#but i never wanted to tell them for this exact reason

[chaotic-toasters]

Lowkey

Kim Little x Teen!Reader

Arsenal WFC x Teen!Reader

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

“Hey, kiddo!” Katie's voice boomed in your ear, making you jolt. “Ready for trainin’?”

You shrunk slightly as her arm wrapped around your shoulders, discreetly shaking it off. “Uh-huh.”

Pushing the door to the changing room open, you slipped inside, sitting down at your cubby with a quiet greeting to the other girls.

You loved your team, and you loved their dynamics, but some of them were simply too rowdy for you to handle. It was one of the reasons why you kept to yourself most of the time, not wanting to get overwhelmed.

You tied your laces, hands shaking slightly as you pondered the schedule for the day. You hadn't looked at it before you left home, so you were unaware of what time you'd have recovery.

After hesitantly asking Lotte for the exact time the team would have recovery, you finished putting on all your gear, shuffling out of the changing room and into the hallway.

“Aw, look, it's the team baby!” Kyra cheered, pulling you into a headlock and ruffling your hair. “Y/N, how ya’ doin’?”

You smiled awkwardly, gently freeing yourself from the Aussie's hold. “Hi, Kyra.”

“Cooney, get off her,” a gentle hand was placed on your shoulder, the soft touch a stark contrast to the stern Scottish voice behind you. “I've got some things to discuss with Y/N, and I need her in one piece.”

Kyra groaned, slinking away. “Fiiine.”

As soon as the Matilda was gone, Kim removed her hand from your shoulder, brushing the hair that had come loose out of your face. “You ‘kay, kiddo? I know she can be a lot sometimes.”

You nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

As the two of you started walking to the training pitch side by side, you couldn't help but think it was weird. The Kim Little was to your right, smiling at you warmly, letting you know that she was available if you ever needed her.

“I'll keep that in mind, thanks,” you said gratefully. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” the midfielder patted you on the shoulder. “I know what it's like to be one of the introverts on the team. Come chat with me if you're ever overwhelmed, I'd love to talk with someone who doesn't shout every time they talk.”

You snickered when the Scotswoman's eyes drifted over to Katie. “Okay, I will. Thanks, Kim.”

—----------------

You didn't even make it through half the day. After some of the girls had gotten too rowdy for you, you'd gone and found Kim to do partner drills with.

“I'm surprised you lasted this long,” she grinned, tapping the ball to you. “Viv has been here for years, and she still can't last more than an hour.”

You couldn't help but grin back. “I'm special that way.”

You felt comfortable with your captain, her personality extremely similar to yours in terms of demeanor and values. It was easy to open up to her, to tell her things that your other teammates didn't know, and you knew that this was a friendship that would be nearly impossible to break.

You could tell by the way the mischievous idea formed in your head when the sprinklers turned on, the sudden urge to tackle Kim into the splash zone impossible to ignore. You would never do such a thing to people that you weren't good friends with, but it was obvious to you that you and Kim were heading in that direction.

“Kim, what are you doin’ on our off-day?” Steph questioned.

Kim pondered for a moment, completely clueless to the you charging at her like a bull. “I'm not sure, I was ju— Y/N!”

She laughed as the two of you wrestled, water from the sprinklers splashing you both in the face and making it hard to see. “Y/N! Get off, you little rat!”

You grinned cheekily as you rolled around in the dirt. “I can't, there's a dinosaur on top of me!”

“Hey!” she complained, tackling you back to the ground as your teammates gaped. “I'm not that old!”

“Yes, you are!” you freed yourself from her grasp, sprinting off. “You're, like, sixty!”

“I'm in my thirties!” she yelled after you.

“Same th- oof!” You grunted as you slipped on the wet grass, falling flat on your back. “Owwwww.”

Kim snorted. “Your fault, not mine.”

“Wally?” You whined, sticking your arms up in the air and making grabby hands. “Help, I've fallen and I can't get up.”

The Swisswoman smiled in amusement, helping you up and wiping the dirt off your cheek. “Never seen you so comfortable, Y/N.”

You shrugged, waving shyly at the camera that you realized had probably caught the whole incident. “There's just something about Kimmy, I guess.”

“Awww,” Kim jogged up to you, pinching your cheeks and grinning. “So cute.”

You reddened, slapping her hands away. “No need to make it weird, Mum.”

“I'm not makin’ it weird, you're makin’ it weird!”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

Katie crossed her arms indignantly as you and Kim tried to force each other to the ground. “How come I get told off for wrestlin’ Kyra?”

You stuck out your tongue, trying to sweep Kim's legs out from underneath her. “I'm just special!”

“I'm special!” Katie complained.

You waved your hand dismissively, digging your foot into the ground. “Just because your mum said it doesn't mean it's true.”

“HEY!”

#kim little #woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #arsenal women x reader #caitlin foord #katie mccabe #kyra cooney cross #lia walti

[mattzerella-sticks]

Y'know what would be a good storyline coming out of Bruce taking on the mantle of Nightwing (briefly)?

If he enjoys it a little too much.

Nightwing is freedom. Nightwing is light. Nightwing is fighting bad guys while smiling laughing throwing out a funny quip.

Things he never gets to do as Batman.

So what if, after things have settled in Bludhaven and Absolute Power has come and gone, Bruce decides to make a short visit and help out again.

As Nightwing.

"People are used to seeing Nightwing in Bludhaven. It makes more sense for there to be 2 Nightwings than for Batman to be here," Bruce argues. "Besides, this will only help you. Make it seem like Nightwing can be there at any moment."

And Dick relents. For now.

Barbara finds it strange (as does Dick) but he waves off her concerns with, "it's just an appearance here and there. Besides, I've never seen him so happy."

Except the odd appearance "here and there" starts to become a consistent thing. And it reaches an apex when Bruce diverts an emergency call from the Titans and makes an appearance in Nightwing's stead and hangs out with them afterwards (they are a little put off by the total 180 in Batman's personality but don't tell him to leave).

I think Dick stages intervention one telling Bruce he has to go back to Gotham and stop being Nightwing because Dick is Nightwing and Bruce is Batman.

"Maybe I don't want to be Batman?"

And the issue ends with Batman renouncing Batman. Saying that if Dick thinks there needs to be a Batman, he should take up the mantle. It wouldn't be the first time. Which leaves Dick speechless.

The next issue picks up in Gotham with Damian fighting crime, getting ganged up on, when Batman descends and helps him out. Except this Batman is Dick.

They debrief and we also get an update on what's been going on with Gotham in the weeks, perhaps months, of Bruce being in Bludhaven and how the rest of the Batfamily are picking up the slack in his absence. We also see Dick picking the Batfamily's brains about what to do about Bruce, if anything should be done about Bruce.

It takes a conversation with licensed medical professional Harley Quinn to give Dick insight into what's going on with Bruce ("trying to feel young again") and how to shock him out of it ("Bats is a stubborn guy. Even if all of you kids gathered around and said how this was affecting you, he'd say that you weren't seeing the bigger picture or whatever other excuse he can think of. What you need to do is goad him into giving up Nightwing and going back to being Batman.")

So Dick corners Bruce one day in Bludhaven and presents a challenge. Rooftop race across the city. First one to finish is Nightwing. The loser is Batman. Bruce, drunk off playing Nightwing, cocky, agrees.

Cue the night of the race Dick and Bruce, both dressed as Nightwing, stand on the rooftop with Barbara between them. She drops the flag and they're off.

It starts with Bruce in the lead, it's been a while since Dick has run these rooftops, but as the race progresses Dick slowly takes the lead as Bruce's stamina wanes.

It also doesn't help that Dick has been chatting the entire time. First nonsensically which Bruce tries to keep up with as well, but as it goes on it's deliberate strikes at the reasons why Bruce is clinging to Nightwing and, in his exhaustion, in his still existing in the 'Nightwing' persona, Bruce actually engages in the dialogue Dick creates between them and the rapport is strong.

Dick gets Bruce to admit how Dick is the kind of person he wants to be and that he thought it was Batman holding him back, and if he dropped Batman he could be the kind of person worthy of having the family he does now.

