#start a RIOT!!! (blast riot)

[wild-at-mind]

I get why people like the whole queer existence is resistance thing. I don't personally, because I think it puts a tonne of intracommunity pressure to exist in the 'right' way, I.e. the way that is 'radical' to the person currently scrutinising you. As a person with OCD that manifests in self scrutiny that I have to constantly concentrate on to avoid it becoming self hatred, I'm never going to be a fan of that. I kind of feel this way about any kind of assimilation conversation with regards to queerness really. I think it's an important conversation within irl communities who already care for each other- who shows up for others outside of their own interests and who doesn't, etc. But the internet makes things so impersonal and cold. It encourages people to make very serious snap judgements about others who they don't even know, and to encourage others to believe that about them. None of these people are in community together in any meaningful sense, or they wouldn't treat each other so ungenerously.

Anyway I had a bit of a realisation earlier- I think we have to tell ourselves our existence is inherently radical all the time because we're always getting the subtle message from our community and the wider activism community that having a good time or enjoying yourself is somehow bad, or insulting to people in dire straits. But instead of challenging that idea we say no it's OK because I'm doing activism simply by being here. I think it's fine to feel that way and in many ways existing as a marginalised person really is radical. I just want to make sure we aren't internalising the idea that we can't ever be happy or having a fun frivolous time without justifying it, and passing that idea along to others without meaning to.

[daisies-on-a-cup]

nothing beats into the spiderverse soundtrack, its so good, i havent gotten tired of it once

[foldingfittedsheets]

It started with cantrips, which is why it took people a while to notice. The first few events were people on the news talking about how they’d been needing a light and then suddenly they’d waved a hand and said words and there was light. No one really believed them but as more reports were verified suddenly more people came forward with even less believable stories of what everyone really didn’t want to call magic. Even though it was pretty obviously magic. Spectral floating hands grabbing things that were out of reach, whispered messages that reached their friend seated too far away to hear them.

An EMT who whispered a word and suddenly saved a dying man.

Then the darker stories started filtering in. 

Words spoken in anger causing explosions. Poison spewing forth from a hand gesture. One person gave a retort so witty that someone was hospitalized. 

Everyone was scared, but the nerds started to figure it out fastest. It sure wasn’t the scientists who were doing the equivalent of crying on the floor in the fetal position in their respective labs while reports poured in globally of these occurrences. A growing movement online started spreading lists. They had all the blessings people might have gotten and regardless of how many people scoffed no one could really deny that every instance of magic correlated to a website listing the cantrips in Dungeons and Dragons. People pooled their collective resources to help quantify what was happening and facts started to emerge.

Everybody got one. You had to be at least thirteen to use the magic. That pretty much summed up the only other common denominators. Otherwise it seemed completely random, the magic didn’t line up with any existing character traits. You just unlocked one piece of magic each. People with aggressive cantrips were almost loaded up into camps for suddenly being so dangerous- however many hit points real humans had it was apparently not a big number. A lot more deaths occurred than anyone could feasibly track and the global population panicked.

The legislation for the camps got struck down. There were riots and confusion and for a while everything was pretty chaotic. Firebolts and Eldritch Blasts went off from sheer exuberance as much as anything else. Amidst the rioting were people just living their lives, not using their cantrips. It took a while for things to settle down, but humans can get used to most anything if given enough time.

Almost everybody scanned the list to figure out which they got, but someone with Chill Touch just enjoyed frostier beverages than most even if it made you think about death more to drink something after the skeleton hand had been wrapped around it. At least it looked cool. Most people didn’t really do anything other than play around. A youtuber who had gotten Shape Water suddenly surged in popularity as she pivoted her channel to creating beautiful patterns with colored water. Other online personalities quickly followed and those with combat focused magic set up backyard target practice to show off. Some fires resulted as well as numerous noise complaints and a law was passed limiting where people could practice magic. It was virtually unenforceable but the people in charge were trying to keep a grip on the situation.

Noticeably the largest subset of the population that used their magic were those who had gotten Spare the Dying. Every government turned out the call that such individuals would receive a generous stipend for taking to the hospitals and stabilizing the sick and injured. Death rates dropped substantially, but it was still only a cantrip. Cancer marched on, but many got to live after miraculous recoveries.

Months passed and things started to become a little more normal. There were still debates about what had caused it and how to regulate magic but day to day life settled down. Speculations over what the long term ramifications would be continued as well as why those cantrips. Wizards of the Coast refused to comment for the first six months, closing its doors to the rioting and keeping them closed. At the end of six months they abruptly published a new line of cantrip cards with all kinds of utility and no combat usage whatsoever. The internet exploded and the government wasn’t pleased, but nothing happened. No one got any new magic. People wondered if those under thirteen would manifest the new stuff, but no one did. They just blew out their thirteenth birthday candles and got handed a cantrip like everyone else. 

A year later a mechanic in rural Canada was peering into the engine of a busted car. He realized he needed some lubricant and instead of reaching for his can he waved a hand and splattered the car with Grease that had burst from his hand. He was a calm sort of fellow so he called up the local news and said there was more magic. They asked first what cantrip he had- folks who received Prestidigitation had made a number of false alarms on receiving additional magic. The mechanic told them his cantrip was Infestation which he’d never had cause to use after figuring it out. 

The press descended and demanded a demonstration. Most people had read up on the basic rules of magic at that point, so everyone understood when the mechanic said they’d have to wait until the next day. A media storm went up the next day with headlines blaring that first level magic had been unlocked after the passing of the lunar new year. 

A wide contingent had been waiting for this opportunity. The spell list went out again amidst less panic but more chaos. There was a rash of identity thefts no could trace and eventually people realized Disguise Self posed a significant challenge to daily life. Celebrities had trouble convincing people they were who they said as random citizens took their faces on numerous joyrides. A scandal broke when it turned out an A list actor had hired someone else to play them while they went on vacation but the details were kept very hush hush.

Hospitals called out desperately for anyone with healing magic and most of those blessed with Cure Wounds and Healing Word answered. People with Goodberry formed community food kitchens and for the first time it seemed like hunger could actually be eliminated. Veterinary offices and zoos made special positions for those who could cast Animal Friendship and Speak with Animals.

A celebrity chef hit the jackpot with Purify Food and Drink and made a whole spinoff series where she went dumpster diving and made five star meals out of rotting leftovers. Several people changed careers entirely to lend their services to study ancient texts with Comprehend Languages. Even one hour a day led to huge leaps in discovery and understanding of ancient civilizations. 

A small murmur of worry followed the new influx of skills and power. What would happen when more magic was unlocked? The amount of people now running around with dangerous combat spells was even greater than before. Would people have to worry about necromancy? New crimes were being invented faster than laws could keep up as magic was put to novel and interesting uses. 

A year passed and everyone waited with bated breath for the lunar new year, but nothing happened. 

But I’m pretty sure I figured it out. We got handed cantrips. And we waited a year for first level spells. I’m pretty sure it’s one more year, and then things will really start to get interesting.

Inspired by this poll. If you enjoyed my writing consider leaving a tip on my Ko-fi!

[writeriguess]

can you write a little drabble where bakugo buys yn the new mcdonalds meal and his friends are mad bc they asked him and he said no

Extra Fries and Extra Lies

You’re halfway through a nugget when the door to the common room slams open like someone’s declared war on peace and quiet. Spoiler: they have. It’s Kaminari, wild-eyed and betrayed, holding up an empty McDonald’s bag like it’s Exhibit A in your joint trial for treason.

“You said no one was getting McDonald’s today!”

Bakugo doesn’t even flinch from where he’s sitting next to you, one ankle hooked over his knee, sipping from his limited-edition neon orange Sprite like a smug little gremlin. His other hand is lazily resting on your thigh, thumb tapping absently against the seam of your jeans. You crunch down on another fry, eyes flicking between the boys starting to pile in like vultures.

“Oh my God, is that the new meal?” Kirishima sounds hurt. Like you personally stabbed him in the heart with a chicken tender.

“It’s got the spicy nuggets,” Sero adds, leaning dramatically over the back of the couch to get a better look. “Didn’t you say you were boycotting McDonald’s until they brought back the Szechuan sauce?”

Bakugo snorts. “Still am. This ain’t for me.”

All eyes snap to you. Mid-bite. You freeze, feeling a drop of sweet and sour sauce drip from the corner of your lip. Kaminari’s expression twists into pure betrayal.

“You bought the limited meal for Y/N?” he shrieks.

“Bakugo,” Mina says slowly, walking in with a towel still around her neck from the gym. “Didn’t I ask if we could do a food run like, two hours ago? And you said—wait, let me quote—‘If you’re too weak to eat dorm food, maybe you should drop out.’”

You try not to choke on your drink.

“Yeah,” Jirou adds, crossing her arms. “And you said fast food was for ‘lazy extras with no discipline.’ Which, fine, rude, but I lived with it. And then you go out and come back with that meal? For your partner?”

Bakugo sighs like this is all a personal inconvenience to him. “Yeah. And?”

“You didn’t even get us fries!” Kaminari yells, waving the bag like a white flag turned evidence. “Bro! We could’ve split a twenty-piece!”

“It was a date thing,” you say quickly, mouth still full. “Like a little surprise. He didn’t mean to—”

“I did,” Bakugo cuts in bluntly. “Told ‘em no. Didn’t wanna go out. Then I remembered you were talking about this stupid-ass meal last week, so I got it for you. Not them.”

Mina clutches her chest. “I—he remembers things you say?”

“That’s not the point!” Kaminari nearly shrieks. “The point is, he turned all of us down and then made a special trip for one person. This is favoritism. This is corruption at the highest level.”

“Y’all sound jealous,” you mutter, but it’s kind of lost under the general riot of complaining.

“This is classism,” Sero says, offended. “Relationship classism. Just because we’re not getting forehead kisses and chicken nuggets doesn’t mean we deserve starvation.”

“Hey,” Bakugo says, his voice low, sharp like the crackle before a blast. Everyone freezes.

He looks at you. Only at you.

“You done with the fries?”

You blink. “Uh, no—?”

He reaches over and grabs one anyway, smirking as he pops it in his mouth, then glares back at the rest of them like try me.

“You want fries?” he snaps at the group. “Go get your own. This one’s mine.”

“Oh my God,” Kirishima groans. “They’re sharing food. They’re sharing. I can’t watch this.”

“You guys are insufferable,” Jirou mutters, walking away like she’s aged five years from this alone.

“I’m filing a formal complaint with Aizawa,” Kaminari yells over his shoulder. “This is emotional damage!”

Bakugo just kicks his feet up on the coffee table and looks over at you again, mouth twitching at the corners. “They’ll live.”

You grin, plucking another fry from the box and holding it up to him. “Want another one, babe?”

He leans in, eyes locked on yours, and takes it straight from your fingers.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Sero groans, dragging Kaminari out of the room with him.

You laugh, tossing the empty nugget box onto the pile of wrappers. Your boyfriend’s a menace. But hey—he’s your menace. With an excellent memory, a low tolerance for whiny classmates, and apparently, a willingness to brave a McDonald’s line just to see you smile.

“Next time,” you say, nudging his leg, “you better get me the large fries.”

He scoffs. “Tch. You didn’t even finish the medium.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve.”

He snorts. “Fine. Next time.”

You lean back against him, smug as hell. Because there will be a next time.

And your meal? Is safe.

For now.

[wonubby]

my boyfriends...? A CAT ?! - K! BAKUGOU

a bakugou birthday special

wc - 4.6k

skipping some classes to help fight villains wasn't something new to bakugou; in fact, it's become a routine. he'd heard the news that there were some villains in the area and would join the pros with a couple of his classmates.

however this time, the only thing different was that the villain was someone new, and their quirk? a mystery. none of the heroes at the scene could figure it out, as the quirk kept changing! it was truly mind-boggling.

"how the hell is that bastard doing this? he must be a quirk stealer," bakugou muttered to the boy beside him.

kirishima could only break out into a smirk at his friend's claim, "yeah? then we better test that out. i say we charge at him; if he's a quirk stealer, he might steal only one. you in, dynamight?"

"tch, you challenging me, red?" that was all the confirmation the redhead needed to set off with an attack.

the pair worked well together, always meeting each other halfway. whether it be with studying, sports or fighting, the duo complemented each other; everyone could see how well their dynamic was.

bakugou on one side and kirishima on the other, the villain was cornered. just as they were about to attack, their nemesis mummbled something under their breath, blasting an attack at the hot-headed hero, causing him to disappear.

kirishima gasped in shock, quickly tackling the villain down. around him, chaos erupted; the pro heroes were jumping around trying to find bakugou.

the villain was taken from kirishima, immediately put in handcuffs and questioned on what happened to bakugou.

"where did dynamight go?" one of the civilian onlookers said in shock.

the red-headed boy glanced around in search of his best friend, his eyes hopping from place to place. just as he was about to turn around, kirishima caught sight of some movement under bakugou's hero suit.

"huh...?" he slowly crept towards the suit, ears catching a strange sound.

'is... is that a cat?'

as kirishima inched closer, the sound got louder. oh yeah, it was definitely a cat.

lifting up the black pieces of clothing, kirishima was greeted with the unexpected sight of a cat hissing at him with a scowl.

"aw, what a cute kitty! what're you doing under bakugou's clothes, hm?" kirishima cooed, grabbing the cat.

unfortunately for him, the second he lifted the cat towards his face, he was attacked by scratches.

"what the hell — ack!" the cat growled, yowling at the boy.

kirishima pulled the cat away from his face and met the icy stare of its vermilion eyes. oh.

bakugou was the cat.

