#matt clog

[ohshy]

Potober day 5 - oc(s)

feat. the Dutch ex clog dancer Matt Clog, Super Macho Man's fame monger sister Beauty Bling, and Scotland's shadow champion Nessie !!!

[skyhawkstragedy]

this is gonna get me killed or y’all are gonna roll your eyes but I think if there’s anything Team Americory has to compare themselves to it’s Power Rangers Time Force

America: Wes - The figurehead. The mascot. Thinks she knows what she’s doing but really doesn’t. Ends up as a fan favorite.

Cory: Jen - The commander. Ultimately rallies the troops. Has a good head on his shoulders but can be stubborn and set on his ways. Probably has fallen for someone like America before.

Matt: Lucas - Chauvinistic asshole with a secret heart of gold and a love for someone elsewhere. Dreams of going fast.

Jag: Trip - There for ✨the vibes✨. Usually the funny guy but holds his own. Always got a thinking cap on.

Bowie Jane: Katie - Doesn’t know her own strength or has the potential to do a lot more than she is.

Meme: Eric - America’s foil. Equal in every way except for how they approach things. While America operates on ideals, Meme assesses facts. America tries to do more than what she needs, while Meme sees what’s in front of her and acts accordingly. They’re close but have the potential to be closer; their priorities just clash too much for it to work. The fans love her as well.

[lasats-are-lovely]

… Im sorry, did season 2 even happen? Did I hallucinate it all? I must have, because literally everything that happened of any significance has been either forgotten or backpedaled.

Din getting the dark saber and thus being the rightful ruler or mandalor now? Irrelevant. We’re just gonna give the dark saber to Bo Katan in the most bs way we can think of.

Grogu needing a Jedi teacher to help him control his powers/hopefully recover from the trauma of order 66 - and then leaving with Luke Skywalker at the end because that was what he wanted? Lol what, grogu never left what are you talking about??

Din removing his helmet, breaking his sacred oath and thus willingly ostracizing himself from his mandalorian cult because he found something more important to him than being a mercenary, something that was worth coming into the light and being known as something other than a mandalorian? Lol no. He’s back with his cult now. He’s never gonna become anything more than the mask he wears.

It has been a long time since I’ve seen a piece of media forget itself this badly…

[doggyjjm]

credit

[magneticflower]

Rewatching sa/b just for the Crows scenes

[bandcampsnoop]

4/23/23.

Mag-Amplitude was a 1980s band fronted by Matt Mancil. He was rocking fuzz/psych Oklahoma style a few years before The Flaming Lips began playing a similar style/feel of rock.

I took notice of this release initially because it was on Siltbreeze. The label is known for collaborations with New Zealand noise makers, and generally releasing or distributing (in this case Siltbreeze appear to be distributing the Zaius Tapes) reissue of Mag-Amplitude) lesser known guitar lo-fi genius. Mag-Amplitude fall into the latter.

Listening to this makes me think of Ty Segall, Charles Mootheart or The Clog (apparently they're in NYC to cut a full-length).

[sovaharbor]

the apex of this city, and the devil of hell's kitchen (or something equally dramatic)

hi i published a fic on ao3. it's matt/male oc, rated E for future shenanigans (so 18+ obviously, please keep this in mind). :thumbsup:

currently 2 chapters posted, i will be putting an excerpt from both below the readmore :) if you're interested in reading, this whole sentence is a link! wow!

chapter 1:

“i’m not doing this,” matt starts, as their feet hit cement again rather than loud, clanking metal.

“not doing what?” apex asks back. he’s still pulling matt along; they’re getting close to the other side of the roof, the ledge growing imminent.

“being complicit in a crime.”

“i’m pulling you by the arm. that’s basically kidnapping, right? if you really wanna defend it in court, that is. by the way, hardcore parkour time!”

matt has half a mind to catch his boot on the ledge and send them both tumbling, because that is not something that would actually hold up very solidly in court since he’s not exactly fighting this right now, but this apartment complex is six floors up. not exactly ideal. so when apex leaps from the one roof to the next, matt goes along with them. as they land, he’s immediately continuing, “fine, sure, but i have to go home.”

“home? how old are you, sixteen? you got a fucking curfew?”

“no, but i have work tomorrow.”

“okay, and? i have class tomorrow. hardcore parkour!”

they leap onto the next roof. apex is hardly breaking a sweat; their grip is too strong for matt to break out of at this point. (nobody ever mentioned super strength. did they have super strength? wait— class tomorrow. class tomorrow.)

“are you sixteen?”

“oh my god, no, ” apex snaps, sounding genuinely insulted by that question. “i’m in college, scarf-head. a highschooler could not pull off what i do.”

chapter 2:

scarf-head shakes his head, clicking his tongue in a way that sounds like genuine disapproval. “that was an awful punch. your knuckle is busted. you seriously throw them like that all the time?”

“what the hell do you mean, busted?” jesse asks in lieu of answering that question. (yes, he does throw all his punches like that; it gets the job done. if he shatters the jaw of one cop, the rest will usually back off, so he’s not needing to throw more than one punch. if he really needed to throw a second, well, good thing he’s got two hands, right?)

“busted,” scarf-head repeats with heavier emphasis. and to emphasize it even more, he just gently presses his thumb against the knuckle of jesse’s index finger. over the sound of jesse making a choked-back noise of pain, he continues, “see? busted.”

with his good hand, jesse smacks scarf-head’s away. “alright, asshole, i get the point. could’ve just said it was broken. what are you gonna do, teach me the right way to throw a punch?”

there’s a pause. it’s not tense, or heavy, but it’s…still noticeable. mostly because scarf-head tilts his head again, just a little (it’s such an obvious tell, although for what is something that’s still escaping jesse) — and then his tongue darts out to lick at his lips. (that’s another tell.) “yeah,” he finally says. “i can, yeah. but…only after that hand heals up. you should probably get that checked out—”

“it’ll be fine,” jesse interjects, “so don’t worry. next week, maybe?”

[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Eight

Day: Friday, January 19th Time: 6:40 PM EST

Neil pushed the brothers from mind and followed the men into the changing room. He twisted his combination into the lock on his gear locker and pulled the door open. There was a split second of unexpected resistance, then a sharp pop of something breaking. And then—blood. It exploded in his locker, triggered by the door opening, and Neil recoiled as it cascaded over everything inside. The smell of it was so thick it clogged his throat and choked him. Neil's shock only lasted for a white-hot second before panic took over. He dove at his locker, grabbing for his uniform and gear. It was too late and he knew it, but he had to try. His jersey squelched in his hands like a swollen sponge, spurting blood all over his fingers. He dropped it and scrabbled for his helmet. His fingertips grazed hard plastic but couldn't latch on before Matt grabbed him. "No," Neil said, but Matt hauled him away from his locker. "Wait!" He dug his feet in, but the tread of his shoes were soaked and slid across the ground. The blood had hit the bottom of his locker and was now spilling onto the floor in a swiftly-spreading puddle. Hanging from the top of his locker was an empty plastic bag, rigged to tear open when the door pulled too wide. It looked big enough to hold at least two gallons; it was more than big enough to destroy every single piece of gear Neil owned. "Nicky," Andrew said, "get Coach." Nicky bolted. Neil elbowed Matt as hard as he could. Matt cursed as he lost his grip on Neil. Neil ran back to his locker, skidding a little as he got closer. He had to catch himself on the neighboring locker to keep from falling. As soon as he had his balance he frantically unloaded everything piece by piece. He couldn't tell his Home and Away jerseys apart anymore. Even the padding on his armor was wrecked. Neil picked his helmet up and turned it to watch blood slide off the hard plastic face guard. "Neil?" Matt asked. Neil dropped the helmet to the pile at his feet and punched the back of his locker. His fist hit plastic instead of metal, and Neil wrenched the broken bag off its hook. When he turned to throw it Andrew caught his wrist. Neil hadn't even heard Andrew cross the room toward him. Neil stared at him and through him, heart pounding in his temples. "It's ruined," Neil said, voice ragged with an awful rage. "It's all ruined." Wymack burst into the room with Nicky on his heels. The sight of so much blood stopped him short for a moment before he strode for Neil. "Is that yours?" "Coach, my gear," Neil said. "It's—" "It's not his." Andrew let go of Neil and went back to his own locker. "He's fine." "Peroxide," Neil said. "Does Abby have any in her office?" When Wymack just looked at him, Neil started for the door to find some himself. Wymack put an arm in his way to stop him. "I need to clean my clothes before the blood sets or I won't have anything to wear tonight." "And I need you to derail that one-track fucking mind of yours for two seconds and focus on the fact that you are covered in someone or something's blood. Are you okay?" "Andrew already said I'm fine," Neil bit out. "I'm not asking Andrew," Wymack said. "I'm asking you."

