with a fatter head and thinner shaft, actually making it look bigger, harder to take, more painful. Definitely like a snake. 

“I’m already so fucking wet,” whispered Selina. 

“I can tell-” he made her moan by feeling her wetness, holding her from behind with two fingers sloshing over her pussy while his thumb pressed right above her asshole. 

“Your hands even feel big,” she lowered her shuttering head to his ear, “I want you to do whatever you want to me, baby.” 

“Good,” he slammed her ass, spanking her. His spry, sturdy hand totally covered her alabaster cheek, rubbing it like a baker kneading dough, the strength of his black hands rippling over her velvety flesh. She kissed his dark neck, tasting sweat. It clung to her lips until she licked it off. 

He began tearing off his padded suit, Selina pawing at the edges as if to help, but she was really just enamored with his black body, his ebony tufts of hair running down his broad chest and sculpted abs, the hair of a real man. His torso and cock was totally opened, and so, like a moth to a flame, Selina dropped, ass up, and face down, kissing his muscular frame. 

Preoccupied with his musculature and musk, Selina’s hand drifted down to Eric’s legs without looking, feeling around, groping at his wide, strong legs. She kissed his stomach like it was an idol until her hand felt something new- a smooth, bulbous head, a deep peach poking out from the long, curved, black shaft. It tensed as her hand felt it, as her worshipping slowed to look over at the massive tube of meat, semi-erect and pointing down at his swollen, hanging balls. 

Selina’s hand purled around his sleek cockhead and his round ballsack. He secreted precum, the perfect lubricant for Selina’s lustful hand to hold his cockhead, at least three times bigger than any white boy she’d ever been with. As she tried to wrap her fist around his round tip, his cock tightened, hefting his balls, swelling his veins all the way down his shaft. 

She planted sloppy, smacking kisses down his abs to his crotch, where she glossed the base of his cock, which, despite its curve, was still taller than her head at its vertex. She kissed and tongued and groped his cock, feeling the fat, many veins only a black cock had, tugging at the soft, loose skin around his solid shaft. 

“You’re so fucking... fucking huge... gargantuan... BBC...” she murmured in between licks, just loud enough for him to hear. Even the thought of those words made her pussy ache. 

He smiled a pearly grin as she put her silky, drooling lips parallel to his cock, then lowered them slowly onto it, right in the middle. She held it on either side of her mouth, the shaft and it’s veins filling each hand as she sucked on it’s delicious flavor. 

She slurped on it, doing her best to drench it with spit from her small mouth, his black member dwarfing her mouth. She went all the way down it and all the way back up, like she was on a harmonica. She closed her eyes and touched herself as her lips popped off his base. When they opened, they saw that her spit, which felt like enough to fill a lake, made maybe half of his godly cock slick with spit. 

Selina whimpered at the monster before her. Luke’s was in the dark, but here, in her apartment, at daybreak, she could see the whole thing, all of its features and pulsations and dark, dark blackness against the pinks, peaches, and whites of her home. Her home was a damn mess thanks to their fight- but now she was ready to be made a damn mess thanks to their fuck, thanks to his huge, strong, black dick. 

She pumped his dick to hardness, thickening it and flattening out its big, floppy curve, replacing it with a solid pipe of black cock. It’s head still pointed down, just a bit. It sat snugly in her hand, the lightest skin on his dark chocolate member, round and smooth as an apple and slick with precum. 

She lied down perpendicular to him, elbows resting on his sinewy dark skin, and let his dick shake and bounce and finally get to full mast right in front of her blue eyes. She kissed the hole at its tip top, and pushed her tongue into to sticky hole, pulling off with a string of precrum. It broke and fell down to his pelvis. She watched it as is fell, far, far below. She jumped off skyscrapers regularly, but, with his cockhead at her nose, the cock she was staring down looked frighteningly tall. 

She put her arms on either side of his base and sat up with good posture, the domineering cock running nearly from her belly button to her forehead. She laughed nervously. 

“Bitch, you ain’t being anywhere near as much as a slut as your tight ass tells me you can,” he said, slapping her ass. His dark palm renewed the light pink handprint that covered both her cheek before he took his huge middle finger, and ran it down her asscrack, pushing at her perfect pink butthole. 

“Eep!” She jumped, body tending and hair bobbing as she felt his fingertips against her sensitive pucker. She looked down, bending to show him he tits with his powerful, huge cock in her cleavage. She beamed, well kept teeth whiter than her skin, but hopefully not to be any less defiled by his blackness, by his huge black cock. 

She closed her eyes and breathed deep, “Don’t stop touching my asshole,” she gasped through th,an enraptured smile. 

He said nothing as he kept playing with her backdoor, moving his fingers in circles around its pucker, running its pad over her, dipping his fingerprints into her lusting anus. Eventually, he matched the pace of Selina’s nervous licks to the underside of his tip, the perfect spot to lap at the juices. 

Her licks were playful, as was his fingering on her behind. Him touching her dirtiest whole made her wet, and that arousal made her more desperateShe lapped at his glans, the smooth, round bulb, the color of syrup. His pace stayed the same, but her mind was running faster and faster. She began to drool on his head and kiss it sloppily as her cunt was, his precum tasting like syrup. He stayed the same. She took a hand and shoved it between her legs, fingering herself. Not long after, his bulb was in her mouth. 

“Mmmf!” she stopped herself when his head, the size of a ripe fruit, was already in her head. Sticky spit flung from her stretched lips, sinking down the long rod of his cock. Ready to gag, she chased it down his dick, careful not to hurt him with her teeth. He may have been thinner than Luke, but she still felt it against her teeth no matter how wide she opened her mouth. Like the water of a warm shower, Selina descended down her would-be assassin’s cock. 

She began to gag at halfway, more than she could take. She pushed down, feeling her wetness increase with each throb of his cock deep down her little slutty gullet. She teared up as she struggled to even take half of his incredible black cock, and almost cried when he took his hand off her hungry asshole, and her ass altogether. She felt like she was gonna collapse when he put that hand on top of her head, and forced her even further down his black rod. 

When she nearly reached the bottom, red-faced, choking, and sputtering as his fat head pushed and pulsates deep, deep in her windpipe, he took his hand off. He moved it down to her crotch, and, to her dismay, he removed her hand from gm inside her soaking wet pussy. 

“W-why?” She pleaded, after rushing up for a gulp of air. That huge cock only a black guy could have flopped on her crestfallen face. 

“Ah calm down,” he said with his well-earned confidence- after all, who could know how to please a girl better than a man with a big black cock? 

He took her waist and hips and pulled them toward him. The pussycat looked over at him, a but he simply pushed her face back into his rock hard dick. Teasing and kneading the flesh, he pulled her hips right at him, lifted them up, and laid them in his face, wet cunny dripping onto his ruggedly handsome face. 

Hugging her waist close to his chest, he slurped and smacked on her drenched puss as she did the same to his cock. Needleham had an easier time eating her out than Selina had blowing him, but both felt similar pleasure. 

Selina began to go limp as she felt an orgasm flowing through her. If it was a white boy, his dick would fall out her slack mouth, but this black snake stayed deep in her. Eric soon noticed, and put her down- practically throwing her on the bed. 

“You’re good at sucking cock, but you need to learn to last a little longer,” he chuckled. Selina moaned 

and groaned, but couldn’t verbally respond. She just sat there as he jerked off his long, black dick to her, building it up until his huge, hanging, wrecking-ball testicles clenched, and he came. He spurted cum down her throat, and her clear wet drool became a thick, sticky, and white. 

She pulled off his cock, not that you could tell, with the slimy cum sticking to his cock and her lips, making a messy curtain between them. That was nowhere near all his cum though- most of it was down her throat, a bigger load than she had ever had before. She sucked up the slimy mess, trying to hold his whole load in. 

“You’d better not spit,” he muttered. 

She gagged and gasped, eyes tearing up with desperation. She bent over and opened her mouth, vomiting potent slime onto her floor. 

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry-“ she cried, bending over to get near to the puddle of cum, “your load was just so big! I couldn’t hold it all in!” She gasped, and stuck her tongue out to lap up the puddle, working to swallow it all. 

He walked around back to her bare ass. “It’s fine- long as you lemme go all the way,” he grinned, putting his hand on her numb butt. 

She took a breath in between her eating of her own oral cream pie, “sure! Please do- I- I won’t be able to fuck as good as usual, but I just want that inside me!” 

“All you had to say,” 

“And no condoms!” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, bitch.” 

She gleefully closed her eyes as she pushed her tongue down onto the hot cum and stuck her butt up for him to use. 

“Pussy or ass?” 

“Mmgh- pussy! I’d die if your black cock went into my asshole-“ she kept talking about how white guys would make her ass stretch, and she wasn’t ready for Eric’s black mamba to get all up in her guts, but he tuned her out, just pushing his cockhead against her soaking wet lips, and shoved it inside her canal. 

She spat out more cum almost immediately, screaming as his strength overtook her tightness, and he shoved his fat head deeper inside her than any first thrust ever had, slamming into her uterus, causing her to explode in pleasure and pain. 

Her white pussy was tight, perfectly sized for the types of cocks she’d been fucking her whole life, and while she needed something more, this sure was a hell of a way to get it. It was stretched in every direction, pushing into places that had never been fucked before, that she never knew she wanted to be fucked. 

He pounded her so hard it felt like she may as well have been doing anal, slamming her whole body. He sent every inch of loose skin, of which there wasn’t much, shaking as much as her bouncy tits. And forget about her face, it was now totally slack and no longer trying to lick up his spilled cum. Instead the force of her whole body was being buckled and slammed, and her face was laying in the puddle, ground into the puddle. Her hair was a mess. Her pussy was on fire. 

He was rougher and gruffer than Luke was, probably due to age and the comfort of her well-heated apartment. Being a criminal, as she knew, certainly help. Being black compounded that. She could barely think, and soon he fucked her brains right out of her. Her arms gave out, and the front half of her body weight fell on her cum-covered face, legs behind her held up by his large hands on either hip. He kept her in place as he destroyed her pussy. She couldn’t see, but he was grinning like a madman, which made sense for any man who got to be with a woman like her, but she considered herself the far luckier one. 

The pounding felt beyond physical. Yeah, he was strong as hell and fucked her deep, slamming through her hole and poking her womb like she was a piece of meat, but she felt more than just that. She felt tingly throughout her body. Not a girlish, schoolgirly sort of sensual tingles, but shocks of pleasure like a hard drug throughout her body from his hard cock. Her pussy juices dripped like lava, her stretched canal coated in magma. Her body felt better than ever. 

That was when she realised what was happening- she was orgasming. Not just a powerful, climactic squirt from her pussy, but a continuous, flow of orgasms. She was cumming one time after another, so many, so hard, so fast, that it felt like her body was perpetually climaxing. 

His pounding had rubbed the sticky puddle of cum on the floor into her face, sending small globs flying into her hair, against her slack lips, even in her rolled-back eyes. She had gotten so used to her constant orgasm that she was barely even conscious, she just sat there, barely propped up against his pumping black hips. 

She was jolted awake when she felt his dick twitch uncontrollably inside her, pushing up against her walls. She leaned her head down, putting her hair on the floor, and looked between her legs. She saw his gargantuan black meat entering her and how her pussy was raining juices from the dozens of orgasms she must have had. She also saw his massive, loosely hanging balls swing less and less and begin to tighten up against the underside of his cock. 

Why his cock was twitching was finally clear- he was going to cum! His grunts became louder and his thrusts became faster. She threw her head back and moaned as she prepared for what was coming. 

He shot his load in her, just as big and thick as before, if not more so. The sheer force of his cum in her womb made her tremble, and as he pulled out, her clit went off as it felt gallons of black cum pouring out of her, enough to make another puddle on the floor and still fill her up. 

She had her biggest orgasm yet. It made her jump, pull away from Eric as she fell on the floor, rolling around in a mess of cum as she moaned- no, screamed. Her hips shook and she tried to cover her pussy with her hand, but it was buckled off, and she squirted everywhere, lifting her ass off the ground. 

“I love black cock!” Catwoman screamed as she fell onto the floor like a starfish. 

“Sure did,” muttered Eric, getting dressed again, having trouble fitting his black manhood in his pants again, “I’ll tell the boss you’re the least of our problems now that the Bat’s onto us. Good luck, you crazy little whore.” And with that, he walked out to the balcony, and left. 

Selina was left scoop up the pools of black cum, playing with the precious substance like, well, a kitten. She coated her hand in it, rubbed it all on her worn-out pussy. She massaged her belly with a glob of it, soothing her stretched insides. She made her milky white tits even whiter, lubing them up with his copious baby batter. Most of all, she filled her hands with it, and poured it down her hungry, slutty little throat. 

“I love black dick,” she breathed, not even thinking. It just came naturally. “I love black cum. I’m a blacked little slut.” 

