#very much not what the question is asking

[reignpage]

piggybacking on the banana question, if they all got to run the train what order would they go in?? 🙏🙏🙏

(i just wanna know where you’d put nanami tbh)

I LOVE THIS QUESTION

Choso: cause he'd be the virgin of the group. they'd think of it as initiation and would want him to experience the very best on his first time. I imagine nanami would likely have to guide his dick in because he keeps missing the whole, would mutter encouragements and instructions. everyone would even shout out tips like 'hey cho, slap her pussy she likes that' or 'choso ma boi, grind your hips, oh yeah just like that, hear her moans? she fucking loves that shit'. he'd be passed out on the side from the overwhelmingness of it all, probably drooling babbling about how great pussies are

Nanami: would go next, his case being that he's got things to do so let's just get it over with. truthfully he couldn't wait any longer. he talks you through it, describes all the things he's feeling, how you're so tight, the pleats and folds of your pussy, how beautiful you look. he fucks you like there's no one else in the room. they'd all start complaining about long he's taking and he'd roll his eyes but would make sure you cum first before he does. and then he never actually leaves, he just stays, brushing tears from your eyes and cooing for you to let him know if it gets too much

Sukuna: the fact that he's sharing at all is already making him on edge, so to be going third would piss him off. RIP your pussy bro. he's really getting all up in there, bruising you so badly you're gripping Nanami's arm whilst he smiles down at you for being so good. sukuna would slap your face (not too hard, just to get your attention) he'd tch! and start degrading the shit out of you. look at you making obscene noises from both lips like a whore. you love the attention don't you? bet you want all of your holes filled up, you dirty girl. would probably demand someone plugs up your loud mouth. and after he cums inside, he'd force you to clean him up whilst the next one steps up

Geto: if I had it my way he wouldn't even be in the room but whatever, dick is dick so who can complain. he's very sweet seeming, he wets his dick with your cum, doing a pussyjob, really getting you worked up so you beg for him and then he fucks into you slow. too slow. you start crying, complaining, screaming for him to fuck you hard. he laughs until everyone else gets mad at him for being too mean, like come on man, there are limits. so then he picks up the pace and he even pats your pussy and thanks it for doing a good job.

Gojo: insisted he goes after geto. says he wants his bestie to go first but really he just wanted to fuck you with his dick drowning in geto's cum. that really gets him going. really mean too, would mock the faces and sounds you make until you're pouting through the tears that he's just like geto. and that man cums. he keeps cumming too cause geto comes up behind him and guides his hips and keeps him fucking into you, whispering how poor little you didn't even get to cum yet

Toji: that man is a dirty dirty whore. he doesn't care that other men's cum is dripping out of you. he's filthy. in fact, he'd eat you out before he slips it in. and he's bending you in all sorts of different positions. he even lifts you up so everyone can see your tits bounce, your eyes roll back, and your pussy take his cock again and again. man also walks over to choso and does it right in front of his face, asks him to lick your clit, and of course he does. pounds into you so hard you're dazed and delirious and when he asks who's fucking you best you're just screaming his name and everyone rolls their eyes

It just means they go for round 2 to prove who really is the best

[hellspawnmotel]

Question: I notice on your Deltarune posts you focus on a lot about relationships and gender roles and such. May I ask why exactly? Just curious as to why find this aspect of this game so particularly interesting? Is there anything else you find interesting about DR?

well. first of all yes I find many other aspects of DR to be interesting lmao. the discarded vessel, the conversations ralsei and kris have when the player isnt looking, the dreemurr-holiday family split, anything surrounding dess, the connections to undertale, what gaster's goals are, susie's potential, kris's whole everything.... but as I've said before, I don't really like making predictions outside of themes and character dynamics. and I feel that for most of these things, I don't have enough information yet to really dig my teeth in analysis-wise, or else I don't have anything interesting to say that hasn't been said already.

as for why I fixate on the theme of gender so much.......

it just happens to be a theme I'm extremely drawn to and interested in

idk if I've ever vibed with a single character as much as I do noelle. it's like she and all her aesthetics were made for me specifically to love. and noelle is..... at least given the context of the weird route, she's kind of a girl of all time? not just in terms of being a great character, but her position represents femininity in fiction to me in the same way as like, rei ayanami or anthy himemiya. she's very much herself but in the eyes of the narrative and the viewer she becomes every girl to ever live. she's turned into a symbol. all girls are like the rose bride. there's just already so many layers and so much to analyze about it- not just from the game itself but how the audience receives and reacts to the game.

I'm a woman

my absolute favorite genre of video games is JRPGs from the 90s and 00s and let me tell you something about that. I could name more games that I have stopped playing after getting hours in specifically because the way they handled their female characters pissed me off so much, than games that I've come out of feeling like the girls were written at all fairly. how women are written in this genre, and in fantasy at large, is something I already thought about all the time. and deltarune is very much based on games like that! it's not the only thing deltarune is based on but it's the thing I personally have the most experience with. and given what we've been presented with so far, I actually feel pretty confident, for the first time in my life, that deltarune is going to continue to do right by its female characters and have interesting things to say about women in JRPGs, video games, fantasy, and fiction in general, if only in the abstract. it's something I've been dying to see done well specifically in this setting, this genre, and this medium for years. and I'm gonna revel in that as much as I can.

......writing this I forgot that you also said "relationships" and not just gender roles lol but that answer's a lot simpler. I just love watching and writing character interaction. and again, it's something I can iterate on a lot despite not having the full picture yet. it's fun and cool.

[gordonengineswifenirmal]

I was physically healthier in grade school, but I had a lot going on emotionally. I had ppl calling me trans n lesbian before it was acceptable. Im cisgender n thought I was straight at the time. (I turned out to be very asexual). I started missing school because the emotional torment was too much.

The principal n teachers thought I was hearing voices - because I could not identify the harassers. They were in a younger grade, they harassed me for years in another school before they were old enough to attend this one. I didn’t know their names. I could pick out what they looked like if I’d seen them, but they would whisper it and run away.

I have never heard voices or seen things except when I was on some bad meds for depression that really didn’t agree. Never before or after. This particular incident was long after I’d been off those meds, n hadn’t been hearing voices at all. Never heard anything at home, on the high street. Also, this was before cell phones were a thing, so I couldn’t just snap a picture of them in the hall n b like here - these ruddy bastards did it.

I nearly quit school because of it. It still triggers things to this day. This is also why I’m extreme sensitive to being misgendered. It goes far beyond JUST being proud to b who u r n whatnot. The backstory is emotionally painful. Luckily, I was able to get home schooling after a real fight for it with the district. I probably fought for that shite more than most did for an education. I then went on to get 2 degrees, n help others get theirs.

The point is -

People need to listen. Actually listen. Don’t make arrogant assumptions. Instead of snide remarks n accusations, ask questions, try to help find solutions, try to better understand the situation. That kid who is in pain n missing school, or that kid who is traumatised by school probably has a reason. They’ve been ignored n shot down so many times, they’re probably afraid to speak up. Don’t add to that. Be the difference. Believe me, it can affect them later. You can honestly b part of the problem or part of the solution. You may be able to help more than one person, n it doesn’t take much.

Sadly though, people treat older folks the way they do kids. Have the same approach - and understand that writing them off is offensive for a reason. Just like a kid wants to genuinely be heard, so do we older folks. We have life experience. You don’t want to be insulted, talked down to, patronised, n made of? Neither do we. How do u avoid this? Don’t do it. Learn to communicate better, appropriately. You want to be valued too? U won’t be by treating others like shite. And for the younger lot - one day, u will get older. You might b in a position where u r mistreated by younger folks. Just remember that.

When I say “school should be disability accessible”, I don’t just mean we need handicap rails and EAs. Kids should be able to miss a day without failing out of school. You shouldn’t be dismissed from clubs because your attendance record is “spotty” (true story). I once missed an entire week of school because of a terrible, unending migraine. I was expected to keep up with my studies despite the blinding pain that came with working on my computer. When I heard my teachers say that you couldn’t miss exams, I asked what I would have to do to be excused from them. Their response? “Either get a doctor’s note an hour before the exam or death of an immediate family member.”

I cannot express how rigid this expectation was. First of all, with my condition, I wouldn’t have enough warning about my sickness to go to the doctor and request a note. For many people, this is exceptionally difficult, especially with the current shortage of medical professionals. Next, it ignores the fact that my schedule may not line with theirs because of my medical needs. Once, I had to visit a hospital a province away (which I was on the waiting list of for over a year) on the same day as an exam. I begged my mother not to take me because I was so nervous that I would be marked as an automatic fail. I was lucky enough to make it work, but that’s only because of my spectacular support system consisting of family members and wonderful doctors.

Disabilities aren’t always about needing a bus that can accommodate wheelchairs. It’s already difficult enough for many of us to maintain school attendance without the harsh punishments involved for skipping a day. We need to be able to miss school without being punished. Only than can you claim that the school is “accessible”

[valtsv]

can you pitch tsv to me fandom propaganda style… like sell it to me. hook me in. what is it about

the silt verses is a folk horror/political satire/weird fiction podcast set in an alternate ambiguously modern-day reality that asks the question "what if gods (and their saints, and angels, and miracles) were real? what if they formed the core infrastructure of the society you lived in? what if they were sustained by human belief and sacrifice? what if this was just the accepted Way Things Are?" and then introduces you to a cast of characters for whom this is their normal daily routine, and shakes them up through a series of intersecting arcs and plotlines. it deals with a lot of compelling themes - including identity and personhood, how institutions of power are formed and maintained and the potential for abuses of that power even by the most well-intentioned who wield it, action vs. rhetoric and the power of words; whose story is worth telling and whose is erased or adulterated by those privileged enough to write the version that becomes the widely accepted canon, and how struggles for control of something as conceptual as narrative can become very real and legitimate fights for the right to have one's autonomy and personhood recognised, human connection and why it's both so valuable and so destructive, etc. - but the central question it unceasingly begs is "why do we continue to live like this? why do we accept that this is all there is? what will it take for us to care about what's happening all around us, every day, right before our very eyes? what will you do when you realise you've spent your whole life drowning, and every option for relief comes at a cost? how long can you keep telling yourself that you're not really drowning before the water closes in over your head and swallows you like all those before you?"

tsv takes a magnifying glass to the horrifying exploitation and cruelty that so much of our own society runs on, and literalises it, leading to what is often rather heavy-handed satire bordering on the parodic - but it does so with such grace and unflinching, grounded honesty, without preaching to its audience but without letting them off the hook, either. it recognises that we are all both complicit in and victims of our own collective slow grind towards annihilation, and it asks us "isn't this absurd? isn't this horrifying? is this really all there is? is there nothing we can do in the face of this seemingly insurmountable, inescapable self-defeating routine-turned-ritual? why should we, or shouldn't we, care? why should we, or shouldn't we, try to make a difference?" and it's brave enough to admit that it doesn't have all the answers. but it still tries. because the silt verses is, fundamentally, a story about hope - real hope; the difficult, unglorious, unrelentingly in need of maintenance kind that is, nevertheless, still worth every effort to inspire it. the silt verses is a story about why we get up in the morning and try again, even though it might never be enough.

it's also a very character-driven story, and the character writing is truly second to none. every character is a person, in all their infinite messy, human complexity. every character has the capacity for abject cruelty and incredible kindness; to be a significant influence on their reality and to be utterly meaningless in the wider context of things; every character has the potential to be both the hand that pulls someone to their feet in their hour of need, and the boot that grinds them further into the dirt, and every character is both of these things, at some point or another, to someone. every character is both the martyr and the one holding the knife. no character is a saint - not even the actual, literal saints. and while this isn't necessarily something that should be used as a selling point, the way this podcast handles the diversity of identity is fantastic, and never used tokenistically, or as a character's sole defining trait (though not all aspects of identity get equal consideration; the creator has acknowledged that he didn't tackle race as a topic much beyond examining the developmental factors of broad strokes "us vs. them" nationalistic identities, and the arbitrary nature of patriotic loyalty to one's nation when it runs on the same oppressive systems as that which is painted the aggressor, and some fans have pointed out that while diversity of gender and one's lived experiences according to one's gender identity gets plenty of focus, some things are left to implication and inference in a way that doesn't necessarily strengthen the story's themes).

anyway. not sure this is the "fandom propaganda style" pitch you asked for, but listen to the silt verses. it's a brilliant work of fiction and to my mind deserves to be considered a landmark piece of art (even if that does mean that some of my more fandombrained takes would likely come to be seen as unflattering misconstrusions of the source material that betray my personal deficiencies. well whatever it was fun i had fun.)

[humanjarvis]

i learned from you

synopsis: while talking with your colleague, you realize caleb is the closest thing you have to a mother figure. 

pairing: caleb x reader, reader is mc tags: light angst, comfort, fluff, reader had a rough childhood, reader has a period, reader and caleb's relationship is ambiguous but he kisses her head once, reader questions existence, reader is kind of a crybaby, grandma josephine implied to be a bum in this no shade to her word count: 1.3k

a/n: i hope this doesn't read weird #imnotintothat i just keep thinking about how caleb fulfills like 6 different roles in mc's life. he is so gender studies to me

“What do you mean you don’t know how to straighten your hair? Didn’t your mom ever teach you?” Tara asks in genuine confusion. 

