#his interests are feminism and gym

[beeqisch]

just found out about the gender wage gap *eyes go red*

#its so unfair that u have to pay for pads... *punches wall* kitten.... #his interests are feminism and gym #sorry for this #kinda #my friends supported it that was enough #dick grayson #nightwing #robin #batfam #batfamily #titans #dc #dc comics #art #my art

[mackjlee9]

Hasegawa Langa x Top!Male!Reader [Smut]

Requested by Kendall_leonard on Wattpad.

Warning; classroom sex, creampie, rimming, dumbification, feminization, use of the word pussy.

Masterlist.

Oh, my hand is better now, my fingers are still a little numb but the pain is gone :)

With the annual culture festival coming up, every class was busy selecting what they were going to do. (M/n)'s class wasn't an exception. But their theme was already chosen.

They'll be doing a play, what it was going to be had yet to be discussed. He didn't care much about it, as long as he doesn't have to play a major role in it. He was more interested in whatever Langa's class was going to be doing.

At the end of the day, the trio, Langa, Reki, and he walked together on their way home, and (h/c) haired male decided to ask them what they'll be doing for their class.

"So... what is your class' theme for the festival?" Both males next to him blushed and avoided looking him in the eyes. (M/n) looked left at Reki and right at Langa, both had the same expression on their faces and were stuttering.

"A... c-café...?" Reki ended up saying with a shaky voice, to which Langa just nodded in agreement, completely silent. (M/n) stated at them, but just shrugged and changed the subject.

He was going to check their café after the play was over.

///////

The following day, the first hour of the morning, (M/n) took his place as class rep, and walked to the front, he wrote the name of the play they were going to act on and listed down the characters.

The Little Mermaid, read on the board.

"Okay, we have to pick the princess... who's gonna be Ariel? Any suggestions?" None of the girls raised their hands, and instead, some boys gave suggestions as to who it could be.

Like that, every character was picked. And unfortunately, (M/n) got the role of Prince Eric.

Well, they had almost a month to prepare for it.

//////

Weeks went by flying, and it was already the day of the festival. His class got dressed and ready, as relaxed as they could, and started their play.

He didn't see Langa or Reki in the audience, which meant they were busy with his café, so as they were done, he changed into his gym uniform and ran towards Langa's class. There was quite a line when he got there, but he patiently waited.

When he reached the door, he realized two things. One, the butler at the entrance was a girl, and two, the sign above the door said 'Crossdressing Maid Café'. Well, that explained why Langa and Reki were so flustered about telling him what their class was gonna do.

He entered the room, and was guided to an empty table, he looked around trying to find a light-blue-haired boyfriend, or at least his redheaded best friend, but they were nowhere in sight.

He sighed, and picked up the menu, reading over and deciding what to pick.

"H-hello, master... I-I'll be your designated m-maid..." a quiet voice he knew quite well reached his ears, and he looked up.

His breath hitched, his stomach tingling and goosebumps showing on his skin when a shiver ran down his spine.

The maid dress Langa was wearing was a little short for him since he was one of the tallest in his class, the headpiece he had on made him look even better, and (M/n) was having a hard time holding back.

"M-master...?" Langa's shy voice made him snap out of his daydreaming state, and he let out a nervous chuckle. "What are you go-gonna order?"

"Uh... I don't know, whatever is fine, I guess." Langa just nodded, knowing exactly what he was gonna give to his boyfriend, and he turned around with a small smile.

The next ten minutes he spent there, (M/n)'s eyes couldn't help but follow Langa everywhere he went, frowning at the squeals of the girls from other classes whenever he walked by. But, he already had to leave the classroom, but before that, he called Langa over and made the male lean over enough for him to whisper something in his ear.

"I'll be waiting for you until your break starts, okay?" Langa blushed but nodded and he bowed towards (M/n) as a goodbye.

The (h/c) haired male waited right outside Langa's classroom, standing next to a window as he watched people walk by him, he only waited for almost ten minutes, and thankfully, he saw Langa walking out still wearing his maid.

"Sorry, I have to go back in fifteen minutes, so they didn't let me change," he whined looking down after he stopped in front of (M/n).

Even if they didn't have much time left (M/n) was thankful that Langa didn't change clothes, he had been feeling quite... horny for the past twenty minutes, so he knew it'll just take a few minutes.

He smirked and held Langa's hand, rushing down the hall and to his classroom. On the way, he felt inside his uniform pocket and he cheered to himself when he felt the keys there.

(M/n) dragged Langa inside and closed the door behind him, locking it and making sure the other door was also closed, it was, so he went back to Langa who walked to his desk and sat on it. The light-blue-haired male stared at him with an innocent look in his eyes, but it turned into a nervous one when he noticed the lustful look in his (e/c) eyes.

"(M/n), what-?" Langa couldn't finish his sentence, (M/n) slipped a hand under his thigh and lifted it to his waist, holding him by the back of his neck as he leaned down. Langa had to place both hands behind him to prevent falling off, and the next thing he felt was (M/n)'s lips on his, soon pushing his warm tongue in.

Langa couldn't help but whimper at the intense feeling (M/n)'s kiss sent through his mind and body.

"I'm sorry, Langa, but... fuck, you look so good in that outfit," he muttered against the male's lips, his hand reaching for his underwear and pulling it off his body. Langa was left gasping on the desk, his legs spread open, one of them bent on the desk, exposing his half-hard cock and twitching entrance.

Kneeling on the ground, (M/n) gripped tightly onto Langa's thighs, dragging him closer to the edge of the desk and going down between his milky thighs.

"Try not to be too loud, or we'll get caught," he muttered with a smirk before putting his tongue to work. He licked all around his rim, teasing him with just the tip of his tongue. Langa pressed his hand over his mouth, eyes gathering tears at such a light stimulation. He let out whimpers, his legs shaking as they struggled to stay spread open, but the urge to wrap them around (M/n)'s head was too strong, and the moment his tongue was inside him, his light-blue eyes rolled into the back of his head, he moved his hand away to grip tightly onto the desk as he closed his twitching legs around (M/n)'s head.

(M/n) looked up, groaning at the mess he made of Langa when he barely even did anything to him. His cum dripped down his thighs, and backing away to take a breath, (M/n) licked it off his skin before it fell on the floor.

Standing up, (M/n) held Langa's waist and brought him closer to his body, making him get off the desk, keeping a hand behind him on the desk while the other one reached to hold onto (M/n)'s shoulder.

"Turn around," he muttered against Langa's lips, the male nodding and slowly turning around, whimpering when he felt (M/n)'s erection pressing against his ass. He lifted Langa's skirt, caressing the pale skin of his hips, holding him a little bit tighter as he started humping him, clenching his jaw when the thought of fucking Langa while in a maid outfit crossed his mind, "Fuck, I can't hold back any longer..."

Hurrying to take his erection out, he pressed the wet tip against Langa's entrance, the male biting his lip as he felt (M/n)'s cock entering him.

Langa's legs trembled, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, his hands gripping tightly onto the desk, shivers running down his spine when he heard (M/n)'s satisfied groans, feeling every inch of his throbbing cock stretching his insides.

"Look at you, princess, taking my cock in your tight pussy," biting his bottom, Langa let out a choked moan when (M/n) moved his hips, thrusting deep inside him, his cock pulsing as it started leaking pre-cum, and for a split second, he remembered that he was wearing clothes that didn't belong to him.

"W-wait, the maid is go-gonna get... dirty~" he whispered in between whines while glancing back with glossy eyes, (M/n) slowed down the rhythm of his thrusts, and smirked, leaning closer to Langa's ear.

"Well, you're gonna have to hold it up, princess," (M/n) reached the front part of the skirt and held it up with his index and thumb, waiting for Langa to do it instead. The blue-haired male hesitated for a moment before grabbing it with both hands, leaving his red cock in plain sight, "Good girl~"

Langa let out a short but loud moan after those words, his body being held tightly by (M/n) who had started pounding his warm insides, stretching his walls, and hitting his prostate with every move. Langa's mouth was wide open, ragged breaths getting out of him, his eyes clouded with pleasure and crossing momentarily before rolling into the back of his head yet again.

It was so good, (M/n) knew exactly how to fuck him to make his knees weak, how to make him cum untouched, and how to make him moan like a whore, but sometimes, when his mind was too dumb on pleasure, he was unable to say a word, only heavy panting left his mouth as his tongue slightly poked out.

He was already so close to cumming, and his break was about to be over, "(M/n)- please-" moaning next to his ear, (M/n) took a deep breath, his fingers gripping tight on Langa's hips, his pale skin was surely gonna have bruises in a couple of hours, but it's not like any of the really cared about that.

"I know, I'm... gonna cum too, baby," clenching his jaw, (M/n) sped up his thrusts as they were getting sloppier by the second, a deep groan resonated in his chest when he came, Langa let out a high-pitched whine as his cum spurted out of his cock.

They took a few deep breaths to calm themselves before (M/n) pulled out, and Langa felt his cum slowly dripping out of his gaping hole.

"Is the maid dirty?" Langa looked down and checked the skirt before shaking his head no in response, quietly whining when he realized what did get dirty.

"But... I dirtied your desk..."

#sk8 the infinity #sk8 x reader #hasegawa langa x reader #langa x reader #male reader #reader insert #x reader #one shot #smut #anime #.mackjlee9 writes

[toppedbykakuna]

Hi! Just writing to let you know that radical feminism isn’t “pure hatred”, and that the vast majority of women who support it don’t care half as much about people identifying as trans as they do care about protecting marginalized women worldwide (whose issues are fundamentally unable to transcend their biological sex in the way alternative feminism dictates). You said in the tags of a recent post that you’ve spent “so many years trying to understand” radical feminism, which is confusing, because it’s a relatively straightforward approach to feminism. No radfem is ever going to dictate how someone should or shouldn’t dress or behave. The single defining feature is just that radfems argue that how someone dresses and behaves should not be conflated with biological sex or be indicative of a societal gender norm. The entire concept is that boys can wear dresses and girls can wear pants and they are still male and female. Radical feminism strives for the elimination of gender and gender roles!

Genuinely hope you have a good day :) you don’t need to reply to this, I won’t see it anyway, but you really don’t have to prove anything to anyone either. Your beliefs should be yours, not something you feel the need to repeatedly reaffirm to an online public to stay socially acceptable.

Peace:)

Hey anon, thanks for the polite message, I do appreciate it. I'm gonna use this ask to share my perspective a bit more, and while you definitely don't have to continue this conversation if you don't want, if you have any further thoughts I'm happy to hear them!!

Essay below about my history with the phrase and community of "radfems/terfs"

I do acknowledge that in my original post I used the term "radfem" in that tag where I meant to use the term "terf", however in the past 10ish years I've found that the people who use these terms to describe their identity haven't given me any reason to differentiate the two terms.