She passed out, soon dreaming of getting stuffed by big, black cock. 

3 - Stephanie Brown and the Blackedcomputer 

Selina was in trouble honestly. It was the first time in years she’d failed a job (granted, she never took up contracts, but still!), and surely Black Spider wouldn’t be the last assassin to be sent after her. While that turned out well, she didn’t wanna gamble her life with the next one. 

Especially if the next wasn’t black. 

That’s why she was here now, at the residence of Carlton Duquesne, a generally well-liked and well-respected mob boss. The kind who would provide her the protection she needed. In more ways than one, of course, but only Selina would think of an innuendo like that when her life was on the line. 

Then again, considering Duquesne’s mob was owned and operated by the black families of Gotham’s underworld, not to mention the luxurious overworld old Carlton himself lived in, maybe plenty of women would accept protection. Those of the underworld would prefer to stay clean with the hung black thugs they fucked, while the wealthier women would use it to make sure they didn’t end up pregnant with a black guy’s baby. 

Either way, Selina would probably still use it. She wasn’t that addicted to her newfound love. Not yet, anyways. She still knew what she was doing though. Every mob in Gotham had it’s big, strong black enforcers. But she picked the one she knew had the most. And the one that was run by one. 

Selina was neither greedy nor generous, stealing more than she could possibly need, but still gave tons to charity. Mostly for animals, but still, it was charity. Mr. Duquesne, however, was not a charity case, and she didn’t intend to spend a dime on protection money to stay at his big, extravagant, and a tad tacky hotel. She did, however offer another payment that was worth more to her than it was to him. Not that she’d ever tell that. 

When she first came to him, she pleaded for protection from the newly made enemies. He initially refused- Catwoman was a big name, and a big target. Her reputation couldn’t buy her protection, but it seemed money would. Selina had a better idea. 

“Tell me, Mr. Duquesne,” she’d said. She still remembered exactly how the exchange went, that night in his penthouse office, him in a suit and turtleneck, her in her catsuit, “How much do you pay the girls who I saw running around your office earlier?” 

“My ladies ain’t a concern, kitty,” the mob boss replied, “you’re not negotiating with them.” 

“Oh, of courrrrse I’m not negotiating with them,” she purred, “I’m Catwoman, they’re just... girls, really. How could they compare?” she rubbed a gloved hand up her torso. Her palm grazed against her D-cup. 

Carlton looked her up and down. She invited him by sliding her zipper all the way down, so that the tiniest flecks of her well-trimmed womanly hair poked above the catsuit. “I just wanna place to stay, baby. To lay low.” She made a kissy face. 

“There a catch, kitty?” The black boss leaned down to look at her. She got on the floor in response, 

“Not at all. I’ll do this every week if it you’d rather that then rent. More than every week....” 

“I’ll be the judge of what’s worth it,” he said, deep gravelly voice doing things to her pussy. He lifted himself up, undoing his belt and pulling down his pants, then his underwear, down his ashy black legs, revealing his cock. 

He was enormous. The thickest cock she’s ever seen, almost as long as her arm and bulbous. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was in love. 

“So it’s gonna be like that, huh?” 

She nodded. “I’ll be your slut once a week. More, if this thing feels as good as it looks.” 

“Good.” He wasn’t surprised by women wanting his dick at all. 

“Any limits, sir?” She asked, uncharacteristically submissive. She pulled down the top of her suit, letting her braless tits shine with all their glory. 

“Just don’t call me daddy. Shit’s weird.” 

She was a little disappointed. She loved the fantasy of a black daddy ramming her ass as she cried his title. Still, it wasn’t worth giving up an inch of this monster cock. Selina nodded yes right into his eyes as she kissed the sliding foreskin of his cock. She got it hard just with sluttly little licks and pokes of her tongue. Just like a Cat. And that was what he wanted, right? Catwoman, the dangerous, uncontrollable expert thief and outlaw, totally submitting to his massive, alpha, dominant, mob boss black cock. 

“I... don’t know if I can suck it all,” she worried, looking up at him as he unbuttoned his shirt with massive, strong arms, showing a slightly bulging belly and powerful chest. 

“I’ve had white girls take it before. Penguin’s bitches, Lark and Jay? They’ve sucked it down to the base. Do you really think you’re worse than some sluts who suck Cobblepot’s ugly cock?” 

That got to her head. Selina always had a bit of a complex, and this played right to it. She hadn’t stood down from sucking a dick since middle school, and she didn’t want to start now. Although, if there was one sort of dick she couldn’t overcome, it was the massive kind black men possessed. 

“Yes sir. Your dirty whore, at your service,” she smiled at him. 

She licked from his huge, loose balls, her tongue drawing them up until his sack was stiff and wrinkled. Her tastebuds didn’t experience any worse taste though. She put her hands on his comparatively huge ones (and she had big hands for a woman). She felt him relax, loosen up for her. Even if she wanted to hurt him, he’d overpower her. Maybe she’d try to, just to feel him rough her up. 

She kept peeling off her spandex down to the last inch, tossing it to the side. He was dressed in classy, 

expensive armani wool, unbuttoned to show his impressive physique. Selina, meanwhile, was totally naked, silky ass and tits all out for anyone to walk in to see. If they did she’d keep going. She loved being a black cock slut. 

Positioned in front of his bulbous cock, she looked up at him. He didn’t look down. It was like she didn’t even matter. It was a little upsetting, after all, Catwoman deserved more respect. But god it was hot. This monster black cock was probably so popular that the Catwoman worshipping it wasn’t any big deal to Carlton. 

Kiss after kiss, she made out with the tip of his dick, not letting an ounce of precum escape from her greedy lips. She was ready to steal all his cum, like the good little slutty thief she was. She went down on him, struggling to swallow all of the huge black rod. She choked, but knew this was where she belonged. 

Sucking his cock. 

Outside, another sight was happening. Red Robin, Tim Drake, was assigned to watch Catwoman. Her alleged dealings with Tobias Whale’s mob was cause for concern, and as such, he was tasked with the field monitoring, while Stephanie Brown was on the other end of the line. 

“She- she’s getting on her knees,” he said, watching the beginning of the scene, peering over the stone lip of the building across the way from Selina and Duquesne. 

“What?” came Stephanie, the muffled sounds of movement, “So she’s not just making a deal with Duquesne?” 

“I- um, I think she is,” her boyfriend replied. 

“Aww, I can hear you blushing. What’s wrong? You watch porn all the time, don’t you?” 

“And do stuff with you, but it’s weird to watch.” 

“Don’t kid yourself, babe. You know I don’t wanna do stuff with the little thing you’re packing. And you watch me all the time while you’re sitting in a corner or behind a screen, jerking off. Are they still talking?” She slurped down chinese takeout. Not the healthiest, but it was her cheat day. Besides, she knew black guys liked girls a little plumper than she was. 

“She’s- um- pulling his pants down. And her top off. Jesus..” 

“What? Is he huge, or are her tits that great. It’s both, isn’t it?” 

“It... it’s both.” 

“D’aww,” she mocked, “Is your little thing hard?” 

“Do you have to make fun of it all the time?” 

“Oh come on, look, I’m sorry, but it’s just too hilarious! I’m not even horny right now-” she heard Tim grumble something on the other end of the line. “What was that? Is it about me being horny? Because if I was you’d be hearing me watching those VIP Blacked.com videos you paid for me. Now look, I’ll be nicer about it, but we have to get this work done! Either keep talking or turn on the camera!” 

“Right,” Tim mumbled, pulling out the portable tripod-mounted camera and hooked it up to the Batcomputer, streaming the scene right into Stephanie’s monitor. The blonde focused it, getting the best shot possible. Tim went off to ‘monitor the perimeter’, but she barely even heard him. The pretty white girl was, as any pretty white girl, mesmerized by the fat cock of a powerful black man. 

Shouldn’t have thought about my blacked membership, thought Stephanie, only somewhat reluctantly sliding her hand down to the crotch of her purple tracksuit. Wet, she thought. She could feel it even before her fingertips touched the dampness right above her pussy. Of course I’m wet- god I’m such a slut. Not that she wanted to change that, of course. She put her feet up on the Batcomputer and spread her legs. She focused intently on the image on her screen. 

Selina Kyle- Catwoman, a villainess she’d had to put in cuffs at least once before, was looking like a fucking supermodel but with bigger tits, bobbing her face on Boss Duquesne’s massive cock. Her skin was almost as pale as Batwoman’s, and the roundness of her muscular arm and silky tits shone in the moonlight. The drops of spit flying onto them only made them shine more. 

As Catwoman drooled sloppy spittle all over this old man’s huge dick, Steph just had to zoom in the camera. Thank god for the 4k quality, she thought, dipping her shakily desperate hand under her waistband. She sunk two fingers into her pussy as she watched how Catwoman’s spit flew everywhere everytime her lips reached the base of his cock. His beefy fingers ran through her short black hair. Both women wished it was longer. Carlton was perfectly happy the way it is. All three of them could see that big hands did indeed mean big dick. 

Selina was beginning to feel something was off. She had a sort of cat sense, and right now, it told her that she was being watched. That was usually a bad thing, but right now, with her throat all stuffed with dick and lips dripping with molasses-like spit, she hoped she was being watched. 

She was proud of this. She hoped whoever was watching her get blacked the third day in a row was feeling as good as she was. Besides, if she did anything about it, that’d just mean she’d have to wait longer to cum on a big black cock. Or feel it shoot all over her tits. Or cum in her ass. Or just keep having this black monster force her tongue down and her uvula up. Any of those would make it worth it. 

So Catwoman and Spoiler, neither in their costumes or even knowing the other was aware of their presence, reached a mutual understanding. Selina would enjoy all the pleasures of sucking, fucking, cumming, and squirting on Carlton Duquesne’s deep black manhood. And Stephanie would get to spend her work time fingering her cunt to a live, real interracial scene. No actors. Every drop of hot cum and warm spit was as real as the juice on Steph’s own fingers. 

Speaking of cum, Carlton’s balls tightened further and his rod came to full attention, making Selina gag and choke. She felt like he was going to rip her throat open and her lily white jawbone apart as his whole penis swelled, charging up for a massive blast of cum. 

He shot his load down her throat. It was a massive load, fitting for a foot-long monster on one of the most powerful bosses in the city. It felt like a gallon of thick, gloopy cum forcing itself down her throat. Her eyes bugged out with tears. She had always loved that, when guys choked her, but she never knew she could really choke on a fat fucking cock until she downed this one. It felt like some shots blasted his creamy seed right into her stomach. She quickly gulped down whatever didn’t, until her stomach was churning with a massive meal. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, as she was on the run. She was hornier than she was hungry, though. She never expected both to be satisfied at once. 

Her eyes widened again as she realized what was happening. She was cumming! 

She came right as he did. And without it even going near her favorite holes. 

That never happened. Well, it might have with the two black guys before, but she couldn’t remember those well, after they had fucked her silly. Still, it was an overwhelming orgasm, hot pussy juice squirting all over the floor, making Selina try and yell with his huge cock still jammed insider her mouth, “MM!! MMM!!!! FCKKKK!! FFFFKKKK!!!” 

This was all a very different experience. It wasn’t random, like the other two fucks she had with Batwing and Black Spider. Those were random. She didn’t expect those. This was planned, she came in here with a plan to get a big black cock fucking her, when she was safe and sober. She didn’t even talk to the guy. She’d bantered with every guy she fucked since she first became a hooker almost twenty years ago. Well, except Batman, but she tried to have him let up his ‘strong silent type’ thing. 

The point was, this was when things changed. Selina knew what she would never stop being a horny little slut for black cock. This was the next chapter of her life- the street rat Selina, the prostitute Selina, the famous criminal Selina, and now, the Blacked Selina. The wet, hot, dripping whore couldn’t be happier. 

She collapsed from her kneeling position Her bare thighs slid on the tile floor that she covered with her wet cum and she landed on her ass. His scarily big black cock emerged from her mouth still hard and ready for more. The dark brown skin of his body was pitch black on his spit-soaked dick, strands of the mess sticking to Selina’s limp, addicted lips. They curled into a smile. 

“What the fuck?!” Yelled Stephanie, kicking her legs down onto the floor. Her bottoms were only a tiny bit down, so the soft skin of her thighs muffined over the band and her blonde pubes, soaked with pussy juice, were barely visible, “You fucking suck his dick once and when he shoots his load in you, you squirt like a fucking fifteen your old all over the floor and pass out like some coke addict whore? All from a fucking BJ?! What lame shit is this? I can’t cum to this!” 

She paused her complaining to hear Tim mumble on the other end of the line, “I can hear you.” 

She sighed. “Do you want me to just mute you, or keep going? I’m trying to enjoy myself here, and I promise I’ll make it up to you when you come home. Okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t mute, I might need your help if I find something.” 