With your sandwich halfway to your lips, you freeze. Although you were close with your colleagues, you weren’t all that open about your upbringing, for obvious reasons. Before now, everyone had always accepted your reticence on the topic. They’d never been people to overstep, but you guess there’s a first time for everything. 

“I don't remember much about my parents,” you respond carefully. “My memory from before the Wanderers came is a little blurry, sorry.” 

Tara’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ as her cheeks turn scarlet. “I didn’t mean to—” she starts. “I wasn’t trying to—I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” 

You knew she didn’t know. That was kind of the point. Your whole thing was to move through life ignoring your early childhood, pretending you’d simply spawned into Linkon as a tween. But you couldn’t tell Tara that—she was sweet, it was an honest mistake, and she didn’t need your baggage at noon on a Friday.

Scrambling for something to break the tension, you blurt out, “I think she did teach me how to dry it, though!”

The peace offering is bland—to most people, drying hair is nothing special—but it works. Tara jumps back into the conversation, tactfully choosing to talk about her childhood so you could keep yours locked away in the depths of your mind. Crisis averted, you think. 

Except as the minutes tick by and Tara drones on, you realize the crisis is very much not averted. You’d brought up your “mom” teaching you to dry your hair to save you both from an awkward lunch, but when the lie left your mouth, it wasn’t your mother you were thinking of. It wasn’t Grandma Josephine. It was Caleb. 

Caleb had taught you how to dry your hair. It’d happened when you were twelve; a rowdy classmate had snuck up behind you and pushed you into the pool, leaving your hair a tangled, matted mess. When Caleb had found out your teachers were letting you go home early, he’d skipped his last two classes to be right by your side, running a shower for you while you sulked by the bathroom door. After you’d dried off and changed into the pajamas he’d left on the counter, Caleb came in from the hallway, carrying the same towel he’d used to dry your hair countless times before. Section by section, he’d squeezed the water from your hair, showing you how to without frizzing it up. “Not saying that ‘wet cat’ is a bad look on you, but I get the feeling you don’t want to look like that all the time,” he’d quipped. 

Caleb had been there for you for as long as you could remember, you realize. As you walk back to the Hunters Association, halfheartedly entertaining Tara’s chattering, the memories flood your brain: Caleb teaching you math. Caleb nursing you back to health when you had the flu. Caleb packing your lunchbox, Caleb doing your laundry, Caleb holding you through your first period. For all your firsts, all your milestones, and even the dull moments, he had been there. Your head spins as you stare at your desk, not even remembering sitting down. All your life, has Caleb been your only mother figure? 

You go home lost in thought. 

You stay that way for the whole afternoon, nearly forgetting about the movie night you’d planned for that evening with—you guessed it—Caleb. As you float around your apartment on autopilot, tidying up your living room and throwing on comfier clothes, the doorbell rings. He’s right on time. 

“Hey, pipsqueak,” he greets as you welcome him in. “I hope you’re hungry—I brought your favorite snacks.” 

You thank him with a smile, hoping his observant eyes can’t spot the way it wavers. Just two hours, you think. Two hours and then you’ll be free to question your existence all weekend.

The movie plays as normal. It’s easy to escape the worries on your mind with a fantasy blockbuster stealing your attention. It’s only when Caleb offers to make you a late dinner that the weight of your day falls back down to your shoulders. 

“No, that’s okay. I can just order something after you’re gone,” you refuse shyly. Having returned to your earlier haze of overthinking, you make a mistake. As Caleb moves to ruffle your hair, you flinch, dodging under his hand. The ensuing beats of awkward silence are all it takes for him to register that something is off.  

“...You just pulled away from me. You never do that unless you’re upset. Talk to me, pips—did I do something wrong?” He pauses. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you rush, throwing your hands out in front of you. “No, it’s just…”

When you trail off, he steps closer. “It’s just…what? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me,” he presses. 

“It’ll sound silly. And weird,” you say quietly, avoiding his gaze. 

“Nothing about you is silly, pipsqueak. Except when you’re actin’ cute for my attention,” he adds, gently poking your nose.  

You reward his efforts to put you at ease with a shaky giggle, finally finding the will to talk. “Earlier, Tara just asked me about my parents—wondering if my mom had ever taught me to do something.” 

Caleb grimaces. 

“And with Gran so busy all the time…and with her…gone…now… I just realized the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother figure is you,” you breathe, your voice breaking at the end of your confession. 

Caleb’s unreadable gaze makes the tears arrive faster. “It’s just…you’re everything to me, Caleb. You’ve been with me through everything,” you sniffle. “Every role in my life you could possibly play, you play it, and I didn't even notice until now. You’ve spent over half your life guiding me through mine, and I just feel so helpless. I don’t even know if I'd be alive without you, and—”

Your tears constrict your throat, forcing you to pause if you want to breathe properly.

Even though he knows now is a bad time to dote on you, given the circumstances, Caleb would rather eat glass than turn a blind eye to your tears. He quickly shushes you, letting you cry into his sweater, and the more you relax in his embrace, the more you hate yourself. You really can’t do anything without him.

Settling you both on the loveseat, Caleb rocks you for a few moments before he begins. “I didn't know you felt that way, but it seems like you didn't either. Look, pipsqueak,” he sighs, tilting your head up to make eye contact. “Don't ever feel bad about how you were brought up. I won’t let you keep stressing yourself out over something that was never in your control.” He pauses, as if weighing the consequences of his next words. “And if it means anything, which I hope it does, I thank the stars every day that the universe was kind enough to let me take care of you. To see you grow,” he murmurs, pressing a long kiss to your temple. “Any way you'll have me in your life, I'll be there. Never feel ashamed for that.” 

With your heart pounding, you peek up at him, hesitant awe on your still-teary face. He meets your gaze with a soft smile, softly stroking your back, and you wonder what heroic deeds you accomplished in your past life to deserve him. “I’m sorry for pulling away from you earlier,” you whisper, nestling your head into his shoulder. 

You don’t know how long you stay there curled beside him, but the moon is high in the sky when he next speaks.

“So…mother figure, huh?” he asks, voice mischievous now that your tears have dried. “Better me than anyone else. You might have liked her more than me—can’t have that.” 

Lifting your head, you swat his chest. “Caleb!” you groan.  

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ “Behave” — JJK Men

Synopsis:- They’re all gentlemen, at least they try to be, but then, just what can a man do when you’re literally, asking for it?

— A/n:- because chemistry sucks ass and rather than that, I’d rather get scolded by a man🤭+it is sorta rushed

— Word Count:- 0.9k

— Warnings:- smut!!MDNI!!Geto + Gojo + Nanami x reader (separately); brat taming; slight humiliation (just a bit mean sided); hints of oral (male receiving); spanking (very light?); hints of edging; idk rest just yea<3 (not proofread!!); sir kink with Geto; name calling; porn w/o plot lol

Suguru Geto:-

Suguru Geto holds the patience of a priest, quiet simply, and punishes like the God Complex he’s built himself around. Nothing ever truly goes unnoticed by him, watching intently as he counts each strike—it’s true, often he’ll punish you in spite of it—but more often than not (because you’re a decent brat too) he finds himself giving all that you perfectly deserve.

“How many do you deserve?” he murmured against your skin, hands bound with the pretty handcuff, the one he insisted upon buying—face shoved deep into the white sheets and ass up and facing him.

Fingers playing with the loose sheets, you smirked, “20?” You reply was short, almost sweet and innocent.

Suguru didn’t budge, he knew it—a smirk he adorned too, “I think that’s a lot doll let’s do a little less than half of it, ok?” A sharp slap landed on your rear—a rough squeeze.

You whined simply, in response—he knew however, spankings weren’t all so much a punishment for you as much as the pleasure it passed you.

And he wasn’t having it tonight, not when you were audacious enough to insult him in front of his friends.

“That’s very less su’- ah!” A squeal you let out when another sharp slap crashed upon—“Sir! That’s far too less sir,” your correction amused him still.

“You think 8’s less doll?” And just something about the edge in his voice alerted you, “Last time you were crying and writhing when I edged you 5 times—but if that’s what you want…”

A smirk and a whine let out together.

Satoru Gojo:-

Satoru Gojo is all by himself, the embodiment of a brat—so to seek out ways to thin his patience is almost stupid. But stupid is as stupid does— a challenge shouldn’t go wasted right? Satoru doesn’t need reasons to punish you, at least, that’s what he makes it seem like, but he remembers and he remembers well.

Back pressed against his chest, you nuzzled deeper—aware perfectly of the uncomfortable hard-on your almost bare ass, pressed against his crotch, caused him.

A whine he let out- hands groping your breasts roughly, kneading and pressed together, “Don’t fucking tease me,” he muttered against the sensitive skin of your neck, you grinned.

“Awh, poor Toru’ can’t take it?” And you were sure you almost head a purr at that, “don’t push it princess,”

Another whine, when you pushed your ass against his dick further, “Push what Toru?” The little pout your lips held drove him crazy as that.

“That’s it,” he growled right there—“you asked for the punishment,”

An amused look you offered, “Because you can’t control your dick? What are you 12?” You knew your words only tipped him more, but he was just always worse at the game than you ever could be, “For cumming and soiling those pretty panties I bought you, especially when I wasn’t home,” you eyes went wide, and his smirk—not one thought sprang your head, how did he know that?

“Or for those shorts you wore when Nanami was over, wanted him to check out this sweet ass angel?” You squealed as his hand pinched your ass.

“Maybe for the nudes you kept sending me during my missions hm? But the real question is, what should I even do hm?”

Before anything could even register inside your head, he had already manhandled you between his legs, kneeling on the bed as he sat legs wide.

“Go on,” he grinned, “Only I deserve the pleasure tonight yeah?”

Nanami Kento:-

Nanami Kento is a man of few words and perfect ideals—you almost knew what you were getting into, except, you didn’t. Kento wasn’t exactly strict, he let you as you pleased- he liked it feisty, but there were moments of his own. And sometimes, he just couldn’t help the sudden flare of anger bubbling up.

Your head bobbed along the length of his shaft- your mouth was getting sore for that was how he’d kept you for the past 15 minutes, kneeling under his table, your warm mouth keeping him occupied while he worked—all so because you couldn’t help your need for attention.

A glare he passed when you let out a whine, eyes flitting onto the door handle, making sure no one would enter and suddenly, he pulled out—making you whine all the louder.

“Just don’t fucking get it, do you?” His words were harsh, so contrasting to the usual Kento he offered in your gaze, “Just wanna be fucked in front of everyone like a slut,” his fingers gripped your jaw tight, “that’s what the slut wants hm? For everyone to see just how good your mouth takes me?”

You loved it, the intense gaze in his eyes, the rough embrace he offered and mean words—he knew you loved it.

“Tongue out,” he ordered, and you did as he pleased—an amused smile tugged at his lips.

Plap-plap-plap—he slapped the tip of dick against your tongue, it felt so filthy this way—“good pet,” he murmured, “gonna have you hold it 15 more minutes, this is the only way you’ll learn to hold your tongue yeah?”

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Reblogs and likes highly appreciated!

[hazelcuttlefish]

Millions of women were miserable and died for generations. Millions of men were miserable and died for generations. Millions of children died, many of them before they could really be miserable and more after. The nuclear family is a modern myth that barely functions. Divorce is high because divorce is now legal, before you just had to stay in your miserable marriage and take whatever abuse was given until one of you snapped or died. Children are really hard to take care of. Growing a family in a failing economy trying to rely on just one income is going to get harder wnd harder. Trying to do so with just two incomes is going to get harder and harder unless we fundamentally change the system. Trying to “go back to the good old time” is largely an because of an inaccurate portrayal of history.

Legit learn about the history of Russia, or Iran, or other regimes. Learn about the history of womens rights around the world and those nations which have had a massive backslide in womens rights. Remember that no, just because you are in (insert western/Christian/other distinction nation here) you are not exceptional to the trends that led that nation where they are. (Many I admit suffered under colonialism which can be a distinction, but trends to ultra conservatism/“traditionalism” lead to the same place).

Reach out. Build community. If you can, treat these young people like they are being indoctrinated into a cult-

- do not attack them. Correct misinformation, especially in public spaces. Do not belittle, demean, or name call.

- offer support. Ask them what’s stressing them out so much that this seems like a good option. Listen. Try to provide nonjudgmental feedback. Try to offer alternative, actually actionable solutions if possible. The root issue is they feel lost and without support and desperately want that.

- try to be an open line of communication for them and ready to support any move away from the group or ideology.

- build community. Both among those not influence and those influenced, and accept those who have left, are trying to leave, or are questioning.

All of those things can be very difficult if you don’t have all of that in you it’s ok. Do what you can when you can.

If you absolutely can not stand it focus effort elsewhere, ignore specific members. If you must confront it: Focus on leaders, focus on on the ideas and provide evidence to the contrary. Support those who are doing the above work.

The alt-right's foothold into Gen-Z is frustrating and I can see from over here how they're doing it.

You've got a generation of young-adults who are learning to be adults for the first time and for so many of them it sucks. It sucks to be in your first shitty apartment where things break, and to have your first shitty car that needs maintenance, and to be working a low-paying service or retail job where you get berated all day and barely scrape by. And you go home and you have taxes to figure out and electric bills to figure out and a screen on your phone to rot into to destress.