"THE FUCK?"

cat bakugou scratched the boy again, letting out an aggressive 'mrrowr. the heroes and civilians stopped their actions, glancing at the two boys with dropped jaws.

"wait, is that... dynamight?!" a young girl called out from the crowd, invoking havoc.

all might jumps in, quickly saving kirishima from the assault.

"young bakugou... or cat bakugou? I'm not sure, but stop attacking red riot!" now it was all might's turn to receive a beating from the sharp claws.

a sigh escaped your lips as you patiently waited against the wall for your boyfriend, who was late. bakugou was never late, but because he had been roped into a sudden villain attack, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

your eyes trailed around the area, swinging from the wall to the vending machine that finally had your favourite drink.

"i guess one wouldn't hurt," you mumbled to yourself.

just as you punched in the code for the drink, the phone in your pocket started vibrating intensely. turning your attention away from the machine, you grabbed your phone, opening it to see messages from the class-1a group chat.

'what nonsense are they talking about now?'

the chat loaded, immediately bombarding you with cute pictures of a fluffy, persian cat with what might've been the softest fur you've ever seen. all the pictures came from kirishima and sero, causing everyone to gush over the cute bundle of fur.

letting out a small 'awww' at the kitty, you quickly type back a response.

Y/NNIE awww kiri, where did you find the cat? ROCK HARD um.. you see, that's kind of what i need to talk to everyone about... IZU-KUN go ahead kirishima! CUM SQUIRTER (MINA) can we save whatever u wanna say for later? rn js come back to the dorms with the kitty!! im sure momo could make some cute clothes for her!!! ROCK HARD ykw sure, but its a boy and he scratches so be careful KIRBY (uraraka) im sure we'll be okay we deal with bakugou on a daily basis YNNIE speaking of kats... where is he? he was supposed to spar with me after the villain attack ROCK HARD he's here with me now, but it's a bit confusing. i'll explain better when we reach the dorms. YNNIE okiee, I'll head back up and meet everyone in the common room!

kirishima didn’t reply after that, which only made your curiosity spike. something was off, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. quickly grabbing your drink, you headed towards the common room.

the walk wasn't too long, but the thoughts of the cat and your boyfriend clouded your mind. thinking of the way the two of you could look after it and play with it! just the thought of your big, burly boyfriend playing with such a small animal had you blushing.

you couldn’t help but imagine him as a dad, married to you, holding your kid with that same grumpy face softened just a little.

the train of thoughts ended when you had finally reached the common room door, and it wasn't exactly quiet in there... i mean, when was it ever?

upon entering, you could hear screams coming from denki, accusing the cat of biting him. 'the cat might be dangerous,' you thought, entering the chaos. the couches that once sat in the centre of the room were now standing upright on the walls, the coffee table was tipped over and everyone looked a mess.

"what the fuck happened?" you questioned, appalled by the state of the room and everyone inside of it. your eyes darted to the feline, taking in its appearance. it was a blonde persian cat, with vermilion eyes glaring at every individual. the moment the cat heard your voice, it let out a loud wail, darting towards you, pawing at your clothes.

nervous, you leaned down to pick up the cat, mentally praying that it doesn't attack you. the moment your arms wrapped around the animal, you felt it nestle into you, softly purring, shocking your classmates.

"huh- wha- ... HOW?" denki cried, arms flailing around dramatically.

"we've been trying to calm him down for so long! kirishima, where did you get the cat from?!" momo's question made you turn to the redhead, suddenly noticing your blonde boyfriend was missing.

a frown washed over your face. now you were really worried. what had happened to your boyfriend?

almost as if it could read your thoughts, the cat in your arms meows softly, nipping at your neck. giving the cat a small smile, you moved your hand to caress its soft fur.

"i'd also like to know where katsuki is," you piped in. you stared angrily at kirishima because he wouldn't get to the point.

kirishima let out a sigh. "bakugou got hit by the villain's quirk-"

"what?! is he okay? where is—"

"he's fine." kirishima grumbled, clearly overstimulated from this whole situation. "as i was saying, bakugou got hit by a quirk which ended up turning him into a cat."

'huh?' now you were super confused.

"if bakugou's a cat, then where-" you paused, looking down into your arms and at the cat. "oh?"

suddenly, a crash was heard.

you fainted.

BAKUGOU'S POV

being a cat was so fucking annoying; first off, everyone wanted to touch me, and second off, i wouldn't even speak! all i could let out were aggressive hisses and stupid meows; don't even get me started with those god-embarrassing purrs. i felt like a fucking freak.

it's even worse that i scared my girlfriend so badly that she fainted. god, what if she hates me or, worse, breaks up with me? i'd kill myself.

initially, when she took me down to the floor with her, i was pissed, but when i noticed she wasn't moving and shitty hair was picking her up, i started panicking. which, obviously, the others took as me being jealous.

fucking idiots. in what world would i, bakugou katsuki, future pro hero, be jealous of that red-haired freak?

as i collected my thoughts, i felt y/n start shuffling on the nurse's bed under me. quickly, my hands paws kneaded at the soft, plush skin of her stomach.

she let out a groan at my movements, fingers slowly coming to pat my fur.

fuck, this was so weird.

"katsuki what are you doing?" her mumble slowly turning into a giggle as my teeth nipped her fingers.

"meow." was the best answer i could let out, and it pissed me the fuck off.

her hands cupped either side of my furry frame, pulling me up so i was resting on her breasts. thank god i was a cat; otherwise my 'embarrassment' at the current position would be clearer than day.

my cat nose infiltrated with the sweet aroma of her perfume. it was my favourite, the one that always had me on my knees. the woody fragrance had my tail swishing, tickling her skin, eliciting more giggles from her.

i could listen to her laugh every day. hearing it made me feel like i was a prince, lying in the flower garden on a warm sunny day with the love of my life beside me. it was the epitome of perfect.

this cat shit made me sappy as fuck, holy shit.

"oh you're up! the cause of your sudden fainting is nothing too serious; it's just a result of surprise by bakugou's current situation. would you like me to call in kirishima to help you get back to the common room?" recovery girl blurted out, kind of intimidated by bakugou's glare.

i hissed at the mention of kirishima. like hell id let him help her.

almost as if sensing my unease, y/n picked me up, cradling me in her arms. "i think im okay, thank you!" and with that, we were off.

BACK TO SECOND PERSON POV

finally nestled back into the poster-covered walls of your room, you collapsed on your bed. the sudden action caused the cat in your arms to yelp, flailing about.

"mm, sorry katsu," you said, softly grazing his head. 'woah he was so soft'

katsuki just stared at you, face softened and eyes bleary. "you know, i don't think i'll ever get used to seeing you as a cat. but you gotta admit, it's nice having you like this."

at your confession, he let out a quiet, but mean, meow. nipping at your shoulder blades.

"ouch! c'mon you know what i meant."

the two of you laid in silence for a few minutes, with the occasional sounds of purrs coming from the cat.

katsuki eyes slowly started feeling heavy, body relaxing on the comforter of your bed as he slowly drifted off to sleep. however sleep never came, the sound of a camera flashing jolted him wake.

quickly sitting up, he pounced on you, attempting to grab your phone. fortunately for you, you were faster. moving out the way, you used your quirk and let out pheromones, which made the cats actions slower.

"kats," you whined, feeling his rough tounge lick at your neck. he hissed, pawing at you as if to telling you to delete the photo. "i'm only keeping it for myself... and maybe for your mom- aak!"

the blonde persian cat continued fighting with you for the phone until he eventually gave up, realising he couldn't do anything while he was a cat.

you glanced at your cat/boyfriend/whatever-he-was, watching him pout and sulk. your heart couldn't help but melt as his appearence. he was so cute, even as cat.

as much as you loved being able to talk with your boyfriend, you found youself loving him as a cat even more. the irritated wails, the soft purring as you stroked his fur and the quiet nips of affection he'd randomly give. but it was also weird, you missed him. the real him.

sighing, you got up, placing him in your arms as you left your room to venture into the kitchen. "come on kitty, lets get you some food."

you received another nip at the nickname.

the trip to the kitchen was fairly quick, but what you hadn't expected was the others also being there. at the sight of you and katsuki, mina shot up immediately running towards you.

"y/n, you're okay!" she squealed, embracing you in a quck hug, crushing the blonde cat between the two of you.

"yrowl," bakugou whined at the sudden compression. you quickly moved away from mina, checking to see if katsuki was alright.

mina gave a sheepish smile, "oh... i forgot about him... sorry bakugou!" she chirped, before continuing. "actually, the girls and i were just talking and thought it'd be pretty cool if we could put bakugou in some clothes, momo already made a few." she rambled.

"oh, um... im not sure mina. i mean, i dont think katsuki would like that." the cat backed you up, letting out a quick meow, glaring at the pink girl.

"c'mon please~ it'd be so cute! we have an allmight cat shirt made for him." she pressed.

katsuki was now getting aggitated, maybe it was the cat hormones but he had the urge to run off and hide. he did not want to be here. and so, he did what he did best.

he leaped out of your arms, scratching mina's legs before running off. "ah, katsuki!" you exclaimed, running after the feline. "sorry mina, ill be right back," you yelled as you continued running.

that damn cat really knew how to run. he turned ever corner until he was at the door of his dorm room, scratching at it, desperately wanting to be let in. he heared footsteps behind him, quickly turning around and baring his teeth, only letting up once he saw that it was you.

sighing in relief that you had finally found your boyfriend, you picked him up, leveling his eyes to yours.

"katsuki, what the hell was that! you can't just run off randomly, you scared the hell out of me." you scolded, watching as his ears flopped down. "i get that this is new for you and you're struggling but come on; so am i. i'm trying my best to make sure you're comfortable so please, don't run off like that again."

to your words, katsuki let out a soft whimper, feeling bad that he caused you to feel this way. he slowly lifted up a paw, reaching out to ur face. you smiled at the action, no matter what body he could be in or what animal your boyfriend was; you were always able to read him.

"i know, i know. i'm sorry for dragging you with me to the kitchen, i didn't know the rest would be there, but for now, lets relax and maybe get you some sleep." you smiled, opening the door to his room, settling him on his bed.

for the next hour, the two of you basked in each others presence. you showed him funny tiktoks (to which he just meowed at), took pictures of him and sending them to his mom and of course, petting him.

turning to katsuki to show him another tiktok, you realise he'd fallen asleep beside you. a small smile crept it's way to your face as you looked at the kitty.

"cat or not, i love you so much katsuki." you whispered, placing a kiss onto his face, letting sleep take over you.

the following morning came quick as you shuffled in bed. you let out a small whine at the sun shining over your face. turning onto your side, your hand slapped something hard and hot.

"stop moving so damn much." the body besides you muttered, trapping you into his arms.

the voice made your eyes flutter open, staring at the boy with your mouth agape.

"kats, you're back to normal look!" you squealed, slapping his bare chest to wake him up.

a groan escaped his lips that made you feel things you probably shouldn't be feeling. "what are you talking about woman." he snarled.

giggling, you push yourself on top of him, wrapping your arms around his neck. "kats, you were a cat for the whole day yesterday and now you're finally back to normal." sleepy katsuki was truly a cutie, he could barely even remember his own name.

katsuki finally opened his eyes, glancing down at his body and yours before letting up a huff. "fuckin' finally, i was getting sick and tired of being a dirty cat." he grumbled, but you knew he was just saying that.

"i'm glad you're back, but i'll miss being able to coddle you like a little baby." you whined, playfully pouting.

"damn woman, you already do that enough." he muttered, cheeks flushing at the memory of how you treated him.

you pressed a small kiss to his cheek, smiling up at him. "well i do love you more as a human, so a win is a win." you placed a soft, innocent kiss on his lips, to which he replied with wrapping his arms around your waist.

as the kiss began to get more heated, you felt something hard and wet poke onto your thigh.

"uh kats...?" you questioned, breaking away from his lips.

"what," he whined, chasing after you.

"um... are you naked?" silence filled the air at your question.

"..."

"..."

thats when he felt it too, the hard-on pressing onto both of your thighs.

"oh what the fuck!" he scrambled up, accidentally throwing your body off of the bed. "shit- sorry!" he yelled, wrapping his sheets against his waist, trying to save face after he'd just popped one out infront of you.

a roar of laughter filled the air at his expression. you just couldn't help it! he looked so ashamed of himself it had you rolling on the floor.

"okay, i get it. now shut the fuck up and get out so i can deal with this," he grumbled, a wave of heat flowing over his body at the situation.

"pfft- katsu, you're so easy." you laughed, getting up and placing another kiss on his sweet lips. "i'll leave you to deal with katsuki jr. if you need me, i'll be making breakfast." you teased.

"oh fuck off." he yelled, throwing a pillow at the door as you left.

katsuki might be back in his human form and you might miss his doting cat-self, but you knew, no matter how rough he was, he really loved you. and that was all that mattered.

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[gritandoengay]

I only come on this app like once every two or three months to reblog fan art of whatever wlw ship I'm currently hyper fixating on and then dip. I'm Old TM by fandom standards and have spent way too much time in the trenches of fandom discourse to have the energy for that again, I've done my time. I'm not here to write a lengthy essay defending Caitlyn and/or CaitVi - no, I'm here simply to share an observation:

Many of you Caitlyn and CaitVi haters are super predictable.

Y'all have been regurgitating the same talking points since fucking 2014. Might not be the same people (god I hope it's not), but it's the same. thing. every. time. Doesn't matter the genre of the show or what happens between the characters, y'all will trot out the same reheated arguments.