“Yeah, I know babe. Now lemme keep watching- and save the footage, you should watch it later.” He 

didn’t respond. That was why she loved him so much. 

She stripped off her bottoms, the top of it all soaked anyways from sweat and her syrupy cunt juices. The purple leggings tossed to the side, she was free to spread her legs as far as she liked while leaning back in the chair that was far bigger than her. 

Carlton had been speaking to Selina. Before Steph started watching, he’d asked, “Did you really just cum that hard?” 

“F..fuck yeah d- uh, Carlton. I swear I don’t normally cum when just giving head.” 

“I hoped not. I thought Catwoman would be a better bed than some virgin schoolgirl.” 

“Have you- fucked virgin schoolgirls before?” Asked Selina. By pure coincidence, she thought of Stephanie Brown, miss 15 and pregnant. 

“Can’t confirm or deny,” Carl smiled, showing off one gold tooth. 

Selina got up, rubbing her smooth, shaky legs, covered in cum and gross juices that she absolutely loved, all over his expensive suit. He didn’t care. He’d just have his maids wash them. If they asked what happened, he’d fuck them too. Hell, he’d fuck them either way. Carlton Duquesne did whatever he wanted. 

She ran her hand up his sweaty, hair, bulky body. The idea of him fucking some slutty highschooler, because of some mob debt or some deal or just because she knew a good fuck when she saw one, was impossibly hot to her. By the time her long, curvy body stood all the way up, a drop of horny, hot pussy juice fell to the floor from her dripping cunt. 

“You want more?” 

“Fuck yeah. Make me your whore.” 

“I’ll make sure to get you a luxury suite if you make me cum real good.” 

“Mmmm,” she rubbed her plump white ass over the base of his cock, slinging the huge rod all around her sexy butt. Its length dwarfed her behind, its fat head easily sitting on the small of her back. “Fuck my pussy and my ass. I’ll make you cum twice- in each.” 

Carlton slapped her ass and grinned ear to ear. 

By the time it was over, his cum was all over his desk, her juice was all over his suit, and Stephanie’s squirting was all over the batcomputer. Between the three of them, Carlton’s big black cock had caused at least a dozen orgasms. And Tim hadn’t even watched the video yet. 

[dekuinthelake]

Why I’m okay with people knowing I’m transgender

Firstly, I want to start off by saying that if you’re trans and for your own comfort and safety you don’t want to be “outed” that’s 100% understandable and you should not feel bad about that. We all need to move at our own pace when discovering our social limits and confidence. My journey will have not been the same as yours. I live in Colorado, a state that is fairly trans friendly and am a trans man, meaning I’ve most likely had a safer time than I might have elsewhere. Trans women have it especially difficult, and if you feel unsafe in a situation that’s up for you to gage. It doesn’t make you less valid or a coward or anything like that.

Just know that I’m writing this for you and other trans/nb folks. I want our choices to transition to feel like the right one, even when people who don’t understand are making you second guess.

Context:

From the time I was 16-23, I was immensely depressed. I dropped out of highschool because of an immense disillusionment for the future. Primarily, I believed I didn’t have one. I’d always been bad at school, so collage was out of the question. I thought I was too ugly to get married and so that traditional Mormon thing my mother specifically had impressed upon me, which was having kids obviously. Most people disliked me because at the time, I had an extremely aggressive and compulsive attitude thanks to being absolutely lost emotionally. I hated my body and my mind and was convinced the things I despised could never change.

Ironically, one of the thorns in my side was how I always wanted to be a man instead. I recall coming home from school some days and just curling up in bed and sobbing about it.

“If I was a boy, people wouldn’t make fun of my ugly ass body.” Something I felt primarily about my chest. Once I strangled a kid for pointing out my bra strap through a white shirt. No joke. I was volatile and pissed all the time because of dysphoria. Comments about being feminine quite literally triggered me growing up. Every violent fight I remember growing up was caused by someone making fun of me in relation to female gender.

Despite this problem being so obvious, my religious parents took me to Mormon operated therapy. The suggestions I was given by councilors was typically “Have you tried praying about it?” Or “Are you going to Young Women’s every Sunday?” For those of you who don’t know, in the LDS church, they separate Sunday school for age groups based on gender. In particular, they forced all girls to wear dresses.

Having that identity forced on me every Sunday against my will from a very young age caused me to resist in aggressive attitude. Hit a kid in the face with my bible bag once for telling me I should be in the kitchen.

Another unfortunate side effect of the Mormon upbringing was literally not knowing that trans people even existed. I recall seeing trans people (like with waiter we had once) and being a little perplexed but not too bothered. But no one had ever explained the concept to me until much, much later.

After I had dropped out, a friend of mine came out and at the time the concept was alien. I’d spent so much time in my life trying to choke down any hope of being a guy because of religion it seemed impossible to even change genders. But then a mutual friend between me and my trans one (who is now my roommate) explained to me in a car ride I still remember vividly about what testosterone does to your body. Bit of a side note, but the ‘micro phalus’ thing was something I straight didn’t believe and OH BOY LMAOOOO.

Anyway, with that information now tumbling around on my mind... I accepted my friend and continued to ignore my obvious feelings!

Life marched on. I sunk in to gaming addiction, depression, and repression. I think I first tried to kill my self when I was 20 years old. I had quit my job thanks to a car crash I got in to and sunk in to doing absolutely nothing but playing MMOs for months. Eventually I just convinced myself there was no possible way my life could anything meaningful or productive. I had a fairly unhelpful stay in a mental hospital. I got out, got a job at the Denver zoo as a janitor.

I coasted for a few years there. That job taught me a lot. People skills, how to work hard, how to care about the future... And one of my coworkers was a trans man. We didn’t talk much about his transition. Mostly we just talked about cool things at work and how shitty customers were.

I think that kind of interaction was so important to me. To everyone, him being trans was just natural. No one cared and he seemed pretty happy.

With that information I started to do a bit of research on my own. I’m not sure how many months of consideration I had before coming out subtly to my current roommate in a car.

At the time, pondering coming out to everyone around me and having to confront my body every day in mirrors I cleaned for a living became a sort of hell. I worked the 4am shift and had no one to talk to for the entire duration of my work day, leaving me with lots of time to watch videos and think. I mean I mentally battled myself to the point I was in a lot of pain. So I started taking pain killers, mood stabilizers, drinking, and smoking weed in excess. Since I worked in the dark alone, no one would know how fucked up I was. The primary wrench in me finally accepting my own needs was again that feeling of hopelessness. The process of transition seemed so intimidating. It’s expensive. It will take effort. What if I fuck this or that up?

Early 2017, I tried to kill myself again after months of tormenting myself. I remember when they put me in the ICU and asked for my name, I told them Mike instead of my now dead name. The nurses asked if I had a pronoun preference and I just couldn’t say anything at all. But the chart whiteboad hanging on the wall in front of my bed said “Mike’s”. Everyone who came to visit me saw this. In a way, I had forced myself to come out. My stay in the mental hospital provided the same information as the last, but this time I was more ready to accept it.

One of the exercises we did was write plans for the future. Before, I had left it blank. But this time? I had goals. One of them was to come out officially in a far less destructive fashion. My dad seemed to accept it but not fully support. Due to family tensions that were somewhat unrelated to coming out, I ended up moving out in Late September 2018.

Soon everyone in my personal life knew. I got laid off with my entire department at the zoo. I remember coming out to some of my coworkers based on how religious they were the last day. My next job, I introduced myself as Mike and even got a name tag.

At the end of 2018 I started on hormones after a battle to get ahold of a doctor. Since then, I’ve been a lot happier.

I’ve lost over 100lbs and started working out.

I’m currently working the highest paying job I’ve ever had.

I’m living in an apartment with people I really care about.

The people I keep around me accept my pronouns and are proud of me coming out.

I’ve grown a mustache I love so much I can’t bare to shave it.

The power of self actualization

In every respect, coming out and presenting myself in exactly the way I want to has improved my life. For me that included medically transitioning. It’s like I finally have something to look forward to. All the little changes make me excited and more confident in what I like every day.

Even minor things like clothing are now these exciting vehicles of self expression. I never used to buy things I liked since my parents controlled what I was and was not aloud to wear. And even when I got my own money, those standards forced upon me by Mormonism held me back. Every pay check has more meaning when I’m replacing the old life that I hated so much. I seriously love this tiger shirt I got.

I’m proud to tell people I’m trans because finally admitting to myself has improved my life and mental health and unimaginable degree. I went from wanting to die basically at all times to having excitement for what comes next. I’m enjoying activities that I never would have before. Going to gay bars and dancing has been so enriching for me and I absolutely never would have done that before when I was all angry and bristly.

Being trans can be such a possitive experience. It’s freedom. It’s being able to live your life comfortably.

I know there are a lot of people who don’t understand or don’t want to because of their upbringing... and if you are one of those people who managed to read all this, please know they if you’re anti-trans, you’re anti-freedom of expression, anti-mental health, and anti-social.

Coming out was like removing a clog from my life. I’ve FINALLY been able to start living. And that’s something I want people to know about me. I felt dead before I changed my name and pronouns.

By the way. I’m Mike. He/him. 25. And I’m not going to try and kill my self ever again because I’m enjoying my big trans life.👌

[samwrights]

Plastic Flowers [ 4 ]

Chapter 4: Desperate to Tame the Beast

Warnings: language, existential crisis.

"Dude, you guys were back there for a long time." The shit eating grin on Kirishima's face was wide with pride as Katsuki finally emerged from the back room of the Upside Down—finally! His stupid, stubborn friend made his move at last! And while Bakugo's face was as disgruntled as ever, the looming anxiety that had been ever present with him previously was no longer around him. "You all good now man?"

"Tch," Katsuki grumbled before reclaiming his seat and downed the lukewarm beer left in his pilsner. "For now." Was all he said, looking away from the red head. From the nature of their relationship, the blonde knew that Red Riot had expected him to seal the deal and form his permanent bond. That was just the kind of faith and confidence Kiri had in Bakugo. But it was apparent that Kirishima only knew of Kohta’s surface personality—not knowing how deep her stubbornness or even her innocence ran.

"What do you mean 'for now'?!"

"We didn't bond. Just taking our time." Katsuki grumbled in a mix of shame. It wasn’t that the blonde was upset that the two still had yet to bond; far from it, in fact. If anything, the blonde wasn't necessarily proud of his track record after learning of how damn near pure his soulmate was. The red head in front of him, being ever the supporter of Bakugo being able to snag women left and right for emotionless relationships, was unable to discern this gloss of disgust on the blonde's face. Kirishima stayed quiet out of sheer disbelief before his mouth began to spill word vomit.

"Wait, you. Y-you didn't..."

"Of course we didn't!" Bakugo snapped, clutching his beer glass with a knuckle white grip. Eijiro was quiet once again, slowly realizing this situation was going to be much more complicated. "S-she doesn't know how the bond is formed. She doesn't know that we need t-to..." Bakugo dropped his head onto the table, burying his face in his arms to prevent his myriad of emotions from showing on his face. No matter how many different ways words were minced, there was no pretty way to explain to someone that the bonding hormone was transferred through intercourse. Whomever discovered this connection had to be some perverted freak, Bakugo thought. His logical mind figured the protein was probably discovered through trial and error, scientific research even, conducted on people in a similar predicament as him. Considering the solution to Bakugo's problem was only temporary, Kirishima grew concerned for what was to follow. Had this been a one night stand type of arrangement, there would have been nothing to worry about and the two of them were in confident in that. It was the simple fact that Bakugo had to confront his own feelings. Which, in some cases, not every soulmate pairing ended up having genuine feelings for each other. There are rather morbid tales of some heinous acts committed amongst pairs—some would rape and abuse their partners, saying it was out of love. Some still neglected and committed adultery; some even murdered their mates. And though Kirishima knew Bakugo would never do any of the aforementioned acts, he was very aware that the blonde was never good at genuine relationships—romantic or otherwise.

In a strange way, Bakugo was a romantic himself, in the sense that he fantasized the way his life, his reality should play out and unfold. In his mind, he called it having a plan. Since he was a young child, he idolized All Might and, after the discovery of his quirk, he knew he was going to be the top hero—better than All Might himself. Katsuki figured if he worked hard, he would eventually get there, according to his plan. The blonde never took into account reality and destiny and fate, and the same scenario reared its head the moment he was branded with his soulmate mark. The day script tattoo appeared on his body, he had no idea what to make of it. With the words "I never want to see you in here again", it was challenging for Katsuki's romantic mind to idealize what situation him and his soulmate would be in, let alone imagine what she would look like. In his mid teens, probably about ten tears ago, he finally settled with the fantasy that his soulmate was an ER nurse that wanted him to stop getting hurt—he thought his marking was supposed to be something along the lines of playful.

