#i’m feeling so vindicated today

[sugarcarnation]

dazai being worried about sigma is something that can actually be so personal

#literally. take that at everyone who was out there claiming dazai never cared about him and just left him to die #i’m feeling so vindicated today #TAKE THAT #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd spoilers #bsd manga spoilers #bsd dazai #bsd sigma

[stars4chratt]

Confections

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Warnings: pure smut / established relationship / softdom!matt / breeding kink / nipple play / mutual orgasms / cunnilingus / p in v / unprotected sex (do NOT) / creampie / FILTHY kitchen sex / LOTS of praise / pet names (baby, my love, sweetheart, good girl) / aftercare

Summary: The reader walks into her home after a prolonged and stressful day to Matt - her boyfriend - making baked goods in her kitchen. He welcomes her and gives her a taste of the delicious desserts. However, in return for the favour, Matt gets to taste her.

Author’s note: hiii guysss, i love you all for liking and enjoying Pins n’ Needles (there is a part 2 btw) After seeing the most recent Wednesday video, this made my fantasy grow even worse LMAOO. Also, leave a comment if you want to be added onto my taglist! Anyways, i hope you enjoy this one! From Maxine, with love ♡.

“Cause I’m all that you want, boy. All that you can have, boy. Got me spread like a buffet. Bon a– Bon appetit, baby.” - BON APPETIT, KATY PERRY

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Your shoulders ache and the migraine you have encapsulated in the back of your head feels like it’s going to split your skull in half.

People gave you a lot of shit at work today. Both coworkers and customers. Nagging and berating you and reiterating the same jaw clenching phrase that ‘the customer is always right.’

You close your eyes and let your chest fall as you sigh longly with relief after you arrive home.

The strong and pleasant scent of stiff caster sugar alongside a tangible hint of lemon citrus whiffs through your sinuses.

Ah, Matt’s baking again. You comprehend yourself.

You plop your keys on the marble countertop and set your bag down. The feeling of a thousand weights being lifted off of you as you remove accessory after accessory attached to you.

Peeking around the corner, you see Matt whisking dairy products mashed with madagascan vanilla extract whisked into butter cream. You peer down and see something resting in the oven at exactly 195 degrees celsius.

The peacefulness Matt baking brings you is heavenly. Just him concocting a sugary delight for the simple enjoyment of doing so can’t help but make your cheeks flush bright red and your core ache desperately.

The paternity your boyfriend holds within him orchestrating treats of chocolate frosting and yeasty dough makes you fall for him even more. Not only do his sweet delicacies taste amazing, but he also does it for pure comfort and vindication for you both.

Sometimes you wonder if he would enjoy baking for a family of three, maybe even four.

You sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He looks over his shoulder, he has a large piping bag in his grasp. A large grin appears on his face as he sneers. “Hi my love, how was work?”

You let out a fatigued sigh and your clasp around him tightens. “Not great, it was super stressful.”

He turns around to face you and pulls you in by your hips in an act of reassurance.

“Aww, my poor baby. What can I do to make you feel better? Hm?”

Matt’s words make the caterpillars in your stomach hatch into butterflies. You two have been dating for quite a while now and yet you still giggle and squeal like a small child whenever he asserts words of refreshment.

“There may be one thing I have in mind…” You whisper softly into his ear. After the distress of work and the mind blowingly stupid and egotistical customers you dealt with all day, you only wanted one thing that could ease your displeasure. For Matt to fuck your brains out.

As you were about to inform him about your dilemma, a soul-jumping alarm sitting on the table top starts dinging. Blaring across the entire kitchen. 

The migraine you’re suffering from induces even more, spreading through every crevice of your skull.

Matt notices the discomfort of the ear-splitting noise written all over your face and quickly shuts the alarm off.

“One second, sweetheart.” Abruptly, Matt grabs his teal blue oven mitts and crouches down to the oven to release the now strong scent of citric lemon flow through the room.

He takes out the tray and reveals to you that he had baked lemon drizzle cupcakes. Very tasty looking lemon drizzle cupcakes at that.

The glint in Matt’s eye along with his pearly whites framed with his smile presents his joy to you.

“Oh my god… They look delicious”

“Exactly, I’m a fantastic chef.”

“Damn right.” You both giggle together whilst Matt sets down the tray on a heatproof mat.

“What were you saying again, baby?” He twists back around to face you, letting you continue where you left off.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll leave it for after you finish off your cupcakes.” Matt’s eyes now glow with anticipation and curiosity.

“What you want won’t be an inconvenience for me at all, I can finish the cupcakes afterwards baby. I don’t wanna make you wait.” Matt crosses his arms patiently waiting for you to respond.

You gently stride over to him and lift your arms up to tug behind his neck over his shoulders.

“Matt..” You whisper softly into his ear. Trying to contain the burning sensation in between your legs. You really wanted to fuck. The intensity of today made you grow greedy with lust, and your boyfriend was the only person who could assist with that.

“Yes, baby?” He returns, completely oblivious to the pent-up arousal you’re experiencing.

You move one of your hands up the back of his head whilst the other tangles in the silver chain of his jewellery. 

You don’t say anything before you rapidly intertwine your lips with Matt’s. Your cravings of thirst for Matt’s touch starts to fester passionately.

He almost immediately reciprocates and swings his arms around your figure, your whole upper body in his grasp. You whine loudly at the sudden action as it makes your entrance leak and his touch makes you tingle like electricity shooting up your spine.

You advance your hands onto his chest and push him up against the wall beside the table top island stranded in the middle of the room.

The bulge throbbing slightly in his grey sweatpants presses against your core. Which makes you both gasp and sob into eachothers mouths.

“I’m so impatient, Matt. I need your dick now. Today has been so shitty and I really want it. Please, baby.” You choke up the words through the desperate whines thickening the air around you.

“Get on the counter then, sweetheart. Let me relieve all that stress for you.” Matt states delicately as he peppers kisses all over you up until he stops at your collarbone. He grips onto your shoulders as he forces you down on the counter until you're fully laying down with your legs spread wide.

“I don’t think we have any more condoms left.” Matt speaks softly whilst he towers over you. There’s a small worry in his pupils before you reassure him.

“Fuck it, we can go without. I need you so badly right now Matt, you don’t understand. Condom or not, I don’t care anymore. Just please fuck me.”

Your constant begging in impatience makes Matt’s prick pulse harshly. He rushes over on top of you to connect his lips with yours again.

The sloppy wetness of the kiss alongside his rock hard cock restricted in his sweats rubbed against your clothed heat has him writhing in a needy haze. His eyes go cloudy and his skin is painted ruby.

Matt viscously tugs at the hem of your work shirt pulling it upwards to reveal your laced bra. Your chest rising and falling heavily underneath Matt’s aggression.

He pulls down your underclothes instantaneously. Your tits spilling out and your nipples are swollen red.

“Oh, fuck yeah… Wait just one second sweetheart.” Matt leaves the enclosure of the space in between your legs but you can still see him in your peripheral. 

You look over to see him grab the piping bag. He races back over to the original position he was just in. His horse pendant jangling about and grazing over his defined collarbones.

“What’re you gonna do with the piping bag..?” You question him hesitantly, feeding your bottom lip into your mouth.

“You taste so good on my tongue baby. I bet you’d taste even better with cream on top of your tits. Hm?”

Matt’s filthy idea makes you tremble and your folds become velvety slick. Who would’ve thought that Matt, your boyfriend, a professional baker would want to fuck you as messily as this.

Matt leans over you and squeezes the piping bag slowly. The cream grazes your skin and the coldness of the substance makes you squirm and your back arches.

He moves the piping bag down and leaves a trail of sugary white down to just above your belly button.

His bottom lip fully concealed under his teeth in concentration before he sets the bag down and reels your hips in so the lower half of your body is hanging off the edge of the counter.

Matt then drops down to your height and starts to suck on your rock hard bud. Fully licking the cream off and nibbling at the centre, his mouth on your fully perched out nipples makes your entrance twitch and soak in your juices.

“You taste so fucking good, I’ve been wanting to do this to you for so long. You don’t understand.” Matt gasps between licks on your tit.

He moves his head up slightly to suckle and nibble on the flesh of your neck. Leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your skin. Making you whimper into the air of the kitchen.

He advances down the thick, sugary trail that stops at your belly button. Licking and consuming the cream off of your now hot and plush flesh.

After all of the cream is gone, Matt brushes against his lip with his tongue and grabs the bag again. 

He hastily undoes the button on your work jeans and rips them off your legs in keenness. He uses his thumb and index finger to push your matching lace panties to the side. Now fully unveiling your bare, bright pink pussy.

Matt repositions his hands and puts the nub of the piping bag on the very peak of your clit.

“Matt, what are you doing?” Your eyebrows furrowed and your breath is still heavy and uneven.

“I’m eating you my love, wasn’t it obvious?” Suddenly, you feel a thick and freezing cold liquid resting on your swollen heat. This kind of filth during intimate times like this really makes you think about what other kind of things Matt is into, and you fucking love it

He throws the bag back onto the counter and crouches down until his face is barely touching your pussy. He blows on your clit gently, making your entire body shiver.

His lips are just slightly touching your soaking wet entrance. Just as you thought he was going to eat you out right then and there, he turns his head to pay his full attention to your thighs. Kissing and sucking on them gently. Whilst his hands have their full grip on them, squeezing them in temptation at relishing at your throbbing core.

“Matt..” You whine in impatience. You were so desperate for him to just consume all of you. His tongue felt amazing on your skin. He knew all of your weak spots and he knew exactly how to take advantage of that.

“Shhh, I’m here. I promise.” He drawls out faintly, his breath brushing over you again.

Matt focuses on your dripping centre again, and gradually sticks his tongue inside your entrance.

His saliva mixing with your silky juices and the cream still laying on your clit makes your head tilt back and your eyes roll back into your skull.

Matt pulls out his tongue straight away after he notices you broke eye contact.

“No, sweetheart. Look at me. Look at me whilst I eat you out like a good girl.”

You whimper at Matt’s mixture of a command and a praise. You turn your head back down to see him staring up at you through his eyelashes with his tongue deep inside you.

He licks a stripe up your folds and fully swallows up the sugary goodness of both the cream and your juices. 

You could not stop trembling under his tongue circling around your throbbing clit. His nose resting slightly above with his irises still dilated onto yours. 

You can feel your body tensing as Matt’s mouth is latched onto your slippery heat.

“Matt.. I-I’m gonna…” You mumble faintly.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my mouth. Let me taste more of you.”

An overwhelming flush or euphoria strikes all through your body in waves. Your breath hitches and you grab onto Matt’s hair, making him hum into your heat.

Your chest rises and falls smoothly whilst coming down from your high and Matt slows the rhythm of his tongue down on your clit.

Suddenly he detaches his mouth from your skin and pulls his sweatpants down.

Matt’s dick comes sprawling out of his garments. The vein that runs down the middle of his length spikes outwards. The very sight of his cock is an aphrodisiac to your senses within itself.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you raw. I’ve never asked you because I didn’t think you’d like it.” His necklace glints under the artificial light beaming down on the both of you that hangs just above the counter.

“Matt, you really should’ve asked. Fuck a baby into me, fill me up with your cum. Forget about the fucking cream. I want yours.” You sigh out. Your core twitching at the sight of his taffy pink prick fully exposed practically grazing against you.

The gaze in Matt’s eyes is full to the brim with hot pink lust. He’s practically drooling in admiration at how fuckable you look right now.

He grips onto your thighs again and presses his tip against your slippery entrance. He hisses at the overwhelming thrill of the feeling of your drenched folds.

Matt pushes his length inside of you at a sluggish pace, almost like he’s teasing you by going slow in the beginning.

Your spongy, slick walls squeeze down on his cock and it makes it pulse inside you. He whimpers on top of you while he sits inside of you in and out stagantly.

“Fuck…you’re so tight sweetheart.” Matt stutters, the utmost feeling of your pussy clenched around his dick is like heaven to him. Your breathless whines and moans are like harmonic symphonies ringing and humming in his ears. His visual stimuli are more than satisfactory from your tender and curvaceous figure that he has held in his hands at this very moment.

Matt’s pace starts to quicken and becomes more rapid inside you. Every single time he rams into you, he slightly grazes that sweet spot that drives you absolutely fucking insane. It’s like his cock was made for you. “I want to fuck you so good your pussy turns into the shape of my dick baby. It’s so perfect. I can’t wait to fuck my cum into you.”

“Please do it Matt… cum inside me.” His dick is slightly bulging out of your stomach. He sees this as an opportunity to use his two fingers and press on your abdomen slightly. “This is where my babies are gonna be, sweetheart. All for you. Taking it all like such a good girl.” He huffs out smugly.

The sound of your skin clapping and beating against each other every single time he pounds his dick into you and his waist clashes into your thighs and ass cheeks almost hypnotises you. “M-Matt… I’m gonna cum again…”

“Fuck… me too baby. I’m s-so close..” The rhythm of Matt fucking his cock into you starts to slow down and you can feel his lower body start to stutter and his member pulses thickly inside of you.

“Oh f-fuck… take all of my cum sweetheart…I’m gonna cum…c-cumming…” His arms give in and he loses all balance as he feeds his cum into your hole. His and your juices swirl and mix together inside you.

Suddenly, your stomach starts to feel warm. The feeling of Matt’s hot and thick load spilling inside all the way through your cervix pulls and twists at your neurons, especially alongside your soul-shattering orgasm Matt just gave you.

He drops his whole weight on you completely and hides his head in the crook of your neck. His heavy breath brushes on your skin while his prick still rests inside you, you can’t tell if he’s too tired to take it out or he wants all of his cum to stay inside.

Either way you both savour the moment while you lay still on top of each other. Catching your breath and coming down from your second high.

Matt raises his head up and reaches out for the cloth laying next to the piping bag. He balls it up and wipes at the skin with small spots of butter cream from earlier.

“I wasn’t too rough on you this time, was I?” He enquires. He looks down on you, still swiping away the white mess all over you.

“No, of course not baby. I loved it.” You respond, giggling exhaustedly. “We should do this again, sometime.”

“I’d love to, sweetheart.” Matt smiles before pecking your cheek and rests his head on your collarbone once more.

“A-are you still inside me?” 

“Pfft, yeah.” 

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

Author’s Note No.2: MY GOD THIS WAS ANNOYING TO WRITE. Sorry for the slight delay, I was incredibly tired and fell asleep and I got preoccupied with school. Anyways. Again, thank you so much for enjoying Pins n’ Needles. I WILL be making a part 2 very soon! :)

༝༚༝༚, Maxine.