Dick tells him that it's because of who Bruce was that Dick is the man he is now, and that Bruce has the potential to be like Dick in those regards even while being Batman.

Then Dick brings up Alfred, at the exact moment they reach the statue of Alfred in Bludhaven. A statue Bruce has been avoiding since he arrived. A statue which Dick had been leading Bruce to in the guise of their 'race'. Dick has Bruce confront Alfred and what Alfred wanted for Bruce and how it's a) things he already has and b) he's never too late to change who Batman is and can be.

Bruce takes off the mask and thanks Dick for helping him out, and they hug as the race is over. Dick has won. He is Nightwing. Bruce will go back to being Batman.

However, the night before Bruce is set to return to Gotham, he and Dick are getting ready to patrol Bludhaven together one last time, as Batman and Nightwing, when suddenly another Nightwing appears. And another. And another.

The entire Batfamily drops in wearing their own Nightwing costumes. "What?" Damian says, "we heard that all we need to do to become Nightwing is win a race. Who wouldn't jump at the chance for something that easy." And the story ends with Nightwing looking to Bruce, saying "Fine. One more time." Cut to a full page panel of Dick Grayson leading a throng of Nightwings across the Bludhaven skies.

The Midlife Crisis event is over.

#dc comics #dcu #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #barbara gordon #dc titans #damian wayne #batfamily #i think seeing bruce in a fun midlife crisis will be a welcome change of pace #dc i know u need a new writer for the nightwing monthly now that tom is leaving i am available

[johnwickb1tsch]

Excessive Force : a Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE AMAAAZING @treedaddymcpuffpuff 😘😘😘) - Chapter FOURTEEN ---> (all chapters)

trigger warnings: mention of police shooting, child trafficking, past childhood trauma, abuse, etc. plz take care!

“Are you serious?!” You have to move the phone away from your ear to avoid a blown drum from Sheila’s screech. 

“Yup.”

“Okay, why don’t you sound as excited as me?” 

“I’m nervous. He’s really forward. And, I haven’t been on a date in forever.” That didn’t end horribly… You’ve decided not to count the fiasco with Julian. You’re in your room, fingering through the limited collection of nice clothes in your closet. You briefly debate wearing a turtleneck and thick linen pants just to piss him off. But, also, there’s that little sundress you bought at the mall that you’ve never gotten a chance to wear… The pretty, soft color would pair very nicely with your silky cream bra and panty set—that you also have never worn. You’re starting to re-think the whole not being a prude thing. 

Plus, it’s hot outside.

Sheila pulls you from your search. “Listen, if he tries anything, just kick him in the dick. Works every time.”

“He’s like eight feet tall. I don’t know if I can reach his dick… with my feet.” 

You both giggle. 

“That’s why they make step stools.” 

“Like, for that exact reason?” 

Sheila’s one of those people that has proven to be supportive. You met her on a bus tour your first week in LA and have been buddies ever since. It works perfectly since you both have hectic work schedules and don’t really expect anything from the other one. She calls you for drinks, you call her for lunch. Sympatico. 

“Obviously. So, he’s tall. Is he hot?” 

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth when you think back to his bare, bruised body on your exam table, those mile long, strong thighs that caged you in and felt more like they belonged to an Amazon Boa rather than a man. 

“Okay, that silence either means hell yes or hell no, so which is it?” You hear the grin in Sheila’s voice.

“First one.” 

You end up telling her about his persistent hospital visits, him pulling you over, maybe omitting some—okay, no, a lot of the details just so she doesn’t want to kill him just yet. You also haven’t told her about the Julian debacle–or that Tom basically rescued you. 

You also leave out that he just happens to be the new superhero on every news channel right now. You’re still processing that yourself, and it’s not boding well for you keeping your cool with this man. 

As it turned out, it was the news that informed you of Officer Tom Ludlow’s whereabouts those lonely night’s you’d missed him harassing you on that lonely stretch of highway. He wasn’t ignoring you. He was rescuing two teenage girls who had been kidnapped and trafficked by a gang. According to the report, Ludlow had entered the house after hearing a cry for help, alone, and gunned down every single one of the gangbangers before setting the girls free.  

Parts of this story should have alarmed you, but there had been a time in your past when you would have given anything for a person of authority to ride to your rescue, red tape be damned. How many times had the cops come to your house for a domestic disturbance between your parents, and left you in a bad situation because of some legal technicality or another? How had they seen you, scared and dirty, cowering in the doorway, and left you behind? The horrors you could have told them, if only they’d cared to ask without your parents there to overhear and threaten you, but every time until the last time, they’d just left you in the hellhole that had been your childhood home.   

How different your life—your sister’s lives—would have been if you had a Thomas Ludlow back then.

The twin girls’ MISSING posters and billboards were all over the city. Most anyone with the power to do something had given up on them as a lost cause, just another sad story, written them off as tragically probably dead in a gutter, but not Ludlow. Ludlow had risked his neck (and possibly his badge, because you’d heard of the old “I heard a cry for help” trick to gain entry, and it was almost always code for “I didn’t have a warrant, what are you going to do about it?”, to get them out, and goddammit if that didn’t just warm you to your toes and soften your heart.

Worse yet, you feel like the biggest asshole for calling him a fraud, to his face, the night after it all went down. He’d just taken it on the chin, and he still asked you out. 

Ok, he technically extorted you, but it just doesn’t feel as sinister now as it had last night. He’d been bold, and borderline needy for some human tenderness, and fuck if you didn’t understand all too well why now. 

Now, rather than having to keep yourself from tearing him a new one, you were afraid you were going to have to restrain yourself from crawling into his lap at the first opportunity, and fucking his brains out for being such a goddamed hero. 

“Oh, he’s a freak!” Despite saying this, she sounds like she’s twirling her hair and kicking her feet. 

You snort. “He’s got..uh…nice hands.” 

You decide on the sundress and the bra-panty set, but you don’t bother laying them out in preparation, because you’re still telling yourself that this isn’t that big of a deal and you’re not that invested and that if Tom Ludlow kisses you, you won’t burst into flames.

You want to take a bath, leave some scent of those seldom used lavender lemon oils lingering on your skin, but decide against it. 

No. Actually. You’re doing it. Taking a nice,  warm, spiced soak, rubbing lotion over every piece of you except the very sensitive bits, shimmying into the undergarments. The panties end up being cheekier than you like, but your butt looks cute, and the dress covers everything pretty good, anyway—well, everything that matters. 

After putting your hair up in a messy bun and throwing some mascara on, you’re ready for—actually, who the fuck are you kidding, you are the opposite of ready. Borderline panicking at the thought of this man coming to pick you up and taking you out and putting on his lewd charm and ruining this cute underwear. 

By the time he buzzes downstairs, it’s too late to decide on another pair of shoes. You have to live with sandals—with the fact that he might just look down and get a full, unfiltered view of your toes curling when he opens his pretty mouth. 

You’re totally fucked, here. 

You think it again when you open the door, finding his lean form all in black, leaning on the wall with his hands in his pockets and his full bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s already thinking about eating you up. You literally feel it as his eyes look you up and down, from your messy bun to your pink painted toes. It’s been two seconds, and already you are soaked between your thighs. 

Doomed. You are just fucking doomed, and a part of you is just ready to surrender, because it takes so much goddamn energy to fight your attraction to this man. You can feel it like live electricity crackling over your skin. 

Of course, there’s that other part of you that wants to run right back up those stairs and lock yourself away from this gorgeous devil.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Your mouth opens to reply, but your brain takes a few seconds to catch up, utterly short circuited by how ridiculously handsome he is in his black button down, his dark pants belted low on his hips, those big feet in black boots. It’s a little strange, seeing him without his badge or his gun on his hip–but you can work with this. 

“Hi,” you answer, scathingly clever as ever. 

“Ready to go?” 

You’d brought down your purse, to avoid inviting him into the private sanctuary that is your little shoebox of an apartment, but now you almost regret it. 