Now at twenty five years old, Katsuki Bakugo stood in front of his soulmate that he'd just made out with moments ago, a counter separating the two of them as he grabbed another round of beers and two shots of whiskey as a bonus. Their first meeting shattered the romanticism and idealistic image he once had of his emergency room nurse. Instead, his mate was the owner of a local downtown dive bar; quirkless, lonely, and independent—completely opposite of the doting woman he had pictured. Facing reality was the romantic's worst enemy, and was going to be the biggest obstacle for Bakugo if he truly wanted to make this bond work. "Thanks." The blonde mutters under his breath as he tries to carry both of the shot glasses and pilsners back to his table, making sure to avoid his soul mate's violet gaze. After his brief conversation with Kirishima, Bakugo felt conflicted and knew that making direct eye contact with Kohta would only distress himself further. Each time he looked at her was another taste of the reality the two of them were in. This thin, brunette woman named Hitoko Ohta was his real life soulmate.

Kohta was a flurry of emotions herself. After running away from the orphanage, her sense of self-preservation was at an all time high. The first time Kohta even let down her walls was when Dabi and Toga meandered their way into her little dive nearly two years ago. At first, it started off with simple exchanges of hellos, then small talk. It eventually turned into Kohta sharing her frustrations from day to day business that lead to Toga dubbing the brunette with her nickname. 'Its your first and last name put together! I think it's cute!' The blonde woman had told her, and ever since it stuck.

Now Hitoko Ohta was confronted with her soulmate—a whole other beast of emotional confusion—Katsuki Bakugo. Seeing that she didn't truly gain her first actual friends in life until two years ago at the age of twenty three, the idea of being eternally bonded to someone frightened her. From what she knew of him so far, he was brash and aggressive and while Kohta herself had a bit of an edge, he was light years beyond her. But she knew too well where his angry nature had been birthed from; fear was an emotion she knew all too well. Bakugo had his own walls, walls of resentment and anger that formed a pyramid at which he sat at the very point to prove to himself and everyone else that he was the best. In a strange way, Kohta envied him. How amazing it must have been to be so utterly confident to strive and continue to be the best. To not have to hide from the world due to poor choices.

It was one of the many reasons that Hitoko felt she wasn't even good enough to be Bakugo's soulmate. It was one of the many reasons she wished to keep her distance. But Kohta would be lying to herself if she denied her desire to also be closer to Bakugo. In the midst of their kiss, her mind was clouded with uncertainty; but her body seemed to decide every movement was right. Kohta wanted to continue to chase the first right feeling in her life. Even if he intimidated her, Katsuki Bakugo was still her soulmate. And her soulmate apparently couldn't carry two highball and two shot glasses at the same time, she noted as she watched him fumble with her drink ware. "Katsuki." She called out, catching his attention as he tried to rework his grip. With a shake of her head, she placed the taller glasses side by side in her left palm, with a shot glass sitting near her locked wrist as it rested behind the highballs. The last glass was held by three dainty fingers in her right hand.

Kohta maneuvered around the bar with ease despite the glassware in her hands as she made her way past Katsuki and dropped the drinks off at the table where Kirishima sat. The red haired man gave thanks as the blonde sat back down, only earning a nod from the owner before she made her way back behind the bar to continue tending to her patrons. As she walked away from their table once again, Bakugo's crimson eyes could only follow after her form, a motion not missed by his company. A small smile formed on Eijiro's lips knowingly—it was so nice to see the man he considered one of his closest friends actually show a minuscule amount of a positive emotion for once. Still seeing Bakugo stare and Kirishima being ever the wing-man decided to prod the blonde a little further. "So when are you gonna see her again?"

"Huh?" The question caught Bakugo off guard, as if he hadn't given it much of any thought. To be fair, he hadn't really. He just assumed he would see Kohta again whenever him and Kirishima, or even him alone, decided to return to the Upside Down. But even he knew that only being with her when she was working would leave them in the same predicament of being an unbonded pair. "Tch, fuck I don't know." Katsuki grumbles under his breath.

"Well, I don't think you need me to tell you what to do." The bomber rolled his eyes, silently telling Kirishima that he didn't need the guidance. If anything, he needed the courage, the balls to even ask Kohta when she would be available. While getting women was no difficult task for Katsuki, this situation was entirely new. This was long term, whether he wanted it to be or not, and was something of them neither really had a say in. As a nervous tick, Bakugo checked the gold watch on his left wrist, seeing it was nearing four in the morning. Taking a glance around, he had noticed most of the bar had emptied out. How had time flown so quickly, he wondered. Him and Kirishima only had a few drinks—certainly not enough to grant him the liquid courage he so desperately needed. All he had was an excuse; he needed to close out their bar tab after all.

Kohta was cleaning her draft taps when Katsuki approached the counter, closing down the bar and readying her business for the morning rush of the café. A small cough left his throat, making the brunette woman turn around. "Closing out?" Her tone was quiet, polite even. Much different than what Katsuki had seen from her usually snark. Instead of a verbal response, the blonde just gave a brusque nod, handing her his credit card. The bright glare of the screen in front of her reflected off of her large glasses as she pulled up the check, swiped his card all in silence.

"When is your next day off?" Bakugo asked as casually he could muster as he signed the credit slip, leaving a hefty tip, and handing it back.

"Sunday. The Upside Down is closed every Sunday and Monday." Kohta replies evenly, not once making eye contact with him—a lack of gesture he definitely noticed. She was treating him as if he were just any other bar patron; certainly not like he was the last guest for the evening and even more so not like the man in front of him was his soulmate. Before Kohta could turn away, Bakugo grabbed her frail wrist, turning her around to face him.

"Hitoko, look at me." Despite his patience wearing thin, his voice didn't tremble with anger once and while he used enough force to spin her around, his grip was earnest.  "Sunday, you and I are going for lunch."

"What makes you think I'm going anywhere with you?" She bit. There she was, the woman Katsuki barely knew. The blonde let her wrist fall from his grasp, a smirk plastered on his lips; from what he had seen so far, he much rather preferred the sassy side of Kohta.

"You know our business is far from finished." The brunette woman stayed quiet, her previous qualms with their situation coming back and rearing its ugly head. In truth, Hitoko had no idea what she wanted out of this so-called partnership. While their little rendezvous had stirred strange feelings within her, it didn't change her perspective or stance on having a soulmate. She didn't want companionship, or so she thought; she doesn't know how to share her world with another person. Even her friends were kept at bay with a ten foot stick. So when Kohta finally uttered a simple word of compliance, it came from a place of selfishness.

"Okay." She says quietly, only agreeing to satisfying her own curiosity. What was the big deal about soulmates, she wondered. "I'll see you Sunday."

"I'll see you Sunday."

Hitoko "Kohta" Ohta has not seen Katsuki Bakugo since the late night, or rather early morning, that he decided to take her to lunch. The blonde had hoped his absence would instill a sense of desire within the brunette. While it didn't quite work the way he wished, as she didn't intentionally seek him out, her head would perk up any time the front door to the Upside Down jingled open or close just hoping to see the semi-familiar blonde bush of hair. It was currently Saturday night, nearing closing time for the Upside Down. The minute the clock struck half past two in the morning, Kohta gleefully boomed last call for alcohol. Not that many people were present, despite being one of the few bars open later in the downtown area, her crowd consisted mostly of regulars and a couple unfamiliar faces. Most of the patrons has already closed for the night, and were just finishing up their drinks before heading home for the evening.

Katsuki Bakugo had fought himself with every bone in his body to not see Kohta at this time. The receding blood red words of his soulmate mark slowed its transformation to a snails pace, and it was driving him mad. Though he had regained a bit more control of his quirk, his full strength had yet to return. That was his reasoning for wanting to see Hitoko sooner rather than later, but the ache of emptiness that gnawed the bottom of his gut wished to say otherwise.  Though he acknowledged the feeling, its presence confused Bakugo greatly. He had never felt such a looming loneliness before, and wondered why the only person he wanted to seek out was a woman he seldom knew. In the end, he rationalized that the whole ordeal was stupid, and he would see Kohta for lunch soon. As if that thought offered him any comfort.

Three in the morning finally strikes on the clock. With not another soul in sight, Kohta locks the front door to the Upside Down for her weekend before nearly bolting for the back room and heading up the flight of stairs to the right to enter her small, one bedroom apartment. Being the owner of tiny, not so busy dive bar and coffee, many people assumed all of Kohta's earning went into making the bar look semi modern while keeping a humble home. It was a fair assumption, considering all tables were rich, undamaged mahogany, granite counter tops, and a ritzy espresso machine to boot.

But the bars design was made to match Kohta's personal tastes, and her home was no different. All the floors in here home were a deep brown hardwood, luxurious white fluffy rugs accompanying the appropriate spaces such as the living room and a matching runner for the entry way. To the right of the entrance was a large, two door mirrored closet for coats and her shoes with a sleek black shoe rack standing proudly at the bottom. To the left was a half wall that displayed her small, simple dining room. A rectangular, black wood table with a black glass center, as well as matching black chairs with white leather, and a large crystal chandelier took up the entirety of the tiny, often unused space. Kohta took a seat on one of her white leather couches that sat directly in front of her foyer and dining room. One couch had her back towards the door, the other resting on the gray blue wall to the right of her. In the corner was a white, knee height entertainment center with three drawers evenly spaced along the bottom. Perfectly center along the top was an over-sized flat screen TV, one much too large for a singular person. Flicking on the television and turning on some cartoons, Kohta set the remote on top of the round white and gold marble coffee table before getting up and heading to the kitchen directly next to the dining room table, a stone counter separating the rooms.

Kohta knew she should be heading to sleep to wake up at a decent hour, but her mind was reeling with anticipation as she thought of why she needed to be up. With only the dull hum of the television as her company, Hitoko was left with her nagging burdens. While she wasn't necessarily fearful of receiving the answers of what she didn't know about bonding with her soulmate, the idea of sitting with Katsuki for more than twenty minutes terrified her. Not because of him or who he was, but because of who she was.

Or rather, who she wasn't.

Kohta knew she was, for lack of better term, boring. Her hobbies were limited as her only talents were coffee craft and billiards; two things people often found boring or uninteresting. She kept up with news and current events, mostly to ensure that she had yet to be discovered as a master thief. Kohta was as plain as they came, and she knew that—she was okay with that. But she couldn't ignore the heavy weight of her heart at the thought of her soulmate not being okay with her. No, she didn't plan on changing anything about herself—mild villainy and all—but the mere thought that the one person who, in theory, should accept everything about her, didn't? Doesn't? That was a scary thought for her.

Kohta had worked so hard to put up the walls she had around her heart, and she would be damned if she let them down only to face more rejection in her life. Rejection often reminded her too much of her time in the Exemplary Home for Girls. As a young child, before her quirk, before her soulmate mark, Kohta was once full of curiosity. All of her insistent, baseless questions always drove Lady Shougi mad. At first, the headmistress would entertain and humor the young girl. Eventually, growing tired of answering silly questions as to why the sky was blue or if it was raining despite the sunny sky, Lady Shougi just began to say, "No" with nothing else accompanying it. Hearing that single, solid two letter word, hurt Kohta. When she still had her parents, they had raised her to be curious, to question everything. The EHG had broken her. Maybe she partially blamed the Exemplary Home for laying down the brick and mortar of the walls around her.

While her walls usually severed her curiosity, often preventing Kohta from seeking out answers, she could not run from this—Katsuki wouldn't let her. Hitoko could not run; she had to face the truth, she had to prepare for the impending rejection.

Plastic Flowers Masterlist

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Thank you guys for checking out this story! I’ll be updating the chapters every Saturday! Chapter title taken from The Front Bottom’s song “Ginger” off their album “Back On Top”. 

Kirishima is implying/asking if Hitoko and Bakugo boned. No, no they did not Kiri.

Taglist:

@wwwwyamd @bubbzibubbles (I’m sorry bb, your handle wasn’t working)

[ifeveristoday]

team Slow Burn/Burn it All Down

“Real monsters don’t announce themselves or present opportunities. Not here. They enter your head, your heart, tear at you from within.” -- Angel, Hellmouth #2

Are we talking about the demons underground or the demon walking around with Angel’s face?

Hellmouth leans heavy on foreshadowing and having unspoken/underlining meanings that differ from the actual words on the page. It continues using elements from Egyptian and Roman/Greek mythos but the main draw of this issue - and I’m assuming the rest of the series, is the reluctant partnership of Buffy and Angel. I don’t agree with the criticism that taking Buffy and Angel away from their respective apocalypses ruins the flow of the overall arcs. It’s a vast story to tell and the pace of the reboots (which is something I have criticized) makes it difficult to include in the main storylines without sacrificing important character development. There are just so many characters, especially in Sunnydale. Jordie’s writing excels at the character and emotional beats rather than plots, and while we have had some great strides in Willow, Xander and Jenny’s personal journeys, there remains some distance from the namesake characters, which I feel like it was intentional to get to the place that Hellmouth occupies. 