Taglist: @gamermattsgf @luverboychris @worldlxvlys @chrissystur @chaosisalwayscrying @bellasfavbisexual

#matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #smut #matt sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo

[go-see-a-starwar]

Christensen opened up on his time in the galaxy far, far away. “It’s been a remarkable experience. And just a very heartwarming one,” he tells Empire. “The journey that I’ve been on with Star Wars over the last 20 plus years... it’s been a wild ride, and where we’re at now is really meaningful to me.” While the backlash against the prequels was difficult to take, he’s pleased to see how beloved all three films are today. “I think that those movies have held up well over time,” he says. “It feels like vindication for the work that we did. Everyone that worked on those movies thought that we were part of something special. We all wanted to do our very best work, and we cared a lot about it. And so to see the response from the fans now, it’s very cool.” That response includes excitement from younger fans – who are always thrilled to meet the man who… well, murdered all the Jedi younglings in Revenge Of The Sith. “There was a lot of talk about us doing that scene, and I love that George did it. It was a bold move. And it’s shocking,” the actor says. “Kids seem to forget about that scene when they meet me! There’s not any fear or intimidation. They’re just excited to meet Anakin.” Having ridden out the stormy reception to the prequels – and returned to the Star Wars galaxy in recent years for appearances in Obi-Wan Kenobi and Ahsoka – Christensen reflected on the advice that he would give to his younger self before stepping into Attack Of The Clones. “Even though I was a bit overwhelmed, I was also a confident young man, and I wanted to make my mark. But I guess if I were to have some advice for me during that general time in my life, it would be: ‘Patience’,” he decides. “Because my journey with the character and with Star Wars has at times been a bumpy one... but I’m in a good place with it now. And so that’s why I say patience.” In 2024, there’s undoubtedly balance to the Force.

Excerpt of Hayden Christensen’s interview with Empire Magazine for its Prequels’ 25th Anniversary special issue

#oh my lord (Vader) #the fact that the mag is called empire is just *chef’s kiss* #hayden christensen #give hayden a vader series #anakin skywalker #darth vader #empire magazine #interviews #prequels #photoshoots

[devilmademewriteit]

Drabble request for dbf!joel getting blown under the table or something while he's having a convo with reader's dad?!?! IDK I just love your dbf!joel!!

You Can Be the Boss

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

warnings: rough oral (m receiving); petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart); age gap; choking; hair pulling; (yall this is pure pure daddy issues FILTH, I warned you. I warned you hard).

Hi y’all ty for sending me all ur requests. ummm you guys are insane ! and so am I ! maybe more because I’m actually the one writing these ! this one is so dirty ! don’t say I didn’t warn you !

more to come hehehe. I don’t tag ppl for my smaller drabbles / fics so turn on notifs or whatevs ;)

-em<3

—

“As close as I’ll get to the darkness, he tells me to, ‘Shut up, I got this.’”

- You Can Be the Boss

—

It was still a secret, after all.

Sneaking into his apartment, late nights in alleys, abandoned cars lining the streets of the QZ… you’d managed to keep your joint intoxication with one another under wraps.

Today… today was risky. You usually waited until the wee hours of the morning to even walk by his place, let alone enter, but you’d needed to drop off a sweater that Tess had leant you the previous week, intending to leave it folded up on the doormat before bolting down the hall. Your footsteps were nervous and heavy, which led to the door swinging wide open on its hinges, a gruff “where you runnin’ off to, Angel?” and a set of rough hands pulling you through the doorway.

Then you were spread open against the tattered table cloth of his (busy) kitchen table, underwear shoved to the side, watching a hunched over Joel Fucking Miller spit on his hand and run it up down his heavy, hard length.

“Shouldn’t come here during the day,” as he’d lined himself up, “Can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

That’s when you heard the definite sound of a key twisting inside a lock. Joel’s head shot up — your eyes barely had time to widen before he was shoving you under the table, panties still twisted around your ankles.

A quick zip, then footsteps.

“Oh, sorry man—”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“—Tess said you wouldn’t be home.”

It’s your father.

You thank God for your his poor observation skills (and the tablecloth) as Joel responds, “ah, no worries,” frustratingly non-chalant as ever.

“While you’re here though,” and your heart sinks, identifying your dad’s intention to stay, “Was wondering if we could go over the plans for our new routes. FEDRA assholes blocked off another south-east one today.”

Your blood turns to ice inside your veins as both men pull out their chairs, settling into a purely-business conversation. Joel barely hesitates, cool as ice.

Not fair that he gets to be so calm while you’re so… not.

Not fair.

If only there was a way to even out the playing field.

Crunched into yourself, you scoot closer to Joel’s calves, clinging onto his denim and doing your best to make as little noise as possible. When it’s clear, however, that your father’s far too invested in the practicalities of the conversation to suspect or inquire into or even notice anything else, your eyes wander towards the slowly softening bulge, still visible underneath Joel’s belt.

And you get an idea.

The man always tortured you, and you were well aware that what made your arrangement especially enticing — for the both of you — was the taboo-ness, the wrongness of it all.

So your pussy drips just thinking about it.

Slowly, delicately, you slide your hands up Joel’s thighs, feeling his every muscle respond, tensing, turning to stone, or jolting with electricity beneath your playful touches.

It’s hard, quietly pulling down his fly. Still, metal tooth by metal tooth, you eventually succeed, unable to hold back a smile of vindication when his cock springs up, swelling and hardening between your fingertips. Joel covers his choke with a cough.

Just as you duck down to lick a fat stripe up his cock’s dark underside, noticing how the lungs above you constrict — freezing — the conversation changes.

“You been seeing a lot of my daughter?”

Joel takes an uncharacteristically long time to grunt out a “here n’ there.”

You hold in a laugh, both at your dad’s timely question and the reaction it causes. Placing a hand at the base of him, you consider this the perfect moment to start teasing his tip with patient, innocent little kitten-licks.

“Been acting weird,” your old man continues, unphased and unassuming, “Worried she’s been gettin’ herself into trouble.”

Trouble? You’re looking at him.

Your dad’s whole “fatherly concern” (not like he’d ever shown any before) angle makes you bold. You want to make it harder for Joel to deny your father’s suspicion.

You want to make him lie through his teeth.

You part your lips, wrapping them adoringly around the entire head of his cock before gliding down, using your hand to assist you as you please every inch of him.

While he mostly manages to keep it together, his legs don’t, gently parting with desire to allow you better access.

“She-she’s a good girl, man,” Joel manages, and while his delivery borders a groan, he stays surprisingly level (your body doesn’t forget to note his praise, either, aching cunt growing wetter and wetter at his every word). “‘Bit juvenile sometimes, and reckless—” he pauses, and it’s very clear he’s not speaking to your father, “—but good—” you work every inch of him with your hands, throat, and mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges and veins, the taste of his salt on your tastebuds, “—so good.”

You freeze, scanning the room for tension as both you and Joel try to figure out if his desire-stricken tone’s given you away.

It hasn’t.

Of course it hasn’t.

Your dad continues on as if everything were normal, as if Joel’s tip wasn’t kissing the back of your throat. “Just not sure if I’m raising her right—or… or if I was much of a father at all.”

Yeah, probably not. You know, given that I’m under the table sucking your best friend’s dick.

You watch, head still slowly bobbing up and down his length, a hand carving a careful path down his leg. Joel’s fingertips breach your shoulder, his palm slowly graduates to cupping the back of your head.

And he shoves you forward, forcing every punishing inch of himself down your little, gasping throat.

“Just needs a little discipline,” your torturer responds, raising his gravelly voice to mask the definite sound of choking.

“A heavy hand.”

You huff against his abdomen. Just like that, Joel’s taken the reins of your little operation.

Like he always did. Like he always does.

“You’re probably right,” your father responds, sighing with concession. Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes while your lungs burn for oxygen, mouth stuffed and nose pressed into Joel’s skin. He chuckles, slapping the table. “Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile, huh?”

“That’s right,” Joel responds, a soft coo, tightening his grasp in your hair and somehow forcing more of himself between your lips.

Making his point.

You hold back a whimper, nails hopelessly clawing at his jeans.

Your dad raps his knuckles against the wood, pushing his chair back to leave. Unfortunately for you, Joel doesn’t move, holding you there like a prisoner — suffocating you.

He clears his throat. “I’d walk you out, but, you know—” your eyelids grow heavy, little stars beginning to dance in your vision “—been goin’ hard recently. Wearin’ myself out.”

A huff of understanding and concurrence from the other side of the room.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, hinges squeak, goodbyes are uttered, and your father’s left you alone with his buddy again.

Joel’s chair scrapes back — he pulls you along with him, attached to him, out from underneath the table.

Finally, finally, he releases his grasp.

You jump off of him, strings of saliva trailing from your lips, gasping for air as if you were seconds from drowning.

You aim to collapse against his knees, but he quickly grabs you by the throat, presses his big thumb under your chin, and forces your wet, tear-lined eyes up to meet his.

They’re filled with a lust so dark, you wonder if just that look might swallow you whole.

“Prouda yourself?” He speaks, voice low.

Dangerous.

And you just smile, dazed, nodding. Nodding because you know where it’ll get you. Nodding because you just know how much it’ll entice him.

“‘Course you are,” he continues, softer, “Shoulda been honest — shoulda told your old man he raised a fuckin’ slut.”

Joel lifts you up, indelicately shoving you down on the table, right back in the position you’d originally started the visit in.

His eyes darken to black when he sees how wet you are, how fucked-out, needy, and unapologetic you are.

“And you know what, baby?” A deceiving coo as he lines himself up at your entrance, using his other hand to squeeze your jaw — tight.

You look at him with big, begging doe eyes, eyebrows already knitting together from the tantalizing contact.

“I’m really fuckin’ glad he did.”

And as Joel Miller roughly sheathes his cock inside your young, tight cunt, you find yourself agreeing with him.

—

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #tlou #request for em’s answering machine: answered<3

[bombuni]

Hiii dear I’ve just found your blog today and Cant help but loving it!!!!

If it’s ok with you can you do a cat-hybrid San who is very needy (and a bit Dom) with the reader cuz he waited long hours at home for reader to get back from her job and he is also jealous

contains: kitty!san x reader, jealous san, dry humping, coming in pants lol

minors dni

It's day 6 of no you doting on him. Yes, San’s keeping track. 6 days of you working over-time and 6 days of neglect. Usually, he’s patient and well-behaved for you, but you seem to have taken his kindness for granted.

Especially now that you arrive every day talking about your newest coworker, the one who’s got you all starry-eyed and fluttering with excitement. Every time you open your mouth there’s no doubt that the name ‘Seonghwa’ will leave your mouth at least once. San thought he was just like a shiny new toy for you at first, but now you return every day with a smile and a ‘Seonghwa said the funniest thing today…’

He huffs to himself at the thought, his black tail swishing in annoyance behind him. A part of him is frustrated with himself for being so possessive, but the stronger part of him thinks of your smile and remembers all the reasons why he’s so possessive. Because you’re a precious thing he needs keep to himself.

How could you so easily forget such a simple rule? Or were you doing this on purpose? Teasing him, making him desperate and needy for you and waiting to see how long it’d take him to break? His face scrunches. No, not at all. He’ll show you what happens when you forget who holds the leash.

When you enter your apartment with the giddiness of seeing San overflowing, it ends when he’s nowhere to be found. You check all of his usual napping spots; by the kitchen window, the couch, and his bed. Your face twists in confusion, an uneasy feeling growing in your gut the more time you go without San. You pull your phone out of your pocket and immediately find ‘sannieboy’ in your phone.

Before you can press the bright green call button, although, you feel his big arms tighten around your figure. He traps you against his muscular body and if the amount of force he’s using is anything to go by, he’s planning to keep you to himself for a long while. Figures, that he’s ready to never let you go.

“You scared me, Sannie,” His breath tickles your neck as he kisses a trail from your jawbone down to your shoulder. He’d told himself he was ready for vindication the moment you entered the apartment, but your scent alone has him folding. His hand runs under your shirt and up your back, the texture of your warm skin soothing him like you’re his medication.

You can already tell somethings up by the way he mouths at you. Like your skin is the first taste of otherworldly nectar, every time. “You made me wait,” You assume San means it in an innocent way, “Oh, Sannie baby, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy at work, but I can spend time with you now!”

San squeezes you harder, stopping your attempt to turn around in his arms. “You-“ he pushes you up against the wall, pinning you between the white surface and his burly chest. His chest is heaving and you can feel his tail wrap around your calf, as if to hold you in place. His hips gyrate against yours and now his neediness is in a completely different context, “Made me wait.”

He uses your body like it’s his to play with, grinding his hips onto you senselessly and huffing in your ear at the friction. Hands roam your body, exploring all the parts he knows already. He pushes and pulls on you, in the way he knows you like, just so you can get a taste of the desperation he’s been feeling. His dick rubs between your panties, soaking them and making you just as needy as him now. You stumble through your words, “S-sannie, if I’d known you were in heat, I would’ve-“

His mewl cuts you off before you feel him press himself harder against you. That familiar heat boils inside of you now, the feeling all-consuming.

He shows no signs of stopping, his hips thrusting frantically to chase the sweet release he’s been craving for 6 days.

His voice comes out breathy as he keeps grinding against you, “J-just missed you so much,” He tries to bring you closer, like pressing you right up against himself isn’t enough. When that doesn’t work his hand comes to your front to pull you flush against him, ass directly on his stiff member.

San controls your movements, holding on to you tight as he forgets his strength the closer the he gets to his orgasm. He gives one final thrust, a groan coming out from deep in his body. You can feel his wet pants now, his shaking body, and harsh pants against your ear. You give him a moment to compose himself, his tail loosening it’s hold on your calf.

He’s embarrassed, humiliated with his cum-stained pants, that he couldn’t even wait to undress you. He was just too swept up in the feeling of you that half of him didn’t realize. San only needs you to get rid of the aching burn inside him, and nothing more.

You scratch at his fluffy ears as he catches his breath behind you, “Missed you too.”

San lifts his head to squint at you, “Mm…I’m sure ‘Seonghwa’ was keeping you company.”

You bite your tongue for a minute before deciding against it, “He did, but I missed my Sannie more.”

You smile innocently up at him, his twitching ears and swishing tail a surefire sign that your comment got under his skin. He’s too easy to tease. His eyebrows furrow and wiggle, like he’s trying to force his expression back to normal so you can’t see how annoyed he is by your teasing. You both know the truth.

He tilts his head, “Did he? Keep you company?”

The look on your face frustrates him, but he can’t look away. You frustrate him, but he likes the game you play. Taming and chasing you time and time again, as if you don’t come home to him everyday. He’ll keep playing with you.

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #ateez oneshot #ateez smut #choi san #san x reader #san smut

[bloodywickedvamp]

Two's Company - What The Hell Is Six? Part 2

Poly!Lost Boys x GN Reader x Michael

Series Masterlist

Summary: Michael and Reader continue their argument off the boardwalk for some privacy. Michael tries his best to explain, but it’s Michael so you can imagine how well that goes. Interrupting vampires say wha-?

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: angst, arguments, cursing, lil rough grabbing of reader, blatant disregard/disrespect for readers own opinions (looking at you marko), vampires and their isms.

Hello all! I'd like to start by saying thank you so so SO much for all the love and support I received on part 1. I truly was not expecting that and it warmed my heart and made me so happy to know you enjoyed it! I love you all and hope you like part 2!!