"Caitlyn is a fascist dictator and you are a N*zi if you support her"

Is just reheated "Lexa is a fascist dictator" and "Catra is a fascist dictator" and "Edelgard is a fascist dictator." I would argue that Caitlyn is actually the least morally grey of that group, but anyway, it's "curious" how all these properties have equally (or even more) morally grey male characters that get rehabed by the fandom while the wlw are irredeemable fascists that only N*zis would like.

"CaitVi is a toxic relationship, Caitlyn is a domestic abuser that physically beats up Vi all the time and/or manipulates her"

None of these points are supported at all by the text imo, but anyway, it's the same language used to describe Clexa and Catradora and god knows how many other wlw ships in shows with popular non-wlw ships that have very similar dynamics. Even compared to other popular Arcane ships, this accusation is super hypocritical given how TimeBomb beat the shit out of each other in season 1 and Jayce literally blasts a hole in Viktor's chest for plot reasons. I would also like to point out that the super harmful stereotype of lesbians being domestic abusers was born out of wildly misinterpreted statistics of domestic abuse in real life.

"JayVik and/or Timebomb is actually more queer than CaitVi"

Is just badly reheated pasta made from the same ingredients as "Makorra is actually more queer than Korrasami" and "Bellarke is actually more queer than Clexa" and "Hordtrapta is actually more queer than Catradora" and "Dimileth is actually more queer than Edeleth" and "Huntlow is actually more queer than Lumity" , the arguments are always just as nonsensical because there's just flat out no such thing as a same sex ship being "less queer" than any other ship.

CaitVi literally fuck, on screen, in a sex scene that has literally won a god damn award and went on to become the most captured moment in all of godman Netflix. Regardless of your opinion on the ship, that visibility is important. The fact that a whole theater full of people started screaming as loudly as a jet engine with executives from Riot to hear it all is important.

The final scene of the show is literally them snuggling in front of the fire place and promising to always be together. That's gay as fuck. So, stop embarrassing yourself with this regurgitated "X canon wlw ship isn't as queer as -" nonsense, which btw, is just an extension of real life same sex relationships between women not being taken seriously because society overall still centers men in romance and can't fathom a romantic relationship not involving a man. Y'all know you can't even debate me on this in fandom spaces because all I have to do is point at the number of mlm and f/m fics on ao3 vs the crumbs that big fandoms give wlw ships.

Now on to the excuses and disclaimers that are trotted out.

"I can't be misogynistic I'm a woman-" Yes, yes you can. If you think that only conservative women can suffer from internalized misogyny, boy do I have years of working in leftist organizing spaces to dispel that notion. If you think that fandom spaces are somehow immune to misogyny- lol. Lmao. See the above point about mlm and f/m fics on ao3.

"I can't be lesbophobic/biphobic I'm literally queer -" Yes, yes you can. Both intersect with misogyny, and see the above point about misogyny. You can be a biphobic lesbian, you can be a lesbophobic bisexual, you can even be a biphobic bisexual and a lesbophobic lesbian. Wild, I know, thank the cis- heteropatriarchy.

"I can't be racist because I'm a POC -" Yes, yes you absolutely fucking can. I also have other news for you - despite how much some of you fuckers want to pretend Caitlyn isn't East Asian because of racist assumptions of what East Asians should look like and/or be depicted like in media, she is, and she's important rep, especially in a time when anti-East Asian (and Asian in general) bigotry has been rising in Western countries. No amount of "ACAB BLM Free Palestine" tags in your profile will make you immune from being racist. This leads me to a related point -

Y'all love to scream about wanting more rep with sapphic woc, but then when that rep comes, you tear it down or center other ships. Korrasami is toxic, CaitVi is toxic, Tanthamore is boring, Lumity is fine but I prefer Huntlow, etc.

Furthermore, the only, and I mean only time that black sapphic characters will be mentioned will be to prop them up as good rep vs whatever wlw you hate, but then when I go to those black sapphic character's/ship's Tumblr and ao3 tags, nothing! It's a ghost town! Those characters get paid dust by both wlw fandoms and the people using them as props to hate on other wlw characters! This is definitely a call out to wlw fandoms too btw, I have yet to see a ship with a black sapphic character explode in popularity, and that's on us too.

So, what is the purpose of this rant? Well, I know that most people that read it will dig in and further entrench themselves in their hatred of Caitlyn and CaitVi, but I'm hoping that at least one person genuinely re-examines that hatred and where it might be coming from. You don't have to like Caitlyn or CaitVi, you can criticize the ship and the characters. But if your criticisms and hatred are almost beat for beat the same accusations that have been thrown at wlw ships in even wildly different shows and contexts, and/or you excuse male characters and non-wlw ships with similar dynamics, then it's time to do some soul searching.

Anyway, this has already been long enough. I'm doing policy advocacy with local LGBTQ organizations and will go back to working on that. Whatever your opinions of Caitlyn and CaitVi are, there are fascists out there in the real world to fight.

[turtle-paced]

Wouldn’t it benefit Littlefinger to keep Joffrey alive? Joffrey is a walking disaster for the Lannisters and as Tyrion points out would have been a worst king then Aerys and when he came of age he would have gotten rid of Tywin and everyone else holding him in check and Littlefinger had cleared the blast radius when he went to the Vale. Why did he have him killed?

Littlefinger didn't just kill Joffrey. He also framed Tyrion for the crime.

While Littlefinger couldn't know Tywin would be murdered shortly afterwards, creating an even worse power vacuum in King's Landing than just a transition to eight-year-old Tommen ruling, what Littlefinger could rely on was a) Cersei's hatred of Tyrion and b) the Tyrells having a vested interest in Tyrion taking the fall. Murdering Joffrey and framing Tyrion for it forced the Lannisters to start cannibalising themselves in earnest. With the Tyrells in the background going "yes! definitely Tyrion! Not us!" Which was not the wildest gamble Littlefinger's made in the series by a long shot.

The other thing this is, is a distraction.

With her legitimate brothers dead or presumed dead, Sansa's perceived political value to anyone interested in claiming the North skyrocketed after the Red Wedding. The Lannisters were very careful not to leave Sansa just lying around somewhere or have her wandering off. She was spied on and definitely not free to go where she liked, even though the leash was long enough for her to attend social events and visit public access areas in the Red Keep.

Joffrey's assassination ensured that Sansa's captors would be most thoroughly occupied for those few critical minutes where Sansa evaded that laxer physical custody - while the conditions for her to travel away from King's Landing remained about as safe as possible (unlike any attempt to smuggle her out through a riot or a battle).

And the other other thing? I reckon it's spite. Littlefinger is not a coldly logical actor. He does not pick and choose his gambles on the odds alone. He is very much emotionally driven. Resentment, ego, entitlement, all of them motivate Littlefinger's plans.

So fuck Cersei - she turned down Littlefinger's request to marry Sansa. Fuck Tyrion, too clever by half, but not as clever as Littlefinger, ha ha ha. Fuck all those Lannister pricks who think they're better just because they were born with money. Killing Joffrey isn't just business - it's a pleasure.

[velvetghoul]

Say My Name Louder

✦ Part 11

Reader x Choso Kamo + Yuji Itadori | 18+ MDNI

cw: smut, fluff, ominant choso, oral sex, rough sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, possessiveness, jealousy, emotional tension, sibling conflict, hurt/comfort, morning-after fluff, domestic intimacy, suggestive teasing, light angst, found family, blurred emotional lines. Reader is 21, Yuji is 20, Choso 25.

⸻

Part 10

4 Months Later

The apartment’s louder now. Not chaotic. Not tense.

Just… lived in.

Choso stands at the stove—hair tied back, loose tank top on, cooking quietly while your playlist hums in the background.

You’re on the couch, legs curled under you, flipping through a book.

And Yuji? He walks in like he always does now—jacket slung over his shoulder, tossing a bag of groceries on the table like he belongs.

“I got the stupid cereal you like,” he grumbles. “And the protein crap Choso eats like chalk.”

“It’s not chalk,” Choso mutters from the stove.

“It smells like despair.” You smile into your cup.

And they both glance at you—soft, in their own ways.

Yuji walks past and brushes a hand over your head.

Choso glances back and kisses your shoulder without a word.

The peace is real. No jealousy. No performance.

Just three people learning what it means to stay.

To trust. To love in their own rhythms. The receipt still lives in your nightstand.

You don’t need it anymore. But you keep it. Just in case. Because some things aren’t about ownership. Some things are about knowing you’ll always have somewhere soft to land.

Saturday morning starts with chaos.

Yuji blasts music from the bathroom. Choso grumbles into his cereal like it personally betrayed him. You walk in wearing one of their hoodies and no pants, yawning like you’ve slept for years.

Yuji sticks his head out the door, toothbrush in mouth, foam everywhere.

“Did you steal my hoodie again?”

“It’s mine now,” you say without looking at him.

“I will riot.”

“Try me, you cereal gremlin.”

Choso’s head thunks against the table. “Can we have one weekend. One. Without you two turning this place into a sitcom.”

Yuji plops down in the seat across from him, still wet from his shower, towel over his head like a menace.

“You love it.”

Choso deadpans, “I love silence.”

Yuji grins. “You love her. I come with the package. Suffer.”

You press a kiss to Choso’s temple as you walk by, and he just sighs. Mutters something that sounds a lot like “worth it.”

Later — all three of you on the couch.

You’re in the middle.

Yuji’s got a bowl of popcorn balanced on his chest, remote in one hand, socked feet on the coffee table like he owns it.

Choso has his arm slung behind your shoulders, warm and heavy, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your neck.

You’re watching something trashy. No one’s really paying attention. Yuji’s been making dumb comments the entire episode, and you’re wheezing at this point.

Choso leans in, dead serious: “You laugh at him more than me.”

You tilt your head. Smirk. “Yeah. He’s funnier than you.”

Yuji snorts.

Choso raises an eyebrow. “I don’t remember him making you scream last night.”

You blink. Then raise a brow. “No, but he also doesn’t sob into my tits and say he’s a broken man.”

Yuji chokes on his popcorn.

Choso’s eyes go wide. His mouth opens—shuts—opens again.

“I literally bared my soul—”

“You cried like you watched me die in a war, babe.”

“It was EMOTIONAL.”

Yuji wipes a tear of laughter from his eye. “Dude. I wasn’t even in the room and I felt secondhand embarrassment.”

Choso covers his face with both hands. “I’m going to relocate. To the ocean.”

You lean in and kiss his cheek.

“You’re cute when you cry. Don’t worry.”

Yuji leans in from the other side.

“I have video.”

“Yuji—”

“Choso.exe has stopped responding.”

That night ends with tangled limbs, shared leftovers, and a blanket draped over all three of you like some kind of weird emotional cult.

Yuji ends up snoring against the couch armrest.

Choso’s hand finds yours under the blanket.

You don’t say anything. You just smile.

Because this? The peace, the teasing, the softness?

This is what you fought for. And it was worth it.

The apartment is still. Yuji’s knocked out on the couch again, wrapped in two blankets and your fuzzy socks that are too small for some reason.

You and Choso lie tangled in your bed, the room dim, a fan humming low. His chest is against your back. Arm draped over your waist. You’re tracing circles on his hand where it rests against your stomach.

“You ever think we’d make it here?” you whisper.

He kisses your shoulder. “No. Not once.”

You smile. “Romantic.”

“I didn’t think I’d survive it,” he admits, voice low. “Not just the fights. But… you walking away.”

You turn to face him. Brush the hair from his face. “You’re dramatic.”

“I cry once and suddenly I’m the drama.”

You laugh softly. “You didn’t just cry. You folded.”

He hums. “Would again.”

You touch his face. Hold it gently.

“You don’t have to. Not anymore.”

His eyes flick over your face like he’s memorizing every curve.

“You still scare me, you know.”

You blink. “Me?”

He nods.

“Because I still can’t believe I get to love you like this.”

You kiss him. Slow. Long.

“Then don’t waste it.”

It’s Saturday again.

You’re in the kitchen with Choso, dancing around each other while making pancakes. He’s shirtless. You’re in one of Yuji’s hoodies out of pure pettiness.

Yuji walks in, sees the two of you—and grins like a devil. “Well, well, well. The happy couple cooking carbs. Disgusting.”

You roll your eyes.

“Don’t you have dumbbells to cry-lift or something?”

He walks in, grabs a pancake with his hand, and eats it while sitting on the counter.

“Nope. This is better.”

Choso eyes him warily. Yuji smirks at him.

“You moaned her name in your sleep again last night, by the way.”

Choso drops the spatula. “What?”

“Yeah. Like full volume. Thought you were dying. Or fucking. Hard to tell.”

You cackle.

Choso turns to you, eyes wide. “You’re not helping.”

“You really said my name?”

Yuji fake-moans in a high voice. “Ohh, [y/n], please don’t leave me—I’ll do the dishes for a week—”

“YUJI—”

“—and I’ll let you win at Uno again—*”

Choso lunges. Yuji bolts out of the kitchen, laughing like a man possessed. You double over, clutching the counter, tears in your eyes from laughing. Choso returns, ruffled and flushed, and just scowls at the stove.

“I swear to god. He’s not going to make it to Monday.”

“But wasn’t he kinda right?”

He glares at you. You grin.

He points a pancake at you.

“You’re on thin ice, woman.”

You steal it out of his hand and take a bite.

“Still love me, though.”

“…Unfortunately.”

Later that night.

The three of you. Pizza boxes. Drinks. Board games. Vibes.