“Yeah. Where are we going?” You step out the door, but he doesn’t move back, relishing your close proximity with a smirk. But there is a new softness in his brown eyes as he looks down at you that makes you a little weak in your knees. He reaches up to touch your cheek, feather light, and it boggles your mind how this man can be such a beast, and yet so gentle when he wants to be. 

“You’ll see.” You narrow your eyes at him, but for once, it’s more playful than fueled by annoyance. “Relax,” he says, his shapely mouth dancing as he suppresses a smile. “You’re in good hands, honey.” 

You don’t even flinch, as he drives this final nail into your coffin, the wave of desire inspired by the thought of those oh-so-capable hands and what they just might do to you tonight buzzing down your spine. This is how you die–you are strangely, almost, ok with it. 

When he has you safely ensconced in the passenger seat of his sleek black Charger you look over at him, his long arm draped over the wheel as he navigates the hostile environment of LA traffic like a shark patrolling a reef. “So…I saw you on the news last night.”

He lifts one of those dark brows, though his expression remains otherwise unreadable. “Haven’t really looked at what they’re saying,” he admits, like he’s used to the media getting the details wrong towards their own ends. 

“They said that you saved two underaged girls that were being traffiked?”

His mouth turns down, and you wonder if you’ve killed the happy vibe of the evening so soon with your nosy questions. But then again–you need to know. It’s a gnawing curiosity in your gut not just for the events that transpired, but the man who orchestrated them. Who you are currently alone in a car with, so you reason you have a right to know.

“Yeah,” he simply answers, not keen to crow his own praises. 

“And you…killed all those guys?”

He gives a sigh that seems to come from the bottom of his soul. You sense a weariness in him that he’s never shown on the outside before. 

“Yeah.” A long silence draws out between you, before he adds, “They were very bad dudes, y/n. Please don’t be afraid of me.”

You can’t exactly say that you’re not–but ironically, the news of him shooting down those gangsters really has nothing to do with it.   

“I’m not. I mean–if they were abusing those girls, then they deserved it.”

He looks you over then, an appraising look as though you’ve given him some new information about your character. Maybe information you didn’t exactly mean to give away, but it’s out there now. He’s going think you’re a kindred spirit–or a blood thirsty gremlin. 

Either way, you don’t really want to discuss why you sympathize with those girls, and with him. 

“Are you okay?”

This question seems to take him aback, like he truly wasn’t expecting it. He’s surely used to being a pillar of stoic manhood, but you know this shit takes its toll. “Yeah. I’m fine, sweetheart. Thanks.”

You eye his hand resting on the center console, and a part of you very badly wants to reach out to him and take it. Almost as though he can sense it, or maybe because he wants it as badly as you do, he holds out his hand palm up in invitation. It’s possible you stare at that hand for a beat too long, his wide calloused palm and long blunt fingers. Long enough that he tries to play it off, starting to take it back, before you quickly lace your fingers with his. The way he smiles to himself sends warmth blooming all the way to your toes, and you’re glad he’s driving because they do, indeed, curl in your sandals. 

You give him a little squeeze, relishing the way your hand feels so tiny and protected in his own, and say, genuinely, “I’m sorry. For calling you a fake cop.” 

He clicks his tongue. “I’ve heard worse from people that aren’t half as pretty as you.” 

You want to fight with him on that—scoff, roll your eyes—but you just can’t, because as much as that small, whiny part of your brain tells you he’s lying, the bigger, rational part absolutely knows just by the sincerity in his tone that he thinks you really are a pretty, sublime creature. 

“But I still kinda think you’re a jerk,” you half tease. 

“Mmmm, what happened to that feisty little thing I know? She change into a cute sundress and suddenly become sweet?” 

You are loathe to admit the real reason for your change of heart. 

“You wish.” 

He chuckles. “Bet I can make you sweet.” 

You’re a total idiot for what comes out of your mouth, and your underwear is the one that will more than likely end up paying for this mindless insolence. “How?”

He brings your hand up to his mouth, lips brushing over the thin skin of your knuckles, sending a spear of desire through your arm and into the rest of your body. You make a tiny choked noise when his tongue peeks a taste of your skin, going unfocused and fuzzy, radio static and full throttle cavewoman. 

He kisses the center of your hand, then murmurs, “With sugar, silly girl.” 

It's not only the panties that pay a high price, but also your throbbing heart, pleasantly tense and hot and full of desire. 

He must find your slack jaw and blank stare immensely entertaining, because he’s laughing low and soft, rumbling in delight. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

“I’m fine.” There has never been a more heinous lie uttered in this entire state. 

You’re fairly new to LA, but you soon realize from your surroundings that he’s taking you to the Santa Monica Pier. 

You are thanking the universe and the gods when you arrive at your destination. Five more minutes—hell, seconds—trapped in that car with him and you would have climbed into his lap and started barking. 

When he swings into a parking space designated just for Law Enforcement you turn to him with a lifted brow, as though to say, Abuse your authority much? 

But you already know the answer to that. This date is a product of it. And so far…it’s not so bad. 

“Do you like fish tacos?” He asks, keeping your hand and massaging that bulky thumb over your wrist.

“Shouldn’t you have asked that before you made a reservation?” you taunt him. 

“No reservation,” he informs you with a quirk of his mouth. “But the manager owes me a favor.” 

He waves around the busy avenue and beach walk bustling with people, peppered with colorful shops and restaurants of every kind. “Pretty sure we can find you something you like, if Mexican food with an ocean view isn’t your thing…” He says it with a smirk, and you’re seriously not sure if you want to kiss this man or smack him. Maybe both, but save it for later, sings out the little devil on your shoulder before you can tell it to shut the fuck up. 

Good lord. 

You’ve heard of the restaurant–and that it’s famously hard to get into. You wonder if his connection is a product of a favor for a good deed, or a bit of blackmail. Maybe a little bit of both. You’re finding more and more that it’s hard to put this man in a single box. 

“Honestly…?” You make him wait for it, and you can tell your effort to put this confident man on the spot only half succeeds, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. “That sounds pretty amazing.”

This evil, evil gentleman. He opens your door for you, helps you out of the car, stands patiently while you fix your dress, only half looks at your exposed thighs before you pull the hem down and cover them up again. 

Then, he threads his arm with yours and leads you onto the pier. You can’t believe you’ve never taken the initiative to come here before. It’s beautiful, lit up like a modern carnival of neon lights. 

“Oh, can we go on the Ferris wheel?” You ask, looking up at him. 

“Let’s get some food in you, and then we can do whatever you want.” He really needs to stop being so…caring. It’s seriously starting to mess up your insides. 

You turn into a fascinated kid as you walk down the salt coated slice of wood built out over the ocean, looking this and that way, pointing things out, mentioning possible after-dinner activities. You feel like you’re getting annoying, but Tom just seems amused by your sunburned tourist behavior. 

You pass by a little shooting booth with huge stuffed bunnies hanging from the rack, and he must see the way you’re ogling them, so he leans down close to your ear. “I could win you one of those?”

You grin back up at him. “I can win you one.” 

“Oh? Little sharpshooter?” 

It sounds like he doesn’t believe you, so you stick your tongue out at him between smiling lips. 

He pokes your forehead in retaliation. “Anybody ever tell you how fucking cute you are?” 

The restaurant lives up to its popularity and then some. It takes a while to get here, but you just know it’s worth every foot blister when they sit you down and immediately serve a popped bottle of iced sparkling water and delicious, warm salsa and chips. 

You made it just in time to catch the purple orange sun sinking below ocean level, and the front row seats really just make the view that much more spectacular. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if a dolphin jumped from the water, illuminated by the dying sun, just like in the movies.  

“This is… amazing.” You grab some tortilla chips to munch on while he pours you both glasses of the fancy water. “Have you ever been here before?” 

“Once.” He doesn’t elaborate, so you don’t want to push the issue, but you can tell there’s some kind of ache behind that simple word. 

“Okay, so you’re obviously not from LA—where are you from?” He leans over the table a bit, curious. 

“Kansas.” 

He opens his mouth, but you stop him because you already know what he’s going to say. 

“Don’t do it.” You point a warning finger at him, giggling like an idiot. 