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Our? I barely had time to register or retort back at the presumptuous claim before Michael grabbed my hand and stormed off to the beach, steam basically pouring out of his ears.

“Michael slow down, you’re going to rip my arm out of its socket!” I screeched trying to gain his attention, to no avail. He just kept speed walking his way down the stairs of the boardwalk till our feet hit the sand, his pace nearly causing me to stumble.

He made a hard right and pulled us both underneath the boardwalk. Now far from the people above and the drunken beach goers littered around campfires producing noisy chatter and blasting music. We’re shrouded in almost complete darkness with the faint lights from the busy stalls and flashy rides peaking through the wooden slats high up.

The tension in the air still lingers from before. To his credit, he does try to calm the heaviness we’re both feeling, albeit for different reasons, as he stops walking to face me and rubs his hands up and down my arms. It’s nice, reassuring even. But I won��t let it deter me. I won’t fall for those deep brown eyes that can suck you in so easily with a simple look and a slight tilt of the head that make him seem remarkably innocent and angelic. Like anything he does couldn’t possibly be from any fault of his own. No matter how much I want to give in and let any number of the excuses he’s already fed me slip past his lips and wrap my mind in a warm blanket of faux vindication.

I can’t, I won’t. My mind slips back to the look of sorrow on Lucy’s face earlier today. The fear I saw as the first few tears pricked her eyes before being pooled together with the back of her palm, an attempt to recollect her fading front of the strong, single mother she was recently thrust into. The utter confusion of what was happening to her eldest child paired with the obvious frustration of helplessness she exuded while I grabbed her shaking palms in encouragement and solidarity. Silently telling her she wasn’t alone, we would be navigating through unknown territory together. Vowing to come out the other side unscathed and bring our former Michael back with us.

I won’t fold or be persuaded by pretty words and empty promises of ‘I’ll do better’ or ‘I’m not acting different, the move has us all stressed out that’s all it is’ and one of the more recent, harsher comments like ‘I’m too busy to talk right now and I can’t deal with this, geez, cool it with the paranoia’.

I’m pulled back to the present when he finally starts talking. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” as I’m pulled a little closer, strong calloused hands still soothing my upper arms. Chest rising and falling as he takes in the air around us in deep breaths. A look of calm starts to encompass his visage, like one would do after smelling their favorite scent for the first time in a long time.

“So you’ve said.” I can’t help but throw a little more lip his way.

“You weren’t paranoid when you tried to call me out all those times. I’ve been a complete ass to everyone- to you.” He admits more willingly than before. I finally see a sliver of truth after weeks of the exact opposite. “Something happened to me…something I’m still trying to figure out. I couldn’t tell you, I didn’t want to, I was scared you’d be in danger. Of what they might do if you knew.” His eyes speak volumes over the vagueness of his speech. The same fear so recently shown to me mere hours ago is mirrored within his own.

Reaching out to cup his check in my palm, I implore him to continue. Beg him to fully tear down the wall hiding the truth, after the initial crack in its foundation. “Michael, whatever it is, whatever you got yourself into - let me help you. We’ll figure it out together, like we always do.” Affection passes through the heady mix of emotions swirling around his face as he leans into my touch. Showing that’s all he needed to hear from me he shuts his eyes for a second and nods his head yes, signaling to the both of us that he’s ready. Ready to let me in once more, ready for my reaction, ready to let me help him, ready to obliterate that damned wall he’ll never have to put up again.

“Those guys from the boardwalk, they’re not normal. The first time we hung out they brought me back to their place, a cave at Hudson's Bluff. The whole time going back and forth between fucking with me and making me feel like I could be one of them, like I belonged. After a while they offered me wine, told me to drink and I actually would be one of them. It’s like they were offering me something no one else could. So I did and ever since then I…” He exhausts, pausing for just a moment to squeeze his hands on my arm and hip grounding himself.

“Baby.” whining slightly before continuing. “It wasn’t wine that they gave me…it was blood, David’s blood. They’re vampires and they turned me into one. Told me I’m only a half and to complete the transition I have to make my first kill.”

I’m unmoving, shocked at the words revealed to me with a sigh from his lips and the weight lifted from his shoulders. There’s really only one thing I can think to say though.

“How fucking stupid do you think I am?” I quickly admonish him, a look of worry in response to my vehemence as he realizes I didn’t believe his tall tale. After thinking I finally got through to him I can’t believe he’d try to pull something so unbelievably stupid as this. I’m half expecting him to start laughing and saying ‘got you babe’ like i’m just some big joke to him.

“I’m telling the truth I swear on everyth-”

“No Michael I’ve had it I’m so done!” I scream in his face trying to rip myself from his grip, but he doesn’t let up. His hold only grew tighter in a panic to keep me still. “Let.Me.Go. Now.” I try again pulling and thrashing but it’s like he’s suddenly gained the strength of a hundred men and I can’t seem to move either of us to get away.

He suddenly grabs my face forcing me to look at him and whispers with all sincerity “I didn’t want to do this, I’m so sorry but you have to believe me. Please don’t be scared.” Faster than my brain can comprehend, he shifts. His face morphs into something I’ve only ever seen in movies or the occasional nightmare. The bones within his face move beneath the skin, forehead protruding past its normal position as his eyebrows are suddenly gone from sight, glowing yellow eyes stare back into my own, long and sharp looking fangs poke out just over his bottom lip begging to pierce through skin.

“Oh my god” is all I can seem to whimper out from what I just witnessed. How is this possible? This can’t be real. Suddenly very aware of myself I freeze in his hold, breathing no longer a concept I’m familiar with. That’s when he bolts into action as he hears my heart pounding within my restricted torso.

“It’s okay please please don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you I’d never ever hurt you my love.” Michael professes as he slightly releases the hold around my waist with one arm and completely lets go of my face only to slide down towards the middle of my back with the other.

Before a response can be given by either of us, we’re no longer alone. Peaking over Michael’s shoulder, just behind him stands the four boys from before staring, if it weren’t for the cherry red glow of the end of a cigarette I probably wouldn’t have seen them. Michael bristles though, like he knows they’re there without having heard or turned around to see, maybe he somehow does know. As if he can sense things in a way I can’t or anyone else for that matter.

“Michaelllll” David tauntingly says. Finishing off the cigarette before he flicks it from his grasp landing with a silent thud somewhere in the sand, smirking towards our entangled form. “You’re not speaking ill of me and my boys are you?” He goads through that final puff of smoke. With all eyes on me, now knowing what they are, what they did to my Michael, a wave of dizziness rolls over my body and I’m forced to release the air I've been holding in so as to not pass out. 

“Let’s not start throwing out accusations, you willingly drank, accepted our offer. Pointing fingers doesn’t change that. Trying to make us look like the bad guys to keep them away? It won’t work. You’ll have to learn how to share, like a good boy.” 

With a deep grunt of frustration from the boy in front of me, my back is suddenly pushed into a wooden pillar, not enough to hurt but still able to pull a gasp from deep within my chest.

“They’re MINE!” Michael seethed at the four. His large hands held on either side of my head taking in deep pants from my neck. Still behind Michael but now closer than they were before the rest of them seem to go a bit rigid. The tallest of them continues to walk further towards us, an unreadable expression plastered on his face that I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of, yet it seems to be glued on the looming figure above my own and in turn me.

“Dwayne” David stops him in his tracks just before he can reach out and touch. “Don’t worry, Michael won’t hurt them, at least not on purpose or on our watch. He’s freshly turned so even the bond between mates can’t overpower that insatiable need to hunt, to feed that we all have at the beginning if provoked far enough that is. Which is why it’d be in your best interest to stick with us Michael. You’ll need to learn how to control your urges, with a little time and a healthy diet you’ll be just like us.” He clarified, more so for Michaels and my own benefit rather than any of theirs it seems.

I glanced their way, still wanting any information they’d be willing to provide. I’m only able to stutter out “M-Mates?” I see varying degrees of smirks and giddy smiles from them at my sudden curiosity. 

Dwayne speaks up first as his attention turns solely onto me with a much softer look than before. “Vampires have mates, they're like soulmates. People destined to be together, mind, body, and soul. They fully complete each other.” Almost cooing the new information my way. 

“Alright cheeseball, way to lay it on thick.” Paul piped up with a laugh towards the boy as he walked over to sling his arm around his shoulders. Tacking on “but it’s true” throwing a wink and a few eyebrow waggles suggestively. 

“Michael is your mate.” David affirmed before Marko readily finished “and you're ours.” Gloved thumb shoved between his teeth covering a sly smirk on that contrasting angelic face he adorns. 

Fluttering my gaze back to the boy in front of me, I see his features have gone back to normal. No more teeth or glowing eyes from him. Sharing a confused look I realize he’s also been left in the dark on all of this as well. 

Michael turns around to face the group for the first time since the initial intrusion. Chest puffed up and eyes blazing into David, “No.” is all that falls flatly from him.

David lifts a single brow in retort. “You can’t argue with fate Michael. You may not like it but there’s nothing you can do about it and now that we’ve all had the pleasure of meeting we aren’t letting them go.” 

“You aren’t letting me go?” my voice dripping with sarcasm and incredulity while mimicking his previous words back to him. 

Regaining all the confidence I had from earlier I feel annoyance and anger start to bubble up inside. I still have no idea who these guys really are, besides their names and the fact that they’re actual, literal, real-life vampires! They have no right to make demands of Michael or I. No ground to stand on in my book - no matter the ‘supernatural claim’ they apparently have over me. Fuck this, fuck all of this. 

“Does anybody care what I think?” the words tumble from my mouth with a scoff of disbelief. I step out from behind Michaels protective guard towards his left side so I can see them all clearly. Not hiding the disdain I feel towards the situation - towards them. Unwavering defiance on full display while crossing my arms over my chest. “Since you’re talking about me like I’m not even here and don’t have a say in what happens, I thought I’d ask.” Glancing around for their reactions. Dwayne sort of cringing as the words resonate with him. Realizing how this all must sound from my perspective. Paul shooting looks at the others like he’s silently asking any one of them to ‘speak the fuck up - I got nothing’. David, still as calm as he has been the entire time, doesn't let on to what he’s thinking, just a small held tilt while holding my gaze like he’s studying me.

“Course we care sweetheart.” Marko says honestly, though not seeming all that apologetic. “Though let’s be real, we can keep up the back and forth all night long, but at the end of the day the outcome’s still the same. You belong to us, all of us…including Michael.” Emphasizing his name with an exaggerated eye roll.

“I don’t belong to anyone.” protested through gritted teeth. 

“Sorry to burst your bubble but you do.” He counters back. His fingerless gloved hands starting to get a little twitchy.

“I’m with Michael by choice, not because he claimed me as some prize or declared some weird, forced...vampy ownership over me.” Finding myself getting twitchy as we both refused to give in.

Marko's eyes quickly flash that same vibrant yellow as Michaels. But they’re gone just as suddenly. He clearly isn’t used to not getting what he wants.

Michael sticks his arm out in front of me as a barrier between the curly haired blonde and I. David fixes him with a look I can only assume is a warning to stand down.

David resumes the reigns by steering the conversation himself. “I would have worded it differently, but Marko is essentially right. We don’t want to force you into anything, so give us a chance to prove ourselves.”

Michael answers before I can with a quick “prove yourselves? what’s that supposed to mean?” My thoughts exactly. I take hold of the arm he’s outstretched and intertwine our fingers, with a small squeeze for comfort.

Ever the quick thinker, so I’m learning, I can briefly see the gears turning in Davids mind on how to ease the atmosphere and remedy the small tiff Marko brought on, before he’s already producing a solution like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Let us take you on a…date. Get to know us without all the hearsay.”

For what seems like the thousandth time this evening Michael and I are shocked by the response. And then my brain starts jumping from one idea to the next at a million miles an hour. Thinking, analyzing, cursing over all that’s happened since I initially stepped foot on the boardwalk and up until this very moment.

I’ve never been the type of person to back down when it comes to the one’s I care about most. I would do whatever it takes, throw caution to the wind and deal with the repercussions later if it meant I could alleviate how devastating the world can make us feel sometimes.

Without fully contemplating the gravity of the situation and, regretfully, without the chance to discuss it first with Michael, I can’t seem to bite my tongue before the answer comes seemingly out of nowhere.

“Okay…I’ll do it.”

🖤 Taglist 🖤

@britany1997 @faefairi3 @princessmads1820 @1nternetvampire @itsyoboysparkel @nataliewalker93 @thelostone91 @misslavenderlady @ursatanicbunny @warrior-616 @charlizekkelly @ghoulgeousimmaculate @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @the-faceless-bride @wickedsandwich08

#bloodywickedvamp #the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #michael emerson #michael emerson x reader #poly lost boys x reader #poly!lost boys x reader #tlb 1987 #lost boys x gn reader #david tlb #paul tlb #dwayne tlb #marko tlb #michael tlb #michael emerson x gn reader #x gn reader #the lost boys x gn reader

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟏   ❛ 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 ❜   |   VARIOUS LOCATIONS AND YEARS

❧  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ The queen’s voice broke as she talked. Staring into the camera, she willed the tears to stay. Her eyes grew glassy, and the small audience before her—palace staffers and journalists, a mixed array of stone faces and quivering lips—blurred into a white haze. The decision to speak had come early in the morning as she sat alone in bed. The windows and doors were thrown open, and she stared at the moon until she could see the rabbits dancing upon its surface. Her hair was gone by then, wrapped in a bundle to accompany her daughter into the first of her graves. With one hand, Beatriz felt her scalp, with its hair shorter now than even on the day she was born. Mothering had never come easy to her. Neither her children nor her subjects received her love in full, or the way they desired it, or when they needed it. She had tried her hardest for Sayfa, of which she made no secret. Still, because she could not trust herself to have shown it, she also could not trust that her daughter had known.

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

❧ woo, finally ! mixed feelings, but the important part is that it's done. my favorite part is the rowena guest appearance, personally :^)

TRANSCRIPT:

[RV] Good morning. I’m Inti Rivera. Today, the nation prepares for the funeral of Princess Safya. This daytime in memoriam edition of UBC Nightly News will be followed by live coverage of the procession.

[RV V.O.] Princess Safya was born in 1950 to the recently crowned Queen Beatriz and her second husband, Matias Villar. With the preference for male heirs ended, the princess was presumed to be a future queen.

[RV V.O.] The Queen elected to reveal her daughter’s name at the annual naming festival in Yaas. She was the first royal infant in two generations to participate. Princess Safya would later do the same with all three of her own children.

[RV V.O.] Although she was her mother’s heir and began accompanying the queen on business early, the princess was also close with her father. Commentators regularly noted their similar personalities and interests, as did Queen Beatriz herself.

[RV V.O.] Mother Rowena, formerly queen, returned to public life following Princess Safya’s birth. The princess shared her first patronage with her grandmother, and the pair became the most popular royals. [I] Can you tell us where you were today, my princess? [S] We visited an orphanage. The children are less fortunate, so we take care of them. I’m happy to say that is my responsibility now.

