#this is me trying to make it better

[shinycollarboneapologist]

gorgeous

ficlet to the taylor!verse, based on THIS request. or the day matty and reader met :D 

content: no p in v sex but still kind of smutty, HEAVY PETTING, tw: one direction mention, reader was in a disney channel tv show

“aren’t you from one direction?” it comes out before your inebriated brain can stop the neural impulse from floating to your lips. he stares at you, blankly, blinking only after he realizes you’re probably not joking.

the club is loud, he almost feels as if he’s misheard you. and it had been over an hour before he was able to actually catch your eye. he had been trying since he got here, wanting to be pulled under your ephemeral gaze. each time he thought you were going to finally give him the time of day, you would only pull your eyes away and fall back into a steady conversation with whomever was in front of you. matty normally never had to fight for attention, usually people would flock to him and tell him how good his music was, how intelligent he was. yet, here he was having to fight tooth and nail for you to even look at him.

now that he’s got your attention, undivided and slightly unnerving, he doesn’t want to let it go.

“fuck you’re mean,” he exhales, shaking his head.

and you laugh, head rolling back as you bring your voice down an octave, darkening the timbre of your words as you mock him.

“i do not sound like that.” the foreboding crinkle in his forehead and frown on his lips is lessened by the sparkle in his eyes.

“yeah, you do, actually,” you’re unrelenting in your teasing, hand coming up to touch his forearm, “but it’s okay.”

he scoffs, yet he’s unable to ignore the radiating feeling of sparks going up his arm as your hand touches his skin. he glances down at your manicured fingers, throat feeling tight as his mind drifts to a filthy place far away from the club and even farther away from where he wants to be with you. he downs the rest of his drink, imagining its you on his lips, and returns his gaze to your bright eyes.

“you know, i’ve actually been trying to talk to you all night,” he confesses.

“have you?” you ponder, tilting an eyebrow up.

he nods, cheeks flushing as he smiles bashfully like a child caught stealing a bite of dessert before dinner, “yeah. i have, actually.”

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice his stare from across the room. his eyes had been locked on you since you entered, drawn to your magnetic demeanor in the darkened haze of the club. taylor had mentioned that she invited someone she wanted you to meet and by the looks of her watching the two of you interact from the corner of the room, her wish was coming true.

“could tell actually, you’ve been staring at me all night,” conversing with him is playful, light, easy. you offer him your hand and your name. he gladly takes it, enjoying the way your soft skin feels against his.

“i know, s’kinda embarrassing but your poster is on my wall back home.” he’s gleaming down at you, twinkle in his eye, “i’m matty.”

“matty,” you repeat, returning his smile with one of your own. your hand lingers in his for a little longer than expected, and there’s a slight desire for you to tangle your fingers with his. you shake off the feeling though, letting your hands fall apart naturally. he eyes you, quirking his head to the side.

“can i get you a drink?”

you oblige happily.

one drink turns into two. which then leads to three and before you know it you’re giggling on a bar stool with matty standing in front of you. he’s radiant in the lights, thick lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, smile full and bright. his lips, pink and plush, are curled around his teeth. you’re well aware that you’re entranced by him, eyes loitering on his face for a little longer than acceptable. you can’t help it though, and also can’t help the way you lean forward and take his hand. 

“you’re gorgeous,” your words tumble from your lips before you can think of the repurcussions. 

he stops in his tracks, standing up a little straighter. you think you’ve fucked it royally, immediately your eyes widen and your jaw pops open and shut as you try to think of a way to remedy it all.

“me? darling, what about you? should see yourself.” there’s a hint of blush creeping up the skin of his neck. it matches the pigment of your nails and you’re reminding yourself to always pick that color to remember it by. 

you wave him off, but his hand encapsulates your wrist before you can finish the movement.