“God, but I really want to,” he groans. 

“So,” you say, taking another bite of chip. “Why did you become a cop?”

“You start with the heavy questions, huh?” he teases you. “Thought I was the one who was trained in interrogation?”

You suppose he’s right, considering your earlier line of inquiry in the car. But you shrug in response. Considering how you ended up here, you see no reason to tiptoe around things. “Just curious.”

He offers up an easy smile, letting you know you didn’t offend him. “Well, I actually always wanted to be a dentist.”

You snort with disbelief, trying to imagine this man’s bedside manner. But then, dentists do get to cause people a lot of pain… “Ok. Maybe that tracks.”

“I’m fucking with you,” he informs you with a smirk. 

You do your best to appear annoyed, and fear you fail at it badly. “Guess it’s not hard to imagine you pulling teeth, is all.”

He huffs at that. “I always wanted to be a cop, since I was a kid. My old man was a detective. Killed in the line of duty. I guess I felt like I needed to pick up his unfinished business.”

You blink at that. You and your big fucking mouth. “I’m sorry,” you say, reaching for his hand across the table. He curls his fingers with yours, playing with your aqua painted fingernails with his thumb.

“It’s alright. Happened a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

You squeeze his hand in yours, saying nothing. 

“What about you? What made you want to be a nurse?” 

You don’t really feel comfortable enough to tell him your whole coming-of-nurse story, so you give him the cut version: “when I was young and felt like I had no one, a nurse comforted me.”

“How young?”

“Ten.”

He winces. “Maybe I’ll get the full version of that story one day?”

There’s an epiphany, here, in this little restaurant with the comfy blue chairs, and it’s that Tom Ludlow scares you because he makes you feel something deep, deep inside your chest that you can’t even remember being there before he came along. Julian was easy, child’s play; although it stings, you’re writing him down as just another failed fling. You know if Ludlow gets his hands on your little sensitive heart, it will be a very different story. 

You take a big drink of water to wash down the salty crunch. “Sorry.”

“For?”

“Being so…cold.”

He chuckles. “Oh, you are so cold. Gonna have to make it up to me.”

Warmth floods the top layers of your skin. “I already said I’d win you the bunny.”

You’re amazed at how easily he can transition back into a smooth, carnal beast. “I don’t know if that’s enough for me to forgive you.” The fake hurt in his tone should not make you squirm in your seat. 

You bite like a dumb, good little fish should: “okay, then, how do I make it up to you, Officer Ludlow?” 

You’re hoping to faze him with the sultry innocence of your tone, but it just fuels his devilish aura instead. “We can start with me turning you over my knee.”

You don’t have a retort, but your vagina absolutely does, and she gets you squirming in your seat. 

He leans forward, knowing smile sure to be your undoing one way or another. “Would you like that?” 

“Thought you didn’t want to hurt me?” You challenge, trying to keep cool despite the blazing Ludlow heat. 

“Who says spanking has to hurt? Dr. Bitch?”

You can’t help the giggle that rolls out of you, and he seems to find it entertaining that you have to cover your mouth to hide it. “No, Tom, believe it or not, I am a grown woman who has lived an experienced life.” 

“And how was it?”

You tilt your head. “What?”

“You know, when you asked one of your vanilla boyfriends to swat that gorgeous, plump ass a little bit? Just to see how it would feel.” He leans his chin on his palm, listening intently for your answer, and you think you might be on your way to spontaneous combustion. 

How in the fuck can he just hit the nail right on the head like that? Know about parts of your life that you haven’t shared with anyone—not that there were many to share with. Are you really this readable? 

Once again, he has your sharp tongue dulled with arousal and embarrassment, and you shift in the chair. “He did it, like, once and then stopped.” 

“And did you like it?” He presses. 

“Yes.” 

He takes a little sip of his water, raising both dark brows over the glass at you. “Good to know.” 

Tom recommends the margaritas and fish tacos, so you let him order for the both of you while admiring the view. You can’t decide which one you like better, his handsome face or the ocean scape.

As you are finishing your delicious dinner the last rays of the sunset are putting on a five star show for you, the sky painted that impossible deep blue and purple, the water shimmering like color-changing opals.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you sigh, and you catch him looking at you out of the corner of your eye with a softness you haven’t seen from him before. You get up the courage to meet his eyes, and he smiles at you, but for once not like he intends to eat you.

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, sweetheart.”

“Goddammit.”

He laughs at that, a real belly laugh that makes you warm all over even without the aid of your two nursed margaritas. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to out shoot you for that little bunny now.” 

This wins you more genuine laughter. “Alright, Annie Oakley. Lead the way.” 

#tom ludlow #street kings #tom ludlow x you #excessive force street kings fic #tom ludlow x reader #tom ludlow x y/n #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #julian mercer x reader #julian mercer x you #keanu reeves x you

[madsmilfelsen]

Every Dog Has Its Day— (rated m for drugs and alcohol and oh homicide + 1,7k) I had about 17 things I was supposed to do this morning and wrote this instead— a brief prelude to the LOST DOGS series on ao3

tag: first impression, bar setting, murder a bit more than implied but off page, sugar known old man fucker

Rust isn’t one to chase tail, so he knew the women who spur his attraction were trouble. The double take pains him, stomach curdling at the sight he finds. She’s young enough that he’ll get over this as soon as they exchange words, likely any minute since he’s the only goddamn bartender in what feels like all of Soldotna. Maybe she was underage and he could kick her out. He wants to return to numbness as quickly as possible even if he needed to make a reason for her to get. A shot of whiskey doesn’t help none so he reminds himself to card her.

Winter kept her covered, her carhartt jacket zipped mostly up, black hair tucked in the collar. She didn’t come here with the intention to stay. In the first half hour, she doesn’t drink much at all. Nurses one old fashioned ordered and delivered by two friends she didn’t look all that friendly with. She absently stirs her drink like she was nervously guarding it. He told himself he was only paying attention for that reason, to ensure her drink stayed clean.

Staying behind the safety of the bar, Rust isn’t close enough to eavesdrop but their faces were tense in conversation. They sat at an awkward table with poor lighting, the pendent over the pool table hardly reaching them, stained glass reds and blues in the shine of her hair. The girl rolled her eyes like she was being reprimanded by someone she didn’t respect in the first place. Rust didn’t take the two men across from her seriously either. Young bucks, didn’t tip, the shorter one talked under his breath when he ordered a beer earlier, distracting the girl from whatever the other man was saying. He thinks she tells him the shut the fuck up.

Cash is pushed across the table and she looks put out when she pockets it. Rust assumes this is what it looks like it is, but she doesn’t leave with them. Whatever transaction that occurred is of some different nature that makes her scan the room with a sigh. Her gaze lands on Rust briefly and lingers as he closed a tab, dismissing him in a smooth slide when he glances up as if she never looked at him at all. The corner of her mouth quirks in frustration, she bites down on her thumb nail about it.

“Phone’s busted, I gotta ask around,” she says over her shoulder when she hops down and walks to the door.

“How long are we supposed to wait here?” one calls after her.

“Twenty minutes, an hour, what’s it matter to you lazy fucks?” she says crassly with a shrug, voice a little husky and smoke scratched but she doesn’t bother raising it when she pauses by the door. “Tip your bartender.”

Rust pours himself another shot, nearly spilling it when outside the girl is smiling, wide and genuine. The whiskey in his mouth barely registers when he throws it back. She’s been stopped by a regular, Jack, who drinks bourbon neat, four fingers.

“She even old enough to be in here?” he asks Jack when the man sits down at the bar, accepting the glass and ashtray Rust passes to him.

“Your job to card not mine,” he replies with a blatant disregard of someone nearing retirement, that exact apathy is only reason Rust ever hoped to live to his fifties.

“She avoided the bar.”

Jack seems to look at Rust for the first time ever in a new light and laughs, “I bet she did. Don’t worry, that was my niece. I bought her first legal shot four— fuck, two?— years ago. Bailed me and her dad out enough times to owe her at much,” he tells Rust then frowns, “Kid is usually too smart to be seen in places like this.”