When I joined Tumblr in 2013, I had already been involved with the queer community for a year, learning about the different corners of the community and our history. At that point, I had accidentally stumbled across the small "radfem" community that had started leaning into the "terf" category of identification on Tumblr specifically.

I remember this movement was relatively small but in any post I saw celebrating trans-ness or gender, there would be somebody with a "radfem" tag in their username trying DESPERATELY to shut down the joy. Comments filled with "you can't change your gender!" type beat, y'know? At the time, I figured it would die out and I moved on.

Suddenly a few years later, I'm on Twitter and I see a particularly famous children's author involving herself in the community I had forgotten about years before, liking posts about whatever the current drama was about and getting herself involved with the whole "you can't change your gender!" type beat, and whaddya know, it BLOWS up.

Now, let's take a few steps back. I'm somebody that struggled with fitting into same sex groups for my entire life. My childhood sport was same sex, my gym classes, the bathrooms, all the things that people don't really think too much about. For me, it came with a body rocking form of anxiety about things like my body being witnessed, the possibility of getting made fun of (which happened if I wasn't keeping an eye out), trying to fit into conversations that I wasn't really interested in because it's what people my sex and my age were talking about, I was getting denied opportunities from my parents because I was interested in activities that weren't typically for my assigned gender.

Funnily enough, I came across some old posts of mine from 2014, 3 years before I came out, that are absolutely mourning my assigned sex and begging to be anything other than my assigned sex. I didn't want my assigned sex to be perceived, I wanted my gender to stop controlling my life. Once I realized that being nonbinary (or agender, as I prefer) was an option and I could partially transition in order to become more androgynous, it has made my life MILES better. I have never thrived so happily in my body without my reproductive organs and a minor level of HRT, and I would encourage anyone looking for androgyny to discuss HRT options with their doctor because it seriously changed my life.

NOW, let's come back to how that's relevant to "radical feminism". In the last 10 years that I've acknowledged that phrase, I have never met a person who uses that phrase with the intention of including transgender people. I would genuinely like to know if anyone knows any people who identify as a "radical feminist" with the intention of including transgender people, cuz they're not doing a very good job of making themselves visible right now.

I live in a country that already has 3 different regions currently attempting to remove transgender people from the vocabulary of anyone under the age of 18, something that I would've THRIVED with the knowledge of as a teenager. If I knew that puberty blockers were an option, I would've avoided 8 years of incredible intestinal pain, dysphoria, depression and more. That's my choice.

I'm of the same opinion that anyone should be able to wear whatever they want and present however they want, along with identifying however they want. If a boy wants to wear a dress then that's so good for him, but if it's an 18 year old trans boy who wants to wear a dress, he is still valid as a man, whereas I've seen typical terfs argue that a trans man wearing a dress means he wants to stay a girl, therefore should just identify as a girl.

If we're genuinely talking about a group of people who identify as "radical feminists" and don't have a single opinion about transgender people I would like to know who they are, because from my perspective "rad fems" are the exact same group of people as TERFs.

To wrap this all up, my fiance is a transgender man. He was actually a huge influence to help me come out myself and better my life, and I'll forever be thankful for his kindness and education. My best friends are all trans or genderless, my sibling is nonbinary, the 3 different women I would run away with if they asked me to are transgender women... ahem

I love transgender people. I love people who play with their own genetics and put themselves through years of medical stress to be the best versions of themselves. Transgender people have been the kindest community I've ever interacted with, the most selfless group of individuals, the most in tune with their own minds and bodies and the world around them. I love their resilience and their strength in a world that wants them to desist, and I will always be on the side of transgender people.

This blog is not censored for appeal, nor will I ever post anything to satisfy any form of masses. This blog is my own beliefs, and my beliefs are that trans people are (pardon my pun) rad as fuck.

#lexis ESSAYS #my GOD #lexis thoughts #not dnp #lgbtq+ #lgbtqia #queer #if u couldn't tell this is one of my passions #i will talk about how much i love trans people until i die #trans rights are human rights

[ultimatebottom69]

What do you think gay men are attracted to in men that they can’t be attracted to in women?

It can’t be anything about femininity or masculinity obviously. That’s both sexist, and cultural so can’t be what drives men-only attraction.

It can’t be anything about stated identity because someone could lie just as easily as they could tell the truth in such a statement, and it makes no sense because homosexuality and heterosexuality exists in other species with no stated identities. It’s not like other animals without gender are all pan.

Saying idk it’s the vibes or some indescribable trait men have that women can’t but “I can’t explain” is a nonanswer.

Soooooooo what is it? Or do you think any sexuality but bi/pan is just cultural performance or an identity rather than an inborn orientation?

- [ ]

I am an advocate to the movement to mind my own business tbh.

Sex is a subject i do not think about in that way cause well i am asexual (frankly you came to the wrong person to talk about attractions) and well. We do know that the fags CAN fuck the Dykes. Cause humans use words very freely and sometimes someone is hot regardless of your preferences.

Sometimes even if the person is super hot well you are not attracted to that and to me that's not sexism or whatever. That's just preferences. Now having preferences do not stop you from being an asshole at all or well make you one.

I met plenty of gay men who were assholes and plenty of lesbians who were assholes too. Your sexuality do not dictate or defend your political/ethnical stance no matter what Twitter says.

And no i do think it's a weird thing about feminity and masculinity. I do not think it's sexist to say that at all Anon since Feminity and Masculinity are extremely subjective traits that we randomly paired to a genitalia.

Like from personal experience. I have a gay friend and a nonbinary one. My gay friend is very feminine. Very elegant and yes as cliche as it sounds he loves Beauty Contest. He loves make up. He is the best dressed person in the room when he wants to. My nonbinary friend has body hair, very masculine and simply paint his nails and wear the coolest pearl beads on their wrist that i ever seen(They use They/his) and like. I like that fucker too.

And me i am like super asexual but i do have a voice that can be described as "French boy who just got newly hired for marketing" i was born a woman contrary to my peers above but when it comes to manly task sometimes they call me for advice at the gym and such.

It's not cultural appropriation or sexism. Humans are different that's normal everyone has their truth.

Like. To me sex is like being in front of a the widest variety of buffet. Since i am also interested in the personality of the subject i look at man, woman AND other identities. I do not really care since to me a good convos is better then most sex you can get out here. So at the buffet i am not hungry at all.

And well lie or truth are just human tbh. One day that could be the truth. The next day it could be a lie. It changes all the time.

What i know is i will always trust the person telling me because putting people in boxes when it comes to sexuality or gender is not proper nor cool. I will make mistakes but i will try to make them less.

Like if you tell me you are bisexual leaning toward men and you identify as a man. Even if someone says "well u r just gay." I will go "Well maybe not. You know even if it's 90% men and 10% women they still going in both directions. Maybe ome day that percentage will change."

I am super chill about that tbh. I will maybe ask questions if you says something like "Bisexual-Lesbian-Faery-TerfBaby-She/her" like i will go "Do you know what Terf means ? Or do you just hate men like some lesbians and decided to fuck up your stats ?"

Humans are weird. We been weird since the birth of our existence and we will be weird even when none of us are here to see it.

Isn't it beautiful ?

#queer

[moodymelanist]

Nessian prompt: modern au where Nesta gets those butt crack leggings to see cassians reaction like those tiktoks

*cackles maniacally* boy am I going to have fun with THIS prompt anon!!!!! Here's a link to one of the videos so everyone has context heheh

When Nesta saw her package had finally been delivered, she immediately went to the front desk to pick it up. Gwyn had sent her a video about these leggings that apparently did wonders in the ass department last week, and Nesta hadn't hesitated before ordering them. She was particularly interested in what her boyfriend's reaction would be.

The man in question was at the gym and he probably wouldn't be back for another hour; it would give her all the time she needed to make sure things looked okay. She opened the package once she was back upstairs to reveal the gray leggings everyone had been raving about online. They didn't look like anything special to her, but she supposed she should give them a chance before she decided they didn't do anything.

Nesta took off the sweatpants she'd been wearing before sliding into her new leggings. They were pretty comfortable and she walked over to the mirror in their bedroom to check herself out, shocked to see the leggings actually did a lot for her backside just like she'd been promised. She walked over to grab her phone and went back to the mirror to send a picture to Emerie and Gwyn and immediately received no less than five peach emojis from Emerie and an I told you so! from Gwyn.

Satisfied, Nesta decided to do some cleaning around their apartment while she waited for Cassian to get home. She straightened up their bedroom, started some laundry, and vacuumed the rug in their living room.

She was washing dishes in the kitchen when she heard his key in the lock. He came over to kiss her before walking towards the bathroom, and she was disappointed that he didn't notice anything until he walked back over.

"Nes," Cassian said, placing his large hands on her waist before openly ogling her backside. "What did you do to your ass?"

Nesta turned off the water before responding. "What do you mean?"

"Not that your ass doesn't always look great, but you did something different today," he said. He moved one hand to squeeze a cheek before giving it a light tap, absolutely fascinated as he watched her ass bounce. "You're trying to kill me a lot more than usual, sweetheart."

"Only a little more than usual," she said, smirking. "Gwyn sent me this TikTok about these leggings last week, so I thought I'd order them and see what all the fuss was about."

"I can definitely see what all the fuss is about," he muttered. He smacked her ass once more and then bent down to throw her over his shoulder.

"Hey!" Nesta exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

"Having my wicked way with you," he replied, walking toward their bedroom. "And I'm not letting you wear these out of the house. Screw feminism."

"You'll have to convince me about that," Nesta said.

Cassian chuckled before he tilted his shoulder downwards and let her slide down onto their bed. "Trust me, I can be very convincing."

#nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian #nessian prompts #anon asks #modern au

[djbunnie]

Ppgz Pokemon AU Buttercup

I am procrastinating!!!!!!!

Name: Kaoru Matsubara or Buttercup

Age: 21

Appearance: a tall, curvy woman with porcelain skin and Emerald eyes. Her jet black hair was worn in a high bun. She wears a green and gold Ao dai dress with embroidered floral patterns and white heels. Her makeup consists of lavender eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick.

Occupation: ghost gym leader

Gym: Nakagusuku Hotel – The Haunted Ruins

First pokemon: Gengar

As much as I love Buttercup being a tomboy. I would love to see her grow up more femine but still have a strong, bold and a little bit of spice personality. I think it would be really interesting to see her blossom into a beautiful, mature, and independent woman.