“i mean it, truly.” his lips, soft as silk, press to your heated skin. they’re warm, wet from way he kept licking over them before, and you’re warding off thoughts of the way they would feel elsewhere. you shift, thighs clenching. you hope he doesn’t notice. 

matty leans closer to you. his movements are slow, like water running over oil, and he’s perching himself up with one hand on the bar and the other on the barstool. his breath, tainted with the taste of the whiskey he was sipping, fans over your face as he exhales. 

thankful for the darkened aura of the club, you reach up and cup his cheeks in your hands, eyes searching his for any semblance of dismissal. there is none. and so you rally forward, leaning up to press your lips to his own. his lips are softer than you imagined, tasting of the remnants of his drink and the coolness of the ice cubes that once floated around. he lets you take the lead, hands settling onto your waist as you go to pull him impossibly closer. your body melts into him, arms slowly drifting to loop around his neck. 

in the hustle and bustle of the club, you feel still. everything seems to cease around you. he pulls back slowly, running his tongue over his bottom lip. 

“you wanna get out of here?” 

it’s a statement more than it is a question. the words are suggestive, hanging in the air like cobwebs. you watch as his eyes widen, similar to your actions prior. was he over thinking? did he over step? his tongue pokes out from between his lips again, licking over the skin. you want to do that. 

“what? you’re not going to wine and dine me first?” you counter, but you’re already slipping off of the bar stool and linking an arm in his. 

he laughs, shaking his head, “i bought you a few drinks, didn’t i?” 

matty lets you lead him out the back door. his hand is attached to your waist, guiding you as you make a bee-line for the car parked waiting for you both. he opens the door for you before your driver could even make his way around the car. 

you slip in, matty follows, and you situate yourself on the leather seats. he’s squeezing in next to you, a hand placed gently on your exposed thigh. your skin heats up as if its aflame, each stroke of his thumb makes you have to compress the thoughts that are infiltrating your brain. you want him, badly. and you have a funny feeling that he knows it. 

you’re both stumbling up to the door of the apartment, his hand seeking purchase on your waist once more. once the door is unlocked, you offer him a soft smile, “i apologize for the clutter. s’just been awhile since i’ve been home.” 

the door is pushed open and you lead him inside, letting him enter as you shut the door behind the both of you. there’s a gasp. and you’re thinking that maybe you read it all wrong. maybe he didn’t want to come inside. maybe-

“dude, no fucking way. you’ve got the original film poster for pulp fiction? signed too? that’s so sick.” 

you let out a listless laugh, hand resting on your chest, “it was a gift. from an ex.” your face scrunches up at the last revelation, shaking your head as his eyes somberly look at you, “s’fine though. his last movie bombed in the box office, so i guess we all get our karma somehow, right?” 

he nods but immediately turns back to the poster, still in awe. 

matty had heard all about the break up, knew exactly which ex you were referencing also. an older guy, one that made everyone turn up their noses and call you some god awful things on the internet. he knew the breakup was rough, too, it had come up in conversations between he and taylor before. he didn’t want to pry, though, so he just faked enthusiasm in the poster for as long as he could. 

“you want anything? a drink? water? a snack?” you call from the kitchen. matty’s not done with his snooping yet, eyes dragging all over the large living room. there’s shoes astray, polaroid pictures littering dark forest green walls, a colorful rug, a sweatshirt haphazardly thrown on the couch, and lots of plants. it feels lived in and normal. for being one of the top actresses in the world, rolling stone said this not him, you’re normal. 

“i’ll take some water, please.” 

he hears your hum of approval and the sound of you shuffling around in the kitchen. when you reappear, he notes that the heels on your feet were swapped for a very endearing pair of slippers. they’re pink, fuzzy and the bunnies have long ears that drag on the floor when you walk. matty can’t help but smile. his cheeks hurt so badly from the action, yet he hardly notices. you’re extending the glass of water out to him, perching yourself on the bar table that separates the kitchen from the living area. 

“thank you,” he nods his head at you and takes a long sip, eyes locked on you as he does. he watches as you squirm under his unrelenting gaze and his stomach flutters. 

you show him around, pointing out all of the pictures on the wall of family and friends. and he notices how those same walls are littered with the countless awards you’ve won, yet you don’t acknowledge them. he’s been in the presence of many a large celebrity before and those are usually the first things they point out. but you’re different. a cool sip of water in the heated tinsel town he’s come to be apart of. 