“With those two in the corner there,” Rust says with a nod.

“Explains why she was trying to score coke off me,” Jack says after he looked over his shoulder then looked around the Back Bush. “Shit, I’m surprised she didn’t find any here.”

“Slow night,” Rust explains away. “Surprise she didn’t get any off you.”

“Too old to be doin’ that shit if I’m fishing in the morning.”

“Yeah, where at?”

“Skilak. Good lakers in there, takes a little more work. Want to come?”

“Nah. Workin’ til five then sleepin’ til five.”

“Cheers to that, brother,” he says, clinking his glass of bourbon to Rust’s next shot of whiskey he can’t seem to down fast enough.

His sigh rasps his throat raw when she returns later with snowflakes in her hair, a cigarette she got from someone outside hanging from her lip. Rust asks Jack as he’s cashing out, “What’s your niece’s name?”

“Who, Sugar there?”

“Yeah, what’s her name?”

“Sugar,” Jack repeats seriously.

“You fuckin’ with me?”

“Honest to God, Rust. Hey Sugar, get over here, put a drink on my tab while you got the chance.”

“You headed out?” she asks.

“It’s damn near two am, girl, how are you this perky?”

“By learning how to nap in your hunting blind, old man,” she says, playfully pushing her shoulder against his. “Um, could I just get a beer? Kölsch if you’ve got it.”

Jack and the other two boys are gone and she’s sitting alone when he returns from the fridge in the back room with a six pack to put in the front chiller.

Sugar smells like fucking juniper, skin like Yellow Label Alaga syrup that he remembers the taste from the tender age of two. His chin jerks up at the touch of wood smoke and vanilla as she gathers her endless hair in a fist, a silky curtain she pulls out of her collar catching on the rough edges of her jacket.

“Hi,” she says, smile purposely small when he puts a cracked can in front of her.

“You want a glass?” he asks gruffly which somehow only makes her grin bigger.

She shakes her head, takes a sip. Rust leans against the shelves of alcohol, still not far enough when she looks a little too interested over the bottom of her beer.

“I’m told you’re Sugar.”

“Yeah. You looking for something?” she asks, expression dimming a bit as if she assumes his interest in her ended with what she could do for him. Which it should, he tells himself and successfully thinks, more firmly, it does— then terribly; hell, why not. He could use the sleep.

“Quaaludes, anything barbital. I ain’t all that picky.”

She gives him the same confused look he always gets requesting blues, but Sugar seems like she sleeps through the night just fine.

“Beer is the cheapest downer there is,” Sugar points out, chewing on a nail. She’s got good hygiene, hands probably clean enough to eat out of, but still a bad habit is a bad habit. His jaw feels tight. “I guess, I’ve got weed out in my truck, but ludes?” She sucks her teeth. “Hell, I’d have to drive to Homer.”

“I’ll pay you for gas,” he says. Fuck, he’d pay her to drive to Fairbanks just to have her gone longer. The door opens and thankfully, pulling his attention up and over her head. Sugar doesn’t look away from him and gives a sleepy hum that tightens his gut. A decisions seems to be made with a small tilt of her head.

“You workin’ til five or are you on the early shift?”

“Five,” he replies, popping the top off a bottle for a costumer who raised his beer up and walks away.

“Gimme your address,” she says when he comes back reluctantly.

He really does not want to do that but rips a receipt in half anyhow to pen a map down for his unmarked turnoff. Sugar folds it between two fingers and gives a salute.

“See you at sunrise,” she promises and fucking winks at him.

Probably the worst thing a high functioning alcoholic can tell themself is that they know how to drive hammered. It’s a little after five in the morning, the two miles between the Back Bush and his drive way empty even of moose.

The solar panel is covered in snow so Rust is temporarily without electricity when he chose to shovel an extra parking spot rather than climbing on his roof. His watch beeps at him but it’s the sudden static of his scanner breaking with a first responsing officer saying 10-79 which brings him out of the root cellar. The light of his kerosene lantern waning over the boxes of evidence he squirreled into the state before he pushes the trap door shut. Rust kicks the rug back into place when the 11-1 is repeated by the operator requesting backup. Routine information follows; six shots reported by a neighbor, a heed of caution for traffic stops. A second later an ambulance requested in a panic— the officer, probably a kid fresh out of the academy, voice cracking and shaken enough to abandon codes, telling them to get some fucking paramedics for the girl chained up in the basement. Rust turns the machine off, whiskey sloshing in his stomach, shoulders too tired to hold him upright much longer. Men in blue got paperwork tonight, he doesn’t envy them much all these years later.

He adds a log to his fire to counter the open door so Rust could hear the girl— woman, Sugar— pull up. The heat hikes up enough for him to shrug off his shirt before pouring himself a daycap. Through the crack with a wisp off a cool breeze, the sunrise creeps over the mountains, headlights even brighter before the engine outside is killed. Rust opens the door when the girl hops out of her truck, stumbling in the snow. In the dim dawn, she looks pallid and doesn’t seem like she can speak when he nods for her to step down into the cabin. There’s a dark bruise on her throat and her breath wheezes a little.

Rust doesn’t even notice the drugs she passes to him. He can smell her sweat and fear when she roughly unzips her jacket and rips it off. She doesn’t look scared to be here, in his home, but something spooked her tonight. The black wool shirt she’s wearing tight and damp as her lungs trip toward shallow hyperventilation. Maybe he was mistaken, though he knows he wasn’t, he recognized what was on her skin before he steps closer to confirm when her back is still to him. His mind swims in whiskey, surfacing only when he knew for sure— Sugar smells like gunpowder.

Huh. What have you been up to, girl?

#lost dogs #rust cohle #sure the middle picture is the wrong season and probably glenn allen but i’m working off vibes here #not posting this to ao3 because tomororw is already stressing me out so this is just a lil something something for me :) #tomorrow i’m not retyping all that lmao #the thing about being a young woman in Alaska is that you should have old men in your life who take you hunting and fishing #it’s necessary #personally I had Alphonse and Wes and Gary and Craig (I’m still in love with Craig)

[detectivenyx]

indie horror tier list but i designed it specifically to reflect my actual opinions piss off everyone

#i mean everything below c-tier has a shit starting idea for starters #by the 'never played' thumbnail though i can tell that 90% of them are the same #the 'corruption of your childhood/an established property' thing #which has gotten so fucking old im hunting through its attic stash for dress patterns #are my standards too high for horror? or are horror standards too low #because it feels like AAA horror is the one AAA industry actually doing somewhat unique ideas with its genre #and it's indie horror that's inbred as fuck #we have mascot horrors and nostalgiabait horrors up the arse. #and the only good one is still godzilla nes because that one also gets pretty fucking surreal and original with its imagery #amanda might get points for not being a soulless cashgrab but it's still an unoriginal idea. #isn't indie horror supposed to be where your ideas aren't hampered by studio interference? #why are all the fucking games the exact same as each other #and it's just whether Michael Rat or Your Dad or The ScreenChubs or Thomas The Tankin Dankin or Blinky Fucking Bill #chasing you through the childrens playground/theme park/house/secret hell #yes i get it woooo it's that thing from my childhood i liked but it's DARK and EVIL and SCARY #and it wants me DEAD #i want me dead too bitch! #come up with another reason for me to be scared!