And this is men and women, equally, in this spot. But the alt-right messaging gets to tailor their approach to gender.

And hey women, yes you working a shitty job for shitty pay, overwhelmed by financial responsibilities and car repairs, what if you actually didn't need to do ANY of that? You don't need to. And you don't need to feel guilty about it. (You're not quitting, you're not being lazy), you actually are just embracing the chance to be exactly who an ideal woman should be. You should actually be beautiful, and demure, and barefoot in a sunny kitchen, glowing, pregnant, hearing the joyful sounds of your children while you bake a roast for your wonderful husband (strong, protective, loves you, handles the finances, handles the jobs, handles all the things you hate). OUR ancestors (don't mind the dogwhistle) did this for GENERATIONS, and modern society has failed you instead!

It's offering to break women out of all the parts of their real life that suck, and do it in a way that promises they're actually being better, being more admirable, more moral, more respectable, more correct, can feel good about, can feel proud about, as a Woman as Feminine as Mother as Goddess.

And the thing being promised does not need to actually reflect reality. It's a fantasy. It is not real. For every "beautiful demure barefoot" day, you'd be having another one covered in shit changing diapers of screaming infants with screaming children while your husband ignores you because it's Women's Work (take pride!) But that doesn't matter. It just needs to sound better than the reality they're living.

Then the men are targeted too. And it's the same in that it's getting to them by appealing to pride in their gender, but the messaging is different. It's "those finances are hard but ACTUALLY you're leveling up, you're grinding, you're finance maxing." It's hard but it's the kind of hard that is a challenge you can WIN at, boast about, post about, prove your manliness. Knowing cars, knowing home repairs, knowing taxes, that's your MAN pride, and you are so elite, you are so sigma, you are the envy of everyone, you are a masculine man. Women love you. Women will defer to you. Strong, respected, moral, loyal, unshakeable. Unlike those pansy men (mind the homophobic dogwhistling) who will whimper and cry like girls. You are better.

The shitty retail job is actually humble beginnings because you're minmaxing your way to financial success (bitcoin, crypto, investments). You can sleep with any woman you want as long as you're confident, and then you'll find one who understands how smart and confident and strong and protective you are and she will defer to you as her man. She will birth your children and teach them good morals and you will make it. Our ancestors lived this way for generations (dogwhistle) and modern society took it from you.

And with that messaging it makes it clear who the enemy in all this is - modern society that has convinced women to torture themselves with high education and terrible jobs, turned them Ugly with Ugly opinions and bad hair and nasty attitudes, yelping about "rights" and "equality" (pitting them against men! TAKING things from men!) All the while, society has been trying to emasculate men--replace them with women, make them soft and emotional, make them gay, make them WEAK. We've been made WEAK.

The naive women hearing this go "I'm not ugly! I don't hate men! I DO hate my job and my finances. I've been tricked. I'm actually rebelling by declaring my goal is to get a Perfect (White) (Christian) moral husband who will make all our decisions and protect me and our children." (And when she's financially trapped in an abusive marriage...? When she's suicidal with PPD but her husband won't touch that because it's Woman Hysteria...? And when her husband leaves her for someone who was as hot as she was 20 years ago and now she's figuring out finances, health care, taxes, bank accounts for the first time in her life...?)

And the men go "They've been TAKING things from us for too long! It's time to be men again! It's time to take pride! I am strong and confident. I am in charge! I never show weakness!" (And when he's got a gun to his head due to the depression he's never been allowed to talk about as Women Feelings...? And when he's financially ruined from a crypto scheme that stroked his ego and robbed him blind...? And when he's dead from alcohol poisoning and none of his adult children notice because no one's spoken to 'Dad' in 15 years...?)

And it's so hard to fight because you're arguing against a fantasy. How do you disprove their fantasy? It's so hard to explain to them, hey you're working a shitty job where you have no future because the rich bastards took it all from you. And now you're doing their work for them. You hate society because of what they've done to it and now you're doing their work. Now you're targeting groups who've never done anything to harm you and the guys responsible are laughing to the bank. How do you explain? How do you disprove fantasy?

[littlestl4mb]

running errands with nerdy boyfriend luigi???? 😭

YURRRRR

to be honest, i think it would be luigi’s favorite thing to do with you. i think he’d really like the simplicity and domesticity of it. he doesn’t care much for going on fancy dinner dates, or going on expensive couple vacations together. no, those superficial milestone-markers that other couples like to boast, they don't do much for him. never have. instead, he finds happiness on a simple saturday morning in spring, when the air is still a little brisk but it’s teasing the approaching summer’s warmth. and most importantly, he’s on his way to see you. 

he’s got the biggest grin on his face as he’s walking up to your door. most nights you two spend together. whether he’s at your place or you’re at his place (i think he has a preference for spending the night at your place though. your home smells like you; lavender and vanilla. and he loves your cozy bedroom. he might criticize the excessive amount of pillows on your bed but he secretly loves flopping down onto them and napping). but last night you spent the night separated because you went to hang out with some friends and didn’t get back home until late, and he wanted to work on some program he’s been developing. safe to say, he missed you a lot. and it’s no secret you missed him either. 

when you open the door for him, he casually strolls in. 

“hi, gigi,” you hum and press a sweet kiss to his cheek, your hands full of the laundry that you’re about to throw into the washing machine. he grins sheepishly and blushes. no matter how much you kiss him, it always makes him a little flustered still. he shuts the door behind him, and then moves to the living room. he sets his backpack down, and then pulls out a little notepad in a very routine manner. you’re bumbling around the apartment, trying to tidy it up before you head out for the day. 

he starts writing a list of everything you usually do on saturdays together:

1. take car to car wash  2. get groceries for the week  3. drop box off at post office that y/n has procrastinated sending for the last 3 weeks. do NOT let her say “we can just do it next week” this time.

mid writing his list, he looks over at you and raises his eyebrows. “is there anything else we have to do today? or just the usual stuff?” he hums. 

you pause and put your hand on your hip as you think about it. 

“hmm. i don’t think…- oh yeah! i need to go to cvs and pick up some stuff too. ran out of face cream,” you nod your head. with a double click of his pen, he jots it down. 

“okay, what all do we have on the list?” you inquire, joining him by his side to look over his shoulder.

“i think i’m fine on groceries this week. can always get ‘em later if i need them. you can cross that off” you point at the second item on the list, your hands lightly resting on his shoulders. 

luigi guffaws, out of disbelief. though, he doesn’t say anything at first. instead, he stands up from the couch and turns the corner to the kitchen. the distinct rattling of the fridge door opening, followed by the thudding of the cabinet doors closing and opening is your answer to the question you didn’t ask. 

you see his hand poke out from the kitchen door, a graceful wave of his fingers beckons you forward. you already know the look on his face without having to see him. when you enter the modest kitchen, he has the refrigerator door propped open. a wrinkle in his forehead forms from his eyebrows being raised out of such skepticism.

“yeah, you don’t need to go to the grocery store, baby? there’s like, 5 cans of diet coke in here and some… nasty old bananas.” he frowns as his hand gestures to the mostly empty space in the fridge. 

“okay, fine, lu. we’ll go grocery shopping.” you huff. it’s an argument you’ve had one too many times already. one that you have never won, too. and well, you might not know everything, but you certainly know it’s no use arguing with an engineer. at least not about this.

“i’m driving” luigi deadpans while you two make your way out of your apartment. it’s no surprise, considering the fact that the man has been in the car with you one too many times where you’ve nearly totaled your car. there was the time you were driving into town, and a little puppy on the sidewalk caught your attention and you veered into another lane. that caused a slew of cars honk at you… oh, and there was the other time when you backed into a pole while parallel parking, which luckily only left a small scratch- but gave luigi a heart attack all the same. 

yeah, so long as luigi could help it, you were the designated passenger princess. 

“okay, fine. can we at least go get coffee first?” you pout up at him as he opens the passenger side door of his car for you. 

“well, yeah. thought that was a given,” he says as closes the door and gets in on his side. 

luigi also likes driving because he likes to compute the most simple and efficient route possible. he thinks of it as an equation. and you really don’t mind him being your personal chauffeur. where all you have to worry about is what songs you want to play next on the stereo. 

when you guys get to the post office after washing your car and getting coffee, luigi is the one who carries the box in for you. so all you have to do is tell the clerk the address you’re sending the package to. he does that often: carrying your things for you. when you go to bookstores, he carries around the pile of books you want to purchase on top of his own. and the same thing will probably happen later when you go to cvs; he’ll carry your little skincare products and bottles of vitamins for you too.

after you’ve finished up at the post office, luigi tugs out his little notebook. he checks off the post office, which is under the crossed out ‘1. go to car wash’. 

the next stop is indeed the pharmacy. luigi is doddling along your side, his eyes wide with curiosity as he looks over the multitude of face lotions. though, that doesn’t distract him from the topic at hand. he’s been prattling on about some substack article he read discussing AI today, and also a podcast that he listened to last night while he was up coding. most of the jargon he uses flies right over your head, but he does his best to explain it to you. and even though you still struggle to understand why it’s so important, you just like hearing him talk about something he’s so passionate about. you get a little smug smile on your face, and luigi quirks up an eyebrow and goes, “what?” 

all you can do in response is shake your head and look away, trying to suppress your coy grin with a small, “nothing.” 

“no, seriously. what are you smiling about? i know AI doesn’t make you this happy, baby,” 

“you’re right, it doesn’t. but i like hearing you talk about it. it’s cute,” you’d shrug. 

and luigi— really!— no matter how long you two’ve known each other, still gets bashful sometimes when you compliment him out of the blue. he’s got that nerd in him, after all. 

and after you’ve finished at the pharmacy, you make your last stop for the day: target. you convince luigi to go there instead of the boring grocery store. much to luigi’s protest too— he knows it’s an excuse to mingle through aisles of things you don’t really need. ‘going to target instead of the actual grocery store decreases our percentage of efficiency so much, y/n’ he usually groans. but for him, he knows that argument is the losing one. something he’ll never win on because you’re stubborn. and you’re cute when you’re pouting and begging him too with those big rounded out eyes of yours. plus, he thinks it’s endearing when you bumble through aisles and pick up random things and show them off to him as if its the most fascinating thing in the world. and anyways, if you two are really on a tight schedule, he’ll pull out the boyfriend move of jokingly placing his hand on the scruff of your neck while directing you towards where you’re supposed to go.

but you two have all the time in the world today, so he pushes the cart for you as you guide him down the candle aisle 

“gigi, what do you think of this one?” you ask as you push the dark red jar towards his face. the overtly ‘chai latte’ candle overwhelms his senses. with a scrunch of his nose and exaggerated cough, he shakes his head.

“god no. too much. plus, i like your lavender and vanilla one more. smells more like you.” 

 you hum in acknowledgment as you pull back the candle to smell again. maybe, he did have a point. 

“mm fine. guess you’re right.” you pout out your bottom lip before setting the candle back down on the shelf. 

and then you’re finally shuffling off to the grocery aisles, luigi pushing the cart alongside you. strolling through the aisles of food, you’ve managed to pick up a few things. a box of flavored instant oatmeal, some pasta for easy dinners, and a bag of chocolate for morale sit in the cart.

luigi’s eyes glance down at the items. his jaw is tense, his cheekbone hollowed out while the weight of his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek. he’s unamused, if his facial expression is anything to go by. 

“so when are you going to pick up actual food?” his question almost cuts like a knife. it’s not that he tries to sound so brute, but sometimes he just comes across that way when he’s being so direct. it’s the italian in him.

“what are you talking about? this is plenty fine, luigi.” you roll your eyes at him.

“what am i talking about? even the comp sci geeks i know eat more regular meals than you do. you need some actual nutrients. you eat like a canary.” he tuts. he juts his chin forwards and to the side as an indication for you to step out of the way. 

speechless, you do. luigi proceeds down the aisle towards the produce section. contempt with your efforts so far, he helps himself to grabbing a bushel of broccoli, a bag of baby carrots too, and a few apples, yogurts, and protein bars to boot.

you roll your eyes at him, “yeah, well now it looks like i eat like a rabbit” you point to the baby carrots and broccoli. luigi snorts at that, and then nods in agreement. 

“well you do look like a bunny. so it’s kind of fitting,” he quips, but his tone is more lighthearted and soft now. 

your foot stomps in protest at his joke, “do not!” 

“yeah, see? you even stomp like one when you’re angry,” he laughs, his grin only growing. 

with a sigh of defeat, you shake your head and give him a “fine, whatever”. 

and once luigi is content with the amount of groceries in the cart, he finally directs you two to the checkout. he pulls out his own card to pay for them, because he has that kind of sense and need to take care of you. plus, it only seems fair because he almost always comes over and snacks on whatever is in your fridge himself. 

when you two finally get home after the few hours spent out and about, it’s a relief. he puts your things away for you in the fridge and pantry. he has a very specific categorization of how he does it- each corner of the fridge has it’s own category. he makes a simple dinner for you two afterwards (probably some pasta with roasted veggies). 

the rest of the evening is spent on your couch while he works on his code and you read a book. your feet draped over his lap. for your own amusement, you knock your feet against his hands just to pester him. he always quips back with a “stop that.” oh, and every once in awhile you take a pause and sit up to leer over his shoulder and look at whatever he’s working on. he probably tries to teach you a little bit of code too, which usually goes south pretty quickly and both of you end up bursting into giggles <3333

[0bticeo]

mark grayson | boyfriend material

summary:

“boxers? as boyfriend material?”

you shrug, your movements stifled from your position between his legs, your cheek pressing up against his thigh. you shift a little, the pleats of the oversized tee you’ve stolen from him somehow having gotten stuck under his leg.