“what’s this picture?” he nods his head to a polaroid dated only a year or so prior. it’s blurry, darkened but he can make out the shape of your lips in the corner and a familiar head of blonde hair.

you groan, a flush creeping up your neck and to your cheeks. “my twenty-first. went to vegas with taylor and a couple of our friends and woke up in LA. don’t think i can ever look at vodka the same way again. it was not my best moment, i’ll tell you that.”

he laughs, a true belly laugh and bends backwards as you confess.

“how did you end up in LA?” he asks, finally able to gain his composure.

“you’re asking me as if i know! taylor says i paid off a pilot in a bar or something, which sounds a little too on brand if you ask me,” you muse, “but i got to see the sunrise from behind the hollywood sign, so that was nice.”

matty revels in the way you recall the memories. your eyes are gleaming, and in the darkened light of the hallway he can tell that you’re radiant, sheer beauty putting all of the stars he’s seen to shame.

you approach the doorway to your room and there’s a bit of apprehension as you turn over your shoulder to look at the curly-haired man behind you. he nearly falls into you as you stop short, his chest bumping into your shoulder. you pause. and swallow thickly, can feel his heart rapping against his chest. the vibrations reverberate through your body. it isn’t long until his eyes wander down to your lips again. 

“can i kiss you again?” he exhales. 

you nod quickly and before you can even open your mouth to say anything, his lips seek solace on yours. you sigh out, twisting in his grasp to assume more leverage. his hands trace over your body, grasping at your hips to pull you closer. your lips move in tandem with one another, soft sighs and hums of content echoing into each other. one of your arms wraps loosely around his neck while the other reaches down to find the doorknob. he nips at your lip, and you melt in his arms with a baited whine. you feel his lips curl up into a smirk against yours when you finally reach the door knob and twist it.

the both of you nearly fall into your room, but he’s got your waist in his hands to steady you against him. its only a few paces from the doorway to the bed. skillfully, he’s backing you up. his lips move feverishly against your own, parting only as your knees buckle and you fall onto the bed with the weight of his body collapsing ontop of you. 

“hey there,” you hum, moving your lips from his to slowly kiss your way down his exposed neck. his soft sighs ricochet through the heated air and you watch as goosebumps prickle up the skin of his arms. 

“feels nice,” he murmurs, tilting his neck up. you get better leverage then, using this to your advantage as you curl your lips to suck a deep purple mark at the base of his neck. matty moans. and you swear to yourself that its the prettiest sound you’ve heard all night, maybe even your whole life. his hands travel from your waist, up towards your concealed chest. 

“can i take this off?” he’s tugging at the hem of your shirt. you nod quickly. 

matty wastes no time in ridding you of the shirt and makes quick work of the bra that’s keeping you from him. 

“fucking hell,” he all but whines, leaning down to press his lips to your heated skin. his lips do anything but ease the heat erupting underneath your skin, instead they illicit more heat in their wake. “you’re fucking gorgeous.” 

a large palm cups at the mound of one of your breasts while his mouth leaves heated kisses along the other. his tongue jets out, flicking at the tender budded skin of your nipple before he envelopes the sensitive bud into his mouth. a gasp falls from your lips. he’s toying with it between his teeth, sucking it around. your hips buck up and into him. 

he alternates between the two, loving the way you writhe and buck against him. there’s a fire burning deep within you, the totality of it all being blissfully ignored between your legs. 

“need more,” you sigh out. matty peers up at you. he’s moved on to kissing down your stomach and shuffling your pants down your legs. a wry smile tugs at his cheeks. 

“patience is a virtue.”

“do you want me to beg for it?”

the thought of you on your knees and begging for him has his cock jumping in his pants. he blinks a few times, “while the offer may be nice, the sight of you on your knees might make me cum in my pants.” 

a breathy laugh falls from your lips, reaching down to run a hand through his hair. 

“meant it when i said you were gorgeous,” your thumb traces down the center of his face, pulling at his bottom lip. his eyes are wide and doe-like. he captures your digit in his mouth, nipping at the tender pad. its enough to make you shudder. his lips are puffy and swollen, reminiscent of all of the kissing and biting and longing. a pink flush rises from his neck, similar in color to the shade of his lips. it only exacerbates your point. 