[I] How did the princess do today, Mother Rowena? [R] I don’t know how she can stand upright with a heart of gold! She’s full of empathy, this little girl, for others. She’ll be a servant her whole life, just like her grandfather. I envy everyone who’ll live to see it. [S] {Gasps.}

[RV V.O.] In the eyes of many, Princess Safya ceased to be a little girl when she announced her engagement in 1968 to Rodrigo Dardarich. The news excited the public but was not without controversy. [S] Some will say this is quick. We accept that. It is. However, it’s also true what they say: when you know, you know.

[RV V.O.] The Princess married in 1969. In a first, the family shared behind-the-scenes photographs of preparation for the ceremonies. Her new husband, in another break from tradition, would not share Safya’s titles. The princess penned a letter to the public for the occasion, calling her marriage, quote, “the first true act of my own, my first real decision.”

[RV V.O.] Critics who expressed suspicion of the relationship were vindicated soon enough. The princess and Lord Rodrigo became a favorite subject of photographers. The most skilled captured public arguments on multiple occasions throughout the years. These photos proved lucrative as interest in the couple and their life together continued to grow.

[RV V.O.] In 1975, the Office of the Crown Princess issued a formal statement refuting an “investigation” published by Concordia that year. The paper alleged impending divorce, with lurid but unsubstantiated details of infidelity and financial strain. The Crown declined to support privacy legislation proposed by the Assembly of Uspana in 1976, 1977, and 1980.

[RV V.O.] Princess Safya and Lord Rodrigo gave a joint interview on the state of their marriage in 1985. The unprecedented, polarizing broadcast broke daytime viewership records. The interviewer, Isabel Eannes, was widely panned by most viewers and commentators. [S] I don’t think that’s a fair question. [I] So, you disagree, then? You haven’t been unhappy?

[R] She’s unhappy right now—she hates combative journalists. [S] {Laughs.} No! I don’t hate anyone. We asked for this. We begged.

[I] Let’s talk about the ring, then. It’s new. Smaller. Why? [S] People like us don’t get do-overs. But, we’re trying anyway. [R] The alternative is being apart. That’s impossible. It can’t happen. We must try, even if it isn’t easy. [S] It’s hard, but that’s love. ‘To love someone is to suffer for them.’ [I] {Scoffs.} That is Tecuani maxim, isn’t it?

[RV V.O.] The princess gave birth to her first child, Leonor, in 1970. To the nation’s delight, Princess Safya and her new baby were inseparable. [R] Let us see her! Can you talk a minute? Share something! [S] We’re late for a meeting, I’m sorry!

[RV V.O.] In 1974, Princess Safya and Lord Rodrigo welcomed their second child, Mateo. Her office announced two years later, on the heels of former Queen Rowena’s death, that Princess Safya would be scaling back to, quote, “refocus on her growing family.” She would regain her place as Uspana’s “hardest working royal” by 1981.

[RV V.O.] Princess Safya’s final child, Gil, was born in 1979. The princess had declared a decade prior that she hoped for a trio of children.

[RV V.O.] When asked in 1985 if she wanted more children, Princess Safya remarked that she was, quote, “retired” and “content” to await her future grandchildren instead of “competing” with her mother. Queen Beatriz has six children, all born between 1950 and 1962.

[RV V.O.] Princess Safya, like heirs before her, formally began her career as a working royal at the age of ten. Commentators described her that year as, quote, “articulate,” “cautious,” and “soft-spoken.”

[RV V.O.] The princess and her younger brother, Prince Arnaut, became regular members of their mother’s retinue. The Queen described her feelings on the matter in passing during a press conference: [B V.O.] “Teenager” is a weak term. Once, Safya would have governed a province in her own right as a teenager. No longer. We coddle and undertrain our heirs just like everyone else now. The assembly tells me that’s a “parenting” problem. Well, what I say is it certainly won’t be my problem when I’m dead, and you’re stuck with them! {Laughs.}

[RV V.O.] Queen Beatriz and Princess Safya were proactive concerning Leonor’s training as well. The pair remained inseparable in public, gaining valuable experience together. Before her death, the princess announced her daughter would join the team she intended to task with passing a new education initiative through the Assembly.

[RV V.O.] Princess Safya began crafting policy proposals in 1988 to encourage and improve access to higher education. In addition to boosting funding for Uspana’s institutions, the princess was in talks with lawmakers to make attending schools abroad a feasible, affordable option.

[RV V.O.] Princess Safya’s last official public appearance was during a tour of elementary schools in southern Uspana. The fatal yachting trip capped a month of nonstop travel. Having allegedly, quote, “hit a wall” with legislators, the princess was focusing on what she did best. Commentators as well as school administrators, teachers, parents, and students described her in warm terms. The princess was enthusiastic and always connected on a human level with her future subjects.

[RV] That concludes this morning’s in memoriam special. Now, we go to Bernardo Rea for live coverage at Nakawe Palace.

[RE] Good morning. The mood is somber at Nakawe Palace as the family and silent gathered crowds prepare for the procession. Moments ago, Queen Beatriz unexpectedly announced she intends to give televised remarks. We are waiting to be invited inside.

[B] My firstborn will be interred today. I doubt that requires prefacing. How can it? It’s reality. The burden is immense. I’ve done what I can to lift it from my family. After funeral rites, the most sacred ritual we have is to shear our hair. This is surrendering power—spirituality vulnerability. It says, “Give me the pain of mourning. I can carry it for us all.” Not just anyone can be so burdened. You must be ready. You have to be empty.

[B] My request for all of you, the hundreds of thousands who I suspect will gather across Uspana, is this: empty yourself for her. Cry for my daughter. Weep as profusely as you can. Fill the streets with water so it will carry her home—to the mountains that chose her, that chose to take her away from us all, from me. We will let her go together, as one People.

#;long post #ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #ts4 royalty #sims 4 royalty #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 royal family #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.e02 #n.mediastuff

[lottiecrabie]

pfms winter blurb pleek🙏

it’s snowing in my city Even though it was spring two days ago so this still feels relevant

the winter wind blows on her face, freezing her nose, reddening her cheeks. she blows warm air onto her hands, rubbing them together.

‘god, it’s freezing.’

matty twists to her, a cloud of grey smoke around him. he tsks, ‘saying His name in vain.’ she rolls her eyes, taking another step closer to him. the snow crinkles under her booted feet.

‘aren’t you cold?’ she pouts, reaching a hand out to touch his flushed cheek, icy against her palm.

he leans into it, shrugging nonchalantly. ‘it’s not as cold when you’re closer to hell.’ this time, she can’t contain the chuckle. her hand drops from his face, instead curling in the sleeve of his leather, going on a vindicative search for warm skin. ‘go back inside,’ he says softly. he draws the cigarette back to his lips, taking a drag.

‘i was missing you.’

‘i’m just having a smoke.’

‘i know.’ she tilts her head. ‘is it very overwhelming for you?’

matty sighs. he blows the smoke out, angled away from her face. though she suspects it’s more to do with hiding his eyes. always too open and giving under her watchful stare; he wears his emotions in the deep depth of his irises. ‘i hate the way they speak to you.’

‘i know.’ she sighs. she takes a step closer and wraps around him, curling and ivying just so he feels her there. one arm hugs her back, rubbing up and down her back. ‘i’m okay, though. i’m used to it.’

‘that’s what bothers me,’ matty mumbles in her hair. she smiles against his chest. the beat of his heart is reassuring, known.

‘it’s just for today,’ she whispers against the leather. ‘it’s christmas.’

‘yeah, you’d think they’d be a bit more gracious on jesus’ fucking birthday.’

she tilts her head up, grinning. ‘actually, today isn’t even jesus’ birthday, the christians stole the date from a pagan holiday to better assimilate people.’

matty frowns, still quietly fuming at all of it, even with his own words volleyed back to him so perfectly. he takes another angry drag of smoke, dabs the ashes beyond the railing.

‘hey,’ she says, forcing him to look at her. ‘i love you. and i don’t want to fight today.’

‘i know.’ he shakes his head. ‘god, i know. i promised to be on my best behavior but they just— man, sometimes i think ramming them in the wall would be too kind.’

she snorts. ‘you love me.’ it’s plain and simple, it’s under every inch of this angry smoke.

‘yeah.’

‘so we’ll go back inside, and we will have a terrible christmas, and then go home and eat snickerdoodles and fuck on the couch and have a very, very good christmas.’

he grins at her, suddenly much less sour. ‘fuck on the couch, huh?’

‘and maybe on the bed too.’ he snorts. throws his cigarette over the railing, as if petulantly polluting her mom’s garden. a silent, small rebellion for all the things he can’t do.

‘alright,’ he says. ‘let’s have a very terrible christmas, then.’

she clicks her tongue. ‘that’s the spirit.’ she grabs his hand, cold yet warming up. they go back inside and it is not so terrible after all.

#this got christmas themed in the middle of it lmao #pray for my soul #ask #fluff #blurb #matty healy x reader

[mixu]

Hi, hope you are doing well. )

I am curious to know your impressions, anecdotes, experience of being a veteran SNS shipper. How was your experience with Naruto fandom? Has it changed? It would be great if you could talk about it.

Hi! I hope you’re doing well too. I barely receive any asks, so I’m excited.

Ah, my experiences and anecdotes being in the fandom, especially as a SNS shipper (does it count as shipping if they’re canon?) … It’s more than half of my life (I feel like I’m talking to my grandchildren) so this could get long.

I’ve been part of the fandom for 17 years, but it’s just recently that I’ve gotten to interact more with other fans both pro and anti sns. This mainly for three reasons:

Time period

When I entered the fandom internet and social media weren’t what they are today (that’s how old I am). I barely had access to internet for school and quickly read the new manga chapter before having to disconnect.

Location

Younger people don’t realize this but the globalization of manga and anime are quite recent. Now you can find merchandise even at the supermarket and a great catalogue of series is at your disposal with minimal effort. And being an “otaku” in the 2000’s was begging to be bullied at least in my country, so I preferred to keep my interests to myself.

My personality

I’m not the most social of people.

Thus, in the beginning, the fandom was nonexistent to me. It was just me, what Kishi wrote and my thoughts.

Little by little I got to interact with other people who were mainly shônen fans, and never read outside of that demographic, so there was no chance they would recognize a “non-pure shônen” even if it hit them in the face. There was not much to discuss aside from who would beat who, and I wouldn’t have been able to articulate it back then anyway, but my guts knew there was something different about Naruto. More than met the eye.

I next met a different part of the fandom in the form of fanart and fanfiction, but at that time it never crossed my mind that people would cling to those non-canon portrayals with their life. I would say most of these fans are avid consumers from other demographics that got attracted because something (the romance or the potential gayness) caught their eye, but are only interested in how to bend the characters to fit their vision. I know fanfiction and fanart are supposed to be self-indulgent, I enjoy it and write it even, but I’ve mostly managed to separate from the real thing. Not many discussions about the story as a whole (please keep in mind we were all teenagers back then).

So, none of those previous fan groups seemed to understand what I couldn’t put into words, and for the longest time, because my understanding of Naruto and Sasuke’s story was mostly instinctual, I had to go along with it. I let myself be gaslighted into believing my thoughts were just a byproduct of my fujoshi tendencies (I guess it could be right to call me fujoshi, but never due to Naruto).

After a quite long break, not just from Naruto but from manga and anime in general, I came into contact with the more educated part of the fandom in tumblr, and I finally got to put into words what was behind Naruto and Sasuke’s dynamic thanks to all of the great analysis that I found. I got vindicated and felt like I could finally live in peace but it was short lived.

When I met all the crazy antis, oh boy, I understood why ignorance is bliss.

That being said, there are indeed a bunch of obstacles between the fandom and understanding the true significance of Naruto’s story. However, not all of them are due to lack of knowledge when it comes to narrative devices and storytelling tools. I’m far from proficient in that topic and I can confidently say I got it.

Discarding those who will perpetually live in denial due to bigotry, homophobia, lack of an open mind, cultural differences, etc, and after much pondering elicited by this post of yours, I’ve come to the conclusion that the shônen label holds way more power than I originally thought. Or better say, all that shônen represents functions as the most effective reality filter.

Because Naruto was labeled as shônen:

The dudebros who only care about the power escalation won’t understand even if they are not homophobic because they came for the blattles and cool powers, nothing else matters.

The lost shôjo readers who force nh and ss into focus and think they can bend the “romance” to cater to their taste because a shonen writer would drop the ball with something as delicate. “Let Kishimoto draw his battles, we will fix the deficient love story because we know how true romance it’s supposed to look like. We wouldn’t be interfering with the hero’s story, anyway.”

All the while ignoring they are dragging a bunch of toxic tropes with them. They don’t see their pairings as failures because shôjo also has its good share of toxicity and abuse.

The fujoshi and fundashi who despite coming after the gayness, still miss the point because they do not care about the story so long as two hot men are kissing or fucking or whatever. They don’t actually believe in sns because most of their pairings are ships for fun, anything can be shipped, (pencil-senpai and sharpener-kun) so they see Naruto as a love story only under their terms but never in canon.

Then we have people that read a wider range but fail to look at the story as anything else than one written for male teenagers. Got shôjo for romance seinen and josei for more maturity, so shônen is meant for an easy quick snack.

Some of my friends, that I consider very intelligent people, way more versed in storytelling and narrative and whatnot than me, who are definitely not bigots or homophobic, still miss the point because they weren’t looking for it. They realized only after I pointed it out (I even made a ppt presentation, but that’s another story).

As for the people who understand from the beginning:

There’s of course those with the knowledge to dissect the story, and who can consciously ignore the restrictions of the labels.

Yet another group (I consider myself part of this one) that manage to bypass the rules only guided by instinct, but kept second-guessing themselves until they met someone from the previous group.

Then there’s my mother, bless her, who watches anime and loves her romances, but knows shit about manga demographics and wonders how the fuck Naruto and Sasuke gave birth to Boruto because in her eyes that little piece of shit has to be their son.

So once again, it all comes back to Kishimoto and his decision sell his soul to Jump. Was it all for fame or money? Was he too hopeful and naïve? Was it all a cruel prank?

What happened to mangakas like Tezuka? That man knew no limits.

That’s it for my thoughts on and interactions with the fandom. I think I leave my evolution as a sns stan for later if you’re interested in it.

#ask #sns #nsn #naruto fandom #sasunaru #narusasu #still trying to decipher Kishimoto

[writtenontheport]

Hey, would you write Anthony Lockwood x reader, in which George and Lucy are fed up with the reader and Lockwood arguing and lock them in the basement for the whole night until they reconcile, and at the same time profess their love for each other. Thanks in advance

Skeletons in the Closet but it’s Actually Just Us

Anthony Lockwood x (gn) reader

Warnings/Tags: Romcom levels of fluff, You’ve Got Mail level of romcom, no suggestive content, Lucy and George friendship, They are deeply fed up, ‘Locked in a cupboard until they confess’ trope, Lockwood is a silly guy, confessions, Reader is a bit of a grumpy person, Valid tbh when the love of their life is some self-sacrificing bozo, A bit of angst given the nature of the Problem, mentions of death,

Notes: Just reviewed all the romcoms I’ve watched these past few weeks so this might be extra cheesy. Also I am rereading your request, anon and I am so sorry but I misread it so BAD 💀But also I changed the time a bit from it being night to it being right after a case! I’m so sorry this isn’t how your request put it 😭 I have terrible reading skills VERY LOOSELY EDITED AND SHORT

Summary: You and Lockwood are unable to voice your own feelings for each other, which frustrates Lucy and George enough to take action. An argument, locked storage, and a heart to heart about the nature of your world later, you’re setting up… a date..???