“what? you can’t tell me these-” a gesture towards his boxers, the ones you’re currently wearing “- aren’t the type of stuff a hypothetical girlfriend would steal.”

tags: mlw, aged up a little (early 20's), idiots to lovers, pwp, mark is adorable, pining, sexual tension, making out, fingering, edging, marking, biting, loss of virginity, use of the pull out method (wrap it before you tap it), mark is down bad and so is reader, no y/n, lowercase intended.

there’s a ringing in your ear. nagging, persistent, strident little thing. everything is too loud, too much. you’re overwhelmed, maybe. there’s a metallic taste on your tongue, and your shoulders ache, skin too warm under the tight leather of your catsuit. 

movement to your right. invincible, landing next to you, his hand steady on your shoulder. you lean back against him, panting, just the time for the taste of blood in your mouth to recede, for you to breathe-

a commotion.

your head tilts in its direction, your weary gaze hidden by your domino mask. journalists. it’s almost funny, how they swarm scenes of wreckage, flies drawn to a burning carcass. ruins stretch around you. the wounded are under the GDA’s care. you wonder what the fuck cecil was thinking, sending a team as uncoordinated as the new guardians of the globe on the field. you barely work for him, and neither does invincible, yet- 

here you are, stumbling down a pile of rubble, invincible’s grip steadying you.

“you okay?” he breathes. 

you know he can hear the erratic drum of your heartbeat. smell the blood dripping down your split lip.

“i’m fine. really.”

a flash. a journalist. tall, sharply dressed in a black tailored suit, with a cute pencil skirt, long red hair falling graciously on the long slope of her neck. striking green eyes. the embodiment of the office siren, coming straight at you to sing her pretty song and coax the filthiest gossip out of you.

you share a look with invincible and watch as his lips curl into an exasperated smile.

and so it begins. lights, camera, action!

“my age?”

you frown a little, titling your head to the side. besides you, mark - invincible - snickers. you can almost hear the words. like a cute little puppy. insulting. you’re more of a cat person.

you grin, two fingers tapping your chin. 

“that’s classified.”

the journalist in front of you - twenty something, almost made your jaw drop and did cause you to get slammed into a nearby wall by the lizard league, because wow - groans, green eyes rolling playfully.

“come on, shadow,” she grins, extending her mic a little more. she’s close enough for you to grip her arm and disarm- relax. civilian. “you can’t leave us hanging! we barely know you!”

that’s the point. the voice in your head sounds oddly like cecil. done with this shit, done with life, done with this conversation. but the GDA can and will be up your ass if you unleash a PR disaster, so you humour her.

“and i don’t even have your name, hun’.”

a little blush creeps up her cheeks. your smile widens a little, sharp in all ways it shouldn’t. besides you, invincible rolls his eyes, exasperatedly fond.

“meg.”

“ooh, pretty name. right, ask me anything.”

she seizes you up. you, clad in a catsuit so dark it looks like it’s absorbing the very daylight. you, hip cocked to the side, gloved fingers tapping at your hip bone. the way the lapels of your coat brush the bloodied ground, dripping red. invincible at your side, lazily leaning on your shoulder. you, swatting at him with a tired grin because blood on leather is a pain to clean up. 

meg pulls out her phone. you lean forward a little, intrigued, and catch a glimpse of what appears to be a list of questions.

“are you aware you have a fanbase?”

you exchange a glance with invincible. you may not see the soft melted brown of his eyes, but you know there’s a little spark of mischief beneath his mask. 

“oh?”

“yeah, you guys are as popular as teen team, if not more. how do you feel about them? any gossip you want to share?”

a pointed look. between rex’s… explosive relationship with eve and… well, his other relationship… relationships? with dupli-kate, you’d be stuck here for a while. you settle for a lesser evil. gotta throw a bone or two to the press. makes for nice trivia for fan books. 

“robot recently discovered that he has a fondness for junk food.”

“yep, he’s been pretty unsettled by it.”

meg stares at you with a pointed look. no juicy drama. both of you refuse to play the game. infuriating but understandable. she checks her watch, grimaces.

“shit, gotta wrap this up. ugh, if i had it my way, the two of you would answer the web’s most searched questions.” her gaze snaps back to you, green eyes rooting you in place. “the two of you work incredibly well together. what’s a usual mission like?”

it’s a relatively innocent question. you describe it, invincible occasionally chiming in, still leaning on your shoulder, hovering a little above the ground for comfort. (a flash. you staring up at mark after a mission as he pulls off his mask, feet a few inches off the ground. flying just… feels natural, y’know?)

usually, you get to the scene, assess the situation, neutralise the villain of the day and rescue those caught in the crossfire. get in, punch some people, get out. try not to have a heart attack when you watch invincible getting the shit beaten out of him by aliens/wizards/mafiosi/clones/dragons. cradle his face after a mission while scolding him because that was reckless, you idiot.

meg hums, perfectly manicured finger scrolling down on her screen, on the lookout for the next juicy question. her lips split in a slow grin.

“no… longer missions? undercover missions?”

oh, you should’ve seen this coming from a mile away. there’s a little curl to her lips, the sweet professional smile bordering on something more cutting. invincible laughs. you feel the vibration of it seep under your skin, percolating straight to your heart. you think you’re getting a little warmer, the summer sun high above you.

you think invincible’s blinding you with how wide he’s smiling.

“we’re superheroes. not spies.”

she hums, steps closer, fingers lightly trailing over the fabric of your coat.

“people have noticed this little number.”

“oh, yeah, it’s fairly new.”

meg looks up from her phone and smirks.

“we have a question from inviciboyfan25: is it boyfriend material?”

undeterred, you lean a little closer, until all the camera can see is the sharp edge of your smile.

“too heavy for that. the real deal? boxers and oversized tee. unparalleled.”

**

a smack at the back of your head. you let out a little yelp, your phone landing flat on your chin, cradling the sore spot with a pout.

“what was that for?”

mark glares at you, holding up his phone. on it, images of your encounter with that cute journalist three hours ago. he’s got a bandaid on his cheek, another one on his nose, both of them pink with hello kitty patterns.

he’s frowning. you gaze up to the small crease between his eyebrows and wonder how to smooth it away. you boop his nose instead, giggling when his frown deepens. he swats your hand. 

“boxers? as boyfriend material?”

you shrug, your movements stifled from your position between his legs, your cheek pressing up against his thigh. you shift a little, the pleats of the oversized tee you’ve stolen from him somehow having gotten stuck under his leg.

“what? you can’t tell me these-” a gesture towards his boxers, the ones you’re currently wearing “- aren’t the type of stuff a hypothetical girlfriend would steal.”

he groans, leaning back on his pillow. his fingers close on the sleeve of your (his) shirt, the one with seance dog proudly taking off, all heroic blues and reds. 

“but why?”

you grin up at him, scooting a little closer.

“because it’s comfy. and smells like you.”

you’re delighted when you watch the blush blossom on his cheeks, all soft pink awkwardness. he averts his gaze, turning his attention back to the video on his phone. you shrug and grab a nearby comic - seance dog, again, because markus sebastian grayson totally isn��t seance dog’s biggest fan. nope. doesn’t have every collectible on earth. 

you’ve juuust started to get invested in the plot, something about a meteor shower the loyal hero must stop to protect billions from dying, when mark groans again, his hand leaving the sleeve of your t-shirt to cover his eyes.

“dramatic much?”

a muffled groan. you cup your ear, the back of your hand brushing his thigh, the corded muscle of it tensing by a fraction under your skin. 

“sorry, what was that?”

“people are dogs. just… look at the comments!”

you lean back further into him, craning your neck.

“if you’re not planning on reading some out loud, at least lower your damn phone before i break my neck.”

he complies with a grumble, arms framing your head as he holds up his phone for you to see the comments. your eyes widen upon seeing the amount of views under the video.

“one million? you’ve got to be kidding me.”

you scroll down the comment section, the heat of mark seeping into you, your index near his thumb. progressively, your eyebrows raise. something like giddiness takes hold of your heart. people are dogs. you see it all, from people commenting on how sick that coat is, to complaints about property damage, to-

“no way. ‘i just know they be fucking nasty?!’ ”

“that’s one of the tamest ones. someone wrote a literal fanfiction in there.”

you look up at him, neck craned back. mark swears he’s never seen a sight as endearing as this one. you, snuggled up against him, drowning in his favourite shirt, so close he’s freely running his fingers over your shoulder, thumb occasionally creeping up your trapezius.

“you are not shaming fanfiction on my watch, grayson.”

“it’s about us!”

you poke his thigh. he twitches uncomfortably.

“like you haven’t read at least one.”

he flicks your forehead. you squeal, grinning wide.

“you can’t prove anything.”

a pointed look.

“fine. yes, i have. it’s… i don’t know. weird.”

you turn around, flipping on your belly, palms cradling your cheek as you look up at him. his breath hitches in his throat. you’re playing with the hem of his shirt absently, nails lightly scratching the navy fabric, the back of your fingers a light pressure on his adonis belt. you narrow your eyes, and he’s able to make out each individual lashes fanning your cheeks. 

there, in the quiet light of melting sunset, molten golds and pinks frame the edges of your face. he wants to cradle your cheek. he wants to trace the slope of your nose like you do his, down to your split lip, still swollen from that bastard king lizard punching you in the face. he wants-

“you do know invincible shadow is a thing, right?”

he blinks back to reality.

“uh? like a ship name?”

you nod, still fiddling with the hem of his shirt. despite the cool air breezing in past his open window, heat creeps up his neck. his fingers flex in the sheets, nails digging in the cotton threads - egyptian cotton, because dad knows a guy who owes him a favour or two and you don’t say no to omni-man anyway. 

“yeah. a ship name. super popular too. crazy, right?”

right. right. like you’re totally not molding your body to his. he can feel you, down to the bone, pressing against him, skin impossibly soft, lightly smelling of his own laundry detergent, something barely there because viltrumite senses are sharp. he feels the pounding of your heart in his throat, the way your lips part, tongue darting out to wet them. 

“yeah,” he mumbles, voice a little choked. “crazy.”

and fuck, where’s his bravado? fighting alongside you as invincible, when all you can see of each other are smiling, grinning, bloodied mouths, blood drip dripping down chins, is easy.

he thinks you might as well be a part of him, with how the two of you move around each other like you know what the other thinks. he has your six, you have his. his fists back you up at the slightest inconvenience, your shadows ripple whenever someone gets so much as an inch closer to him. 

it’s easy. when he snatches you by the waist after a mission, pressing you close enough to inhale the marrow of you without burying his nose in your hair - doesn’t need to. viltrumite senses are sharp, y’know.

when he zooms insides the drive thru and orders your favourite - that one greasy cheeseburger with french fries. when you remind him for the nth time that, first of all, there’s no way these qualify as fries. this is mcdonald's, for christ’s sake. second, fries are belgian, and- and that’s no reason to steal your fries, dammit!

it’s easy, being with you. when you’re sitting together, shoulder to shoulder on the edge of a skyscraper, your head lolling on his shoulder because you get sleepy once the adrenaline dies down. 

it’s easy. he thinks he’s going to die of a heart attack, with how fast it’s beating. here lies markus sebastian grayson, killed because his best friend is too beautiful for this world and sent him into damn cardiac arrest.

the day melts away. you don’t talk anymore, just bask in each other’s presence, his hand in your hair, your cheek a little beside his knee. his thumb brushes a fading bruise on your cheek bone and he winces in sympathy.

your fingertips run over his knuckles, finding them bruised and torn. you want to press your lips to them. you want to cradle him against you and never let go, because hero work may suck, and his civilian friends may not understand what he goes through every day, getting bloody and beaten and worn down down down, but you’re here.

“so they ship us, huh?” mark mumbles.

“mm.”

“crazy.”

you snort.

“i already said that, dummy.”

he flicks your forehead.

“m’not dumb.”

“are too!”

“that is not true.”

“please, you’re like. the embodiment of the jock stereotype. the kind jock, of course.”

he rolls his eyes, ruffling your hair, ignoring your soft cry of protest because it’s hair day, nooo don’t mess it up!

“i’ll have you know, i have more than decent grades.”

“they’ve been slipping ever since you started out as invincible, though.”

“ouch.”

you chuckle.

“you do have the physique though.”