Yuji’s already three drinks in and cheating at UNO like it’s a religion. Choso’s grumbling. You’re sandwiched between them, hoodie sleeves rolled up, ready to commit violence over one more draw-four.

“You stacked that,” Choso mutters, pointing at Yuji’s cards.

“No proof,” Yuji says, mouth full of crust. “Play your card, crybaby.”

You slap down a skip card. “I’m not babysitting another argument.”

Yuji gasps. “You SKIPPED me?”

“You cheated five minutes ago!”

“You loved that energy when I was stacking your back last night—”

Choso drops his cards.

“I’m going to end him.”

Yuji holds up a +2 like a shield. Choso lunges over the table. You sit there sipping your drink while they wrestle over a pile of reverse cards.

Eventually, the game dissolves into chaos, like always. You end up on the couch with Yuji draped sideways across you, head in your lap, groaning about how you two always team up against him. Choso’s grumpily reorganizing the deck and mumbling about rules no one’s enforcing.

You’re running your fingers through Yuji’s hair lazily, barely paying attention.

Until—

His hand drifts. By accident. To your upper thigh.

It’s casual. Thoughtless. He’s not even looking at you—still mid-rant about how no one respects his Uno game.

But Choso sees it. And freezes.

Yuji doesn’t notice until he stops talking and feels the death glare.

“What?”

Choso’s voice is low. Cold.

“Move your hand.”

Yuji glances down. Blinks.

“Dude, relax. It wasn’t even like that—”

“Now.”

Yuji slowly lifts his hand like he’s defusing a bomb.

You snort, trying not to laugh.

“He didn’t mean it, Choso.”

“I don’t care.”

Yuji raises his hands. “Look, man. My bad. Didn’t even realize. You’ve got her glued to you 90% of the time, I forgot what her leg looked like.”

“Keep talking.”

“You gonna cry again?”

Choso stands.

Yuji books it—again.

“WHY are you both like this?” you yell, exasperated and cracking up.

Later That Night

You’re curled up with Choso, finally calm again, your head on his chest. “You know he didn’t mean it, right?”

“He touched you.”

“By accident. While flailing about reverse cards and Doritos.”

Choso sighs. “He touched you.”

You kiss his jaw. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“I’m dangerous when I’m jealous.”

You climb on top of him, smirking. “Sure. So dangerous. Look at you. All pouty and protective.”

“Don’t mock me.”

You kiss him slow. “Not mocking. Just… reminding you.”

“Of what?”

“That no matter what chaos he causes, I still climb into your bed.”

Choso grips your hips. “Good.”

You grin. “And I’m still gonna let him touch me if he cheats at Uno again.”

Choso groans into your neck. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“…Both.”

It’s late. The apartment’s quiet.

Yuji’s gaming in the living room with headphones on. You and Choso sneak into his bedroom with very different intentions.

Your shirt comes off before the door even fully closes.

Choso already has his hands on your hips, mouth hot on your throat. He’s muttering things like “mmh” and “wanna hear you” while you tug his hoodie off and push him onto the bed.

You’re straddling him now, grinding slow over the hardness straining in his sweats. Kissing him deep. Tongue, teeth, soft sounds.

“Fuck—just like that,” he whispers.

You’re both so into it you don’t hear the knock. You do hear the door creak open.

“Hey, did either of you—OH MY GOD—”

You and Choso freeze. You’re half-naked, mouth open in shock, Choso’s hands under your thighs, both of you staring at the door like it just betrayed you.

Yuji slams it shut. “WHY do I always walk in at the worst time?!”

“LOCK. THE. FUCKING. DOOR,” he screams.

Choso falls backward into the mattress with a growl.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

From the hallway: “I DIDN’T EVEN SEE NIPPLES I SWEAR—”

Later

You’re all watching a movie. Couch, popcorn, sweatpants. Peaceful. Until Yuji casually slings his legs across your lap. Then leans into your shoulder. Then lays his head on your thigh.

All very casual. Except for the fact that he’s definitely making eye contact with Choso.

Choso blinks. Slowly. Dangerously.

“No. Move.”

Yuji pretends not to hear. “What was that, bro?”

“Move your head.”

Yuji stretches dramatically. Lays flatter.

“Nah. I’m comfy.”

You choke back a laugh, frozen with one hand holding popcorn and the other hovering over Yuji’s hair.

Choso’s jaw clenches. “I will actually end you, Yuji.”

Yuji makes the mistake of smirking.

“Might wanna do it quick then. I’ve got [Name] all to myself right now.”

“YUJI—”

You put your hand on Choso’s knee.

“Baby. Calm. He’s being an asshole.”

“He’s touching you.”

“So do chairs.”

Yuji pokes his tongue out. “Yeah. But I’m warm.”

Choso’s about to explode when you grab Yuji’s face, squish his cheeks and say:

“Listen up, you fucking clingy gremlin. Stop antagonizing my boyfriend or I’m putting you in the trash can.”

Yuji gasps. “You’d never.”

You shove him off the couch.

He lands on the floor like a deflated beanbag, groaning dramatically.

Choso pulls you into his lap instantly. Wraps both arms around your waist. Glowers.

“Mine.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Yuji, from the floor:

“Possessive much.”

You and Choso, in perfect sync:

“YES.”

It’s been two weeks of calm.

Of inside jokes. Of quiet mornings. Of lazy Sundays where Yuji’s snoring on one side of the couch while Choso kisses your neck on the other.

You thought things had settled.

But tonight? You’re drunk. Not wasted. But definitely in the I’m charming and dangerous stage.

The three of you are at a mutual friend’s birthday—somewhere loud, warm, a little too crowded. There’s a cake. There’s bad 2000s music. And there’s alcohol.

You’re sitting between Choso and Yuji on the balcony, a plastic cup in hand, cheeks flushed, laughter on your lips.

And Yuji?

Yuji’s wearing a tank top, arms out, hair slightly curled from the night air, gold chain glinting.

You look at him. Then lean over and poke his arm.

“You know…”

“If Choso wasn’t already keeping me ruined, I’d be all over you.”

Yuji short-circuits. He coughs. Blinks. Smiles—brat mode fully activated.

“Oh? Just if?” You smirk. Sip your drink.

“You’re not bad looking. I could train you.”

Choso, next to you, freezes. His drink halts halfway to his mouth.

Yuji leans closer. “Maybe I don’t need training. Maybe I’m a natural.”

You grin. It’s playful. A joke. But Choso doesn’t find it funny. At all.

“Yuji.” His voice is low.

“What?” Yuji says, half-laughing. “She started it.”

You trail a finger up Yuji’s bicep—still laughing, still tipsy.

“He’s a good listener. Maybe I’d let him—”

Choso stands. Chair scraping. Cup nearly crushed in his hand.

His jaw is locked. Eyes dark. Breathing uneven.

“Say one more thing,” he says, barely above a whisper.

The energy on the balcony shifts. Yuji sits back, finally realizing this may have gone too far.

You blink up at Choso, lips parted.

“It was a joke, baby—”

“No, it wasn’t,” he snaps. “Not to me.”

You stand slowly. Hands raised. “I’m drunk. I was playing.”

“Then stop playing with him.”

Yuji clears his throat. “Okay, maybe we should all—”

“Don’t. Speak.”

Yuji shuts up.

Choso’s eyes are still on you. Hurt flashing under the anger.

“You’re mine,” he says. “You said that.”

“I am,” you whisper. “I just—”

“Then stop fucking testing me.”

Silence. You set your drink down. Step into his space.

“I love you. But if you can’t handle me being close to my friend without combusting—your brother—then maybe you should rethink what you can handle.”

Choso exhales hard. Looks away.

You cup his face.

“It was a joke,” you say again. Softer. “You want to be mad? Be mad at him for being hot. Not me for having eyes.”

From the chair: “…Thanks, I guess?”

“Shut up, Yuji.”

Car Ride Home – War Zone Energy

You slide into the passenger seat, tipsy giggles slowly dying as you buckle up. Choso doesn’t say a word.

He starts the car. Puts it in drive. Grips the steering wheel like it’s the only thing stopping him from snapping someone’s neck.

Yuji slips into the back seat, humming. Kicks his feet up. Leans his head on the window with a smug little:

“Nighty night.”

You glance back. “You’re not actually asleep.”

“Nope,” he says. “But pretending feels safer.”

You turn back around slowly. Look at Choso’s jaw—tight. His nostrils flaring. One hand flexing on the gear shift.

“Baby, are you really mad?”

Silence.

“I was joking.”

Still nothing.

You reach over to touch his thigh.

He grabs your wrist—firm, not cruel—and places your hand back in your lap.

“Do not touch me right now,” he says low.

Your legs press together instinctively.

Yuji from the back:

“Hey, um. If I die in this car, do I get to haunt the bedroom?”

“Yuji.” you both growl in sync.

It’s late.

Yuji retreated to his room immediately—door locked, lights off, pretending he’s not listening with his ear pressed to the wall.

You change into a shirt and underwear, expecting maybe silent sulking.

But when Choso comes into the room? The door clicks. Locks.

You turn. He stares at you. Chest rising and falling. Sweatpants riding low on his hips.

“On the bed.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Now.”

You go. Sit on the edge.

He walks toward you slow—like a storm.

His hands grab your thighs, spreading them apart.

“You like teasing me in front of my brother?”

“Choso—”

He drags your underwear down in one swift pull.

“You like flirting with someone who doesn’t get to fuck you?”

“It was a joke—”

“So laugh now.”

He drops to his knees. One hand on your thigh, the other pinning your hip, he licks one slow, punishing stripe up your core—eyes locked on yours the whole time.

You gasp. Your hand flies into his hair.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t speak. He devours you like he’s mad at the taste itself.

When your thighs shake, he pulls away.

You whine.

“No. You don’t get to come yet. Not after that stunt.”

He stands. Pushes you back. Climbs over you—caging you in under him.

You’re already soaked. He drags the head of his cock along your folds.

“You want him to hear you now?”

You nod, dazed.

He doesn’t give you time. Slams in. You cry out loud, back arching.

“That’s right. Let him hear who gets to have you.”

Every thrust is deep. Sharp. Possessive.

He’s gritting his teeth like it physically hurts him to hold back.

You pant beneath him. He kisses you then—rough but honest. Like he’s afraid this could ever be undone.

When you finally come—wrecked and crying out his name—he follows a second later, burying himself so deep inside you it feels like claiming.

You’re breathless. Sweaty. Your body humming with heat and ache.

Choso falls beside you, face buried in your neck.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he mumbles.

You smile. Still dazed. “Then don’t look so cute when you’re jealous.”

He groans. “I hate you.”

“Nah, You love me.”

From behind the wall:

“I heard all of that. Also I might need therapy. Thanks.”

You laugh. So does Choso.

It’s another weekend.

You’re lounging on the couch, scrolling your phone. Choso’s in the kitchen doing something domestic (probably aggressively slicing fruit). Yuji’s flopped beside you, half in your lap like always, scrolling TikTok.

He laughs, shows you a meme. Then casually tosses out:

“You ever wonder what it’d be like if you dated me instead?”

You snort. “What, you think you could handle me?”

“Please. I’d ruin you. Emotionally and physically.”

Choso looks over from the kitchen. Silent. Cold.

“Yuji—” you warn.

“I’m joking. Damn. Mostly.”

But Choso doesn’t laugh.

He just sets the knife down. Quietly. Wipes his hands.

And stares at the back of Yuji’s head like he’s calculating murder.

You catch it. You feel it.

And that’s when you know— He’s planning something.

The next day, Choso’s weird. Too calm. Too casual.

The three of you are watching something. You’re in the middle, Yuji to your right, Choso to your left. Halfway through the episode, Choso suddenly stands up.

“I’m gonna shower.”

You blink. “Now?”

“Yeah. Keep watching.”

He disappears down the hall.

You turn slowly. Yuji raises a brow.

“…That was weird, right?”

You nod. “Very.”

And then—like clockwork—Yuji shifts.

His hand finds your thigh. Resting. Lingering.

“So uh… if I wasn’t joking before—would that be a problem?”

You smile to yourself. So this is the game.

Choso wants to see what you’ll do. Wants to test if you’re loyal enough to pull away.

He’s watching. Listening. You know it.

So you lean in to Yuji. Lower your voice.

“You want to know what would happen if you tried anything?”

He grins. “Tell me.”

You drag your lips near his ear.

And whisper: “I’d let you try. Then I’d make Choso watch me ruin you. And still not let you come.”

Yuji blinks. Throat bobs. “…Jesus.”

You stand up, slowly. “Let him know his little test failed—he’s the one getting punished tonight.”

You enter the bedroom.

Choso is already there there. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Shirtless. Waiting.

You don’t speak. You lock the door behind you. Walk over slowly.

Stand between his legs. “You thought I wouldn’t notice?”

He swallows hard. “What?”

“That setup. You wanted to see if I’d fold. You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just—”

You shove him back onto the bed. Climb over him.

“No. You wanted to test me. You wanted me to prove I wouldn’t give in.”

He doesn’t speak. You grab his wrists. Pin them above his head.

“Now you’re going to beg.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No. I’m disappointed. And disappointment gets punished.”

You kiss him hard. Bite his lip. Slide down his chest and pull his boxers down. He’s already hard. Pathetic.

You trail your fingers along him. Touch him lightly. Too light.

“You wanted control? You wanted to see what I’d do? Then take it.”

You don’t let him touch you. You edge him. Over and over.

Every time he moans, you cover his mouth. Every time he thrusts into your hand, you stop.

