#there are so so so many more if you want more but I'm sure you get it!

[munsonsmixtapes]

I'm Still Your Boy

Ex=boyfriend!Eddie x fem!reader

After your boyfriend cheats on you at your birthday party, your ex Eddie reminds you that he'll always be your shoulder to cry on.

cw: hurt/comfort, mention of cheating

You don’t know what you did to deserve this. Maybe it’s because of something you did in a past life. Some sort of karma, perhaps? Whatever the reason, you don’t think you actually deserve to be cheated on by your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who told you that he wanted to save himself for you and you alone, which seemed to be a fucking lie just to get in your pants considering you caught him with the very girl he told you not to worry about. 

They were fucking and to make it even more sad, they were fucking in your bed at your birthday party. Well, wasn’t that just the cherry on top of the shit sundae? And they were so caught up in each other that they didn’t even hear you slam the door. 

Before anyone could see you cry, you hurry to the bathroom, thankful that you’re upstairs and that no one else was around. What’s supposed to be a fun celebration has turned into something you’ll remember forever for all the wrong reasons. 

As soon as you’re alone, you sit on the toilet and begin to cry. Maybe you feel a bit pathetic but you can’t help it. Sure, it’s not like you actually loved the man, but it still hurts like hell. Especially when Josh told you time and time again that Chelsea would never be a problem. 

And now you find yourself wondering how long they’ve been doing it behind your back. And why you feel so hurt. It’s not like you even liked him that much. And now this is the excuse to break up with him that you’ve been looking for. 

You’re full on sobbing now and it’s not like you’re surprised, you were expecting it to happen with the way they’re always looking at each other, but you’d think your boyfriend would at least have some decency to not cheat on you at your birthday party. But apparently that was too much to ask. 

You grab some toilet paper from the roll next to you and blow your nose, absolutely positive that you look terrible with mascara tears streaming down your cheeks, but you can’t get yourself to look. That would just make you feel even worse. You spent hours on your makeup and now you let some stupid boy ruin it in a matter of minutes. 

Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s doing at this party. He wants to be here, but he’s not even sure why he was invited. The two of you broke up years ago and even though it was mutual and there was no bad blood, you just drifted apart. 

He feels so weird being here in this house. There are so many memories that the two of you have created here, a time capsule of your relationship. He wants to be there to celebrate you, but being there with all of the little moments the two of you shared throughout your relationship is far too painful to relive. He misses you so much more than he’d ever care to admit. 

He wants to be your friend again, but seeing the way your new boyfriend was glaring daggers at him when everyone was singing “Happy Birthday”, he’s not so sure that’s a good idea. He’s only known he guy a couple of hours and he’s already convinced with a few drinks in his system, he’d knock him the fuck out. 

His name is Josh for starters. Fucking Josh. That should be a red flag on its own. He also somehow got you the wrong cake which was clearly mostly for him since he seemed so excited about it. That seemed to be a common theme considering the same went for your gift. He got you a video game for a system that you don’t even have and it was the second one in a series. 

And Eddie swore he wasn’t going to leave the party alive when you opened your gift from him. It was a special edition of your favorite book as a child and if looks could have killed, he would have been dead. You seemed so grateful for the gift, even going as far as hugging Eddie, nothing but happy tears pricking your eyes. 

He didn’t realize just how much he missed holding you until you were in his arms again. You just fit so perfectly. Before he could reminisce too much, you pulled away, moving back to sit in Josh’s lap, but he was nowhere to be found. 

Out of all of your friends who were there, Eddie seemed to be the only one who could tell just how little fun you were having. How was it that you seemed to be invisible at your own birthday party? Why was he the only one who seemed to care? The two of you weren’t even friends anymore. Maybe after tonight, that’ll change.He really wants to reconnect. Maybe he can invite you out for coffee and the two of you can catch up. 

It’s almost midnight. Most of the guests have already left or they’re so drunk that they’ve passed out on the various pieces of furniture around the first level of the house. You’ve disappeared and that’s all Eddie cares about. He wants to find you so he can say goodnight and get the fuck out of there before he does something he’ll regret. 

He heads up the stairs on the hunt for you, but he realizes that he needs to go to the bathroom first. He knows he should anyway before he hits the road. He sees the bathroom door is cracked and heads for it, opening it expecting to see it empty, but he finds you sitting on the toilet sobbing your eyes out. 

“Eddie, hey,” you grin at him, trying your best to look normal even though your eyes are red and your cheeks are tear stained. 

“Hey.” He waves awkwardly in a way that you’ve always found so adorable. “Sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here. I’ll give you some privacy. He turns to leave, but you grab hold of his wrist before he can get too far. 

“Will you stay with me?” You ask with a sniff. He would stay with you even if you weren’t crying, but he especially will because you are. 

He shuts the door all the way then sits on his knees in front of you, forcing himself to look at you even though seeing you cry always broke his heart. He doesn’t know why you’re crying but he has a guess. He doesn’t ask even though he really wants to. He wants to wait for you to speak, not wanting to pry, but just keep you company as you go through a hard time. 

He takes the toilet paper from you and wipes away your tears, gently dabbing to preserve what little makeup is left. He knows how important that kind of thing is to you. Well, he’s actually not so sure you feel that way still. He forgets that he doesn’t actually know you anymore. 

“I look terrible, don’t I?” You look up at him, lips trembling and he really doesn't think he can take seeing you cry anymore. It’ll just make his heart break even more than it already has.

“You look beautiful as always.” It’s his go-to response but it always worked like a charm. He wonders if his flirting still has the same effect on you. He used to love seeing the way you’d get all giggly when he would compliment you. 

“But you have to say that, you’re my-” you cut yourself off, remember that Eddie isn’t your boyfriend anymore. Your boyfriend is the reason why you’re crying. “Sorry, habit.” 

“Don’t apologize,” he shakes his head. “You do look beautiful, though. That dress is great, but I wouldn’t expect anything less. You always did have good style, y/n.” 

“Is this all just your clever way of getting into my pants?” The words are dripping with venom and Eddie wonders what he said that made everything shift. He was just paying a compliment, nothing more, nothing less. 

His eyes widen and he stammers, trying his best to save himself quickly as he’s drowning fast. Your eyes widen as well so clearly you’re just as surprised by your sudden outburst. You have no idea where it came from especially since Eddie has never been that kind of guy and he especially wouldn’t be now knowing that you have a boyfriend.

“No,” he finally says as he’s able to find the words. “I was just paying you a compliment and you know that.” 

“I-I’m sorry.” You’re shaking your head, hating how you’ve spoken to him, accusing him  of something that he clearly wasn’t even doing. “I just caught Josh cheating on me and I guess I’m taking it out on you.” 

“He what?” Oh now he’s livid. He’s got to kiss this guy’s ass now that he finally has an excuse. 

“It’s my fault,” you shake your head again. “I wasn’t giving him enough attention-” your words are cut off by Eddie taking your face in his hands, staring you down. 

“It’s not your fault. Stop making excuses for him y/n. That guy is a fucking loser and he doesn’t deserve you. He deserves to end up broke and alone.” You know he’s right but just want to pass the blame onto yourself because then there would actually be a reason for Josh’s cheating other than the fact that he just doesn’t seem to care about you. 

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” He does in your eyes. ever since the two of you started hanging out, he had a knack for telling you exactly what you needed to hear even if it was a little too blunt for your liking. You appreciated that he never failed to tell you the truth no matter how much it may have hurt.

“I try.” It seems like all of your feelings for each other that have been bottled up are pouring out, now almost palpable because of how strong they are.

“I miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” Eddie replies, moving his thumbs back and forth across your cheeks just like he used to do. “I’ll be kicking myself for letting you slip through my fingers for the rest of my life.”

“What if we gave it another try? The friendship part?” Your face lights up at his suggestion and you decide that this is the best birthday present you’ve ever received. 

“I’d really like that. Hey, I think Benny’s is still open. Do you want to get something to eat?” 

“I’d love nothing more.” Eddie helps you up from the toilet and leads you out the front door where you head to his van to head to the diner. 

The two of you find yourselves in your favorite booth, eating and laughing like no time has passed. You stay there into the early morning as the sun comes up, finishing off your meal with a milkshake that the two of you share for old time’s sake and right then and there, Eddie realizes that he’s still is very much your boy, still wrapped around your goddamn finger just the way he likes and there’s no other place he’d rather be.

[last0bread]

So cool that you know!! I'd love to take a class /gen

However, would he even be Sisyphus if he wasn't so self absorbed? I kind of gathered that it was his whole thing; in the way that he lacks even the empathy to care for how he impacts others so long as he gets his way, which eventually is exactly what he got (lol i love that bit).

The way I interpreted your implication is that if he reached out, he wouldn't have continued his terrible plots, and I love the idea of rehabilitating a formerly condemned character and i do believe we need to hold more space for that in the real world, but to do that, doesn't the individual need at the very least to even see their own fault and want the change?

I'm not a scholar in the topic so please correct me if I've been so heavily mistaken this whole time, but to all I've learnt thus far, Sisyphus simply lacked any of those requirements for redemption, becoming essentially an early example of a villain with antisocial personality disorder.

If your point is just that he wouldn't have done that if he was more community minded, then sure, I agree ! But I also think that at that point, it changes the story on such a fundamental level that it'd be a whole different thing - at that point I feel like there's gotta be other, better examples that could've been used, especially considering how many people arent familiar with that background for the story. (unless thats like the thing for your whole blog in which case, ignore that bit cause your post came to me by chance, didnt know/look deeper, my bad /nm /gen)

listen to me. listen. your actual job in life, and it sucks that your 5th grader teacher didnt explain this adequately enough, is to ask for help when you need it and to accept charity when it would take a weight from your shoulders. Otherwise you end up like Sisyphus- or even worse, Walter White

[captain-huggy-bear]

The Little Things Mean A Lot

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Reader is a little emotional but this is just fluffy and super soppy.

Summary: Sometimes it's the small things that make you fall in love all over again, like your favourite Singapore chowmein from your favourite Chinese takeaway after a long day of teaching and parent's evening.

Notes: I have 2 parents evenings this half-term and a late open evening thing and I really hate the late evenings, and they're always on a middle of the week day where you have to get up and teach the next day while exhausted 😴

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Teaching has always been a love-hate profession for you. You enjoy it, of course you do, but it's a lot of work and stress on the best of days and it's only made harder whenever you have a late evening like tonight. 'Parent consultation evening' also known as parent-teacher conference, parent's evening or the night that teacher's dread because they can't leave school until 8pm and just want to go home after teaching all day.

They're not terrible, you have to admit as you finish your last appointment at 8.01 pm. Parents are general complimentary to you and a lot of the issues you have with kids get sorted out simply by talking to their parents and getting the chance to show them their work or lack of. It helps that since Covid your appointments are online, so parents can't go over their time slot. But, you'd been out of the apartment since 6am and taught a full day of lessons, plus teaching your club and then you spent the last 3 hours talking non-stop to parents. So, yes, they weren't terrible, but you were exhausted and really ready to go home and fall into bed. You were ready to see Quinn or at least curl up next to him under the duvet.

Even collecting all your things together and putting on your coat felt like a chore. You tried to do it quickly, your work laptop shoved into your backpack without care, your water bottle, now empty, collected and your lanyard thrown into the bottom of your bag where you'd likely complain that you couldn't find it tomorrow.

The corridor is empty, dark as you make your way to the front doors of the school, passing a few other classrooms still with their lights on as the last remaining teachers finish their evening off. You wave at a few of your colleagues who catch your eye through their doors, but don't stop, determined to get away as quickly as possible. It's always a little eerie leaving school when it's dark out and barely anyone is around, like something out of a horror movie.

You slip your phone out of your pocket dialling Quinn on instinct, it barely rings before he answers.

"Hey, baby." His voice not even a little bit groggy, telling you that he's stayed up for you again and hasn't had a nap. No matter how many times you tell him he can go to sleep if he wants, he always stays up until you're home and have eaten. Even if he's had a long day.

"Hey..." You practically sigh out, tiredness infecting your tone, "I'm just walking to my car now, should be back at the apartment in 20 minutes if the traffic isn't too bad." The car park is practically pitch black and you're thankful for Quinn's voice on the other end of the line and the fact your car isn't too far from the doors.

"Okay, baby, drive safe, yeah? It's been icy, so don't rush." Quinn would know, he'd woken up way too early that morning, before even you, to scrape the ice off your car and make sure you didn't have to do it yourself. It had been a little thing that morning that had made your day easier but also made you love him just a little more. He knew how much you hated being even 10 minutes later to work than you normally were, your routine being put off would mess your day up, so he didn't mind keeping it on track for you. Even if it changed his routine in the process.

Your car is freezing when you get in, rushing to turn it on and get the heating going, practically shaking in your big coat and scarf, "I know, I promise I won't rush. I love you." You put your seatbelt on, turning the headlights on as you think about how glad you're going to be when you open the apartment door to Quinn.

"I love you too. See you soon." His voice is soft and it's hard to do but you say your goodbyes and hang up the call, setting your music to play and making sure you have everything with you before you set off.

The drive is uneventful thankfully, no real traffic and no real issues other than the hungry rumbling of your stomach and the tired blinking of your eyes. You've never been more thankful for the lack of traffic than when you pull into the apartment parking lot and into your designated space.

There's a moment, after you put your car in park, where you simply turn your car off and close your eyes. Needing a moment to decompress and get your bearings even as you can feel yourself starting to nod off. This moment is interrupted by a startling knock on the window of your car door that has you jumping out of your skin, hand clasping your chest. You look, only to see Quinn, bundled up in a hoodie outside your door, hands in his pockets, looking sheepish at having scared you.

You shake your head at him through the window, but let him open your car door for you. You don't protest when he walks around to the passenger side and grabs your work bag for you and you say very little, just melt into his side when he wraps his arm around you to usher you to the door of your apartment building.

You let him practically support your body weight on the way up to the apartment, feeling for the first time that you can relax. It's silly really, how easy it is to shut off around Quinn, barely looking where you're going because you know he'll steer you in the right direction, knowing he won't let you walk face first into a wall.

When Quinn finishes unlocking the front door, the first thing you notice is how warm the apartment is like he's put the heating on especially for you. You were always cold while he always claimed he was fine.

You toe your shoes off at the door, turning to watch as Quinn is much more careful with your work bag than you would be, placing it down by the front door and kicking off his shoes. His hair is at that gorgeous length where when he turns to look at you it practically flips like Prince Charming.

"Go take a shower, baby, I've already made your lunch for tomorrow and I'll sort dinner while you get comfy." It shouldn't make you feel like crying or get emotional but it does because he knows how much you hate making your lunch for work when it's late and he knows how tired you are after a parent's evening. He knows that if it's not made it'll put off your whole morning routine and he knows that that'll ruin your entire Friday. It just reminds you how much he does for you without fussing about it or expecting praise. How well he knows you.

You can't help but wrap your arms around his hoodie swamped frame, pressing your face into his chest for a few moments as you squeeze him as tight as you can, breathing in his cologne, and just enjoying being close to him for the first time in hours.

When you finally look up at him, you rest your chin on his chest, eyes soft as they meet his green ones, "I love you, what would I do without you?"

"You'd be fine, you know it." Yeah, you would. You'd make your own lunch and find your own dinner and scrape ice off your car by yourself, but you'd just be fine...you wouldn't be happy, you wouldn't be thriving. You squeeze him a little tighter around the waist, Quinn's own arms wrapping around you snuggly.

"Then why do it for me?" You ask the question even though you know the answer, because you want to hear him say it, because you love to hear him say it.

"Just because you can do this stuff doesn't mean you have to, I love you...so I want to make your life easier..."

You practically grin up at him, his answer the usual one, one you've heard time and time again but that you love every single time. "I love you too, baby." You reach up to press a kiss to his chin, lips moving across to his cheek, any available skin coming under assault.

He laughs loud, head reeling back to escape you, "Okay, okay! That's enough, you need to go shower! Go!" Quinn pulls out of your arms, struggling to free himself and when he finally does he sends a playful slap to your arse that has you laughing as you leave him, even tired, you can't help but feel slightly rejuvenated in Quinn's presence, like he gives you an energy boost.

You try not to take too long, cutting your shower short out of exhaustion and hunger before throwing on your most comfortable t-shirt and short combo. Your hair is wet, still dripping when you come back out to the kitchen area, the smell of Chinese food hitting you and forcing a grumbling gurgle from your stomach.

"Hungry?" Quinn laughs, looking up from where he's plating up the food. Quinn used to be the sort of guy who ordered one dish from the Chinese takeaway and had the entire thing, but you came from a household of purchasing many items and putting a bit of each on your plate. Mix and match. He'd adapted well to it and become the expert plate maker. Secretly, or not so secretly, he enjoyed making your plate for you, providing you with food even if it was just Chinese takeout.

"Starving! You got my favourite?" You take a seat at the kitchen table, eyes eagerly watching the food in a way that has Quinn chuckling to himself even as he gives you an extra spring roll. One thing he loves about you is how normal you are about food, you don't hide how hungry you are or try to avoid food, even when he can't eat something because of his training and his career, you don't let that effect you or your appetite.

"Mmhmm, and I've given you most of the chowmein, since it's your favourite." He places the plate in front of you, a large pile of Singapore chowmein on your plate, significantly larger than the share on his own plate. Your entire plate dwarfs Quinn's, his desire to feed you seemingly impossible to quash. Maybe you should feel guilty, instead all you feel is such overwhelming love and affection for him to the point of tears welling in your eyes. Maybe its because you're tired, a long day teaching plus parent's evening finally taking its toll or maybe it's just how sweet Quinn is, how determined he is to make your life easier, to look after you, but either way you're especially emotional tonight over a Chinese takeaway.

"Thank you..."

Quinn stops before he even sits in his seat, leaving his plate across from yours at the emotion in your voice. Instead, he comes to stand next to your sitting form, letting you wrap your arms around his hips, your cheek pressing into his side while he runs a hand through your wet hair.

Quinn would say that you were naturally more emotional than him, not a cry baby per say, but with him? In the place you felt most comfortable? Then you were prone to tears, especially when he did something nice for you. It was an interesting thing about you, that you could deal with teenagers yelling at you, throwing things, swearing and being all around rude or parents harassing you, and not shed a single tear. But, the moment Quinn did something thoughtful you got choked up...although not usually over Chinese food. This was a new one.

"You're emotional tonight...you okay, baby?" You sniffle a little at his question, unsure why you're so emotional today of all days, other than possibly how tired you. Maybe your period is on the way? Or maybe it was just that time of year? Still, you can't help but lean into him deeper, clingy in your need to be close to him even as you try to sneak a bite of a spring roll, stomach still growling.