[franeridan]

came to the conclusion that the reason why aventio has such a strong hold on me these days is that they're the highest purest greatest dumbest form of "I have feelings for you" (that feeling was friendship, but neither had ever experienced it before) and I find that stupidly compelling atm

#i like that you can really start from scratch with them despite them already acting like they've been in a committed relationship for years #it's like yes these two characters go hand in hand sold in a pair do not separate #they're the only two people who have a high regard of each other and understand each other without words needed #the only ones who can stand spending prolonged periods of time in each others company and still seek each other out after #they're also still completely unaware that they have a positive opinion of each other #that they aren't a burden or an annoyance for each other #that the reason why they find so much ease in working with each other is that they're on the exact same wavelength #in ratio's about aven he talks about how he doubts aven will ever fail bc it's not all luck as aven plays it to be #in aven's about ratio he talks about how he believes the only reason why ratio sticks around is that everyone else is more annoying than him #aven's aware ratio doesn't even look people in the eyes when he can't stand them but he still hasn't noticed that ratio is always looking #straight at him with no barriers #they're so dumb #if you want to write them in a romantic relationship you have the whole road already paved for you but you DO have #to walk it from the very beginning #they built all the bridges needed to reach each other and refused to take even a single step on them #and the only reason is that they've always been so alone and disliked #that now that they have someone who genuinely likes them they can't even tell #it's such a new type of relationship for me I've never been into any characters like this #I'm putting them under a microscope and studying them so attentively fr #the biggest hurdle for them is really gonna be accepting that they're friends that's such a Dynamic™️

[drewsaturday]

yeah two cakes theory but something about being in... small to medium sized fandoms makes doing the same thing someone else did feel like a social violation honestly?

i immediately lose all motivation to do a thing if someone else does it first because to me, it'll come off like i'm shamelessly copying them or that i thought i could do it better.

(sometimes i probably could, but i'd rather not come off that rude by actually doing so even if i'd had no idea someone else was working on it when the idea hit me.)

#txt #i should probs get into bigger fandoms where there's such a sheer volume of stuff going on no one would even NOTICE similar works j;alskdjf #but alas the brainrot only hits for environments where i can't enjoy making anything without worrying this will happen #if i'm not contributing anything 'new' i simply cannot justify the energy #can you tell i just saw some art of a niche idea i wanted to draw for one of my small fandoms j;LKJajl;sdfjk #in this case though that person did it far better than i could so i can't even be disappointed #just like. ough #this is a big reason i havent rly vidded anything lately too #the couple soooorta recent fandoms of mine i wanted to vid for were more medium sized and someone ended up using the exact song #i was working on for that character so i noped out bc the copying concerns hit even harder in those cases #i need to go do something original sometime ever in my entire life so my creative existence stops being about filling a #niche no one else is in so i feel like i have a tiny little place i slot into or belong in or whatever #because the whole nature of fandom means 'mine' does not exist #and it feels like even if someone outright DOES copy you... #you have no right to be upset about it because you're all playing with someone else's dolls anyway #(see: someone literally doing this after i posted about an idea i was writing and them interacting w the post so they DEF SAW IT #without crediting/involving me in the finished thing at all and saying it was their idea #i never want to do that to other people or come off like i am lol)

[pepprs]

prefacing this by saying im fine and its whatever and im mostly numb to it. but it kinda fucking sucks that being gaslit about my own sexuality leads to… doubting my own sexuality lol!

#purrs #just went to my first ever lavender graduation ceremony and had a convo w my dad after that touched on the EXACT horrors lol like i need to #learn to not bring this shit up around my parents bc they’re just gonna say the same things. and also it doesn’t matter bc idc about labels #and (to quote ricky) it’s a conversation not a constant. but like fucking hell. just bc ive never ‘’’’’’been with anybody’’’’’’ doesn’t #mean that i can’t know im not straight. the HORRIFIC psychic damage that did to me 5 years ago this month. the way i can’t think about #sexuality or being part of the lgbtq community since and like before then when that happened i thought i was a lesbian and was gonna try to #get involved with the school lgbtq student union . like it’s so ficking stupid and sad. and i can’t trust myself anymore i can’t tell if #anything ive ever felt for anyone is actually real bc according to my (straight and biphobic) parents ‘crushes don’t count’ and i haven’t #even had a crush in months anyway and yeah ive never ‘been with’ anybody. but like god damn. you DO NOT get to tell me i have to call myself #questioning. yeah im questioning but only i can call it that and only if i want to. i get to know me. i get to call me what i am. which also #means i get to work through the years of psychic damage this thread of conversation coming from my own parents has done to me #but i own that. i want to own that. ive had the feelings i have had. maybe they were wrong and misplaced and maybe there are other ways to #interpret them like me jus t having projection issues and whatever. but they were real to me and are real to me and shape how i show up #every single day. i get to know myself. i get to call myself what i am. even though you’re my parents you don’t get to tell me that. and you #should be sorry for how fucked in the head this has made me and how cut off i have become from other people who have felt what i have felt #and from the parts of myself that felt and hurt and loved. like lolllll. i was in a good mood and then that happened and now my heart hurts. #delete later #like i don’t talk abt this shit anymore for a reason 🤪✌️ i am not involved in lgbtq groups or communities online or offline for a reason 🤪✌️ #and it’s yet another manifestation of impostor syndrome too like. ppl wonder why im like this…. there is a very good reason 💖

[basofy]

silly thoughts but i was thinking about jack and how conflicting of a character he is to me and how stupid i feel for taking him more serious than i should given he is some funny guy coming from the kickstarter, in fact i'd say all the kickstarter characters are very not serious, nobody wanted to put some sad guy in the game, but anyway this is how my brain is

he's just some kid that doesn't know what stuff is for him and what stuff isn't and he has nobody to guide him on this, i think having a character like him living in the context of lisa is very terrible but especially by taking him to brad's journey, not only taking this kiddo to literally slaughter people and him seeing death and blood and corpses everywhere he goes (which he probably sees as normal) but also the fact that he has to be in the same team as other guys who are severely bad influences to him, like you can have him in the same team as people who were murderers even before the flash or guys who could be considered possible sex offenders like it's so messed up

i don't think him being in the game is a bad thing it's interesting as hell honestly, it's just hard to not feel bad for him, i feel like the game wanted to delve into this more and it sort of did but also backtracked? like it never wants to fully talk about this for him. that one convo touches on the subject a little bit but then it just gets cut and youre never given an answer of if jack is okay after that or not lol

also i keep thinking about how aware of this the other companions are? brad even. like dude is seen reading a porno mag and i highly doubt he stole it and was being sneaky about it, i think the other guys know he does this shit but dont stop him

i think some of them would worry but wouldn't feel like saying anything, some would be completely apathetic until they actually realize how bad this is, others would be like 'nah it's okay for his age' , others would know it's not a good thing but wouldn't care, and there'd be others who are willing to say something but don't get listened or get pushed by the meanier companions idk

also i wonder if him being a boy would have make any difference for them because there are actually many people who's opinion on the matter changes depending on the gender of the person but of couse it's bad to put a kid in these situations no matter their gender

#also believe me ive seen other media that does this exact thing as well and know that it isnt that serious #like i know that it matters to me but not to them #but lisa is a game that feels like it / should / give a shit yknow #also it's crazy that the one time that some actually aknowledges jack's age and the situation he is put in is #motherfucking garth and he just takes advantage of this #he seemed to be very aware at least #and he just uses it to ruin his sanity for the fun of it or a hateful reason or something worse i dont know #i keep thinking he did it out of hate because of how hostile he is to jack during the convo #compared to his usual behavior #he is never hostile not even in his dialogue at rando land so it was very wtf to me #......but maybe thats better.. #i wouldnt want this to happen with his usual friendly demeanor............aughhghgh #also i just know that because im an obssesed mf and i keep rotating the convo in my mind because im stupid #it's the only new content of them.. #should i tag this as lisa idk #if you need this tagged tell me #sorry for taking that convo too seriously but you put that shit in front of my EYES #long post #lisa au where that one convo is garth showing gore art to jack instead #jack: lol i saw a guy who was left like that next to my house :D #jk jk #also i thought about all of this while having my morning coffee (at 2pm)

[stupidnaturals]

.