“Good boys don’t test what’s already theirs,” you whisper.

He’s shaking by the time you crawl back up, straddle his stomach, lean close.

“Next time you want to know if I’m loyal? Just ask.”

He nods. Breathing wrecked. You smirk.

“You don’t get to come tonight.”

“What—?”

“Sleep with it. Think about what you almost lost.”

You roll off him. Slide into bed.

And leave him there—hard and humiliated.

After denying Choso the orgasm of his life, you walk around like a goddess of vengeance in nothing but his old t-shirt and smugness.

He’s shirtless. Sulking. And hard. You don’t care.

Every time he passes you in the hallway—you press against him.

Every time he turns around—your hand brushes his waistband.

Once, while he’s rinsing his toothbrush, you lean up behind him.

Grab his dick. Slow. Firm. He chokes on mint.

“You like testing people so much, huh?” you purr against his neck.

“Stop,” he growls, half-broken. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I’m gonna edge you ‘til your soul leaves your body.”

He hisses through his teeth.

Later, while watching a show with Yuji, you sit beside Choso and lay your hand casually in his lap.

Innocent.

Until your fingers start rubbing. Slowly. Up his thigh.

Yuji yawns. “You both look suspicious.”

You don’t even look away from the screen.

“Me? Never.”

Choso’s silent. Too silent.

You know you’re winning.

The three of you are having breakfast.

Yuji’s making eggs. Choso’s across from you at the table. Tired. Frustrated. Slightly deranged.

You sit pretty. Innocent. Bare legs crossed.

Then—your foot slides up his shin.

He shifts. You sip your coffee. Your hand drifts under the table, into his lap.

He nearly knocks over his orange juice.

“Stop.”

You smile sweetly. “Something wrong, baby?”

Yuji plates some bacon. Turns around.

“Why does he look like he saw god?”

“Gas,” Choso mutters.

You giggle. Evil. Yuji sits. Narrows his eyes.

“Okay. Whatever’s happening under the table, I want in.”

“Excuse me?” Choso snaps.

Yuji grins. “Let’s make it fair. Brat-off. You versus her. Winner gets head.”

You blink. “You think you can out-brat me?”

Choso: “Please. No one’s touching anything until I get a moment of peace.”

Yuji: “Then you already lost.”

You slide your hand deeper in Choso’s lap. He grabs the edge of the table. Knuckles white.

“You gonna cry again?” you whisper.

Yuji leans his chin on his hand. Watching. “God, I love mornings with you two. It’s like emotional porn.”

You pout at Choso. “You gonna make me beg in front of him, daddy?”

He snaps. Chair scrapes back. He grabs your wrist, hard.

“Bedroom. Now.”

Yuji raises his coffee. “Godspeed, soldier.”

You don’t even yelp when Choso grabs your wrist and hauls you out of the chair.

You just smile. Smug. Smiling.

Until he lifts you off the floor like it’s nothing—throws you over his shoulder like a ragdoll.

Yuji raises his mug. “Goddamn. Carry on, caveman.”

You wiggle your fingers in a goodbye wave. “If I die, tell my story.”

Yuji winks. “She went out teasing.”

Choso growls something unintelligible and stomps down the hall, slams the bedroom door behind you both.

Then throws you on the bed.

You bounce once—grinning, breathless.

He stands at the edge, looming. Breathing hard. Sweatpants barely hanging on.

“You think this is a joke?”

You bite your lip. Spread your legs slightly. “A little.”

He rips his shirt off. “Then I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

You’re already soaked.

When he climbs over you, hands dragging up your thighs, you feel it—rage and lust colliding in his bloodstream like a drug.

“You touched me under the table?”

“Mmhm.”

“With him watching?”

You nod.

“Why?”

“Because you denied me. Because you tested me. Because you deserved it.”

That breaks him. He grabs your wrists, pins them over your head with one hand, and yanks your panties down with the other.

You’re already squirming.

“You’re gonna learn what teasing costs.”

He doesn’t warm you up. He knows you’re wet.

He drags the head of his cock through your folds and shoves in—deep.

Your mouth opens on a silent moan.

“Too loud?” he whispers. “Wanna let Yuji hear now?”

You gasp. Shake your head.

He laughs, dark.

“No? That brat started this. Maybe he should hear how I end it.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to hammer sense into your soul.

Every thrust is hard, brutal, unrelenting.

And yet—it’s exactly what you asked for.

Your thighs shake. You’re almost there—already.

“You don’t get to come yet.”

“Please—”

He pulls out. You sob.

“No. Not until you beg like you did at the table.”

You whisper it:

“Please. Choso. Fuck me. Ruin me. Show him I’m yours.”

His eyes flash. And when he slams back in, one hand around your throat, the other gripping your thigh—you know he’s going to mark his name into you.

You’re crying out beneath Choso, soaked and aching, throat raw from moaning—but you’re not done.

Not even close.

When he leans down, panting, flushed, one hand gripping your jaw to kiss you again—you move.

Twist under him. Use your legs. Leverage.

He’s surprised. Let’s you flip him onto his back, straddle his hips in one fluid move.

“What—?”

You grin down at him. Hair wild. Chest heaving.

“Thought I’d let you finish without getting what I want?”

His hands reach for your waist—you grab them. Pin them to the bed.

“No touching.”

His jaw clenches. You sink onto him slowly.

Both of you moan at the same time. But you? You keep it slow. Devastatingly slow.

Rocking your hips just enough to drive him insane.

He’s breathless. “Fuck—[y/n], please—”

“Beg prettier.”

You roll your hips harder. Ride him deeper. You know he’s close.

You lean down, lips barely grazing his.

“Say it.”

He gasps. Tries to hold back. You squeeze around him.

He shatters. “I’m yours. I’m yours, fuck—I’m—”

You kiss him then. Deep. Desperate.

You both come at the same time—hard—with your name and his tangled in the air like a sin.

You fall against his chest. He’s shaking beneath you.

“I hate you,” he mumbles.

You’re asleep when he leaves it. Choso’s passed out cold, sprawled beside you like he’s been hit by a truck.

Yuji walks down the hallway—hair messy, shirt off, water bottle in hand—and pauses by your door.

He’d definitely heard most of it. He slips something under the door.

Just a piece of notebook paper. Folded. No signature.

Just five words: “I get it. She’s yours.” (…Lucky bastard.)

It’s late morning.

Sunlight spills across the couch. The TV’s on, low volume. Some dumb reality show playing in the background.

You’re sitting in the middle cushion—as always—legs up, hoodie on, hair messy.

Yuji and Choso are on either side of you. And arguing. Again.

“I’m not the one who left their wet towel on the goddamn floor, Choso.”

“You live in a garbage heap of protein powder and shame. Don’t talk about towels.”

Yuji glares. “At least I’m not one existential crisis away from writing poetry in the bathroom.”

“I write it in the bedroom, thanks.”

You sip your coffee. Unbothered.

Then reach for the banana in your lap. And peel it.

Slowly.

The argument pauses.

You don’t look at either of them. You just peel. Inch by inch. Like it means something.

Yuji’s voice falters. “Anyway, you’re—uh—still dramatic.”

You look up at him. Smile. Take a slow bite.

He looks like someone punched the air out of his lungs.

Choso sees it too. And he knows that look on Yuji’s face.

“Are you—” Choso starts.

You chew. Grin.

“Just getting some potassium, boys. It’s important to stay hydrated when you’re getting railed every night.”

Yuji chokes on his orange juice.

Choso sighs like a war veteran.

“You’re insufferable.”

You wink.

“And yet, here I am. Your insufferable little problem.”

Yuji wipes his mouth, still staring at the banana.

���She’s a menace.”

“A brat,” Choso agrees.

“A pervert,” Yuji adds.

You nod proudly.

They exchange a look over your head—some unspoken masculine “she’s out of control” moment.

You lean back, arms behind your head. “Y’know,” you hum. “This is probably what my life will look like forever.”

Two bratty men. One couch. One ridiculous morning after another.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like chaos. It feels like peace.

Flirty. Loud. Slightly inappropriate peace.

You glance at Yuji. Then at Choso.

“You two can keep arguing. I’ll just keep being hot.”

Choso snorts. Yuji throws a pillow at you.

You catch it. Grin.

A random Tuesday. No fighting. No sex. Just the three of you folding laundry like a cursed domestic throuple who never agreed to be one.

It starts with socks. Mismatched.

Three pairs of feet, one overflowing laundry basket, and exactly zero emotional stability.

Yuji holds up a bra like it’s evidence. “This yours?”

Choso: “It’s a 34C. Does it look like mine?”

Yuji shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re into.”

You walk past them both. Snatch the bra.

“You’re both idiots.”

Choso mutters something about sanctity and separating delicates, while Yuji’s folding a t-shirt like he’s in a speed round of “Who Can Be the Most Useless.”

Then Yuji holds up one of Choso’s dark, oversized hoodies.

“Smells like her perfume.”

Choso snatches it. “That’s the point.”

You raise a brow.

“You’re scenting your clothes like a deranged Victorian husband?”

Choso shrugs. “Sue me.”

Yuji throws a sock at his face. It lands. No reaction.

You fold one of Yuji’s sleeveless shirts, then lean over and whisper:

“Yours still smells like fabric softener and repressed feelings.”

He nearly drops the basket. When all’s folded, you flop backwards onto the warm pile of clothes.

Choso lays beside you, head in your neck.

Yuji dramatically starfishes across the other end of the bed.

It’s quiet. Soft music plays from someone’s phone.

None of you say it—but this is bliss. Domestic. Stupid. Mundane.

And somehow—it’s everything. You hum.

“You know we’re weird, right?”

Yuji: “Painfully.”

Choso: “No complaints.”

“Same.”

You grab a folded hoodie. Toss it over your head.

It’s Choso’s. Yuji’s shirt lands on your stomach.

“Mine’s softer.”

“Debatable,” you smirk.

Choso sighs. “We need better laundry boundaries.”

Yuji: “We need therapy.”

You, stretching: “We need snacks.”

All of you groan. No one moves.

And for the first time in weeks—you feel it deep in your chest:

You could never complain about this.

Not this couch. Not these idiots. Not this life.

Because it’s yours now.

And it’s home.

🪲 The End.

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

[cyberpunkonline]

10 CYBERPUNK ARTISTS THAT'LL JACK INTO YOUR SKULL AND REWRITE YOUR TASTE IN MUSIC

Your auditory implants won’t know what hit ‘em.

Right then, reader — pull up your faux-leather trousers and strap on your chrome-plated headphones. We’re blasting through the corrupted circuits of the 2025 underground, bringing you 10 contemporary artists who sound like they’re scoring a riot in Neo-Tokyo while being hacked in real time. Yes, there’s synths. Yes, there’s screaming. No, Grimes isn’t on this list.

MACHINE GIRL Genre: Gabberpunk, Cybercore, ADHD-core Ever wanted to be mugged in a server room by a rave demon? Machine Girl has you covered. It’s breakbeats plus punk plus absolute chaos. Every track is a manic assault from a frothing modem on fire. Start with “MG Ultra” — it's like doing parkour through a collapsing arcade. Machine Girl is a project from New York-based Matt Stephenson, who started it in 2013. What began as breakcore mutated fast into a multi-genre freakout. Live performances are frenzied, sweaty, and borderline ritualistic, often featuring live drums and mosh pit energy in tiny venues. Bandcamp: https://machinegirl.bandcamp.com Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/0WwSkZ7LtFUFjGjMZBMt6T

TENGUSHEE Genre: Faewave, Electrofolk, Cyberdrift, Post-Ratcore This glitching shadow-beast of the net is what happens if a faerie takes too many digital drugs and starts a resistance movement in a cursed VR chatroom. Tengushee doesn’t just cross genres — they light them on fire, digitise the ashes, and make a concept album out of it. Expect story-driven drops, haunted samplers, and the occasional whisper from the void. Tengushee operates like a ghost in the wires, often dropping full-concept albums with narrative arcs tied to multimedia projects, zines, or even encoded tone signals. Based somewhere between London and Faewave, their work includes collaborations with glitch-artists and mythmakers, crafting a world as deep as it is weird. Bandcamp: https://tengushee.bandcamp.com Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/5pPzJk8q2YbVRo3dEiE5rZ

PERTURBATOR Genre: Darksynth, CyberGoth Former black metal guitarist turns synth wizard and soundtracks the end of civilisation in style. Every track feels like the opening credits to a forbidden anime you found on a hacked VHS tape. His recent albums dip into goth rock, coldwave, and grim industrial — a sonic warehouse rave thrown inside a haunted monolith. James Kent is the man behind Perturbator, rising out of the French synthwave explosion in the early 2010s. What set him apart was the sheer cinematic density of his work, as well as his willingness to evolve. His later albums feel like full-blown existential crises scored with analog doom. Bandcamp: https://perturbator.bandcamp.com Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/0O02jvPzKT1kQEYg5XEqRA

GUNSHIP Genre: Synthwave with Dad Issues Think “Stranger Things” but horny for Blade Runner. GUNSHIP slaps synth arpeggios across your face while whispering movie references into your ear. Songs like “Tech Noir” and “Dark All Day” are pure neon cocaine. Bonus points for the video with Tim Capello, the sax guy from The Lost Boys. Formed in the UK, GUNSHIP emerged from the ashes of alternative rock band Fightstar. What they lacked in punk energy, they made up for with lush synth arrangements and cinematic ambition. With vocal guests ranging from horror icons to YouTube animators, they’re a love letter to analog future-fantasies. Bandcamp: https://gunshipmusic.bandcamp.com Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/3dD9W6Gh8Mo9Tu4S7ydz8q