Pokemon AU (Ppgz)

Origin: Kaoru was 6 yrs old when her parents divorced. Mitsuko (kaoru mom) was having an affair with her boss. She got pregnant, unsure who the baby's father was. Mitsuko decided to leave her husband for her boss, for financial gain and took Dai and the unborn child but left Kaoru behind. Tokio Matsubara was devastated at the loss of his family, job, and suffering from depression. Kaoru was neglected, until one night Tokio Matsubara woke the sleeping child from her room and abandoned her at Nakagusuku Hotel. It is said that the hotel is cursed, and that anyone who enters will be cursed or worse. Kaoru still remembers her father's promise to come back. He never did. However, Kaoru was greeted by friendly and mischievous Gastly. Nakagusuku Hotel was inhabited by Ghost Pokemon and lived among them. At age 10, Kaoru started her pokemon adventure with gastly as a starter. Her goal was to become a powerful ghost-type trainer. During her journey she became best friends with Momoko Akatsutsumi (blossom )and Miyako Gōtokuji (bubbles). After collecting her gym badges she did not enter the Pokemon League. instead she went back home and opened her own ghost - type Gym. She turned her home Nakagusuku Hotel into a Gym. Only trainers who are brave enough to enter the haunted hotel and make it to the top would be rewarded to battle the powerful ghost gym leader. Only a dozen have received the Townvil badges. Others have either ran away from fear or never bother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Okay what do you guys think?!?!

I always thought it would be so cool to see a Ppgz/ Pokemon AU!!! Really i want to read that fanfic. Especially if the main ship is Kaoru and butch 💚💚💚💚 maybe a rivals to lover story…😏😏😏😏😏

I don't know, I just think it would be cool to read an adult romance.

#powerpuff girls #powerpuff girls z #ppg #ppgz #buttercup #kaoru matsubara #pokemon au #rrb #rowdyruff boys #butch x buttercup

[rocorambles]

The Beginning

Pairing: Nekomata x Kuroo

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Grooming, Extremely Dubious Consent, Manipulation, Slight Feminization, Virgin Kuroo, Slight Degradation, Undertones of a Corruption Kink, Bottom Kuroo

Summary: Nekomata has always been Kuroo’s favorite mentor and now that Kuroo’s officially entered adulthood, the older man has new lessons for his favorite protégé. 

Author’s Note: LMAO I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS IS A REAL THING, BUT HERE WE GO. The first installation of my Yandere Nekomata x Kuroo monthly series. I can’t even defend this other than to say I promise there will be a not as degenerate, perfectly normal (at least by Roco standards) Sakusa NSFW fic also coming out sometime this weekend to help you wash this cursed thing down. 

@terushimooo I BLAME YOU FOR THIS

Next Chapter

He hadn’t thought much about the quiet young boy who showed up to his training camp all those years ago and yet, maybe Kuroo had left more of a mark on him than he had thought because he instantly recognizes the tall lanky messy-haired high schooler who steps inside of Nekoma’s gym on the first day of the school year. He certainly left an impression on Kuroo and something flutters inside of him when Kuroo shyly asks to speak to him alone after practice one day, bowing deeply and thanking the older man for his wise words about “experiencing the joy of playing”. 

Looks aside, Kuroo isn’t anything like that scared little boy he had met so long ago and Nekomata watches in interest and maybe a little bit of pride at how confidently he carries himself, easily making friends and conversing with the rest of the team, a beautiful smile and glint in hazel eyes. Or so Nekomata had thought. But it seems like you can’t truly change your inherent nature all that much and he sees the little cracks in Kuroo’s act, and as much as he appreciates the man Kuroo is evolving into, he thinks he’s more fond of the introverted little boy he still sees hiding inside. 

For someone so mischievous and cunning, Kuroo is ridiculously easy to manipulate and something dark thrums inside of Nekomata as he sees how Kuroo instantly picks up on all his subtle cues, putting all his faith and hope in this father figure he’s never really had. Sure, he has an actual father, one who barely has time for his son, and two grandparents who’re too tired to care for the boy as they should, but it’s not enough, never enough and Nekomata takes full advantage of the empty hole that Kuroo craves to have filled, practically taking the boy under his own tail so to speak. 

He’s not thrilled when he sees hazel eyes begin to look at his female classmates in interest, but he’s prepared for the question he knows he’ll get soon and when, as expected, Kuroo quietly asks him why he’s still single, what love is like, what girls are like, Nekomata is harsh, but firm, planting the seeds of doubt in Kuroo’s head as he goes on and on about how girls are just distractions, problematic, how they’ll do nothing but cause pain and heartbreak. And just to drive it home, he cruelly reminds Kuroo of the heartache his own mother had caused him and his family and he hides his satisfied smile when teary hazel eyes bawl into his chest, lanky arms wrapping around his larger figure and rigorously nodding a messy head of hair as he takes all his wise words to heart. 

And so Kuroo never dates, never even bats an eye towards the females in his school, ignoring the curious whispers as everyone wonders why such an eligible bachelor is still single, only focusing on volleyball, his team, and his coach. 

Nekomata thought that it would be enough to know that he has the boy all to himself for three years, that his selfish greed would be sated, but as Kuroo’s 18th birthday approaches, as his third-year threatens to come to an end, as his departure from Nekoma draws ever nearer, he realizes it’s not enough, it’ll never be enough and wise cat-eyes scheme. 

Kuroo hates birthdays, hates the reminder that his family could care less about him and there’s an even bigger pang than normal as his 18th birthday approaches. He should be elated and excited about the prospect of finally being an official adult, a man, but all he feels is indifference and neglect as his grandparents completely forget that it’s his birthday in their old age, as his dad sends a cold two word text, not even an exclamation mark at the end to convey any feelings about the matter. He just wants this day to be over, to forget it ever happened, feeling no different than before even though he’s now an “adult”. 

But when Nekomata asks him to stay after practice long after everyone has left and the gym is clean, he can’t help the happy tears that trail down his face when the older man brings out a small cake from behind his back and urges the messy-haired captain to blow out the single lit candle illuminating the empty locker room, blissfully ignorant and naive of just how close Nekomata is to him, their thighs pressed against each other, wrinkled eyes attentively watching Kuroo’s lips as he happily eats a slice of the cake, tongue flicking out to lick the extra cream that hasn’t quite made it into his mouth. 

However, Kuroo is all too aware of a rough finger that brushes against his mouth, scooping up some extra cream that he had missed before gently nudging his fingertip past his lips and Nekomata groans at how the athlete instinctively sucks his finger clean even while staring wide-eyed and confused at him. 

“Coach?”

“Call me Yasufumi.”

He chuckles at how flustered and adorable the man beside him looks as he tentatively tests out the new name, and he can feel his cock begin to twitch with interest at the way it sounds in that ridiculously attractive drawl Kuroo has. 

“Tetsurou, you’re an adult now and when you’re an adult, you can start doing certain things.” 

“Coach! I don’t need a sex talk. Plus, weren’t you the one who said girls are a waste of time-”

Kuroo instantly hushes as a weathered hand grasps him by his chin and forces him to lock eyes. 

“I said to call me Yasufumi and yes, I did say that, but you don’t need to have sex with just girls. I think sex between men is better anyway. I could show you, teach you. Only if you want though.”

Sex between men? Of course Kuroo knows it’s possible, knows it’s a thing. But for him? Him and another man? How would that-

His rambling thoughts are cut off and he squeaks when lips press against his, too surprised to break away as a tongue slips into his mouth, playfully entangling with his own wet muscle and he moans as he’s pulled into straddling Nekomata’s thighs, his lean body pressed tight against a thicker chest and stomach. He tries to form thoughts, question what’s happening, but he gasps when hands grope his ass, a tiny moan escaping him as his hips and groin grind down on something hard protruding from Nekomata’s sweatpants. 

“Come on, Tetsurou. Don’t you trust me? Haven’t I always taught you well?” 

And Kuroo hesitates. 

It’s true. For as long as Kuroo can remember, Nekomata is the only person he’s considered family, who’s guided him, cared for him, shown him what love, even if it's just familial love, feels like. He’s never led him astray, always treated him like his own son, brought him to his full potential as a volleyball player and team captain. 

He cries out as Nekomata gently thrusts up, rubbing their erections against each other. 

It feels so good, so different, so much better than when he awkwardly wraps his own hand around his cock late at night. Surely it can’t be wrong if it feels so right, if it’s Nekomata who’s doing this. It’s just another life lesson, right? 

So he seals his fate with a shy kiss as he relaxes, helping the man underneath him rid him of all his clothes, bashfully looking away as eyes hungrily roam all over his body. But his eyes are snapping back to attention, wide in shock as a strange pleasure lances through him when a mouth greedily suckles on one of his nipples, his other nipple tweaked and pulled. 

“I-I’m not a girl! Stop it! Don’t play with my nipples like that!” 

But his complaints are lost between desperate moans and he loses himself in the strange overwhelming pleasure, flushing at the lewd slick sounds of Nekomata’s sucking. 

“But doesn’t it feel good, Tetsurou? You have such pretty tits.”

“They’re not tits- AH!” 

He whimpers as Nekomata punishes his outburst with a slight nip to his aroused buds. 

“Come on. Be a good boy and cum from having your tits played with.”

“I- I don’t think- I can’t-”

But all it takes is a few more rolls of his hips and a few more tugs and bites before Kuroo is wailing, thick white spurts coating both of their stomachs as the raven haired man exhaustedly collapses and curls up in Nekomata’s lap, humming contently as a hand strokes his messy tangled locks. 

“Good boy, but we’re not done yet. Don’t you think I deserve to feel good too? I think you need to give sensei a thank you gift for such a good lesson.” 

Bleary hazel eyes peer at him before slowly nodding and Nekomata laughs as Kuroo attempts to shimmy to his knees in between Nekomata’s legs, hands eagerly pawing at the hem of his sweatpants only to startle when he’s teasingly slapped away. 

“We’ll use your mouth another day. I have something else to show you.”

Kuroo’s an adult now, but there’s a childlike innocence in the way he curiously looks on as Nekomata pulls out a translucent bottle, craning his neck to see what the older man is doing even when he’s coaxed into laying on his back on one of the benches, his legs spread out on either side of the metal apparatus. And Nekomata coos at the confused nervous sound Kuroo makes as he generously coats Kuroo’s pretty puckered rim and his fingers with the clear liquid. 

“I need you to relax and take deep breaths, okay?” 

That’s all the warning he gets before a finger is pushing at his tight hole and he keens as one knuckle breaches his unused hole, taking in desperate panicked breaths as it becomes two knuckles, and borderline hyperventilating when he’s taken the digit all the way to its hilt. But he desperately listens to the familiar voice as it orders him to keep on relaxing, keep on breathing. 

Relax. Breathe. Relax. Breathe. Relax. Breathe. 

One finger becomes two. Two fingers become three. The stretch is uncomfortable, but not painful, yet Kuroo still just feels strangely full, can’t comprehend what the appeal of this is- 

He screams. Back arching and body twitching when Nekomata’s fingers move inside of him, brushing against a spot that has him seeing stars and his cock hardening once again. He scrambles to sit up, find purchase, register what’s happening, but then those fingers are bushing against that spot over and over again and all he can do is sob, cock pathetically splurting thick drops of pre-cum all over his stomach as his mind breaks under the new delirious pleasure he’s being drowned in. 