Love it or hate it, the Buffy and Angel relationship is a huge part of both of their stories and character developments and we’ve had inklings of how Buffy is going to change/possibly wreck Angel’s life in Angel, but he’s remained a shadowy figure in Buffy’s story. Hellmouth changes all of that while retaining some of the original canon’s flaws/trademarks but also poking gentle fun at them.

Spoilers from Hellmouth #2 below the cut.

Buffy and Angel are slightly different from their canon selves - Angel is independent of Buffy’s journey at the very beginning and already has his purpose set in Los Angeles. Buffy is a newly minted Slayer, living with her secret for a whole three weeks before wacky Slayer hijinks puts her in the path of Willow and Xander. Their initial meeting/relationship is reminiscent of the very early episodes of Season 1 Buffy - with a reasonable amount of wariness on Buffy’s part and Angel’s dry/slightly cocky attitude with a 2019 update of their anxieties. There’s also a flip in roles as Angel asks Buffy how she’s feeling and what she wants to do in the future at the start. It’s just the feeling of a connection with no romantic overtones. 

The comic recognizes the fucked-upness of Buffy being a child and fighting the forces of evil and sympathizing with her via the character of Jenny. While there is an obligatory nod to Buffy’s desire to be normal, it also makes a point of isolating her from the Scoobies and her frustration at knowing how to be the best Slayer she can be. Giles tells her that he’s to direct her, but not tell her explicitly what she has to do sounds an awful like parents preparing their children for adulthood. There is no handbook. While Buffy is welcomed into Willow and Xander’s circle (and that’s another flip - it is Willow who reaches out to Buffy first and invites her into being social), they’re very much a unit while Buffy sort of floats between their friendship. But I feel due to them being so young, it’s easy to claim best friendship, because - the intensity of feelings and hormones.

This makes Buffy’s character kind of harder to read, and less sunshiney than her OG counterpart. But it’s a shared facade - TV Buffy just hid it better underneath girliness and bouncy hair, while Boom! Buffy is focused, for better or worse to her duty. This is a Buffy that hasn’t quit Slaying before, who gets slightly conflicted guidance from her Watcher and who needs Willow and Xander more than they possibly need her to be a connection to being sixteen. Everyone has their own stuff to deal with.

Hellmouth gives Buffy the spotlight and also drops her into an immediate partnership with Angel. It very pointedly is not a romance - they both get on each others nerves actually, and it inspires A+ bantering while revealing the most of each character so far. Buffy’s venting to Angel (Buffy #8/Hellmouth #1) implies that she’s worried about her friendships and failure to connect, that she’d rather tell a complete stranger this than confide in her friends/Watcher. 

Angel listening and not judging shows an immediate empathy for her - and his actions during Hellmouth show a more vulnerable/less closed off Angel. He doesn’t occupy the same caretaker vibe he has with Fred and Gunn that he does with Buffy, namely because Buffy refuses it. She calls him out on trying to be the mysterious weight of the world Loner who takes on all of the responsibilities. 

Angel quickly realizes he just can’t be That Guy with Buffy, and it makes his character hilariously resigned/looser in response. He warns her about dangers in the Hellmouth but accepts Buffy’s way is different from his, but that doesn’t make it wrong. He’s willing to admit he might have been wrong about demons being upfront when the slithery shapeshifter demon confronts them - and Buffy’s snarky response “Cool, cool. Won’t rub that in.” lightens the tense moment. 

Notably, Angel is the one that gets injured/dragged by the demons while Buffy runs to save him. The fighting sequences are highlighted and Buffy’s scenes, in particular, are very smooth and highlights her Slayer grace. They fight beautifully together and despite their prickly banter, feel a shared responsibility to each other’s well being. Their separate confrontations with the shapeshifter shows their fears - Buffy ‘abandoning’ her family and friends and failing to protect them, Angel seeing the ghosts of the people he’s failed to save. Buffy reacts strongly to how her family and friends need her, while Angel angrily tells the shifter to stay out of his head and that it doesn’t know anything about him. Circling back to Buffy saying she doesn’t know what she wants, the Ominous voice implies Angel doesn’t really know what he’s doing and who he is.

Ah, vague accusations of something evil and upsetting, how I haven’t missed you.

After Angel demands to know who’s blood is needed for the further escalation of Evil Plan, and the Voice doesn’t reply, he immediately realizes Buffy is in danger and runs to find her.

Buffy’s still fighting the shifter and it mentions she could put an end to her family and friends’ suffering with her sacrifice - namely, that her blood will save the world.

While Buffy logically knows that the shifter isn’t her mom (because of course, the shifter would take on the form of Joyce), this emotional blackmail breaks her out of the illusion and she kicks it’s ass. Almost punching out Angel in the process. 

Angel is less emotional about his ordeal and Buffy lets him have it again, telling him that it's unfair that she’s the only one being vulnerable - “I opened up because we need to work together, and you haven’t said a thing.”

Instead of being defensive and defaulting to Sir Mopes a Lot - Angel sincerely apologizes and tells her that his fears were also centered around his friends and him not being able to save them in time.

And it’s Buffy’s turn to reassure him/pass on wisdom - she realizes that the Hellmouth wants to separate them to make them weaker and that Angel deserves a little more empathy from her.

THEY’RE COMMUNICATING THEIR FRUSTRATIONS AND CONCERNS WITH EACH OTHER, Y’ALL.

Angel does have a moment of saying, “Silent suffering is more my cup of tea,” and Buffy’s quick response of “And how’s that working for you?” showcase their differences/similarities nicely. Angel despite making friends doesn’t tell them what he’s thinking because he’s used to being alone, Buffy with her very loud opinions isolates herself (un)intentionally because she’s new to Slaying and being a teenager at the same time. They can’t talk to the people who care for them--- but they can talk to each other.

When they face hurdles, they take turns reassuring/pointing out the Obvious Evil, and then a tiny moment - Angel adds onto Buffy’s observation of not getting surrounded by the demon horde by saying, “Just like Thermopylae.”

As with each issue of the Boom!verse, when names I don’t recognize I obviously google them - and Thermopylae is a reference to both the battle of Thermopylae (think the 300 comic and uh, history) and the “Hot Gates,” and is the cavernous entrance to Hades.

Is my theory/wish that there’s going to be Persephone/Hades parallels and Eurydice/Orpheus vibes in this story going to play out? God, I hope so.

Anyway, back to the moment - when they inevitably get surrounded by the demon hordes, Buffy remarks, “Well, there goes thermometer.”

The. Classic. Buffy. Malapropism.

My heart.

Angel gets slashed in the fight, and Buffy worries about him, but there’s a bigger problem - 

narrated by the Voice - “Are you sure everything is as it seems? You’ve been wrong before.”

“Blood is spilled...vessels are filled...every pretender killed.”

Shot to Drusilla as Prometheus in chains, spouting some of the worst “Dru-esque” dialogue I’ve read. Sorry Jordie, this is up there with the clunky faux Whedonisms of the early issues.

So Dru isn’t the major Big Bad, but rather the unseen Voice, who we, of course, don’t know.

Is she ultimate sacrifice, the vessel (after all she is of Angel’s bloodline) and oh, Angel Still Hasn’t Told Buffy He’s A Vampire which...

Boo.

All of the voice overs hint that the confession when it happens is going to cause Buffy Big Mad - after all, Angel knows more about her than she does of him, AGAIN.

The art and coloring is stunning as ever in this issue - Carlini really knows how to draw action sequences, and the varying light/color schemes really make the sense of Buffy and Angel descending into the Hellmouth feel vivid and real.

tl;dr I loved this issue and each issue the stakes definitely seem higher. The bantering and a slow reveal of their personalities are also excellent. The foreshadowing/double meanings of the dialogues.

The stuff I don’t like - the Dru dialog at the end, Angel being secretive about his Vampire self.

[intothestarkerverse]

The Time of Our Lives (Part Two)

Based on a prompt from @geekymarvel 

Peter is tasked with an important mission that requires him to go back in time.   Finding himself at a gala for Stark industries in the 1990's, he comes face to face with a young and incorrigible Tony Stark who considers Peter's attempts to deny his advances a challenge.  Now, dogged by a horny young CEO who won't take no for an answer, Peter's task has become much more difficult....

(STORY CONTAINS ENDGAME SPOILERS)

Read on AO3

Be careful what you wish for.  It was a cliched adage that old people were always quoting as if they were the first ones to think of such a priceless nugget of wisdom.  Never before in Peter’s life had he been granted such an acute understanding of just how wise it was.

How many times in the last several years had he wished for something just like this?  He’d pined for Tony Stark from the solitude of his own bedroom since his very early teens when his hero worship for Iron Man had been swallowed by a budding sexuality it had taken him years to completely accept and understand.

Just once he had wished and hoped and dreamed that Mr. Stark would see him as something other than a child, but he also knew how ridiculous that desire was.  He was a stupid kid who could barely talk to the man without stumbling over his words.  He made huge, dangerous blunders.  Mr. Stark was never going to feel about Peter the way Peter felt about him and he had accepted the one-sided nature of his love for the man a long, long time ago.

And now…Tony’s words were burned across his brain.  He could hear his voice echoing those not-so-innocent terms of endearment.  His skin felt hot where Tony had touched him as if imprints of his hands were scorched onto the skin.  More than anything in the world, Peter wanted to turn around and indulge in whatever filthy things he knew this younger version of his mentor probably had in mind.  He wanted to bask in the knowledge that his attraction to Tony Stark was, in fact, not one-sided at all.  In another world, another time, Tony could have been all his…and that realization was as tempting as it was terrifying.

Sometimes being a responsible super-hero really fucking sucked.

Or…didn’t suck…that was really the problem.

What might have been was literally going to haunt him for the rest of his life, and all Peter Parker could do was accept it and attempt to fulfill his mission.  If he’d known that this was the ‘great responsibility’ Ben had been talking about, he might have taken a hard pass.  A very hard pass.  

The mission.  

He needed to focus on the mission, not his own dangerously neglected libido.

The incinerator.

He needed to find the incinerator.

Probably in the basement with some kind of exhaust on the roof.  His best bet at this point was just to dive down a hatch like in A New Hope and try to make  the best of it, but finding a hatch to dive down wasn’t going to be easy.  Security wasn’t as tight as it should be on the upper floors, everything seemed to be confined to the lower levels where the guests were…at least, that’s what Mr. Stark had implied in the dream.  If Peter could swipe a security badge and get upstairs without being seen, at least half the battle would be won.  

“Excuse me, could you tell me where the security office is?”  Peter put on his most innocent and boyish smile as he looked up hopefully at the security guard stationed by the wall where he was attempting to be at one with the artwork and plants on the edge of the foyer.  He looked oddly familiar, but Peter couldn’t quite place why.  He was very thin, very young, and not very experienced in his job if his body language was any indication.  The somewhat familiar guard’s gaze shifted from the room to the boy in front of him and he frowned.  

“Why do you need to know that, kid?”

“Always asking the important questions, a trait I like in my personal security.  What’s your name again?”  An unwelcome voice sounded from behind Peter.

“Hogan, Sir.”

Woah, Happy!  His initial surprise over the guard’s identity was eclipsed as Peter felt the fine hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end at the unexpected and unwelcome sound of Tony Stark’s voice.  What good was a Spidey Sense if it didn’t tell you that someone was sneaking up on you?  Except that the only danger that Tony Stark posed was to Peter’s virginity.  Peter sighed and turned around to give the other man a scowl.  “For your information, I found a wallet outside and I wanted to turn it in to security so the owner could get it back.”

Tony raised his eyebrows at this, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants in a leisurely stance.  “Aren’t you the boy scout?  All right, sweetheart, I know everyone at this party.  Why don’t you give me the wallet and I’ll see that it gets back to its owner.  No bothering with security.  Cut out the middle man.”

Peter could actually feel the color drain from his face as his mind searched for some way out of this mess.  Frantically, he patted the pockets of his jacket and pants.  He really didn’t have to try to look mortified or embarrassed, he was already there.  “I…It was…I think…I don’t…I lost it.”

“You lost the lost wallet that you found outside…you’re not very responsible are you, Beautiful?”

Peter’s scowl only deepened.  If he only knew how damn responsible Peter was the guy’s head would explode.  Young Tony Stark was ridiculously hot to a degree that left Peter feeling lightheaded with want…but he was also kind of a jerk and that made Peter want to push him down a flight of stairs.