Anthony John Lockwood was an annoying prat who strutted about like a peacock in desperate need of a slap. Now this frustration is usually the result of something smaller; minute, you might even say, but today— oh, today.

“You ran straight into danger—“ You repeat yourself for what must be the 4th time the past hour. Anthony is sitting across from you in the kitchen “—even though George and I had specifically warned you—“

“Lucy went in too!” He blurts, throwing his shoulders up.

“Keep me out of this,” Lucy hisses, narrowing her eyes at him, “I actually brought iron chains with me.”

You gesture at her wildly, nodding in vindication as you turn back to Lockwood, “Exactly. Lucy knew what she was doing, you were just being reckless! I basically had a heart attack when that Visitor nearly ghost-touched you because you—“

“I didn’t need you to push me aside and put yourself in danger, though!” He hissed, just as frustrated. “I knew what I was doing. I’m very well aware of how it looked like, but I swear I knew what I was doing. Even if… I did need your help getting out of the trouble I put myself in after.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air, frustration and worry laying under tension so thick you could it with a knife. You look away first with a defeated huff. Lockwood raises a brow and his lips split into a wobbly smile, the charming bastard. He lounges back into his seat and rests one arm on the table in front of him— a gesture for your hand. The look would have been more impactful if a bruise wasn’t already forming on cheek and there wasn’t blood drying on his brow. Still, you make your way over to him to fix his tie (which had gotten caught on banisters during the case) and push his collar up. He beams at you when you pat his jacket neat, but you’re still upset.

“Reckless… stupid prick…” You mumble, brushing his hair with your hands.

Under you, Lockwood’s grin grows just the faintest bit soft as he lolls his head back just to watch your frown.

“I think, hear me out, this is just because you’re worried about me,” Lockwood hums.

You scoff, tugging his tie down harshly, “Someone has to with how little you seem to worry about your own life. Like, seriously Anthony? Our lives are on the line—“

“Want to go on a date?” He asks, interrupting you. You choke on air and quickly let go to swat at his chest. Even if he meant that jokingly, something blazing seemed to unfurl in your chest and stuttered your breathing. You’re usually warm around Lockwood, human heater that he was, but this was a feeling that had your palms clammy and your teeth burried into your lips.

“Now is not the time to joking, Lockwood,” you grit out.

“Well I’m not. I really mean—“ he starts, but the sound of a clang startles you both. Lockwood springs up and takes your hand in his, putting himself between you and the basement door. You look around to find Lucy, but her chair’s empty and pushed in. Worry seeps into your bones with a familiarity like the hand holding yours.

“Lucy? George?” Lockwood calls out, stepping closer to find the door ajar.

Distantly you hear both of them call for you and Lockwood, sounding distressed. You push yourself in front of Lockwood into the spiral staircase down, dismissing the small click of his tongue from behind you.

“You’re being reckless now,” He whispers harshly, which you ignore.

It’s a quick trip to the bottom (with Lockwood likely frowning the whole way down), as you rush into the basement. Lucy and George are standing by the ‘high security’ storage room, something unreadable and determined in their expressions. You rush forward, checking on both of them and giving each a hug after.

You flutter about them both, brows furrowed in worry, “Are you two alright? Are you hurt? Is everything—“

From behind you, Lockwood’s hands rest on your shoulders then rub up and down along your arms in a soothing gesture. “What’s happened?”

Lucy gives George a look, and he clears his throat to say, “We found something in the storage. I couldn’t see it that well, and Lucy—“

Lockwood, the absolutely reckless prick, was already making his way inside. You take a breath through your nose and follow right after him, sending reassuring smiles to Lucy and George as you step in. You whip back to glare at Lockwood’s head, ever the reckless hero he was.

“Lockwood don’t just walk in without even hearing about the situation.” You check a shelf for the sources you keep locked away, Lockwood taking the opposite. A quiet moment passes as you run a hand along the line of the shelf, trying to sense for anything out of the ordinary.

“Probably a Visitor took a break from being in one of our… usually foolproof containers.” He looks over a small, see-through box to check for any cracks or breakage.

You whip back to glare at him, feeling not only worried, but frustrated as well. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t have just waltzed in, Anthony. This is exactly what I mean when I say you’re completely reckless sometimes—“

The door to the high security storage clicks closed, and you both startle. You make your way over to push the door open, but the lock is keeping it shut.

“Shit,” Lockwood rasps out. Yeah, that’s fair.

When you got home from the case that day, you didn’t think the rest of the night would be spent being locked in the basement storage for the next morning. After a quick argument with Lucy and George (who promised to be back whenever ‘you two (you and Lockwood) had stopped arguing and acting like idiots’) where they had insisted they wouldn’t be too far and to just yell for them if anything went wrong.

Now, Lockwood sat beside you with your backs to the door. Lucy had had the foresight to leave you behind with medical supplies, and you found one of George’s sticky notes on a tray of quick snacks. Messily scrawled in the way only George ever could, was Get yourselves together, thanks.

If getting yourselves in order and making up looked like awkward silence and Anthony’s self-soothing stretching and everything you did to self-soothe, then it was looking fantastic. Lockwood had yet to say anything but a few curses when he tried to open the door, though he’d given up half an hour in. Now it was just you two munching on biscuits in a semi-awkward silence.

“I meant it, you know,” He says suddenly, as you’re patching him up and cleaning his wounds. His eyes don’t mean yours when you look up, but you know what he means.

“It was a terrible time to suggest that kind of thing, Anthony,” You bite back, careful to dress his wrist properly.

“I meant it though.” He says sincerely; challengingly. He was always like this, baiting for you to fight back or ague for more, even if you could never tell why.

“Then we’d go on a date, do whatever it is people who like each other do, then I…” you rest your fingers over his open palm, and he slides his own in the spaces between yours “… I watch you throw yourself into danger— into sure death and just wait for either our talents to dry up or for either of us to die?”

“No,” he hums, peering at you through his long lashes, “Well, sort of, just—“

“What else, Anthony?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.” He squeezes your hand and you purse your lips. Here you are with someone you love dearly wondering if the next time either of you go out there someone dies.

“Then how would you word it, Lockwood?” You want to hope, voice cracking under the weight of your need. Your soft heart lurches from the thick walls of your chest— through the ribs and the muscle and whatever the fuck else was there— reaching with its sharp claws for a scrap.

“We… go on a date. Because I like you and you like me, and because even without the problem hanging over us, we could die at any minute. I, for one, wouldn’t want to waste any of it I could have with you, now or after.” Like a ray of hope, the twinkle in his eyes. Like a ray of hope, that punchable, kissable grin. Your heart lurches and your breath stutters.

You take a free hand to tuck loose strands of his hair out of his face, humming, “How are you so sure I like you, Lockwood?”

“I don’t,” he admits sheepishly. He’s boyish like this, whispering and grinning at you with something not so cocky and infuriatingly cute. “Just a guess really.”

“George told you.” Even though you never told George.

“George did tell me he had a theory, yes… Backed it up with evidence and everything”

You glare at him for a moment, this ray of hope your heart has chosen to cling onto in these times and troubles, and find yourself faltering.

“One condition. Then we can go on however many dates you want for however long you’ll have me,” you offer, dropping your hands down to look proper into his face.

“Anything,” he says easily, shuffling closer to you.

“Try not to be so reckless. We can’t have you dying before even the first one— or any of them, understand?” You pinch his nose lightly, earning a gentle swat back from him.

“You have to try, too. I can’t lose you either.” He brings your hands to his lips, pressing kisses along each knuckle.

I love you goes unspoken, but he sees it in the way you smile so warmly at him, and you see it in the way he holds your hands like it’s the world. Not today, but maybe someday you will tell each other. Today you yell for George and Lucy to finally let you both out and face the world hand in hand.

A/N: I’m such a fan for the “couple who’s not yet a couple bicker endlessly with each other over every little thing” cause I find it so cute. I am a ‘love at first argument’ girlie to the core. Some of my most major crushes have been people I argue with near constantly. Also, because you didn’t anon specify I flipped a coin and it landed on (gn).

Side note: This is especially short because I’m still thinking on how to go about a few things I’m writing. Been having ideas for an angst fic for either Lockwood or Lucy (x reader, ofc) and continuing George’s series because I am deeply in love with him

#anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #portie writes fanfic

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄

Yandere Scott Summers x GN Reader

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: When Scott feels his authority over you — the authority to keep you safe — is undermined, he has no choice but to show a little tough love. And, unfortunately for you, he doesn’t hold back.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: platonic yandere content, strict mentor Scott, younger rookie reader, infantilism if you squint, slight intimidation tactics, argument, sparring gone wrong, technical physical abuse(?), Scott just goes ham on beating the shit out of you, all in the name of keeping you safe of course, blood mentioned, sight manipulation, sickeningly soft Scott at the end.

Cyclops goes too easy on you.

All the other X-Men know it; Wolverine and Gambit always make sure to tease you about it every chance they get. Despite all of the hard work you’ve put in since you joined the team, it’s like your field commander thinks you’re made of glass with how he opts for defensive maneuvering in sparring lessons. He’ll never throw a punch or go for the kick, instead blocking or catching whatever you throw his way. You swear he even lets you go for the take down rather than letting you earn it yourself.

It’s just so frustrating. He’s the one who keeps saying you have to prove you’re for a mission… how can you do that if he never gives you the chance? You came here to be one of the X-Men, so you deserve to be trained like one. Hell, he even exchanges blows with Jubilee, and she’s no older than you are. Meanwhile, the most you get is a slight shove or the gentlest pin-down known to man. How is this preparing you for anything out on the field?!

“(Y/N), stay focused.”

And there’s his annoyingly demanding voice snapping you out of your spiral of irritated thoughts.

The two of you were “sparring” in the Danger Room, long after everyone else left. As usual, you mentally jeered; he always has something he wants you to hang back for, because even the most trivial things need to be “corrected” in his eyes. Today, you were unfortunate enough to “push your punch,” as he put it, and now you were stuck with him until he finally deemed the problem fixed. After being forced to punch the air for a solid 10 minutes — not without his very much needed critiques, of course — you were finally back to directing your fists at him.

(At least this is a chance to take out my anger on the source, you bitterly thought to yourself.)

The mundane you-punch-and-he-blocks experience (because that’s all it is; you weren’t really “sparring”) has been going on for the past 5 minutes. You’ve gotten in some solid blows, some of them actually catching him by surprise, much to your satisfaction. But it was obvious your heart wasn’t into it, and it was only a matter of time before he noticed.

Catching your next punch in his hand, he gave you a tight frown. “Hey. Did you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” you responded through gritted teeth. It was easy enough to twist your fist out of his grip, which only added to your vexation; he should’ve at least pretended to try.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” the older mutant retorted, crossing his arms over his chest (part of you wanted to take this as a chance to deliver a sharp kick to his side, but you refrained). “I could’ve easily neutralized you from how sloppy that blow was.”

Before your brain could catch up, your mouth spat out a loaded question; “then why didn’t you?”

“(Y/N),” he lowly warned.

“What?” It was hard to keep the poison out of your tone, but you tried your best. “I’m one of the X-Men too, you know. I can handle it!”

The visor over his eyes made his expression harder to read. All you could go off of was the bottom half of his face, and from the way his jaw tightened, you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for this. “You can’t.”

“Wh—” you were caught off guard from the pure vindication of his words, causing you to drop your fighting stance entirely. “Yes I can! You can’t just decide that!”

“I’m your leader,” he spat out, “I can decide whatever I want for the sake of my team.”

“You can’t call yourself my leader if you don’t let me on missions! That’s just unfair!” To accentuate your exasperation, you threw your arms out to the side. “Look, man. You can bench me all you want, but at least train me with the same respect as everyone—”

He was quick to cut you off. “This isn’t about respect, (Y/N). You’re just not ready for that level of training, and your performance today proves that. You’re getting lazy.”

“Only ‘cuz you don’t take me seriously,” you scoffed. Before he could say something to that, you quickly continued. “These aren’t sparring sessions. Not actually helpful ones, anyway. I mean, if you’re never gonna fight back, why even bother?! You may as well have me waste my time punching a training dummy instead—”

“That’s enough,” he snapped at you, but you only continued.

“Can’t you just hear me out?!” A frustrated groan tumbled from your lips. “I’m not asking you to drop me in the middle of a war zone, I just want you to actually train me!! At this rate, I’ll never be ready for a mission!! Please, Cyke… I wanna be trained for real!”

Cyclops went eerily silent at this. While you couldn’t see his eyes, the glare he was giving you translated quite well, causing a shiver up to go up your spine. Nevertheless, you stood your ground; you finally spoke your mind, and you weren’t going to let him intimidate you out of this. You’ll easily take an optic blast to the face if it meant getting your point across.

“… Get ready, then,” was his flat reply.

You were only given a fraction of a second to process the implication before he quickly took on a fighting stance, delivering a precise jab to your rib cage. His movements were nothing but a blur to you, the painful blow almost knocking you off your feet as you let out a shout. He gave you no time to recover as he threw his next punch, which you fortunately managed to dodge, albeit barely. A rapid procession of fists followed, and you could feel the gusts of them as you desperately tried to keep up your evasive maneuvering.

It soon became harder and harder to keep up with how fast he was moving. You eventually had to resort to blocking with your forearms; an experience you found to be quite painful. The sheer power from his punches made your bones feel like they were gonna splinter, the skin of your arms already burning from agony. One nasty hit at the wrong angle could very well break something. Surely, Cyclops was keeping this in mind, right?

The focus you had on his upper half made you completely neglect keeping an eye on his legs. This mistake quickly caught up to you when his knee collided with your jaw, the reflexive flinch of your hand being too late to stop it. As your teeth smashed together and caught your tongue in the process, his fist gave you no time to recollect yourself as it planted itself square in your nose. Stars filled your vision, your balance becoming less and less controlled. Cyclops easily took advantage of this and delivered a turning kick to your side, right in the same spot he initially punched you in.

You felt your head colliding with the Danger Room’s floor before you even realized you were knocked down.

The taste of blood filled your mouth, and you could vaguely feel some trinkling out of your throbbing nose. Weakly attempting to push yourself off of the ground, a strained grunt left your vocal cords as you became quite literally painfully aware of the aching in your arms. Just as you managed to get up on your hands and knees, a downwards force suddenly pinned you back against the floor and effectively knocked all of the wind out of your lungs. You could feel the heal of his boot against your shoulder blades. He was applying enough pressure for you to distantly worry about your rib cage, and all you could do was pathetically struggle against it.