If he thought he had already been overwhelmed, it’s absolutely painful and agonizing when the stimulation abruptly stops and he’s howling, clawing like an animal to keep Nekomata’s fingers inside of him, sobbing even harder when Nekomata gently shakes him off and leaves him gaping open, cold, and alone like he’s always been his entire life. But he tries to stifle his sobs, gasping for breath when Nekomata is right there with him again, softly kissing his forehead and urging him to continue being his good patient boy and he sighs in relief when something larger begins to refill him, whimpering and moaning at the larger stretch, but ultimately finding peace in the connection, the fullness. 

And he relaxes back down on the bench, mewling as Nekomata’s cock drags against his insides, reaching further and further inside of him until the head is pressing against that same spot that has him writhing wantonly underneath the older body on top of him. Words are spilling past his lips, incoherent babbling he can’t even make out himself, but as if Nekomata understands the indecipherable pleas for more, he offers the younger man a weathered smile before beginning to rock back and forth and Kuroo’s head shakes back and forth, eyes rolling back in his head as his prostate is continuously brushed against. 

Kuroo has always been attractive, but like this? Vulnerable, lust and arousal clearly painted all over his face and body, pretty noises and tears, a shaky hand wrapping around his own leaking cock? He’s breathtaking and Nekomata feels like a young man all over again as he increases his pace, ignoring the irritating pang in his old hips as he desperately chases his own end, balls feeling full and ready to explode in a way they haven’t for decades. And he sputters and chokes as he empties himself inside of the lithe body underneath him, nearly crushing the younger man as he exhaustedly collapses on top of Kuroo and catches his breath. 

But he grumbles when he feels the body underneath him continue to wriggle, something uncomfortable digging into his stomach and he lifts up just enough to see how Kuroo desperately continues to stroke his cock, tears in his eyes from being so close to release and yet unable to find it by himself and he takes pity on him, nudging Kuroo’s hands away and wrapping his own hand around the cock, sloppily kissing the pretty captain. And he smiles when wiry arms wrap around him and hold him tight, swallowing Kuroo’s endearing moans as the raven haired athlete falls apart underneath him once again, coating his hand with his creamy essence. 

He holds his cum covered hand to Kuroo’s mouth, fondly smiling as he immediately begins lapping and licking him clean, only a slight wrinkle of his nose indicating his dislike of the salty bitter taste. That’s okay, he’ll let the birthday boy get away with it for now. After all, he has plenty of time to fully train him to be the perfect cum slut, his perfect cum slut.  

#yandere haikyuu #yandere nekomata #nekomata x kuroo #tw: dubcon #tw: grooming #tw: yandere #tw: lee's infection #tw: crusty #tw: old #tw: fuckers #haikyuu smut #kuroo smut

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

lately i feel taehyung is a straight man and his vibez is much more masculinity i mean not to mention taehyung straightly said to jimin he like him most and no offense for me it's just assurance about something etc and i don't feel like in romantic way but much more because he is best friend for life. i mean before you can assume he is kind of gay but lately i feel like he's more focus on masculine way and much more straight man.

Admin 1: Let’s do a little exercise which I think will help us answer this question, as well as showcase why reading it annoyed me so much, especially as queer person myself. Okay, here are nine different men, all of them athletes (why did I pick them? Because idols are basically just as athletic as them and chances of you knowing all nine are low), and now please try to guess which of them (if any) are gay/queer:

…

Do you have your guesses?

…

Okay, as example, if you guessed only the one first row second from the left then, well, you are partially correct. That man is Johnny Weir, former American figure skater, who is, in fact, gay, yes. But you are wrong in saying that out of all the men in those pictures he’s the only one who is queer. Because all of them are. You can read more about them here if you’re interested.

What does this tell us? Easy. The manner in which someone presents themselves (or the vibe, whatever that’s even supposed to mean, that they give off/give you), traditionally masculine, feminine, more androgynous, or anywhere else on the spectrum, has no correlation whatsoever with their sexuality. A gay man can dress in a way that is traditionally seen as more feminine and that’s fine. He can dress and look more typically masculine, and that is fine as well. He can dress and look however he likes and that doesn’t make him any less or more gay, or any less or more valid.

The main thing I would like for you to take away from this answer is this: please do not buy into stereotypical, basically fetishizing, portrayals and assumptions of what constitutes a “gay man” visually and behavior wise. There is no checklist full of boxes a queer man, or any queer person for that matter, needs to fulfil in order to be queer and valid in their queerness. There is no unified look a gay man has to showcase in order to be gay. It’s the 21st century, the year 2021, can we leave finally lay these things to rest?

As for Tae, if you want to know my thoughts about BTS and the LGBT community, I have an entire post about it which you can read here if that’s something that interests you. If we look at how Tae currently looks like, which you’ve defined as more “masculine” (and therefore straight), I will agree that he has gained muscles, if that is what you think is a necessary checkbox for masculinity, but really, all that really tells us is that Tae is healthy, that he looks great, handsome as ever, and that he is an idol of whom it is expected and required to be in a good physical shape, especially with comeback being quite literally just three days away which means a lot of performances, dancing, and hard Bangtan choreographies.

Your taste in fashion and how you feel most comfortable with your body looking like has no direct correlation with your sexuality, and neither does it with Tae’s.

Lastly, how is Tae saying he likes Jimin most on national TV somehow proof of him being straight? What else was he supposed to say? What would he have to say for you to not question his bond with Jimin? Is there a possibility we’re wrong and they’re just platonic, of course, but at the same time, looking at how Jimin said that Tae is a honest person, how Tae basically wears his heart on his sleeve, and how he’s written a song all about falling in love with his best friend, whom we know is Jimin, and we know Tae writes songs based on his own feelings and experiences, I do have a hard time believing that we are wrong. But, of course, we won’t know for sure until Tae or Jimin, or both, tell us themselves.

You are free to believe whatever you like but at least don’t project gender and LGBT stereotypes (most of which have been created and are perpetuated by straight people) onto Tae, and the other members for that matter. Or any queer person really.

Admin 2: I admit that after what I’ve recently observed on various sns platforms, no question will surprise me anymore. In fact, I'm sure I know where this question came from.

The most annoying thing is that despite so many "steps and demonstrations" on BTS' part, there is still an army trying to put people into individual boxes and number those boxes and give them names.

Do any of us have our sexualities written out on our foreheads? Can you see if we are sexually interested in women, men, or anyone else? And how can you know that?

I think a lot of people know Adam Rippon, for example, who is a former American figure skater and Olympic team bronze medalist. Yes, Adam is gay and has a very handsome partner, fiancé actually, who looks like a young god. He's fit, look at his photos on Instagram, Jussi goes to the gym, runs and is even in the process of builds a house himself, like a "real man", a "typical" man ... but he's gay!

If you look at this example, you can clearly see that there are no stereotypes that would indisputably define the appearance of an LGBTQ+ person! Indeed, in the last century, attempts have been made to give "gay" people the weird appearance of only ever being feminized man who are always sassy and the side kick in movies/shows, the stereotypical "gay best friend". It the past century it was designed as such to portray queer people, and especially gay men, in undesirable ways, as jokes and as something "bad", but I thought we grew out of it a long time ago as modern and tolerant people.

Kim Taehyung has to practice and exercise as a member of BTS. That’s a fact. To meet the requirements of their choreographies, whether you like it or not, you must be in an Olympic physical form. Not just him, the entire team must basically be at a near peak physical condition and health. Tae has to exercise, he has to take care of himself, and he has to look great. I have to admit, I've noticed that "gay" men pay more attention to their looks than a normal, unshaven straight guy! (I'm basing this on a joke Adam Rippon once made where he apologized to his followers for looking like an "unshaved straight guy" after he'd just woken up)

What do I mean by that? I want to express the fact that the way you look and take care of your appearance and physical condition are not an indicator of sexuality!

As for the "I like you the most" statement, I'll admit that I've observed many people in many ways trying to use this statement to twist it into whatever those people wanted it to be, instead of taking it for what it actually was, especially since it appears to be something like a thorn in the sides of those who ship other ML pairings.

I'll be rather blunt here now, instead of beating around the bush.

I think this whole question is another attempt at ripping down the Vmin sails and belittling their bond and its possible implications once again.

If we remember how the scene played out, remember Jimin's reactions, his nervousness, how flustered he was, said that things are getting dangerous, and the fact that Taehyung's letter was only for Jimin's eyes. Is that really how "bros" behave? Just a couples of besties?

I doubt that normal best buddies on national TV would feel the need to write mystery letters just for a friend's eyes and tell each other that they like him the most? I'll say more, "boyfriends" don't force their lover to admit that he is copying him in his dance style, only friends do.

It is strange that this "copy" situation was "perceived" as highly romantic, and yet Taehyung's words to Jimin were relegated to "best friends only, nothing else".

However, it doesn't change the fact that Taehyung said what he said, he wrote 95z is love and Jimin confessed that he would love to spend his life with his lovely Taehyungie. Do "only best friends" (best friends that are straight) behave like this?

#answered ask

[bipirate]

That phrase about WWX’s waist right? Written by people who would find it offensive applied to a straight woman but suddenly okay and sexy for a gay man. And they are lapping the reincarnated as a delicate gay men thing to the point that even in 10yo later postcanon fics, WWX is often described as scrawny when the in-story reason for MXY’s build was that he was kept locked in a shed and starved. Why wouldn’t reborn WWX train to regain his muscles when he’s engaged daily in a physical, dangerous 1

job and didn’t even choose to have the build MXY had to begin with? Bc fans looove the fragile bottom thing instead of exploring the more interesting theme of WWX's struggles or dysphoria with his new body. And thank you for drawing them with similar builds! I’m so tired of many MDZS artists or even the official donghua drawing gym rat LWJ towering by more than a head over WWX with the body type of a young teen when even in MDZS, their new height difference is 8 cm! Only 8! Not 25! 2

And ofc people are welcome to headcanon WWX’s and LWJ’s appearance as they’d like but then they really should use the OCC tag more liberally as well as when WWX is being depicted as the one-braincell chaos gremlin or crying every time feelings are discussed or the possessive top LWJ you talk about (in CQL I think it’s actually LWJ who cries more often than WWX but feminizing the bottom and recreating heteronormative dynamics always take precedence over canon for some fans). 3

anon youre so right.. the concept of wwx being resurrected into someone else’s body is so interesting and there’s many aspects of it you could explore, like dysphoria like you said, or him trying to cultivate mo xuanyu’s core, re-training his body to be able to wield suibian again (alongside chenqing of course), perhaps even genuine and serious discussions with lwj about what it means for their relationship for wwx to suddenly have a different body, hell maybe even wwx’s alcohol problem now that he has a body that might not have the same tolerance, etc etc. but all mdzs fans (and. mxtx herself) keep focusing on is his new twink status. it’s infuriating.