Art used with permission by Sam. Thank you @02511213942!

[themattgirl]

could you please make one where Chris and reader are dating and reader feels sick and Chris just takes care of her and acts all sweet and stuff? 🫠

an: thank you for the request ily 🧡

this turned out so much longer than i intended

this isn’t my first one shot but it’s the first with one of the sturniolo triplets in it. 

obviously their characters have been altered by me a little to fit into the story but i tried to make it as realistic as possible by keeping their personality traits as they are in real life.

also comment or like this post if you want to be added to the taglist

pairing: chris x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings: fluff, use of ‘babe’ and ‘ma’ as pet names for reader, intentional wrong spelling in text messages to make it more realistic, mentions of nsfw themes, swearing, lots of playful teasing between characters

y/n’s dialogue  

chris’ dialogue

matt’s dialogue

nick’s dialogue

mary lou’s dialogue

“it’s just a cold, nothing serious i promise. i don’t think i can come over today though, i don’t wanna infect any of you. i’m sorry for ruining movie night,” i say to chris on facetime before breaking into a cough. i turn the camera away from me, not wanting him to see me in a disgusting state like this. if i could, i would’ve muted myself so he doesn’t have to listen to it either. plus, i know how worried he gets with any type of sickness or unwell feeling really.

so, of course it wouldn’t be chris if he didn’t immediately furrow his brows.

“babe no, don’t apologize. you didn’t choose to get sick.”

he gets up from where he was sitting on the couch and goes downstairs to his bedroom. he puts the phone down so all i can see now is his ceiling. his voice sounds a little farther away when he speaks again, “it doesn’t really sound like nothing serious, does anything hurt?”

“to be honest, my whole body has been aching since i woke up this morning. it’s not too bad, just a dull ache, i can still move and all that, even if i’d prefer to just lay here and rot away,” i laugh and hold back the cough that wants to escape right after in hopes it would make him worry a little less. vainly.

“your voice sounds stuffy and kinda hoarse, does your throat hurt?”

“i forgot you turn into a doctor every time somebody doesn’t feel great,” i roll my eyes even though he can’t see it with his phone still down and him on the other side of the room from how distant his voice sounds.

“shut up, y/n. you feel worse than ‘not great’. you’re not fooling anyone with that act.”

he reappears on the screen. now i can see what he has been doing in the time i couldn’t see him. he put on a hoodie over the tank top he had been wearing before, the hair he had put up in a little ponytail - if you could even call it that - in the front has been untied and brushed. or maybe he just ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times, that’d be more like it.

“anyways baby, imma call mom real quick. be right back,” he hangs up before i get the chance to respond.

i put the phone down next to me on the bed i’ve been in since i realized this morning how much it hurt to stand up and how i felt like i was gonna throw up every time i moved too hastily.

i took a deep breath - well, as deep as a breath can get when your nose is clogged - and closed my eyes to try and concentrate on something other than the throbbing pain in my head.

i feel so much worse than how i described it to chris and i feel bad for kind of lying to him, i do. but he has been dealing with so much of his own lately - new designs for his brand, fixing the shipping issues with some of the orders from his last drop, coming up with video ideas and prefilming those before him, nick and matt go on tour again, preparing everything for said tour - see, he really doesn’t need me to add to his things-to-worry-about-list, especially if he can’t do anything to fix it and it’ll go away on its own anyway.

i feel my phone’s vibration from somewhere in between the sheets and grab it. it's messages from nick.

hey y/n heard your not feeling so good (:/ smiley) i was really excited to see you again today but don’t you dare feel guilty for it

i know how you guilt trip yourself into thinking everything is your fault

its kind of a good thing bc now i have time to get the matching pjs we wanted

hope you feel better soon tho

matts sick too maybe you got it from him when you helped him decorate his room yesterday

I hey y/n heard your not feeling so good 😕 i was really excited to see you again today but don’t you dare feel guilty for it

word spreads faaast 😂 i’m so sad i gotta wait another week or so to see you again i only like sleepovers cuz of u but dont tell chris 🤫

I i know how you guilt trip yourself into thinking everything is your fault

seriously i hate that yk me so well 😐

I its kind of a good thing bc now i have time to get the matching pjs we wanted

at first i was like 🤨 but then i kept reading i LOVE YOUU SO MUCH OMG just so yk chris was the second option

I hope you feel better soon tho

me too now i’m excited for the pajamaaas 😫

I matts sick too maybe you got it from him when you helped him decorate his room yesterday 🤔

i’m gonna kill him like fr this time

hey where tf is chris??

talking to mom shes teaching him sth honestly don’t ask idk

ok 😂 i think im gonna take a nap talk later?

yess get some rest and lmk if you need anything ❤️

ly❤️❤️

after sending the last message i get a call from matt. i contemplate not picking up for a second but decide against it.

“what?”

“uff, what’s that attitude?”

“i’m sick because of you, shithead.”

“we don’t know that. what if you’re the one who passed it on to me, hm? besides, i was just calling to tell you to drink some water and to ask if you need anything. i was actually being nice but you clearly don’t deserve it,” his voice is just as bad as mine, if not worse which makes me feel a little bad, but matt wouldn’t be one of my best friends if i had to worry about him getting mad every time i’m not nice. that’s actually how we bonded after annoying each other every chance we got. we both have a bit of an attitude problem which caused a lot of irritation and aggravation. now we get along better than any pair of best friends. the teasing stayed in place, but now we both know there’s only endless love behind it. sometimes you just gotta let off a bit of steam and we both just get that.

“fine, i’m sorry. sickness really does turn you soft, huh?” i smirk.

“why’re you saying it like you just confirmed a theory?”

“mary lou told me once and i’ve been waiting ever since to see for myself, guess she was right.”

“you are actually the worst. i’m hanging up now. drink water, bye.”

he hangs up the phone and i laugh to myself. what a big baby.

i open chris’ chat and type in a message telling him i’m going to sleep and that i will call him once i wake up again. i don’t bother waiting for a reply and just put the phone on my nightstand. i turn on my side, close my eyes and after that i don’t notice anything anymore.

i jolt up from bed, breathing heavy, body sweaty and heart racing. my room is dark, lit up only by the moon shining through my window. i look around trying to remember where i am and shake the nightmare from my mind.

i reach for my phone and check the time.

11:43 pm

i turn on the flashlight and right when i notice a black jacket hung over the back of my desk chair i hear footsteps coming closer.

chris pushes the door open and steps in.

“oh shit, did i wake you?”

“no i had a nightmare. what are doing here?”

i sit upright in bed and turn the flashlight off when chris flips the switch to turn on the fairy lights around the edges of my ceiling.

he moves to sit on the bed next to me before he answers, “i had mom teach me how to make her get-well-quick-soup and brought you some. she also told me about the perfect remedy tea, i can make it for you,” he stands up again immediately, “i’ll heat up the soup for you first. shit ma, have you even eaten anything today?” he stands by the door, holding the handle but looking back over his shoulder at me.

“chris,” i honestly don’t know what to say to him. he is so sweet i have to fight the tears that build up on my waterline. i just look at him for a moment, a little smile ghosting on my lips.

i’m well aware of how caring, considerate and compassionate chris is as a person in general, but it still baffles me sometimes how much he goes out of his way to make others feel good. i guess i’m just not used to it, being loved like this, having someone do everything that lies in their hands - and beyond that - just for me. it’s astonishing to say the least. especially when i myself have had issues with showing how deeply i cherish somebody ever since i can remember. it’s probably rooted somewhere in my past and how my affection has been received and responded to, that’s what my therapist says anyway.

i shake myself out of my thoughts and move the blanket away from my body to finally get up. immediately chris is beside me, holding me in place, “what’re you doing, ma? stay here i’ll bring it up,” he talks quietly, trying to get me to take in my previous lying position but i stay put on the ground.

“babe, i have been in this bed almost all day. i need to get up. i’ll just come down with you, we can eat together in the kitchen,” i try to convince him.

he looks at me, an uncertain expression on his face for a few seconds, the gears in his head almost visibly turning while he thinks about it. at last he lets out a sigh and nods, “alright then, hop on my back,” he bends over in a piggy back position in front of me and i can’t help the laugh that escapes me.

“you do know i can walk, right?” i ask still chuckling.

“i know, come ooon, just do it,” he urges me on and wiggles his hips, making me laugh even harder when i climb on his back.

“you’re gonna be so sick tomorrow, chris,” i complain mournfully once he lets me down to sit on the kitchen counter while he gets to heating up the soup he brought.

chris insists he’s not prone to catch a cold or any sickness easily, no matter how contagious or how close to the source he might be, even though he has proven himself wrong multiple times on more occasions than he cares to admit.