“This is what I meant,” he coldly remarked. “You can’t handle it.”

Blood mixed with saliva dribbled down your chin as you tried to spit something back. “Th-This isn’t—”

“You’re not ready,” he interrupted, the foot he has on your back only crushing your chest further. “For the field, for the Danger Room simulations, for any sort of training that could leave you like this.”

Finally, the pressure on your back was alleviated, causing you to gasp out for air. Your vision was become fuzzy, but you didn’t dare succumb to the darkness, instead rapidly trying to blink away the splotchy holes. A wet cough from your lungs only worsened the burning sensation through your body. Below you, the floor was becoming a canvas of speckled blood, both from your nose and mouth as you desperately heaved for air.

Fight or flight was the only thing keeping you conscious at this point.

“C… Cy—ke,” you wheezed, desperately struggling to get up on your hands and knees again. “Please, I…”

“Stay down,” he warned from above you. The danger that laced his words made a shiver go up your spine, causing your movements to falter. After a few moments, however, you gingerly continued to push yourself upwards, which caused your field leader to growl out a low, “(Y/N).”

It took all your strength to ignore him; to ignore your better judgement.

Cyclops didn’t take to kindly to that.

The feeling of his hand cradling the back of your neck made your shoulders jolt, and it wasn’t long before your face collided with the ground. He kept a firm grip on your head as he swiftly maneuvered your hands to his liking, pinning one to your back against his knee and the other right next to your face. It quickly dawned upon you that struggling was futile, yet despite that, you tried anyways. A frustrated sigh left the older mutant’s lips at your thrashing and twisting.

“This for your own good,” he chided, tightening his hold on you. “Stop struggling. You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

“You’re—!! The one h-hurting me,” you snapped back. A cry of pain ended your sentence as he dug his knee further into your back.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” said Cyclops with a low tone. He was letting you take his full body weight, and you found it increasingly harder to breathe. “Why can’t you just let me do what’s good for you? Why can’t you just let me take care of you?”

That last part rendered you completely still. Take care of you? What the hell did he mean by that? Was this seriously his idea of taking care of you? Giving you the kiddy treatment and then beating the crap out of you when you ask to be treated with actual respect?

What the hell is this guy’s problem?!

He must’ve taken your state of shock as a white flag, because the weight on your body was finally letting up. As much as you wanted to take this as an opportunity to catch him off guard, it suddenly dawned upon you just how much agony you were in. Your chest ached from your lungs to your rib cage. The nerves in your forearms felt like they were punched numb. You couldn’t even breathe from your nose and instead had to rely on your mouth (it didn’t help that the ghost of air over your wounded tongue created a sharp sting). What little fight you had left in you was rapidly depleting, rendering you completely tired on the ground.

“There,” he breathed out, the softness in his tone sounding foreign to your ears. “Just relax. Easy, now. You’re in no condition to try anything, you hear me?”

You couldn’t even muster up enough energy to roll your eyes at his coaxing murmurs. Though it pained you to admit it, he was unfortunately right; now wasn’t the time to be testing your luck. His hands slowly moved away from your head and wrist, his knee eventually following suite after a deliberate moment. Then, as delicately as he could, he peeled you off of the floor and into his strong arms. Every part of your body felt like it was on fire, and you couldn’t stop the pathetic wince from your throat.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you now.” He gently tucked your head in the crook of his neck, rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder blades. “Let’s get Beast to check you over, yeah?”

No response came from your mouth. All you could do was slump against his chest and fight a losing battle against the beckoning call of unconsciousness. His quiet coos started to sound more and more distant, and before you knew it, you were out like a light.

Cyclops goes too easy on you.

Perhaps you finally found out why.

#❥ TW: YANDERE #❥ YANDERE CHARACTER #❥ PLATONIC YANDERE #❥ YANDERE SCOTT SUMMERS #❥ YANDERE SCOTT SUMMERS X READER #❥ GN READER

[whump-in-the-closet]

A Good Day

this has been in my drafts for ages so voila

cw: messed up superhero agency and what happens to those who don't make it through training, minor whump (implied), crying in the backseat of a car, mostly just introductions to the characters, which are two brothers who've adopted this ex-hero-who-ran-from-training and the agency will do anything to get him back, also angst and scarring

____

Today is going to be a good day. 

Teddy digs a hand into the cracked leather of the armrest, picking at the plush inside. He watches the blurring sky from the car window.

He needs it to be a good day. 

On the radio, a song he doesn’t know is playing. The volume is set far too high. It’s blasting a hole through his head and he reaches over to turn it off, but stops when he realizes the teenager in the backseat mouthing along with the words.

If only excitement was infectious.

All Teddy can feel is panic. Today is going to be good. It’s going to be great…going to be good….

He sinks back into the seat, pulling the plush completely out of the armrest. He rips it into smaller and smaller pieces. Finding something to direct his growing anxiety on helps, a little. 

The car slows at a stoplight, and his brother checks on him. “Teddy?” 

Teddy waits, drawing the moment out until the light turns green and Elias has to keep his eyes on the road again. He brushes the last of the plush off his pants. “I'm good?” It comes out all wrong, like a question.

Any confidence he had earlier leaves then and now. Teddy picks the plush up from the floor of the car and starts to tear at it again. He keeps his eyes steadily on the window, watching the buildings fly past. 

Billboards. 

People. 

So many people. 

Elias lowers the music. “You want to do this,” he repeats, confident “You’ve only been talking about it for the past three months.” 

Teddy finds an unshredded piece of plush and rips it with a vicious twist of his fingers. “This was a bad idea...I’m not good enough.” 

Shit.

He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. 

Elias turns the radio off. Click. 

Shit.

“I think you’re good enough,” he says.

Cut out the emotional sap.

But Elias goes on. “The Glenn Symphony won’t even wait until the end of the audition to hire you.” 

“There’s tryouts after the audition too. Another round.” Teddy points out, vindication sharp in his mouth.

Elias lifts a hand off the wheel to wave his brother's concerns aside. “Which you’ll do amazing at. Don’t shake your head at me– Stop– you’re going to blow them away. You’ll go into one of your little trances and you’ll forget there are people even watching.” 

Teddy’s fingers still. “I don’t go into a trance.” He just forgets about everything and everyone around him and it’s just the music– just the music— all around him, until he sees the notes playing under his eyelids….

“You’re going to do great.”

The banter goes on, and on, until the nervousness seeps out of Teddy’s voice. He smiles as the back-and-forth continues. 

In the backseat, the kid laughs brightly, his voice charred and raspy enough to sound burned.

He talks in a slow cadence, testing the words before he says them. “I’m getting deja vu. But,” he points at Teddy and Elias, “the roles were switched.” Dark hair falls into his eyes as he leans forward between the seats. 

 “Yeah, I thought I would be sick at my audition.” Elias pauses for breath, then dives back into the conversation, “And Teddy, told me ‘you’re gonna be fine’. And? You were right.” 

Rufus-- the teenager--jabs Teddy in the shoulder. “Your audition is going to go just as well.” 

Elias turns again. “You tell him, Rufus.”

Teddy sighs. “If you guys say so.” He doesn’t sound convinced. 

He doesn't feel convinced.

He doesn't want to be convinced.

“Good," says Elias, "Because we’re here.”

Teddy’s stomach drops as the car pulls into the parking spot. With the jolt of the stop, Teddy’s stomach drops even further. He freezes over his seatbelt, catching sight of the massive Art Center. 

“Can we go in with you?” 

Teddy wishes his brother could come. But the restrictions said only the applicant could meet the audition committee, so he shakes his head and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“I’ll see you in half an hour?” 

Teddy nods. “Half an hour.” He shuts the car door behind him and stares up at the glass pillars of the entrance. The world seems to spin, for a moment. Unconsciously, he fidgets with his tie and buttons his suit jacket. Then his gaze is pulled to a billboard stationed above the building. 

A girl with a halo of pink hair surveys a depiction of the city from the sky, stars swirling at her feet. Her skin bleeds into the night around her. Her eyes are alight with white flames.

Guardian Angel, they call her.

Protector of cities.

She’s a hero, a legend, a god.

Above her are the words: Savior. The heroes of tomorrow, today. 

Teddy looks away, at the car, as it pulls out of the parking lot.

The Guardian’s eyes don’t leave him until he’s inside. Even then, he can feel them boring into the back of his head. They don’t leave him as he shakes hands with the audition committee. He can still feel them when he wipes his sweaty palms on his pant leg. Only when he sits down at the piano, with the black and white keys shining up at him, do the eyes of flame fade from his memory. 

The half hour goes by in a blur. 

The piece he’s memorized for this audition is his personal favorite. As he plays, all else drains away. He’s not on a stage anymore, he’s back in the apartment, and there’s no one watching him. 

He feels good. 

The nervousness vanishes. 

Stage lights are blinding but the music drowns it out. He’s doing well, he knows it. The piano is deeper than his own and he is able to bring out sounds he could never replicate again. 

He smiles, leaning over the piano, acutely aware of the tension in his hands as he holds a long chord, and playing the melody faster. 

Just a little faster than the four four time required. 

It feels so good. 

Teddy finishes and stands. The committee promises that the callbacks will be within the week, and a few smile. 

He smiles back, fidgeting with his tie. The music is gone, replaced with uncomfortable small talk. Teddy nods, and says thank you so many times, he thinks he’ll be unable to say anything else the rest of the day. He’s saved by a text from Elias and it takes all of his self control to not run from the building. 

Teddy doesn’t look at the billboard, in fact, he does his best to forget it's there. He gets in the car, keeping his back to it. 

Elias pulls down his sunglasses. “The piano man survived!” 

Rufus leans forward, shoving the last bit of an ice cream sandwich into his mouth. “How’d you do?” At least that's what it sounds like. Teddy can’t exactly tell– Rufus’s mouth is completely full. 

Teddy laughs. He can’t help it. It’s over, and he’s out of the auditorium, and as Elias drives forward, the billboard is gone.

Teddy pulls off his tie completely and lets it fall to the floor. “I survived, yeah. I think it went well.” He’s distracted by the assortment of wrappers on the floor. “Did you guys get me any ice cream?” 

Rufus hands him a bar. 

The taste of chocolate and vanilla pushes away the last remnants of the burning eyes.

He leans back in his seat, sunlight playing across the bridge of his nose.

Some of the vanilla trickles over his hand, sticky.

Even stickier when he licks it off. 

It’s melting all over his hand when he hears the sirens. 

Loud and shrill enough to cut through metal. The sun is still bright, but the temperature drops all the same. 

Police cars have surrounded a house set by the road. Their lights flash red and blue and red again, bright enough to blind the whole street. Someone is dragged out of the house, the door hanging slightly off its hinges. 

It’s kicked and the door falls off completely, slamming into the porch. 

Someone is shouting– cursing. Cursing Savior. It’s loud enough to be heard over the sirens.   

Elias’s hands clench over the wheel and in the backseat, Rufus turns to stone, silence creeping up and strangling all three of them. 

“Get in the backseat with Rufus.” Now. Before they see him. 

Teddy says nothing and crawls over as quickly as possible. He moves to sit on the side closest to the window, shielding Rufus with his own profile. 

Elias speeds up. 

Rufus is trembling as Teddy wraps his arms around him, pulling him close. Dark braids shield his eyes but he’s whispering something over and over again. 

Rufus, who had been laughing and joking not a moment before, presses shaking hands together. He buries his face into Teddy’s shirt, and Teddy brushes back his hair, holding him tight. The word Rufus whispers is a plea. 

All it takes is a moment for the day to fall apart. 

One moment.

“Please please please please–” 

They’ve driven past the house, but Rufus continues to tremble. And beg.

The begging is worse than anything.  

Vanilla and chocolate drip over the leather seats. 

Savior. The heroes of tomorrow, today. 

#whump #whump writing #angst #whumpblr #whump community #troy talks #whump scenario #hero whump #mostly just thoughts and plot #teddy is a musician and elias is a dancer #guess whats going to happen to them #they're going to lose the most fundamental aspects of their personalitiessss #oh teddy likes to play piano? good luck with broken fingers #>:)

[bloos-bloo]

This is kinda based off BBH’s stream today btw- more specifically, the scene where he has a memory lapse with the pillagers:

The night sky gently brushed through the windows. It’s soft light nudging it’s way throughout the room. The demon laid on a sleeping bag in the middle of this spiral tower. It’s been a day- spending time with his roommates, learning that he’s stuck on an island, learning that there’s bears and rabbits that act like a government. It was great.

Yet the uneasy feeling he had when he locked eyes with a lone pillager. It’s crossbow pointed directly at the demon. Bad tossed and turned on the sleeping cot- his hands slowly gripping onto his pillow.

A memory of endless white snow piling up underneath a vast black sky. His breathe clouding up his vision as he watched his blood spill over the floor, nearly matching the red carpet below. In front of him- a top hat backed into a corner. His little hands holding up a sword that was 2x as big as her.

“NO!” Bad shouted as his body collapsed. Waking up in a red bed surrounded by white pillows. He ran towards the mansion.

“Dapper! Crawl to the entrance!” The demon shouted, a pillager swiftly plunging arrows into his back.

“FUDGE!” He cried- his body limp on the floor. “Dapper- Crawl! You have to CRAWL!”

The demon continued shouting.

Watching in agony as his son held up her sword. The pillager knocking him down- the clang of the metal ringing throughout the room.

“NO!! DAPPER PLEASE!” Bad screamed, once again waking up with a jolt on the red bed. White pillows, cloudy breath.

“CRAWL TO THE ENTRANCE!”

The demon ran.

The image of the pillager’s smile as it drove a sword through his back.

The image of the little egg forced into a corner.

The image of her eyes welling up with tears.

The Vindicator stepping towards her.

Blood stains.

Dapper was slain by a Vindicator

“NO!” He wept, his knees weak from the message. “NO NO NO- DAPPER!!”

The demon cried, wiping his eyes as his fists slammed into the snow below. He felt a little tug as he beat at the ground. Each tug growing more frantic than the last.

“NO! NO NO!” He screamed, thinking the pillagers and vindicator found him outside. His fists going wild on the ground. He felt his hands be pinned- his eyes streaming at this point.

“DAPPER!”

He felt his palm being forced open, rapid tapping followed soon after.

“I’m here!”

Bad gasped as his eyes shot wide open. The sleeping bag underneath him nearly ripped to shreds- the remains of it left over his claws.

It took a minute before his vision caught up with his brain. His tears still streaming down his face as he looked up. In front of him, holding his palm in her tiny hands- messy hair and tear filled eyes, was Dapper. Next to her, a concerned filled expression- red and blue blushed cheeks and neatly braided locks, was Pomme.

“I’m here. I’m here. It’s- It’s ok.. It was all a bad dream.” Dapper continued to tap on Bad’s palm. Bad taking the time to recollect his breath and wipe the tears away.