“yeah, whateve- ow!”

he looks down at you incredulously. did you just… bite his thigh?

your teeth press against the corded muscle, bone over tender skin, a hint of warmth from your breath, and he thinks he’s dying. everything is too hot. too fucking hot, nevermind that it’s the middle of autumn and the air is getting colder and colder. 

shit. he sees the imprint of you in his skin. his hips shift uncomfortably. your tongue laps at the bitemark, soothingly. it’s almost tender, the softness of your tongue against him, scorchingly intimate.

your eyes meet his. time stops. he’s only aware of the metronome beat of his heart and your own - fuck, he can hear your heart, the way the blood rushes south. he lets out a shuddering sigh, and almost moans when he smells it. your arousal. 

something snaps. 

you’re kissing up his thigh, lips a lover’s breeze over his skin, the dips and curves of his muscles. you feel him gasp more than you hear it, when you put your mouth to him through his briefs, pressing soft little kisses to his bulge.

his fingers cup the back of your neck, weave through your hair, a gentle pressure, desperately trying to keep his strength under control. he could crush you like he did with komodo dragon, brain matter staining his fingers, drip drip dripping down to the ground. he doesn’t.

he doesn’t, yet you can feel him strain against the weight of his desire, tensing beneath you, breath shallow and wanting. you nip at his thigh again, a gentle press of tender teeth. he shivers, legs parting for you.

you nuzzle against him, feel the sheer heat of him against your cheek, like the warmth of a blazing sun. you want to melt into him until you don’t know where you start and where he ends.

“w-wait,” he groans. 

heat pools between your legs, and it’s hot, and - and his hand cups your face and he pulls you in until finally, he’s kissing you. it’s soft. a brush of his lips against yours, until you’re melting against him, arching into him because his hand - broad and calloused and heavy - is cupping your breast.

he pulls you close before you can react, lips brushing yours again and again until you’re not sure you can breathe without him. your nose brushes his. your eyes open and you meet his, dark pools of molten desire. 

“hey, you.”

“hey.”

he grins, something a little soft, a little shy. you inch closer and bite back a soft whimper when the motion has your core grinding down against his hardening cock. it strikes you, then. the thin edge you’re walking. he’s your friend. you can still back away. pull away, mumble something about your mama calling you - and it’s quite the walk, so you should go home-

fuck it.

you trace the shape of his abs, nails digging in his skin, and he arches into you, hips bucking up, desperate for friction. you’re dizzy. dizzy with him, with the way his hands encircle your hips, with the way his fingers dig into you, grinding you down on him with barely controlled strength.

“mark-” you gasp.

it’s not enough. doesn’t matter, there’s too much fabric between you, you’re not close enough, you need him in you, you need him to make himself at home between your ribs and burrow himself there, bloody and viscous and yours. 

he cups your cheek, thumb brushing against the plush of your lower lip, gaze impossibly soft.

“have you ever… ?”

you flush a little.

“n-no.”

he pecks your nose, your forehead, your eyelids.

“s’okay. lemme make you feel good…”

he pins you down, fingers slipping under your shirt until he pulls it off you, discards it in the corner of his room. he runs his fingers up your side, brushing against your bruised ribs, lips ghosting the contusion, knees bracketing your hips. you shiver, lips parting in a soft sigh of his name. he grins down at you, a little soft, a little feral, a white flash of too-sharp teeth.

“so, so pretty…” he mumbles, mouthing at your neck, teeth dragging up, up, up, until-

until you let out the softest whimper. he grins against your skin, nipping at your neck, his breath burning brands on that soft spot under your ear. his hands roam your body, trailing lower and lower, dipping past the waistband of your boxers.

“so wet,” he moans, and he sounds as wrecked as he’s making you feel.

his touch is tentative, you can feel the trembling of his fingers as they brush against you, lightly dipping between your folds, almost.. almost petting you. your hips grind against his hand, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist to get him to please, please more-

he tuts, pinning your arm to the side.

“no, no, no, lemme- just relax, i need- please, i want to make you feel good-”

you bring up your other arm willingly for him to keep pressed against his pillow, fingers flexing against your wrist in an unbreakable grip. your thighs part for him and you desperately try not to moan, because- fuck, because his dad may be home, you think, and what if you’re too loud, what if-

he curls his fingers - so pretty and slender and long - and you keen, back arching off the bed. he laughs at that, something breathless and teasing, claiming your lips for himself again and again and again, swallowing your moans. his tongue coaxes your lips open and he lets out a low growl as he finally gets to taste you. 

you think he made you come. you’re not sure. you’re panting. there’s a ringing in your ear. everything is too loud, too much. you’re overwhelmed, maybe. there’s a metallic taste on your tongue - he bit you - there’s a ringing in your ear, and everything is too much- 

mark worries his lip between his teeth, tugging down your boxers, fumbling a little, eager, so very eager to taste you, to make you feel as good as you do him.

you’re squirming in his grip, you realise, distantly, as you try to press closer to him, breasts brushing tantalizingly against the fabric of his shirt and-

“what’s wrong? 

“i need- please let me touch you, mark.”

he blinks, a little owlishly. 

“you- yeah, yeah okay-”

he lets go of your wrists and your hands slip under his shirt, nails raking down his chest, a thumb teasing his nipple and he groans, panting hot against your neck. his hips rut against yours, mindlessly, each thrusts having you biting your lips because the friction is just too much and- and he’s cupping your breasts, mouthing at them.

“ah!”

“too much?”

your breath catches in your throat. he’s looking up at you, chin resting on your chest, a lazy smirk on his lips, one long finger lazily trailing around your nipple, thumb flicking at it. and fuck, the way he looks at you, eyes dark and wanting, like you’re the most precious thing in the universe…

“fuck me.”

he raises an eyebrow.

“are you su- mn...”

you pull him to you, hands cupping his cheeks, kissing him like he’s the very air you breathe. the earth rotates around the sun. the sky appears blue to the human eye. you’re in love with mark grayson.

he knows, you think. with the way you whisper soft praises against his ear, with the way your fingers thread through the baby hairs on his nape. he knows.

he takes it slow. leans back on his heels, taking off his shirt. the moon is kind to him, silver light hiding in the dips of his collarbones, draping the sharpness of his chest, his abs, rippling down his arms, to the edge of the veins curling around his inner wrist.

you trace the shape of him, your touch reverent. he guides you, leading your hand from his chest, from the strong beat of his heart, to his adonis belt. you think you’re dying with how dizzy you feel, your thighs desperately pressed together for some friction.

your fingers wrap around the base of him and you let out a strangled sound. he’s big. he-

“fuck, you’re never gonna fit-”

he laughs at that.

“wanna bet?”

you groan.

“you’re horrible. you’re not the one getting nine inches of your crush-”

his eyes widen. you flush, mortified, eyes darting away, your grip on him faltering. gently, he tilts your head back towards him.

“yeah?”

you nod.

“yeah.”

he pecks your lips, gentle.

“me too.”

he eases you into it. takes you apart, bit by bit, until you’re dripping for him, babbling an incoherent mess of his name as his fingers spread you open, knuckle deep in you. when he lines himself up with you, leaking tip dragging against your entrance, he groans, low and deep and primal in a way that makes your core throb with need. 

a damn tease is what he is, with the way he barely slides in you, tip sliding against your cunt with wet, sloppy little sounds, lightly brushing against your clit in a way that has you biting back a desperate little whine. he pants.

“need- fuck, baby i need you, please lemme-”

“yeah, yeah mark, just-”

your words die on your tongue when he slowly pushes himself into you, holding your thighs apart. he bites his lip at the sight. you, spread wide under him, chest littered with love bites, lips parted as you whisper his name. you, nails digging in his shoulder blades until you draw blood, begging him to please, please get closer. he spreads you open, thumbs holding your folds apart, watching as your walls flutter against him, as you drip down his length, slick and filthy. 

“please, move,” you whisper. “i can take it, i need-”

“yeah? you need me?”

“mn.”

he smiles at that, a happy little lopsided smile, as he slowly starts thrusting into you, biting back a groan at how tight you are. 

“shit, baby-”

he pulls you up, hand cupping the back of your neck as he plunders your mouth, lightly suckling on your tongue. he’s everywhere, hands reaching for you, pulling you closer, and closer, until your chest is flush to him and he’s fucking himself into you with reckless abandon, hips snapping against yours. 

and what else can you do but take it? but wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself closer, nipping at his earlobe, the vein jutting out of his neck. but let your nails dig in his back and feel his muscles ripple with contained strength - and fuck, if the thought of him holding back for your sake doesn’t make you wetter. 

“m’gonna cum, mark-”

he grins at that, something like a broken chuckle escaping his kiss swollen lips. he tilts your head back, one hand on your hip as he drills himself in you, the other under your chin. 

“yeah? gonna cum for me, baby?”

you nod, heat burning across your cheeks, your chest, your core. he hums, hand pressing against your abdomen, where he can feel himself move in you. satisfaction flashes in his gaze, at having you this full of him. (at having you.)

“good girl.”

that does it for you. you come apart, face buried in the crook of his neck, choking on his name. there’s that ringing in your ear. you think you hear him chuckle. you do know that he slides out of you, leaving you empty, hollow, and you reach for him with a soft whine of protest. he leads your hand to his leaking cock, guiding you, hips stuttering towards you as you pump his length, until he cums, thick ropes of it landing on his stomach, on your hand.

everything is still. he reaches for the tissues on the nightstand and cleans the slick mess between your thigh, something like longing on his face. his eyes meet yours, and you feel heat creep up your neck, gaze darting away from his, stuck on the way he wipes away his cum, abs rippling under the crumpled tissues.

“what?” you mumble.

“next time, i’ll eat you out.”

you let out something like an undignified squeal, burying your face in your hands. he laughs. strokes your cheek, lowering you down on the mattress, cradling you against him. he pulls the covers over you, a hand on your hip, the other lacing with yours.

“feel okay?”

you smile, a little sleepy, nuzzling against him, pressing a soft kiss to the hello kitty bandaid on his nose.

“mn.” you let your finger trail down the slope of his nose. “love you.”

he gives you a closed-eye smile, and you think you’ve met your sun.

“love you too.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

father. l Joel Miller

Summary: life decided to surprise you

Warnings: angst, sad, some fluff, anger, crying, worries, vomiting ; Ellie appears there, mention of pregnancy

A/N: ok so, i've been planning this for a while now, i hope you'll take this chapter well and have mercy on me. i'm waiting for your opinions. thank you

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

It was still early, the sun had only recently begun to slowly break through the curtains of your bedroom. The silence in the room was broken only by your steady breathing as you curled up in a deep sleep, unaware that Joel was no longer asleep.

He rested his head on his hand and watched you closely. The strands of your hair spilling over the pillow, he saw how your chest rose with your gentle breath, noticed the delicate movements of your body and felt your warmth.

God, he loved you so much, and at the same time he had been feeling a strange fear. It all started almost two weeks ago when he made himself some coffee in the morning, and after entering the kitchen you immediately ran to the bathroom.

"It must be yesterday's stew." You mumbled when your stomach had already calmed down, and Joel insisted that you should stay at home that day.

However, the situation repeated itself several times. Joel was on patrol at the time, but Ellie told him about it, warning him that you forbade her to tell anyone about it, especially Joel.

"It could be something serious." she mumbled, clearly concerned that she was breaking her promise to you. "I don't want anything to happen to her."

It worried him, and even more so because you pretended that there was no problem. Joel wasn't stupid, so he let every thought come to his mind, even the one that scared him the most.

"When was the last time you bled?"

You looked at him in surprise, fluffing the pillow. "What kind of question is that?"

He picked up the sheets from the ground that were supposed to go to the wash and shrugged. "I just wondered. Didn't you think that maybe..."

He noticed how you frowned and tensed up. Apparently you didn't let that thought get to you, but Joel did. He had been a father before, he knew perfectly well how pregnancy went and was a good observer.

"Maybe what?" you asked quietly.

"I think you might be pregnant." he finally said and you chuckled.

"Please." you snorted, "That's impossible."

"Why?" He put the sheets on the bed and rested his arms on his hips. "You're nauseous, more sleepy, your breasts...are bigger. Baby, have you considered that you could..."

"No!" you interrupted him firmly "I know pulling out isn't the best method of contraception, but we're careful." Joel raised his eyebrows and you groaned "Why do you even have to bring this up?" you sat down on the bed, burying your face in your hands.

"Sweetheart, I know it's hard..." he said, coming over and sitting next to you, he stroked your back slowly "But... I remember what it looked like, and now I see it on you. We should check it out and..."

"No!" you interrupted him abruptly and stood up unexpectedly "I'm not pregnant. It's just some stupid virus or something. I'm tired and that's all."

The tears that appeared in your eyes hurt him. The thought of pregnancy, of a child, was painful for him, but then he realized what you could feel. You knew about Sarah and that he had lost her. You had to find out since her name was in Tommy's house. However, you never talked about it, you never asked him about that life. And now...

You must have been terrified and you didn't allow yourself to think about this possibility at all.

The next few days passed by avoiding the topic. Joel knew that you were vomiting, although you tried to hide it. He saw how you were fighting sleep. You were so incredibly stubborn not to admit to yourself what he was trying to tell you. So he had to take matters into his own hands.

You slowly opened your eyes and stretched. You didn't even have time to greet him when three pregnancy tests appeared before your eyes.

"I got them on the last patrol." Joel announced "Please, just do it. If it's a virus, I'll leave you alone. I want to make sure you're safe."

You wanted to rebel, you wanted to talk him out of this stupid idea, but you gave in. It made no sense. So you disappeared into the bathroom for the longest five minutes of your lives.

Joel knew he'd never forget the look on your face when you opened the door. Your eyes were wide, and your face was filled with terror and shock. He'd barely taken the test from your hand when you'd slumped to the floor, tears streaming down your face.