#GAH hate not knowing how ppl feel about me #bc i used to be SUPER close friends w this person like they were ~25% of th reason i came back to my uni town after moving away last summer #and i keep texting them like ' hey we should meet up sometime! ' and they respond ' omg YES 100% i have SO much i need to catch you up on ! #unfortunately i am out of town every single day. also so busy. ' #and like yeah okay college very busy life very crazy. but how are you out of town every single day and also why have you NEVER reached out #and i saw them in person at target and they seemed genuinely pleased to see me! and also said something like #' we gotta hang out i have so much to tell you!! *ill* message *you* ' in a way that seemed to convey guilt at ^^ all that #but then how in the WORLD do you happen to be driving out of town immediately after the one event i know we'll both be going to??? #and also casually gracing over the fact i also mentioned getting dinner beforehand?? #also i dont know any reason they wouldnt like me unless its one of those ' im autistic and didnt notice you getting fed up w me ' #or if theyre just actually that busy or too anxious to see people or anxious to reach out or fucking whatever #and like even when i saw them at target they told me a bunch of stuff that i dont tthink youd say to a random acquaintance #which if they do still like me makes sense! bc we were super duper close once! but doesnt make sense if they dislike me/want me to go away #like UGH just either ask me to hang out or say yes to a hang out or tell me to fuck off already!!!! #oh and ALSO the one time we DID have plans we didnt set an exact time but they texted me at like 11 and said ok we can hang out now until 2 #or they texted me at 11 and said ' i work at 2 but i dont think thats gonna be a problem also are you okay w hanging w my roomies too ' #and i know their roomies so thats fine but i was like ??? WHAT shouldnt be an issue? r you gonna call off to hang out for more than 3 hrs? #or are you gonna friend break up w me so it wont take 3 hours #anyway i was like uhhh shit we didnt set a time so im actually at a tattoo place like an hour away w my roomie? #so we rescheduled for the next day when uh oh they hung out w someone who was exposed to covid so had to cancel again! #i cant think of a single reason they wouldnt like me except that they never did but we had an activity together so they were stuck w me #and they seemed genuinely happy to see me and also seem upset declining plans but like if thats true what the FUCK is happening???? #anyway this was a mile long if you e read this far i love u if you have tips feel free to reply or dm me

[lover-official]

.

#i dont think i want to call her my abuser or anything #but im still really messed up that my ex pushed me into a relationship i wasnt ready for and then broke up with me for like #the exact reasons i wasnt ready to be in one even though it looked like we were headed there #and i really dont like how i felt pressured into certain choices while we were dating #often with very fin abuse implied consequences tbh??? #and i feel like my trusting nature and my belief that people will tell me when i ask if something is wrong got taken advantage of #also my ex like didnt understand system shit at all OR they like actively did some heinous shit that WOULD make me call them abusive #like i think it was probably innocuous mistakes that just fucked me up deeply #but now i have panic attacks every time we talk and i *HAVE* to see them often now #like other people have made choices that mean i don't *get* to just avoid them #and idk. i just really and truly never want to see this ex again. they've caused me so much harm #my therapist is... a bit more angry and puts some words to things that i dont want to put to them #but we both agree that beong around this ex is bad for me and now i dont like. #get to exercise that #i dont get to feel safe hahaha isnt that so cool

[cinnabeat]

ughhhh i want earrings :(

#ive been thinking a lot recently #cuz i always feel a little guilty for wanting to change my earrings #bc i always wear them they were a gift from my grandpa and also the only earrings i own that dont irritate my ears #but also my mom always tells me that my grandpa was always really happy that i actually wear them bc my cousins who he also got earrings for #never wore them #as far as i and he was aware anyways #so i always felt a little bit guilty abt wanting to change them especially since hes dead now #but like #hes dead 😭 #i think i should be allowed to change how i look #and i like accessorizing #the only accessory i really ever change is my pop socket and thats not really an accessory #and i LIKE accessorizing like i like changing things up #but its also really difficult to find earrings that dont irritate me #especially since im not 100% sure what it is that actually sets me off #admittedly i dont look too hard for earrings mostly bc once i figured out the irritating skin reason #ive just stopped looking for earrings seriously #like ill look at jewelry and go ooh looks nixe :) and then move on #but i want earrings >:( #michi tag #i cant stand bracelets or rings and im NEVER changing my necklace so earrings it is #my necklace has the exact same sentimental value as my earrings but its the one thing i wont change #i can barely stand taking it off when im at the beach if i changed it completely i think itd actually thow me off #anyways #i should totally be asleep rn

[mynameisbillandimaheadcase]

.

#playing the Sims in the living room while my parents argue in their room #I can't stand them #i wish they got divorced but at the same time they are both insufferable so I'd rather stay at my home every day of the week #i mean my f*ther brought it up in the start of the summer and it only went downhill from there #i can't even take anyone's side bc they both suck #she keeps starting fights without any reason #and he is a shity dad #but it isn't his fault entirely #and i know that I'm the problem #every time i try to make them stop fighting she always tells me about something he did (or didn't do actually) that has to do with me #he didn't feed me when i was little and there was something not normal neurological with me #and she got mad at him #then i was in need of support in school and he didn't want me to get it so i could be normal #and now i said that i wasn't well mentally #he tried to avoid reality by going to the computer and forgot to go pick up my sister #and they fought so badly i had to cover my ears #and all the the things she hates about him are the exact same characteristics i have #she will never admit it but it's true #and there are a million other things that's my fault it's not worth mentioning up #every pivotal negative moment in their relationship is almost always my fault #i thought that i would be a good parent but I'm no longer sure #cw divorce #idk i don't want anyone to get triggered bc i like to scream into the void

[ridingthatd]

○o｡ MASTER TOJI

○o｡ tojixfem!reader, nsfw, heavy smut, master toji, toji is kinky, possessive toji, old days toji, filthy toji

toji fushiguro. toji fushiguro was a known master, a master who's job was to go after wanted man-woman whether they're bad or not, his mission was to kill them brutally and get their head to whoever paid him to kill them- their head as a proof, a proof of what he's capable of doing.

toji is known for his cold and calculating personality, which makes him intimidating- he does not hesitate to use his immense strength and powerful cursed techniques to defeat his enemies.

but then there's you- you who has him in your gentle little hands, your soft hands that always try to release the knots on his back- but always fail because of how small they are, compared to his muscular board back.

toji adored you- adored everything about you, from your long crazy curls, to your plumpy thick thighs that he always love to leave his marks on. you drived him to break a line he never thought he would break, he was a jealous- possessive man with you, he wants to be the air you breath everyday, he wants to be the only reason why you smile, the only person who can see it, who can hear your sweet giggles- your hideous laugh that he would die for,

he was such a jealous man, he wants you all for himself, he doesn't want anyone to be part of why you're happy other then him- toji knows and he's aware of how mentally deranged that is but it was very much how he truly felt.

he such a possessive man, that he wouldn't let you pleasure yourself- he doesn't want the sweet honey that comes out of your cunt go to waste, he only wants you to cum on his huge cock or his tongue, squirt on his face as you stroke your wet cunt on his nose- ridding it as he licks-coat your pinkish asshole with his spit.

it even got to the point where he made you a dildo to the exact shape of his cock, so you can pleasure yourself with it while he's gone to a long mission- he would always use it to stretch your ass to, while he pounds inside of your cunt, making you pass out from being to stuffed in both of your holes by his cock.

it's been a whole two weeks since toji last saw you, and it got him into a bad temper- a really bad one- he only could receive letters from you, telling him how much you missed him and your sweet cunt needed your master.

today was the worst day so far for him- and it's like you knew that, because as soon as he made to the cabin he was staying in, he received a letter from you, and it was heavier then usual like it contains something- toji frowns confused on what would his sweet angel send him.

his cock harden poking out his kimono, eyes dark as he clenchs your red wet panties, he looked at what you wrote in the letter and he shudders, wave of pleasure hitting his body, making his thighs shake and his balls to release his seeds, cumming- cumming untouched.

~ dear master.

I know that you have been having a really hard time so I decided maybe I should send a little gift of mine, sorry for the mess on the panties, I couldn't help but squirt on them as I imagine you being here with me while I fuck my ass with the huge dildo of yours.

from your dear y/n. ~

"little fucking slut" he groans out as he grabs the wet panties to his tongue and suck-lick on your sweet cum as he free his leaking cock stroking it hard- tugging on it fast.

his cabin was filled with his pathetic moans- his mind is blank, drugged on the taste and smell of your panties- he was filthy for you, so filthy that he places your panties on top of his cock- stroking his cock with it, using your left wetness as a lube, he can't help but jerk his hips up- to lost in pleasure as he spills his hot seeds in your panties, moaning out your name.

he lays on his bed- this was the best orgasm he had in those last two weeks, he looks at your ruined panties and slowly smirk at the idea he had in mind.

you stare at tojis letter and the suprise he left you- eyes widen as you take a look at the red panties you sent him- not even red anymore it was filled with his cum, clearly showing you a sign that he very much enjoyed your gift.