“I- I’m sorry. Was I too loud-? I didn’t- mean to wake you two…” He trailed.

Pomme shook her head, Dapper continued tapping. “No, it’s ok. We heard you calling me- and- we knew you were in distress.”

Bad clutched the tattered sleeping mat, “I- Thank you.. I never- had someone.. care so much about me.”

Pomme smiled. Holding up a little sign for her father to read. “Would you like for us to stay with you?”

The demon winced- he didn’t want to be a bother. Especially with how well these two have been treating him.

“I- I wouldn’t want to bother you guys- I’ll be fi-“

“Nope. We’re staying.” Dapper interrupted. Next thing he knew, both kids were lying on each side of the creature. Their faces carefully nudged on each side.

Bad felt a small ping in his chest- for some reason, this felt familiar. Everything about this felt right- but he couldn’t place why. He carefully laid back, his eyes gazing over the star decorations. The sun’s early morning light carefully kissing it hello.

The demon couldn’t help but wrap an arm around each child.

He smiled, his eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you- kids.”

#bloo’s writing #qsmp angst #qsmp badboyhalo #badboyhalo #I like doing these little snippets ngl #qsmp pomme #qsmp dapper #qsmp eggs #angst #I headcanon that BBH has nightmares of his memories #especially with the pillagers #maybe he’ll have one of the code? #that would be fun #but his memories haunt him now lmao #what a loser #imagine? #not me lol #jkjk #anyways- I’m loving this arc #but I’m also crying at it #I was doing a drawing #but I wanna rework on my art style #I gotta force myself to learn and relearn how to draw #but yeahhh #I hope you all like this :D leave me your thoughts too if you’d like #edited it for typos <3

[amostimprobabledream]

Ignite Me (Homelander x Reader) Part Seven

Hi all! Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than I planned, I couldn’t get it to work past a certain point, then I tried out a different direction today when I was stuck at work and voila! Hope you enjoy! It’s a strange day when you wake up for work. Your phone is lighting up with notifications from various social media apps, mostly Casey and her friends sharing snapshots of the other night, most of them blurry or taken from odd angles, but you like a few of them anyway – they give you something to look at on your commute to work. Thankfully work has gotten easier lately – you still get occasional stares but some office drama has exploded recently, something about an intern fresh out of college screwing a married CEO with kids during a conference, so most people are busy discussing that and whether he’ll be forced to quit and who will get his job if he does. That sort of thing. It's only when you get a spare hour to go for some lunch, and since it’s a pleasant day you opt to eat it on a little grassy bank not too far from your office, that anything of note happens. Lots of other people are there too, boys skateboarding past, women on lunches with their friends, college students soaking up a bit of sun before they’re back in their dorms or libraries, businessmen in suits striding past with a phone clamped to their ear like they’re the most important people in the world. It’s so normal. It feels nice, especially since here there are so many people too absorbed in their own busy lives to notice or care who you are. You munch away happily on your lunch, brushing crumbs off your clothes every so often. That’s when your phone rings. “Hello?” you say through a mouthful of sandwich. “Hey, it’s me!” Casey. “Hey, have you recovered from the weekend?” you smirk, crossing your legs. “I’m still feeling a little delicate, but at least I can walk across a room without it tilting like I’m on a cruise ship.” Casey says, snorting. “You?” “Yeah, I’m okay. I had to get up in the middle of the night after I got home to puke, but luckily my roommate is still away so I didn’t wake anyone up.” You giggle. Casey laughs too, but it dies off and you hear her take in a breath. “Listen, this is going to sound totally weird, but…you didn’t see where Steve went, did you?” Oh, shit.

“Who?” you say, even though you know perfectly well who she means. “The guy who was tagging along with us. Danesha brought him at the last minute, I don’t really know why. Anyway, but she said he disappeared at some point, and he didn’t come back and she’s kinda worried. He hasn’t answered any of her messages.” You have no idea why Danesha cares, but you bite your lip. “Well...last time I saw him he kind of tried it on with me.” “WHAT?!” Casey shrieks down the phone, and you had the foresight to hold it away from your ear so you didn’t go deaf. “Yeah. I didn’t tell you at the time because I just wanted to go home and not make a scene, but I went outside because I felt sick and needed some air and Steve came out and tried to kiss me. I told him to fuck off and went back indoors. I didn’t see him follow me back in so many he stormed off in a bitchfit or something?” “Jesus, what a fucking creep!” Casey declares. “Lucy told me he tried it on with her as well and you saw how out of it she was. Ugh. He probably heard Danesha was going and invited himself along because he was looking to get laid.” You snort, flicking away an ant that was crawling up your leg. “Yeah, fat chance of that happening.” “Exactly!” Casey says, and you feel a rush of affection for her, especially since she’s not annoyed you didn’t tell her about Steve at the time. “I’ll tell Danesha and hopefully she’ll realise he’s not worth thinking about. Listen, I’ve got to go but we’ll talk again soon, okay?” “Okay, see you.” You hang up and stare at your phone, and the vindication you felt after your knee-jerk dislike for Steve is only strengthened. What an asshole. You don’t notice it at the time, but although most people in the park don’t look up as you cross the grass to toss away your wrappers, a figure stands apart from the crowd, watching you from behind dark sunglasses. When you glance back to make sure you didn’t leave anything, he’s already gone. ~ When you unlock the door and enter your apartment with a sigh, tossing your keys into a little bowl by the door, which slams shut behind you, you’re about ready to just fall face-down on your bed and not get up for hours. The commute home was hell. Hot, stuffy hell with someone’s baby continuously wailing somewhere and a creepy guy muttering to himself. But unfortunately, your beckoning bed will have to wait. “Hey there. Long time no see.” Your heart jolts in your chest. Lifting your eyes, your body stiffens at the sight awaiting you. Homelander. He stands leaning against the back of the couch, legs straight, his posture deceptively casual, arms loosely folded at his chest. It’s impossible to tell how long he’s been standing there – he could have arrived seconds before you or he could have been watching your entire journey home, from you appearing around the corner onto your street, to riding the elevator up to your floor. Your eyes dart to the balcony door, which is shut, but dimly you acknowledge he’s probably busted the lock to get in and now you’re going to have to ask the landlord to fix it. Great. The silence lingers like fog, and you clear your throat. "What are you doing here?" you say, and there’s a note of accusation that creeps out. Homelander's eyebrows go up and he tilts his head. He clearly isn't a fan of your tone, but you're not a fan of him casually breaking into your flat either. "You left without saying goodbye." he replies, and though his tone is even, the air seems heavy with an unseen current, like the lick of static before a storm. He angles his shoulder towards you, like a bird puffing out its plumage to look bigger. It’s a subtle change, so much so that if you weren’t hyperaware of every little move he makes, you might have missed it. "Yeah, well, I didn't want to hold you up." you reply, flatly. Going to your room to change out of your work clothes obviously isn't an option and you can detect some subtle mockery in Homelander's gaze as it travels up and down your body. No doubt he isn't very impressed by your affordable, lowkey corporate attire when he’s surrounded by people who treat designed clothes like they fished them out of a bargain bin and something in you bristles at the condescension in his gaze. Excuse ME if I don’t make the same salary as the drones who work at Vought. You think, lips narrowing in anger. Instead of hiding in your room like you’d prefer to do, you dump your bag on the ground since it was making you slouch and head straight for the kitchen area. Your heart is thumping as you pull a chilled bottle of booze out of the fridge and pour yourself a big glass of it, because you're sure you're going to need it for this conversation. You pointedly don't offer Homelander anything. Homelander clicks his tongue and pushes himself off the sofa, and you feel rather than hear him getting closer to you - for a man with such a large presence, he can move eerily quietly when he wants to. You stand with your back to him, gulping down chilly liquor. More silence ticks by – he’s clearly waiting for you to scramble to fill it like you did last time he visited unannounced, but when you say nothing, he decides to cut to the chase. "What? You pouting because of before?" he mocks, and the jeer in his voice is unmistakable - it launches you immediately to the popular boys at school who'd point at girls and loudly proclaim if they had a zit or toilet paper on her shoe. It's a little unnerving how closely he nails the tone, considering you're pretty sure he never went to school. Where did you learn that? Probably an interview being played in a waiting room somewhere. “Huh. But you didn’t mind showing up when Vought gave you the big bucks, did you?” You’re so not in the mood for this. You set the glass down on the counter with a definitive click. “What’s the problem?” you say impatiently, turning around, though you’re careful not to say your problem, even though it clearly is – Vought hasn’t contacted you once since you told Ashley to leave you alone. You’d hoped they’d forgotten about you, and maybe they have, but not Homelander. No, he seems to feel the connection between you, transient though it was, fraying, and he can’t resist pulling on the rope to see if there’s still anything left there for him to reel you back in. You just don’t understand why. “I did the stupid interview you wanted, even though I told you I didn’t want to do it, you got your precious ratings and now you’re even more popular than ever. Congratulations.” His lips thin out and he prowls closer, purposefully invading your space. You want to back away, but you force yourself to stay rooted to the ground – this is your goddamn home, and you won’t let him bully you from pillar to post. “I don’t appreciate your tone, missy.” He hisses and you’d almost laugh at the reprimand – missy? – but his expression chills you. Somehow him speaking calmly is even worse than him shouting. “I don’t understand why you’re here.” You say, folding your arms. “My part in all this is over, it’s done. If you’re here to tell me Vought want me to do another interview, the answer is no.” Homelander scoffs, his head giving a jerky little shake, and when he sees you’re completely serious, his disbelief only seems to grow. You figure that ‘no’ is probably not a word that his highness is accustomed to hearing, especially not from someone like you. “You- are you kidding me?” he says, exasperatedly. His lip quirks like he’s trying to decide whether or not to smile. “What was so hard about doing an interview that you just fuck off and don’t say anything to anyone? Jesus Christ, you got paid for your time, didn’t you? You agreed to do it. Then just as it’s going somewhere, well, now you’re hiding out here, going back to your shitty little office job and that’s it? Fucking really?” Outrage makes your spine stiffen – how dare he act like you’re being unreasonable? You didn’t want to do the goddamn fucking interview in the first place, and you know he knows that – he coerced you, made it sound like it would be the final chapter on this whole affair, but instead you just felt exploited and used and Homelander let you know just how insignificant he found you, how little he cared about your feelings. You were a means to an end to him. Now he’s here trying to guilt you about it? Fuck that. “Do you think I like talking about that day over and over again?” you demand, frustration surging through you. Your voice gets louder and louder with each word, but once you got going, you can’t stop. It’s like a plane gaining altitude as it soars down a runway. “Do you think all I want people to know or care about me is that I went viral for kissing you? The fact I nearly fucking died doesn’t seem to matter to anyone else, they’re just in it for the fucking memes! Well, it matters to me! I still dream about that day, you know. I wake up in cold sweats that hey, I got fucking shot just walking down the street! I have an ugly fucking scar on my stomach that is never, ever going to completely go away. People whisper and stare at me whenever I go anywhere, I had to change my hair just so people wouldn’t immediately recognise me from the internet! It’s only just started to calm down to the point I’m not looking over my shoulder all the time in case somebody realises it’s me. But nobody gives a shit about that, do they? Nooo - all they want me to talk about is you. Your big, heroic day.” He looks like he doesn’t understand why that could possibly be considered an issue, and he throws his hands up in exasperation. "I saved your life!" he barks at you. "That doesn't mean you own it!" An expression flits over Homelander’s face, too fast for you to properly discern what it is – anger? Shock? Perhaps even…despair? The next moment his hand shoots out and he seizes you by the throat. Instantly, your anger bursts like a balloon to be replaced by a wave of sheer fear. His thumb presses against your windpipe and, just for a second, cuts off your air supply. You make a wheezy, botched attempt at a gasp. He’s never done this before. You know how strong he is – everyone knows it. He strikes terror in the heart of criminals everywhere just from a glimpse of his shadow. Homelander watches you squirm in his grip and his expression is detached. Almost bored. But the terrifying thing isn't that Homelander is holding you still just by his grip on your neck, the leather of his gloves cool against your flushed skin. Nor is it that both of you know that he could crush your throat, and nobody would be any the wiser that he was responsible. No, the terrifying thing is that despite the fact you're having to push yourself up onto your tiptoes just to get some air, that his fingers feel less like flesh and bone and more like steel - you know that he's not really trying. This terrifying show of strength that has rendered you powerless is merely a demonstration. A warning of what to expect if you don't watch your mouth. The moment stretches between the both of you for an eternity. You become hyperaware of your heartbeat, of your own shaky breathing. It never occurred to you until now that he might hurt you. That may seem naïve, but Homelander is meant to be a superhero. He saves people. Protects America from any threat that may come its way. He’s the first thing people think of when you say the word ‘Supe’ – him taking a missile to his broad chest, holding a bus of screaming passengers overheard when it’s about to plunge off a bridge, him waving to a crowd of adoring fans. America is spoon-fed these images of Vought’s handpicked heroes saving civilians, every single day. And he’s their ultimate trump card, the ace up their sleeve for when the chips or down or viewers are getting bored. If the Seven are gemstones, Homelander’s a diamond. And now the jewel in their crown has his fingers around your neck. Homelander himself looks slightly surprised, like he doesn’t quite know what to do next. Grabbing hold of you seems an action of pure impulse, a knee-jerk act of anger at your sudden aversion to him when you had been so compliant before. It seems both of you are learning distasteful personality traits in the other person today. “Heh.” He gives a bitten-off little laugh and lets you go, though his arm still hovers near you like he isn’t sure if he wants to push you away or grab you again. He blinks once, slowly, eyelashes flickering like insect wings. “Almost lost my temper there.” You stare at him and even though his grip on your throat wasn’t hard enough hurt, you can feel a well of hopelessness overflowing inside your chest, like it’s being filled to the brim with cold water. You’re scared. You’re scared and you don’t know what to do. You can’t run from him, and you can’t hide. You don’t even know why he’s pissed off, not really. He could rescue someone else and write a Vought storybook romance with them if he wanted to – but he’s here, needling you, trying to get something out of you that you don’t understand. And since you can’t do anything else, there’s only one thing left you can think of. “What do you want from me?” you ask, and it comes out so plaintive and sad, like a child’s voice. Despite all the frustration and anger and confusion…you suddenly feel like any moment you might start crying. And you don’t want to be that person, someone who bursts into tears because some guy yelled at them. But therein lies the problem, doesn’t it? Because Homelander isn’t just some guy. Not at all. He says nothing, and when you look at his expression, you’re shocked. His mouth is downturned, lips pressed against each other as he gazes at you. He looks so melancholy. It’s like your question has infected him with your misery and confusion and he’s reflecting it back at you. It seems astonishing to you that Homelander doesn’t seem to know the answer to the question himself – he came here to provoke you, to get some kind of a response, and then when he got one, he didn’t know how to react. Perhaps this is new territory for him, unused to navigating complicated social interactions without a teleprompter or an earpiece feeding him lines to say. Perhaps that’s why he keeps coming back to you, because you’re one of the only things in his life that isn’t part of a script. “I…” Homelander says, like he’s trying to remember something, his voice quiet but rough. “I want…” You have never heard him hesitate. Whenever he’s on TV, he always sounds confident and decisive. Just like the leader of the Seven should be. True, most of the things he says are generic platitudes, all with that shiny Vought coating, but now he sounds so…lost. Far from finding this comforting, proof he is a human under that suit after all, you find it unnerving. Men like Homelander don’t let their walls down easily and you don’t want to know how he’ll react if he decides to blame it on you. Even if you never fucking asked to see him like this. Or at all.  A gloved hand suddenly curves around your head, and you stiffen reflexively, but all he does is pull you to him, slowly, mindful of that monstrous strength of his, and soon you understand what he’s doing- Homelander is fucking hugging you. His hand cups the back of your head, cradling your skull in his palm and his other hand slips around your back. You hate to admit it, but there’s no denying it – he’s warm and with the padding of the suit it’s all too easy to relax in his grip, even though your instinct is to be wary. You move as carefully as he does, as if you could possibly do anything to break him, but you’re feeling as tentative as he is. It’s the most bizarre thing – was all he really wanted under all his posturing a hug? Is he truly this incapable of voicing his own needs? Cautiously, because you get the sense he wants it, you rest a hand on his bicep and make an awkward rubbing motion in an attempt to be soothing. You’re sure it’s probably not all that effective, you’ve never been a naturally comforting or maternal person, but he seems to appreciate your attempts at it because he squeezes you a little (but not too tightly – even now, you must admit his control over his powers is incredible) and he rests his chin atop your head. You feel his chest expand and you’re not stupid, you know what he’s doing – he’s smelling your hair, breathing in the vague hint of flowers from your shampoo and though it’s intensely weird for Homelander to be fucking sniffing you like a wolf, it’s not as bad as everything else he’s done so far so you let it pass without comment. You stand that way for a little while, soaking in the sudden calm. It’s like walking out into the rain after a storm, and the words slip unbidden from your mouth.  “You know,” you say, because something has occurred to you. A little slip of the tongue from when he ranted at you during that goddamn interview – the words had lodged in your brain despite your efforts to ignore them – it didn’t strike you as important at the time, but now it’s nudging you like a thorn in your side. But He said: “Like you have the slightest fucking idea of how hard it really is, doing this bullshit all the time.” Was it possible Homelander was jealous that you could ask for a break, and he couldn’t? That when you were overwhelmed, you didn’t keep quiet about it, that you expressed when something wasn’t what you signed on for. Homelander may be the powerful one…but what about when he doesn’t want to do something? Does he have a choice? Does anybody ever ask him at Vought if he needs a break? He hums to let you know he’s listening, a nudge for you to finish what you started. So, you do. “If you…if needed a rest for a little while, you can crash here. If you want to.” There’s a pause and you can almost see him weighing his options. He looks at you from beneath half-lidded eyes. Then he nods, just once. “Okay.” The response is so mild it takes you aback, but you still carefully step back out of his grip and lead the way to your room, even as a little voice in your head screams What are you doing?! What the fuck are you doing?! You have no idea what you’re doing, except that you’ve manage to defuse the situation and you’re just going with it. Homelander follows you without a word of complaint – he doesn’t even make any smartass comments about how messy your room is, with clothes all over the floor and a teetering stack of books on the table beside your bed. At least you remembered to make your bed this morning. You turn to leave – maybe go and buy some stronger alcohol or jump into a nearby river or something, but his fingers lock around your wrist. You look up at him and he’s not looking at you, instead you’re treated to the sight of his side-profile, the sharp jawline and unfairly long eyelashes. He stares at the bed, a set of fairy lights you strung up around the headboard twinkling invitingly. “Stay with me.” He says, but it’s not a command as you’d expect. It’s almost a question. You sigh slowly, but truth be told, you’re tired as well. So tired that it seems easier to just acquiesce than to fight him. And there’s something hopeful in his expression that gives you pause. “Okay,” you say, but hurry to add sternly, “But just sleeping, understand? Nothing else.” It's absurd –someone like you is giving Homelander orders now? Well, it is your bedroom. Homelander accepts this with an eyeroll and a terse nod, like he’s irritated you even felt the need to say it. Well, at least you know his personality hasn’t done a complete one-eighty. You’re not going to nap in your work clothes, so you stoop to grab a pair of sweats and a tank top from a pile of clothes on a chair that are all clean but still need to be ironed. The pile has been sitting there for a couple of weeks now, getting bigger and bigger. You slip into the bathroom to change, shutting the door firmly behind you, even though it’s a symbolic gesture at best – if Homelander wants to watch you strip down to your bra and panties, all he has to do is turn his X-ray vision on and you can’t really do anything about it. You just hope he’s too tired to give a shit. When you emerge, he’s perched on the end of your bed. His boots, gloves and belt are gone but the cape is still on. You eye the eagle epaulettes, which do not look comfortable at all, but you’re not going to waste your breath offering him any of your clothes to sleep in. You’re not his mommy and you know he'd only say no. There are too many strange lines being crossed right now without the confusion of undressing around each other. He looks up at you and holds out a hand. “C’mere.” He nearly whispers it. Feeling like you’re in a dream, you approach Homelander, and his fingers curl around yours. Touching Homelander’s hand seems a strangely intimate thing to do, like you’re both in some sort of period drama. He turns and pulls you down onto the bed with him. His touch is gentle, so you sink down onto the blanket with him. Somehow, you don’t need to speak to each other to settle on a position – you turn around because staring into his face seems too intense for the moment, and Homelander is at your back in an instant, arms wrapped tightly around you like he never wants to let you go. You don’t know how you manage to fall asleep, but before you know it, the room has floated away, with Homelander’s arms as your only anchor.