“no i won’t. besides, i could use a few days off even if i have to be sick to get that,” he lets out a huff of air trying to make it sound humorous, but both of us - and everyone who knows chris for that matter - knows that he is exhausted and is in desperate need of a break.

i know he doesn’t want me to get serious about that topic right now though so i try to change routes, “oh my god,” he turns around from where he was stirring the soup on the stove and faces me, confused about my shocked exclamation. i point an accusatory finger at him, my jaw hanging low but a smile still creeping it’s way on my face.

“so that’s why you’re here. you came to try and get infected, that’s why you carried me down too even though you know damn well i coulda walked by myself. and i’m here thinking you were actually being the best boyfriend on earth. turns out my man is a piece of shit,” by the end i fail to stay serious and let out a giggle. well, it’s not like he actually believed that i meant what i was saying but still.

he lets go of everything he was holding, turns around to me fully and begins to stalk toward me slowly.

“oh yeah?” i don’t know if it’s just me or if he’s doing it on purpose but all of a sudden his voice sounds deeper, his face more stern and serious.

“is that what you think then? i’m just a piece of shit?” he makes me nervous at first but the second i see the smirk on his lips i know exactly what’s about to follow.

“chris. no.”

he is standing right in front of me, so close he has positioned himself in between my legs, his hands on the counter on either side of me, trapping me. the finger i was pointing at him long since taken back.

“am i a piece of shit when i make you cum with just my tongue?” his face is so close now.

“stop,” i say quieter than i mean to, almost whisper-like.

“or when i fuck you so good you can’t walk right for days, am i a piece of shit then?”

this asshole is doing it on purpose. he knows i would never have sex with him when i’m sick so he’s trying to rile me up the little fucker. have i mentioned that i actually hate him. like for real hate him. the type of hate that leads to an absolutely mindblowing fuck. shit.

“or yesterday when you told matt you needed a break and came downstairs to my room to suck me off and then you just wiped your mouth and went back up like nothing happened. did you do it because i’m a piece of shit?”

my jaw is on the floor.

“or when–”

“OKAY,” i practically scream, “you’re the best and i didn’t mean what i said, just please stop.”

i’m almost whining at this point.

i try to rub my legs together to ease some of the friction unnoticeably but chris is like a hawk, sees everything, notices everything. and then he smiles. just smiles and goes back to the soup.

later that night, after i was forced to eat almost all of the soup and drink two cups of magic tea while chris downed a cheese burger, fries and three of the last four pepsi cans i had in my fridge, we snuggled up on the couch with a heavy blanket that chris had also asked his mom for, thrown over both of our laps and a random movie playing on the tv. 

neither one of us actually felt like watching something but we threw it on as background noise anyway. chris and i have barely seen each other in almost two weeks so all we want right now is to enjoy each other's company. he has been so busy with all that’s coming up for him and his brothers, still is. and i've been studying like crazy because i always feel like i won’t pass if i don’t and when i wasn’t busy with that i’d be at work to earn my living and feel like i’m doing enough. so there wasn't really time for us to actually be together and get to enjoy it. i've missed it.

“you know you’re probably sick because you exhaust yourself all the time,” chris says when he turns to look at me.

“shh,” i shush him with my eyes closed and a smile on my lips, “i got it from matt, no discussion.”

he lets out a little laugh at that, “yes discussion. if you keep going like that, one day it’s gonna have more serious effects on your health than a cold. you don’t even need to do all that. how many times do i have to tell you your life is worth enough even if you don’t work yourself half to death and have a little fun every once in a while,” he rubs my thigh while talking. chris knows better than anyone that i don’t like being put on the spot and lectured about my not-so-healthy habits like that, especially when i know exactly that it’s in fact very unhealthy. but he also insists on having these talks with me because he knows i would shut out everyone else who’d dare to try immediately. he and his brothers are the only three people i have let come so close and they make use of that quite often, might i say. but it’s okay because these people are my best friends and i know i need to be put in check sometimes, i admit. nobody else would dare try but them so i just let them. 

i must say, it has helped me improve my life to an extent. they taught me that it’s okay to cut ties with people who are bad for my mental health and encourage bad habits, and that i don’t owe shit to them even if they want to make me believe that. they kept telling me “quality friends are worth so much more than a big amount of bad ones” until it finally clicked in my brain and i blocked half of my contact list.

“look who’s talkin’. mister i work twice as hard as the person i try to lecture,” i jab my finger in his side and he jerks.

“you know that’s different,” he holds my hands in his to stop me from doing it again.

i like feeling his hands on mine. i know he’s my boyfriend and it might be weird to say it like that. but i haven’t seen him in so long, which means i also haven’t felt him in so long. it’s crazy but it almost feels like in the beginning when we were scared to touch each other and would act like we accidentally brushed our hand on the other but we both knew it was fully on purpose.

chris pulls me out of my thoughts again when he speaks, “at least i have an end in sight and work’s gonna be way more relaxed once i’m done with everything. with you there’s always–”

the ringing of his phone cuts him off and he takes a look at the caller id, his mom. he narrows his eyes at me and gives me a look that says “we’re not done yet” but picks up the phone and holds it up so she can see the both of us on the screen.

“i was going to ask chris about you but since you’re with him please pinch him for me,” is the first thing mary lou says when she looks at us. and i gladly do as she says even though i don't know what he did to deserve it.

“oww, what was that for?” chris asks whining and i just shrug and chuckle.

“you told me you would bring y/n the soup and go back home. you lied to me.”

i turn to him with my mouth hanging open, “christopher owen, how dare you?”

it’s so fun to aggravate chris.

he furrows his brows at me and then looks back at the screen, “she literally begged me,” he straight up lies. “i was trying to tell her i didn’t wanna get sick so i could only drop off the soup and blanket and would have to leave again but then she started crying–”

i hit him for real this time, hard enough to make him suck air through his teeth.

“mary lou, don’t believe a word he says.”

“i know, darling, you wouldn’t do that. chris, that’s twice you’ve lied today.”

“sorry, mom,” he actually looks defeated now, “you know i can’t just leave her all alone when she’s like this. i lied because i didn’t wanna worry you. i won’t get sick though,” at that me and her give each other a knowing look but let him continue, “y/n’s weak and in pain, of course i’ll be by her side as much as i can, you probably knew i was here, that’s why you called me,” chris wiggles his finger at his mom with a cheeky smile while she’s trying to hide her own.

“alright, alright,” she gives in, “that’s how young love is, i guess. anyway, have you eaten the soup yet?”

“almost all of it,” i report proudly, rubbing my stomach.

“only forced,” chris side-eyes me and i roll my eyes at him.

“and the tea?” mary lou just keeps going. well, i definitely know where her son gets the caring from.

i grab the mug that’s been sitting on the table for two hours and could now be considered iced tea and hold it up for her to see, “this is my third,” i take a sip.

“very good. okay, well, i just wanted to check if chris is taking good care of you. it’s important for you to get enough rest, don’t go to sleep too late, alright darling? i have to go now but if you need something just give me a call. i’ll talk to you both in the morning. good night, i love you,” she blows two kisses as we tell her we love her and then she ends the call.

right when chris puts his phone down we hear the doorbell ring.

we both glance at the direction of the front door as if we could see through it and figure out who’s standing on the other side. then we turn and look at each other.

“expecting someone?” chris asks me and i just shake my head no and shrug unknowingly.

“open up!” the voice sounds muffled but it’s unmistakably matt.

chris rolls his eyes and sighs loudly and i just giggle.

he moves the blanket and gets up to go open the door but stops in his tracks suddenly, turns around again, bends down and kisses me.

“won’t be able to do that for a while if he’s here,” he explains before he goes.

matt and nick do complain every time we kiss in front of them, so we agreed on trying not to do it anymore. they act like little kids being forced to see their parents being all lovey-dovey with each other. at least one of them always yells “GET A ROOM!” as if they’re not invading our personal space. big babies, like i said.

“what’s up, bitches?” nick walks in wearing the pajamas we wanted to match, holding up his hands. one holding what i assume is my set of the exact same one and a pillow in his other hand.

i jump up from the couch immediately and squeal as i run toward him to hug him.

“what are you doing here?” i ask once we let go of each other, our smiles still as big as ever.

“since chris is here breathing in germs and this one,” he points his thumb over his shoulder where matt is giving chris a pajama pair, “is already sick i thought we might as well have our movie night here since i’m getting it from one of you either way.”

“i’m so happy,” i squeak, elongating the words.

“aren’t you happy to see me too?” matt acts sad and offended when he moves to stand next to nick.

i roll my eyes but give him a big hug, “i am actually.”

chris scoffs and we all laugh. he moves to stand closer to me and i wrap my arms around him, tilting my head to look at him.