All three were positive.

It was like a punch in the gut. He'd guessed that might be the case, but the reality had overwhelmed him.

"I can't, I can't, Joel..." you repeated as he stared at the result, unable to gather his thoughts, "God, what have I done!"

"Honey, it's not just you..." he said sitting down next to you and taking you in his arms, but nothing reached you.

No words from him, no comforting. You cried until you got tired and fell asleep again.

"A baby? You're having a baby?" Tommy looked at Joel in surprise "Wow! I mean... That's great, right?"

It was late. Jackson was shrouded in darkness when Joel appeared on his brother's porch. Despite the invitation, he didn't go inside, he was too shaken to even sit down.

Now that he had confessed to his brother what you had found out that morning, he felt the reality starting to creep in.

"I'm too old for this." he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief "I can't believe that.. Shit! Do you know what I put her through? I was stupid to think that I could have a normal life, that we could pretend that..."

"Fuck, Joel!" Tommy hissed, looking at him angrily "What are you talking about?! You love her!"

"So what?!" he snapped "That won't save her and...the baby."

He was furious. He clenched his hands on the porch railing, not even knowing what he expected. The strong need to throw it all away made Joel go to his brother, but he didn't support him. No, he told him that what he was so afraid of was wonderful.

"Would you marry her if the world was different?"

The question surprised him. He looked at Tommy, confused.

"It's a simple question." Tommy leaned back next to him and folded his arms over his chest. "Would you marry her? Would you like to have this child then?"

He slowly nodded.

"You think you don't deserve a normal life, but that's not true. You have the right to be happy, and she gives it to you. I'm sure she's scared too..."

"She's been crying nonstop since this morning, she hasn't eaten much…" Joel replied. "I'm scared, you know. I don't want to lose her… Her and the baby."

"When Maria was pregnant I was scared too. But we have a really good doctor in Jackson. We have the equipment."

Joel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt like Tommy had lifted some of the burden off his shoulders and filled his heart with a little hope.

"Please don't tell anyone in Jackson." he said finally. "Let's keep this between us for now."

"Sure." Tommy patted him on the back. "Of course, she won't be going on patrols anymore. I'll find someone else to take her place."

"Thanks."

It was earlier when he went down to the kitchen and noticed with surprise that Ellie was preparing tea and breakfast. She bustled around without a word and put everything on a tray as if she wanted to take it somewhere.

"What are you doing?" Joel asked, and the girl almost jumped.

"What does it look like?" she snapped. "I'm making her breakfast. She hasn't eaten since yesterday. I don't know what's wrong with her, but if she keeps this up, she'll spit her stomach out. Maybe she should see a doctor, eh?"

"The doctor probably won't help her now." Joel snapped, pouring himself some coffee.

Ellie put the pan in the sink and looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked "Don't tell me she's pregnant or something."

Joel swallowed a sip of coffee, but didn't answer. He also didn't see Ellie's eyes widen with excitement.

"Oh, fuck!" she screamed excitedly and immediately fell silent, scolded by Joel's look. "Really?! Shit, dude! I thought you knew how this would end, but you're so crazy about her that I'm not surprised. A baby…"

She took the tray in her hands, but immediately put it down as if something had occurred to her.

"That's why she's crying so much," she said worriedly, "I saw her eyes. She hasn't left the room since yesterday."

"She's..." Joel didn't know how to put it all into words, it was so surreal, "It caught us off guard. We don't know how to deal with it yet."

"What do you mean?" Ellie grimaced, "You love each other, you're going to have a baby. It's pretty simple."

He raised a hand to stop the girl, because her stream of thoughts was slowly overwhelming him. "It's not that simple, Ellie. Bringing a child into this world is risky."

The girl shrugged. "But you're his father, right? You'll keep her and the little one safe. This kid really hit the jackpot. I know what I'm talking about! I don't know my father or mom, but you two are doing a really good job."

It was late when Joel took you to the clinic two days later. The streets of Jackson were dark, and Dr. Morris opened the door for you without unnecessary remarks. You didn't want anyone to see you, you didn't want anyone to know.

Even though you weren't crying anymore, everything still seemed unrealistic to you. At first you denied the thought of pregnancy, then you blamed yourself, and none of Joel's words could change that. Even though it was hard for him, he finally accepted it. You would have a child, he would be a father again.

Maybe Tommy was right? Maybe he had a chance for a little happiness in his life? He had Ellie, who was like a daughter to him. And he had you. And you were everything. With you, he felt as if you took his heart in your hands and took care of it. He couldn't imagine any other life than with you. What if the world looked different? Yes, Tommy was right. He wouldn't hesitate. Even though Joel had already been burned once, and even though his heart was broken, with you he wanted to try again.

"This might feel a little uncomfortable." Doctor Morris said as you settled down and pulled your shirt up, the cool gel covering your lower abdomen. "Don't worry. It'll take a moment."

You nodded. Your hand nervously gripped the edge of the couch, but Joel noticed and took it in his. He was sitting right next to you, and now he kissed your hand and stared at the screen.

"Okay." The doctor pressed a few switches and ran the probe over your skin. "We've got everything here... Give me a second. Oh, yes! Here it is."

He pointed to something small inside your uterus. "It's still tiny. This could be week five or six."

You started counting quickly in your head. It had to have happened before Shane's wedding. Maybe when you came back from one of the dances? Maybe when Ellie was staying over at a friend's and you and Joel finally had the house to yourselves? You looked at him and saw that the same thoughts were swirling in his head.

And then the doctor pressed something and you heard a strange sound. A steady, regular, clattering sound.

"The heart is beating strongly." Morris smiled "It should come in mid-winter, I think. Everything looks fine now."

It was only when you both left the clinic and the door closed behind you, only when the cold wind swept your face, that you felt that it was all real.

Joel placed a hesitant hand on the lower part of your back "How do you feel?" he asked.

"I have no idea, really." you replied "It's... It's overwhelming and it's so hard for me to believe it."

"Me too. I didn't think I'd ever face something like this again, but with you... With you I could do it."

You looked at him, you knew that it must have been hard for Joel too. Neither of you planned this, you didn't even talk about it.

"Do you want this baby?" you asked quietly.

He was silent for a moment, but finally those brown eyes that you loved so much looked at you and you knew. "I would like to have everything with you. No matter what you decide, I will always be by your side, baby. We will handle it."

"I know..." you smiled slightly and reached for his hand.

For the first time, he touched your belly with the thought that your child was inside. Safe and sound, not knowing how scared his parents were. But Joel felt it, he felt that warm feeling again that slowly filled his heart and gave him hope.

He could have everything again. With you.

"I'm so fucking scared." you whispered.

"Yeah, baby. Me too."

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name

[greenlikethesea]

i've been trying to put my finger on what exactly bothers me about this post and the reblogs of it, because i've seen it a lot over the past few days, and i've settled on this: once again, marginalized people are being asked to spare kindness for people who were absolutely fine throwing them under the bus for their own benefit. for people who, in some cases, would literally be happy if they were dead. that's why it's rubbing people the wrong way. they wanted to punish people of color, and queer/trans/intersex people, and disabled people, and undocumented people, for existing. they were fine with that risk. they were fine with that cruelty -- until it was them who suffered.

yes, you can absolutely change. yes, you can realize the wrong of your ways and strive to do better. i am here for this, because fundamentally, i want no one to suffer, even people who wish me harm. that is a core part of my identity. but part of that restorative journey is realizing that people are in no way required to forgive you, or to be kind when you were cruel. this website talks a big game about tone policing, yet are chastising people who dare to be angry at bigots who expect to be embraced with open arms for being sorry that they were duped. if one person being mean is enough to have you running back to your hatred, your convictions are not strong enough in the first place.

no one is immune to propaganda, this is true. but this pithy little catchphrase that gets thrown around fails to take into account that people who are not falling for it refuse to do so through hard work. many of us -- the majority of us on the website, and the majority of marginalized people -- do the hard, annoying, tedious work of checking sources, questioning statements, and not falling for it. this is not a "i'm soooo much more intellectual than you" situation. i don't fall for propaganda because i actively work at it. these people chose comfort and ease over being correct and it's costing ALL OF US, very quickly, at a catastrophic scale.

i am personally not interested in an "i told you so" reaction, because that does not serve me and the work that i'm doing. but i'm not going to take that away from people, and i recommend you look inward if your first instinct is to deny people a very real, very valid reaction to prolonged cruelty at the hands of people who made the choice to be willfully ignorant. people who initially feel this way are also allowed to change and feel differently, and suppressing this only makes resentment fester. neutrality is best.

the leopards are eating their faces, and even as i bandage the wounded, even as i build community with them and move beyond this and into what lies ahead, i don't tell them it's okay. i don't forgive them. because they will never learn if i do.

This is an interesting thing. Looks like testimonies of people who left the MAGA movement- how they got into it and why.

Leaving a cult is really hard, so I really respect the people who are speaking from this place.

[linoxpudding]

Matchmaking Mission- Kim Seungmin

summary: your friends had enough seeing you and seungmin being oblivious pabos— tired of the back-and-forth, they take matters into their own hands, setting up a series of schemes to finally get you two to admit what’s been obvious all along

pairing: seungmin x reader, bsf!jeongin x reader

genre: fluff, drama, friends-to-lovers

fic type: written + text

a/n: had so much fun writing this request, included a bit of forced proximity trope too

Masterlist

~°~

Seungmin prided himself on being a composed person. He didn’t get overly emotional, he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, and he certainly didn’t get jealous.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Until you walked in.

At first, you were just Jeongin’s friend. An old classmate, someone from his past who had somehow found a way into their present. It was easy to ignore you at first. But then you kept showing up. And then you started talking to him. And that’s when it became a problem.

Because you were funny. And smart. And kind. And you made fun of him in a way that made his stomach feel weird.

And then, worst of all, you started sitting next to him.

That’s when he knew he was in trouble.

The Lovebirds Texts

The Bestie Bickerings

The Matchmaking GC

Operation 1: Denial and the Jealousy That Definitely Didn’t Exist

“Y/N, have you ever considered how muscular Changbin is?”

Seungmin’s head snapped up so fast he almost got whiplash.

Felix, who had casually thrown out the question, smirked as if he had planned this.

Completely oblivious to the brewing storm beside you, you tilted your head. “I mean, yeah? It’s kind of impossible not to notice.”

Seungmin felt his jaw clench.

“Oh, yeah,” Han chimed in, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Changbin has insane arm muscles. I bet you would feel so safe if he carried you, right Y/N?”

You laughed, playfully nudging Changbin. “Guess I’ll have to test that theory.”

Seungmin nearly scoffed out loud. What kind of dumb theory was that? What, was Changbin a chair now?

He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to leave the room. Or flip a table. Either one.

Instead, he opted for silence.

Hyunjin obviously noticed Seungmin’s weird behaviour and turned to him with a teasing grin. “What, bro? You look grumpy.”

Seungmin’s eye twitched. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Hyunjin asked.

“Positive.” Seungmin grumpily replied.

“You look like you want to throw something.” Chan pointed out.

“Just thinking about how dumb you all sound, especially Y/N.” Seungmin shrugged.

You gasped dramatically. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he replied.

The others were watching with thinly veiled amusement, Felix whispering something to Jeongin, who immediately burst into laughter.

“Seungmin, are you jealous?” Minho smirked.

The room fell silent.

Seungmin’s ears burned. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Changbin pressed.

“Absolutely.”

Jeongin smirked. “Then you wouldn’t mind if Y/N sat on Changbin’s lap, right?”

Changbin choked.

Seungmin looked ready to set the entire apartment on fire. “What kind of nonsense—”

“You just said you weren’t jealous.” Jeongin said.

“I’m not. I just think you’re making Y/N uncomfortable.”

You protested, "No, I'm not!"

Han snickered. “Sure, buddy. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Seungmin glared at him. “Shut up.”

You just leaned back, amused. Is he really jealous? You felt sudden goosebumps. But you quickly shoved that thought out of your mind. You were just imagining things. Seungmin? Jealous? Over you? No way.

Beside you Jeongin grinned, whipping out his phone and texting in the group, "Step one of the plan is working. Time for phase two."

Operation 2: Forced Proximity

Over the next few days, you and Seungmin mysteriously found yourselves seated next to each other at every possible opportunity.

Lunch? Next to each other.

Movie night? Stuck on the same couch.

Car ride? Squished together in the backseat.

“Why do I keep ending up next to you?” You frowned, staring at the now very cozy seating arrangement.

“No clue,” Seungmin mumbled, trying not to focus on how close you were.

Meanwhile, the rest of the boys sat across from you both, giving each other secret thumbs-ups.

“Okay, maybe if they get physically closer, they’ll realize something,” Jeongin whispered.

Han grinned. “Should we ‘accidentally’ trap them somewhere next?”

“Dude. That’s genius.”

Operation 3: The Classic ‘Oops, You’re Locked In’ Trick

You frowned as you tugged at the balcony door. “Why is it locked?”

Seungmin groaned. “I swear, if this is them again…”

“Probably,” You muttered. “Can’t they not annoy us for one minute?”

Seungmin let out an exasperated sigh. “Apparently not.”