SHREDDER 1984 Genre: Darksynth, CyberMetal French producer who mashes heavy metal energy into a screaming cyberpunk blender. His album "Dystopian Future" is all dark atmosphere and adrenaline. This is music for doing squats with a neural interface strapped to your head. Shredder 1984 is exactly what it says on the tin: shred. A project born from metal roots but raised on VHS aesthetics and neon grime, Shredder builds tracks that feel like boss fights in an underground data vault. Occasionally throws in face-melting guitar solos for good measure. Bandcamp: https://shredder1984.bandcamp.com Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/2YlR5FzF4XWgeXGxR2b3Vh

REVOLTING PUPPETS Genre: Cyberpunk Punk These Swiss psychos deliver rebellious punk fused with grinding electronics. The kind of band that would stage-dive into a riot squad. Add in LED helmets and maximum cyber attitude and you’ve got a live act worth risking a black eye for. Born in Bern, Switzerland, the Puppets are part cyber-art project, part live-action political tantrum. The band leans hard into performance art, complete with backstories and a lore-rich website that feels like an ARG. Think Rage Against the Machine, but upgraded with malware. Website: http://revoltingpuppets.com

CLIPPING. Genre: Sci-fi Horror Rap Experimental hip hop trio fronted by Daveed Diggs that brings tales of malfunctioning AIs, haunted ships, and cosmic terror over glitch-heavy beats. Their albums feel like audio novellas for doomed protagonists. Start with "There Existed an Addiction to Blood" or "Visions of Bodies Being Burned." clipping. formed in Los Angeles, with William Hutson and Jonathan Snipes providing the surgical, abrasive production. Their use of silence, static, and horror tropes makes them unique in the rap world. And yes, Diggs was in Hamilton, but don’t let that fool you — these guys write soundtracks for existential dread. Bandcamp: https://clppng.bandcamp.com Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/7cNNNhdJDrt3vgQjwSavNf

BEAST IN BLACK Genre: Cyber Metal, Synth Power If you're into big riffs, bigger vocals, and synths that sound like they were mined from an alien war machine, Beast in Black delivers. Their album "Dark Connection" is basically a concept record about AI girlfriends and cyber-samurai. Finnish-Greek metal band formed by former Battle Beast guitarist Anton Kabanen, Beast in Black are unapologetically bombastic. They mix anime aesthetics with power metal drama, and if you can get past the over-the-top vocals, you’ll find a band that gets how to marry synths with shredding. Website: https://beastinblack.com Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/5wJ1z2KgFvb1GQ9ApnFlog

OKLOU Genre: Glitchpop, Cyberambient A softer, prettier ghost in the machine. Oklou blends vaporous vocals with ambient electronics and medieval fantasy energy. It’s like if a fairy princess got lost inside a Sega Dreamcast. Oklou is the moniker of French artist Marylou Mayniel. With classical music training and a background in club culture, she creates tracks that are emotionally dense but digitally fragile. Her work occupies the misty edges of cyberpunk, where romance and signal loss overlap. Bandcamp: https://oklou.bandcamp.com Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/1FqqOl9itIUpXr4jZPIVoT

NAZAR Genre: Deconstructed Club, Warwave Amsterdam-based producer with beats sharp enough to cut through reinforced concrete. Inspired by war, trauma, and classic cyberpunk anime. His upcoming album "Demilitarize" might be the most realistic sonic vision of future conflict you’ll hear this year. Nazar was born in Angola and raised in Europe, and his music reflects that blend of postcolonial tension and Western club evolution. His productions on labels like Hyperdub use field recordings, mechanical rhythms, and unflinching political commentary. Harsh, heavy, and honest. Bandcamp: https://nazarmusic.bandcamp.com Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/1pQWsZQehhS4wavwh7Fe8D

[souryogurt64]

I feel like a big part of tumblr’s issue with riot grrrl is that they heard a rumor a band did something problematic once (probably in like 1995 fifteen years before they were born… fucking hello- also incorrect information, they were always anti racist and not transphobic) so they go “WOW this whole movement is awful and I’m so progressive and sexy and interesting for not listening to them!” While secretly they’re like “oh thank god, now I don’t have to listen to women bands and diversify my music at all” and they’re in the top .005% of Fall Out Boy Spotify listeners because you’ll get people who will defend men with their dying breath over talented women who couldn’t tackle the entire problems inherent in a subculture that got away from them/too big in the 90’s. Which is also the reason why I’m submitting this anonymously lmao

Yeah, people are able to extend the "a different time" understanding and apply nuance to their own interest in movements like punk, classic rock, emo, hardcore, etc but the same people actively work to bully riot grrrl fans out of their online spaces. I think people hear the word "girl" and immediately have an emotional reaction to it regardless of context, and also are not able to comprehend that riot grrrl was not a hivemind just like how the dead kennedys and the sex pistols both identified as punk but had different beliefs which is something people can comprehend because theyre men lol

I mean I think people are just misogynistic and uncomfortable with feminism and women in general lol which is why you will have Fall Out Boy fans accuse you of a being a bigot and get aggressive if you gently point out that the hardcore scene FOB came from had a lot of issues with abortion, homophobia, and the idealization of fascism.

But it's always the same people who scribble Lynz out of photos, tell people to delete photos of Cobra Starship that have in them Victoria, create elaborate rules as to why Bebe and Hayley aren't allowed in fanfiction, start arguments and accuse you of a bigot if you point out that this is weird as a cultural phenomenon especially if the people doing most of this are usually guys who post about misandry being a real problem in the world lol. And these people also get really aggressive if you ever point out Gerard is also friends with Jimmy Urine, not just Lynz, and Pete has done a lot of very bad things lol. And half of bandom stans Brand New and like has brand new tattoos or whatever which is fine I guess, but not when you're acting like this lol

I also had a GIANT MASSIVE HUGE brain blast last night which was that I think Tumblr Bandom ™ has become increasing more virulently misogynistic and guy dominated than it was 12 years ago because 12 years ago MCR and FOB were making like pop music and teenage pop fangirls were a large portion of the fandom, but now the primary sources of content are SMFS, Thursday, and LS Dunes, and while not certainly being super out there, I think it draws a different crowd than Danger Days and Save Rock and Roll lol.

Like people always argue with you in bad faith when you post about a band guy being sexist and one time I made a vent post about how i like get catcalled if i dress femininely/revealing on the train vs wearing a sweater and jeans (very real thing that happens even though you can get catcalled either way) and someone started arguing with me on anon like "why would that happen, thats not real, youre crazy" and it was like. for all its cringe and flaws this NEVER would have happened in 2013 "i love cats pizza feminism and fall out boy" tumblr lol

Also, I'm not even like a big riot grrrl fan I just interviewed a lot of very small local bands when I was younger (like over 100 i think) and half the time without fail they would have meltdowns about riot grrrl fully unprompted like "im a girl but my bassist is a boy this isnt fair im not problematic either" and it was like okay, are you offended by this for legitimate reasons or did you hear girls were mean to boys and that's bad on Twitter and believed it without realizing that guys were often in "riot grrrl" bands because riot grrrl was a genre and not a gender

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hey. I absolutely love your desi writing!!!

Can you please write something shaadi related with Carlos Sainz where his family and him are being the baraat and just trying to get into the big fat Indian wedding mood with all events all the way from a roka, sagaai, to the actual festivities to haldi, mehendi, sangeet, shaadi, reception?

No pressure! Thank you!!

cultural observer .☘︎ ݁˖

˚⊱🎀⊰˚ cs55 x desi!reader ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

˚⊱🎀⊰˚ fluff ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

masterlist ☾☼

the aroma of marigolds and cardamom swirled around, a jarring contrast to the fumes of petrol carlos sainz vasquez de castro was used to. he smoothed down his sherwani, the silk rough against his skin, and looked at his father, who was struggling to place a heavily embroidered shawl across his already substantial frame. "papá, are you sure? i feel like i'm being dressed in a wedding cake."

by his side, y/n laughed, her own bright lehenga billowing around her. "you look handsome, carlos. and," she playfully taunted, "you said you'd adopt the culture. remember, when in india…"

"-act like you're in a bollywood movie," carlos concluded, rolling his eyes in good humour. he took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. this entire "big fat Indian wedding" adventure had begun with a simple "yes" to going with y/n's cousin, to his sister's wedding. now, they were all in, much to the entertainment of his whole family.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

it had started with the roka ceremony, a close-knit ceremony where the bride and groom were formally engaged.

y/n walked carlos through the rituals, pointing out the meaning behind each action as they exchanged sweets and gifts with the couple.

the sagaai, the engagement ceremony, was a bigger affair. the sainz family, with their fiery spirit both on and off the racing circuit, welcomed the lively ambiance. they'd even attempted some bhangra, to the joy of the indian guests, though their coordination could have been better.

y/n, on the other hand, who had years and years of practice, was twirling and giggling with her family, dragging a slightly reluctant carlos onto the dance floor.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

the haldi ceremony was a yellow riot. carlos was plastered in turmeric paste from head to toe, thanks to y/n's cousin's little mischievous sisters. he fought back, naturally, and then a proper haldi fight ensued, to the dismay of some of the more orthodox aunties, but all were in stitches. y/n, ever diplomatic, attempted to intervene, but found herself covered in haldi too, laughing with carlos.

the mehendi ceremony was a more subdued affair, with intricate henna designs being painted on the bride's hands and feet. y/n, whose hands and feet were already smothered in beautiful henna, sat beside carlos, pointing out the intricate patterns to him. he, impressed by the skill, even had a small design of his initials placed beside her, a small, personal token of their own marriage amidst all the jubilation.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

the sangeet was where the party really began. there was music blasting, the dance floor throbbed with activity, and food just kept coming and coming.

carlos, at first reluctant, caught himself swept away by the lively rhythm, at the urging of y/n. she showed him some simple steps of bollywood dances, giggling at his graceless efforts but complimenting him on his effort. he was even able to lift her on one of the dances, garnering applause from the audience.

his dad, unexpectedly spry for his age, was a dance floor star, fronting a conga line that wound its way through the entire club, with carlos and y/n following hard on their heels.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

the wedding ceremony was a riot of color and ceremony. y/n, stunning in a silk silk saree, explained to carlos the significance of each ceremony, her voice heavy with emotion.

he stood spellbound as the bride and groom exchanged vows under the holy fire, the flame dancing across their faces sending reflected golden light back.

the groom's procession, or baraat, was an experience. carlos, and all of his cousins rode a horse draped in flowers (though he secretly dreamed of a mclaren), the horse coming at the head of the procession down the streets, a deafening dhol and rowdy band in its wake. y/n danced along with the procession, her mood infectious, occasionally catching carlos's gaze with a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

reception was a culmination, a dramatic event with more food, music, and dance. carlos felt no longer bashful in his sherwani, chatting freely with the attendees, sharing laughter and tales, y/n standing beside him.

they were quite the couple, him tall and handsome in his wedding finery, her looking breathtaking in her sleek lehenga.

he found himself even arguing formula 1 with some of the bride's relations over tyre strategy and the drs while y/n spoke of india in general with their mothers.

at the end of the evening, carlos was filled with a sadness, but also with a deep sense of fulfillment. he had shared this once-in-a-lifetime experience with the woman he loved, and it had strengthened their bond.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

in their hotel room, carlos helped y/n out of her cumbersome lehenga, his hand brushing against hers. he pulled her close, kissing her softly. "thank you," he breathed, "for allowing me to experience this with you."

y/n smiled, leaning against his chest. "it was magical," she whispered. "just like you."

he chuckled. "i still can't believe riding a horse in a wedding procession."

"and you had seemed stupid beating the dhol," y/n goaded.

"oi! i was excited!" carlos protested, drawing her towards him. he kissed her once more, only this time there was passion.

he had ventured to india as a cultural observer, but what he took with him when he left was too much. he had learned all about new ways, eaten different flavours, and gained new companions.

but above all, he had shared a life-changing experience with the woman he loved, memories to last a lifetime. drifting off to sleep with Y/N resting in his arms- because obviously, they were exhausted to do any kind of suhagraat- he knew that their love story was far from over, as colourful and vibrant as the wedding they had just witnessed.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

i hope you like this! im sorry it took me so long to write this! i have been taking a bit of a break recently! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff

i'd love your support! https://ko-fi.com/kavi2305

[mostly-marvel-musings]

The Unholy Trinity

A/N: Alright. You wanted more? Here’s more. Leave a heart, comment & reblog if you’ve enjoyed :)

Pairing: Female Reader x Tony Stark x Logan Howlett

Warning: 18+ you might combust. SMUT.

Word count: 2.2k

Logan Masterlist

Main Masterlist

.

The warehouse smells like sweat, scorched metal, and bad decisions.

You’re crouched behind a rusted crate, eyes narrowed through the scope of your rifle, breath steady. Two guards at the north end, three at the back. You’ve got a clean path. You could take them down quiet and fast—no fireworks, no drama.

But of course, drama is airborne and barrelling in at top speed.

“Heads up, sweetheart. I’m coming in hot.”

Tony’s voice crackles through your comms with all the calm of a man who definitely shouldn’t be smirking mid-flight. He blasts through the skylight with a flourish, repulsors gleaming and ego cranked up to eleven. Metal crunches. Men scream. Alarms wail.

So much for stealth., you sigh.

From the opposite end, a growl—low, animalistic, and way too entertained.