“you gonna let me have a taste?” he asks, his breath fanning out over your clothed core. 

"please,” you hum through a baited breath. 

he groans in response, tapping the side of your thigh whilst removing the soaked lace from your skin. matty spreads you open between his fingers, dipping his finger into the sticky honey pouring out from you. he pops the digit into his mouth, eyes rolling back. “taste so good. wanna taste you directly from this pretty little cunt though.” 

you barely have a second to reply in anything but a moan as he loops his arms under the bend of your knees, mouth latching onto your cunt almost immediately. he’s insatiably sucking and licking and nipping. you wail out as his teeth run over your senisitve (and up until this point ignored) clit. he flicks his tongue over the bud soothingly, lips curling around to suck on it. the fact that there’s no rhythm almost gives it a rhythm. you buck your hips up against his mouth, wanting more, craving more. he’s devouring you like a man starved and you’re happy to be his last meal. 

“feels so good,” you sigh out through a combination of a choked sob and a moan. matty smirks against you, bringing a finger up and slipping it in. he crooks it up, finding the spot inside of you almost immediately. you have half a mind to ask him where he found out about it. you had heard stories from friends of friends through the grapevine, but nothing prepared you for anything quite like this. 

“gonna let me fuck you?” he pulls back slowly, quirking an eyebrow up at you. his lips shine in your juices, pupils blown out and hair wild from the fingers you’ve been raking through it. matty’s finger relentlessly works in and out of you and he’s adding a second before you can even reply. 

“yeah. want you to fuck me,” you moan. his thumb connects to your clit and he continues to work into you, his fingers rubbing over the spongy spot over and over. your eyes roll back into your head, letting the shockwaves of pleasure radiate through your body. 

matty’s reaching for his wallet with his unoccupied hand. his incesscant rhythm has slowed down, leaving you without much relief. he leans over your sweaty writhing body upon getting his wallet, to press a kiss to your lips. its messy. and he tastes like you- heady and sweet. you buck into his fingers, slowly beginning to fuck yourself against them. his jaw goes slack and he pulls back to watch the scene below him. he’s distracted by you, entranced in the way you push and pull yourself on his fingers, thoughts clouding by the way this exact scene would play out with you on his cock (which twitches in the constraints of his pants).

you’re moaning out for him, eyes locking on his own as you feel your release begin to creep up on you. its slow and impending, all you need is a little push-

“fuck!” 

his expelative jossels you from your impending high. you blink a few times and stop the movement on his fingers, chest rising and falling. 

“w-what’s wrong?” you exhale heavily, worry crossing your face. 

you’re half expecting you to tell him that he’s got a girlfriend or he’s changed his mind or you’re not exactly what he wanted or he’s got to go. 

“i don’t have a fucking condom. could’ve swore i put one in here.” the look on his face is almost laughable. matty’s gone pale, despite the heat induced flush on his chest, and his eyes are locked on the empty pocket of his wallet. 

you let out a giggle that has his eyes snapping back to yours, “i have one. let me just..” you blush a bit as you dismount his fingers, rolling over to open the night stand next to your head. there, tucked in the corner is a box of condoms. you silently cheer and drag it towards you. you don’t remember it feeling this light when you bought it. maybe you went through more than you- 

“fuck!” the box is empty when you turn it upside down on the bed.

matty is exasperated, looks as if he’s about to cry and you’re sure you don’t look much better. 

you flop back onto the bed dejectedly covering your eyes and letting out a loud groan. “this is-”

“i know.” 

“i can’t believe.”

“i know.” 

the bed dips in next to you and he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, “we can make it work though? quite liked the way you felt on my fingers and that little scene you made fucking yourself on them? nearly came in my pants.” he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your cheeks, “so why don’t we have our fun now. and tomorrow morning, i’ll go out get us a nice new box that we can tear through?” 

“who says i’m letting you sleep over?” 

he cocks his head to the side, “i’d like to see you try and kick me out of your bed when i’m done with you.” he begins his descent down your body once more. 

“that’s a promise.” 