#homelander x reader #The Boys (2019) #The Boys x Reader #Fanfiction #Writings #Homelander x You

[captain-mj]

M-maybe part two of serial killer price and graves

Please

Several people have asked for more PriceGraves and then I remembered this!! So here ya go :)

Part 1

Tw for… like everything. Cannibalism, blood drinking, sex

They ended up picking another person up. Today was easy pickings it seemed.

“You’re my good luck charm.” Graves purred. His body language had changed. More loose. The innocent act from before long gone and replaced by something much more predatory. Price wondered if he cracked open Graves’s skull and looked, if his teeth would be sharpened. If his skull would be full of thorns and decay. If he’d taste sweet like rot.

Price smiled at him and they let the guy in the car. He had an accent. It didn’t sound as nice as Graves.

They drove for a while, not talking very much. Wasn’t really a reason too. Graves grabbed his gun and tapped it against his own knee before looking questioningly at Price.

Price gently shook his head to tell him to wait. He wanted this to be special.

Graves sighed but stayed compliant. He seemed to trust Price. Maybe foolish for anyone else, but Price didn’t want to betray Graves. If he did, Graves would be gone and Price wanted to enjoy him for a long, long time.

The man eventually told them they were at his stop. Price kept driving and Graves put the gun up. It was just to keep him from trying to leave.

The car found a new level of quiet. Price ended up putting on music to make it feel more comfortable.

“I have a family. People that will look for me.” His voice wobbled. He sounded like a wimp.

“Don’t care.” Price blew some of the smoke from his cigar.

“Is it money? I don’t have any.”

“I’m rich.” Graves smiled. Price wondered if he was telling the truth. It would be an interesting turn of events. Price always thought one day he’d be a sugar daddy. Not the sugar baby. Oh well. Graves was pretty enough. “Don’t need money.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

They answered, almost cutting each other off. “Fun.” The two of them looked at each other and Price wanted to kiss him so bad.

He had extra ropes. With the gun pointed at him, the man knew better than to run. Though, if he was smarter, he would’ve ran away. Getting shot was a lot better than what Price was planning.

Graves hummed and put his arms around Price. He reached up and kissed his jaw. “Show me what you wanted to do to me.” His hands ran down Price’s front as he spoke. His voice dripped with poisoned honey and Price wanted to lick it out of his mouth like the last supper.

“Exactly what I wanted to do to you?”

Graves nodded and he started pressing open mouthed kisses against his skin. There was something desperate. Animalistic. Price felt vindicated. He felt whole. He did want to show him. Wanted Graves to remember what he could’ve been, because he had a feeling he’d enjoy it.

Price sank to his knees and forced the guy down. “Not going to cut his vocal chords. The woods fitted him more.”

“And you would’ve put me in a motel bed. Would you have made sure the pillows were soft?”

“Would’ve fed you the little chocolates they leave on them.” Price promised, panting. “First. I would’ve gotten rid of your clothes.” He started to cut them off, going quickly.

“Would’ve you have slowed down for me?” Graves breathed in his ear.

“Yes. I wanted to drag it out. Savor it.”

“And now?”

“I want to share the fun parts with you.” Price grabbed and kissed him hard. He grabbed Graves’s thighs and shoved him against his truck, feeling his back arch into him so they pressed closer together.

Graves licked at his lower lip. “John. John. The cadaver.”

Cadaver.

It didn’t quite fit. The man was still alive. But it sounded nice.

“Cadaver.” Price repeated and kissed him hard. He pulled back, not letting this one last as long. He slid back on his knees and spun the knife in his hands.

“No! No ple-”

Price slowly slid it down the middle. Gutting him like a fish. He watched his insides spill out. The ruby red staining the light skin. It soaked the tattered clothing. But none of that was important.

Graves gasped like it was beautiful. Which it was. He looked down at the mess inside.

Price used the knife to push the skin away. “This is the ribcage. Rather hard to get through like this.” He wrapped his hand around one of them. The man was trying to make noise, most likely screamings, but he could only really make gurgles.

Price cracked the rib so they could get a better look. “This is his lungs. You can watch them move.”

“His breathing is so fast. Are all of them like that?”

“Most of them. Had one who was asthmatic. He actually suffocated before I could do anything. I cut him open anyway. Just to look.” Price reached in and gently scooped out his liver. “His is a little big. But this is about the normal size.”

Graves was staring. His eyes were so big. So blue.

Price dropped the organ on the ground. “He’ll die pretty soon without that. But we still have plenty of time.”

Graves grabbed his bloody hand and licked it. Starting at his palm and going to the tip of his ring finger. He glanced at him, eyes softening.

Price grabbed him by his hair and shoved his middle and pointer into mouth and chokes him on it. Spit, tinged pink, ran down his chin but Graves let him do it. His soft tongue pressed against him, lapping at his fingers while he gagged around the brutal pace.

Price swallowed and imagined how that would feel on his cock instead.

Later.

He pulled his fingers away and Graves chased them, lapping at the strings of saliva connecting them.

“Calm down, love. Promise I’ll take care of you afterwards. Wanna show you something first.” He looked back at the still breathing cadaver. Price pointed out the major muscle groups and took Graves’s hand, running them along the exposed muscles. Normally, he’d be reveling in the pained sounds the other person made, but he could only focus on how excited Graves looked.

“I never thought cutting them up would be so much fun. Always thought it would be boring.” Graves admitted before sliding his finger along the seam between two organs. It bloodied his hand and Price got the urge to lick up just like Graves did.

He caved. Graves didn’t choke him, just watched with a look of glee as he licked it from his palm.

“I wanna do something.” Graves leaned in, their lips almost pressing. “How long will he be alive if we rip his heart out? Seconds? Instant? Only a minute?”

“If we do it right, I could buy us time. Why?”

Graves grinned. “I want to try a piece.”

Price got rid of the gap between them and licked at his lips. “Of his heart?”

“Yes.”

“You’re disgusting.” Price was already moving to do as he asked. He gently sliced a piece of the muscle of his heart, trying to keep the arteries and things intact enough to keep blood flow. He held it out to Graves who gently sank his teeth in to the piece. Blood dripped between them but all Price could do was focus the eyes staring into him.

“Chewy.”

“Not the best taste.”

Graves took the knife from him and knelt down. They were too close, it made moving awkward but Price didn’t mind. He wanted them be closer. “Can you show me how?”

Price put his arms around Graves, hands on his wrists so he could guide his movements. He helped him take a chunk off. It was a little jagged but he looked so pleased with himself. Graves twisted in his arms but Didn’t remove himself. Instead, he offered it to Price.

Price took it. Slowly. Mostly using his tongue instead of his teeth. The muscles still twitched like it was trying to beat. It tasted like iron and raw meat. Not surprising.

But the dedication. The start of obsession in Graves’s eyes was more than enough.

Price let Graves finish him off.

Graces slammed the knife into his stomach. The blood mixed more. It splashed up against his body and up his face. Price leaned over and licked it off his cheek as he kept going. He slammed in over and over again, until he stopped twitching. Until the body ripped and twisted. Barely looked human.

Price grabbed Graves and yanked him over. He held Graves in his lap, feeling his mouth against his own. They were grinding against each other like animals as Price started to lick into his mouths. Both of them had blood all over their hands and across their bodies and Price could taste it on his tongue.

Graves groaned and started pulling off his clothes. “Fuck me. Hard as you want.” He laid down to the body and Price dipped his fingers in the blood and used that to lube him up. He fingered Graves nice and slow, not wanting to rip him. Maybe he should. No, he wanted him to be able to walk afterwards.

Price licked over his mouth and then shoved his cock deep into him. Graves wailed and thrashed. He started to Fuck him like he wanted, hard and fast.

Price grabbed his knees and forced his legs open and railed him. Graves panted and flushed, twisting as his nails dug into him.

“Yes, just like that. Hurt me please.”

Price panted and sank his teeth into him until blood started to flow. He slammed into him over and over again, chasing his own pleasure. Graves sank his nails into his back and raked down, licking the blood from his fingers.

Price came in him and went to grab his cock to finish him off.

“No.” Graves groaned. “Just take me home.”

“Home?”

“Hotel. Wherever. I don’t care. Just take me.”

#cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #Phillip graves #John Price #Captain John Price #Price x Graves #Graves x Price

[danielnelsen]

anyway rn i’m feeling very vindicated because today the government apologised to men convicted for gay sex, and the news story went on to talk about people campaigning to stop religious schools from expelling kids for their sexuality or for being trans

and the reason this is so vindicating (other than the obvious apology bit) is because every time i try to tell people that religious schools can expel you for being gay they DONT BELIEVE ME. i’ll tell them that i was scared to ask for any accommodations for being trans (even just wearing the sports uniform instead of a dress) because they could expel me and they say i must have misinterpreted something. i went and READ THE ACTUAL LAW before anonymously contacting my vice principal and was basically told that if i brought it up with anyone else then i WOULD be expelled, and PEOPLE DONT BELIEVE ME

sorry but this is my life. this is my genuine lived experience. and it hasn’t changed in nearly a decade since i had to deal with it. stop telling me it MUST have changed or that i MUST have been wrong at the time

#and every time someone tells me i must be wrong it still surprises me. i’m shocked every time #i don’t mean people who are in disbelief that it’s a thing #i mean people who genuinely just don’t believe me. like. why?????? #personal #auspol #nswpol