“Told you Stark doesn’t do subtle,” Logan mutters, already mid-sprint. He tackles two guards like it’s foreplay, claws flashing in the moonlight. Blood hits the floor in perfect rhythm with your rising irritation.

You leap from cover just in time to see your perfect shot go up in smoke. Literally. One of Tony’s repulsors zaps the last target before your fist can even reach him.

“Really?” you snap into the comm. “I had that one.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony says cheerfully, landing beside you with an unnecessarily dramatic thud. “I saved you the wrist strain.”

“Maybe I wanted the wrist strain.”

Logan saunters over, wiping blood off his knuckles. “Hell, let her hit someone, Stark. She’s been on edge all day.”

Tony’s helmet slides back, revealing that stupidly attractive grin. “Can you blame her? Between you and me, she hasn’t exactly gotten a lot of rest lately.”

Logan’s eyes flick to you, slow and knowing. “She’ll sleep fine after this. Unless, of course, you start showboating again.”

“Showboating?” Tony scoffs. “That wasn’t showboating. That was a statement.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, shoving past both of them. “A statement that reads ‘my girlfriend can’t land a punch because my boys won’t stop measuring their dicks in public.’”

Silence.

Tony smirks, too-casually,

“…Well, if you’d like a side-by-side comparison—”

“Stark.”

Logan chuckles darkly. “Don’t tempt her. She’s got a mean right hook when she’s annoyed.”

“Which I would’ve used, if you two didn’t steamroll the entire goddamn mission like a pair of horny wrecking balls.”

They glance at each other, then back at you.

Then Tony shrugs. “At least we’re efficient horny wrecking balls.”

You groan, dragging a hand over your face as you stalk off toward the exit.

“Next time,” you call over your shoulder, “I’m going in alone.”

They trail after you—Tony whistling, Logan lighting a cigar.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Logan drawls, amused. “And miss all this eye candy?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tony adds. “Besides… you still owe me.”

.

The door crashes shut behind you, sealing in the smoke, the sweat, and the wicked pulse of what just happened. What’s about to happen.

Your boots hit the tile with a dull, wet thud—scuffed, blood-slicked. Not all of it’s yours. You don’t care.

Your pulse is a riot in your throat. Limbs still humming with aftershocks from the ambush you walked out of barely intact. You shouldn’t be standing. You should be crashing, but your body has other ideas.

Logan’s the first to speak, voice low and rough as gravel under a boot. “You good, darlin’?”

You turn, eyes dragging over him. Shirt torn, knuckles stained, jaw clenched tight like he’s holding back the entire goddamn animal.

“Fine,” you lie, stripping off your tac vest. “Pissed. Rattled. Wired.”

Tony hums from across the room. He’s peeled out of the top half of the suit, arc reactor casting eerie shadows over his bare chest, still rising too fast from the fight. Or from the sight of you. Maybe both.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says, grinning like a devil who already knows your sins. “I love you wired.”

“You love anything that ends with you getting your ego stroked and your belt undone.”

He chuckles, licking his bottom lip. “I love results.”

You don’t realize the three of you are moving until you do. Like you’re caught in some magnetic field pulling you together, powered by adrenaline and every pent-up, unspoken, undeniable thing you’ve refused to say out loud.

Logan’s behind you now. You can feel him—hot, massive, dangerous. His hand finds your waist. The other slides into your hair with zero hesitation and just enough cruelty. He yanks.

You gasp—and Tony’s mouth is already on yours.

He tastes like sweat and blood and god complex. His kiss is all teeth, all need, all “you should’ve let me have you weeks ago.”

Logan’s voice growls in your ear, teeth brushing the shell of it. “Keep makin’ sounds like that, sweetheart, and I’m not lettin’ either of you leave this room for days.”

You shudder, trapped between them, heat pouring off their bodies. Tony’s lips leave yours just long enough to whisper against your jaw..

“You want this?”

“You sure you can handle both of us?”

“You want it messy?”

You smile, feral and daring and a little wrecked already. “Try me.”

Tony grins like you just gave him a new invention to test. Logan groans like he’s been waiting for this permission forever.

The first piece of your gear hits the ground. Then another.

And then there’s no more talking.

You’re not sure who moves first. Maybe it’s Tony, shrugging off the last of the suit with a hiss of hydraulics. Maybe it’s Logan, fingers dragging down your back like he’s claiming territory, not skin.

But suddenly you’re between them—back flush against Logan’s chest, front pressed to Tony’s bare skin, arc reactor warm against your sternum.

“You ever been touched by two men who could break the world?” Tony murmurs, voice smug, sinful. “We’re about to make you the center of it.”

Logan growls behind you. “Quit talkin’ and touch her, Stark.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Tony’s hands find your thighs, your hips, your ass—gripping like he wants fingerprints burned in. Logan’s mouth is on your neck now, tongue dragging over the pulse hammering there.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart,” Logan mutters. “That fight got you all worked up, huh?”

You nod. Or maybe whimper. You’re not sure, because Tony just sank to his knees.

Oh hell.

“Let me,” he says, voice velvet-wrapped danger. “Let me taste how reckless you really are.”

Logan pulls you tighter to him, one hand sliding up under your shirt, over your ribs, thumb stroking the underside of your breast like he’s teasing himself more than you. “Let him. Want a good view when you fall apart.”

Tony’s mouth is devastating. Hot, wet, confident. Like he’s done this a thousand times—but never with you. You writhe, hips bucking, but Logan holds you in place like iron and heat, letting you grind against him with every wave that Tony coaxes from between your thighs.

“Fuck—Tony—”

“That’s it,” he growls against your skin. “Say my name like that again and I’ll make Howler wait his turn.”

“You think I won’t flip you over right now, Stark?”

“Not without dinner first.”

“She is dinner, genius.”

You laugh.

They argue over who gets to ruin you first like it’s a strategy session for a hostile takeover.

Clothes disappear in a flurry of rough hands and eager mouths. Somewhere in the chaos, Logan bites your shoulder. Tony bites your thigh. You swear, you absolutely swear, you leave your soul on the ceiling.

And then—Logan’s behind you again, this time bare, pushing into you slow and deep while Tony leans in from the front, lips brushing yours.

“You still sure you can handle both of us?” he whispers.

You smirk. Your voice comes out ruined. “You haven’t even started yet.”

Tony laughs. “That’s my girl.”

And then, you stop thinking entirely.

Your knees are bruised from the tile. You don’t remember when that happened.

Might’ve been when Logan flipped you over like you were his, grunting out something feral between your shoulder blades while Tony watched, one hand stroking himself and the other buried in your hair.

Or maybe it was when Stark dragged you back to your feet, kissed you with molten need, and said, “My turn, sweetheart,” like he was ordering dessert.

And you? You were already halfway gone.

“Round two?” you manage, voice hoarse, eyes wild.

Tony cups your jaw, kisses you again—slower this time. Still intense, still dripping with the weight of every want he’s never said out loud.

“You’re insatiable,” he breathes.

“You built me this way,” you shoot back.

Behind you, Logan chuckles. It’s low, dark, and filthy.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “She was made for this.”

“No,” Tony corrects, grin sharp. “We were made for her.”

You don’t even have time to snark before you’re being lifted—literally picked up like you weigh nothing and laid out across the conference table you’d landed on mid-escape.

Your ass hits cold glass. Then hot mouths follow.

Tony kneels between your thighs, face angled with scientific precision. Logan stays up top, mouth trailing over your chest, one hand gripping your throat like he’s holding back a snarl and a promise all at once.

“Jesus—fuck—Tony—Logan—”

You writhe as you grab onto anything—hair, shoulders, the edge of the table—until you forget what the hell gravity even is.

Logan murmurs into your ear, lips brushing hot over your skin:

“She’s shakin’, Stark.”

“Not my fault she’s this responsive.”

“I didn’t say stop.”

You’re not sure who’s wrecking you more. You just know you’re unraveling like a pulled thread, and neither of them plans to let go.

Tony’s tongue drags slow and devastating. Logan’s fingers slip between your lips, coating themselves in your slick, just to smear it across your jaw before licking it off. Like he wants to taste every inch of you.

“You look real pretty like this,” Logan murmurs, voice like smoke and gravel. “Mouth open, legs spread, makin’ those sounds.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony adds, smug. “I do run a tight operation.”

“You’re running your mouth, is what you’re doing.”

“Oh, please, Human Hairbrush. You were moaning louder than she was—”

“I’ll gut you.”

“I’ll sue you.”

“I’ll film it,” you whisper, dazed and drunk on lust. “Now both of you—fuck me like you’re trying to win a competition you’ll both lose.”

That does it. Clothes gone. Bodies aligned.

Mouths on skin, hands in hair, breathless curses tangled with gasps and groans and God, yes, right there!

You come with Logan’s teeth at your throat and Tony’s fingers inside you, stretched and full and nothing but heat and chaos and beautiful ruin.

And then again. And again.

Until your legs don’t work.

Until Tony says, “Okay, that’s definitely going on the ‘Top Ten Nights of My Entire Life’ list.”

.

You wake up tangled in limbs, bruises blooming like love notes, and a blanket that definitely wasn’t there before.

Your body aches in places you didn’t even know could ache. Not painfully—just enough to remind you that last night was very real. And very thorough.

Tony’s breathing slow, his chest rising beneath your cheek. He smells like faint cologne, ozone, and something expensive you’d probably break if you touched it too hard.

Logan’s behind you, arm thrown across your waist, warm and solid and still somehow managing to growl softly in his sleep. Like his body refuses to trust the morning even now.

You smile against Tony’s skin, half-drunk on the silence.

Then he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and smugness:

“So… you survived.”

You snort. “Barely.”

He shifts a little, brushing a lazy kiss to your temple. “Knew you could handle it. You’re tough. Sexy. Possibly part Angry Muttonchops over there.”

“Don’t flatter her too much,” Logan’s voice rumbles from behind you, lower than a threat and warmer than one. “She already knows she broke both of us.”

Tony lifts his head just enough to meet Logan’s eyes over you. “Speak for yourself, Hairbrush. I’m still operational. I think.”

“Your AI had to shut down mid-thrust,” you mutter, grinning.

Tony sighs dramatically. “One power surge and suddenly I’m the cautionary tale.”

Logan huffs a laugh, and you feel it against your back. You roll over to face him, nose brushing his. “You stayed,” you murmur, fingertips grazing his chest.

He shrugs, but his hand cups the back of your neck with surprising gentleness. “Didn’t feel like leavin’. You looked too peaceful.”

Tony’s voice floats in, teasing but quieter now. “You were snoring like a goddamn diesel engine, Growlfather.”

“Yeah?” Logan says, smirking. “Still didn’t scare you off.”

“Please. I’ve slept next to Hulk with the flu.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. These two. One’s all metal and mischief. The other’s claws and gruff warmth. And somehow, impossibly, you fit between them like you were made for this chaos.

You lie there for a while, the three of you breathing in sync, skin to skin, no one in a rush to move. Outside the Madripoor safehouse, the city’s probably already awake—mercenaries trading fire, secrets being sold, the usual Tuesday apocalypse.

But in here?

You’re wrapped in arms that could kill for you.

And have. And would again, without question.

“Coffee?” you whisper eventually.

“I’ll get it,” Tony offers, but doesn’t move.

“I’ll kill for it,” Logan mutters, but also doesn’t move.

You sigh. “We’re all useless.”

Tony kisses your shoulder. “Welcome to early retirement.”

[strawberrystepmom]

piccolo x gn!reader. fluff, mostly prose. | divider by @cafekitsune, wc 831

There’s a serenity to the moments that Piccolo spends with you that he has been unable to capture anywhere else on this planet called Earth. The gentle rustle of the grassy plains is sometimes the only sound breaking up his shouts and breathing as he moves, hurling blasts of energy toward rocks or trees or whatever he has deemed a worthy inanimate opponent for the day. 

Narrowing his eyes, focusing them on a distance that is further away than he expected, he finds you in the same spot he left you in. Laying on your back in the grass, surrounded by a riot of brightly colored wildflowers, hands folded beneath your head. The earth rustles, he can hear it thanks to his adept ability to hear, telling him that you’re moving.

You flip from back to belly, swinging your legs behind you while shouting at him from a distance.

“Hey, why’d you stop? You were starting to lull me to sleep.”

The bass of one of his deep chuckles is carried along the wind to you. It’s impossible to see him from this far away and sadly you were not blessed with the same exceptional vision he boasts, but you can recall his smile as easily as you take a breath. The curve of his mouth, the upturned corners of his lips, the gentle crinkle that has gradually carved itself into the corners of his eyes. 

He’d laugh at you if you said it but you can’t help but find him a little beautiful, especially that rarely seen smile.

“You’re a terrible audience,” he finally shouts back, voice tinged with the faintest hint of amusement. 

Truth be told, he’s too distracted to keep working at the level he wants to. Going all in wouldn’t scare you, he knows that, but he’s frankly annoyed that the thought even came to mind. Why does he care so much what a nosy human thinks of him?

Being surrounded by humankind constantly has softened the man, a reality he works so tirelessly to avoid facing. Unfortunately, your unexpected appearances over the spring and summer have not helped him become stronger or less aware of his own weaknesses.

You lay in that soft, green grass and feed him food that isn’t native to his kind although it’s what he’s used to eating, handmade and wrapped in a soft linen cloth. He knows if he walked over right now you’d extend a wrapped parcel upward toward him, smiling as brightly as the beating summer sun. It’s the same as it has been since the first day you sauntered out here from your village on the other side of the prairie, drawn out into the vast miles of nothingness by the unignorable sounds of fighting.