[laughingcatwrites]

As a reminder that good exists out there, a coworker recently confessed to me that he found out his child is questioning their identity (kid's gender redacted for this post). The kid is keeping it from him, so he can't say anything to them or show that he knows, but he's doing his best to get mentally prepared and educated so that he'll be ready whenever his kid does feel comfortable enough come to him.

For context, this guy is a big, bulky middle aged dude who loves sports and typical outdoor "manly" activities. As his coworker and friend, I know he's a kind and sweet teddy bear of a person, but his kid probably views him as a stern, authoritarian figure, the way most teenagers view their parents. His family lives in a conservative area, so I'm sure between that, their dad's looks and interests, and the fact that their dad is a Figure of Authority, the kid is worried that they won't be accepted.

But you know what? When he found out about his kid, the first thing he did was reach out to his closest queer friend and ask for resources for parents of questioning children. His biggest fears are that his kid will be bullied or discriminated against and won't feel comfortable enough to be themself. His second action was to find himself a mentor in another parent who went the same situation (kid coming out in a conservative town). The other person is preparing him for some of the struggles his kid may face and the fights he may need to take on as a parent to make sure his kid is safe and treated well.

Something I want to emphasize for people focused on language as the primary method of allyship is that when we spoke, he used some outdated terms and thoughts about gender and sexuality. That does not make him bad. These were the terms and thinking used about questioning teenagers when he was growing up and he never needed to learn more current ones. But now that he does have that need, he's throwing himself in head first because that's his kid and he's darn well going to make sure that his kid feels welcomed and has a safe place to be themselves even if they never come out to him.

[soyochii]

Satosugu redraw

[mangozic]

michael shelley I would die for you

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

[plain-text version of this post can be found under the cut]

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

Plain-text version:

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

P.S. Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[arttsuka]

I made @wolfythewitch 's fox Bill design out of polymer clay

It's pretty thin (so thin I'm afraid it'll snap in half anytime I lift it)

Front and back side:

[bixels]

Scary Sunset.

I'm concepting things way outta order in this story, but I'm sure you can piece things together. Context is for a storybeat where, after defeating and capturing Adagio (thus having all three sirens in her possession), Sunset enacts her revenge plot to release the sirens on Canterlot as Thea discovers she's been manipulated. In a confrontation, the two scuffle and fight over the siren orbs while Sunset struggles with her conflicting wants and emotions.

[milkbreadtoast]

My baby brother...☺️🤏💖

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm not going back to Gusu with you.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[chalkrub]

saw some mangy dog on the outskirts of town

[uncarbonatedmilk]

! eyestrain !

the throat of delusion incarnate

[natjennie]

something about "your anger isn't scary to me" is making me so emotional. something about as above so below, cassandra as a mirror of kristen. something about "I've been dropping the ball a lot lately" and kristen's struggles with adhd. something about teenage girls and rage and fury and justice. something about adaine's vision of ruining fallinel and the sylvaire looking for revenge. something about sadness and doubt and anger and love. something about "I choose to understand" being the absolute core theme of d20 in general. something something.

[sutorus]

this is best friend’s dad!toji and reader

[swordsandholly]

I like to imagine Ghost with lashes and brows that are so blonde they’re near translucent. His hair has darkened into that dirty, “dishwater” blonde that’s inevitable with age but his brows and lashes remain practically platinum. The hair he doesn’t care about much, he keeps it shorn most of the time anyway.

He doesn’t like the other stuff, though - thinks it makes him look weird, especially with his dark eyes contrasting against them. It adds to the Ghost persona, though, he supposes. A big, pale specter with eyes like voids looking out from behind a skull.

I also like to imagine that Soap is obsessed with them - with catching them in the right light, with the way those big, brown eyes look up at him through them. He’ll trace his thumbs over Ghost’s brows almost reverently and kiss his eyelids as if worshiping a saint.

[featheredadora]

Disabled people shouldn't have to jump through hoops!!

[lygma-nygma]

Being a batfam fan is funny because people will make a post like “here’s my headcanon-“ and it’s just something that’s directly canon to the story then post about major canon events and get everything wrong.