(i cant recall how many times wwx cries in cql but i think it’s still more than lwj, who cries only twice iirc, but regardless they are both very well written in cql and lwj is Definitely not the weird stoic guy who only loses control when he’s having sex lmao)

#mdzs #yeah im tagging it. so people can block if they want to #but pls lmk if you want me to use a specific tag for these criticism posts #anon #ask #mdzs critical

[howdoyousleep3]

no need to ask me

Rating: Explicit 

Pairing: Andy Barber x Lance Tucker

Summary: “That was quite a scene there, baby. Made a bit of a fool’a yourself wouldn’t you say?” What the fuck? “What? How long have you been sittin’ there like a creep?” Andy takes another couple of steps, closes in with broad shoulders, crosses his arms. “Long enough to see that pitiful display of what I assume was flirting.” 

Words: 6.3K

Tags: Daddy Kink, Feminization, Humiliation, Spanking, Desk Sex, Spitting, Light Dom/Sub, Crying, Rough Sex, Little Prep, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Hair Pulling, Spanking

This isn’t my normal softness so please read the tags! I hope you enjoy the filth! 

Lance tends to like Fridays. He pushes his gymnasts harder because it’s the end of the week, more people are in and out of the gym so he can show he knows his shit a little more, and let’s be completely transparent—Lance feeds off the attention. He’s worthy of said attention, knows people are aware of his status, knows people find him hot as fuck whether they like it or not. Fridays are the days where Lance feels good, feels powerful, feels of value.

He’s spent the day working with his own girls, focusing on things beyond the basics; they’re passed that shit. They needed to work on sharpness and sticking landings and fuck if they couldn’t understand just how to make things tight. They did alright, nothing like he could do, but he feigned exasperation and disappointment nonetheless to get under their skin a little bit.

The moments where he wasn’t meeting with his own athletes he spent on the outskirts of the floors. He loved how even his presence rubbed other coaches and players the wrong way, how he didn’t even have to open his mouth to get under other people’s skin. That made actually opening his mouth and spouting off taunts that much sweeter. When he wasn’t on the outskirts of the floor, he spent his time working his charm on the front desk girls, the few coaches in the office.

He wasn’t genuinely interested in these chicks, but flirting was fun and if he got some pussy out of it that was just a happy accident. He knew what his smirk did to people, knew that if he licked his lips just the right way and paired it with a look up and down, he might have a chance. It’s been a long day, one of his few full days, and the people around him are busy closing the gym down. He’s in the middle of working his shot with this pretty blonde (Amanda? Miranda? He can’t remember and can’t find it in himself to care) when—

“Andy?”

Lance’s glance to his right leads him to catching an out of place crisp dress shirt out of the corner of his eye. Andy is seated in the waiting area meant for parents, ankle of one leg resting on the opposite knee, arms spread onto the backs of the chairs on either side of him, suit jacket tossed into the chair next to him. He looks casually out of place in this gym, looks infinitely better than Lance does in his tracksuit. Well, maybe not better but he looks like belongs back in his office or in a courtroom. He looks good.

“Hey, baby,” Andy purrs, tilts his head a little as he says it, and Lance is immediately on alert at his tone. It’s an odd tone, like a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a little bitten off. Add that to Andy having never shown up to his place of work has him feeling on edge. That edge hardens slightly when Lance realizes his predicament: he’s propped up onto the front desk counter and has been staring down the shirt of AmandaMiranda for the past ten, fifteen minutes.

How long had Andy been sitting there?

“What are you doing here?” It comes out much more harshly than he intends for it to, so much so that the girl behind the front desk takes it as her cue to leave. He’s upset with himself and his tone for maybe half a minute before he starts to think about how uncalled for it is for Andy to show up unannounced, for him to sit there and watch Lance like some sort of creep.

Andy’s eyebrows raise in an unnerving move and he responds with a cool, “You’re not happy to see me?” That isn’t fair. Lance is always happy to see Andy, always excited to see the older man, still gets a few butterflies in his chest, his stomach, but he needs to play it cool. He can’t come off as eager, needs to give Andy the chase that everybody else gets. He scoffs at Andy’s words, looks around as he deepens his lean on the front counter, hip cocked.

“I mean you’re not the worst thing I’ve ever seen come through those doors I guess.”

Andy doesn’t look impressed, gives Lance a look that conveys just that, leaves him on shaky ground as the last few to leave walk past them. Someone asks Lance if he’ll lock up and he brushes them off, says it’s no big deal, tells them he can handle it. Andy doesn’t take his eyes off Lance once. He didn’t realize how much he depended on those few short minutes with other people in his presence, other people in the building with him and Andy, until they’re gone.

It’s unnerving.

Andy Barber isn’t Lance’s type. He’s a rule-follower, a suit, never raises his voice, a man, but he’s got pretty eyes and hands that Lance loves to feel tight around his thighs and the juiciest bottom lip he’s ever found. After running into him enough at his lawyer’s office (Lance doesn’t want to talk about it) and exchanging flirty glances, Andy made a move and asked Lance if he wanted to go get a drink.

“Yeah sure—what the hell?”

Andy was a little older than Lance and, even though they were wildly different, they got along well. Lance found that he could be more of himself with Andy, let loose a little more, found that Andy could keep up with his banter. Lance would have never guessed that Andy was the kind to fuck on the first date but when a hand slid up his thigh under the cover of the table and a pair of lips found that fucking spot under his ear, he was pleasantly surprised.

They’ve gone on a handful of dates, met up for drinks and gone to see a few movies, but Lance keeps coming back for the sex. He doesn’t let people fuck him often, but Andy Barber is one of them. Andy works out to keep his body right and tight, keeps him fit, knows how to work it to give it to Lance good, an easy 7/10. He lets Lance get a little rough (could give it to him a little rougher if Lance is critiquing), lets him be on top, and it’s great but no amount of a good fuck makes it acceptable to show up unannounced at his place of work.

Before Lance can say anything else, Andy is standing, closing the distance between the two of them slowly. Lance swallows audibly.

“That was quite a scene there, baby. Made a bit of a fool’a yourself wouldn’t you say?”

What the fuck?

“What? How long have you been sittin’ there like a creep?” Andy takes another couple of steps, closes in with broad shoulders, crosses his arms.

“Long enough to see that pitiful display of what I assume was flirting.”

That’s uncalled for. It leaves Lance feeling even more off-kilter because Andy has never been mean to him and he’s pretty sure that’s what this is. Lance’s feathers are more than ruffled. He wants to say more, wants to spit his gum in Andy’s face, but the other man is standing toe-to-toe with him now and there’s a tight hand on his chin.

Ouch.

“You tryin’ to shoot your shot with her? S’that what that was?” Andy’s breath is hot on his lips, grip tight on his chin, and Lance’s brain stutters to a halt somewhat. Andy’s never touched him like this. He can’t think straight, can’t even remember what was happening a few measly minutes ago, and Andy is shaking his chin sharply.

“I asked you a question. You wanted to fuck her?”

Lance’s body goes simultaneously cold and hot. He was somewhat interested in fucking her, but he isn’t used to those words coming out of Andy’s mouth, him seemingly not being a crass person whatsoever. He’s almost certain his mouth would drop open if it could at the other man spitting out the word fuck. He feels that in his toes. He doesn’t think, just speaks, chooses to bite out, “Why? You wanna watch?”

He doesn’t expect Andy to bite out a chuckle low and deep in the back of his throat, tries not to flinch when he leans forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of Lance’s mouth.

“Wouldn’t be much to watch, sweet boy; if it were the three of us in one room, you’d be gettin’ fucked by both of us.”

Lance’s breath stutters. Andy has only pulled out sweet boy a few times and Lance has tried his hardest to ignore the way it makes his chest pull tight. He’s no one’s sweet boy; he’s a man and he is no ones. He hates the way his chest aches and pulls tight yet again at the straightforwardness of Andy, how he says that Lance would be getting fucked no matter the situation.

He absolutely hates how unopposed and indifferent he feels about that idea.

Even through the feeling of his cheeks burning he’s rolling his eyes and punching out a laugh that’s trying too hard. He’s uncomfortable, hot and bothered and on alert, but when Andy steps forward with him, presses him back into the desk, his chuckle dies into a whimper in his throat.

“Could fuck her if I wanted, easy,” he says with all the strength he can muster up, tries his hardest to jut his chin out to prove his point more but then Andy is smiling down at him and that’s infuriating.

“Yeah, know you love to strut around dick first but that’s not what you really want is it? What you really like is to be pushed down and fucked until you’re screamin’ for it. And don’t lie to me, sweet boy, because I’ve fucked this pussy enough to know what it likes, what it needs.”

The noise he lets out is betrayal at its finest, a slutty exhale, a shocked little noise. His pussy? He’s—

“Don’t have a pussy,” he manages to grit out, shaking his chin free from Andy’s grip, but it’s no use, not when Andy’s other arm wraps tight around his lower back. There are warm lips on his cheek, his jawline, and he hates how much he loves the feeling of that fucking beard on his skin, hates how in-control Andy feels tonight. When said lips reach his ear he snarls pitifully when Andy sucks on his earlobe, feels that hand around his back drop down to his ass.

“Sweetheart,” Lance hates how his stomach clenches up at Andy’s barely detectable voice, “Know this is a pussy ‘cause I’ve fucked it.”

A few of Andy’s fingers press and rub tight right up against his asshole, right through his tracksuit, right there behind the front desk of his gym, and Lance fucking whimpers. He isn’t sure if it’s Andy’s unprecedented words or that fact that his dick goes hard as a rock at the other man’s touches, but either way he lets out far too feminine of a noise than he’s comfortable with.

“Does she know you like getting’ fucked too? Does she know that I can make you gag for it, make you squeal for a good dickin’, too?”

Fuck.

Lance brings his hands up to shove at Andy’s broad muscular thick chest, doesn’t know what else to do in reaction to the other man’s words, doesn’t want to think about how achy his dick is in his pants. Andy chuckles, seemingly full of them today, moves and takes Lance’s shoves like they’re nothing, like Lance isn’t a powerful man himself, and it’s an unintentional low blow.

Their physical banter escalates to Lance finding himself face down and pressed into the desk, Andy’s hand tight between his shoulder blades. He feels the fight in him leave, feels the pool of arousal fog up his brain some, at the pressure of Andy’s crotch, his dick, pressing up against his ass. His cheeks heat up exponentially when he hears the other man let out a throaty groan, squirms as Andy grinds and rubs in tight to Lance’s backside.