Little did you know you stumbled upon a stranger’s training session.

Since then, the two of you have shared star flecked evenings. You’ve asked him every time to point out where the planets he has been to from a distance, nothing but dots hanging through endless dark. It’s easy to oblige you so he has. He’s traced a path with a long finger across the sky and billions of miles. He has dared to point toward where Namek, his home planet, used to be. It’s very likely that the area he pointed to is incorrect but he felt a pull in his chest that convinced him he couldn’t have been that far off track. 

In all the time he’s spent here, decades now, he’s never searched for the love that his friends have. 

He’s never coveted a wife or children, content to be a party to the joy of others. An uncle, a brother, a friend yet you make him feel something different. There’s an energy that exists between people who care about one another unconditionally. He feels it in the aura that rolls off of Gohan when he looks at his daughter or Vegeta when he discusses his wife.

That’s the energy that exists between the two of you. It’s static and comfortable. Never judgemental or in a hurry, a relaxed and slow appreciation shared between two sentient beings trying to figure out their place in a world that is ever changing. The circumstances look different for each of you, a human and a Namekian, but you have never treated him differently because of this. 

You embody all of the best things he has ever managed to see in oft unreasonable humans. Kind, but intelligent. Giving with your presence and time, but aware of when to take your leave. Or even better, when to arrive. 

He watches you rise and bound his direction through the overgrown grass, bag slung over your shoulder. Clearly you’ve lazed about and watched the clouds for long enough, it’s time to eat. A soft smile comes over his distinctly inhuman features and he reaches toward his mouth to touch it. To press his fingers against the evidence of his own happiness. 

That damn human sentimentality is unavoidable.

[ysrjune]

EXACTLY YES!! maybe like an 80s rock x a tiny influence of punk kind of thing…either way i trust you

-🌪️

𐔌 THIS MATCH IS

TRUE. 〃

link 1: for what the dress I was describing. Of course, if you don't like it, you could just imagine another choice ᯓᡣ𐭩

link 2: playlist 4 all the songs I mentioned!

not proofread!

˚⊱ GETTING READY ⊰˚

— ꩜ .ᐟ —

White Riot by The Clash and various other songs on your CD player were playing on your stereo in the background as you got ready for prom. You kept your makeup pretty much the same as how you'd wear it on a normal school day, just a little bit more “glammed up.” Your hair was left down and sort of teased. Your mom always said that you looked you were going to he struck by lightning. Really, it was just the look of the 80s for hair. It really wasn't a big deal.. for you, at least.

Rabid by The Damned. Putting on your dress. A nice blue with the top that had no sleeves and beautiful designs. The dress had a lace cover on top of it that was black and had flower designs. You bought a black pair of gloves that went nicely with the dress. You chose to wear your favorite jewlery and hair accessories that complimented the blue color of your dress.

Go Away by Strawberry Switchblade. Sam pages that he's a street down. You squeal and check yourself out in the mirror. Cute! You take photos on your portable camera for memories. You're going to take so many! Wait.. change the song.. this doesn't fit the mood! Great song, though. Maybe if you and Sam break up, you'll blast this every second of the day, but God forbid that.

There is no song for now.. you're just waiting for Sam to come through the door. Your dad comes up and knocks on the door a few moments later. "Sugar, your date is here." He says and immediately walks back downstairs. Now, it was your time to shine. Sam's eyes were glued on the dress, your hair, your makeup—everything. You looked perfect, but he wasn't going to admit it. That's too.. movie like and corny. "You look good." Was all he managed to say.

Your parents took countless photos. Poses on the stairs, outside in the garden, on a beautifully architectured balcony from upstairs that captured the sunset behind you and Sam. Hell, they even took photos of you getting into the car and driving away.

ּ˚⊱ THE FUNCTION ⊰˚

More photos, great. Sam thinks, rolling his eyes as you and him are next in line. It's not like you could even pass. It was sort of mandatory to have your photo taken to get into the place.

He was #serving face with no smile, but he also didn't look mad. Just neutral. "Look, it's Jessica!" You point out your friend and drag Sam with you to go say hi to her and her boyfriend. As you and Jessica fangirl over your outfits, the boys talk about how the music wasn't terrible. "We should get some drinks before they wanna dance.." Sam suggests and Jameson nods. "Agreed, man." He sighs and leaves Jessica with you.

"Ugh. Jerks." You place your hands on your hips. "Yup. What!everrr! We don't need them in order to have a good time. Let's go dance, girl!" Jessica locks your arms together and leads you to the dance floor. When You're Near Me I Have Difficulty by XTC. Another great song. Good vibe to dance to.

Your boyfriends watch you from afar with grins. "They're so dumb." Sam laughs, biting the plastic cup. "Yeah, I'm not gonna dance tonight." James says. But then Give Me Back My Man by The B-52's started playing. That happened to be one of James's favorite songs of all time. It was so catchy, and he liked the vibe. "Gotta go, man!" James smiles and scurries to the dance floor with you and Jessica. "GIVE ME! GIVE BACK MY MAAAN!" He yells while dancing along.

Sam stayed in a dark spot with his friends where he could see you having fun. There was just no way he was going to dance. That is so embarrassing and lame! But who's playing these songs? They really weren't bad at all. Not usually Sam's cup of tea, but he could get down with this music. He glances over to the DJ booth to see no one other than Corey, his best friend. Sam walks over with a grin and punches Corey's shoulder. "Dude, no wonder these songs are alright. I mean, your music taste is kinda gay, so." Sam messes with the blond.

"Yeah, man, they're horkin' up 15 dollars an hour!" Corey yells over the music. "Here's your favorite." Core winks and switches the song to Let's Go To Bed by The Cure. "You're fucking joking. This song was never my favorite." Sam scoffs. "It's alright." He shrugs. "DO DOO DOO DOO DO DOOO!!" Corey sings to the beat. "HEY LOOK, JOSH IS TRYING TO TOUCH ON YOUR GIRL!" Corey points at you, and Sam practically breaks his neck to see what was going on. It wasn't true. "That's not funny!" He smacks Corey. "Come on dude, I was just.. JOSHING you. HA HAAAAA!!!"

Sam was now sort of paranoid that Josh would actually appear and try to make a move on you, so he finally caved and went to the dance floor with you but didn't dance. He was just having a conversation with Jessica about something for a summer job they were both applying to. Sugar Hiccup by Cocteau Twins. It's of your favorite songs! You begged and begged and begged Sam to dance, and he gave in just because you said you'd get high with him later at an after party.

Jameson snuck some #liquaa😝 into the party and gave some to Sam for your sake.. so that Sam wouldn't be such a bitch about dancing. The next song was Eternal Flame - The Bangles. Now, things really did feel like a movie.

"This is so sappy." Sam complains, holding your waist as you slowly danced with him. "Yeah, but because you love me so much, you don't care." You smile up at him. "Yeah.....😬" He says awkwardly. You don't mind. "But seriously, I meant what I said earlier. You look.. uh.. amazing. Beautiful?" He was trying his best not to make it sound fake and forced. "And you look handsome. You added your own touch to the suit." Tou smile. He was wearing a matching blue neck tie to your dress and his suit was black. The shirt he had underneath was.. you don't know. It was hard to tell with the colorful lights.

"Am I gonna get lucky tonight?" He smirks. "Oh my God, Sam. Shhut uuup!" You roll your eyes. Your conversations were just compliments and small kisses throughout the song. "HUH HUH HUH HUUUHH HUH," James ruins your guy's moment as he huns along to True - Spandu Ballet. "Come on guys, you know this oneee!" He says and then keeps on singing along.

James had the floor to himself-preforming a painfully obvious practiced choreography. He was singing along and dancing along. It was funny. He was putting feelings into it, and he was just really passionate about it overall. "You sure he isn't a.. sister, Jess?" Sam asks Jessica. "Man, shut up!" Jess laughed and kept watching her boyfriend.

You took so many photos with your camera and filled in the whole memory. Lots of pictures of Sam, of course! He hardly ever likes to take photos, so now that tonight he was in a good mood, he let you and you took advantage of the opportunity.

Sam takes you to a hotel where almost everyone is staying. Did he get lucky? Yeah.. and he was happy about it, but he was happier that you were there with him for the night. Feeling your warm body and seeing your pretty face before he falls asleep and then seeing it first thing when he wakes. This is heaven.

UHHH I DONT REALLY LIKE THE ENDING.. but here we are sorry it took a jizzilion años..

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaasxo @anakinca @dollfilmz @alexlovesysrjune @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw @loveamira @alealuvshayden @mvst4far @prettiestmini @amiratheangel @blckberrie

[transpondster]

KTLA reported that “a large crowd” gathered outside a DoubleTree in Whittier on Wednesday night, while a widely-circulated TikTok video from independent photojournalist Jeremy Lee Quinn shows demonstrators on a sidewalk outside a Hilton Garden Inn in Arcadia. A second TikTok video claims that ICE subsequently left the building. Journalist and filmmaker David Farrier shared footage of a protest outside a Hilton in Glendale, writing, “Everyone just started doing laps while blasting horns so the little fuckers had a terrible sleep.” He added, “And maybe Hilton will think twice about taking these rioting goons in again.” An Instagram video posted by the account All Things Labor shows a person exuberantly playing a trumpet, with text overlaid: “Heard ICE is trying to sleep. Time to pull out the trumpet. No sleep for kidnappers. ”    It was not immediately clear if ICE agents were actually in all of the targeted hotels. None of the hotels named in information circulating on social media responded to requests for comment from Mother Jones. Meanwhile, Los Angeles Magazine reported that hundreds of demonstrators gathered earlier this week in front of Pasadena’s AC Hotel to protest the reported presence of ICE agents there. One Instagram reel from a local musician who attended the event showed demonstrators chasing white cars marked “POLICE” through the hotel’s parking garage, cheering and shouting “Fuera ICE”—”Out ICE”—as they drove away.  “The hotel asked them to leave after we put on pressure,” text on the video read, over footage of people in black uniforms wheeling a loaded luggage cart out of the building. An AC Hotel employee speaking anonymously to Los Angeles said that some ICE agents had left “but the tires on their cars had been slashed (which is why they remained parked on the lot’s seventh level hours after checking out of AC Hotel.)”  In one case over the weekend, an elected official confirmed that ICE agents had been spotted at a hotel but evidently had since left. Besides making noise, demonstrators have also left a deluge of one-star Google reviews for the targeted hotels, many of them noting the presence of “rats.”

Demonstrators Are Trying to Make Sure ICE Agents Can’t Sleep – Mother Jones

[styluswritesdc]

What about Rogues--namedropping a few: Riddler, Scarecrow, Bane, Clayface, Croc, etc--with a rocker partner? (Idc what gender)

Fun fun fun!! I did this based on my understanding of the English (originated) subculture so I hope its what you want!

Riddler/Edward Nygma

Cool. he thinks its neat.

like obviously this man is more prim and proper but he likes anything that sticks it to the man.

he would've been more of a mod if he had to choose one. (apart form being emo/goth that one time..)

i mean.. he won't appreciate the music so much. unless its lyrics are exceptionally evocative.

would make comments like a conservative father about your mucky leather boots and crusty leather jacket.

he appreciates the values of the culture and would allow you to embroider any of his goons uniform with patches as you wish but.. don't expect to do it to his.

does really enjoy the contrast between your two aesthetics. and needless to say batman is amused when he shows up after you two start dating and there's the dapper, glove wearing, cane wielding Riddler and this roughed up, leatherbound rocker posed next to him.

Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane

this man was a punk in his teens and you cant tell me otherwise I wont listen lalalala

hell yeah. he will join you in any rallies or protests held, especially in the current political climate. could you imagine what a bit of fear gas would do on the opposite side of the barriers? no more rubber bullets or tear gas for you guys!

genuinely cracks out his old leather jacket. there's lots of old patches that are begging for some repairs and plenty of space for you to decorate if you'd like!

loves the music. this guy listens to everything. from classical to metal and considering his upbringing- country.

thinks your ideals are aligned. you two look quite a pair when the batman shows up.

Bane

fuck yeah kid. keep it up.

this guys all about uprising and revolution. he believes in the people, particularly the youth fighting for their ideals and rights.

he and his men are at any protest or riot in Gotham anyways so expect him to join yours too!.

very supportive.

this man loves leather. he will literally get matching leather boots with you and let you decorate them freely. expect him to wear them until they fall apart and then some!

this man is huge. he needs custom clothes anyways. so if you're good at tailoring or upcycling please make him a cool ass leather jacket.

Clayface/Basil Karlo

again, another guy who dabbled in subcultures during his youth. he definitely tried multiple different ones to find which style fit him best. definitely a bit of a poser though.

he loves the music too. please play it at full blast. he wants to literally feel the vibrations of the speakers in his clay

has definitely played a rocker role in his career so expect him to crack it out to impress you.

he can't often wear clothes but would get his own jacket and boots like yours for when he has the energy to keep his form as a man.

Killer Croc/Waylon Jones

hot. but yeah no as a young teen he tried to find a subculture that excepted him where he fit in, and punk or rocker subcultures welcomed him.

he feels seen by their rejection of normality and societies views and standards.

fuck yeah please make him a big sleeveless leather jacket with a cool insignia in the back. he would literally wear it all the time. he'd sleep in it.

is going to protests for protection and also to attend. he can hold you on his shoulders and carry like three signs too.

it would be so cute if you had a patch on your jacket of a crocodile insignia.... he'd blush every time he saw it.