"I'm just tired and...and I love you so much....you're so good to me and you gave me almost all the chowmein." Quinn stifles a laugh at the way you say, all while sneaking food into your mouth, you're gripping him so tight he considers eating stood upright so you don't have to let go. He might not ever admit it, but he loves how clingy you are, how you always reach for him. He loves that he never doubts how much you want him.

"Oh, baby...you really need food and bed, huh?" His fingers run through your hair one last time, landing on the nape of your neck and resting there.

You nod your head and reluctantly let go of him so you can focus on your food. He watches you while the two of you eat, the slow blinks, the way your head lolls every now as if you might fall asleep at the table. He's happy though, happy you're eating, happy you're enjoying it, the way you gobble up your favourite bits and eat more than is probably comfortable. He's happy he can provide for you, look after you, especially given how much you give to your job.

Once you've both finish eating, you go to reach for his plate as if you're going to clean it for him, he pulls it away from you without hesitation, "Baby, I'll do it in the morning...you're too tired, let's just go to bed, yeah?"

You don't even put up a fight when he takes your plate from you or when he grips you by the shoulders, steering you towards the bedroom. There are no protests when he pulls back the covers and helps you ease into bed, the only protest you let out is when he tries to leave to lock up and turn all the lights off. But, you're placated by his soft voice telling you he'd be right back.

You're asleep by the time he's turned all the lights off and put the plates by the sink. Quinn can't really help it, the way he stops just off to the side to stare at you. The soft rise and fall of your breathing, the way you nuzzle deeper into your favourite pillow.

When he was younger Quinn was sure that he didn't want to be responsible for another person that wasn't his brothers, that he didn't want to look after someone else. The idea of loving someone seriously, of caring for them was too much. He'd been dead wrong, you weren't his responsibility and sure, you could look after yourself, but God, did he love doing it for you. He loved seeing you happy, content, well looked after. He loved knowing that even when you were exhausted from work, even when life threw you a curveball, he was there to make it easier, lighten the load. You made him feel needed, useful, in a way that was ten times more rewarding than being captain of the Canucks.

He loved that for all the things he did for you, you did just as much for him. The way you always put a towel in the dryer to warm when you knew he was coming back from practice. The fact you made sure to have his favourite cheat meal ready when he'd had a rough game or roadie. You might think he did more for you, than you did for him, but in reality it was pretty even. You both simply took care of one another.

He's as quiet as possible as he changes into just a pair of grey sweatpants, careful as he slides into bed besides you and gentle as he pulls you back into his arms. You stir slightly, but only enough to turn around and burying your head into his chest, leg wrapping over his hip. Still fast asleep even as you seek out his warmth.

Maybe when he was 19 he didn't want something like this, but now? Now he can't imagine anything better than spending his life doing the little things to make your life easier, to make sure you feel loved and respected even when teaching throws you a long day or a shitty parent or a ridiculous incident. He could do this for the next 70 years and never grow tired of it.

[katerinaaqu]

i'm in despair (this is about antinous)

WHAT?! Okay seriously I have had enough at this point with this bullshit and the misinformation out there just because some people twist away the Odyssey and become famous to the point of people not being able to tell reality from fanfiction and of people who just won't do research or read the most crappy "translations" in the world! So because I have had enough here's ALL the lines Antinous speaks in the Odyssey to clear this up once and for all!

(Be warned this will be long but please share this as much as you can guys! Forgive me in advance if some of my translations are a bit sloppy or not as accurate I am willing to redo some passages if you guys want in comments or reblogs in the future.)

Please spread this because honestly I have had enough and this EXACTLY why I cannot take anymore of these "retellings" and whatever the hell the names are and the changes they make for no reason to characters for "creative liberties" because honestly people cannot even read the sources properly and they just make claims taking advantage of popularity of media!

ANTINOUS'S LINES IN THE ODYSSEY:

And then Antinous the son of Eupeithes answered him:

"Telemachus, no doubt the gods themselves are teaching you well since you became such a boaster and speak with so much insolence! May Cronus make sure that you shall never reign Ithaca of the two seas, which is your ancestral right!"

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 1 (383-387): Antinous to Telemachus in irony when Telemachus has seen Athena in disguise off.

~

Telemachus, you high-and-mighty, uncontrollable in your insolence, what kind have you said is my shame: you wish to shift the blame! But I tell ya it is not the fault of the Achaean suitors but of your beloved mother's, who knows very well how to gain from others. For this is the third year, nearly entering the fourth, that she plays with the feelings within the chests of the Achaeans. For she has given promises to each and every one of us all and sends us messages but in her head and she has made a big ploy; and after she set a large loom in the palace and began to weave in a thin and complicated way and then she said to us:

"Young men, my suitors, since divine Odysseus is dead, please be patient since you are in a hurry for my marriage, but allow me fulfill this one pledge, for I do not want this weaving of mine be for nothing, let me make a shroud for the heroic Laertes for when his fate strikes and is taken by the death who brings so many woes, so that I will not gain resent from the Achaean women, oh, if the man who gained so much were to lie without a shroud"

So she spoke to us and our heroic hearts were persuaded and so in there by day she was looming at her great web and by night she was destroying it under the light of the torches she had beside her. And so she gained herself 3 years with her deceit that persuaded the Achaeans, now entering the forth and time has passed and we were informed on this by one of the women who clearly saw what had happened and so we caught her red-handed unraveling the great web. And so she was forced out of necessity to finish it. And so to you the suitors are replying to you so you shall know it deep in your heart and for all the other Achaeans to know; send back your mother to her father and command her to choose which one of us she pleases to marry. For, truly, Athena has blessed her with knowledge and craftsmanship and understanding heart; such wiles Penelope knows above other beautifully-haired Achaean women, even than the ones known by the old ones; and Tyro and Alcmene and beautifully-wreathed Mycene but her last wile was not right and so we shall continue to eat here from your inheritance, for despite the fact that the gods placed such mind more than many inside her and she brings great name upon herself, but you shall regret your insolence. We shall not move back to our homes or to any other place until she marries which of us Achaeans she desires!

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 2 (86-128): Antinous to Telemachus about Penelope's scheme when Telemachus accused the suitors for their staying at his palace. Penelope is being accused for her game upon them and simoultaneously praised for her mind and craftsmanship but also Telemachus being pressured to send her back to her father to start preparing for her upcoming marriage.

~

And Antinous immediately laughed and rushed to Telemachus and grabbing one of his arms he mocked him:

"Telemachus, you high-and-mighty, uncontrollable in your insolence do not have other evil word or action you in your mind for us, but I say come and eat and drink with me like before, I am sure all these you want the Achaeans shall provide and ships and outstanding oarsmen so that quickly you shall reach holy Pylos and hear news of your noble father!"

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 2 (301-308): Antinous to Telemachus mockingly after the end of the gathering. Basically Antinous mocks Telemachus and tells him to forget the meeting ever happened and then mocks him with the notion he had to reach Pylos for news of his father.

~

And then Antinous, the son of Eupeithes replied:

"Tell me the truth! Where did he go and who were the men that followed him? Were they chosen Ithacan youth or heirlooms and slaves that belonged to him? Definitely I think he is capable even for that! And tell me this as well and answer truthfully for I shall know, whether by force and without your will he acquired the black ship or whether you gave it to him willingly, agreeing with his words!"

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 4 (641-647): Antinous to Noemon son of Phronius. The man possessed the ship which Telemachus got and now Antinous is interrogating the man on whether he did so with his free will or by force. The man of course replies that he had no reason to refuse Telemachus thus gaining the reaction by Antinous:

Furiously, then replied to him Antinous the son of Eupeithes; with great anger filling his black heart, both his eyes shining like fires:

"Damn! What a bold insolence Telemachus has put in action, this journey, even if we were saying he would never see it through! The way he has managed to launch a ship and even pick the best youth of the people and take them with him! He shall be our doom soon the way it goes! But hopefully Zeus's strength shall destroy him before he reaches the maturity of youth but go on now and give me a fast ship and twenty men so I shall wait for him and set an ambush to the narrow path between Ithaca and rugged Same and so his voyage to find his father shall have a sad end!"

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 4 (660-672): Antinous to himself and the other suitors. Basically here he speaks on the ambush he wants to set on Telemachus in his anger that Telemachus left for the trip after all plus how he fears that Telemachus will be their doom somehow.

~

Gentlemen, all of us, let us stop spewing arrogant words for someone might as well report your words in this house. But let us speak in low voice and make our words action, for this has pleased all our hearts.

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 4 (774-777): Antinous to the other suitors. In plotting in silence how they would proceed with the murder of Telemachus while Penelope is up in her rooms praying to Athena for the saving of her son.

~

Damn! Look how the gods have saved this man from misfortune! Even if we had guards waiting at the windy tops day after day, one after the other. And when the sun fell down we didn't stay on shore but we sailed on the fast ships in the sea till the divine Eos (Dawn) waiting and lurking for Telemachus to take hold of him and destroy him: some god undoubtedly has brought him home! But let us here plan the sorrowful doom of Telemachus so that he won't escape us; for I know that as long as he lives our plans will not be fulfilled. He has persuaded the council and the people do not agree with us anymore. But let's go before he gathers the assembly of the Achaeans because I think he won't be wise to act slow but he would rush in full wrath and he would choose to rise everyone up by saying that we contrived against him murder but didn't catch him and they will not like it when they hear our evil deeds. Mark my words, he will drive us all out of our lands and we shall move to stranger lands! Come on! Let us seize him at the countryside, outside of the city or on the way and let us seize all his possessions and lands and divide them among ourselves equally but the house we shall give to his mother and to whomever marries her. But if you are displeased by these words and you believe he should live and keep his inheritance then let us stop devouring his goods and leave the house and each one of us from his own palace shall continue showering her with gifts till she will have as husband the one who offers the most.

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 16 (364-392): Antinous to himself and the other suitors. His fury that Telemachus escaped their ambush and he repeats the plan on killing him or establishes even more options for the suitors. In here he also suggests to keep pressuring Penelope to marry.

~

And so spoke Antinous scolding the swineherd

"Notorious swineherd what did you bring him to the city for? Don't we have enough vagabonds and other annoying beggars to ruin our dinner? Aren't they enough people to eat the king's wealth here that you invited this one too?"

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 17 (374-379): Antinous to Eumeus on Odysseus. Eumeus had brought Odysseus-Beggar to the palace and Melanthius, the goat-herder had pointed out that he saw Eumeus leading him there so Antinous once more barges in and complaints (that is the first time Antinous speaks in the presence of Odysseus)

~

Telemachus you high-and-mighty and uncontrollable in your insolence what did you say! If all the other suitors were to give him as much then he wouldn't need to come back for the next three months!

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 17 (406-408): Antinous to Telemachus. Telemachus mocks Antinous on his mocking on Odysseus/Beggar and so had Eumeus before him so now Antinous just mocks them back

~

Which god has brought this creature to destroy our feast? He stood there in apart from our tables and claims he comes from bitter Egypt or Cyprus: He insolently and so rudely asks for food from all who are here: and they give it so recklessly for no one is more generous in giving than the one who gives something that belongs to someone else for they have much each!

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 17 (446-452): Antinous to himself and Odysseus. Odysseus goes to Antinous in particular to beg for food and tells him once more his "sad story" on how he fell from grace. Antinous does not like the whining and he retaliates. Ironically he also says something correct here; that they are all generous to the food they give to Odysseus because that food is not theirs in the first place.

~

So he spoke and Antinous got even more furious and looking down upon him he replied with winged words:

"Now you shall no longer stay in this palace, back off since you speak words of accusation!"

(Tranlation by me)

Rhapsody 17 (458-461): Antinous to Odysseus. Odysseus insists upon Antinous give him some food and Antinous retaliates sending him away and in the next scene he throws the stool at him

~

And to him replied Antinous the son of Eupithes:

"Sit there and eat, stranger or go elsewhere or else you shall be thrown out being carried away by your arms and legs and be skinned whole!"

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 17 (477-480): Antinous to Odysseus. Basically Odysseus complained to the entire assembly that Antinous has just striken him because he is hungry. Antinous doesn't like it and threatens that Odysseus will be carried out by force and be skinned alive if he goes on. He is heard by Penelope upstairs and she is filled in the details by Euryclaea.

~

"Friends how fortunate that such a thing happened, that the gods brought such entertainment to our doors! Irus and the stranger fighting and wishing to hit each other! Quickly! Let's set them up!"

Mighty Antinous heard them two talking and breaking in merry laughter he addressed the suitors:

So he spoke and everyone broke down laughing and gathered together the two beggars and again Antinous son of Eupithes addressed them:

"Listen, heroic suitors, what I am about to say. These goat stomachs here that is roasting on the fire and we had set them here to make dinner after we have filled them with fat and blood but now I say the one who wins and comes out on top let him choose which one he wants to have for himself and what's more he shall dine with us and we shall suffer no more a beggar begging among us!"

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 18 (34-49): Antinous to the rest of the suitors. Irus has arrived to the palace and he picks up a fight with Odysseus/Beggar and Antinous loving the idea of watching them two fight and suggests the contest.

~

Now, don't whine, you bully and it might have been better if you never born if you are to be afraid and trembling of this fellow, a man old and beaten down by misery. I tell ya and it's done: he has won against you and is stronger, I shall throw you in a black ship and exile you to the mainland to the king Echetus, the baneful of men, and he shall have your nose and ears cut off with ruthless bronze and shall throw your privates to the dogs to devour!

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 18 (79-87): Antinous to Irus. Basically he threatens and mocks Irus for being afraid of losing to "an old man". Irus was taken over by fear when Odysseus revealed his shoulders and legs realizing that he is not just a common old man. Antinous is "guilt tripping" and threatening Irus so that the two of them would fight.

~

And Antinous son of Eupeithes replied to her:

"Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, the gifts you want the Achaeans shall bring you here, for you to accept them, for it is no good not to accept them, but we shall not leave this place and go elsewhere till you choose to marry the best of us Achaeans!"

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 18 (284-289): Antinous to Penelope. Penelope demands wedding gifts (as a manipulation for the suitors to bring items to pay back what they have eaten and possibly more than that). She probably hoped to manipulate the suitors out of her house. Antinous responds to her by accepting her request but also expresses the decision all the suitors made, not to leave the house till she has chosen a husband (in the next lyrics it is revealed that Antinous's gift was a beautiful embroidered robe with 12 golden brooches)

~

I verily think is hard, Achaeans, to accept the word of Telemachus who has so much spoken threateningly against us. Truly the son of Cronus Zeus wouldn't have tolerated this but he would already have silenced him in this palace, the way he clearly speaks!

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 20 (271-274): Antinous to the rest of the suitors. Telemachus placed his father (dressed as beggar) sit among the suitors and has showingly given him good portion of food and golden cup and he told him boldly to sit and eat and drink with the rest of the people for it is not a public house here but the house of Odysseus that treats his guests! (I also find it a nice cheeky move by Telemachus here!) Antinous didn't like it and he speaks up

~

You foolish boors who only care for today! Cowards why are you crying now and you are troubling the heart of this woman? Now that she has learnt she has lost her dear husband! Be silent and sit down or if you have to weep go elsewhere and leave this bow behind so it will be a the contest of decision for the suitors. For I believe it will be no easy task to chord this bow. For there is no such a man among us like the one Odysseus was! And I myself have seen him and I remember him even if I was but an infant child then!

Rhapsody 21 (86-96): Antinous to Eumeus. Eumeus was ordered to bring up the bow from the armory. Eumeus held the bow in his hands and he actually cried in emotion as he held his master's favorite bow. Antinous retaliates and calls him names because as he says "he is troubling Penelope" with his cries and he speaks on how he remembers Odysseus when he was a child. And ironically or not so much he speaks very positively on Odysseus and the kind of man he remembers him to be, maybe because he thinks he is safe now and believes Odysseus to be dead.

~

And Antinous, the son of Eupeithes, said to them:

"Rise in your turn from the right, all my friends, we start with the order the wine is being poured"

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 21 (140-142): Antinous to the rest of the suitors. He basically suggest the order with which everyone will try and string the bow (with the order that the jug holder has poured them wine) from right to left)

~

But Antinous reproved his words and he called out:

"Leodes! What words have escaped the barrier of your teeth?! This is both painful and dreadful words indeed that I feel resentment by just hearing you! If this is the bow that shall judge who is the best in heart and soul no wonder you cannot string it. Your noble mother hasn't birthed you to be a strong archer or shoot arrows. Let the other noble suitors string it!"

So he spoke and then he ordered Melanthius, the goat herder:

"Melanthius, go and light a fire in the hall and place a great chair by it covered in fleece and bring a large block of fat when you come back so that we shall smear the bow with it and soften it over the flames before we execute our contest"

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 21 (167-180): Antinous to Leodes and immediately after Antinous to Melanthius. Leodes expressed the impossible of stringing the bow and then he claimed that he'd rather die than suffer the loss there for Penelope's hand and Antinous does not like the defeatist attitude. He takes over and orders to Melanthius to bring the tools to care for the bow and make sure it is usable after so long staying in storage. This passage also shows the knowledge Antinous has on weaponry in general and possibly hunting in particular.

~

Eurymachus, this won't work; you know it yourself, because now it is a public celebration for a god. Who then would string the bow?I say set it aside for now. Newvertheless we shall leave the axes here where they are, for I believe no one shall enter to the palace of Odysseus the son of Laertes, to take them! But let's go, let the cup bearer pour the liberations in our goblets as we make our offerings and let's set aside the curved bows! By the morning we shall order Melanthus the goat herder shall bring the best out of the goats he is tending and herding and so we shall sacrifice their thighs to Apollo of the beautiful bow and we shall try one more time to execute the challenge of this bow.

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 21 (257-268): Antinous to Eurymachus when none of them could string the bow he suggests that it is because it is a public celebration that they should make their own offerings to the gods and call it a day and try another day because he assumed it is possible that the reason they couldn't string it could possibly be that it was because of the celebration. So he suggests to call it a day and offer a sacrifice to Apollo the next day before they try again.