“you guys can go in the kitchen, grab some snacks while me and chris put on our pajamas,” i say to nick and matt, my eyes still locked on my boyfriend.

they do as they’re told once the’ve put down their things and soon enough they’re out of sight.

“you good?” chris asks me quietly, stroking my hair gently

“yeah. i just realized our alone time is over,” i respond in a hushed tone.

he gives me a kiss on the forehead before he talks, “it’s okay, we’ll just go up to your room when they’re asleep. nothing’s keeping me away from you tonight.”

hearing it makes comfort spread in my chest in a way i didn’t know i needed right now.

“i love you so much, chris. thank you for everything,” i try to sound genuine, because i truly am.

he holds my chin between his thumb and forefinger and dips his head until his lips meet mine.

“i love you too, ma.”

taglist:

@strniolosworld @that-general-simp @sturniolosreads @whoreforchr1s

[wildrangers]

Matt Smith x Reader

Matt and Reader have been together for a long time and it's time for Matt to take the plunge and ask Reader to marry him

Thank you for the request, anon! I’m rolling this into my ongoing Smith family series of ask’s. This can be read alone or as a prequel to my pregnancy surprise and announcement stories. I also hope you don’t mind this will contain some serious smut.

Tropes & topics: SMUT (oral sex [f&m receiving], dirty talk, impact play, rough, protected sex), lots of fluff before it descends into porn lol, mentions of marriage obvi

Word Count: 3.1K

Matt’s heart feels like it’s going to burst from his chest if he doesn’t throw it up first. You’re seemingly oblivious, happily digging into your dessert, taking in the stunning seaside view.

Your fifth anniversary had been mid-June, but his shooting schedule kept the celebration limited to you visiting him abroad and sharing room service. He knew you hadn’t minded, you’d said countless times that you just were happy to be celebrating together, but he wanted to acknowledge this milestone the right way. 

This trip was the best way to celebrate that while also finally pushing him to gather the courage to ask you to marry him. As you enjoyed this final meal of the trip, a ring box has been buried in his pocket and his nerves have frayed. It’s not that he’s worried you’ll say no, he knows what you two have is forever, but it’s still such a monumental moment and he doesn't want to bungle it. 

“Honey, dolphins!” Your excited gasp pulls him from his thoughts and while he glances to see the pod swimming just offshore, his gaze quickly returns to your face. Golden hour is almost here and the slowly setting sun makes your skin glow and reflects the joy in your eyes.

“There you have it, your favorite animal bidding you farewell” he replies and you nod, frowning slightly at the end of your getaway rapidly approaching. 

“I’ve really had the best time” you say, finally pulling your eyes from the water. 

“Me too, darling” he assures you, squeezing your hand as your server cleared the table. Matt pays the tab before standing, pulling you into his side as you two make your way out of the restaurant.

“Can we lay on the beach for a bit when we’re back at the house?” you request and he smiles, envisioning the scene he already has set up for you there.

“Of course, what a brilliant idea.” 

A comfortable silence settles as you both take in the beauty around you on the brief walk back to the small beach house you’d rented for the last week. He follows you through the house, pausing as you both remove your shoes at the backdoor.

“Matty!” you gasp as he slides the glass doors open. “It’s beautiful, when did you do this?” 

He grins, pleased at your excitement. He places a hand on your back to guide you through the sand before helping you sit on the large blanket he’s laid out for you both that’s surrounded by petals from your favorite flower. “I snuck out while you were getting ready before dinner. Now, champagne?” he asks, lifting the chilled bottle from the ice bucket holding down a corner. 

“Yes, please!” you reply eagerly, holding out a glass. He fills it and his own before holding his flute up for the toast he’s prepared.

“My love” he begins, surprised by the emotion clogging his throat. He takes a moment to collect himself and you squeeze his hand encouragingly. “First and foremost, I want to thank you for the last five years. They’ve been the most joyous, love-filled ones of my life. I can hardly believe it’s been half a decade yet at the same time, it’s difficult to remember life without you being by my side. You’re my rock, my biggest cheerleader, and most importantly, my best friend. You’re the love of my life, darling.”

He places his glass carefully in the sand before shifting onto one knee, his shaking hands removing the ring box from his pocket, opening it to reveal the ring he’d spent countless months searching for, “Would you do me the honor of sharing the rest of our lives together as husband and wife?”

“Yes, yes, of course! Oh my god” you burst out, holding out your hand for him to slide the ring on. He grins at the sight, dropping his lips to place a long kiss to the spot where the diamonds meet your soft skin. “Oh honey, it’s perfect, I love it. I love you so fucking much. That’s far less elegant than your speech but it’s true nonetheless. I’m so lucky you’re mine.” 

“I had more time to prepare” he laughs and you roll your eyes before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling you flush to him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of your skin mixed with the salty sea breeze. You stay like that a moment before he pulls away to look into your eyes. 

“My beautiful boy,” you whisper, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He leans down, connecting your lips just as the sun slides beneath the ocean. Your hands quickly tangle in his hair and he gently pushes you onto your back, settling on top of you. His hands find the hem of your dress, fingers lightly brushing where your skin meets the fabric. 

He loses himself in the feel of your soft, pliant body beneath him as you greedily suck his tongue into your mouth. He feels himself beginning to harden as you moan, your hands shifting from his hair down to his backside, pulling his hips against yours. He gasps at the friction, desperate for more, pleased to feel you bucking beneath him already. “So impatient” he teases, placing kisses down your neck, leaving small bruises as he goes.

“You're one to talk” you reply, grinding your leg into his erection, drawing a groan from him. “As hot as this would be in theory, can we move this inside? I’d rather not be finding sand in different crevices for the next week.” 

He laughs deeply, carefully standing before offering you his hand to draw you up, as well. You lose your footing in the sand and he quickly scoops you into his arms, carrying you bridal style up the beach. “I thought this would wait until the wedding night?” you tease and he nips playfully at your shoulder. 

“I’ll put you down if you’d like” he retorts and you tighten your grip on his shoulders, shaking your head. He goes to place you on the bed but you insist on being set on your feet. “Lay down” you command and he tilts his head, curious as to what you have planned for him, but eagerly doing as directed. 

Once he’s settled, leaning back on his elbows, you slowly reach around to unzip your dress. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“Billy brought me the ring box a month ago.”

“He didn’t” Matt replies, jaw dropping at the thought of your dog eagerly delivering this gift to you. “What a rascal, he ruined the surprise!” 

“He did,” you agree, laughing. “But that let me plan a little surprise of my own.” 

“Well go on then” he smirks, watching as your dress pools around your feet. “Good god, love” he bites out, eyes hungrily taking in the sight of you. 

“Do you like it?” you ask cheekily, making your way tantalizingly slowly to him. 

“I fucking love it” he breathes out. Your legs are covered in lacy black stockings attached to a garter secured above your sheer black panties. Your torso’s wrapped in a black leather corset and he’s struggling to keep his hands to himself as you crawl up the bed to him. “You remembered.”

“Your obsession with garters even though they’re an absolute pain in the ass to get on? Yes, I remembered” you joke and he chuckles at the mischief in your eyes. 

“My sexy fiancée” he breathes out as you hover above him and grin at the compliment before slowly unbuttoning his shirt, kissing each inch of newly exposed skin. He watches impatiently as you slowly unbuckle his belt, tauntingly taking your time removing it from around his hips. “Be careful, I may have to use that if you tease me much longer.”

“If only I’d be so lucky” you reply, pointedly leaving it on the pillow beside his bed before making quick work of the rest of his clothes. “You’re so hard for me and I haven’t even done anything yet” you goad, wrapping your hand around his already throbbing cock, causing him to throw his head back in pleasure. 

“Look at me, Matthew” you demand and his head whips back up at the command in your tone. “Much better” you praise, dipping your head down to lick a stripe from the base of his cock to his tip, eyes boring into his the entire time.

“Fuck” he breaths out, wrapping a fistful of your hair around his hand before resting it on the back of your head. “More, please.” 

“Since you asked so politely” you agree, immediately taking all of him into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat as your lips wrap around the base of his dick. 

“Holy shit, Y/N” he gasps, hips desperate to buck but not wanting to hurt you. You painstakingly pull back after a few minutes of working him with your mouth, pumping him with your hand as you smirk up at him. 

“Do you want to fuck my face, Matty?” you offer and he feels his eyes widen. 

“Are you sure…?”

Your only response is to move off the bed and drop to your knees, hands behind your back. He eagerly stands beside you, hands tangling in your hair as you wrap your mouth around him again. He slowly sinks into your mouth, making sure you’re ready before he begins thrusting deep into your throat. “Holy shit, love” he groans, throwing his head back briefly, before gazing down to meet your glossy eyes. Slight movement catches his eyes and he watches as your fingers dip into your underwear, fingers circling your clit in time with each of his thrusts. 