Peter noticed that Tony’s tuxedo jacket was unbuttoned, the flaps held back by his arms, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his pants.  The teen couldn’t help but look.  He was only human and this was the man he’d lusted after since adolescence and he did look positively godlike in a tuxedo.  It was only when his gaze had fallen to Tony’s pants that he saw something fortuitous.  And no, it wasn’t the obvious bulge of an impressively erect penis.  Although he’d have to be blind not to see that.  Peter was no idiot, it was precisely why Tony was standing in that position.  The man had absolutely no shame and Peter both hated him and loved him for it.  Oh no, the thing that had him smiling and his heart hammering out an insanely fast staccato beat in his chest was the sight of a security badge hanging nearby that impressively large bulge of fabric.

A glance back at Tony’s face revealed that he thought Peter’s reaction was all due to his impressive manhood and it was all Peter could do not to wipe the smile right off his face with the truth.  He didn’t, though, because telling the man he wanted to steal his security badge was probably going to make actually stealing it much harder than it was already going to be.  So he bit the inside of his cheek and felt the color rush back to his face in a brilliant red flush across his cheeks and the tips of his ears at the realization that Tony thought Peter had been staring (and smiling) at his junk for a good sixty seconds.

“How long are you going to pretend that you’re not as into me as I’m into you, Peter?  The evidence is as clear as the crotch of your pants.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving this thing we have going.  Cat and mouse game, it’s sexy as hell…but I’ve got to say a few words to the shareholders in a little while and I want to know if I need to go rub one out so I don’t give them an eye full or if you’re actually going to give in with enough time for us to really have a good time tonight.”

Was it possible for his blush to get even darker?  Yes.  Yes, it was.  Peter ducked his head and tried to position his hands over the front of his pants as if only becoming aware of his own predicament when Tony had the audacity to point it out.  His mind had been so focused on other things that he had been able to relegate his physical desires to some distant part of his reptile brain.  Now that Tony had called attention to it, Peter was suddenly aware of just how uncomfortably hard he was.  “You are the literal worst, Tony Stark.”  His voice came out in an awkward hiss of exasperation as he looked for somewhere, anywhere to hide away and deal with personal matters without involving the billionaire playboy.  

He spotted a bathroom a few yards away and began a less than subtle crab-walk in that direction.  Tony’s laughter followed him, as did the man himself, striding with that same cocky self confidence and exhibitionism.

“I hate you.”  Why wouldn’t Tony just leave him alone?  What was worse, perhaps, was that the security guard was now also following them after a gesture from Tony.  There were people looking, because honestly who wouldn’t look at the spectacle they were probably making of themselves?  “I hate you so much, Tony Stark.”

“I can work with that.  There’s such a thin demarcation between the really passionate emotions, Peter.  Hatred and love are nearly interchangeable…as is lust.”

“I’m not lusting after you!”  Lie.

“Keep telling yourself that, Kid, maybe you can make it true.”

Finally, the bathroom door was within arm’s reach, he burst through, attempting to whirl around and slam the door in Tony’s face, but the guard was just too fast.  Happy blocked the move with an arm, and Peter was forced to either retreat or use enough force to break Happy’s arm.  He retreated.  Tony’s gaze swept the room, noticing a man standing in front of the urinal to their left.  “You.  Out.  Now.”

Mumbling apologies, the man was still trying to tuck himself back into his pants as he stumbled hurriedly out the door and left Tony, Peter, and Happy alone.

“Why don’t you make sure we’re not interrupted, Happy?  Peter and I need a little alone time.”

Peter gulped audibly as the security guard left the two of them alone.  Tony would never hurt him.  Even this jerky Tony, but Peter honestly didn’t know how strong his self control was going to be if things between them got more physical.  He was a seventeen year old boy.  He had so many hormones raging through his system right now that it was a testament to his willpower that he had withstood temptation this long.

Peter could actually smell Tony’s cologne he was now standing so close, and he was startled to realize that Tony hadn’t changed brands in almost thirty years.  They said scent was closely tied to memory, and Peter had to agree that smelling that familiar aroma was reminding him that the man in front of him was every bit Anthony Edward Stark.  A much less heroic version,to be sure, but Tony just the same.

The distance between them became even shorter as the other man stepped forward, the fingers of his right hand hovering dangerously close to Peter’s hip.  The teen could practically feel the magnetic pull of them even through the thin layer of air that still separated them.  Peter looked up at him, noting that Tony was drawing closer and closer.  He could smell the alcohol on Tony’s breath when he spoke again, the whisper passing over the skin of his face like a caress and making him shiver.  “All kidding aside, Peter Parker, I’m not here to force you into anything.  If I’m reading the signs wrong…if you don’t want to kiss me every bit as badly as I want you to, you can go.  If I’m right though, the only question is…what’s holding you back?”

Peter could do nothing but watch him lean in closer, saw the way his lips were parted, the darkness of his eyes, the hitch in his breathing. He hesitated, a thousand things conflicting in peter’s head and tying his thoughts into knots.  Tony’s lips were only inches away.  Everything he’d wanted for himself but been denied because of time and society and his own nerves and it was all right there for the taking.  He just had to…

Peter rose a little on his toes, his own eyes locked on Tony’s mouth.  A small growl erupted from the other man’s throat and Peter hesitated, drawing back again to look at him through thick lashes before he just gave in and did something supremely selfish.

Peter could practically feel the other man’s surprise.  If he had been expecting a tender, close-lipped kiss that he could entice into something less innocent and more demanding, than he had every right to be surprised.  Peter practically devoured him, lips parted and tongue demanding entry into Tony’s mouth almost before the man had time to register the kiss.  Peter’s hands quickly found purchase at the back of his neck, digging into his scalp and using a surprising amount of force to keep his head in just the right position for those hungry kisses to continue.  Peter felt the man growl against his mouth again, grabbing Peter by the ass and lifting him enough for Peter to wrap his legs around the other man’s waist and lock them into place.  Peter thought Tony cursed at the feeling of the erection now pressed against his abs, but the word lost all articulation under the kisses that Peter was want to give up.  Tony turned them both around, hoisting Peter a little higher to rest him against the sink and  gain a little leverage.  Finally, Peter had to pull back a little, gasping for air to fill his lungs, his hands leaving Tony’s head and instead finding their way to Tony’s pants.

Tony had turned his own attentions to Peter’s throat, making the teen moan softly at the wetness of his tongue, the friction of his teeth, and the sucking of his mouth that was going to leave purple bruises all up and down the pale and previously untouched skin of his neck.  “I’m taking you home with me tonight.”  Tony pulled back to look at him, hand coming up to cup the side of Peter’s face. He was laughing as he spoke, breathless and smiling and the look on his face made Peter want to cry.  He’d never seen the man look so carefree and happy and he’d been responsible for that.  Him.  “I’m taking you back to my place as soon as I put on the show for the shareholders.  I can’t possibly do all of the things I want to do to you in this bathroom…and I certainly can’t savor you the way I want to.”  

Peter’s fingers continued to caress the fabric of his pants, but he nodded at the plans.  He really didn’t trust himself to speak.  He didn’t even know if he could at the moment.

Tony had just returned to his lips, had only just begun to pull Peter’s shirt out of the cummerbund that held it when there was a nervous knock at the door.

“Mr. Stark, they’re calling for you to say a few words, Sir.”

“Fuck!” Tony nipped at Peter’s lip in consternation as he pulled back, drawing a little surprised squeal from the teenager who sucked his now bleeding lower lip into his mouth as he glanced between the CEO and the bathroom door.  “Stall them.”

“Uh, Mr. Stark, I already did…everyone…is waiting.”

“Fuck!”  Tony backed up a few steps looking behind Peter into the mirror and attempting to straighten himself up.  It wasn’t going to be hard for anyone to know what he was doing in the bathroom.  Even buttoning the tuxedo jacket over his pants wasn’t really hiding everything from view.  The more astute party-goers were going to get an eye-full of their CEO.  He didn’t know why, but Peter felt particularly pleased with that.

“Go ahead…I can just…I can wait here.  The…the sooner you do that speech, the sooner we get to leave.”

Tony’s gaze raked over him before he nodded.  “You’re right.  I’ll make it short.  I can think of a hundred things I’d rather be doing with my night than talking to those stiffs…and you feature heavily in all hundred of them.”

Peter was still blushing as Tony pushed out the bathroom door and vanished from view.  The teenager remained where he was, still panting and sore from the kisses.  But after he could hear the distant sound of Tony speaking into a microphone filtering through the bathroom door, he lifted his hand from his side and shook the security badge free that he’d palmed during the make-out session.

God, he wanted to go home with Tony tonight and lose his virginity a hundred different ways to the man he’d loved with all his heart, but duty called.  Hopping down from the sink, he splashed a little cold water onto his face and surveyed his swollen lips in the mirror.  “Come on, Spider-Man.  The universe needs you.  We gotta do this.”

Sliding out of the bathroom door, he was pleased to see that Happy had not been left to guard him.  It appeared Tony was now safely assured of his victorious conquest.  A part of Peter was particularly happy about getting the best of him, even if Tony’s balls weren’t the only ones that were going to be blue tonight.

—

Tony was not even thinking about his speech.  He’d practiced it a few dozen times for Obie until the man was content that it sounded earnest enough.  He could practically give it on autopilot, which was exactly what he was doing now.  His mind, instead, was on the pretty little thing in the men’s room.  Not only was he a sight to behold, but his fire and sass made Tony hungry with desire.  Such a tantalizing package of innocence and beauty and hunger and fire.  He wanted to explore every aspect of that multifaceted little diamond in the rough, and he had every intention of doing that until the wee hours of the morning…right up until he unbuttoned his jacket and realized that something was wrong.

“Okay, look, you’ve heard all of this before and I’ve had a little too much to drink, so let’s just enjoy the rest of the party and you can pretend like I gave you guys the song and dance you all expect, okay?  Perfect.”  He raced off the temporary stage two steps at a time, grabbing the arm of the security guard he’d commandeered to guard his bathroom escapade and steered him away from the foyer down an access hallway.  “That little minx stole my ID.”  He hissed the words at Hogan.  What was it everyone called him?  Happy.  Yes, Happy.  They burst into the security office and Tony gestured at the wall of television screens in front of them.  “Find him.  I want to know where he is and what he’s doing with my card.  Now.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Happy set to work calling up a quick, interchanging circuit of the cameras that watched nearly ever inch of the building.  It took several seconds, but soon he was pointing at one towards the middle.  “There, Sir, the executive elevator.”

“My executive elevator.”  He spoke through clenched teeth as he leaned forward to get a better view.  The kid was nervous.  He could see him fidgeting as the elevator made a swift ascent to the executive offices on the upper floors.  If he’d wanted to see the offices, all he’d had to do was ask.  Tony would have been only too happy to bend him over his desk and fuck him into next week.  This whole spy routine, it was only succeeding in pissing Tony off.  He didn’t know who the kid was or who he worked for, but he had every intention of finding out.

“What the fuck is he…”  Tony frowned as the kid rolled up his sleeve and began to mess with something on his wrist.  A moment later and Tony was viewing the impossible.  Something appeared to pour from the watch housing, coalescing up his arms and around his body to form a hard exoskeleton.  An armor.  It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. If he’d enjoyed the way the kid’s tuxedo hung, he had a whole new appreciation for the boy’s physique now.  As the elevator ground to a stop, the kid exited, looking around as if he expected to be stopped by a guard, but there were no guards.  Lots of cameras.  But the guards were all downstairs.

Was he tiptoeing?  It looked like he was tiptoeing down the corridor to Tony’s own office.  Tony expected him to go for the computers or the desk, perhaps the hard files, any number of things.  Instead, the kid was walking along the walls looking for something.  He appeared to find it when he pulled out a hatch that led to the incinerator in the basement.  Turning away from the hatch, he shot something from his wrist onto one of the built in book cases on the far wall, tested the tensile strength, and then jumped through the hatch, disappearing once more from view.

“Come on, Happy.”  He waved the man to follow him as he headed back towards the elevators.

“Where are we going, Sir?”

“Basement.  We’re going to catch our little intruder and find out what the hell he’s doing here and who sent him.”

[laurasinele]

A Fictober19 Harringrove drabble + a story of survival and awareness

Written for Fictober19 prompt 20: “You could talk about it, you know”

Harringrove fanfic (Stranger Things) + the real life experience that inspired it

WARNING: PAST RAPE/SEX ABUSE (the present is mostly fluff)

DMs on the subject are welcome

I honestly had no idea what to do with this. I'm working on each prompt on the same day or the day before, though I try to decide the theme and basic plot about four days prior to publication. I had absolutely no idea about this one. My husband suggested to make it chapter 3 of Magpies, but in that one neither Draco nor Harry are bottling things up, so this line didn't really fit there. Then, yesterday, the 19th, something unpleasant happened to me and I decided I could use this prompt as an outlet. I went through my ships and the idea of pouring myself in my headcanon of Billy Hargrove became strong (mind you. I have not seen season 3, and I am aware things get complicated in that one to say the least, but let me bask into my post-season 2 repressed and traumatised baby who finds solace and love and understanding in Steve’s superhuman empathy and general gorgeousness). 