~ dear y/n.

my love, I was very pleased with your little gift, I expect you to be spread wide open as I make my way to our house tomorrows afternoon, don't forget to plug your sweet ass with the dildo. enjoy my suprise.

from master toji fushiguro. ~

toji came as he promised, as he makes his way toward the door of the bedroom, hands placed inside of his kimono- while his cock was raging hard more than ready to breed his little filthy slut.

and here he finds you- on the bed spread wide open, your poor little cunt was wet and drenched with your sweet honey, twitching- clenching around nothing craving the cock of her master-

you clearly came from having his cock dildo shoved fully up your little hole as he told you. such a good girl.

"my poor little baby did you cum from having this pathetic of a dildo up your little ass?" he coo at you as he strokes your curls out of your face- your fucked out face, you had been waiting for him for awhile now.

and his cock has also been aching for you for awhile now.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ end ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ

#toji smut #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #jjk toji #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x reader #choso smut #jjk choso #choso kamo #choso #itadori x reader #itadori yuji x reader #itadori smut #itadori yuji #jjk itadori #gojo smut #gojo x reader #nanami x reader

[sttoru]

‘i told you once, that only two things will have me; you and death.’

☀︎｜tags. gojo satoru x female reader. fluff, angst, comfort. themes of insecurity: trust issues kinda (by reader). reader gets called ‘baby, princess, angel’. self indulgent. proof read? whats that

“aww, there’s my hardworking girl,” satoru coos whilst his arms move to hold your body captive against his chest in a much needed hug, “and she’s still lookin’ as pretty as ever! my god — c’mere.”

your over-excited lover cups your face in his hands and holds it like that for a second to admire. his thumb slides from your cheekbone to your lips, gently parting them before pressing a deep kiss to your mouth. of course, he doesn’t leave it by that. satoru never does.

“pretty,” a kiss on your right cheek — “beautiful,” a kiss on your left one — “gorgeous,” a kiss on the tip of your nose — “amazing”, a kiss on your forehead — “sweetest,” a kiss on your chin — “lovely”, a kiss on the top of your head;

maybe it was the stress of the previous days that made you tear up. satoru has made it a daily routine: you come home, he welcomes you with open arms, showers you with his unending love and attention until you physically have to pull him away from your body. you sometimes ask yourself what you did to deserve someone so loving.

if satoru had heard you say the latter out loud, he would have kissed your mouth again to shut the thought down instantly. ‘you deserve everything and more’, you silently recall him saying once.

“stop that.” you mutter. the ‘that’ referring to the butterfly kisses and tight hugs he’s giving you. you tried not to seem in the mood for receiving his affection today. the muffled giggles leaving through your gritted teeth tell another story however.

“nu-uh,” satoru lets out a low chuckle, going right back to giving you what you deserve, “it’s like you’re askin’ me to stop breathing, baby. i can’t just not do this.”

satoru lifts you up into his strong arms and brings you over to the kitchen counter, settling you there - somewhere away from all that he had been cooking since the morning. he’s grinning from ear to ear, glancing from the covered plates near the stove and back to you.

you tilt your head curiously as you watch satoru grab one plate and uncover it, revealing the content like it was a big surprise—

“open up f’me, my princess.” your lover hums as he’s already guiding a piece of cake to your lips. your favorite cake which he had oh-so-obviously cooked himself judging by the messy look of it. your gaze lingers on the piece for a second to appreciate the gesture.

when you look back up at satoru, his eyes are already on yours — patiently waiting for you to let him feed you. his blue eyes are sparkling with a sense of pure excitement; one he only has around you. his love for you was almost overwhelming at times like these.

“why?”

the simple, one word question made the white sorcerer stop in his tracks. his head cocks to the side, eyelashes fluttering lightly in confusion, though the handsome smile on his face remains. ‘why’ could mean a lot of things in this context; why do you want to feed me? why do you want me to eat this? why should or even would i?

out of all the possible interpretations, satoru knew the exact one you had meant the moment he saw the tears that welled up at the corners of your eyes; ‘why do you care so much?’

“do i need a reason to?” his voice was smooth and soft. almost way too soft now that he’s realised just how vulnerable you were in front of him. satoru’s smile only widens, however — the sight of his girlfriend being overwhelmed by his affection was one he couldn’t resist.

it’s part of your charm. the charm you don’t know about; the charm that made the gojo satoru fall head over heels for you. your lover shakes his head with a light-hearted laugh, putting the slice of cake back down on the plate so he could hold your hands in his.

“i love you, yeah?” he kisses the back of your hands with utmost care before planting another one on your forehead again. satoru cradles your head against his chest afterwards, making you rest your weary body against his for as long as you needed it; his warmth and comfort, “it’s because i love you. that’s the only reason why, angel.”

you just nod in response — needing a moment of silence to recover, which satoru grants you without it having to be asked verbally. it’s like he knows just what goes on in your little head and is always updated about your changing feelings.

that’s what surprises you most. satoru’s super attentive to every single detail about you. from your unnoticeable habits to the big facts. that is what love truly is. that is how it feels like to have a man love you unconditionally—without any underlying or ulterior motives. without expecting anything back.

“i love you too, ‘toru. forever.” you reply eventually in a hushed whisper. the sorcerer only tightens his grip around your body, hugging you closer to his chest like his personal plushie. he nuzzles his nose into your hair — your scent both relaxing yet addicting.

“yeah,” satoru sighs in content and closes his eyes—allowing them to rest. all his senses are focused on making you feel better. he won’t let go of you until he’s sure you understand that you’re deserving of it all; his loving hugs, kisses, words of affirmation, gifts, comfort, cuddles and support.

“forever and beyond that.”

satoru doesn’t mind reminding you how much he cherishes you. even if he has to remind you every day until the day he succumbs. you’re his number one priority; he’ll even make sure to tell you he loves you with his dying breath when the time comes.

he’ll make sure of it.

#sttoru writes. #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk fic #jjk x y/n #gojo fic #jjk x female reader #please im half asleep while upldoading this

[transvarmint]

The reason why you can't seperate our transness from our manhood is the exact same reason why transmisogyny is one word.

Its not just transphobia and misogyny. It's transmisogyny. The discrimination transfems face isn't discretely divided into 2 categories. Those experiences overlap in a way where you can't adequately address one without acknowledging the other. That's why it was crucial to come up with vocabulary to describe this intersection. To seperate them is to attempt to erase intersectionality.

In the same way, you can't adequately address the oppression transmascs face without addressing all aspects of our identity.

Manhood and/or masculinity in isolation may not be targeted by a specific axis of oppression; but when they intersect with a marginalized identity, they become a target for gendered violence. Because our manhood does not, and cannot, exist removed from the context of our transness and life experiences. That is the entire purpose of intersectionality.

To remove our manhood / masculinity from that equation is to refuse to view us holistically, and is an attempt to seperate us from our identity - exactly the same way transphobes do.

The term intersectionality was coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw, a black woman, who was pointing out that her various identities do not exist independently, rather, they inform each other, and create a convergence of social positions.

White feminists did not (and often still don't) acknowledge the ways that other axes of identity and oppression inform misogyny. They excluded women of color from the conversation because they did not want to discuss how racism intersects with misogyny. There was similar silencing of queer and disabled women, as well, for the same reason.

By telling us "it's because you're trans, not because you're men" you're just repeating history. The marginalization of non-hegemonic manhood and masculinity is a very real axis that must be addressed when discussing the oppression of trans men and transmascs - as well as other marginalized men.

If you refuse to hear about this aspect of our experience, our voices will never truly be heard. You are actively contributing to our erasure and to our continued harm.

I am a transgender man. I am a whole person. Treat me as such.

#transandrophobia #transmisandry #antitransmasculinity