Several moments later he feels you pull back slightly and he releases his grip, removing himself from your mouth so you can catch your breath. “Are you okay?” he asks and you nod eagerly, excess spit dripping down your chin. “Jesus Christ, get on the bed” he commands and you smirk, slowly rising to your feet.

“How do you want me, love?”  

“On your back, so I can devour you” he replies and you quickly scramble onto the bed, sliding off your panties as you go. “That’s a good girl” he praises once you’re settled, thighs spread wide, pussy already glistening for him. 

He places a sloppy kiss to your mouth as he removes your corset, leaving you entirely bare before him except for your garter belt which he has every intention of leaving on. “Beautiful” he breathes out, pulling a nipple into his mouth while he teases the other in his hand. He’s rewarded with your back arching up to meet him.

“Lower, please, Matt” you beg and he smirks, nibbling gently on your breast before settling between your thighs. He traces your hips with his fingers, placing brief kisses to your inner thighs, inching up closer to your core. You’d complain about his teasing but he wanted you desperate for him before he even really began. He shifted his hands to your thighs, tracing circles along them while kissing your hip bones, eyes rising to look up at you. 

“Please” you gasp, hips bucking up, before he forcefully pins you back down to the bed. 

“Do you want me to make you feel good, love?” he asks and you nod eagerly, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Then be patient.” 

You nod again, dropping your head onto the pillow, seemingly trying to get your breathing under control. Just as he feels your body untense below him, he licks a teasing stripe up your center drawing a loud moan from your mouth. He places a hand flat against your belly ensuring you can’t squirm or buck beneath him as he begins working you with his tongue.

As desperately as he wants to be buried inside you, he can’t stop himself from devouring you until you’re panting above him, hands wrapped painfully tight in his hair. His mouth is suctioned around your clit when you breath out, “Matt, fuck, I’m going to cum” and he immediately plunges two fingers inside you, drawing a frantic gasp from your throat as your back arches off the bed. Two pumps later he feels your walls tighten around his fingers as you call out his name, wrapping your thighs around his head as pleasure wracks your body. He gently works you through your orgasm until your twitches settle down and your legs loosen from around his neck. He smirks up at you, licking his lips, and you bite your own at the sight. 

“You look so sexy with my cum all over your mouth” you admit, drawing him up so you can taste yourself on his tongue. He opens the nightstand drawer to grab a condom, rolling it onto himself before pulling away from you. 

“Get on your knees” he orders and you eagerly flip over, ass in the air. “What a good girl you are for me, so eager to please.”

“Always” you agree, spreading yourself open for him and he groans at the sight.

He lines himself up with your entrance, “Ready, love?” he asks and in response, you sink yourself back onto him. “Jesus” he grounds out, the sensation of being fully buried in you so quickly overwhelming him for a moment. 

“Is it too much darling?” you ask, teasingly wiggling your hips back and forth. He shakes his head at you before reaching beside your head to grab his discarded belt. 

“Is this what you want?” he asks and you lick your lips, nodding enthusiastically. He wraps the leather around his hand before bringing it down sharply on your ass, drawing a gasp from your mouth. “Is it too much darling?”

“No, more please” you beg and he obliges, bringing the belt down on your other cheek. “Yes, Matt, fuck me now.” 

“Such a slut for me” he taunts, driving into you roughly. 

“Yes, yes, I’m your little whore” you gasp out and he rewards you with another slap of the belt against your backside. 

“Fuck” he mutters, overwhelmed at the sight of you bent before him, ass cheeks red, makeup smeared, mouth open wide in pleasure. “You look so sexy right now.” 

You simply whine, driving your hips back, silently demanding more. He tosses the belt aside so he can focus, gripping your hips and pressing your back down more so he can fuck you deeper, setting a ruthless pace.

“Yes, yes just like that” you gasp, hands wrapped tightly around the sheets beneath you. 

“Tell me what you want, love” he breathes out shakily. But all you can do is pant for air, your breathing mixed with moans and curses. He feels you tightening around him again and he wraps his hand around your hair, pulling you up so your back is flush to his chest. “Use your words, darling.”

“You’re fucking me so good Matt” you whine, your hand dipping between your thighs to rub your clit as you look back at him. “Please make me cum again” you whimper, the tempo of your fingers increasing as you squeeze around him even more intensely.

“Come on baby, let me have it. I can feel how close you are” he encourages and you whimper, your eyes turning glossy but never leaving his. Your lower lip quivers as your orgasm tears through you, your pussy clamping and twitching around his cock as you whine and moan beneath him. “There you go, I’ve got you, love” he assures, gently releasing you so you can rest your forehead against the pillow. He gently rocks into you until you stop pulsing around him, placing kisses to your shoulder blades. 

“Let me flip over, I want to watch you cum for me” you request and he pulls out just long enough for you to resettle on your back before reconnecting your bodies. As his pace picks up again you pull him down to you, placing a deep kiss to his mouth as you wrap your legs around his back. His mind goes pleasantly blank as he loses himself in the pleasure your body gives him.

“Can you feel how soaked you made me?” you whisper and he groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulders and nodding, words beyond him now. “I want you to cum inside me, baby, please. I want to watch you come undone for me.”

“I’m so fucking close” he gets out and you tug at his hair lightly, making him gasp in pleasure. 

“I know, baby, I know. My cunt’s squeezing you so tight, isn’t it? Show me how good I’m making you feel” you taunt, hands dropping down to squeeze his balls softly. His vision goes white as his orgasm shoots through him, frantically burying himself inside you as wave after wave of pleasure coarse through him. “There you go, I’ve got you, my love” you whisper, running your hands over his back as he catches his breath.

You two stay wrapped together for several moments longer, neither of you wanting to separate, both of you soaking in the afterglow. Eventually he lifts his head from your chest placing a gentle kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You hiss at the loss of him and he agrees softly, already missing the intimacy of your joined bodies. He rises to clean himself up before returning with a warm, damp cloth. 

“Holy shit babe” he chuckles, gently wiping between your legs, shocked at how much of your pleasure is still leaking from you. 

“I’m not exaggerating when I say that was the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had” you laugh, removing your makeup with the wipe he’d brought out for you so you didn’t have to get up. 

“I can tell” he grins and you roll your eyes. 

“No need to look so fucking smug, Matthew.”

“What?” he laughs, tossing the cloth in the tub before sliding the quilt down, tucking you underneath before settling behind you. “Can’t I be happy I made my fiancée feel incredible?” 

“Sure, I bet that’s all it is. No ego swelling involved” you grumble and he pulls you flat against him. He opens his mouth to make a dirty joke but you cut him off with a quick, “Don’t you dare.”

He laughs again, joy filling his chest to the brim as he places a kiss to the back of your neck before settling onto his pillow. 

“I love you so much, darling” he whispers a few moments later, your breathing already evening out as sleep approaches. 

“And I love you” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I can’t wait to be your wife.” He feels a small smile pull on his lips at the thought before sleep drags him under.

taglist @littlehorrorlover @slayraxes-blogs @decaffeinatedparadisepost

[stazsi]

Right time

warnings: break up, mentions of kissing, basically sad shit ex!matt ;(

my notes : okay so this is my first one shot or whatever. i'm not rlly wanting to make it a 2 parter so imma leave this here hehe. :)) ( i'm sorry it's so sad )

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ﾟ✧

it's been 4 weeks since matt and i roughly broke up and he still hasn't stopped trying to contact me.

message after message and tears after tears.

I've always believed in right person, wrong time but if i love him this much why can't i have him now? i don't understand why he can't let go after breaking up with me, so that's why i'm outside his door right now trying to build courage to knock, the floor boards creak inside the house telling me someone's home.

anxiety flowing through my veins as i stand here, the wind flowing against my back giving me chills

knock,knock

..

click.

i straighten my back and look up listening to the the sweet but threatening sound of the lock clicking, reminding myself why i'm even here. i stand frozen staring into them blue eyes i'm used to, just puffier. "hi.." i whisper my voice a little louder than the branches cracking behind me. he stares at me clearly in shock and regret, we haven't seen eachother since the breakup and clearly it shows.

i slowly back up keeping my space, i try to let words escape my mouth but they're stuck in my throat same with my breathing, my stomach swirls and suddenly every body part itches from the sweat. his face goes pale blue with sadness and he slightly moves to the side sweetly inviting me in with no words.

i walk past him his strong cologne infecting my nose, i sit down on the couch and place my bag on the scratched up table. as i look around their house there's so many memories i didn't know i'd be so sadly familiar with. like the dent in the wall from when chris threw my heels, the countless coffee stains on the table from my rough mornings here..and the more i look the sadder i get, tears threatening to escape my eyes, it's silly really..i shouldn't be this sad about a ruined wall or table, even looking down hurts my heart; it's like someone is stabbing a hot cigarette into my fragile heart.