Click the link for the fic, what follows is the personal experience that inspired it, which you can also find in the fic’s chapter 2.

I am a sex abuse victim. The abuse took place in the form of repetitive non consensual sex in the context of an established relationship, through guilt-tripping mostly, on occasion by overpowering me physically. 

The guilt-tripping went as follows: up until I was 22 my sex-drive used to be well above average. Now I know it was due to a hormonal unbalance and the hypomanic stages of my now diagnosed type II bipolar disorder. Back then, I saw it as a very defining trait of my identity, as I felt free, empowered and connected with my body and my lovers. 

I said lovers because I had several of them simultaneously. Everybody was informed and agreed to it. Some of them were and still are friends of mine and between them. It was all open, honest and healthy. 

My relationship with my abuser started with him being one of those lovers. Then, evolved into an “official” relationship, but still open. In a natural way, he became my only relationship, as the others either started exclusive relationships or had schedules incompatible with mine, while my boyfriend studied with me and I spent most of the time at his parent’s place to avoid the continued low-key psychological and emotional abuse of my father, but that’s another story.

Still, even though none of us was seeing anyone else, we agreed that our relationship was open. At one point, I mentioned I was planning on meeting one of my past lovers. Just meeting, nothing I said suggested there was going to be any kind of intimacy. He got angry. He didn’t lash out and, after a while of sulking, he reasoned that our relationship was still open but he was not comfortable with the idea of me meeting that particular person because there had been a romantic relationship, and he was willing to have and let me have other sexual relationships but not romantic ones. We debated cordially for a while and I accepted his point. Flash forward several months later at my faculty’s cantina: a very good friend, who actually became my lover later on in my life, and is not anymore but is still a very close friend, started to flirt with me jokingly, as we usually did. My boyfriend joined us at our table, we kept our conversation peppered with compliments and pick up lines and, at some point, it got hot. And it was okay, it was public knowledge that my boyfriend and I were polyamorous. My friend and I accompanied my boyfriend to meet a professor and, along the way, we were making plans for the afternoon. My boyfriend had something to do, at what rose the possibility of hanging out with my friend and see where all the spicy talk went. My boyfriend had been encouraging us and playing matchmaker all the while, and he said something along the lines of “sure, go ahead”, but when my friend and I started to discuss the logistic he got nervous. We noticed and exchanged worried looks, slowing the conversation down a notch. It was all very natural and open up until that moment, but the change in the mood was so obvious that I finally asked what was wrong. He said he wasn’t comfortable with me fucking one of my best mates because, well, he knew the guy. I couldn’t believe it at first. I remembered the first restriction: no ex-boyfriends. Now, not people that we both know. Because he said it in front of my friend, and my friend knew me quite well and recognised the look in my face as more than mildly annoyed, he hurried to say it was okay with him and asked me if I could still give him a lift. That way I avoided an argument with my boyfriend on the topic of “Is this restricting our openness as a couple becoming a trend?”. Not other prospects rose for me nor for him, and we never discussed exclusiveness again. 

Not long after that incident, I fell into a depression. Both the depressive state and the anti-depressants affected my libido enormously. I was practically never in the mood for sex. Sometimes I willingly made an effort when he initiated it, but I realised the experiences were not comfortable for me and forcing myself was only making it more difficult to get my sex-drive back. I explained this. He said it made sense. Next night he tried again. I said no. This went on for a couple of weeks. Then he got, not angry but, dramatic, and said he had lots of trust and self-esteem issues and, that if we didn’t have sex, he felt as if I didn’t love him. I explained for the umptenth time, and emphasized that he already knew this, that my low sex drive was a chemical catastrophe in my brain and had nothing to do with my love for him. That, if something, it was challenging my self perception, as I had identified with my sexuality and explored it confidently and freely from a very, very early age. This was hurting me as much or more as it was hurting him. He calmed down for another week or two. He brought the “I feel like you don’t love me anymore” discourse again. I decided to have sex with him that night. It was awful. I didn’t came nor wanted to. He insisted on making me. He stopped trying with his fingers when I closed my legs, since my words didn’t seem to be enough. That night passed and others came. I said no, he said yes, I said no, he was almost 6’5 feet tall (2 meters) and his hand was bigger than my face. He opened my legs by force (I think he thought it was roleplaying). That made me freeze and I let him have his way. I still tried to say no every next time. I eventually stopped saying yes or no. I just layed there. 

Now, when I started to tell this story to people, the most common first question was: why did you keep going to his place to sleep? The answer is simple: I did not see it as something as bad as going home and facing the tension and scorn and yells from my father. In the great scheme of things, I know now that what my boyfriend did was worse but, because of its duration in time and newness, the situation at my home felt much more real and unbearable. I still didn’t realize what my boyfriend was doing was rape. I just thought we had things to talk about and the moment to do so never came.

The first time I called it by its name it was like an epiphany. For some reason I remember it was March, and I remember I told him: “You’ve been doing it for six months”. We had an argument for an entirely different reason that I don't remember and it evolved into the fact that lately we were constantly arguing. I kept trying to get somewhere in that particular argument because it kept going in circles: he pointed out problems and I kept saying those weren’t what was wrong with us. He asked impatiently and loudly what was it then. And I bursted out, and I didn’t even know the words were inside me, I didn’t had the notion before talking: “Our problem is that you’ve been raping me for six months. You’ve been doing it for six months, and I say no, and you keep going at it and in the end I stopped saying no because it was easier than risking to get hurt. And so I can’t trust you anymore and that's why snap at you for everything”. 

He was horrified. He covered his mouth with his hand and became pale. He seated and whispered “It’s true. This is horrible. This is horrible, horrible. This is horrible.” He kept repeating that word. I told him I had never known it was rape until I said it outloud and that, now that we both knew, it had to stop. He was disgusted with himself and he stopped. For a couple of weeks. 

I never told him again what he was doing. I grew more and more wary of saying no. I just rolled with it: the non consensual sex and the relationship itself. That summer we ended it civilly, because there wasn't a moment we weren't at each other's throats, and we still remembered that we used to be friends. He had even pushed me against his wardrobe to make me shut up once. So we thought breaking up for good, and this is important, he specifically said “for good” and we agreed, was our best option. 

Then began the gaslighting. I don't know if it was intentional or he is actually that delusional. I had buried the fact that none or almost none of the sex I had had in the last year had been consensual, and moved on with my life. He was still my classmate, one of my closest friends and a constant presence in my social life. I told everyone to support him specially because I'd had more experience in breakups while he was more emotionally unstable in general (and everyone knew this for a fact). 

One day, two friends came to visit me to the store I managed. They asked how was I doing and I said I was fine, that in the end it was obvious that we could not be a couple. They exchanged disconcerted looks. "That's not what he's saying. He's telling everyone you've taken three months off and then you'll be back together". I was beyond shocked, specially by the specificity of it. Three months, he was saying. When they saw my reaction it was like opening a dam. They started to list all the apparently uncharacteristic things he was doing: he was drinking alcohol (he never did before), he was hard-core hitting on everyone, he was always trying to make plans with everybody and he would always talk about himself over any other thing. 

In the span of a few months, he got a girlfriend and dumped her in a very ugly fashion. Two days prior to their breakup, their love was all over his Facebook, and right before leaving for a job abroad he dumped her telling her openly that he didn't love her. By then, our interactions were minimal and I had been starting to flinch whenever  he touched me, but I didn't pay much thought to it until this breakup and a very unfortunate line he threw on me. There was a farewell party for him and, at the end of it, he approached me and said that now that he was single again we could fuck every now and then. I felt cold all over and then fiery fury. I remember clenching my fists. I dismissed his offer politely but sternly, reminding him, as it had been nothing, that there had been issues between us regarding consent. He didn't seem much bothered by my answer. Later on I learned he was telling people he had gone abroad to fuck, so I guess my negative wasn't a big deal at the moment. After that night, "He used to rape me” was always on my mind, every single someone mentioned him, I saw a picture of him or he contacted me. 

I decided to tell, and only to very few people, and still excusing him, when it was too obvious that I was avoiding him, and when I began to have trouble to trust my sex partners. I stopped excusing him eventually, but I never fully blamed him (not that I blamed myself). Years later, I had another boyfriend and I met a girl through him. We became friends, and at some point she told me she had just met a guy. It was my ex. There were months of debating between telling her or not. I settled for “he’s one for long term relationships”, since she prefered no strings attached. However, as she put it, she fell in love. Time passed, my relationship with the man that had introduced us ended, and so my meetings with her where more sporadic. In one of those, she told me she already knew what he did to me. That he had told her. So he knew why I stopped talking to him. 

I talked less and less with this girl, mostly through Facebook. At some point in time he and I exchanged messages. He wanted to talk, I was open to it but in a bad moment so I told him I needed to sort things out first. Never contacted again.

Almost four years ago, she got pregnant. I had assumed, since they’d been together for so long, that what he did to me was an isolated event. I met them to give them a baby shower present. I’d rather have met her alone but I had no time to meet her in Barcelona and she couldn’t drive, so he came along. It was the first time I saw him in years. She left us alone for a while. I asked if the baby was planned. He told me excitedly that it had been a whim after a woman they had just met in a party had told them what a nice couple they were and that they should have children, because some friends of hers had just become parents and it was wonderful. He told me how, when they got home, he picked up a condom an announced it was the last one he was using. He mocked his girlfriend saying “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know” to that, and told me he said “You know what? I’m not using this one either”. And that night she got pregnant. On my 9 months pregnant friend’s mock-indignant words “This one knocked me up!”. I was horrified. I could not understand how they didn’t see how wrong that was. Never met them again. 

Three years ago I saw a picture of the baby doing something cute on Facebook. I hit like without thinking. I had nothing but warm feelings towards the mother. A few days later she wrote a long private message through Facebook saying she needed to cut ties with me because of her baby’s father situation with me. She said I hadn’t wanted to fix things with him when we met last time, and that he came, according to her, so he and I could talk. I was going through a lot: had just lost my job in a project that was practically my creation, had just started managing a store, my husband’s mum was sick with cancer in another town 600 miles away (1000km) and my husband had flown there, and I was left cancelling reservations and calling the guests to our wedding that had been supposed to be in three months from that moment. Less than a week before that message, I had to go to ER because I spent the whole day with tachycardia. So I told her my situation, that I valued her friendship, and I asked to meet later on that month to talk about it. She agreed.

Two days later I was at work, alone, breathing consciously because of my constant anxiety. I got another message from her. It started: “I can’t be friends with someone who thinks my man is a rapist”. I got very angry. I told her I didn’t thought he was, but I knew what he did to me. She talked about it as if it was a lie, when we had both, the three of us actually, existed in a universe where we all agreed it was real. She said he had lost friends because of it. Our common friends that knew what had happened between us had distanced themselves from him, reportedly, because of his new self-centered, party animal, sex-obsessed attitude. I’d had enough. I thought I had it all wrapped up, I ended my day at work and drove to a seaside town to celebrate a friend’s birthday. There, I only told the birthday boy the reason of me changing my mind over attending or not. So, when shit happened, he was the only one who guessed where it came from.

I took my phone out to take a picture of our group, but saw the notifications of audio messages from Facebook Messenger, from my abuser. I walked away to listen to them. I was calm, I assumed he’d be apologising. I opened the first one and it was three seconds of silence and then my name in his voice and his tone was furious. My knees gave up, I leaned against a light post and slid down until I sat on the floor. The next words were “I am very indignant. How can you say I am a rapist?”. Then he proceeded to insult me, blame my father of everything, say I was laughing at real rape victims face, accusing me of having raped him… I fell in hysterics and doubted myself. I thought for a moment it was my fault. Now, the birthday boy was the friend my abuser had banned me from having sex with, and he was also one of the two friends that came to see me at work and told me that my ex was saying we were getting back in three months. The other friend was also there. They both knew and they both, when they finally understood what was going on, prevented me from listening to the rest of the audio messages (and more kept coming), and told me I wasn’t imagining things. They told me it happened and they told me I wasn’t a liar. The panic came and went for a long while. I couldn’t sit still, I couldn’t look at my friends, more than a half of which didn’t know what happened back then and what was happening now. I ended crying in a friends shoulder saying “I should have strangled him”. This episode kick-started almost 3 years of severe depression and anxiety, unemployment and relationship crisis, from which I’ve been recovering only for the last six or nine months. And, in case you haven’t thought of it, I still was having trouble trusting my sex partner when this happened, so I still needed to reconstruct my identity separated from my sexuality. 