~

Ah bloody stranger! You have absolutely no trace of wit! You are not satisfied enough that you arrogantly sit and dine with us and you are in no want of food but you also pry in our conversations and overhear our words! No other beggar or stranger ever overheard our words! Undoubtedly the sweet wine has gotten to your head and you know the wine is bad for others too, if greedily take gulps and drink without measure. The wine made even the centaurs and the noble Eurytion act foolishly when they were to the palace of great-hearted Pirithus, when he went to the Lapithes: and because his mind was consumed by wine, his frenzy caused great evil upon the house of Pirithus. And so great sorrow fell upon the heroes for he was dragged out of the doors and thrown out and his ears and nose were cut wit merciless bronze and so he bore the punishment for the madness of his mind. And so it commenced the fight between the Centaurs and the humans. They were the first to see the evil of heavy drinking. And you who speak big words I warn you if you manage to bend the bow you shall not be met with kindness and we shall throw you to a black ship and exile you to the mainland to the king Echeton, the baneful of men, there nothing will save you! Sit still and drink and don't aim to compete against much younger men than you!

(Translation by me)

Rhapsody 21 (288-310): Antinous to Odysseus. Odysseus/Beggar has just slowly approached Eurymachus and Antinous and he has asked for the right to try the bow himself. Antinous got furious that Odysseus overheard them and that he suggested to take part to the challenge and then he assumes that Odysseus is drunk and he even brings up the myth of the centaurs and the Lapithes to say how wine makes people say and do stupid things. Ironically he is most likely self-projecting since he does seem to be the intoxicated one (at least how I read his passages). And those were the last words spoken by Antinous and the last ones addressed to Odysseus.

In the next passages is the death of Antinous (he doesn't get the chance to even react given how Odysseus kills him when he is about to take a drink with an arrow through his throat) and his name is mentioned a few times by Eurymachus and some more mentions by name.

**

As you see there is absolutely no mention whatsoever not even to the murder of Telemachus to none of the scenes where Odysseus is present (mind you neither to the scenes where Penelope is either! Penelope was informed on their scheme by a servant that overheard them and she went down to confront Antinous!)

Also Antinous makes no mention whasoever in any rape! He mentions the myth of the centaurs and Lapithes and NOT EVEN THEN does he mention the attempt of rape of the women by the drunk centaurs yet alone to Penelope! The only things he speaks about is how to keep pressuring Penelope choose a husband and he mentions wedding gifts.

If anything it is ODYSSEUS the one that gets threatened all the time by Antinous and mistreated by him. Antinous even speaks positively about Penelope like 99% of the time with the exception when he calls her devious for her trick that had them all waiting.

Absolutely they want to increase pressure to Penelope and they want to kill her son but that rape thing should be enough at this point! Honestly THIS is where a certain someone SHOULD come out and say that these came out of his head and NOT the Odyssey! Like sure it is your imagination and do whatever with it but damn!

Sorry I am really upset with these smartasses on the internet at this point! Once again forgive me if any of my interpretations is sloppy or even if I have forgotten something. I have double checked but just in case.

[personnage-neutre]

"Tintin, quel âge as-tu ?"

Today marks 96 years of The Adventures of Tintin, and readers have spent at least the last 78 of those years asking the same question: "How old is Tintin?"

The series is infamously coy about giving a definite answer, as was its creator, but I argue in the first part of this post that 1) there was indeed a specific intended age range for Tintin and 2) it is very much possible, using evidence from many different sources including the albums themselves, Tintin magazine, other BDs of the time, and interviews with Hergé, to say exactly what that age range was. Let me be very clear: I'm specifically making an argument about how old Hergé saw him as and how old Hergé wanted him to be seen as.

The second part is less concrete; it presents how a few scholars have interpreted the ambiguity of Tintin's age, plus some of my own thoughts about it that build on their claims. That part is less trying to find an answer to the age question and more trying to explain why his age is so much in question.

This is a long post.

I. Intent

Official sources

When asked about Tintin's age in a 1960 interview for Cinq colonnes à la une, Hergé judged that "il doit rester aux environs de quinze ans" ("he must still be around 15 years old," 0:33-0:44).

In 1962, he gave a very similar response on the Canadian program Premier Plan: "Une quinzaine d'années ? Quinze ans, seize ans, je ne sais pas, moi" ("About 15? 15, 16, I don't know"). "Donc c'est l'adolescent" ("So he's a teenager"), pursues the interviewer, and Hergé answers with a firm yes.

Nearly ten years later, in 1970, he added some nuance: "What age do I give him? I don't know... 17? In my mind, he was about 14 or 15 when I created him, a Boy Scout, and he practically hasn't budged. Let's say that he's picked up three or four years in forty years... All right, let's take the average: 15 plus 4, 19." (translation mine)

In 1979, his interviewer on Apostrophes preempted him on the age question, saying that "c'est un reporter de quinze ans" ("he's a 15-year-old reporter"). Hergé agreed: "C'est ça, à peu près" ("That's right, more or less").

Today, the official Tintin website run by Moulinsart declares him to be "Seize, dix-sept ans (dix-huit tout au plus !)," that is, "16, 17 years old (18 at most!)."

Responses to reader questions in the Journal Tintin

Early in the Journal Tintin's run, between 1946 and 1954, readers who wrote in with questions had a chance to see the responses to their letters published in the magazine each week. Supposedly it would be Tintin himself who was answering - questions addressed to him would be answered in first person, which probably only increased the urge to ask about personal details. So there were naturally many questions about his age, which provoked a range of responses.

Who was actually answering the letters? It's hard to say. But seeing as the responses were being published in the official Tintin Magazine as the voice of Tintin himself, Hergé would surely have been at least consulted on questions concerning his character, especially as the team running the magazine was still very small when it was regularly publishing responses.

The most common response was to dodge the question entirely. The stock phrases were "Qu'importe mon âge ?" and "Tintin n'a pas d'âge !" ("What does my age matter?" "Tintin has no age!").

In a small number of cases they related Tintin's age to that of his readers; an 11 1/2 year old was told that Tintin can be "l'âge que tu souhaites : entre dix et vingt ans !" ("whatever age you want: between 10 and 20!", 1953), and for a couple others, where the age of the writer wasn't listed, Tintin's age is "un peu plus que le tien" ("a little older than you," 1951) or "un peu moins que le double du tien" ("a little less than twice your age," 1950). The target audience of the Journal Tintin - as it was for the Petit Vingtième, and for comics magazines of the time generally - was 8-15 year olds.

The only definite answer that appeared with regularity put Tintin's age between 15 and 20:

(TIntin nos. 19, May 8, 1947; 26, June 26, 1947; 6, February 5, 1948; 2, January 12, 1950; 9, February 27, 1947. The second and third examples also have Tintin declare that "I've travelled so much that I no longer remember where I was born," a fine example of the de-Belgicanization he underwent after the early years.)

("As I've already told several of my friends, I'm older than 15 but younger than 20." (1947) "My age? Let's say 15… or a little older." (1947) "My age? Between 15 and 20 years old." (1948) "Tintin? He has no age! Seeing him move about, he seems to be about 15." (1950) "I'm not yet 20 but I'm older than 15." (1947))

Real-life incarnations of Tintin

When the end of Soviets was celebrated with "Tintin" arriving at the Gare du Nord in Brussels, the role was played by 15-year-old Lucien Pepermans. When the event was repeated for the end of Congo, two years later, Pepermans was replaced by Henri Dendoncker, age 14. About thirty years after that, Jean-Pierre Talbot was declared Tintin's spitting image at 16 ("Same age, same silhouette, same face, same hair," reads the announcement of his casting in the Journal Tintin). He was 20 at most when Blue Oranges (released 1964) was filmed. Hergé told Numa Sadoul that he unconsciously based Tintin in Soviets on his younger brother Paul, who was 16 when it started. Additionally, Palle Huld, often cited as an inspiration for Tintin, completed a tour of the world in 44 days in 1928 at age 15 (and in plus-fours).

(Lucien Pepermans, Henri Dendoncker, Jean-Pierre Talbot, Palle Huld)

In the play Tintin et le mystère du diamant bleu (1941), which Hergé was very involved in the writing and production of, the role of Tintin was played by Mlle. Jeanne Rubens, a woman - a common theater trick for portraying young boys. He was played by a woman again in Radio Luxembourg's 1950s audio adaptations: Claude Vincent, "qui interprétait à merveille les rôles d’enfants et d’adolescents" ("who played children's and adolescents' roles wonderfully"), was the voice of Tintin. Sadly those broadcasts appear to be lost, but she can still be heard in the likely similar role of Alix.

(Shared on forum-tintinophile.com, "Tintin aux Indes, ou le mystère du diamant bleu." Certainly the only adaptation that got his height difference with the Thompsons right.)

In 1959, the Journal Tintin invited readers who thought they looked like Tintin to send in their pictures; five candidates for "Tintin's lookalike" were chosen by the magazine and presented to the readers for them to vote on. The winner was a 15-year-old, and while the ages of the other contestants aren't listed, they appear to be the same age or younger.

(Tintin nos. 25, June 24, 1959 & 31, August 5, 1959)

Comparisons with contemporary characters

Mainstream BD in the first half of the 20th century was not particularly inventive, especially as it was contending with its relative youth as a medium, a focus on the children's market, and, especially after WWII, heavy scrutiny from both religious and secular moral watchdogs. In the specific case of the Journal Tintin, Hergé's iron-fisted artistic direction in the early years led to a high level of artistic homogeneity across the magazine, while restrictions on the types of stories that could be told (from both the threat of censors and expectations about reader interests) limited variety in plots, characters, and settings.

All that is to say that a lot of what was being published alongside Tintin in the 40s and 50s looked more or less like Tintin, and even was likely directly modeled on it, which makes it useful for comparison. The protagonists of the time can be generally divided by age into children, the "15-20" range, young men, and middle-aged men. Each category is visually distinct (comics are a visual medium!) and each results in a slightly different kind of story with different character dynamics.

Here's Tintin with a couple of the teenage protagonists that appeared alongside him in his magazine:

(L'Affaire Tournesol (1956), p. 51; La Griffe Noire, Tintin no. 6, February 5, 1958; Les Deux Visages de Kid Ordinn, Tintin no. 1, January 2, 1957)

Hergé's no. 2 collaborator Jacques Martin created Alix (center, 1948), a Roman Gaul confirmed to be 16 in the original albums. Chick Bill (right, 1955), who in looks and narrative role is effectively just Tintin as a cowboy, is identified (by none other than Franquin) with the 15-20 age range. Some shared visual markers of their youth are a short and slight build, rounded shoulders, a round head, and a soft jawline. While all very independent, they are all three semi-accompanied by a much older man and a child sidekick.

Now, here are some examples of characters from the next age range up:

L'énigmatique Monsieur Barelli, Tintin no. 44, November 2, 1950; L'ouragan de feu, Tintin (Kuifje) no. 37, September 15, 1960; Défi à Ric Hochet, Tintin (Kuifje) no. 8, February 25, 1964)

Hergé's no. 1 collaborator Bob de Moor had a humor-adventure series using the same style as Hergé, but his character, stage actor Georges Barelli (left, 1950), is a grown man. Martin's second series was required by publishers to somehow be a modern AU of Alix, but Alix's counterpart, reporter in the same way that Tintin is a reporter Guy Lefranc (center, 1952), is clearly older than him. So-called reporter, really amateur detective Ric Hochet (yes, that's his name, right, 1955) is kind of an odd case; he started out a child, then looked basically exactly like Chick Bill (they were both drawn by the same artist, Tibet), then finally settled into his final form as a young man in his mid-twenties - a 1969 album places him at age 26. All three own their own cars (admittedly a moot point for Alix and Chick), and, compared to their teenage counterparts, they're much more likely to have friends and colleagues their own age instead of being supervised by someone older.

It should be clear from these six pictures that Tintin was not drawn in a way meant to make readers think he was an adult. And besides, there's really no reason to believe that Hergé, who once declared that "my primary objective is to be legible. The rest follows," would have chosen to give his main and titular character an appearance that was somehow deceptive. I'm prepared to say with confidence that Tintin looks young because he's supposed to be seen as young.

Textual evidence

For this section, I first look at a few ways that the albums actively present Tintin as a non-adult character. However, most of what follows is about showing that what happens in the albums does not contradict the argument that Tintin is intended to be a teenager. The Adventures of Tintin may be deceptively timeless, but not only is the series nearly a century old, it also was written during a time of extremely rapid and intense social, cultural, and technological change. Consequently, I want to make sure that I'm not judging the past with the attitudes of the present; in order to put the series in its proper context, I try to identify viewpoints and conventions expressed in texts created at the same time (and, when possible, by the same author) to see if a teenaged Tintin fits in with them.

In looking over how other characters refer to him across the albums, one sees that Tintin's most distinctive feature to those around him is his youth. This is, I think, more visible in the original French, where other characters address or describe him with a whole array of words commonly used for children: jeune homme, (jeune) garçon, gamin, galopin, blanc-bec, enfant de choeur, fiston, freluquet, moussaillon, (mon) petit (used as a noun), and morveux, not to mention many, many instances of characters appending "jeune" or "petit" to another word ("reporter," for instance). In English, he's variously (a) young man, (young) boy, kid, boyo, whippersnapper, wonderboy, lad, brat, puppy, young fellow-me-lad, and cabin-boy, along with liberal use of the corresponding adjectives "young" and "little." (I've collected specific panel examples for reference in another post.)

As @professorcalculusstanaccount has pointed out, there's no question of Tintin being called up for the draft as Haddock is in Black Gold; that album also contains the only example of Tintin's competency being questioned because of his age, on page 7: "So you're the new radio officer... You look a bit young to me..." (There's one similar remark, in America, after Tintin is injured in a car accident on page 6: "The poor kid..." "He looks so young...") Him not being called to war is particularly striking because Belgium historically required young men to do compulsory military service at age 18 or 19, after which they would be enrolled in the reserve army (p. 274). Thanks to a hard-to-translate joke in the original French for Emerald (below), we know that military service exists in Tintin's world and that the Thompsons have done theirs; Hergé did his at age 19, and then was called up from the reserves in 1939, interrupting the magazine publication of, precisely, Black Gold. Given his longtime anti-war stance and the peace sign sticker he wears in Picaros, though, one can easily imagine Tintin becoming a conscientious objector after it was legalized in 1964 - but by 1964, most of the series was already over.

(Les Bijoux de la Castafiore, p. 37)

He also doesn't dress like an adult: the plus-fours look very childish after the 1930s, as @illegally-blind-and-deaf pointed out. He also never wears a proper hat, only a flat cap in a few early adventures, and from Temple on (that is, after 1948) he runs around in his shirt and sweater with no tie or jacket. Some of that can be put down to the importance Hergé placed on his characters being maximally recognizable, but it certainly doesn't make Tintin look any older - look at a few of Hergé's crowd scenes and compare how the background characters are dressed.

Next, he doesn't seem to ever need to shave. In fact, in the original French for Black Island, Tintin remarks that the bad guys have gotten away "à mon nez et à ma barbe," an expression equivalent in English to "right under my nose" but literally "at my nose and at my beard," to which Snowy incredulously responds "Your beard? What beard?"

(L'Île Noire, p. 29)

It's true that nearly everyone who meets Tintin, including his adult friends, addresses him respectfully with the formal pronoun "vous" instead of with the informal "tu," as you typically would for someone much younger than you. However, Pierre Assouline attributes this to a dislike of over-familiarity on Hergé's part, citing him as saying that "Le tutoiement est la fausse monnaie de l'amitié" ("Using 'tu' is the counterfeit money of friendship").

(There are a few moments where Haddock slips and uses tu with Tintin, but I won't go into them here. Suffice to say that the majority of them are indeed moments where he's treating Tintin more as a child.)

Much has been made of Tintin's nonchalance about drinking alcohol as proof of adulthood, but evidence from other BDs indicates that this perception is a result of a shift away from historically looser attitudes towards drinking. Early comics for children frequently carried moralizing messages, but there's no marked moralizing present around youths drinking like there is around them smoking.

Compare, for example, the difference in tone between these two Quick & Flupke pages, where the kids are sternly warned off from tobacco...

(Originally published in Le Petit Vingtième nos. 4, January 28, 1932 & 43, October 24, 1935)

...Versus this gag, where Flupke's own relatives getting him drunk on New Year's over his protests is played entirely for humor.

(Le Petit Vingtième no. 1, January 3, 1935. "Tu es un homme et tu dois boire!")

There was even a follow-up comic at the same time the year after, in which Flupke imagines the alcohol he'll be plied with on January 1st and attempts to move to the North Pole to avoid it.

If a kid as young as Flupke is being given alcohol, then Tintin really doesn't have to be much older to be drinking as well. In fact, one might even note an echo between Flupke's reluctance to drink here and Tintin's in Picaros, when he's pressured to take a swig of whisky by Arumbaya custom (p. 34). On the other hand, since Quick and Flupke are so young, the ban on smoking is stronger for them. Tintin is old enough to occasionally be offered a cigarette, but still young enough that he always must refuse: Hergé was adamant that Tintin remain a good model because of the children who identified with him, while Haddock smoking his pipe, for example, never raised the same issue.

Beyond that, for a non-Hergé example and a later one (from 1960), here's child tennis prodigy Jari, hero of an eponymous strip in the Journal Tintin. He's just bicycled from Belgium to the Netherlands and wants a refreshment, so he goes to a drink stand and orders a beer - and no one bats an eye. Similarly, the only alcohol that Tintin orders casually, in a cafe or pub, is beer (Golden Claws p. 2, Black Island p. 41).

(Jari et le Plan Z, Tintin (Kuifje) no. 40, October 6, 1960)

At the same time, this relaxed attitude has limits. Tintin won't share a friendly drink with Haddock, for example when returning to Marlinspike after an excursion (though Haddock pours two glasses anyway in Affair (p. 3)). Calculus scolds Haddock severely when he thinks that Haddock has given Tintin champagne at breakfast in Tibet (p. 4: "Vous avez bien tort de lui faire boire du champagne de grand matin, à ce garçon !…"). Later in that same album, Haddock drunkenly warns Tintin against alcohol, telling him it's "very bad for young people like you!" (p. 38).

Next, while Tintin is undeniably capable of driving a car, there's actually no indication outside of the earliest stories that he can legally drive. (A quick Google search also tells me that Belgium has historically been notoriously lax on road safety.) At no point after the first four albums - that is, after Hergé became interested in telling a story that makes logical sense, a development typically placed at Blue Lotus - does Tintin drive a car that was acquired legally, not commandeered or outright stolen. (In Soviets and Congo he buys a car; in Cigars he drives the two Rajaijah victims to the asylum, though I doubt anyone was worried about him getting pulled over in the jungle.) On the few occasions where there isn't an emergency, it's always Haddock who drives; see for example Crystal Balls or the few pages of Thérmozéro. When Tintin finally gets a vehicle of his own, in Picaros, it's... a motorbike, which one can get a license for at a younger age than for a car. And in Alph-Art, where the motorbike plays a much larger role, Haddock still drives Tintin into town (p. 25) - and then gets left in the car while Tintin investigates!

