#one of us can spin while the other weaves

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: apparently it is easier to push out a new chapter when its a juicy one!!!! sorry for this but did you really think i was done with the angst? oh naur babey we're just setting up the scene i envisioned when i had the original idea <3 strap in babe!

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: A secret you vowed to never reveal gets uncovered and Azriel struggles as all he's known is turned on its head. An unfriendly adversary from the past comes knocking.

CHAPTER SIX :: BETRAYERS

One glimpse at your shelter as he winnows into the forest, the snow crunching loudly underfoot, and Azriel knows it deep in his bones.

Something is wrong.

He stands amongst the pines of the forest behind your shelter and even from the distance, he can sense the change in the air. The wind, wilder than usual, tastes faintly like danger. It's snowing. His shadows wisp about, whispering and twittering, doing nothing to ease the twinge of panic.

There are boards in the back window.

Azriel stalks forward through the snow, his ears keenly sifting through the noises of the forest around him but nothing gives way. Just like he had felt all those days ago, there’s a warped agony that clings to the sides of your shelter.

Last time, there had been blood in the snow. A trail, that led him right to you.

Today, there are only the boards in the windows.

His mind jumps to the other warriors in the camp, wondering if this is their doing— trapping you inside as some sort of sickening test. See if the bastard can fight his way out or starve to death in his own four walls.

Something like pure malice glimmers just beneath his skin, ready to rear up, but—

—But no. As he gets closer, Azriel realises he’s wrong.

This is not the work of the brutes in camp, this is you. The boards have been put up from the inside.

A series of emotions stutter and slam into each other, wrestling with one another in his chest. Confusion shares the top spot with an unwavering concern that seems to grow with every step closer. Boarded up from the inside... what possible reason could warrant you to do this?

Uneasiness coats his every nerve, an uncomfortable prickle rolling along his raised hackles. Something stirs in his chest. Azriel stalks closer to your shelter, snow slushing beneath his boots, torn between calling out and biting his tongue. He goes for the latter.

His shadows glide around him agitatedly, circling his hands where they hover over his weapons. His wings are pulled in tight. He slows as he reaches the front of your shelter.

There's no sound coming from inside. No scent of blood, no crackle of fire. Yet somehow he knows, without question, that you're in there.

As his concern winds down a notch, his rational brain begins to tick. There might be someone else in there with you. As the different scenarios get considered and discarded, Azriel lands on the most likely one. It's a trap.

The reasoning builds up the motive, spinning a story that makes sense. A Shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, caught off his guard by using his latest confidant against him.

Azriel turns over the idea slowly and decisively, thinking of Brudam, of Lord Mylind, wondering if they've been buying their time all this while— and he's been too distracted with you to even notice.

Azriel curses himself for being so careless.

There's still no noise from within the shelter.

If it's a trap, it doesn't matter; the only way out is through.

Letting his hand curl around the Truth Teller, Azriel grips it tightly and pretends that the loud thump in his mind isn't the echo from his afraid heart. He can't afford to be afraid — not with what it would mean, not with how it betrays how he feels for you.

Not when it distracts him from doing what is needed from him.

His shadows spiral up around him and Azriel weaves the darkness, folding the fabric of the world til it aligns as he needs, his anger sharpening his resolve. He steps through the rippling darkness and into your boarded-up shelter with one swift motion.

It's dark inside. There are slivers of light that curl around the planks of wood, reaching in the dance upon the floor, distorted by the motion of falling snow. The air is stale, undisturbed.

Azriel's gaze scours the environment for enemies, his grip tight around his knife, prepared to unsheathe it without hesitation. His shadows fly around wildly, whispering the details of the room— each corner empty, except for the one he knows your bed is tucked in. Something loosens in his chest just a fraction.

There's no one else in here but you.

His eyes go right to your bed. It's hard to see within the darkness but your figure is there, hunched up even tighter than the last time he had found you wounded, wings pulled up in an uncomfortable hold around yourself.

As the possibility of a trap tapers away, another scenario creeps in — you've been attacked and holed yourself up before they can finish the job.

Almost as the thought crosses his mind, the scent of blood reaches his senses. Azriel stills, each limb locking up as the information filters through his mind, aided by the murmurs of his shadows. Blood, they chant, new blood.

Not blood from an injury, not from an enemy.

A sickening type of surprise coils up Azriel's spine.

"Y/n?" He dares to speak. Your name comes out like it's completely foreign in his mouth.

There's a stunned web that seems to cling to him, dulling all his usually keen senses, as the pieces of this puzzle whiz around and begin to slot into place. New blood— new blood means— it means—

"Azriel?" Your voice sounds from the darkness in the corner. It's smaller than usual, thick with emotion.

There's the sound of you shifting. Azriel can't move at all. Even his shadows have slowed in their surprise.

With his eyes rapidly adjusting to the dimness, he can just see the features on your face as you untuck it from your curled-up position.