"y/n?" he speaks with sadness, i think he has been trying to get my attention but i've been looking around and forming a wetness on my face from my eyes .

i quickly wipe my light red cheeks and straighten up wiping the tears of embarrassment against my blue ripped jeans. i apologise and clear my clogged up throat.

"what are you doing here?" he asks sitting down and licking his lips, a thing he does when he's nervous he doesn't want dry lips and wants to present himself and act like hes not nervous

i don't wanna tell him why i'm here, i don't even know how to tell him.

i don't even know why i'm here

the silence thickens and as the seconds go on i regret this more and more.

"i don't know" i finally speak up allowing him to un-tense and let out a healing loud sigh.

it's starting to get more awkward as seconds turn into minutes and tears fall

"i'm sorry y/n" he lets out his volume decreasing, almost like he regrets starting to speak. he's sorry. i'm sorry. why can't we be the same? hes said his apologies so why isn't his aura yellow, happy like we normally are? why can't we go and laugh on fun car drives or cry in each others arms why are we separated?

"was there someone else?" i whisper my voice and heart breaking halfway through of the thought of him being with someone else.

he flinches. as if this question is important, as if i'm right.

"y/n.." he says trying to console me "there was someone else?" i ask knowing the answer but unable to believe it, my world just broke in two. the room spins vertically and horizontally and time stops giving me a second to break down, tears escape rather fast and i'm unable to breathe the dizziness taking over my whole body.

i nearly said sorry just because i don't want this to be true i don't want this life i want me and matt happy together i don't want a cheater i want matt. normal matt. happy in love matt. We've been doing this dance for a while now, the fallen out of love dance. one step forward then he spins me all the way back, the music slows down till it eventually breaks up into static and we're no longer dancing. we're just here.

imagining all the times he kissed her, hugged her, told her she's special, the compliments.

i feel his stare stabbing me like thousands shards of glass as i sat there, staring into his familiar yet deadly eyes, i felt a surge of emotions welling up within myself. the silence between us is deafening, broken only by the haunting echoes of my own heartache. suddenly, the words escaped his lips, shattering the fragile hope i've clung to for so long. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt and in that moment, the weight of his confession hung in the air, suffocating the remaining fragments of trust and love - the truth, like a jagged blade, pierced through my heart, leaving behind a raw ache that no amount of apologies could soothe. nothing could mend our wounds, our love can't be replaced or fixed. I felt a surge of conflicting emotions raging within. betrayal, hurt, and a burning desire to escape engulfed my senses. without a word, I rose to my feet, my movements fueled by a mix of anguish and determination. every step I took echoed the resounding ache in my heart, a painful rhythm that matched the cadence of his footsteps behind me.

I could hear him calling my name, barely as my ears are focused on any other sound than his voice, that one sweet voice that once made me feel the most special but now it's disgusting and tinged with desperation, but I dared not turn back the tears that stung my eyes blurred the path ahead, yet I keep on, driven by my sadness and panic from the shattered pieces of our love. His hand reached out, barely touching my hand, but I still felt the strong energy between us.

the air was thick with unsaid words and broken promises, a weight that hung heavy between us even if we are a 10 minute drive away. i can still hear him pleading to me as i lay lifeless in my bed unable to even flinch or blink. breathing hurts and falling asleep becomes difficult. my mind clouded unable to shut down all alone i lay, without him by my side.

maybe it isn't the right time.

my notes; i love and hate this okay thanku for reading💙

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! Apologies if this has been discussed, but I wanted to know what you guys think of tagging fics as "[blind, deaf, autistic, disabled, etc] character." As a disabled person myself, sometimes I feel like it marks the character as Different, or reduces them to their disability, when it doesn't need to be a big deal. Other times I want to find fics that have representation, or fics about characters who are like me. I'd love to hear more thoughts on this.

Hi!

In my opinion it's perfectly fine. To me, it's similar to how you would tag a queer work of fanfiction as "A x B" - it's so that readers can find what interests them, not because the queerness is the only thing that those characters have to offer. I care much more about what's in the actual story; if the character is treated well there, then I'm definitely not going to care about how the tag was worded - I would just be glad that it helped me find the story in the first place.

One thing, that's almost only relevant to Tumblr, is to not use the actual "paraplegic", "cane user", "autistic" etc. tags for fanfiction. That's because it clogs up the tags for actual disabled people, a lot of which aren't a fan of this practice. This obviously doesn't apply to sites like ao3, or if you're using the "[disability] character" tag. More of a technical thing, but important nonetheless.

That's just my view on it - I hope it makes sense!

mod Sasza

Hello!

Seconding Mod Sasza but I just want to add my two cents in, specifically around fandoms with canonically disabled characters.

Something I see a lot is the tag on Ao3 specifying the character's disability. To use Daredevil as an example here, I see a lot of fics tagged with #blind matt murdock.

This tag generally means that the fic is focusing on/talking about his blindness in some way, not necessarily that he isn't blind in other fics.

I personally find this tag pretty useful since it helps to find fics where the character's disability is a big part of the fic/the focus of it. The main thing with a lot of tagging systems is that it's for organization, not necessarily to "sell" people on the fic (For lack of a better term).

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

[sunflowersandsapphires]

I saw something in the fandom that made me upset and I need to rant about it. It’ll be below the cut so I don’t clog up people’s dashes!

I cropped the name off of this post because I am not trying to start drama, but I found this under the “Matt Murdock x Reader” tag and found it INCREDIBLY disheartening to go through to comments/reblogs and see how many people agreed.

I am in no way trying to dispute the fact that fandom spaces and self-insert fanfiction is heavily white washed/influenced by white writers. As a white woman myself, I catch many little slip ups in my own work that make my writing less accessible than I want it to be. I understand being frustrated that there aren’t many stories where you feel your appearance has been considered.

However: fanfiction, fanart, gif making and coloring, edits, and other forms of fan-made-content are usually completely free to access. No one is entitled to them—they are a privilege, not a right. Which means that people are allowed to write whatever characters they want, even if it’s not completely unique or what you want to read.

My issue is with OP’s critiques of weak/feminine/sweet/innocent readers and the way they voiced their opinion (again, not disputing the appearance stuff). I know that many readers are sweet or innocent, but as someone who is rarely given the space to be the “damsel in distress” so to speak, I enjoy writing characters who are taken care of and protected. Regardless of my or any other writer’s reasoning for writing the characters this way, we are allowed to do that. It’s our fucking work.

If you don’t like something, no one is forcing you to read it. If you notice a lack of fics that appeal to you, write some yourself. It is inconsiderate to chastise people spending hours of their free time to give you content that you can enjoy just because it’s not exactly what you want to see.

Also, don’t threaten to block me if you don’t like how I write. Just block me. It is your responsibility to curate an enjoyable experience on this app, not everyone else’s.

In summary: I am not trying to say that fandom is perfect or inclusive or that critiques of my writing aren’t welcome. This person can have whatever opinions they like and are welcome to post them on their blog. I would just like to point out that the delivery could’ve been more polite and that authors don’t need to change the plots/characters’ personalities they write just because others aren’t happy with the outcome.

[amourlyns]

❛ HEY VENGEANCE. ❜ ➜ ⁽ masterlist ⁾

✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕: in which the reader meets bruce wayne at a gala, the riddler is rampant in the city. and this gala is his next target. part one of two.

✧ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: mentions of alcohol consumption, and drugs. bruce is vv emotionally repressed, he’s got problems ok?

✧ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: 🦦 this is pattison’s batman influenced by matt reeves (the batman.) no use of y/n, pov switches to bruce twice in this fic. listen to 〞thank god for the rain 〞 by bernard herrman for ambiance.

⟡ ⠀ | Gotham is well (…) an odd city. An odd city with slick—tongued alley cats who roam and lurk at each corner, merging with the shadow and watching passerby dance and speak in hypnotic tongues.

You liked to call it the Gotham effect, it comes with the city of sin and crime. It’s odd, like you stated before. There’s the occasional glitz and glamor of wealthy Gothamites, galas laced with cocaine pearls and wine filled bottles (…)

Accompanied by champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvre’s to indulge in for the night.

And within this false sense of normalcy and entitlement, there’s the night. The Gotham better known for its crime and vigilantes. You see, everyone in Gotham is acting. The key to understanding it all in Gotham is the rhythm.

The people are the rhythm, the day is the rhythm. The night is the rhythm. And within this element of rhythmic chaos, there’s always something lurking. Watching the city underneath light polluted skies and charcoal clouds. When the smog seems to clog up your lungs and choke your breathing, there’s always something else to worry about.