Hergé also apparently didn't think flying a plane was particularly difficult. In Jo et Zette, one of his other series, Hergé has little Jo be able to fly his father's "Stratonef" and even land it from a glide, despite only ever hearing his father talk about how to fly it. Over the course of the two-part story (Le Testament de M. Pump and Destination New-York), Jo manages multiple successful flights - more than Tintin ever does! - despite unambiguously being a child.

(Destination New-York, p. 41)

And as with the cars, every plane Tintin ever flies is stolen, so whether he has a legal license or not really doesn't matter.

The same goes for his guns. In all but the first albums and Ear where, surprised in his flat, he really does pull a revolver out of nowhere, Tintin's guns are explicitly either given to him or taken from a disarmed enemy. The series doesn't make a point of him owning and carrying his own gun - just the opposite. And while it seems to us now that Tintin has a lot of firearm use for a children's comic, proficiency with guns was honestly a genre expectation for all adventure heroes of the time (just don't put a gun on your cover). For example, Chang, who from his introduction on acts like a second Tintin, wields a pistol at the end of Lotus and is even implied to be the one who makes the shot that breaks Didi's sword despite appearing even younger than Tintin. (See also the previous section of this post; Chick Bill is carrying a gun in the picture I included.) What's more, the gunplay in Tintin is actually a step down from its predecessor Totor, where Hergé's titular Boy Scout kills a man with a rifle shot to the face.

In short, Tintin is able to do a lot of things he shouldn't legally be able to do by simply not doing them legally.

The fact that Tintin lives alone isn't necessarily a mark of maturity either. It's hardly uncommon for a young adventure protagonist to be unusually unsupervised; it's effectively a demand of the genre. Hergé learned why that is from experience when he created Jo et Zette for the editor of the French, ultra-Catholic children's magazine Coeurs Vaillants, who had raised concerns about how unrealistic Tintin was. In Hergé's own (translated) words:

(From Entretiens avec Hergé, reproduced & translated in The Comics Journal no. 250, p. 191)

Parents are a nuisance, one that Hergé was only too happy to dispense with in Tintin's case. And besides, Tintin isn't completely alone forever; with the introduction of the Marlinspike "family," not to mention Marlinspike Hall itself, during the war, he at least ends up with a home and some adult supervision, however dubious it may be at times.

As for his schooling, according to a report on the Belgian education system from 1932, education was only compulsory there (not to mention free) from ages 6 to 14. That same report records that in 1928, the number of students in the higher level of secondary education - corresponding to high school in American terms - was only 1% of the number of students enrolled in compulsory primary school. Even adjusting for the fact that primary education enrolls children for twice as long, the percentage is still a paltry 2.6%. And then the number of students in university that same year was only about three-quarters of the number of students in secondary education.

What that means is that at the time when Tintin was getting started, only very, very few people stayed in school beyond age 14. Hergé himself was one of those few, but to many of his readers in the early years, the idea that Tintin was already working at age 14 or 15 would have been not just reasonable but recognizable - especially as he has no apparent family to support him. (Not that Tintin isn't knowledgeable: judging from the number of books in his apartment, we can presume that he's quite the autodidact.) Of course public education was broadened after WWII, but by then the character was already firmly established.

As for how Tintin is already a reporter, well, Hergé freely admitted that he gave him the job just because that's what he thought was cool at the time. "Of course it was a pretext," he said on British radio in 1977. (The announcer for that interview describes Tintin as "a 16-year-old Belgian boy with a strange lick of hair, a pair of plus-fours, and a terrier." In it Hergé, questioned about the outsize success of his series, responds that for him "he [Tintin] keeps to be a little boy. Only that.") The tone of the series would be very different if Tintin were just an office clerk or a paperboy, after all - and besides, all but the youngest readers of Le Petit Vingtième would have understood that it's not a real newspaper, just a little children's magazine, so the idea of it having its own official reporter was not to be taken fully seriously.

It's important to remember that our current cultural idea of the teenager as a separate, unique stage between childhood and adulthood was largely a post-WWII American innovation - in fact, the word "teenager" only entered popular use in the 1940s. By contrast, fully half of the Adventures of Tintin (up to the first 2/3 of Crystal Balls) were written either before or during WWII. Hergé himself, born in 1907, began submitting illustrations to a magazine (Le Boy-Scout) at 14, was hired at the Vingtième Siècle at 18, created Totor and did his military service, reaching the rank of sergeant, at 19, and before turning 22 had been given full responsibility for creating and running the Petit Vingtième, gotten engaged to his first wife, Germaine Kieckens, and created Tintin. Being young looked different then.

To close this section I'll also note that, as far as I can tell, positioning Tintin as a teenager never seemed to pose much of a problem to anyone reading the series while it was actively running. Anecdotally, nearly every published source I've read takes for granted that he's an adolescent, and an exception like writer of multiple books on Tintin Renaud Nattiez saying on the air in 2016 that he thinks Tintin is at least 22 (~03:30-03:50) seems to be a uniquely 21st-century development.

TL;DR: Everything I can find indicates that Tintin was always intended to be around 15, and never older than 20, years old.

II. Interpretation

Finally, it's important to not overstate Hergé's commitment to realism. At the end of the day, Tintin can do whatever the story needs him to be able to do, because he's the protagonist of a very straightforward adventure serial. He's always been aspirational, even for Hergé himself: "Tintin is me the way I'd like to be: heroic, flawless." And yet Tintin, victim of its own success, has always been held to a higher standard of realism than its fellow comics, not to mention a higher level of scrutiny in general. Even if, as I've tried to demonstrate, Tintin's feats aren't entirely out of the range of possibility (or at least the norm for comics characters) for his time period, I'm not arguing that he's supposed to be a perfectly accurate representation of the average boy of any point in the mid-20th century. I also don't deny that he typically does act like an adult. So the guiding question here is: How can this dual nature of Tintin's - his adolescent status and adult aspects - be interpreted?

Jean-Marie Apostolidès writes that as "il unifie dans sa personne deux aspects opposés de l’existence, l’enfance et l’âge adulte" ("he brings together in his person two opposing aspects of existence, childhood and adulthood"), Tintin represents "un mythe réconciliatoire" ("a reconciliatory myth") of which the "fonction implicite est de ressouder entre deux générations une confiance brisée" ("implicit function is to mend a broken trust between two generations"). He names this type of child-adult character the "surenfant" ("superchild"), and argues that it is specific to the 20th century and the cultural shock of WWI.

For Pol Vandromme, who wrote the first book of analysis on Tintin (or on any BD), Tintin is simply a perfected version of the teenage boy, one that other teenage boys can aspire to. First, he cites as conventional wisdom that Tintin is around 15, and concludes that "c'est dans tous les cas un adolescent" ("in any case he's a teenager"). While Vandromme accepts that Tintin is presented as a teenager, he also points out that Tintin doesn't represent the experience of being a teenager; Tintin "ne présente [...] que les apparences de l'adolescence" ("only displays the appearance of adolescence") because he's so self-assured and stable, traits antithetical to "l'époque de la métamorphose" ("the time of metamorphosis") that is adolescence.

And yet "il [Tintin] demure malgré tout suffisamment proche pour que les garçons se disent qu'ils auront un jour la chance de lui ressembler, d'imiter son style de vie. [...] Ce que Tintin propose à ces garçons de quinze ans, c'est la figure achevée de leur âge. Il les venge de leurs insuffisances" ("he [Tintin] remains all the same close [i.e. similar] enough that these boys tell themselves that one day they'll have the chance to be like him, to imitate his way of life. [...] What Tintin offers to these 15-year-old boys is the perfected version of their age [group]. He makes up for their shortcomings"). Consequently, having put themselves in Tintin's place, these boys "ont l'illusion d'être déjà de la tribu des jeunes gens qui ont découvert dans leur sac de voyage les clefs qui ouvrent les portes de la fable du monde" ("have the illusion of already being part of the clan of young people who have discovered in their travel bag the keys that open the doors of the world's fable"). In plainer language, being able to identify with Tintin as an apparent peer lets teens imagine themselves as being more capable and powerful than their age allows in reality, an attractive illusion.

I'll add that the static quality of Tintin as a character that Vandromme identifies is dictated by the form of the series. When presented with a teenage protagonist in a work, the novelistic expectation is that what follows will be some kind of bildungsroman, where the events of the story will push the protagonist to change and mature into adulthood. However, I believe that it's a mistake to approach The Adventures of Tintin as a novel when it is fundamentally a serial - even late in his career, when he didn't need to do prepublication anymore, Hergé's approach to plot was still oriented around the page-a-week format. Serial characters, as a rule, change very little. Tintin gets compared to Sherlock Holmes more than once in the series, and it's also true on a meta level: Holmes has a few minor moments of character development, but he largely remains exactly the same over the course of Conan Doyle's stories, which were likewise published in a magazine. In a true serial, the status quo is god, because the main aim of the serial is to perpetuate itself - theoretically forever. And so Watson always finds a reason to return to Baker Street, and Tintin never gets old enough to think of settling down and getting a real job.

Like Holmes, Tintin does change and grow somewhat as a character over the course of the series, but also like Holmes, that growth is not a planned arc with an endpoint, as you would expect in a novel. Instead, it's just a result of Hergé himself maturing and changing. In his contribution to L'archipel Tintin, Benoît Peeters notes that "Grande est la tentation, pour beaucoup, de lire la série comme une totalité, un monument où tout signifierait" ("The temptation is great, for many, to read the series as a totality, a monument where everything has meaning"). And yet he declares that "si accomplies soient-elles... Les Aventures de Tintin se sont élaborées en l'absence de tout grand dessein" ("however polished they may be... The Adventures of Tintin were created in the absence of any grand design"), citing the testimonies of both Hergé and those who knew him at the beginning of the series. Hergé never really had a plan for Tintin as a character; he really did just put him in situations over and over again for a little more than fifty years. However, now that the series is only read in album format and serial publishing is less common, the "temptation" Peeters describes is even stronger. This mismatch in narrative expectations may be part of why modern readers might struggle to view Tintin as a teenaged character.

There's one more element to Tintin's strangeness: the world of the series was built around Tintin himself to facilitate his adventures. Vandromme recalls the fact, so obvious that it's easily forgetten, that "Tintin étant ce qu'il est et ne pouvant être un autre, infléchit l'intrigue d'une certaine manière. [...] Remplacez Tintin par le père Fenouillard et il vous faudra modifier l'album de fond en comble. Dans un roman les personnages déterminent les événements avant d'être déterminés par eux" (Tintin, being who he is and unable to be anyone else, influences the story in a certain way. [...] Replace Tintin with the father of the Fenouillards [character from a 19th-century comic about the misadventures of a French family abroad, n.b.] and you'll have to change the album from top to bottom. In a novel, the characters define the events before the events define them"). This point is especially relevant to Tintin given that the series' beginning was, to put it mildly, haphazard. Starting from Soviets, where Tintin is alone with his dog in a bizarre world where he can sneeze down a sewer grate, cut down a tree with a pocketknife, or fistfight a bear - whatever it takes to keep the plot moving - set a precedent for the character: that Tintin, and nobody else, will always triumph over whatever enemy or obstacle he is faced with.

Because it's founded on Tintin himself, there are no real adults in the Adventures, and in fact there can't be any. Preserving Tintin's Soviets-era boy hero status as the world of the series became steadily larger and more realistic created a kind of 'competency warp' where Tintin, along with his young "doubles," Chang and Zorrino, is effectively always the most capable, the master of the situation, while those closest to him who are much older (the Thompsons, Haddock, Calculus...) tend to act rather childishly. I think it's telling that the 1946 introduction of Blake & Mortimer is often hailed in terms like these: that "pour la première fois, les héros n'étaient pas des enfants, mais des adultes responsables dont la psychologie était en parfaite harmonie avec leurs fonctions" ("for the first time, the heroes were not children, but responsible adults whose psychology was in perfect harmony with their roles," emphasis mine). All the major adult characters in Tintin had been introduced at that point, but apparently none of them qualified as "responsible" or properly suited for their positions.

Apostolidès similarly notes a deforming effect: "Tintin est un adolescent qui, sans jamais entrer dans l’âge adulte, rajeunit le monde en se confrontant à lui. Au lieu que le personnage se soumette passivement au monde adulte, s’intègre dans une histoire, vieillisse et meure, c’est l’univers extérieur qui se fige dans le temps au contact du héros" ("Tintin is an adolescent who, without ever entering adulthood, makes the world younger by confronting it. Instead of the character submitting himself passively to the adult world, fitting in to a history, getting older and dying, it's the outside world that freezes in time at the hero's touch"). Not only does Tintin resist adulthood himself, he also protects others from its effects.

There are characters who escape the warp, but they must stay on the very edges of Tintin's orbit. One example is the efficient and no-nonsense Mr. Baxter from the Moon books. He has a real job: he's director of the atomic center, and every time we see him he's actually doing it. He also remains disengaged from the antics of the Marlinspike crew, often exasperated and confused by them. They don't belong in his serious space program, and he doesn't belong in their funny adventure series - hence the clash. Another (and very different) example is Jolyon Wagg. I wish I could remember where I read it, but I once saw it pointed out that Tintin and Wagg almost completely ignore each other; their only direct interaction in the whole series is saying hello to each other exactly once (Emerald p. 17). The unidentified author's point was that Wagg inhabits a world so intensely banal, so different from Tintin's - one with community organizations, salesman jobs, an old mother, an Uncle Anatole, a wife and (a lot of) children - that the two can't even come into contact. Wagg may be almost preternaturally obnoxious, but he's also a genuinely ordinary man in a way that the major characters really aren't.

Tintin must remain the sole and main driver of action, because if he isn't, the series would have to change fundamentally. That means no other character can threaten his role by being more competent and responsible than him - and so the adults become ridiculous and/or irrelevant, and Chang and Zorrino are only allowed to act for one album each. And yet Hergé created Tintin as a teenager, and suggested that a Tintin who progressed past teenagerhood would also grow out of adventure: "Il est difficile, pour un personnage comme ça, à le faire vieillir. Parce que s'il vieillit, il va avoir vingt ans, il va avoir vingt-deux ans, il va rencontrer une jolie fille, il va se marier, il va avoir des enfants..." ("It's hard to make a character like that get older. Because if he gets older, he'll be 20, he'll be 22, he'll meet a pretty girl, he'll get married, he'll have children..."). Tintin passing into adulthood, 'real' adulthood, symbolized here by settling down and starting a family, would make the series just as unsustainable as demoting him to a more technically age-appropriate role would; both sides of the tension between Tintin's youth and his maturity are required to make him a proper adventure hero for children.

And so he remained, as he remains today, the world's most competent teenager.

[nayaesworld]

My favorite Dork

A/N: something short because this idea was stuck in my head for a complete week straight 😭..I hope yall enjoy🤭

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“You’re such a dork!”

“Mmcht..you said you liked it when I explained these things to you?” Terry turned and laid between your legs with his back turned to you as you stroked the short curls on his head. You loved listening to him blab to his heart's content about his favorite nerdy shows and topics. It made your coochie drip like a faucet when his sea green eyes lit up and that boyish grin found his face, it was so sexy and you had it all to yourself.

“I do, you're MY nerd. And if you said Eren Yeager had a right to let all those people die…I believe you bubby.” Terry had been hell bent on explaining Attack on Titans from beginning to end, making sure you understood every detail minor and large. He had a cute obsession with the show and the shelves in his room were lined with figurines, his closet had hoodies with his other favorite animes on them, and his watchlist on his tv was filled with new and old shows.

“All you gotta understand is that Eren is that nigga, and he was destined for this shit…end of story.” His voice elevated with excitement and his shirtless body was warm against your legs. You tapped his shoulder signaling him to lean up. Your sticky arousal was becoming uncomfortable in your panties and you needed to catch your breath to try and settle your horny thoughts.

“I need to go to the restroom bubby I’ll be right back.” You stood up from the bed pulling the pink sleep romper from between your heavy cheeks. A heavy smack on your right cheek had you spinning around quickly to face your best friend, a silly smirk on his mischievous face.

“I don't know why you walk around in this…why are you tempting me when you know you can’t handle this dick?” A tiny gasp left your mouth and your mouth sat open for a while thinking of a comeback.

“Me tempting you, Terry you tempt me often trust me…plus it’s not that I couldn’t handle it, you’re just so big. I’ve never tried to take anything that big before and I’ll admit I chickened out so what.” You rolled your chocolate eyes at him and crossed your arms. You were more than down for the dick at the time but seeing it and taking it was two complete different things.

“You know I had to jerk off to your panties that night…I was so horny that night when you left. And your panties were still so soaked I-I couldn’t let all that juice go to waste so I used it.” Your head was spinning at this point and you could barely stare him in his face after his confession.

His tall body sat on the edge of the bed, bulky arms reaching for her waist and pulling her into his open legs.

“Remember those FaceTime calls we used to do..I miss those, I wish we never stopped them.” You sighed and looked down at him. When the two of you were separate from each other masturbating on FaceTime was the go to…you’d get all wet and leak all over your bed from his deep velvet voice and moans.

“Terry I was in a relationship at the time, that’s why we stopped them… I thought he was a good guy and I didn’t want to risk what we were building.” He snorted at that and rubbed along the backside of her thighs.

“Yeah and that ended with me whooping his ass…y/n you’ll always have me I need you to understand that. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me to.”

“And I’ll always thank you for beating his ass, he was a dick and you protected me regardless of how you felt about our relationship..I love you bubby.” You leaned down to trail kisses across his face trailing them eagerly to his ear.

“When you nerd out and get all excited it makes me so wet. Do you know how many nights I had to go home and stuff my pussy because of you..and you were just so oblivious to it all, how I’d encourage you to keep talking.”

“All these years I’ve been sitting here yapping and you were turned on by it…you’re a tease you know that right?”

“It was my dirty little secret..it was innocent on your end but I was just being a freak. I wanna try something new, if you’re up for it.” His pretty green eyes held hers in a suspicious glare.

“What you trying to get into peaches?” Oh he was not playing fair.

“Oh now I’m peaches again, boy you are so sneaky. Now listen up..I’ve always had this fantasy I wanted to act out with you. I always wanted to jerk off a nerd and listen to him blab about his interests, I’ve wanted that nerd to be you for a long time.”

“You know you my peaches when you get nasty, and I’ll fulfill whatever fantasy you want…there’s lube in my top drawer.” You shook with excitement and bounded to his sleek black dresser to retrieve the bottle of pineapple flavored lube.