“Does she know that you love it when your Daddy fucks your sweet pussy?”

“Oh shit.”

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, doesn’t mean to make it sound like it was punched right from his chest, but that’s exactly what happens, exactly what it sounds like. Andy has never referred to himself as…that…before. How did Andy know? Did Lance let it slip during any of the times they were fucking? He swore he had buried that part of him deep deep down, hadn’t let anyone find it, but here is Andy Barber of all fucking people yanking it out from the shadows.

“Ohh, look at that,” Andy purrs, hand between his shoulders sliding up to squeeze at the back of his neck, “Y’went all soft on me just from that one word, didn’t you? Mhmm, such a sweet slutty boy.” Lance’s fingers go tight on the edge of the desk and attempts to use any amount of strength he can muster up to push up, off the desk and out of such a vulnerable position, but all that does is grind his ass back into Andy’s dick more, make him squirm.

He puts up somewhat of a valiant fight, will continue to bicker no matter what, but when he feels the warm length of Andy’s front press against the line of his back, he crumbles on the inside. There’s a hand in his hair, gliding through the back, but then it’s yanking, pulling his head up so Andy can better whisper into his ear, better get his point across.

“’Cause I’m your Daddy, aren’t I? Bratty slut like you needs someone to keep you in line, keep you sweet. Isn’t that right, Lance?”

He wants so badly to moan out loud, wants to give in to the side of him that wants to tell Da—Andy—that he does need someone to keep him in check, does need someone to be sweet for. He swallows a few times, breathing so labored some exhales come out as whimpers, and Andy’s hand in his hair goes taut in a warning.

“Ngh, yes yeah, sure,” is what Lance spits out while he does what he can to wiggle under Andy’s body, but that only makes him harder, makes his core burn hot with the strength and size of the other man. Teeth hit the hinge of his jaw, a generous nibble that makes him gasp, and Andy’s voice has a harsh edge to it when he says, “Fuckin’ say it.”

Lance is enraged, is fired up, but the urge to give in is stronger, to say what he’s always wanted to say. He hates how much he loves the sting of his scalp and the sting on his jaw, hates how much he loves the way he feels overpowered, wishes it were all in a different setting. It’s all love and hate but he’s whimpering nonetheless, hears himself grit out, “I need a Daddy.”

“Yeah? And who’s that?” Goddamnit.

“S’you,” he mumbles, “You’re my Daddy.”

The sweet little kiss he gets to his cheek is something that burns through his body straight to his toes, somewhat of a sour preen. He despises the way his body feels after even the smallest amount of immediate gratification, that honey sweetness pooling on the back of his neck. He huffs anyway, right in time for Andy to lift himself off his backside, reach for the waistband of Lance’s pants.

Lance is up for some freaky shit, trying out different positions and in different rooms in the house, but when Andy goes for the top of his track pants, yanks them halfway down his ass, Lance is protesting. It’s not even a worthy attempt, a humiliated noise and a push up off the desk but there’s a hand on the back of his neck, an unwavering one, and another hand smacking tight against the exposed skin of his ass. It’s a shock, makes Lance gasp again, makes him stretch the line of his body as the piece of exposed skin throbs.

It’s too good.

“Quit it. You think I’m not gonna teach you a lesson? You think your Daddy isn’t gonna show you what he thinks of you tryin’ to get your dick wet right in front of him? It’s time you learn your lesson.”

Lance has never once been as turned on as he is right now in this moment. Being a brat is who he is, is ingrained in his core, but he knows better than anyone that’s only because no one’s ever been able to deal with him, has never been able to step up to him. Andy Barber of all people was not someone he expected to rise to such a challenge and knock it out of the fucking park and then some.

Doesn’t mean Lance is done fighting.

As soon as his pants and underwear hit the floor he’s whining out a pathetic, “Andy, listen I—” but gets only those three words out before there’s another smack coming down on his ass but this one has a bite to it, is all palm and no holding back. It makes Lance’s toes curl in his shoes.

“You goin’ stupid on me and all I’ve done is pull your pants down? Huh? Who am I to you?” Lance breathes out his answer, a little gritty, a soft, “D-Daddy,” still not feeling comfortable saying the word in such a context and outside of his head. He gets another smack on his ass, the opposite cheek, a squeeze on both cheeks that makes him whimper, one and then the other. He in no way could have anticipated Andy’s next words.

“Show me where Daddy fucks you. Show me that slutty little hole.”

Lance isn’t even moving and he feels dizzy in the head, is horizontal but feels like he’s gone vertical too quickly. He knows what Andy wants, what his words mean, but he would never spread himself open to show anyone his asshole, not even Daddy.

“What? You think I haven’t seen your pussy before? You think I don’t watch that greedy little thing eat me up each time we fuck?” Andy’s hands grip his cheeks as he speaks, pushes and pulls them apart rather roughly, mimics the exact movement Lance recognizes from when they are in bed together. He hadn’t even made the connection before, a little muddled, and the back of his neck burns hot in realization.

Two palms squeeze tight, makes Lance hiss, before Andy is demanding again, “Show me,” and Lance does. He brings his hands back, feels them shake as he grabs at his own ass, pulls his cheeks apart. He hears Andy take a few steps back, wants to sink through the floor but also tilt his ass up at the satisfied noise the other man gives him. It drips down his spin like honey, pools at the base of his cock. He wants to sneak a hand under himself, wants to wrap it around his own dick, wants to come already.

“S’that where Daddy fucks you?” Lance’s fingers dig into his skin, makes it hurt, makes that burn more than the one of shame when he whispers, “That’s where…w-where Daddy fucks me.” He can’t even stop himself from his whisper turning into a breathy whine, almost everything out of his control at this point. He’s on shaky ground now, entirely out of his element, and he feels like he’s dreaming. There is no way for him to anticipate Andy’s next move because this entire experience is unprecedented. Lance has never felt so visible before, so broken open and just seen before.

Which is why he has no warning whatsoever when Andy brings a couple of fingers down to his hole, his pussy, rubs at it like he fucking owns it. Lance bites his lip, bites it hard so he doesn’t let the other man hear his shout, his noise of surprise and pleasure.

“You think she knows you got a pussy too? But that Daddy has to spend time gettin’ yours all wet before he can fuck it?”

The back of Lance’s neck burns hot yet again, feels the skin of his neck and cheeks go tingly at the flush he knows for a goddamn fact is there and building. It’s bad enough to admit that he has a Daddy and a pussy but for Daddy to talk about his pussy? It’s almost too much but “too much” goes right out the fucking window as soon as there are warm palms covering his own, as soon as he hears Andy spit, angry and loud right—

“Ohh,” is all Lance can wail, doesn’t bother with being quiet this time, not when Andy just spit on his pussy, not when thick fingers rub said spit around in circles. His balls feel achy and tight, he wants to come, but Daddy’s fingers almost feel better, rub in a motion that makes him want to spread his legs some more. He hears Andy’s chuckle, a dark deep noise, and it adds to the eroticism and forbidden nature of the entire situation.

Andy spits again, this time thick and slow from above and Lance has to screw his eyes shut tight, has to stop himself from shivering as he feels the glob of saliva trickle down his balls. Andy makes it messy, makes his pussy all slick and ready, teasingly presses the tips of two fingers hard against his opening. Andy rumbles, a noise that Lance realizes is something he’s heard before as well but in an entirely different context, just like the ass grab.

Andy steps forward again and Lance feels the heavy weight of his cock smack and rest right in the crack of his ass, right on his pussy and he can’t help but—

“Fuck, oh…”

He hadn’t even heard Daddy take his dick out, hadn’t heard the telltale signs of a zipper, nothing, but he knows what that is. This action is one that makes him tilt his hips back, is one that makes him physically plead for what he can only hope is coming at this point. Andy smacks at his hands, pushes them away, and Lance flings his arms forward and scrambles and pushes at papers Lance couldn’t care less about.

“You think she’d still get wet for your dick after watching you cry for your Daddy’s cock?”

Lance sniffles on instinct, checks to see if he’s truly crying even though it most definitely sounds like he is, feels like he is. He almost doesn’t care if he’s crying, not with the feel of Daddy’s cock not fucking him, simply resting there where he should be fucking. He forgets he was asked a question, too distracted to answer, gets a pinch of the ass for his troubles.

“N-no, Daddy.”

“No? I don’t know, sweet boy—you look awful pretty cryin’. I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock from seeing you break down and give into me. She might get all wet from seein’ it too.”

“Please, p-please,” Lance hears himself say and it’s pathetic, how whiny it is and how it comes from the back of his throat. He doesn’t even know what exactly he’s begging for, but he does know he wants Andy to give him a few fingers, to split him on his cock. He knows he wants to get fucked even if it does mean right here and right now, wants it so bad.

Andy lets his cock slip and slide along his ass crack, hands back to squeezing at the meat of Lance’s ass, lets Lance feel how hard he is. It’s devastating, makes him let out another set of whimpers, makes him turn his cheek into the desk more.

“Get specific, boy,” Andy taunts, grabs for his own cock and smears the fat head of it around the opening of Lance’s pussy, all warm and slick with spit. It makes Lance dizzy.

“F-fuck…fuck me, Daddy, please.”

The noise Andy gives him in response is all throat, all chest, deep and warm and it prolongs Lance’s dizziness, makes him curl his fingers into the papers beneath him. There’s pressure and skin on skin and spit and then there’s nothing, nothing at all and a whine slips between Lance’s lips.

“You want a finger or two? Huh? Not gonna loosen you up too much, want you tight for Daddy, want you feelin’ me for a few days. You want that?” And fuck him, he does, nods his head and cries for it, whimpers, “Uh-huh, yeah yes. Yes, please.”

The finger that slides into him is shocking. Just like he didn’t hear the zipper of Andy’s pants, he does not hear the packet of lube being torn open, but feels it coating said finger. Lance’s breath stutters in his chest, lets out a hefty exhale, one that is akin to a wail. It slips and slides in and out of him without much mercy, all business. It’s a relief but it makes him hungrier, makes him want more.

He doesn’t have to wait long, a second finger sliding smoothly in alongside the first, making him bite out a hefty curse. Daddy’s fingers don’t stop, don’t slow, scissor and press and slide against Lance’s walls in such a way it has his eyelids heavy, has them drooping.

“Look how sweet you get for your Daddy, how sweet you can be when you shut your fuckin’ mouth and listen. Should have put you in your place weeks ago.”

And Lance just nods and drools, all he can manage when Daddy’s thick fingers fuck in and out of him in a pace and angle that makes his gut curl, makes him moan like the helpless animal he feels like. The hand on the back of his neck slides down his jacket, the line of his spine, a soothing gesture that Lance eats up. Andy is right—they should have been doing this for weeks, for the entire time they’ve known each other. Lance has needed a Daddy, has wanted a Daddy, needs—

“Daddy…”

Andy pulls his fingers free, smears a little more lube around his pussy, shoves some inside and gets him good and wet.