The Batman, of course.

If anything, he highlights what Gotham is at the core. A broken city, deeply scarred and angry. Scratching at its surface to be heard. To be healed. Has Gotham always been seeking justice and light? Or is it seeking something much more carnal and sinister (…) Vengeance? A certain greed?

Whatever it was, it spoke to Gothamites. Hate the Bat, or love the Bat. He spoke for the city of Gotham, and he would always be there at every corner, watching.

Gotham is sick and venal.

You hope for the day of a real rain to come and wash off the scum from the streets. For now, it’s the Bat who takes care of the illness. Could 〞 it 〞 save Gotham?

Maybe.

It’s silly thought anyways, Gotham has been plagued with crime for decades. Some masked vigilante wouldn’t be able to stop that regardless. The thought is flimsy and useless. Something made out of hope and optimism, the kind of thing you consume in dreams. Not only that, but the Batman is more of a fable, a myth.

Besides, there was no use in consuming yourself with thoughts of Gotham and its nightly specter. For now, you’re here, at another Gala— with the same diluted faces and the same twisted smiles. Then night moves on in an odd distorted way, a blur even.

The man who snaps you out of this daze is Bruce Wayne. Gotham’s Prince, the man of the hour. You could only wonder what caused this recluse to emerge out of the manor he calls home. Unlike other notable people in Gotham, Bruce Wayne chooses to live a quiet life shrouded in mystery.

When he does remove himself from the confines of the manor, and the tabloids simply go into a frenzy. Like sharks during a feeding. It feels like everyone in Gotham wanted a piece of Bruce Wayne. Craving a flesh they surely don’t deserve.

Something tells you to draw closer to the oddity, like this would be the only time you’d be able to lay your eyes on Bruce Wayne in the flesh. So, you might as well take the opportunity to really take him all in.

Wayne eventually loses the limelight. The audience dies and you decide to pass through the sea of bodies that separate you two. He notices this of course, ever so vigilant. Some part of you expects him to flee and avoid the confrontation all together. Wary hues remain fixated on your figure slipping through the crowd.

Surely he isn't waiting (…) Right ?

Apparently he wasn’t, not like you knew of course. Bruce Wayne was a hard man to decipher after all, you couldn't tell if something compelled him to stay or if that kept him still.

For the first time tonight, you're accompanied by someone else. It'd off to say the least, Bruce is certainly a presence to behold, sure. But he wouldn't even spare a glance at you, you gaze eventually follows his line of sight.

Now? Now, all eyes are set on beacon in the sky now. The symbol of the night.

Batman is called by the city tonight, needed in the shadows once more. You could only wonder what for. You’re not one for new and tabloids but, there has been some discussion about the 〞 Riddler. 〞

Gotham’s newest deranged lunatic villain.

The man was terrifying, you’ve seen the footage. You've seen the terror and heard the screams. So how was the Batman going to save the city now? The thought of Gotham coming to its own demise (…) it was bound to, the city hasn’t had hope in a long time. You knew that very well.

Now what was he thinking? Did the Wayne believe in the Bat? In Vengeance, and his own crusade. Before you can even ask the question, he’s turning away. Maybe he’s had enough of your company for tonight.

❛ MISTER WAYNE, WAIT. Before you go, I’m just (…) curious about this one thing━━ IT’S THIS (…) BAT. VENGEANCE, do you really think he can protect the city ? Save Gotham ? His motives just seem so unclear. He’s menacing, almost reminds me of the Riddler. It’s all about vengeance, no ? Whether it’s about the city or people who’ve wronged you. ❜

Bruce does not turn back around to face you, instead he turns his head. Adjusting his gaze to you and the symbol in the night, it shifts. Once, twice than thrice. His face is unreadable. Typical.

He wants to speak, you know that much. Yet he doesn’t, for whatever reason. Bruce chooses to stare right through you.

You let him.

He doesn’t owe you a response, you know that much. Before you know it, he’s gone.

𝙱𝚁𝚄𝙲𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝙽𝙴’𝚂 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙰𝙻𝙰. A FEW HOURS BEFORE YOUR ENCOUNTER (…)

⟡ ⠀ | THE CITY IS QUIET TONIGHT. Unlike any another night, the city streets are deserted, emptied if you will. It’s all because of the recent attacks by the Riddler. There’s a few stranglers of course, sticking near the shaded roads and corners.

There’s a gala tonight, Alfred informed me on that. He wanted to me to attend because I needed to 〞 maintain 〞 my appearances for the sake of my family’s reputation and legacy. I only agreed because it would be the perfect opportunity to watch the city through civilian eyes. And give me an advantage.

The suit is less than ideal. Tight, stuffy and constricting.

Alfred is in the middle of fixing my tie when he tells me I look like my father.

I do not reply to that.

I stare into the mirror. Taking the time to analyze my polished appearance, Alfred fixes my tie and hands me my father’s cuff links once more. Now he’s watching me closely, too closely. Like I’ll break and shatter because he mentioned my father.

My face must’ve given my thoughts away, Alfred is quick to place his hand on my shoulder. Giving it a squeeze. My eyes dart between his hand and his face.

There’s that (…) sympathy again, or was it regret? Sometimes the two emotions blur and mix, all into one.

I should be kinder to Alfred.

If I could vocalize it, I would. But it comes out all raw, sore and achy. Like I’m forcing the kindness out of me. If only I could— could verbalize this gratitude. I would—

My chest throbs at the guilt. I grimace. Alfred seems to get it somehow, he can see the apology in my eyes. He lets me go for the time being, I insist to drive myself. He obliges.

The arrival is dreadful. The lights are too bright and there’s too many eyes on me. Voices ring out, calling out my name— Gothams Prince, Wayne, Mister Wayne, Bruce Wayne. They chant to me. The media swarms me like flies, and questions flood after.

I hardly keep my head above the water, I’m practically drowning. The only thing that keeps me going is that light in the sky.

The signal.

The media disperses, shifting towards the beacon of light that brands the sky tonight. From my peripheral view, I see something moving closer to me. Slipping through the sea of people. Their destination is to me. My gaze remains fixated on the bat-signal.

I have to go.

The figure besides me shifts, eyeing me down every now and then. I decide to take my leave.

❛ ❛ MISTER WAYNE, WAIT. Before you go, I’m just (…) curious about this one thing━━ IT’S THIS (…) BAT. VENGEANCE, do you really think he can protect the city ? Save Gotham ? His motives just seem so unclear. He’s menacing, almost reminds me of the Riddler. It’s all about vengeance, no ? Whether it’s about the city or people who’ve wronged you. ❜ ❜

Their words capture me for a few moments. I still. Letting the words settle into my mind. I can’t find it in me to look at them.

WHEN I LEAVE, it seems like the city mocks me. It feels like the rain corrodes my kevlar. The frigid rain seems to sink through bone marrow and nip away at skin. There’s a ferocious wind in Gotham tonight, the rain drenches everything in a torrential downpour.

Storm drains are filled and plugged, creating miniature oceans in the road.

When I arrive, the commissioner informs me on the recent developments of the Riddler. He has plans for tonight, and another letter written for me.

An explosion goes off that night.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Hi Shiori!! Can I request a “Grab Your Tissues” for either Matt or Frank? Whoever you’re feeling more for the prompt: “I can’t sleep”

Hi Sapph! I hope you enjoy this (as well as your trip!)

Tags/Warnings: Insomnia, Low self-esteem, Mention of Stick, Referenced child abandonment Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza

Can’t Sleep

Matt couldn’t sleep.

Not an unusual occurrence for him. His sleep schedule was terrible. Had been for years. Ever since the accident. Even with Stick’s training, he couldn’t seem to shut out the world enough to sleep sometimes. Tonight was one of those nights.

It seemed like every little sound in this building kept drilling into his ears. Foggy’s snores. People talking in the rec room. Other students in their dorms having sex or arguing. Or in the case of Jimmy and Amanda two floors up, both at the same time. People watching a movie or listening to music. The buzz of the lights, the rattling of the pipes, the flushing of toilets. The list went on and on. All perfectly normal sounds, typical for the student hall at night. No one was being particularly loud but for some reason Matt just couldn’t tune it out.

It didn’t help that his bed was uncomfortable. The laundry service had gotten backed up. So when Matt had accidentally spilled dinner all over his sheets, he didn’t have any fresh ones to put on. Foggy immediately offered his spare set so Matt wouldn’t have to sleep on a bare mattress until he got his spare sheets back. Or dirty ones got washed. Whichever came first.

Matt appreciated it. Really he did. Foggy was a good friend. A better friend that someone like him deserved. But all the gratitude in the world wouldn’t change that these cotton-poly blend sheets felt like sandpaper on his skin.