Your hands worked to unbutton the top of your romper. Double D titties bouncing as you positioned yourself on your knees in front of Terry to give him a perfect view of your plentiful breast. Your hands ran over his black netted basketball shorts, his heavy bulge making a tent in them. Eager to get your hands on the monster you motioned for him to pull them down just enough for you to work your magic. Your heavy breast kept him occupied as you squeezed a hefty amount of lube into your hands.

“Is there something new that you’ve been interested in bubby?” Your hands saturated his shaft in the flavored lube as you stared up at him expectantly.

His fingers twirled a taut nipple before he answered. “Mhmh…a show on Netflix based on a book I read. It-It’s about a mutant’s journey to protect his child surprise…fuck squeeze my tip. Yesss.” One hand sat firmly at his base, the other tightly wrapped around the leaking head.

“I like how you’re two different colors…prettiest dick I’ve ever seen. Keep talking, I wanna know more.” Lips now placing kisses lightly to the pulsing appendage.

“He tries to help her uncover her powers and hone them while building her trust…creating a bond with her. Fuckkk peaches hmm…suck it harder uh huh, now open wider let me fuck this throat.”

Mouth wide and tongue out, you welcomed nine inches of pineapple flavored dick down your throat. His toes ground into the carpet as he found his footing to serve mouth watering strokes to your mouth. Saliva dripped down your chin to your breast as his balls slapped your chin.

“I want this pussy next and I don’t want no excuses…shake your head yess.” your greedy hands tugged softly on his heavy sack and you shook your head up and down.

“If you can throat it you can take it right?” This time he nodded your head for you, too impatient to wait for your response.

“Y/N is scared of dick…but not peaches huh? Peaches takes dick she don’t run from it, ain't that right?” You were beyond turned on, freaked out, and now you were letting him hype you into taking nine inches of pulsating dick. No more running from the dick.

“If you nut before me you owe me a trip to Sephora…you better hold out big boy.”

Nerdy dick was the best dick…that point you couldn’t argue

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@becauseimswagman1 @ranikyani @blyffe @23jammy @keehendrixx @ovohanna24 @venusincleo @grlsbstshot @yassbishimvintage @avoidthings @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @simplyzeeka @zillasvilla @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @theereina @keyaho @hotgrlcece @henneseyhoe @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @blackmoonchilee @tvchi @blackerthings

[hoffmansgirl]

❛ 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 ❜ ⸝⸝⸝ nicholas alexander chavez cause good girls are bad girls that haven't been caught . 𓏲࣪ ּ  ֗ ⊹ 𓄹 ࣪

꙳⋆𓍯 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ nicholas chavez & goodgirl!reader

SUMMARY. boy next door nicholas sneaks through your window every night, when your parents go to sleep. this night, you want to give him all of you, for the first time. based on this request. ⟢

WARNINGS. +18 — minors dni! virginity loss ␥ softdom!nicholas ␥ oral (f!receiving) ␥ fingering ␥ grinding ␥ pussydrunk!nicholas ␥ handjob / male masturbation ␥ size difference ␥ fluffy fluff ♡ ┊ wc. 6197

"Honey", your mom's voice was warm and inviting as she peeped out from behind the door, her usual night robe loose on her shoulders. You lifted your gaze from the book you pretended to read, your legs swinging in the air — a small smile appearing on your face at the sight of her small form standing at the door. "I'm going to sleep. Don't stay up too late, okay? I love you", she blew you a kiss, not waiting for a response before disappearing behind the door.

"Sleep well! Love you!", you called after her, hearing her soft chuckle before she shut the door behind her. A soft sound of the creaking wood filled the air as she walked down the stairs, eventually fading away into the thin air.

You sighed with relief, throwing the long forgotten book onto the bed before rolling onto your back, finally deciding to sit up after a few seconds. You hurriedly got up, almost stumbling over your own feet as you reached for the light switch, turning off the big lights. Your room was now only illuminated by the fairy lights on the wall behind your bed, making the room cozy and warm — or at least, you hoped that's what Nicholas will think when he gets there.

You stood in the middle of your room, nervously chewing on your nails before lighting up one of your vanilla-scented candles. You made sure there was no worn out clothes anywhere on the floor, reaching for your phone immediately after.

You unplugged it from the charger, watching as the screen lit up with a new message. You sat down on the bed, crossing your legs, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you quickly clicked on the notification.

nic: green light?

You couldn't help but smile. It was his way of asking if your mother has already gone to sleep — without making it obvious and unnecessarily suspicious. Your mom never checked your phone, mostly because you never gave her reasons to, but you can never be too careful.

y/n (you): green light. i'm waiting :)

You quickly typed the response, catching yourself grinning like a fool. You straightened up the sheets, making sure everything was perfect, even though you knew Nicholas couldn't care less. Everything that mattered to him was spending time with you, even if it meant climbing a tree every night just to hang out for a couple of hours. Your heart was beating rapidly, and you felt as if it might just break free from your chest any second now. No matter how many times you saw Nick, it never got old — the butterflies, the flush of your cheeks, the wide smile on your face, the warmth in your chest.

You smoothed out the wrinkles on your little, black tank top, running your palms over your bare thighs — excitement starting to bloom in your lower stomach as you let your mind wander to Nicholas. You run a hand through your hair, tugging at the strands before nervously fixing it, smoothing it down with your palms.

Nicholas wasn't supposed to be anything more than your neighbour. He was the reckless type — always the life of the party, in the spotlight, attracting girls with a little to no effort. You, on the other hand, were reserved, always working hard so that you could meet your parents' expectations. You weren't innocent, no — but you never had a boyfriend. Not before Nicholas.

You knew your parents expected you to date a good boy from a good family, preferably a future doctor or a lawyer. Nicholas was the total opposite, though — he wanted to be an actor. During your, so called, "sleepovers", he'd often daydream about being on the big screens one day. And you knew he'd make it — and you also wanted to be there for him when he does.

His smile flashed in your mind, and you felt your cheeks grow warm at the thought itself. The way he made you laugh, the way he kissed you as if you were everything he ever wanted — how special he made you feel. You were always scared to take things further, to let him have all of you, mostly because you've never done it, and he seemed to have plenty of experience. But tonight, you were ready. You were ready to feel him, to feel all of him — to let you take control not only over your mind, but also body.

A loud shuffle of branches breaking, coming from just outside your window, caught you off guard. You were so deep in your thoughts the sound made you shudder, almost giving you a heart attack.

You stood up from the bed, pulling your little shorts further down your thighs, suddenly very nervous. You took a deep breath, hesitantly walking towards the window before opening it wide. The cool, night air flowed into your room, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your bare shoulders and legs. The smell of freshly mowed grass filled your nostrils, and you took a deep breath, savouring the quietness of the world outside. That was before Nicholas' huge form came into sight; his arms supporting his weight as he climbed up the tree right outside your window — and you couldn't help but notice the protruding veins adoring his forearms.

"Took you long enough", you teased, making sure to keep your voice quiet just in case your mom wasn't asleep yet. You heard a snarl coming from the man, as he, supported by the ledge, slipped into your room with a loud thump. He wiped his hands off on the back of his shorts, running them through his hair immediately after.

"Well, try climbing up that tree in total darkness — then we can talk", he playfully rolled his eyes, already reaching for your hand to press a soft, lingering kiss on the back. The sweet gesture sent a shiver down your spine, and you grinned like a fool, feeling your cheeks beginning to heat up. "I missed you. And God— you look beautiful".

His hands found place on your hips as he began to walk the two of you back towards your bed, and you giggled, falling against the soft pillows with a soft thump. Nicholas landed on top of you, supporting his weight on his forearms as he leaned down to press a soft kiss on your lips. You eagerly responded, tilting your head to grant him better access — your fingers already toying with the short hair on the nape of his neck as if you were starved to touch him; feel him.

In fact, you were.

You gently took his bottom lip between your teeth, playfully pulling at it, earning a soft hum from the man on top of you. Nicholas' knee found place between your legs, causing you to instinctively spread them, only to wrap them around his waist seconds later.

"How was your day?", he asked, pulling away from your lips to place soft, sweet pecks all over your face. You giggled, staring up at him with wide eyes — your gaze full of adoration that you couldn't hide, even if you tried.

"Good. Tiring, but good. Was pretty much studying the whole day", you shrugged, kissing his nose as he plopped down onto your soft sheets, making himself comfortable. Nicholas grinned, leaning forward towards you to put a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

"Hardworking little girl, aren't you?", he chuckled, studying your face as if trying to memorise every detail about it. You tried to ignore the tingling sensation between your thighs at his words — his praise going straight down to your core, causing your breath to hitch.

"And how was your day?", you cleared your throat, mindlessly toying with the ring on his forefinger. You didn't notice the way his gaze lingered on your — barely covered — thighs, only to focus on your full breasts seconds later. Then he looked down, watching your small fingers circle around his ring; the size difference between you two was ridiculous, now, that he started to think about it. "Good. Went out with Luke and Mike, y'know how it is. Drank a beer... or two", he laughed, and you rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to have a better look at him. You supported your head with your hands, studying his flawless face as if it was your first time seeing him.

His gorgeous, wide eyes were one of his best features. The way they light up as he spoke about something that excited him; how they darkened when he was feeling down or when he was angry. Now, they stared back at you with warmth that made your heart race and pulse quicken.

"How is it?", you questioned, putting your head on your palms. "How is what?", Nicholas furrowed his eyebrows in surprise, tilting his head.

"You know... getting drunk. Smoking. Partying", you looked down on your hands, toying with your fingers. You were suddenly growing shy, just now realising how dumb you sounded. "Sorry, that was really weird of me to ask".

"No, no! It's okay, sweetheart", he smiled sympathetically, reaching to take your hand in his, rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles. "It's... well, it can be fun. Not worrying about anything, the freedom. Just dancing the night away with your friends", he explained, and you nodded slowly, letting his words sink into the silence. You squeezed his hand, your gaze dropping towards the veins on his arms — his bicep stretching out the thin material of his white, tight shirt. Your mouth watered, and you felt the shift of atmosphere almost immediately; the air felt thicker with something unspoken lingering inside the room. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you knew he was looking at you — yet you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. Instead, you lifted your hand to trace the outline of his veins with your finger, your touch feather-like; imperceptible, as if you were scared to get ahead of yourself.

"Something on your pretty little mind?", Nicholas asked, and you noted his voice was lower than ever before. You gulped audibly, tearing your gaze away from his arms, instead focusing on his hand, still holding yours. His fingers were much longer and thicker than yours, and thick veins adored the back of it.

"Nick, I—", you bit your lip nervously, finally meeting his eyes. Nicholas nodded, squeezing your hand as if to reassure you — little did he know, his innocent touch sent even more shockwaves across your body, setting your nerves on fire. Your gaze lowered to his lips, and you found yourself licking your own, your body reacting on its own — you obliviously shifted closer towards him, your faces now inches apart. "I...".

Before you could finish, he leaned closer, his gaze travelling between your lips and eyes, as if he was asking for permission. You stared up at him, your eyes doe-like and oh so innocent — making Nicholas feel the unmistakable bulge starting to grow in his pants.

Almost in sync, you closed the remaining distance between the two of you, your lips meeting halfway in a bruising kiss. You didn't have much experience, so it was hard to keep up with the pace Nicholas set — his tongue sneaking in between your parted lips, meeting yours in a slow dance, leaving you breathless; and he barely even started.

Without breaking the kiss, you straddled his lap, towering over his thighs, your hair falling down onto the pillow behind Nicholas' head, making both of you giggle. Your hands found place on his cheeks, your thumbs caressing his soft skin, making him hum into the kiss. Nicholas' hands seemed to be everywhere at once, roaming over your back, the back of your thighs, then raking through your hair, pulling at the strands. You moaned, enjoying the little sting on your scalp, and immediately pulled away — embarrassed and afraid the sound might scare him off.

"I'm sorry, I don't know—", you stuttered, your hands shaking as you nervously put them on your lap, quite unsure what to do with them.

That was until you heard a low growl coming from Nicholas. Your eyes widened, and you let out a surprised squeal as pushed you back onto him, supporting you with his hands on your lower back.

"That was the hottest thing I've ever heard. You're gonna do it again f'me, okay?", you nodded, meeting his gaze with a hint of uncertainty — although a spark of excitement run down your spine at how desperate his voice suddenly sounded, as if he couldn't wait to hear the sound leaving your mouth again.

Then, his lips found place on your neck: sucking, kissing, biting the sensitive skin, his hands travelling up your back, brushing over your shoulder blades. You could feel him everywhere, but it still wasn't enough to make the pressure in your stomach snap.

"Nick, please— I need you so bad".

Your eyes were half lidded, pleasure clouding your vision as you instinctively bucked your hips against his. What you didn't expect was the feeling of his cock, hard and straining against his pants.

You gasped, and Nicholas groaned against your skin — the sound going straight to your core, your hips starting to move back and forth, the friction on your clit almost too intimidating. Nicholas stopped you with his hands on your hips, grounding you against him, his head falling back against the pillow as he struggled to keep his composure. His eyes fell open, meeting yours, a small, gentle smile playing on his lips. You could see he was holding back for the sake of your inexperience, a hint of doubt in his hard gaze.

"Are you... are you sure you want this? I don't want you to do something against yourself", he asked, his tone soft like butter, but an octave lower than usual. You let out a deep breath you didn't realise you were holding, and smiled softly. A light blush adorned your cheeks, your lips red and swollen from the instant kisses Nicholas gave you. He swore he could cum from the sight of you alone, especially when you looked down at him with those wide, innocent eyes.

He thought it was almost ironic, considering how greedily you kissed him back, how you practically humped his cock, needy and vulnerable.

"Nick, there's no one else I'd rather lose my virginity to," you assured, your gentle hands moving down his face to rest on his tense shoulders. The desperation in your voice was clear as day, and Nicholas let out a shaky breath, giving your hips a squeeze.

"Okay", he whispered, nodding, as if it was his first time, too. Truth is, he just wanted to make the moment perfect and the most enjoyable for you, even if it meant not getting a release himself. "Okay."

He lifted you up with no effort, gently pushing you to lay flat against the pillows, your hair spread out on the pillow, shining in the dim lightning. Nicholas spread your legs, watching your face in search of any sign of discomfort. When he found none, he leaned forward, kneeling in between your legs, his hands on both sides of your head. Your chest heaved with uneven breaths, the air heavy with anticipation, Nicholas' smell invading your senses. You bit your lip, your legs hooking around his waist to bring him closer. Your skin burned with desire when Nicholas' gentle hands sneaked in under the hem of your little top, lifting the fabric to rest just above your boobs.

"Fuck," he groaned, pulling his lip in between his teeth, his eyes locked on your boobs, petrified. Your cheeks burned, embarrassment starting to bloom in your chest, and you instinctively shifted to cover your tits with your arms. Before you could do so, though, Nicholas grabbed your arms, pinning them on both sides of your head — his touch sent shiver down your spine, his eyes leaving you no room to protest or get shy.

"No, no, baby", he cooed, squeezing your arms before letting them go, his hands moving down to linger on your chest instead. "You're fucking perfect. I wanna see all of you. Feel all of you. Let me."

His voice was rough, filled with urgency that left you whimpering and nodding frantically. You were left with no choice but to obey, gluing your arms to the mattress, looking up at Nicholas through your lashes. He looked so beautiful; hair messy, lips swollen and wet, arms flexing as he reached out to squeeze your breasts in between his long, thick fingers. Your nipples stood proudly in the air, reacting to his palm brushing against them as he palmed your breasts lovingly.

"Those fucking tits. You have no idea how long I've wanted this— how long I've wanted you."

As if to prove his words, he leaned down, pushing your boobs together, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. You shuddered, a high-pitched moan leaving your mouth — his touch felt better than yours ever could. You were getting addicted, high on how he made you feel, and you never wanted to come down.

"I— I love your hands", you breathed out, your head tilting so that you could watch how his fingers worked on your flesh. The veins in his hands more prominent than ever, his big arms flexing, stretching the tight shirt he was wearing. Your mouth watered, your gaze lingering on his arms for way longer than it should, but how could you possibly stop staring?

"Yeah, you do", Nicholas chuckled lowly, his hot breath tickling your already sensitive nipples. That's when his lips enveloped your left bud, his tongue darting out to flick against it slowly, teasingly. You couldn't believe how good this felt, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair, pushing him impossibly closer. "You're always staring. You think I can't tell? What else do you love, baby?".

Your words died in your throat as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, moaning around it as if he enjoyed it more than you did. The sound sent vibrations down your body, your pussy clenching and leaking through your panties.

"I— Fuck, I love your veins. A-and your arms, and your chest— Shit." you groaned, clamping a hand on your mouth immediately after to muffle the sounds that oh so desperately threatened to leave your throat. Nicholas seemed satisfied with your answer, his mouth leaving your nipple with a pop. His breathing was heavy, jaw tight as he watched you with an unreadable expression.

"Good girl. Do you want my hands to make you feel good, baby?", he tilted his head, his hands rubbing soothingly against your hips, lingering just above the waistband of your little shorts.

His praise sent a jolt of electricity down your core, and you couldn't help but whimper, nodding frantically, your back arching in a quiet pleas.

"Words, baby. Need ya to say it, 'kay?", one of his hands travelled up your body, clamping down on your neck — not with enough pressure to choke you, but just enough to make your hips shake against him.

"Yes, Nicholas. Please, make me feel good— Need it so badly, baby", you breathed out, your small hand encircling his wrist, making sure he kept his own wrapped around your neck. Nicholas' eyes were dark, his gaze dropping to your hand enveloping his, and he gulped audibly at the sight. He quickly collected himself, his hand around your neck applying more pressure, making you moan out into the air. Your head was thrown back, eyes rolling back into your head, your hips rosing off the mattress to allow Nicholas to take your shorts off. It was a good thing you chose a nice pair of panties for tonight — the pink, slightly seen-through thong clung to your soaked pussy just right, catching his attention immediately. Nicholas cursed under his breath, throwing the unwanted fabric on the floor, his gaze not once leaving your form. You bit your lip, fluttering your lashes up at him, meeting his eyes, glistening with need. His hand left your throat and you wanted to protest, already missing the feeling — yet Nicholas' hand lingering just above your pussy immediately shut you up. Nicholas looked at you through his lashes as he positioned himself on his stomach, laying down between your legs, grasping your thighs, spreading them a little wider.

"You're already so wet, baby", he mused, petrified by the way your panties glistened with arousal, your barely-covered pussy staring right back at him. He licked his lips, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he placed a wet, open-mouthed kiss right on your clit.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, hips bucking into his mouth instinctively, yet his steady grasp on your thighs kept you still. Your breathing was heavy, uneven, your hand clasping down on your mouth to stop any sounds from escaping.