After a few more attempts to open the door, you gave up. “Great. Locked in here.”

Seungmin rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the floor, then up at the sky, feeling the awkward tension in the air. “I guess... this isn’t too bad.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

Seungmin hesitated, his voice soft. “Well... it's peaceful out here.”

You smiled, noticing the shy look in his eyes. “Yeah. It’s actually kinda nice.”

Seungmin turned his gaze away, trying to hide the soft blush creeping on his face.

Just as the moment lingered, Minho’s voice rang out from the other side of the door. “Ouch! You stepped on my foot, you idiot!”

You and Seungmin froze, exchanging an exasperated glance before laughing.

“You know, maybe they should lock us in here more often,” You joked, and Seungmin chuckled, feeling the warmth in his chest grow.

But still, neither of you acknowledged the growing feelings between you both—at least, not yet.

Before Seungmin could speak again, the door suddenly exploded open with a loud crash, as if a small stampede had broken it down.

Minho, along with the rest of the boys, stood on the other side, all of them pushing and shoving as they tried to listen to your conversation...accidentally broke the door.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS!" Changbin yelled, holding his hands up as the door swung wide open.

Seungmin stared at the wrecked door in disbelief. “You guys broke it down?”

You couldn't hold in your laughter. “Great job, guys. You’ve officially destroyed the door. What now?”

Minho quickly said, “You’re welcome for getting you two out of there. We basically saved your lives.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe you guys...”

You, still laughing, added, “At least I got some peace and quiet for a bit before you wrecked it. Nice try, though.”

As the boys all started blaming each other, Seungmin and you exchanged a look—and shared laughter.

Mission: Failed.

Operation 4: Pretend One of Them Is Interested in Y/N

“Alright,” Chan sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We need another new plan.”

The rest of the boys nodded solemnly.

It had been weeks. Weeks of painfully obvious flirting, of stolen glances, of lingering touches.

And yet?

Nothing.

Not one confession. Not even progress.

They were sick of it.

“They need a push,” Felix declared.

“They need a shove,” Minho corrected.

Han nodded. “We have to make them more jealous.”

“They already are jealous,” Jeongin pointed out. “Seungmin just refuses to acknowledge it.”

Hyunjin smirked. “Then let’s force him to.”

They all finalised a plan and went to the living room. Felix was chosen as the 'fake-love-interest'. He went to sit beside you while you were munching on a peanut butter sandwich.

“I think Felix has a crush on Y/N,” Jeongin said sitting beside Seungmin on the couch.

Seungmin, who was casually scrolling on his phone, froze.

“…What.”

“Yeah,” Jeongin continued. “They’ve been texting a lot. He even told me Y/N looked extra pretty today, like look at them.”

Seungmin felt his eye twitch. He looked over the dining area and—yep. Felix was leaning in just a little too close to you.

“Are you serious?” Seungmin scoffed. “Felix is just nice with everyone.”

“But what if he actually likes Y/N?” Hyunjin smirked joining them.

Seungmin slammed his phone down.

“Then I’ll—” He stopped himself.

The group silently leaned in.

“…You’ll what?” Changbin asked, grinning.

“…Nothing,” Seungmin muttered. “Because it’s none of my business.”

You, still oblivious, walked over. “What are you guys talking about?”

Jeongin smirked. “Oh, nothing. Just Seungmin—”

Seungmin kicked his shin. “Shut up.”

Operation 5: The Breaking Point & The Confession

The group finally gave up when they realized Seungmin was never going to confess first.

So naturally, you snapped first.

It was late. Everyone was hanging out, and once again, Seungmin was sitting next to you, being his usual sarcastic, annoying self.

“You really love bothering me, huh?” You muttered.

Seungmin smirked. “It’s my favorite hobby.”

And suddenly, you had enough.

“Okay, listen to me, I can't take this any longer,” you blurted out, standing up. “I have to tell you something."

“What's wrong?” Seungmin looked confused.

You let out a nervous chuckle, “you know what, forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

“Let it go.”

“You know I won't, so just spill it already—”

“I LIKE YOU, I like you, alright? Like a lot. And I swear to god, if you make a joke right now, I will throw you out the window.”

Silence.

The room was dead silent.

Seungmin just stared.

“…You—”

“Yes,” You huffed. “And if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine, I’ll just—”

Seungmin suddenly grabbed your wrist.

“…Who said I didn’t feel the same?” His voice was softer now.

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I thought you knew,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… didn’t think you’d actually like me back.”

The room collectively exploded.

“OH MY GOD FINALLY.”

“IT TOOK FIVE OPERATIONS.”

Jeongin fake wiped a tear. “Our hard work… it paid off.”

Hyunjin clapped dramatically. “And that, my friends, is a successful matchmaking mission.”

Seungmin groaned. “You guys are the worst.”

You just smiled, feeling your heart race as Seungmin’s hand lingered in yours.

“You two better be happy now!” Changbin teased, laughing. “Operation success!”

Seungmin glanced at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips as the group continued to celebrate their victory. The tension that had been building between you both for so long was finally gone, replaced with a quiet but undeniable warmth.

You smiled at the group, but Seungmin wasn’t done yet. Without missing a beat, he took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers in a smooth, almost secretive motion. He then leaned in, voice low but sincere. “Let’s get out of here.”

Before the others could react, Seungmin gently pulled you away from the group, heading towards his room with you in tow. His grip on your hand was firm, yet gentle, as if he was afraid of letting go even for a second. You felt giddy.

The boys, still celebrating, watched them leave in silence, eyes wide in surprise. “Did… they just…” Hyunjin started, his voice a little stunned.

“I guess they did,” Minho said, shaking his head with a smirk. “Mission accomplished, I guess.”

Meanwhile, Seungmin and you found yourselves alone in his room, the door clicking shut behind you. The noise of the celebration faded away as Seungmin turned to face you, a small but warm smile playing on his lips.

You looked at him, heart racing in your chest, a shy smile forming on your face. “So, this is happening, huh?”

Seungmin’s smile widened as he stepped closer, gently brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Yeah, it’s happening.” He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper, “Finally.”

You met him halfway through and pressed your lips in a loving, sweet kiss filled with the unspoken connection that had been growing between you two for so long.

-----------------

Taglist:

@4ng3l-ch1ld @dolphin-scream-s (added a bit proximity trope here, will be posting for others soon!)

[bbokicidal]

All About You | SKZ [B.C.]

Summary: Chan as a Service Top

Headcanons Genre: Purely Smut Pairing: Bangchan x Afab!Reader Warnings: Submissive!Chan but not really.. Dominant!Reader? Neither parties are too dominant. Riding, Chan topping, Reader giving Chan instructions, etc.

The definition of a 'Service Top' fluctuates; To some it means a Top who wants to be bossed around and instructed, to others it means a Top who wants to fulfill their partners wishes even if they dislike the kink/fetish, and to some it's just a top who is softer than most dominants.

You realize after the first few times of having sex with Chan that he doesn't really like doing some of the things you've explored in the past; He's too shy to initiate anything unless he's tipsy, he's not super grabby, he refuses to pin you down or put his hand around your throat. He prefers to let you take the lead.

When questioned about it, he's so shy. He pushes his hands down between his thighs before reaching to rub at the nape of his neck, the tips of his ears pink as he gently explains to you that he's never really been an overly dominant person in the bedroom - and he's a little afraid you'll be disappointed. He's sexy, built like a God - and unwilling to take control of you.

But when you smile and reassure him that it's totally okay - that he doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to - he seems to relax. He looks over at you with the kindest, gentlest eyes and a smile that makes his dimples pop as you tell him that he's more than welcome to ask questions, tell you what he likes, etc. And he feels so over the moon just knowing you're not upset with him about it.

Chan's favorite position is you on top of him; Riding him until he's pink in the cheeks, his hands resting on your hips but not pushing or pulling at you. He loves seeing you on top, using his body just to please yourself and not caring much about how he feels (even if he is also in Heaven.) And, of course, sitting on his face. He's leaking cum just a minute or two after you begin to roll your hips down against his tongue. He's obsessed with it - loves being suffocated underneath you and letting you hump his mouth.

He gets off on you praising him. Not too much, though. He likes to hear how good he makes you feel, how you're going to get addicted to his cock because it fills you up so good - or how his body is just a toy for you to use to get off.

Actually, Chan really, really loves when you call him your toy. Only in the bedroom, of course. But he does get all blushy when you make comments like, "Think I might use a toy when I'm done cleaning up after dinner." and then spare him a glance. He knows exactly what that means and while you finish up dishes, he'll run to the bedroom to lay down and get ready for you.

He also loves being told what to do - that's the whole point of being a service top, right? Being told what to do, how to do it, when to do what.

Though, Chan prefers when you're more gentle with him when it comes to instructions. He likes when you ask him to do something instead of demanding it because it makes the moment feel more intimate, more romantic. It makes him feel more comfortable when he's on top of you.

If you're on top, he's fine with you barking at him to fuck up into you faster or harder - But if he's on top, please be gentle with your words. He's doing the best he can and he's there solely for your pleasure.

A lot of the times Chan doesn't even care if he gets off or not. If you're happy and three orgasms in while he hasn't even come once, it's totally fine! He doesn't mind because, again, he's there to please you and you only. He doesn't care if he gets to release or not.

But adding onto that, Chan can come just from you being pleased. If he's fucking you and you're whimpering, writhing, moaning out his name and creaming around his cock - Yeah, he's probably going to come. Not even from the feeling, though it is very nice, but from the fact that he's the one making you feel that good.

On the occasion that Chan does take control and takes the lead, which is mostly when you're too tired or stressed about something to boss him around, he's still as soft as ever - but he'll have sex with you in a more.. love-making manner. He wants to make sure you feel good still and especially during these moments he's more focused on your pleasure than anything else. He'll use your favorite toys, be gentler with you, kiss over your skin and whisper how much he loves you. He'll also be more vocal during these times because he knows just how much you love to hear his voice.

I really don't have much experience writing or actually experiencing anything service top related so I'm sorry if these aren't the best. I tried!

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek

[girlyyypawp]

Tear drops on the dining table

"You think a house runs by itself!? Everyday I work DAY AND NIGHT like a dog to make this house into a home and this is how you repay me??" You said, voice filled with agony and frustration.

" I..." He holds eye contact with you for a moment before turning away.

" Are you fucking serious? How much effort does it take to ACTUALLY be present huh?" You point your words at him with sharp, arrow-like precision as you hit him on the chest with the rolled up newspaper.

" All I ask..." You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing "All I ask is for me to not be the only one present in this marriage."

" I'm... trying sweetheart, but you know work keeps me busy." This time he looks at you, really looks at you—hoping that somewhere deep down you might still forgive him.

A smile breaks into your face as you break character and tell him-

"Man I was hoping you would be more of a bitch."

" Well I'm trying but it's hard to be a bitch to my girlfriend when we're playing pretend husband-and-wife darling" He says while chuckling.

"....This wasn't intense enough, do you think we should go for a scene where you cheat on me-"

Before you can finish your sentence, your words register in his mind as a scrowl develops on his face.

" I would rather not even think about it, let alone enact it with you"

"Man...you're boring as hell, - 1000 aura."

" My apologies for being a good boyfriend and not arguing with you much."

A moment of silence passes by as you tell him your next move, which to your dismay, doesn't gain his approval.

" what if you were my step-"

" fuck no"

" I could be stuck in the washing machine-"

" Sweetie we have a vertical one"

Am image of you being very unsexily stuck in your tall ass washing machine comes to your mind as you cringe at thought. You rack your brain as you try to come up scenarios to act out.

"... What if you were my teacher?"

" Weren't we supposed to be fake arguing rather than enacting porno scenarios?"

" C'mon be a little sex positive dude" you tell him as you latch onto his arm.

" Ain't nothing positive about your sex life" He snorts.

Now this is not how you imagined it to go when you suggested a teacher role play, here on the dining table with your books laid out, which you had done so to make it more immersive, being oblivious to what effect it might've had later on.

"How the fuck did you pass high school?"

You grip your pen a little tighter as your boyfriend, now chides you for doing your work wrong. At first you were happy he was getting into the whole teacher thing but you hadn't assumed that he would ACTUALLY start teaching you.

Vietnam War flashbacks come back to you as he ask you

" When was the Harappan civilization found?"

" I- uhh"

"Let me give you a hint." A sigh of relief leaves your lips, thankful at his mercy-

" WHEN WAS THE HARAPPAN CIVILISATION FOUND?"

He yells the same question louder as if doing that will make you remember the date.

As you sit there, with your notebook filled with tears of not remembering the fucking date of an age old civilization, you make a mental note to yourself to never ask him to role play with you ever again.

LMAO I rlly dk wtf I just wrote but I hope yall like it😭❤️💀

Reader wanted to fake argue with the boys since they're such green flags that arguments are rare 😭💀

[melanchoire]

g!p jealous ceo giselle please?

cw: anal, blowjob, breeding, creampie, degradation, deep throat, hair pulling, handjob, humiliation, spanking.

ceo giselle would be the ceo who gives the worst headaches because she knows how to get under your skin

you can’t complain about your job as a personal assistant and secretary because it’s a good job, the pay is good and you need the job. over time you obviously got used to her, but she is still the same undisciplined ceo with a shitty attitude and passive aggressive comments that she was on the day of your first interview

typing, preparing and collating reports was one of the most exhausting tasks you could have, you would always much rather answer calls and respond to messages than deal with all the paperwork full of words that mean absolutely nothing 😮‍💨 when you go to giselle’s office and leave the papers on the table, she gives you that demeaning look and a mocking grin that you despise so much. she always looks for even the smallest mistake and focuses on the small details to minimize your work

“the word you used here is informal. change it.”