He was out of practice ignoring the sensation. He had gotten used to silk. He could hear Stick calling him a pussy for allowing himself to become so dependent on something like silk sheets. And maybe he was right. But it had been so nice, being comfortable while he slept, for the first time since the accident. He had thanked God for leading him to that girl’s bed during his first semester. Her silk sheets had been a revelation. So much of one that Matt had taken some of his precious cash and immediately bought two sets.

Foggy had teased him about it a little, joking that he was turning their dorm room into a brothel. They ended up pondering the logistics of such a venture, one of those bizarre yet thoroughly entertaining conversations he often had with Foggy. Sometimes it felt like he could tell Foggy anything.

Matt rolled over, trying to find a less uncomfortable spot. Another reason he couldn’t sleep. A debate weighed heavily on his mind. An argument he had been having with himself for months. Should he tell Foggy about his senses? His training? What really happened the night Elektra dumped him?

He wanted to. Sometimes it was all he could do to keep it behind his teeth. To only give the barest of hints, hoping that Foggy would pick up them. Put two and two together. It was possible. Foggy was a smart guy. Far smarter than he liked to give himself credit for. Sometimes it seemed like he had, from some of his questions.

But another, equally powerful part of his mind, dreaded Foggy learning those things. That Hey buddy would transform into Get away from me freak.

No matter how many times Matt tried to tell himself that Foggy wasn’t like that. He wasn’t cruel. Convince himself that Foggy wouldn’t reject him for his abilities. Remember how Foggy had gotten in people’s faces for being homophobic or racist or any number of things. He had protested bills targeting mutants. Every logical part of his brain said telling Foggy was safe.

And yet the terror remained. The knowledge that he was so awful that even as a baby, his own mother couldn’t stand him. The phantom sound of Stick’s retreating footstep clogged his ears. The ghost of Elektra’s perfume and that man’s blood filled his nose. All of it froze his tongue in his mouth. Seized his jaw in crushing grip.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk losing his friend. Matt was too weak. He needed that connection, craved the easy affection Foggy gave him as easy as breathing. He couldn’t lose it. He couldn’t . . .

“Matt?”

Matt started. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard Foggy wake up. Or sit up for that matter.

“Hey Foggy,” he said. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Foggy said. “It’s 3 AM.”

Matt shifted so he was facing the direction of Foggy’s bed. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why? Bad dreams?”

“Nah . . . just worried about that final in Dr. White’s class,” Matt answered. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Buddy, you shouldn’t be worried about that. You got that philosophy junk backwards and forwards.”

“It’s not junk,” Matt retorted automatically, sitting up himself when he heard Foggy moving. Getting up. “What are you doing?”

“Grabbing my laptop,” Foggy said. “Since neither of us can sleep, we’re watching a movie.”

“You were sleeping just fine.”

“Oh contraire mon ami, I was as restless as you were. You ain’t the only one worried about finals.” Foggy said. It was a lie. Matt didn’t need to hear the little skip in his heart to know that. And yet . . .

“What movie?”

“Do you really have to ask? The Princess Bride.”

“Haven’t you seen it a million times?”

“And I’ll see it a million and one.”

Matt let it go. It wasn’t worth arguing with Foggy about it. He recognized that tone. Besides he liked The Princess Bride. Listening to it one more time wouldn’t hurt.

[momodita]

snapshots. [—dazai osamu]

TAGS / WARNINGS: male reader, specific clothing (suit),       dazai being dazai, barely suggestive WC: 1,000 NOTE: even though this was written with male       readers in mind, there are no pronouns       used and can read as gender neutral!

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“Need some help?”

You muffle the swear, but not the pained noise that escapes as your leg smacks the counter. Teeth clenched, you hunch over the sink, clutching your throbbing knee before gathering yourself to glare at the intruder.

“Where’s Atsushi.”

“Surprised?” Dazai trills, volume surprisingly controlled for how loud you know him to be. His lofty hum echoes—you grimace as he fills the precious little space left in the bathroom. “Atsushi-kun got sent on an assignment. He’ll be gone for a while.”

“And he entrusted you to help me instead?” you snark, a touch mean knowing the thickness of his skin. Turning your back on him never feels safe—at least with the mirror, you’re not completely vulnerable. “I would’ve thought he’d ask someone a little more reliable. Like Kunikida-san.”

“Oh! You wound me!” Dazai exclaims, hand flying up to press against his forehead. He saunters forward with a dramatic lean. “And here I thought you might need me to lend you a hand,” he says, flourishes with a grin, gaze lingering meaningfully on your tie.

Your nose wrinkles. “No thanks.”

Dazai merely tuts—undeterred by the blatant dismissal—leaning on the counter to watch you fumble.

“If it were Kunikida-kun here,” he says, low and amused, stoking the burn of irritation at the back of your throat, “He would’ve made you start over. In seiza to boot.”

You shudder imagining it. “No one will notice if it’s bad. It’s just a stupid tie.” The excuse doesn’t burn nearly as much as his huffing laugh, something quiet that makes the muscle under your eye twitch. Maybe you should forgo the tie, after all.

“Now, now, don’t say that,” he sings—gleeful, like he’s sitting on the punchline of a joke. “It won’t take long.” His hand opens for you, expectant. “Besides,” Dazai says, “seems like you really want this meeting to go well.” He speaks plainly enough, but you’ve no confidence to decipher any double entendre while operating under several layers yourself.

Against the sticky apprehension licking your ribs, you let him: slipping the tie from your shoulders and lowering it onto his palm. Not for the first time, his presence raises the fine hairs on your nape.

He’s an indomitable presence behind you. You’re sure he can’t see the goosebumps erupting along your arms, but the little quiet chuckle by your ear makes you think he knows of their existence.

Dazai lays the tie across your nape. Drapes it down your front and adjusts the two ends with an impish, plucking touch. You watch his hands in the mirror. It occurs to you, now, that as you are—trapped between him and his mirror image—there’s nowhere to run. In the silence, your mouth purses, twitching with the pressure to break the tension—anything to release the buzz of adrenaline clogging your throat.

“Don’t tie it too tight,” you say haltingly, blood rushing to your face. “I’ll choke.”

Dazai, humming, merely smiles. You watch his eyes narrow with it in the mirror, how he loops and pulls and twists the fabric—almost mesmerized by the knot coming neatly together in his fingers: long and pale—a sharp contrast to the matte black of your suit and dress shirt.

His expression drops as he works. It’s a rare moment where it holds no fallacies, no comedic lilt of his brow or mouth. Your chin twitches when he wiggles the knot to a tight finish, uses both hands to slide it up against the base of your throat.

You swallow, then—not meaning to—and drop your eyes to the faucet. Dazai drags the tie between his fingers, smoothing the fabric with a slow motion of his arm. You can’t stop the tightness in your chest—as if his hands were sliding all over you.

“Dazai-san.” His name gets pulled from your throat like teeth, hand twitching, wanting to snatch the tie from his fingers. His presence is a weight on your shoulders—heat at your back, crawling up your throat all the way down your calves, the tips of your fingers, as you tease the idea of shoving him away. Forcibly relaxing your aching jaw.

Your eyes dart up to meet his in the mirror. It’s a mistake. For one dizzying breath, his head tips—just a fraction, small enough that you blink and are no long sure it even happened—and the gleam in his eyes is gone, swallowed by the shadow of his fringe. You don’t need the subtle press of his thumb to know your skin has gone clammy.

But then he blinks, and the moment passes. He splays his hands out as if revealing a surprise, grin full of teeth.

“See? Not too bad, wouldn’t you agree? Kunikida-kun would’ve had you make one hundred knots.” Despite the obvious playfulness of his voice, it does little to quell the blood rushing in your ears. His hands descend upon your shoulders, a gesture somehow more threatening than when his fingers had been kissing distance from your throat. “And his lectures take forever.”

“Aren’t you just saying that because you’re the one he lectures the most?” you ask. “That’s why no one takes you seriously, Dazai-san.”

His eyes narrow with a smile—the familiar stretch of it triggering your flight impulse. You manually reset your footing to rid yourself of the feeling.

“Maybe they should,” he suggests, and reaches for your throat. Your blood freezes, but all he does is flip down your collar, tucking the tie under the starched fabric. “I’m quite the hidden gem.”

Muffled laughter outside the door is just the remedy you need to reset.

“How egotistical of you,” you reply flatly, and sigh. “Are you done?”

“Of course, of course.” Dazai waves. “Safe travels.”

“Thanks,” you mumble. He ducks out of the bathroom to engage with Kunikida, putting himself directly into the blond’s verbal line of fire.

And you, alone, dip fingers inside your suit pocket to find a familiar plastic lump.