"Shit, you taste so good. Can't believe you've been hiding this pretty little pussy from me for so long", he groaned, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he licked a stripe up your covered pussy. You shuddered, unable to reply, your eyes shooting up to the ceiling as you moaned into your hand.

One of Nicholas' arms left your thigh, only to tug on your panties, his skilled fingers pulling the soaked fabric to the side, finally exposing your most intimate part to him. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes pleading and wide as he kissed your inner thighs, his gaze following your every reaction.

"Nick, please— I need you s'bad", you whimpered, the tension in your stomach getting more unbearable the more time passed. Nicholas' teeth sank into your thigh, making you squeal and your back arch.

You've never thought you'd find so much pleasure in pain — God, you've never even thought you could be this turned on by someone. Nicholas was different, though, and he awakened a side of you you had no idea existed.

When his mouth finally enveloped your hot, leaking pussy, it was like nothing you've ever experienced. His lips closed around your clit, his tongue lapping your wetness as if he was starved. His groans were muffled by your flesh as he flicked his tongue, manoeuvring between long, precise licks and slow, composed swirls of his tongue. Nicholas forced your thighs even wider, his nails digging into the skin of your inner thighs, surely leaving bruises in the process. The thought of being so obviously marked by him made your pulse to quicken, your fingers raking through his hair to ground yourself as you moaned and wiggled against his tongue.

"S'good, fuck," you cried out, feeling the undeniable orgasm already beginning to build in your lower abdomen. Nicholas surely felt it too, by the way your thighs shook against his hands, your hands gripping his hair as if you never wanted him to stop. "Nick, I'm—".

You didn't finish the sentence; you couldn't — not when he sucked your nub into his mouth, flicking his tongue immediately after, obscene groans escaping his mouth the more he tasted you. He quickly got addicted to your sweet pussy; his nose brushing against your clit as his tongue dipped into your entrance, eager to taste as much of you as possible.

"Mmphm. Give it to me, baby", he mumbled lowly, his voice muffled as he once again focused on your clit. You were too high up to notice how Nicholas' hand left your thigh, sneaking in between your legs — his middle finger slowly pushing into you.

The intrusion made you gasp — not in pain, but in pleasure. A muffled moan followed soon after, your hips bucking into his hand, white erupting in front of your eyes as you came undone underneath his restless ministrations.

You weren't sure if you passed out, or maybe just stopped breathing for a moment — your pussy gushing into his mouth and onto his finger, your little hole clenching around the digit as he pushed it in deeper, the movements of his tongue slowing, guiding you through your orgasm. You tried to be as quiet as possible, but it wasn't easy when he made you feel this good.

Nicholas eagerly lapped on your pussy, swallowing everything you gave him, humming into your flesh; pulling away only when you let out a weak whine. His finger, now knuckle-deep inside you, curled upwards, and Nicholas felt his cock throb at how tight you were.

"Good girl, such a good girl f'me", Nicholas cooed softly, getting up to kneel between your legs, his finger gently moving inside of you as he leaned down to kiss you.

You were greedy, savouring the taste of yourself on his lips, your cheeks growing warm as his tongue rolled over yours, your uneven breaths mixing together. You felt his forefinger joining the one already inside you — you whined, gripping Nicholas' shoulder for balance, your walls gripping onto his digits like a vice. Unable to kiss him back anymore, you pulled back, your head falling against the pillow as your hips began to buck against his hand. You were growing hot, feeling as if you could faint from the overwhelming pleasure he gave you, his thumb brushing against your sensitive clit as his fingers fucked into you.

"Shit, you're so tight, baby," Nicholas groaned lowly, his lips pressing against your temple soothingly. "You think you're ready to take my cock, hmm?".

You nodded before he could finish the sentence, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks, pretty lips opening in another, appreciative moan.

"Need you to say it, sweetness," he urged, his hand brushing against your cheek in a loving manner. You felt your heart flutter as you met his gaze, dark and lustful, burning with intensity. Nicholas smiled down at you, and you returned the gesture through the haze of pleasure. "Yes, Nick. Just want you to fuck me", you begged, your hands already moving to the waistband of his pants, urging him to take them off.

Nicholas' fingers left you, and you whined at the loss, the sound dying in your throat as you watched him pull his shirt over his head, tugging his pants down along with his boxers right away.

His cock sprang free, hitting his stomach, and you gasped, audibly gasped at the size of him. It was way more than you had expected — sure, you knew he had to be big, but this? It... exceeded your expectations, to say the least.

Your mouth was agape, jaw slack and mouth involuntarily watering as you watched his cock bounce in the air, long and thick with a pretty, pink tip. You shifted closer, gawking up at Nicholas to see him already looking at you. His jaw was tight, eyes boring into yours with intensity that made your breath hitch. You wanted to reach out, wrap your hand around him — make him feel just as good as he did to you.

"Baby," Nicholas' voice was strangled, as if he was holding himself back, his hand reaching out to wrap around his cock. Your breath hitched as you watched him pump his leaking length — the veins in his arm popping out, his hand slowly gliding up and down, his eyes on you, as if you were the only thing that mattered. Before you knew it, you were reaching out for him, your hand resting on his thigh as you muttered: "Teach me."

Nicholas seemed taken aback by your words, but he quickly collected himself, the movements of his hand coming to a stop. "Fuck, you sure, baby?".

You nodded, brushing your thumb against his thigh in a soothing manner, feeling his muscles clench under your fingertips. Nicholas sent you a last, lingering look before his gaze hardened, his hand reaching out for your own.

"Shit. Okay— okay", he breathed out, instructing you to shift closer until you sat on the very edge of your bed. You looked up at him through your lashes, and Nicholas' breath hitched — the look of innocence and cluelessness on your face making his heart race.

"Wrap your hand around it," he instructed, and you did as he told you — you could barely do it, though, due to how thick he was. Nicholas' lashes fluttered, his cheeks growing warm at the feeling of your ridiculously small hand finally wrapping around him. His hand enveloped yours, guiding your own — your entwined hands sliding up and down his shaft, and Nicholas groaned, throwing his head back.

"Fuck, good girl. You're doing so good, baby", Nicholas breathed out, his hips bucking into your hand. You stared up at him, encouraged by the praise, deciding to take things a little further and slowly brush your thumb against his tip. Nicholas seemed surprise at your sudden boldness, his eyes boring into yours as his brows furrowed in pure bliss.

"Fuck, yes. You're not as innocent as everyone thinks, aren't you?", he groaned, forcing your hand to move faster, gliding along his shaft in a steady rhythm. Nicholas' breathless moans filled the room, his hips bucking into your hand with urgency, his chest glistening with a sheer layer of sweat. You bit your lip, your eyes following his reactions, pride filling your chest — you were the one making him feel this good. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!", he dragged out, jaw going slack as he neared his peak — faster than ever, he realised quickly.

Before he could cum, he yanked your hand off him, pushing you back against the mattress and slipping in between your legs, his breath heavy and uneven. You pouted, sending him a dirty look. "Hey, why would you stop? I wanted to make you feel good, too".

Nicholas lips curled upwards at your offended expression, a quiet chuckle leaving his mouth as he kissed the corner of your lips. "You did, baby. But now I wanna feel your little pussy wrapped around my cock, 'kay?". You nodded, maybe a little too enthusiastically for your own liking, yet your arousal was undeniable — you wanted this. You had no idea how he'd fit inside you, but you were sure he was going to make it work.

His hands were gentle as he spread your legs, his dark eyes staring up at you for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. When he found none, he smiled assuredly, wrapping his hand around his cock, giving it a few jerks.

Your breathing was heavy, eyes half-lidded as you watched him gently rub his aching tip against your clit. You hissed at the contact — he was hot, leaking and throbbing against you. Nicholas swiped his cock up and down your folds, gathering your wetness to cover his length, his chest heaving; it wasn't usual for him to be this gentle during sex, but with you, it was different. He has never felt so utterly connected to someone, and when he looked into your eyes, he felt a spark of warmth fill his stomach, flames licking his insides.

Nicholas kept your gaze as his tip pressed against your little hole for the first time. Your jaw dropped, eyes rolling back into your head at the stretch — and he had barely started. He was thick, barely able to move due to how tight you were, but he tested the waters by pushing further, until his tip was fully buried inside you. Tears brimmed in the corner of your eyes, and Nicholas leaned down to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, mumbling sweet nothings to calm you down.

"So tight, baby. Fuck, relax f'me, okay? You're squeezing", he muttered cutely, his breath heavy against your face, eyes squeezed shut to hold onto the last ounce of self control for your own sake. You nodded, your manicured fingers clawing at his shoulders for balance as you felt him push further.

You were sure your insides would be rearranged after he was done with you.

The pain was sharp but not unbearable, and you found yourself nodding, signalling that you were ready for more. Nicholas groaned lowly, gripping your leg for balance as he watched your pussy swallow the first half of his cock.

"You're— You're so fucking big", you cried out, and Nicholas whined, watching your teary eyes, mascara smudged on your hot cheeks, bottom lip quivering.

The words turned him on way more than they should.

"Fuck, baby— You can't say shit like that and expect me not to—", his words were interrupted by a loud cry coming deep from your throat as he pushed further in. You've never felt so full in your entire life; his length stretched you out like no one ever could. The feeling of the pulsating veins against adorning his pretty length against your velvety walls almost too much, your walls clamping down on him, as if to prevent him from leaving.

"Nick, shit— But you are. So fucking big, s-so, so good." you wailed when his hips smacked against yours, his cock now fully buried inside you. Your walls accommodated to his size, making room for him to finally fuck you the way he wanted. The way you both wanted.

"Shut up, just— No talking", he shuddered, clamping a hand down onto your mouth just as he began to thrust, slowly but deeply, making sure you could feel every vein, every throb of his length against your walls.

But you didn't have to speak. Nicholas could see it in your eyes — teary, wide eyes. Your lashes fluttered innocently, your expression almost making Nicholas cum inside you — it took everything for him to hold back, his thrusts gaining strength, his tip kissing your cervix every time he bottomed out.

If he was going to fill you up, he wanted to make sure you were tripping over the edge with him.

The smacking of skin filled your room, the air thick with tension, your cries and Nicholas' groans blending together, creating a song of its own. The feeling of his cock bullying its way inside you with every, precise thrust of his hips had you spiralling, and you knew you wouldn't last long.

Nicholas' hand on your mouth dropped next to your head, and he leaned down to envelop your lips in his. Your legs wrapped around his waist, causing him to reach even deeper inside you — he effortlessly swallowed your breathless moans, his own whines vibrating against your lips. You didn't have to speak — he felt you clench around him, and you felt him throbbing against your walls. Your hips rocked forward against him, his sculpted lower abdomen brushing against your clit with every, brutal stroke.

"Nick, I'm— I'm so close, baby", you wailed, raking your nails down his toned back, crying out as quietly as you could. "Cum with me, please, need it s'bad."

Nicholas could only nod, gripping your thighs tightly, his thrusts getting even more brutal, powerful and consuming, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Want me to cum inside?", he groaned, not sure if he'd be able to pull out in time even if he tried. You nodded eagerly, chasing your lips with his, your orgasm hitting you, your vision going white, and he kissed you through it, his tongue exploring your mouth, addicted to your taste.

Your sweet juices covered his cock, creating a creamy ring around the base — Nicholas dropped his head, pushing as deep as he could go and finally let go, his seed spurting deep inside your greedy, fluttering pussy.

The feeling made you moan out, your whole body shaking, clit pulsating against his pelvis as he gave you a few weak thrusts, pushing his cum back inside you, already addicted to the way your pussy felt around him.

"Holy shit, baby", you dragged out, laughing slightly, your hands tangling in Nicholas' hair as he rested it against your neck. He could only chuckle weakly, shaking against you, gripping your thighs as if to ground himself.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Wasn't it too much? Are you in pain?", he asked, lifting his head to study your face, concern clear in his expression. You grinned, your eyes half-lidded, chest tightening with affection.

"I'm fine, baby. Just wanna sleep. Will you stay with me?", you kissed his sweaty forehead, your arms securely wrapped around his shoulders, your voice shaking as he pulled out of you. You winced at the emptiness, and Nicholas chuckled softly, taking his shirt from the floor to wipe the cum — his own — oozing out of your fluttering hole.

"Of course, baby. Just lemme clean you up first". His hands were gentle as he did, smiling up at you, his eyes glistening with satisfaction and something else — something deeper.

"Thank you, baby. Just make sure to leave before my mum wakes up".

Nicholas could only chuckle at that.

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tags (click here to be added): @darlingnikkisixxxx @titsout4jackles @brlwla @blackynsupremacy @mrs-riddlexo @essentialwriter @nicholaschavezslut69 @niteskysx @emluvsuxo @nicholaslut @greengoblinswifey @sin-deciric @onlyangelicc @urlitttlevenicebitch @violetidk @motherismotheringggg @dalton99

[isa-gh0st]

is there a rundown of what's going on with the new mcyt drama? i haven't been following any of them since slightly before the finale of dsmp 0-0

Oh god. Let me try my best here.

I will say, on my main, @isa-ghost, I've reblogged a ton of liveblogging stuff that kind of gives you context in detail? But in reverse order because, yknow, that's how reblog chronology works or whatever.

This don't stop the party edit is a good tldr of the beginning of it all but you gotta pause to really read it so I'm gonna summarize via bullet points too.

XQC (shitty Canadian Kick streamer, misogynist and flaunts his money at every turn) met Trump, wearing a Trump shirt. Is a fanboy of his clearly. Is not the first streamer to do this, esp on Kick

Tommy quote rts his pic of him meeting Trump like "its hard to be more cringe than TommyInnit but you did it"

XQC clapped back saying Tommy went from dickriding Dr*m to making jokes to 17 year old girls irl (which is sexist to say but I digress)

Dr*m gets involved for some fuckign reason (he wants attention that's why) and makes a meme calling all dsmp stans (he later claims he meant inniters specifically) the r slur

Shit BLOWS UP obviously because he called 15 million people a slur in a derogatory way. Makes SO MANY excuses that don't work ofc. Later deletes all his tweets abt it, but prior to doing so he TRIPLED DOWN ON USING THE R SLUR. Tried to excuse it with "I'm autistic" (which personally idk if I believe bc he's such a fucking liar but I also don't follow Dr*m obv so if he posted abt the diagnosis then. Whatever. Anyway)

Tommy, Tubbo, Jack, Sneeg, and so so so many other CCs now have been ripping him apart for the last 48 hours. Tubbo has dissected everything he's said on Twitter and a Reddit post he made yesterday

Last night at like midnight to 3am his time, Dr*m goes live and dissects Tubbo's vod of him dissecting Dr*m's shit and Dr*m GENUINELY CRASHES OUT for 3 FUCKING HOURS, most of which was him projecting on Tommy hardcore and lying and manipulating AS USUAL. If you care enough, I'd watch Tubbo's vod. OR you can probably find a summary somewhere but it's. A lot.

Tubbo went live at 10am CST today dissecting Dr*m's crashout, which lasted FOUR FUCKING HOURS. He was meant to talk to Dr*m directly on stream today but then--

Tommy posted a 5 min vid clapping back very concisely so Dr*m is in the process of making a response vid, therefore he canceled his chat with Tubbo.

Quackity tweeted he would be going live because during Dr*m's crashout he name dropped SEVERAL ex-dsmp members and other people such as Ludwig, a6d, the girl GNF assaulted, Gumball's VA. The list goes on. However, idk for sure if Quackity is gonna talk abt this, all he tweeted was "going live later" basically.

47 MCYT CCs were tuned in to Tubbo's dissection stream today at one point or another. I haven't seen MCYT this united since we all ousted W*lbur for abusing Shelby Shubble (you said you haven't been around since the dsmp finale so idk how much abt that you know. It happened in late Feb last year)

People are welcome to break down these events in greater detail in my reblogs if they're crazy enough!

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

I mean they still coerce/steal children into joining them. And they left Anakin's mom to die a slave death. Like sure they aren't awful as an organization but they aren't always right?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too harsh on Jedi antis. Then something like this happens and it hits me that no, if anything I'm being too soft.

Let's begin with the obvious, out-of-universe part. It's very rude to come to people's clearly tagged posts and say something like this. I love the Jedi I see in the PT and TCW, and I should be able to make, at least, vaguely positive posts about them without having to see this in the comments.

Now, onto your argument:

"They coerce/steal children into joining them."

You'd have a hard time arguing this, even using only Legends, the continuity that's most critical of the Jedi.

Baby Ludi doesn't offer us much information beyond "the baby's family was reasonably but incorrectly pressumed dead". Even then, these type of stories are used to show what the public opinion of the Jedi was, not what the Jedi were actually doing.

Children of the Force (the comic) is another of these stories. The Shatterpoint novel, on its own, contradicts every single instance of the Jedi being baby-snatchers or not being allowed to know their birth families/culture. Shatterpoint was written by Matthew Stover, who spoke with George Lucas personally and knew George Lucas' vision for Star Wars, and had that aside from his own personal interpretations that may or may not align with Lucas', unlike many other EU writers. This puts Shatterpoint very high in Legends canonity tier.

Jedi Path is stupid even when reading it in good faith. Movies, shows and later books with more canonity contradict it, so not good for argument.

Anything written by Karen Traviss is bullshit because 1. she disagrees with the good vs evil narrative of a franchise intended for kids, and 2. she only watched the PT halfway through, as a child. That's not getting into how she tries to paint both sides of the Empire vs Rebellion war as bad. Let me repeat, she's presenting the original heroes as bad. She's not engaging with the narrative presented to her, so what she writes is something else with the names of the Star Wars universe slapped into it.

In TCW this is trope of baby-snatchers is invoked and defied. A planet believes the Jedi steal children (manipulated by a Dark Side cult, so the people's worries were born out of propaganda), the Jedi stop going there, and the arc ends with them making up and solving the misunderstanding. To add to that, Children of the Force (the episode) is about Force-sensitive children being kidnaped by Cad Bane, and ends with the Jedi giving the children back to their parents; one of them was in the middle of an adjustment period to the Order and the other's parents had refused to give their child up, and there is zero indication that either child becomes a Jedi in the future.

In the PT the only introduction into the Order is Anakin, and the Jedi refuse. Until they can't refuse because Anakin is in danger of being discovered and brainwashed/stolen by a Sith, the Jedi say no. This is not how you portray characters to want to paint as kidnapers. Also, Palpatine (y'know, the Sith who's grooming and trying to turn Anakin against the Jedi) doesn't bring up anything related to child-stealing. If the main villain doesn't make that point, not even to be subverted later on, it's simply not true.