“Yeah, baby that’s right. You just keep sayin’ it ‘cause that’s what I am isn’t it? I’m your Daddy. Daddy isn’t even gonna use a condom, gonna mark you up real good on the inside because he can…”

Lance barely hears the other man’s words, not when his cock is pushing against his rim, pressing in and taking the breath right out of his fucking lungs, his chest. He scrambles, it’s so much, Andy murmuring, “Lemme in, honey come on—let your Daddy in…”, a hand running up and down his back, taking a home in Lance’s hair. He tries his hardest to relax, to lay there and take it, but he wants to squirm as he thinks it’ll make it easier on himself.

It doesn’t.

He thinks Andy tells him to breathe but he can’t be sure, can’t even see out of his eyes with how furiously they water up. He spreads his legs as far as they’ll go, confined by his pants and underwear around his ankles, hears himself shout, moan, curse. Daddy powers through, slides into Lance’s body at a snail’s pace, presses into his little pussy like he fucking owns it, bends and verbalizes just that.

“Want you to think about this, about how this is my pussy, every time you wanna leave your fuckin’ lane and make eyes at somebody else. This is my pussy. Daddy owns this pussy.”

Lance wails, feels his lips tremble as he does so, but he’s nodding his head, has no fucking clue why he decides to repeat and sob out, “Daddy owns this pussy!”

He both wants to remember this moment for the rest of his life but also wipe it clean from his memory.

When Andy’s clothed thick thighs meet the bottom of his ass Lance feels like he’s deepthroating Daddy’s cock, feels it all throughout his body, wiggles on it and can barely find it in him to breathe. Lance feels like he’s going to combust. He feels Daddy’s hands on his sides, running up under Lance’s jacket and shirt, like fire against his skin as he is blessedly patient and waits for Lance to adjust.

Andy bends down again, presses hot little kisses up the column of his neck, on the skin behind his ear. 

“Gonna fuck this pretty pussy now,” is all the warning he gets before Andy is pulling his hips back and pressing forward again. It isn’t an alarming rate, no slams or yanks, but fuck is it gutting. It’s a brutal pace right from the start, one that has Lance gasping like a fish out of water, like he’s clinging on for dear life. Andy’s cock is heavy in his pussy, so big, spread him open and wide each time he presses back in. It has Lance pushing up onto his toes, has him curling and arching his neck, has him stretching the line of his body against the desk so he can better feel.

But it’s so much, just barely enough that has Lance a little hysterical, a little upset at himself for wanting to feel more. His legs are spread just enough to where he can feel Daddy’s balls smack against his own, the tap and slide sending little sparks up his spine. He almost wishes he were looking up at Andy, wants to see Daddy’s face, but he would never ask the other man to stop, not now.

“Gonna buy you some sweet little panties, Lance. Gonna make you wear them when you come to work and when…when you walk by this desk and remember how I fucked you so hard you cried your little dick’ll be all wrapped up in the panties Daddy bought you.”

Lance sobs. He’d do anything Daddy wanted him to do, wants someone to tell him what to do so he can be good.

“And you’re such a little slut you’d get hard each time you passed this desk, oh you’d get so hard so fast, wouldn’t you, baby? Yeah?”

The hand in his hair comes to life, Andy’s hand spanning almost the entirety of the back of Lance’s head and fuck that’s hot. What’s hotter is his hair getting tugged on, getting pulled up and up and up until Lance has no choice but to follow with a set of whimpers until he’s vertical. The hand in his hair swaps its position for one around the front of his throat and that’s—

“Oh fuck, Daddy.”

The hand that isn’t wrapped around the column of Lance’s throat digs into the meat of his hip, holds him steady as Andy continues to rock into him, bounces against his pert ass. Andy Barber is a man of consistency, a man of passion, and it shines through each and every time the two of them are together in such a way. Lance has never encountered such devotion and focus when fucking someone else and he whole-heartedly has not been appreciating it nearly as much as he should have been.

He hasn’t been appreciating Andy Barber as a person as much as he should have been.

The other man purrs into his ear, pulls Lance away from his untimely thoughts, the hand on his hip running up the curve of Lance’s back, shirt rucking up as he moves. The lewd sticky sound of them fucking, the slaps of skin and the squelch of Lance’s pussy getting wrecked, sounds like a goddamn concert in this empty gym, sounds like it’s performing for a crowd of thousands. Lance loves performing.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to get’chu all bent up in all those positions you’re always bitchin’ about, put your money where your mouth is. Bet you’d look sweeter than sin with your feet curled behind your head beggin’ for my come…”

Lance sees stars.

Lance doesn’t beg, or at least he thought so, but he’s so consumed with the picture that Andy paints for him in his head that he knows for certain he’d beg Daddy to come in his pussy. In fact—

“Ohh, Daddy please…”

Andy curses, harsh like the bite on the gymnast’s shoulder that follows, staggers forward with Lance right in tow until Lance has to bring his own arms forward to hold them shoddily up against the desk. His pace quickens, deepens, how Lance doesn’t know but god he had no idea Daddy had been holding back on him. He mewls, feels his dick jump with every thrust Daddy gives him, so fucking full. The bend in his back, the arch, deepens and curls as Daddy presses him down, down, by the hip but the hand on his throat doesn’t waver.

It’s a test, a test of said flexibility.

“Should have known the mention of my come would make a slutty boy like you lose his fucking mind.”

His fucking mind lost its way long ago, back when Andy asked him if a girl knew he had a pussy too. His breathing strains from such a position, head bent back so far that when he looks up, he’s look right up at Daddy. Lance shouts, sputters, as soon as he sees that face and that beard and those eyes.

Lance might be in love. Or maybe that’s a side effect of how thoroughly he’s getting fucked right now.

He doesn’t even recognize the swirls and build of his own orgasm until his eyes are closing, no use for them staying open when Andy brings his lips and presses them messily into Lance’s upturned forehead. He can’t remember the last time he came on someone’s cock alone, no attention to his dick by either party, and it’s shocking, has him gasping, has him sobbing.

“Daddy! Daddy I’m—”

“Fuck, pretty boy—already?”

“Uh-huh, please I…please lemme come!” Lance doesn’t recognize his own voice, begging and pleading aside. It’s strained, high and feminine. Lance has never heard it like that. Andy’s fucking into him so deeply, with so much power, that he’s having trouble holding the two of them upright. Daddy doesn’t seem to care, will fuck him right through the floor if that’s where they end up.

“You come sayin’ my name, you hear me? You come tellin’ me who I am, Lance. Who am I to you?”

Lance’s whole body clenches up as he shouts, “Daddy!”

“Come.”

Lance has never listened to anyone without some sort of fight. He bites back, sasses back, obeys no one, but when Andy Barber—Daddy—tells him to come he fucking comes. It’s a miracle within a miracle and Andy fucks him through every second of it. Every shake and tremor and, quite frankly and embarrassingly, scream. 

He knows Daddy can feel the noises he makes, the screams and wails, on his hand on Lance’s throat as the tumble from his mouth. He knows Daddy can feel the way his pussy clenches and trembles, physically begging for the other man’s come, by the way he growls about it in his ear. This orgasm feels like a layered relief like nothing Lance has ever felt, like with every wave, each ebb and flow, he feels more like himself than he ever has.

Daddy comes before his orgasm is even over, grabs for Lance with both hands, both arms, groans into the skin of his neck. It’s like Daddy’s orgasm prolongs his own, like the significance of never having anyone before his Daddy come in his pussy makes him almost come again.

“Fuck, baby s’pussy is so good, goddamn so good for Daddy isn’t it?”

Andy has always been someone who is vocal when they come, someone who holds Lance close, pulls him in tight, gives him some teeth, some bites. This is no different but is more amplified than normal. Andy puts his entire being into this orgasm, squeezes and holds onto Lance like a treasure. His mouth doesn’t part from Lance’s ear and he finds himself smiling that he gets to hear all of Daddy’s noises right there, so close, so feral.

It makes him feel invincible, that he did this.

Lance has been worn out before, has had workouts and competitions, the fucking Olympics, but nothing compares to the fatigue he feels when that last ragged sigh leaves his body. He knows he is going to feel this for days but that’s the point he guesses. He clenches down around Andy’s cock, is greedy for a moment that literally ended mere minutes ago.

He gets a smack on his ass for his troubles, a chuckle into his shoulder.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Andy mumbles into his neck before kissing the underside of his jaw, giving him a little squeeze.

“You gonna get this ‘fuckin’ brat’ some dinner or what? Got calories to make up for here.”

Andy laughs this time, no chuckle, and it has a new ring to it. Lance likes it.

“Oh how quickly we forget our manners when we’re not gettin’ fucked. Even though I’m literally still inside of you.”

Lance wiggles his ass back into Andy’s crotch, clenches a little more, ignores the jump in his gut when he feels how hard Andy still is.

“M’sorry, D-Daddy,” he whispers, taking a chance and saying that word outside of the context of fucking. Lance still likes it and so does Andy, purrs a little when he hears it.

“S’my boy. Let’s get you some dinner. Won’t even clean you up, let you go messy. You want that?”

Lance hates how much he wants that...

#carol's aus #lance tucker #andy barber #lance and andy #smutty smut is smutty #howdoyousleep

[zikadraws]

If the ghosts bosses got to be reincarnated, what do you think they’d look like in the modern age(I’m talking, like the twisted sisters, Clem(best rat boi), Fishhook, etc)?

Oh boy tough call !✨Sooo let's seeeee...

(*Low quality colouring, drawing and long post ahead (sorry), Click4Quality*)

So let's start with Chambrea and Steward. They gladly took back their human form (Yeah I see Chambrea as Latino/Arabic styled, and Steward as Australian), but less gladly the fact of having to work to not get hungry. They restarted to work in services, although their experience (as for a good part of the ghosts) got them militant, and they are fighting for the service workers to get treated/respected better and better paid (between others). Chambrea (Chãlissia) is the leading type, Steward (Stuart) follows and admires her, and struggles to push their relationship to another level. They already live together.

Then there's Chef Jacques Soulfflé. He of course oriented himself towards cooking, but understandably enough for those who witnessed his cooking, got fired several times, and refused to understand why ; so much that he actually attempted ''Hell's Kitchen'' to prove everyone wrong- and nearly caused Gordon Ramsay, who -figures- spectacularly blazed his @ss, to rage quit the emission. They actually had a private talk afterwards and Gordon decided to save cooking's honour and to give him private lessons. Never did he see a guy so bad at cooking but who genuinely absolutely loved cooking against all. Deserves an effort. Thanks to that Soulfflé got better and found a regular cook post. Yeah I got carried a bit far on this IK. X) Anyway so next-

Morty finally managed to open the cinema class he was planning to open before his death, and he's having the time of his life with this. He takes cheap and everyone in -elementals to elderly- and he is in a 'poor-populated' city part, so he has a lot of volunteers ; as an activity as for an actual class. He loves to communicate his passion with others, is a wonderful teacher open to everyone and loves creating shorts and movies with his students. Some of them actually succeeded as actors or staff or even directors, and often credit him. Although a bit wore out, he is really happy. Plus a good portion of the former boss ghosts like to help him with and star in his productions.