Through 8 years of my adult life, this is something that has been following me, that I’ve tried to manage on my own, and that he has had no remorse in bringing back when his life wasn’t going well. After his audio messages, I learnt that he and his girlfriend were swinging with a couple who I had only met once, being friends of a friend. I asked my common friend to not say anything about my relationship to my abuser and she answered “Too late. He told my friend about everything”. I asked, because I wasn’t sure and I didn’t understand. My friend confirmed that “everything” meant he told my friend’s friend he had been my boyfriend and he had raped me repeatedly. I was puzzled and disgusted. It had just been months since the audios, since him denying it. This friend of a friend is now closer to me and my husband, cut ties with him and has never mentioned it to me.

This last indirect connection with him was about three years ago. I live in a small historic village near Barcelona. As far as I know, my past abuser lives in Barcelona and does not know where I live. Yesterday, I was sitting at a cafe’s terrace with my husband and my dog, telling my husband how amazed I was by the response to the Merlin/Arthur drabble being it such an old fandom, when I lifted my head from my phone screen and I saw him, with two more people, in tourist gear. I was wearing big sunglasses, and I stopped talking, hoping he wouldn’t recognise me behind them, but he was looking at me. He looked like he wanted to say hi, and veered towards me. I stammered a bit but kept saying what I was saying to my husband, pointedly looking at my abuser with a very serious face and tone.I waited just for a beat for him to change his mind and stop looking at me, and walk past my table without stopping. I told my husband. He congratulated me on my reaction and offered to get me a second breakfast pastry. 

My abuser passed again near our table with his partners, and this time he didn’t glance at us. I had my heart hammering a hole through my ribcage and I was angry that I had not yelled at him, that I had not hit him, that I had not finished it. Then I realised that, although now I am physically and emotionally exhausted, it is because of the sudden trip back and forth in time and the mental exertion it caused since I am bipolar and hence more sensitive to this things. It was not because I am not over him and what he did. I didn’t had to finish it because it had finished already, sometime in the last three years, and I did it just by investing in myself and my loved ones, just by not having my abuser’s ominous presence obscuring it all. Just by speaking up. Just by avoiding hatred and toxicity and choosing healthy affection, honesty and trust. 

If it happened to you, or is still happening, say it. Say it to your abuser, to the people who loves you, to those who love them. Tell the authorities, tell as many people as you can. Put space between you and the facts, between you and your abuser. The first person you need to help and save is you. Talk to someone, anyone, but don’t shut it down. Don’t keep it hidden because it rots.

[drarry-with-a-side-of-harry]

Journey into the MCU XII

Avengers: Endgame

I just watched Endgame. Part of me doesn’t even know what to say. Some bits were brilliant and exactly what I wanted them to be and then some bits were just... a bit shit?

Don’t get me wrong. I loved it. Whenever something happened I was screaming ‘ABSOLUTELY NOT’ you know, in the best way :) ...But... I had to love it, you know what I mean? Seriously though, don’t really know what the shit I just watched (in a good way lol)

So, I love the fact that it started with Clint - that already got me crying (the first of the 41 instances of crying due to this film and probably the fact that I’m hormonal lmao). I adored Tony and Nebula’s interaction playing the game in space and I was like ‘Ah shit here we go again he’s adopting another one’ lol. I honestly had no idea how they were going to get back to Earth until That Bitch™ turns up - I actually waaaaay prefer Carol in this film to Captain Marvel!!!

STEVE RUNS TO TONY WHEN THE SHIP LANDS! I CAN’T! HE’S BY HIS SIDE BEFORE PEPPER EXCUSE YOU BITCH WHAT!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHH

I love them so much :’) sorry I’ll stop

Tony’s whole ‘zero zip nada no trust liar’ just. Wow. Very well done to both RDJ and Evans because that’s improvised right? I love!

I really like Thor, Protector of Lesbians and That Bitch’s interaction. Instantly a yes from me.

I enjoyed Thor’s desperation at just slicing that purple twat’s head off.

I’m trying to do this chronologically but I’m gonna start fucking up. Whatever.

I HATE what they did to Bruce. I wanted to see Bruce Banner being distraught and instead they wrote in all this unnecessary humour which personally I didn’t think was too funny maybe because I was too mad and made him permanently green?? Excuse me? The Russos have gotta be clowning right? The dared do THIS to the strongest avenger? Fuck off honestly. Think about what that man has been through - tried to kill himself and this is the treatment he gets?! No.

I like the fact that Thor is depressed because that was a natural decline. And I mean, he was depressed waaay before 2023 right? He has lost EVERYTHING and can’t really relate to anyone else because most of his loss was different, but he manages to maintain some of the humour we see from him in Ragnarok, HOWEVER I feel like the Russos were just trying too hard to make the humour happen and it just didn’t feel right?

LOVE THE FACT THAT THEY GOT OUT OF THE ‘OH SCOTT’S STUCK IN THE QUANTUM REALM’ PLOT HOLE WITH A RAT SCURRYING ACROSS THE CONTROLS. BITCH. I CAN’T EVEN BE MAD AT THAT. THAT’S JUST ICONIC.

Also, Tony Stark really is one of the best dads, huh? Along with Mr. Lang of course. AND NEITHER OF THEM GOT TO SEE THEIR KIDS GROW UP SORRY MORE ON THAT LATER.

I understand that Tony wasn’t on board at first, despite being a bit annoyed at him being selfish, I got it. And then bitch gets on board and everything’s happy for 20 minutes.

The Time Heist was ICONIC aND no one can tell me otherwise!!! Honestly just the fact that it was called the time heist and it was Scott’s plan and Scott is still tHE biggest fanboy - we stan.

I knew about the time travel shit before watching and thought they were gonna fuck it up because time travel is difficult with regard to not just going ‘so now we’re gonna go back and fix everything, job done’ but I actually think they did a pretty good job and did well explaining how *this version* of time travel was gonna work.

I really enjoyed Bruce’s interaction with the Ancient One and when she realises there must be a problem in the future if Stephen saved Tony’s life for the stone.

STEVE, TONY AND SCOTT WERE EVERYTHING AND I ABSOLUTELY LOVED THESE GUYS BACK IN 2012!!! I love Tony making Scott induce a heart attack. ICONIC. I live for the fact that we see all this sort of ‘behind the scenes’ action of The Avengers 2012 and the stuff that happened after the event and the ins and outs of everything. I will NEVER be over these whole shenanigans!!!!! I already knew about Cap V Cap but nOTHING could’ve prepared me for tHAT. This will be a continuing theme lol. I had no idea the whole ‘that is America’s ass’ thing actually happened jfc. SIDE NOTE: Tony really does say ‘I forgot that suit did nothing for your ass Cap’ bITCH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA why you looking though you bi little shit lmao I’m not sorry. Steve whispering Hail Hydra was iconic and I was screaming ‘FUCK YEH BITCH FUCK EM UP NOW THEY DONT KNOW WHAT THE FUCKS GOING ON HELL YEAH STEVE!!!!!!’ and at first I was like ‘wait, are they gonna recreate the CATWS elevator fight sequence?’ and then they did tHAT. ICONIC. And then I also knew that they go back further because I knew Tony met Howard and I knew about Dr. Potts and Capt. Stevens (lol) BUT NOTHING COULDVE PREPARED ME FOR THAT EITHER!!!! That shit got me FUCKED aND he hUGged him! He hugged his dad! I was! Not ready! For that!

Anyway so their time heist was really nice and I loved it so much it was everything I could’ve hoped for.

Thor and Frigga’s interaction I thought was really nice and she MUST know by the way he’s talking that in his future, the near future, she’s dead. I just find it so lovely and she completely restores Thor’s confidence in himself.

NOW

CLINT AND NAT

ABSOLUTELY NOT

That totally fucked me up. I knew Nat died at Vormir but turns out it didn’t matter that I already knew because nothing could’ve prepared me for that either.

For one, they hint at it quite a bit after they’ve finalised the plan - you know, that someone’s gonna go there and die. Nebula knows and we know that whoever’s going to Vormir ain’t coming back - well, one of them. oops

Secondly, I had no idea that they *playfully* fought it out to decide who it was gonna be and I was sOBBING from the moment they got to Vormir till- uhhh- well tbh it never stopped but you get the point. The whole fact that Nat realised that *this* was her purpose and after what Clint had been doing for the last five years, he thought he was too far gone and didn’t deserve his family anymore, even if they could get them back. It just totally fucked me up. That was one of my favourite scenes.

Sad Steve. AHHHH.

Then a whole load of shit happens and Thanos learns about the plan. I like the way Thanos talking about his future self is written, so kudos to the writers on that one!

I also appreciate the fact that there’s no delay between Thanos, Squidward and the rest of his crew coming to the future and the fight. That’s it. All of a sudden we’re straight into it! Great!

AHHHHHHH so now it’s time for The Big Three to confront Thanos and I just LOVE this sequence so much I honestly can’t express it and I was so so sooooo hoping that I would see these three on their own (plus purple numpty of course). At this point Thanos is just completely psycho because he wants to destroy the universe and create a new one which is an addition I really like - creates a new sense of urgency I suppose.

In other news, Steve Rogers is worthy! Which I love because somewhere around CATWS I started stanning this bitch!

Dr. Strange’s portals? ICONIC. Hotel? TRIVAGO.

Peter’s back and his and Tony’s whole interaction and hug had me in fucking tears jesus fUCKING christ nope. That shit hurt. THAT IS HIS SON RIGHT THERE. FUCK.

RIGHT.

TONY MOTHERFUCKING STARK.

The fact Stephen knows - has known for 5 years - what must happen.

The look on both their faces when Tony realises.

Nope.

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Made me wanna die.

Then he does it. Fuck. I’m completely fucked now. Thanks. And then Peter’s by his side and Peter’s whole speech while Tony’s just dYING!!!!!! ABSOLUTELY NOT. I DID NOT COME HERE TO BE HURT LIKE THIS. AND RHODEY. AND PEPPER. AND PEPPER HAS TO PULL PETER OFF. NOPE.

THEN they dare just cUT TO THE FUNERAL??!!?!

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Get the fuck out honestly.

Tony’s recording. No.

The placing of everyone at the funeral was just perfect. The funeral was just beautiful in general tbh. The Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart on the flowers. HARLEY!!!!!!! NO.

AND MORGAN WANTED CHEESE BURGERS JFC HAPPY IS GOING TO BE THE BEST UNCLE WOW!!!

Did I know Tony Stark was gonna die? Yes I did. I would’ve had to leave Tumblr to not have found out. There’s only so much that tagging can hide and you see something that hints at it and then you see a quick gif and then you just know, you know?

Did it prepare me? Fuck no.

Now, Steve.

What tHE ACTUAL FUCK?

What was that?

I’m not buying it.

Love the fact he passed Cap onto Sam, but to spend the rest of his life with Peggy? Fuck no. Some girl he knew too seconds vs spending the rest of his life with his BEST FRIEND who was irreplaceable. Fuck off. Bucky’s face throughout the whole sequence. The poor man was fucking devastated. And I’m writing this from a canon perspective because I’m all for stucky you know? Then I asked my self: ‘How could Steve do that?’ Conclusion: he couldn’t and he wouldn’t - the writers were playing silly games and none of us, none of us are buying it.

Did I know all this was gonna go down? Yes. Was I prepared? No.

Not for Bucky’s fucking face jfc. All they got was a line and a quick hug. They were BEST FRIENDS. I honestly can’t stress that enough. Wow.

The deleted scenes. Of course I have watched them aND WHY IN THE SHIT WERE THEY DELETED??? Russos are fucking clowns!!!! They all fucking kneeled for him and that was cut? You having a laugh mate?! And Gerald the Alpaca was cut because??? The extra Howard and Tony didn’t make the cut? Excuse you? Tony’s talking about how he doesn’t think he’s done enough, and then he goes and does the aBSOLUTE MOST???? :’) fuck. And uhhh Rhodey having the ONLY brain cell in the avengers with the whole ‘well you coulda jumped out the plane beforehand Cap’ lmaooo brilliant!!!

So they may be deleted but let me tell you, they released them so now they’re fucking canon.

So in conclusion, did I know all the major spoilers before watching this film? Yes because I wasn’t going to be a tumblr hermit, but managed to pretty successfully ignore them until today. SO WAS I PREPARED? FUCK NO!

Surprisingly I LOVED Clint in Endgame - not that I didn’t like him before but I just really respect how broken he is in this. His family. Nat. It really adds up and I really enjoyed what they did with his character.

I did really love it generally but just wasn’t entirely happy with some of the character choices - because they seemed pretty damn out of character! There’s development over 5 years of not having seen them, and then... there’s... some other situations.

Would I have enjoyed it more not knowing any spoilers? Completely! But I wasn’t gonna stay clear of Tumblr for 4 months lol.

Main thing I will take away from watching this. I miss Tony Stark so much and love him so much. And no I will not shut up about it. And was I crying for a good hour after the film ended and then some whilst I was watching the extra content? Maybe.

Also I’m so emotional that this is IT for Downey and Chris. Wow. Ok I’m done :’)