Coertion is an interesting argument because… it's never brought up. Yeah, you read that right. Never. Not even in arguments against the Jedi done by villains.

Jedi are not kidnapers in any continuity. Fandom made that up. Can that make for some interesting story about shady situations? Sure, if you're into that, but it's not canon. If you're critizing canon Jedi, bringing this shit up immediately makes you lose the argument.

"They left Anakin's mom to die a slave death"

No, they didn't. This post talks about her death, but something important I want to add is that she'd been free for years at the time of her death. Also, who's to say they didn't try? Who's to say they even knew she was a slave? Qui-Gon brought Anakin to the Order and then he died.

In Legends they actually had a hand in her winning her freedom, too.

You proved my point. You can critize the Order (I'm the first person to say they aren't perfect and some of their choices should be critized), but creating a narrative about the Jedi stealing children that has no basis in either Lucas', Legends or Disney canon to dunk on them is not being critical, it's just slander.

Friendly reminder that if you're gonna critize the Jedi, they have to be wrong.

"They told Anakin he wasn't fit to be a Jedi" Yeah, was he? He was unhappy the whole time, broke all their rules and eventually slaughtered them.

"They massacred the Sith Order" Yeah. Those "I'm better than everyone and everything and they all should kneel to me or die" people? I see no issue here.

"They fought in the Clone Wars as peacekeepers." Yeah. What was the alternative? Standing by as the clones, civilians and the Republic itself (the best government out those in the galaxy, although admittedly that's rather a low bar) were massacred by the Separatists? Yeah no. And peacekeepers ≠ pacifists.

"They forbid marriage." They are a religious organization, monks. Fobidding its members from marrying is pretty standard in monasteries. They also aren't celibate, friendship isn't discouraged at all and it's all but stated by Obi-Wan in TCW S6 that romantic feelings are perfectly allowed. Several of the Order's members practice their home planets' culture and religion and language (Barriss has a Mirilian Idol in her room, she Luminara Quinlan etc have cultural tattoos, many characters have accents which implies Basic isn't their first language and others don't speak Basic at all,etc). They have no dress code, they are allowed to drink, smoke, etc., even become part of other religions organizations (see Plo Koon)! Marriage being forbidden is nothing, literally meaningless next to the freedom Jedi have.

If you're gonna critize the Jedi, they have to be wrong.

No, they shouldn't change their whole way of life just because you don't like it.

[http-velvett]

The bat and the black widow

Helping an old friend (part 1)

Summary: An ex black widow assassin, trying to start a new life away from her past, until a friend from the past finds her asking for help

Wc: 2.8k

Relationships: Bruce Wayne/batman x black widow! Reader(romantic), Batfam! X fem! Reader (platonic) , Natasha Romanoff x fem! Reader (platonic)

A/n: so I made this since I got a random urge to wanting to read black widow! Reader x Batman but I found none, so when in doubt make your own! ALSO! If it wasn’t obvious this is a marvel x dc crossover story but it’s more mcu with comic elements x dc since it’s been awhile since I read marvel comics lol. It also has gotten longer than i had originally planned so I will making this into a series ^^

Slowly waking up, you turned to the sides seeing the sunlight peeking through the curtains to keep the room dark, or at least dark as it possibly can with the sun being out now.

After a few seconds of you looking at the windows you slowly stretched your arms upwards, letting out a yawn in the process causing your eyes to water a bit as you sat up.

"Morning." You said softly as you looked at the man that was asleep next to you, as you ran your hand through his black hair.

Bruce shifted a bit in his sleep as he felt your fingers being ran through his hair. Smiling softly at him of his movement you leaned in,giving him a kiss on his cheek.

His eyes soon fluttered open at the action, looking up at you as he smiled at her sitting up. "Morning love." He said, his morning voice making him sound more deeper than usual as he leaned in to you kissing your lips as you kissed him back.

Pulling away from the kiss you got out of bed as you started to get changed into your outfit for the day. "So you have anything planned for us today?" You asked.

Today was a special day for Bruce and you, which was why you asked. As of today it was your guys 3rd year anniversary.

"You think I didn't plan anything for us today?" He asked, getting up from the bed as well as he wrapped his arms around your waist kissing your neck softly.

You hummed as his lips met your neck, you could just melt at his touch.

"No.." you spoke as you turned your head slightly to look at him. "I was just asking since I was also planning on something."

"Oh?" He said a small smile on his face as he placed his chin on your shoulder to look at you.

"Yeah." You replied, fixing the shirt you had put on.

"I have something too." He said as he went to start changing into clothes he'll wear for today.

"But l'll give it to you after what you have planned." He looking over at you as he continued to get dress.

"Well now you're making me eager to figure out what it is." You said, a smile on your face as you walked out of the room.

"Don't worry I'm sure you'll like what I got you."

He called out in reply from the room.

Walking down into the kitchen you smiled as you saw Damian sitting in the kitchen eating his breakfast.

"Morning early bird." You said as you walked over to him ruffling his hair as you went to make a cup of coffee for Bruce and you.

Damian looked up at you as you spoke ruffling his hair. Once you finally moved away from him, he kept his eyes on you. "Morning..." he mumbled as he spoke.

"Morning Ms McGee." Alfred spoke as he handed her a plate with the breakfast he had made.

"Ah thank you Alfred." You said grabbing the plate as you placed it on the counter next to you. "But I told you so many times you can call me y/n." You said before taking a piece of food that was on the plate.

"I don't get why you still bother with that." Dick said as he walked into the kitchen grabbing a plate as he started to fill it up with things he planned to eat for the morning.

You can't help but let out a huff of a chuckle as you poured Bruce and yourself a cup of coffee as you took a sip of the cup you poured for yourself.

"I know but I think I've been here long enough."

"Maybe a little too long." Jason said as he walked into the kitchen looking at you as he grabbed toast that was out and poured himself a cup of orange juice.

"Morning to you too Jason." You just replied with as you looked at him as you ate your breakfast, as you soon spotted Cassandra and Stephanie both coming into the kitchen together. "Morning you two."

"Morning y/n!" Steph said as she walked to the table. "Morning." Cass said right after also taking a seat at the table in the kitchen.

After that Tim walked in followed by Duke coming into the kitchen as well as you greeted them both as they entered.

Soon Bruce finally came down and you smiled as you saw him giving him a kiss on the lips, which caused Damian to turn his head rolling his eyes.

Once you pulled away from the kiss you handed Bruce the cup of coffee you had poured for him.

"So..." Cass said as she took a sip of her cup of tea. "When is y/n going to join us and get her own costume?" She asked, looking at the two of them.

You had a smile on your face but just shook your head at question as you rolled your eyes at it.

"Well-"

"Never." You cut off Bruce before he could finish.

"And why’s that?" Damian asked, raising his eyebrow at you.

"I just don't fight." You simply said as you drank your cottee.

With that Cass let out a sigh. "I was really hoping another girl would join." She mumbled

It was the afternoon. Bruce was out with Tim for a social event, you didn't come with them since Bruce knew you didn't like going to public events.

Dick and Damian were both in the batcave training with each other.

Duke was out on patrol.

Steph and Cass were most likely upstairs, hanging out with each other in either one of their rooms.

Jason was.. well who knows where Jason is half of the time.

And you? You were in the kitchen as you had started to prepare what you wanted to make for Bruce and yours anniversary dinner.

You had asked Alfred if he can get you one of the best wines that Bruce will like, and hearing the front door open and then close it brought to your attention his arrival back to the manor.

"Here you go Ms McGee." He said handing you the bottle of wine he had purchased.

"Thank you Alfred." You said happily, giving him a smile as you placed the wine in a cabinet before heading back over to season the meat once more.

After you had prepared the meat you put it back in the refrigerator, as you started to take out what you needed to make the sauce for the paste you heard the door ring.

"I'll get it Alfred!" You called out as you stopped what you were doing and headed to the door.

"Hello how can-" You stared as you opened the door but soon cut yourself off. "Natasha..." You said more softly as you saw the familiar red hair female in front of you.

"Well, look at you living the life." She said with a smile on her face as she looked at you through the sunglasses she was wearing.

"What are you doing here?.." Was all you can really think of as you just looked at her.

"I need your help." Natasha replied as she looked at you.

"If you need help go get help from S.H.E.l.L.D or the other avengers or something." You said in a low voice too scared anyone would hear you.

"It would only risk the mission." She told you in reply. "Besides, you know Gotham better than them or me." She added.

"Who is it?" You heard Alfred ask you.

"Oh it's no one." You replied, turning to look at him as you smiled. "Just a Girl Scout selling cookies." You told him, making him nod his head in reply before he walked away out of eye and earshot.

"Follow me..." You told Natasha as you moved out of her way, letting her enter before closing the door. You soon made your way up the room that Bruce had given you to do your pottery before closing it and locking it once Natasha entered.

"Do they know?" Natasha asked as she looked at you.

"No, why would they know?" You said as she took a seat in the stool that was in the room. "You helped me bury my past, I've been able to live in peace for 5 years... why would I ruin it?"

"I was just asking..." Natasha said as she looked around at the room that was mainly filled up with vases as she examined them.

You stood quite for a bit as you just observed her.

"What do you need my help with?" You finally asked.

"It has to do with the court of owls-"

"If it has to deal with the court of owls then don't worry, let the bat deal with it." You cut her off

“You didn't let me finish.” She said leaning against the wall as she crossed her arms as she looked at you.

After a few more seconds of silence Natasha finally spoke again. “It doesn't just have to do with the court of owls but also hydra.”

Heading that made you just stand there in shock. “Hydra and the court of owls are working together?..” You asked, making sure you understood what she was saying.

Natasha nodded her head. “I was following some hydra agents to Gotham trying to figure out why they were coming here.” She said as she walked a bit closer to you. “When I finally got to them after some integration they told me that they came here to meet the court of owls today and that they weren’t the only ones.” She told you.

“Did they tell you where they were going to meet them?” You asked.

“They didn’t but it wasn’t hard to find this.” She said going through her pocket as she handed you a small card.

Standing up grabbing it you turned it around to look at it until you spotted the location on the card.

“You think this is where they are meeting?”

“It has to be.. I’ve been watching them for weeks and they walked around the area close to this location more than I count.”

“…Did they tell you why they were meeting them?” You finally asked.

“No, that’s what I need to find out and why I want you to help me.” She answered. “It’s one thing if it was just hydra and the court of owls have never been a threat for us at S.H.E.I.L.D, but if they are starting to work with hydra then they’re becoming more of a threat not just in Gotham but outside.”

You just hummed, nodded your head in agreement. “Yeah… it can’t be good. But I can’t help.” You told her. “Today is Bruce and I's 3rd year anniversary and I was planning on making dinner for us… you should ask someone else you know…”

“I would but not many of them are good at undercover missions and they won’t make it here on time.”

“I don’t do that anymore, you-“

“Y/n please.” Natasha cut you off. “I know you don’t do this anymore, but I’m not asking you as a former assassin, I’m asking you to help as a friend.” She told you. “I know you don’t want to do this type of work anymore, but you and I both know that if Hydra is here then it’s not good for you or this family you have.”

You stood quiet. You knew she was right, that was the whole reason why you never went out in public with Bruce, why you changed your last name, had a small quiet jobbed, why you did everything to hide your past.

It wasn’t because you were ashamed of your past or that you were trying to hide away from the red room (since you knew it was taken down by Natasha), but you were hiding cause you knew if anyone from hydra found you again they’ll “take back what’s theirs”.

“…no you’re right…” You said as you walked over to an old vase you had made. “It can’t be good for me or this family…. Even if they might be able to handle themselves.”

You soon pushed the vase to the floor causing it to break as it revealed what you had put inside. Your old widow suit, two pistols, and widows bite bracelet.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” You asked her as you picked up the items from the floor.

“An hour maybe 2.” Natasha answered. You just hummed at that as you went to put the items in a bag.

“Do you plan on us using a disguise, or are we just gonna break in?”

“Oh don’t worry, the two guys I got were given owl masks, we would have to use them to get in.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” You asked as you started to leave the room heading to the front as you grabbed your brown slouch coat.

“Alfred, I'm heading out with a friend.” You called out as Natasha followed, as she got a glance at the butler.

Alfred nodded his head as he looked over at the red head woman next to you.

“I understand, and who might you be.” He asked mostly to the other woman.

“An old friend.” Natasha replied as the two of you left the manner.

“Hmm I still look good in this.” You said to yourself a smile on your face as you looked at yourself in the mirror, checking yourself out in the black jumpsuit.

The two of you had gone to the apartment that Natasha was staying in, while in Gotham to pick up some things.

“I’m surprised it still fits.” She said a bit teasingly

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” You raised your eyebrow as you looked at her.

“Just that you haven’t worn that thing in over 5 years.” She said as she walked over to you handing you a white owl looking mask. “You need this.”

“Thanks.” You responded as you put on your coat once more to hide the weapon that were attached to your body before putting the mask in the pocket.

You watched as Natasha do the same thing before the two of you walked out, heading the car she was using.

You got into the passenger seat at the same time as Natasha, and right as she started the car you two heard a phone ringing, and you knew instantly it was your phone.

Pulling it out you saw the caller ID was Bruce so you immediately picked it up.

“Hey y/n, Alfred told me you went out with an old friend?” You heard him through the other side of the phone.

“Oh yeah. I was actually going to call you about that right now…” You told him. “I didn’t know she would be here, but she wanted to catch up.”

“I didn’t know you knew many people outside of Gotham..” He said.

“Yeah… she's an old friend, we don't talk a lot…” you told him. “But I actually wanted to let you know we kind of got caught up with something. She needs my help with something.”

“What does she need your help with?”

“… pottery..” Was all you can think of saying.

“Pottery really?” Natasha mouths to you quietly as you look over at her seeing she’s holding in a laugh.

You just shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to say.” You mouth back to her quietly.

“Yeah, I don’t know a thing about pottery or what type of clay to use and I knew y/n can help me, sorry for taking her away from you for a while.” Natasha said loud enough so she can be heard through the other side of the phone.

“Yeah… we just left the place she’s staying at now so I can get what I need to teach her… so I’ll probably be late for the dinner I wanted to plan for us…” Was all you told him as you looked at the road in front of you.

“It’s okay… I got caught up in some work of my own, Dick, Tim, and Damian are coming with me for it.” He said, causing you to nod your head even though he can’t see you do it.

“Hmm then maybe I’ll get home before you.” You joked with a smile on your face.

“Hmm maybe, maybe.” He replied and you can just imagine him saying it with a smile on his face.

“Stay safe okay…”

“I will.”

“I love you Bruce..”

“I love you too y/n.”

And with that you hung up the phone, putting the phone away as you turned to look at Natasha.

“We should be at the place in 20 minutes.” She told you and you just donned your head in response letting out a deep sigh you didn’t realize you were holding.

A/n: time to work on part two now 😮‍💨

[witherby]

Heyyyyy how are ya 😼 I have an idea for angst (Although this has already been done by many authors but I'm curious see how you approach this kind of like concept)

"Neglected... Batsis.... Reader..."

(this is totally not me just manifesting for more neglected batsia content)

-🌭

Hotdog. Dog that's hot. Oblong tube of meat that sits on a bun. As long as you're okay with it not being Yandere, I'll give almost anything a shot.

Lonely in a Crowded Room

Platonic!Batfamily x Daughter!Reader

Content warnings: emotional neglect, isolation, hyper-independence as a coping mechanism

Masterlist is Here!

Your family loves you.

Your family does not have time for you.

Both of these things are true at the same time.

Your mother had abandoned you at the gates of the Wayne manor when you were an infant, leaving nothing but a note telling Bruce your name, her name, and that you were his biological daughter. After taking another DNA test for himself to be sure, Bruce accepted his role as your father and took you in.

Sometimes you wonder how different your life would be if he'd just admitted he didn't have the time to raise you and left you at an orphanage, where another couple looking to care for a child could devote their energy to you instead. You wonder if you'd be better off than you are now.

The thing is, nothing is really wrong. You're clothed, fed, sheltered, and if there's an emergency you are swiftly taken care of. You just don't have any kind of connection to your family.

Bruce gave it his best effort when you were a baby, when you needed more attention. Batman patrolled less often in the night whenever you had a bad time staying asleep. He bottle fed you, he read you bedtime stories, and he would bring you to Wayne Tower with him sometimes and keep you busy with toys while he worked. As you grew older, however, and started developing a sense of independence, that easy attention got harder and harder to get. Suddenly he was needed for a case, or there was an event Bruce Wayne needed to make an appearance at, or one of your brothers needed his insight during investigations of their own.

And, well, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of one. You learned to share his attention, choosing to be the polite daughter that could learn to fix her own problems, and eventually that meant to Bruce that you didn't need attention at all. You couldn't ever find the courage to correct him, to ask him to make space for you. So, still seeking emotional fulfillment, you tried to turn to your brothers instead.

Dick was unfailingly kind. He'd even remarked once that he always wanted a little sister, which was nice. But he was an adult by the time you entered the picture. He had his own life outside of the Manor, living in Blüdhaven and patrolling as Nightwing and maintaining a day job for the BPD. His already limited free time was spent for himself, chasing downtime he often desperately needed, and you didn't want to make him give that up for you.

Jason didn't come around the Manor as a rule. He had bad blood with your dad, and while he didn't explicitly take it out on you, unfortunately you live with Bruce, and so he just wasn't around enough for you to form any solid attachment. Plus, he's clearly got his own stuff going on, and likely doesn't have the time nor will to get to know you. You haven't tried to reach out and neither has he, which is enough of an answer about how he feels in regards to having a little sister.

Tim was kind of like Bruce. He had far too many prior engagements and duties to fulfill, from acting as current CEO of both Wayne Enterprises and Drake Industries, to moonlighting as Red Robin, to attending college and working on his degree. He'd give you a sweet smile and gently ruffle your hair if he caught you in passing, but then he had to focus on the rest of his daily goings on. Trying to catch Tim to talk was like trying to hold water in a cracked cup. He just slips right by you.

And Damian... Damian did not particularly like you. At least, not at first. He came into the picture a couple years after you were dropped off at the Manor. You suspect he felt threatened about there being another blood-relative in the house, and made every attempt to communicate to you that he wasn't happy with your presence. But, as you grew older, when the topic of secret identities and their nighttime work came up, you surprised everyone by showing no interest in taking up the mantle. You did not want to be Robin, or a bat of any kind for that matter, and that seemed to really mellow your brother out. His perceived competition wasn't even competing, and his hostility was for naught.