Krüller thought of becoming policeman, but chickened out and went on as a mall guard. He is great with children. He even babysits sometimes. And often stars in Morty's movies, as 'the police chief'. He's satisfied by this repetitive but calm life.

Johnny Deepend invested into an old gym and became sport coach. Between taxes and incomes, it isn't always easy but his easygoing, supportive and friendly natural attitude gets him a nice bunch of people following him and going to his gym. But on the side, he is also very engaged to ban competitions based on showing off the body, knowing way too well how destructive it is for the people, and actually even run conferences about that. He is determined.

Serpci has became a famous social media influencer and practically lives out of it (plus some beauty and fashion sideworks. She customize clothes.). Her Egyptian style, her beauty and aura and her pets snakes got her REALLY popular on any network- and leaves her targeted by many creeps of course, but her merciless way of dealing with them chicken them out (and actually is a way of outcome for her. Blackmail is powerful, but shhh.) She's militant for feminism, and against racism, cultural appropriation and above all, grave robbers (especially targeting archeologists). Remains of her pharaoh shenanigans, y'know.

Dr. Potter searched around and was taken under the wing of an association that fights to save true seeds (seeds that naturally grows back after harvesting and not having to be replaced each time like big corporations like to sell [as] 'necessary'.) He is trusted to keep and grow in number these true seeds, and in return he is taken care of, feed, and has his own house, garden and glasshouse. He is very happy.

The Triplets had to actually go to school for the first time in their lives, and if they managed to get to be adopted together (by one of the bosses, idk for this one), they had a very cynical bad surprise. They still perform during events, to show-off or at parties.

THAT is my human interpretation of Fishook. He lacks an arm and look as what white police arbitrarily view as the embodiment of ''''potential criminal''''; and now that he's human again, he's fucking pissed. As in -he freaking means business. By that I mean, he is entirely, body and soul, engaged to the whole 'Save Marine Life' cause. He raids awareness and direct missions, participates to everything and acts everywhere. Yeah, he works for the WWF. (He is also getting a bit of trouble about his cranky comportment.)

(Yeah, ship time. Why ? Because I can.)

Amadeus Wolfgeist and Clem turned into a couple representation of Tortured Artists ™. (I'll explain for Clem at some point in the future so it'd make sense, pinky swear.)

Amadeus Wolfgeist got his hair back (and I wasn't too sure of what colour to give it but heck it I'm satisfied), but was really pissed to learn that it's hard to make a carrier out of classical music nowadays. He yet decided to keep on it, determined as frick that he was to bring back the golden age, and became an independent compositor, freeing the stress generated from this work by private contract concerts. Despite his talent, he's struggling due to his dissuading stubbornness and is upset to not being able to afford his preferred nobile lifestyle. Clem has spawned up with an hyperactive syndrome, plus of his autistic condition, and is making the most money by having several jobs at the time. As a handyman/plumber, but also as a painter and visual artist, as he finally noticed how much interest and talent he had for that. He draws eyefooling artworks as a living, to situate. He kept his pet opossum and his emotional support duckies. Strangely enough, he hardly sleeps on his own impulse anymore.

They live together (for 'financial reasons' dixit Wolfgeist, y'knooow...) and complete and equilibrate each other. Clem is the one who -ironically- makes the most money, and deals with Amadeus's stress and irritation levels. Amadeus is Clem's impulse control, health, fashion, self-care and sleep schedule advisor.

Sometimes Clem seconds Amadeus on his banjo.

AND THEN, TO FINISH (because I literally, between other things, have no space left) we have Macfrights who tried to get hired at 'Puy du Fou' but got humiliated and turned off, and Phantasmagloria who tried to get hired as a DJ but nuts for several reasons. They both swallowed back their pride and ended up working at fast-foods. They both try as often as possible to play in Morty's movies. Macfrights likes to play the villain.

---

OKAY ! And that was about it for my headcanons about this ask. Very long post, I know but hey ! Dare I believe that it was worth it...?

Alright, thank you for your ask. That was a big one and I hope you are, too, satisfied and wish you a nice day :) .

Aaand thank you to everyone else for your attention 🎵 ! 🤗 Have a nice day~♥️

#lm3 #luigi mansion 3 #lm3 headcanons #lm3 steward #lm3 chef soulfflé #lm3 chambrea #lm3 morty #lm3 kruller #lm3 dr potter #lm3 triplets #lm3 serpci #lm3 dj phantasmagloria #lm3 clem #amadeus wolfgeist #clemadeus #lm3 king macfrights #lm3 captain fishook #lm3 johnny deepend #long post #answered ask

[uncloseted]

hi i have a question about beauty standards too, where do they even originate from? i feel like most people have their own preferences for what they are personally attracted to and it’s usually not very stringent and unrealistic, and i’ve also seen people who change their preferences based on what’s trendy so imo it doesn’t seem like standards originate from individuals but i don’t know so what do you think?

So, like I mentioned in my other post, I think there are really (at least) two different beauty standards that exist.  The first is what men find most physically attractive, and the other is the standard of beauty that women hold other women to.  Those sometimes overlap, but not always; the male-oriented Maxim’s Hottest List typically pick people like Kate Upton as the “sexiest woman”, while many female-oriented outlets opt for Bella Hadid instead.  Another distinction one could make would be “contemporary instagram beauty standards” vs “traditional runway beauty standards”, but that would make this a way longer post and it’s already wordy.

In terms of partner choice, who we’re attracted to in the “real world”, those are individual choices and impacted by other factors (chemistry, personality, proximity).  But on a cultural scale, we have beauty standards that are outside of our individual control and that we’re held to whether we like them or not.  We don’t generally think of ourselves as upholding cultural beauty norms, but if you’ve ever liked a picture of Kylie Jenner or learned to do cat eyeliner because it’s trendy, you’re engaging in it, too.

In terms of female physical attractiveness from the male perspective, the answer is relatively simple. Those beauty standards are hypothesized to have developed based on evolutionary indicators of fertility- basically, physical cues that suggest a woman will be able to have many healthy children.  These include everything from facial symmetry to waist to hip ratio to size and shape of breasts and butts to very specific, random things like thick, dark limbal rings in the eyes.

Female beauty standards for other women, or what we might think of as the larger “cultural beauty standard”, are a little bit more complicated in their nature.  These are generally indicators of status or culture; in some places, being overweight is seen as ideal because it means you have enough money to afford an abundance of food.  In the US, where food is very inexpensive but free time is at a premium, our beauty standards revolve around bodies that are expensive and time consuming to maintain.  We aestheticize a thin, toned body because it requires you to have enough time to cook at home, access to healthy ingredients, knowledge of nutrition (or a nutritionist), money for a gym membership and exercise classes, time to take those exercises classes, potentially money for cosmetic procedures and makeup items, etc.  

Culturally, beauty standards function as an easy way to distinguish one’s self from the “other”- whether the “other” is race, gender, sexuality, class, religion, etc. For the “other”, cultural beauty standards can be aspirational- if you can just crack the code of cultural beauty (and respectability politics), then maybe you, too, will be afforded the power that the majority has. 

In terms of how these beauty standards proliferate, it’s largely through the media and advertisement.  At any given time, a certain celebrity will have a body that is an aesthetic representation of our culture at large.  Marilyn Monroe, for example, or Twiggy, or Kate Moss, or the Kardashian/Jenners now.  In years where women are gaining more social standing, those beauty standards are less heteronormative- the flappers of the 20s, which coincided with the suffrage movement, or the mods of the 60s, which coincided with second wave feminism.  But as a backlash to those rights being acquired, the beauty ideals again become more heteronormative and stringent- for example, the Hollywood golden age of the 30s or the supermodels of the 80s.  In the words of Naomi Wolf in her book, The Beauty Myth, “the more legal and material hindrances women have broken through, the more strictly and heavily and cruelly images of female beauty have come to weigh upon us.”

That “look” that’s popular during any given time period then trickles down to us through TV, advertising, movies, magazines, and now, social media, until it’s the most prominent look in advertising and in high street stores, and until it’s all you see the people around you wearing/looking like.

This cycle is perpetuated and quickened by capitalism; the more frequently the beauty standard changes and the more varied features are needed to achieve it, the more products there are to sell.  More and more “problem parts” get created in order to create insecurities that will result in purchases. For example, I remember when “hip dips” first became a Thing that people were insecure about.  Before that, it was just a normal way that some hips looked- but all of a sudden, it was something you should be ashamed of, and coincidentally, all of a sudden there were tons of workout programs you could purchase, clothes that promised to hide them, and products that promised to make them go away.  I think the beauty standard is also becoming less realistic on purpose- if your standard includes features common in many different ethnicities, it’s more likely that the majority of consumers will need to buy at least one product to achieve that standard.

We live in an interesting contradiction right now.  On the one hand, at least vocally, we no longer have a beauty standard.  Everyone is beautiful!  You go, girl!  You do you!!  Embrace your imperfections, or don’t!  Whatever choice you make is EMPOWERING because it’s YOUR CHOICE, and there totally aren’t any cultural or social factors that are manipulating what that choice might be. But at the same time, the people who say that are frequently selling something- makeup, workout classes, clothes- that claim they’ll make you look just like your favorite influencer.  

More types of beauty as, in theory, becoming “acceptable”, but at the same time, more people seem to be looking like KarJenners than ever.  Although we claim to be embracing diversity, I think many companies are really just capitalizing on a trend by showing a few token minority models, and then going back to selling a homogenous standard of beauty that creates insecurities and makes them the most money.  Even then, those minority models generally must conform to standards of beauty in some other way- trans models Hari Nef and Hunter Schafer, for example, could pass as a cis tall, thin, blonde runway models.  2020 Model of the Year runner up Adut Akech is Sudanese, but she’s also cis, tall, and thin.  Ashley Graham is plus size, but she’s also cis, tall, proportionate, straight, and white.  Kendall Jenner can suffer from “debilitating” acne, because she’s cis, tall, white, thin, straight, and famous.  We’re giving the appearance of expanding our standards, but in many ways we’re still enforcing them.

I hope that kind of answers your question.  This is just my take on it, and it’s not really backed by a ton of academic study (although I did try really hard to find some), so feel free to disagree and tell me what you think.

#Anonymous #effys-closet #effys closet