“you forgot to put a full stop here.”

“i don’t like the font you used on this document. please write the report again. i want it tomorrow at the same time as today.”

but you have to keep a good attitude and behavior!! so keep a smile if you don’t want to be fired 😄 nodding at her command and walking out of the office, crumpling the paper into a ball and throwing it in the trash as soon as you leave her office

she also treats you like her slave 💀 your job as a secretary also requires you to take on receptionist duties in addition to your administrative responsibilities. for example, greeting clients arriving for conferences or meetings and being the person who helps visitors settle in, bringing refreshments, taking notes during client meetings, etc. in addition to scheduling meetings and conferences, your job was also to take responsibility for organizing and leading meetings. yes, giselle often forces you to participate in her conferences

but giselle treats you like you’re a maid, snapping her fingers followed by a “get me and the men a cup of coffee. you know how i like it: hot and not much sugar. be quick.” and you don’t know if it's her attitude that puts you in a worse mood or the way the businessmen are looking at you

but here we go again, keep a smile if you don’t want to be fired

but today was different. you felt like men were making fun of you because they looked at you with funny expressions when you talked, interrupting you to ask stupid questions or comments that were slowly making you angry. they even gave you glances from head to toe without worrying about being discreet, this being the only thing that seemed to bother giselle

“we’re thirsty. go get us some fresh water. room temperature.” another snap of her fingers, but giselle’s tone is more demanding and that makes you feel… turned on?? you never liked her orders, or well, you didn’t like to admit that you liked listening to them, but that’s a secret 🤫🤐

men collectively directing their gazes at your body as you leave the meeting room 💀 giselle getting so pissed off that her tongue hits the inside of her cheek to keep from telling everyone to fuck off, but her anger is so big that she ends the meeting immediately and throws all the men out of the room

ohhh and giselle is pissed as hell and you notice it when you get back to the conference room she grabs you by the arm and practically throws you against the table

“giselle, what the fuck is your problem?”

“what the fuck is your problem? acting like a slut in front of all those men, seriously? do you have any idea how that could affect my company’s image? you’re a whore, (y/n)…”

and of course you get upset by her accusations!! giselle always tries to be on your ass all the time, and you try very hard to remain professional, but she exhausts your patience and you dare to respond

you dare to answer. answer to giselle

“why don’t you go fuck yourself, giselle? i’m sick of your smug, shitty attitude.”

so giselle gets upset because you dare to talk to her in a bad way and decides to shut you up by making you give her a blowjob? WELL YES—

as she forces you to your knees you give her a dirty look, trying to stand up but she grabs your hair in a ponytail and gives it a hard tug SHE ALSO SLAP YOU WITH HER THICK COCK?!?! giselle just loves to see the death stare you give her…

giselle smiles in amusement as she sees your pathetic attempts to free yourself from her grip, placing your hands on her thighs and trying to push her away, but giselle places both hands on either side of her head and pushes you down onto her cock, moaning as she thrusts into your mouth and uses you like a fleshlight 🥴

looking down to meet your tear filled eyes looking up at her, the obscene noise of you choking on her length and the feeling and her head hitting the back of your throat and your nose tickling against her pelvis with every thrust 🤤 but she doesn’t cum in your mouth, instead she pulls out a few seconds before cumming, jerking off her cock and shooting thick ropes of warm and sticky cum onto your face 💕 mainly by dirtying the lenses of your glasses because since she saw you using them when you were in front of the computer or reading documents, something in her brain changed completely 😊

then she pushes you onto the table without bothering to remove any papers or documents from it, placing one hand on the back of your head to push your face into the hard wood and using the other to push your skirt up to your waist, drooling at the sight of your perfect ass and soaked panties 😵‍💫 giselle doesn’t waste any time and squeezes your asscheeks and then gives one of your cheeks a hard smack that leaves the print of her palm in a bright red tone, it’s something gigi has wanted to do for a long time and has always been resisting, so today she is going to take advantage of the opportunity!!

fucking your ass because she says your pussy doesn’t deserve her cock :( making you beg and whimper at how much your pussy was leaking and clenching around nothing

“you can go and ask one of them to fuck you, you know? i bet you even fuck my employees when i’m not looking, don’t you?”

and even when she is destroying your ass she doesn’t stop being rude to you 😔 pulling your tie just enough so that it tightens around your neck and takes away your breath for a moment, grabbing your tits from behind and squeezing them over your shirt, groping your ass and digging her fingers into your skin…

cumming inside you and pulling out of your ass with a filthy “pop”, forcing you to open your own cheeks to admire in detail how her creamy essence slowly oozes from your hole and maybe forcing you to push it inside you again using two fingers 🥴

collapsing without air on the large table in the meetings room, only for giselle to adjust her suit and tell you “tomorrow there will be a job interview to recruit new office workers, try to look presentable. oh, and later i will send you the paperwork i need you to fill out, it’s due on monday.”

but you wouldn’t complain about hard work if it means getting a good fucking from your boss later

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 12

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose. Also Discussion of toxic media/fandom/death threats.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando sat on the couch, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. Lizzie, curled up next to him with Mara at her feet, noticed his thumb hovering over the screen, hesitating. She nudged him with her knee.

"Alright, what is it? Did Max send you another cursed meme?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. There was something going on. Something that he hadn't told her yet. 

She had learned to read Lando well enough to pick up on these kinds of unsaid cues. The way he looked, the way he smiled, his eyes just so crinkling at the corners...she knew exactly the titl of his head, the way the right corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile when he read something funny on his phone...She knew. 

And she treasured all these tiny details, hoarded them like a dragon did to it's gold. 

Lando huffed a small laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Worse."

Lizzie's eyebrows furrowed, concern creasing her forehead. That wasn't good.  "Worse? What's worse than Max Verstappen's questionable taste in humor?" she asked, trying to infuse some humour into the situation, but Lando didn't seem interested in that. 

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, you know how I sent that picture of Mara in her Ferrari bandana to Charles?"

Lizzie's face lit up as she nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Yes, how could I forget? The cutest picture I've ever seen."

Her dog was the most adorable dog to ever grace this earth, thank you very much. (She was very much certain that every dog owner had thought that at one moment in time, but she was correct!) 

Lando chuckled and pulled her into his side. She breathed in the scent that was simply him, something fresh and warm and so utterly Lando...feeling his body warmth seep into her, through the thin shirt he was wearing. "Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that a thousand times," he teased. "But you’ll never guess what happened when Charles showed that picture to his girlfriend."

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "What, did she think it was so cute it gave her a heart attack?" she joked. Not that she could fault Charles' girlfriend if that was indeed the case. 

"She recognized Mara," Lando said drily. That was not what Lizzie had expected. Actually that was the last thing she had expected.  "Alexandra Saint Mleux," Lando said, watching her reaction carefully. "is apparently a Lizzie Treshton superfan."

Lizzie’s eyes widened. "Wait, seriously?" she asked, a mix of shock and amusement coloring her voice. Really? "A F1 WAG read my books?"

"Not just her," Lando said, shaking his head. "All of them. And they’ve decided they need to meet you. Effective immediately."

Lizzie stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. 

"So what, they started plotting?" she teased.

"Plotting would be an understatement," Lando said, amused. "I have been forcefully added to the WAG council group chat, and they are demanding that I bring you to a race."

The mere idea of being in a group chat with the wives and girlfriends of Formula 1’s elite sounded like a scene straight out of a fanfiction, but apparently it was her real life now. 

"There’s a WAG council?" She asked, shocked besides herself. That sounded...actually, she had no idea what that sounded like. 

"Apparently."

"That’s amazing," Lizzie said, still giggling. 

Lando made a face. "It’s terrifying."

Lizzie bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "Demanding might be a strong word, though, right?"

"Oh, no," Lando corrected, his expression deadly serious. "There were threats, bribes, and full capital letters. Also, they all want signed copies of Seasons of Fate."

Lizzie let out a soft oh of understanding before shaking her head with a grin. "You know, I really didn’t think this was how our relationship was going to get outed," she said drily. Really. This was really not what she had had in mind. 

"Neither did I," Lando admitted. "But the WAGs are apparently above no tactics when it comes to getting their hands on signed books."

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, her curiosity only growing. "So, what exactly did they say?"

Lando sighed, running a hand through his curls. "Well, for starters, Alex offered to ‘whore out her Ferrari golden boy boyfriend’ if it meant getting you to Silverstone."

Lizzie cackled. "She said that?"

"Verbatim," Lando confirmed, looking equal parts entertained and exhausted. "And apparently, Charles will sign whateveryou want if he doesn’t want to be murdered in his sleep."

She burst out in laughter at that. 

"Well, that sounds like... quite the deal," she said, trying desperately to stay serious. "I don’t know whether to be concerned or find it hilariously absurd."

Lando smirked, clearly amused by the situation. "It’s a lot of both," he assured her. "But they're not afraid to play dirty." He grew serious. "I wanted to talk to you before this all blows up. I know we haven’t exactly been hiding, but we also haven’t been, you know, public."

Lizzie sobered slightly, understanding what he was getting at. "You’re worried about what happens when people know."

He nodded. "It’s just… your life is already busy, and the last thing I want is for my world to make things harder for you. The fans, the media, the scrutiny—it’s a lot. And I don’t want you to feel pressured into dealing with that."

Her heart painfully constricted, her expression softened, because it was clear that Lando was worried about this. "I appreciate that," she said sincerely. "But, Lando… I’ve been dealing with fan and media attention for a while now. I thinkI can handle it."

Lando frowned slightly. "Yeah, but F1 media is different. It’s relentless. They’ll speculate about everything, dig through your old tweets, try to twist things. Hell, they’re probably going to turn Mara into some kind of meme."

Lizzie smirked. "I mean, she is an icon. It’s about time the world recognizes it."

Lando groaned. "Lizzie."

She laughed before squeezing his hand. "Look, I won’t pretend it won’t be overwhelming. But I do know that I don’t want to keep pretending we’re just… nothing."

"You know that they’ll be hounding your every move?" he warned her, his voice tinged with concern. "The fans can be ruthless, the media is relentless, and the tabloids—well, they make up their own storylines."

She nodded. "I won’t lie, I know it’s going to be overwhelming. I mean, I have seen what happens when the internet latches onto F1 relationships. But I also know I don’t want to pretend we’re just… nothing. You make me happy, and I don’t want to hide that."

Lando was silent for a moment, his eyes meeting Lizzie's. His thumb traced a gentle circle on the back of her hand as he seemed lost in thought.

“You make me happy too,” he told her, his voice soft. “But they’ll…they’re going to dissect every little thing. If you don’t come to a race, we’ll probably be at the brink of a break up. If you do come, they’ll write ridiculous headlines of you stealing the spotlights. They are going to speculate on how long we’ve been together, probably even come up with wild conspiracy theories..."

She could hear it in his voice, how much it stressed him...how uch even just the thought of people doing that to their relationship was hurting him. 

"Hey," she said softly. "I’m a bestselling fantasy author, Lando. People come up with wild conspiracy theories about my books on a daily basis. I can handle it."

Lando chuckled at that. "Fair point," he admitted, conceding her argument. The tension in his shoulders eased some. "I just…I want you to be sure,” Lando said hesitantly. “The Formula One fandom is another level when it comes to speculating about relationships. And some fans are bloody mental. I have literally received death threats, and I am not the only one. And the media? They are going to be relentless. They’ll ask questions about you at every race, they’ll bring up your epilepsy, they’ll try to spin things."

Lizzie knew that. She was very much aware of that. But Lizzie had lived with her epilepsy for nearly all her life. She already had heard every single horrible thing somebody could say about that. 

Now it would be more of the same. Simply on a bigger stage. 

Was it scary? Yes. 

Did she care? Not really. 

So Lizzie simply squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I know. I’m not naive. And I won’t pretend it doesn’t scare me a little. But I also know I don’t want to let fear dictate my life. We’re in this together, right?"

"Of course, we are."

Lizzie leaned in, resting her forehead against his. "Then let’s do it."

Lando grinned, all traces of his earlier tension disappearing. "You’re braver than me," he said, pulling her closer so he could kiss her forehead. "Are you sure you’re ready for this circus?"

A mischievous glint flashed in Lizzie's eyes. "Honey, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from writing about a war between magical races, it’s that I can handle whatever comes my way."

Lando chuckled, shaking his head at her audacity. "You’re something else, you know that?" he said warmly. 

"Yes," she said, grinning. "So, you’ll take me to Silverstone?"

"I was supposed to be the one inviting you, you know," Lando muttered, feigning exasperation.

Lizzie just smirked. "Too slow, Norris.  Let’s do it. If the WAGs want signed books, I might as well hand-deliver them."

Lando let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But the moment we walk into the paddock together, the internet is going to explode."

Lizzie leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back with a knowing smile. "Then let’s give them a show, shall we?"