Now, he doesn't really give you the time of day. It took a while for you to understand that it wasn't malicious anymore. You know now that he's ashamed of his prior actions and doesn't know how to make amends. You've tried to bridge that gap for him, make it easier by showing that you hold no ill will, but either his pride or his stubbornness refuse to take the olive branch you're practically dropping in his lap.

So, you can't get emotional fulfillment from your dad or any of your older brothers. If you can't go to them, maybe you can turn to Alfred. He was a patriarchal figure, always tending to one thing or another and looking after Bruce and his sons after patrol. He didn't patrol himself, so maybe he'd have the time to spend with you.

And he did! He sure did. It just...wasn't quite what you wanted. Alfred was a former British Intelligence operative, and raised Bruce under the complicated duality of both a guardian and a commanding officer. He obviously knew how to talk to you like a normal civilian, because that's what you are, but it was overly formal. He was holding you at arm's length because he didn't know how to relate to you. You were familiar strangers, at best, and you felt that's all you'd ever be despite your best efforts.

So. No one is cruel to you. They are kind, they smile, they ask you how you're doing and genuinely seem to care about the answer. That's not the problem.

You know your family loves you.

You know your family does not have time for you.

Both of these things are true.

You just wish you weren't so terribly lonely.

[werehounded]

I get upwards of 5 asks a day from bots seeking donations. Some of the bots, (clarifying that as i have NO spoons to check who is and isn't legit and do a deep dive on anyone's gfm, so i assume everyone is malicious as i'd rather not get my followers scammed or worse,) send multiple asks and follow me also.

I always block them tbh. It's meant i don't get repeat asks, at least, once I banhammer them from my blog.

I want to know why everyone stopped thinking critically about what they see/do online. This, misinformation generally, but especially the rise of far right rich fascists controlling all social media and bending unwitting users to their will, other GFM scams and mdoern phishing attempts... Like sure we know not to click on a link in an email that you get sent out of the blue in case it's a virus or phishing scam (most of us, anyway... teach everyone but especially the elders in your life about this shit too cos they're vulnerable in this regard quite often!) but how many people know how to vet a gfm? How many of us fact check every article we post or reblog? (I know I don't, even though i REALLY should)

It's depressing that we can't talk about this maturely anymore. THe faux moral outrage when you point out a very real problem has to stop. People who are rabid to seem like the Best Person In The Room Who Gets The Internet Gold Star need to think more critically.

If it were a right winger, (not a fascist necessarily, just anyone with the opposite of your political or moral compass will do for this imaginary scenario,) who was plugging away in your inbox for donations to a GFM in all caps with lots of images of dead children and body parts along with a glut of emojis?

I KNOW you'd all shut that down ASAP. It'd have callout posts and 'how to avoid' guides. The fact is that the latest wave of bots is playing on your good sensibilities to phish for your info, scam you, and take money for a cause they likely don't even care about or have a stake in.

NO ONE wants to think about the genocide happening under our noses. But there are proper channels for donations to go through. I know it's difficult with Zionist propaganda and stoppage of aid trucks etc. But there are people on the ground doing amazing work. You just have to do your research.

And I'm sure they'd do better with your money than phishers or scammers who just want to do nefarious shit with your money and data.

OK. I'm off my soap box now.

I swear we used to be able to think critically about random GoFundMe asks

It used to be understood that if someone using a throwaway blog suddenly starts messaging a bunch of accounts to beg for money, they were most likely a scammer.

Now suddenly there are fucking swarms of throwaway bots relentlessly shilling GoFundMe campaigns to anyone who even so much as breathes in the direction of a trending tag or post, yet the mere suggestion that any of these could be a scam will immediately get you yelled at by self-righteous strangers.

What changed?

[astracora]

The Serpent and the Apple

Characters: Caleb x gn!mc

Warnings: Death, Gore, Violence, Villain!Caleb

Word Count: 547

Written: 10th January 2025

Notes: Short drabble inspired by the Caleb trailer. The demon's won. I'm doing fine, thanks for asking.

Masterlist

It is blood spray across your face as the gun goes off. The man slumps before you. Puppet strings cut. Lifeless. Part of his skull missing.

You have fought monsters your entire life, have seen men die before. You have never seen the callous cool look in the eyes in front of you. That once held warmth that soothed damaged skin and mended broken pieces.

Caleb rounds the chair, where your hands are cuffed. Digging into flesh and cutting through skin. Blood eases around the strain, and cools against the metal.

"Well Pipsqueak, of all the places to get yourself stuck." He sits, long legs crossing in front of him. Gun at his side. You look down at the smoking barrel, look back up into purple eyes. "Here, seems the most foolish."

It is unfamiliar. There is no warmth, there is nothing that reminds you of the boy you grew up with. No twinkle at mischief or tease for kindness. When he calls you pipsqueak, he normally accompanies it with fondness and laughter.

He stares down at you with nothing, empty and cold. Cruel.

The barrel moves, to press heated against your throat. The sting brings a tear to eye, and you are pointed back up when you try to dodge his gaze. Held at gunpoint for him to look at, to watch. To peer into you and find what he wants.

There is no evol tearing through your mind to pull your thoughts, he knows you well enough to read your feelings with nothing else. You see the blood splatter against the black uniform, it drips to the floor and dries into the fabric. He watches your gaze, and with careful fingers that don't keep their finger on the trigger, he wipes at it.

"Messy." The hand moves to your cheek, smearing blood over your skin, and he sits back. "I'm sure I've told you to be careful before."

He has, so many times. Reminders when injured, when reckless, when foolish. He has always had your back, been there for you.

He has never burned your skin, or sullied it with violence.

"You look disappointed. Or scared." This time it is not the gun that grips you, but cold hands. Metal grabbing your chin to turn your blood stained cheek to him, the grooves digging into bone, moving down to your throat. Tightening, pulling away the air, as he runs his nose along your cheekbone.

He comes out shaking as he smells you, a long drag over skin, before his tongue runs along the length of you. Tasting the blood on your skin, sending a traitor's shiver down your spine.

When he turns your face back to him, he smiles, and you think… with the flashing light that makes his beautiful eyes glow, that he should bear fangs like a beast, and scales along his cheeks. "Did you really think I'd be that kind hearted boy forever?"

And when the serpent kisses you, it is blood tinged, teeth tearing at lips to demand entry, and possessive tongue twisting around yours.

And when he finally pulls away when your vision blurs and the air is stolen from your lungs… he swipes a tongue over the blood on his bottom lip… and squeezes once more around your neck.

[aly4khq]

#NIGHTLY RENDEZVOUS!

• characters: sylus qin

• summary: nightly rendezvous after the scenes !

• warnings: p in v, making out, filthy, hair pulling, praise, body worship, hīckeys,

• word count: 1.1K

Sylus always had self control, as a leader and a man who had to be on high alert for his whole profession. He could control his emotions and actions if he wanted.

But it was physically and mental impossible once it came to you, dressed in a tight fitting dress with just barely grazed your backside. That teasing perfume of yours which played wihh th his brain. Your bouncy coils of hair which made you glow brighter in the sun. Your soft, smooth skin.

"You always had that right," Sylus gently exclaimed, his hand holding yours with soft care as his lips kissed the supple flesh of the back of your hand. His body hovering over yours, his scent of rich cologne intoxicating. You had returned to your bedroom, both you and Sylus latching onto each other like there was no tomorrow.

His face rubbed into your hand, the entire night was filled with lust and love. Sylus interlocked your hands with his before flipping you both over so he was sat underneath you, your body straddling his hips whilst dressed in your gorgeous tight dress. "Which means...you can be even greedier."

"May I?" You spoke with a seductive tone as he let out a shaky breath. He undressed you with his crimson eyes, taking in your curves with a sharp gaze. A deep breath escaping his mouth before he held onto your cheeks with desperation, pulling you closer. His lips grazing yours. "You may."

With a consensual nod, you lowered your head, both of yours lips caught in a deep kiss as you moaned into his mouth. His tongue dancing in your mouth as he held your head tighter and closer, making out with you with determination. He had a mission and he was gonna do it.

His eyes were closed, his ears and cheeks red in colour as he groaned into the kiss you were hypnotised in. His body not pulled away until you did, taking deep breaths whilst he flipped you both again, his hands trailing up your body. You laid on your stomach, the dress now up against your lower back, exposing your backside and bare pussy.

He separated your legs with his body, his hand interlocking with yours as he placed his other hand beside your head to stabilise himself. "...Gosh you drive my crazy..." Sylus latched his lips onto your neck, sucking and licking the skin like a starved man. You moaned, moving your hips up to grind agaisnt the hardness in his cock. "...Sylus..."

He gasped before grinding onto you, his body reaching to the feeling of your body in many ways that one. "...You're so beautiful...so gorgeous....Are you sure you wanna to do this?" Sylus asks once again, his eyes meeting yours with sincere affection that it made you think for a minute.

Slowly, you came to the realisation that he was waiting for you to answer and you quickly responded, "Yes yes, I'm sure Sy. Come on—I want you."

He smirked, his hand going down to his zipper, undoing it with one hand before revealing his bulge through his boxers. Excitement filled your cheeks as you smiled at the sight held upon you.

Sylus let out a soft laugh, "Like what you see, sweetie?" You stare into his eyes, instantly feeling a sense of submission as he towers over you.

He pulled down his boxers, his hardened cock standing proud from it's enclosed position. He sighs, his hand interlocking with your passionately. "...You're not gonna change your mind are you?" He waited before lining up his hardened cock to your wet folds.

"I'm not...i'm fine Sylus don't worry."

And with that final confirmation, he slid into you, trying to hold back as you hissed. His cock stretched you out well, forcing your body to remember him. With another slightly push of his hip, another inch went in, a small moan leaving your mouth.

"...f-fuck so big Sy.." your voice sounded so pathetic already, breathless mind following as he pushed more inches of his dick into you. His eyes closed due to the soft feeling, his forehead sweating just from being inside you.

"...Can i move sweetie? Please...can i move yet?" He begged, and you nearly let out a laugh if it wasn't for the feeling coming from your lower half. The big and bad, horribly and deadly Onychinus leader begging to move in your pussy? Who would say no to that?

"Yes," As soon as you spoke, he exited his cock until the tip was left inside of you before ramming himself back inside. Seeming to have lost his self control, his hand held onto your hips, his thrusts digging deep in your pussy.

'Plap! plap! plap!' your pussy sang, taking in his big length with pleasure. Your head rolled back as you held the mattress cover for dear life, your sharp nails digging not the fabric. "Ah! Sy-Sylus please...fuck you're so gooddd!!"

His hips plunged into you harder— faster as they fucked you with purpose. Sylus's hand went to your hair, pulling it up harshly. The sting went straight to the space between your legs, making you clench around him tightly. Before Sylus could even say what he wanted to, he hissed, his hips slowing for just a second before picking up speed once more.

"I wanna hear you...I want to hear how good I'm fucking you, speak to me baby." He groaned in your ear, his lips kissing your neck. Your mouth opened, blabbering and gasping nonsense, slowly falling dumb for his dick. "S-so good...sooo good...ughh i love it Sy...I l-love it!"

You continued to accept his relentless thrusts that were slamming into your hips, his hand still embedded in your curled locks of hair. Your noises grew louder as Sylus hissed to himself, "...Fuck.."

He could feel you tightening around his thick length, telling him that you were about to release anytime soon. As a response, he lowered down to your position and sucked on your neck.

"I can feel it baby...cum, cum for me. Don't hold back." He ordered, his voice full of complete dominance. You nodded, but that wasn't enough for the man above you.

He gave you a fast but deep thrust, the tip of his cock meeting that sweet spot that made you crazy. Just by that alone, you let out a shriek, releasing yourself onto him.

Sylus came just after you, using his hips to thrust some of his cum back into you. He let out a grunt and a small whimper that you could barely even hear. "...Shit..."

By the time he even recovered, you were panting, laying down on the bed with a fucked out face — eyes closed with tears, mascara down your face, drool on the sheets below. It was a sight for sore eyes.

"..Sy you're slipping out..." You let out a soft whine, feeling the sudden emptiness in your cunt. The man above you rubbed your back as he kissed your forehead.

"Just stay here, let me grab something to clean you with. Even though I don't like ruining my masterpieces."

© alyakhq, do not plagiarise, translate, or copy any of my work . 11/01/25

[mimipolo]

hi darling, how are you?

genuinely thank you so much for writing about Nam-gyu, I love him and it's kind of disappointing to see that there are almost no fics or headcanons about him :(

I am honestly in love with your way of writing (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

I would love and be very grateful if you could write something about Nam-gyu dating a girl who is more shy and quiet

thank you so so nuch

have a great day/night 🤍

Nam-gyu x shy!reader

|HIII I'm doing good tysm for asking‼️

|You gave me the opportunity to listen to one of my softer playlists while writing this so kudos to u

He's tries his best to be gentle with you, almost too much. Sometimes he mistakes your meekness for also being weak. Yes weak willed but not necessarily a complete push over. You just prefer to keep to your thoughts to yourself. He genuinely admires you for it because he could never tolerate someone talking shit to his face.

Speaking of he's super quick to defend you, any word he believes could offend you( it offended him more) is immediately being damned to hell. He's holding you close to his side as he shouts at the supposed perpetrator.

We all know he's a super yapper when given the chance so he loves being in your company and talking to you, or well, talking at you. More often than not he's being spoken over or whatever he's saying isn't being received but it's so much more different with you. You're happy to sit and do whatever you're doing as he talks your ear off. Sometimes when he says something especially interesting you ask a question and he's already giddy and ready to explain in unnecessary amounts of detail.

Feels like he's the chosen one because you chose him out of all the loud bastards out there to be with. He wants to brag and show you off so badly but he has to physically restrain himself because he knows how much you'd hate having so many people you didn't know have so much information about you. Sometimes slips in a comment or two...or more to Thanos, nothing too crazy.

You understand him better than anyone else, when he's about to go from frustration to anger, then anger to violence. You're that voice of reason just behind him urging him to reconsider what he's about to say or do. At some point he realises he hears your soothing voice coaxing him to calm down when you're not there. Genuinely shudders at the thought because you have that much of an affect on him?? Terrifying.

Sometimes he likes to sit in silence with you, the windows open and it chills the already cool room as his head lays in your lap. You're humming quietly to yourself as you make a mess of his hair and he's content on staring up at you blissfully as you do so.

Takes into consideration you don't usually like PDA so keeps most of it at home. But any threat of someone even hinting at hitting on you he's softly grabbing your hand to pull you away, mean mugging the person the whole time. You hate confrontation at all costs, remembering how you jumped in shock at him just shouting at someone haunts him endlessly. Avoids doing so unless very much called for.

One thing you'll always acknowledge is how much he tries to remember all the little things about you, the effort he puts into making sure you're comfortable noticeable in every interaction. Even if it looks unnatural on him, he swears he's trying.

Guiltiest pleasure is purposefully making you flustered. Loves turning your head up to meet his eyes just for you to snap your head away as you shrink under his gaze. Thinks it's the cutest thing ever. Especially if you take hold of his wrists and tell him to stop it but don't actually push him away.

One thing he always makes sure of is keeping Thanos in check when he's around. It'd honestly be easier just to avoid him all together but the man is anywhere and everywhere. Has elbowed his stomach roughly when he was halfway calling you Senorita. Would do it again gladly. Got teased a lot after for being so protective you, Thanos clapped his back like some proud father as if he wasn't the main culprit.

He's your number one defender. If you have no fans he's legally dead. Supports every small hobby you do, and insists you make something big with it. Just wants to see you excited about something.

He's a snappy guy with a smart mouth so he has to tripple check himself every time he's slightly upset at you. It's not that he means to hurt you with his words he's just a little too creative. But due to your lax nature conflicts occur very rarely, a sense of peace only you could provide him with. Even if you did argue he'd be folding immediately after he's cooled down.

"Don't hate me kay? I didn't mean it."

"Speak to me pretty, ya know I said sorry."

Doesn't let up until you give out a short laugh, signalling his success.

[whysperingwoods]

I've had to block the "tarot reading" and "pick a card" and "pendulum reading" tags because otherwise the witchblr tag is completely unusable. I wish there was a way to stop those posts from showing up altogether instead of showing up but saying "this post is hidden". I also wish I could mute users without blocking them. I don't want to see AI generated crap constantly and the same correspondences posted over and over but I also don't necessarily want to ban this person from seeing my content (if there are ways to do this please let me know, I was off tumblr for a long time).

I also ran into the problem when starting to use this blog again of feeling like I needed to explain every single detail anytime I made a post, but even still someone will come onto it with an "um actually" and I feel the need to constantly justify myself with "this is MY practice and how EYE do things after 15+ years", like I can't explain 15 years of practice every single time and how I arrived at doing things a certain way.

I decided this year I'm just not doing educational posts anymore altogether. If someone has questions then I'm happy to help, and when I see questions I feel like I can contribute to I answer them, but I ended up spending so much time agonising over the perfect wording and making sure every single detail is covered so extensively that it ended up making me hate writing.

It's funny going over my posts from four years ago, there were so many actual discussions in the community and the witchblr tag was full of people just sharing their practices and talking about different methods and techniques. There was still fighting of course but it was a different kind I guess?

And there is so much constant virtue signalling it's becoming unbearable. Every few posts is calling out x behaviour or y behaviour but like I'm in the witchblr tag every day, and never see those behaviours being called out actually happening. Half the time I suspect people are making up something to be mad about or they say some ragebait thing on another site and they're posting it like it's a regular occurrence.

I think the leaning further and further into the realm of "you don't have to do anything to be a witch, as long as you feel like one" has done the community some damage. I understand this was meant to be inclusive, but at some point if you've never made a loaf of bread in your life, can you call yourself a baker? There does need to be some element of practice beyond reblogging aesthetic images in the name of a deity (I would argue that makes one more of a devotee than a practitioner?). How one practices is entirely personal, but "practice" implies there is some doing.

Maybe this is what folks are trying to do with the #advwitchblr tag? It's unfortunately still very slow moving, but I'm hoping more and more people catch on to using it. This is also why I made the Witchcraft Discussion community as an alternative to the Witchcraft community so it was focused more on discussion than memes and random stuff unrelated to witchcraft, but so far I'm the only person posting there.

Anyway sorry for rambling on your post but this has also been on my mind for a while lol

excuse my complaining but

i wish the witchcraft tags on here weren't clogged up with tarot asks and selfies and AI generated crap

bring back spells and rituals and masterposts and tarot deck reviews and people learning how to do magic for more than the aesthetic and views

please im begging at this point lmao