Someone is beating loudly against the walls—or at least it sounds that way with how hard his heart is beating in his chest, valves working in overdrive. Is it his heart? It feels like something else, something deeper.

New blood, new blood, new blood. A thousand different instances burst from his memory, glazed in a new light.

"He tells me that your absences during training have come to be somewhat expected,"—

—"You're smaller than usual Illyrians,”—

—Hands, weathered and much smaller than most males—

—You're small but your wings are still large and beautiful, tucked up neatly behind your back. Most warriors in camp must have at least a head of height on you—

—A Fae with long hair like Cassian's, chopped at the shoulder and scraped back — and a voice softer than most. A Fae with eyes that burn with a promise for retribution, with icy fury like his own.

Each one threatens to send him staggering to his knees. How the Cauldron did he miss it? How could he have missed it? He's the fucking Spymaster of the Night Court. You've been lying to his face from the very beginning and he's believed you hook, line, and sinker.

You're smaller than the males in camp because you aren't one at all.

You're so driven to help the others, to mend the clipped girls because... because...

His hazel eyes catch on your wings, snaked around yourself protectively and Azriel suddenly feels very, very sick.

You seem to realise all of a sudden that he's real and not just some hallucinated fever-dream version of him. Despite the efforts to keep everyone out, he's here, on the inside with you. He knows.

"Azriel," You say his name again, like a plea this time. Wings uncurling a fraction, you make a move to stand but an invisible pain cripples you and he watches as you shudder, a pained whimper leaking out your mouth. An instinct within him roars to rush to your side but his feet are rooted to the floor.

"You..." He begins, his voice far away.

Something is unravelling in his chest with an alarming speed, something growing and churning, fiery hot. It feels like dread—panicky, horrified fear boiling in his stomach. He doesn't realise that it isn't his own.

"You're not a male."

His words look like they cause you more pain, agony shifting across your features, and Azriel wishes he could take them back the moment they leave his lips. But he's not wrong.

Even from across the room, he can see the quiver in your bottom lip. You're frozen in fear, he realises.

Tentatively, you shake your head. "I'm- I'm not."

You're not. Perhaps, he was wrong about you and you're not some beaten-down warrior, striving for justice against the tides that try to hold you back. Maybe you're a snake in the grass, hiding yourself, cocooning in a lie. You've been lying since the first moment you met him.

Azriel can't tell why it hurts so much in his chest, why it feels so close to betrayal, why it feels like his heart is bleeding. Who are you really?

"I—" Your words get cut off with another wince as you slump over, your cycle ravaging your body with pain. "Azriel, wait—"

He's taken a step back without even realising.

Who are you? Stranger, ally, friend; all the titles you've earned feel like they're getting stripped back forcibly and his heart warbles agonisingly in response. His shadows have picked up speed, darting around him. His wings have risen an inch, flared a little wider.

"Please," You gasp, trying to shuffle forward again but halted by the waves of pain. One of your hands grips around your midriff tightly and there's a sheen on your face that tells him you're crying. He's never seen you cry before.

Who are you? Is your name even your real name? Azriel doesn't know where the hurt is coming from, why it's so strong— except he thinks he does.

He's known from that first week with you. Known from the first time he laid eyes on your face and his very soul seemed to call out in response. He's known and he's been ignoring it all this time. His mate.

"You— you have to understand," You're still grasping at words desperately, even as you give up trying to move through your afflicted torment. Azriel takes another step back. What is he doing? "Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings."

Choked sobs begin to claw their way up your throat and Azriel feels the thickness in his own throat, connected from the inside. You're connected. The pounding on the door, on his chest, in his heart, is the only thing he can focus on, getting louder and louder. Bile threatens at his throat.

He can't be here.

"I just- just wanted to keep—" The words keep coming, even as he steps back once more, shadows swirling. Words lurch up his throat, questions, explanations, accusations. None of them escape. His mouth is dry.

His wings rustle as he tucks them in and forces his gaze down to stare at the floorboards. He's been here, lived here, in your lie for how many months? His mate, a liar.

He shifts the space between inside and elsewhere, scrunching the fabric so it aligns with somewhere, anywhere he can think of.

"P-Please, you have to understand—Azriel!"

Your call echoes as he steps through his magic, letting it carry him away from your shelter, from your agony that he can feel from the inside, from the lie he's been fed.

He lands on a hilltop and when he opens his eyes, he's looking at a familiar cabin. His shadows move about almost limply, his magic and siphons depleted from overuse in such a short time. He can feel the chill of snow on the tips of his wings which drag behind him.

He's...drained. Stunned.

And where he's always dreamed of a golden thread, a lover's tug, rooted deep in his being that connects him to his mate... there is only a pull of utter misery.

—

You had thought of this before; what it might be like to have him find out.

The trust severed. Your friend, the only one you've ever truly had, lost to your betrayal. The first couple weeks in his company as you learnt slowly to let your guard down had been the first times in decades you had been freed from night terrors.

You had thought of it then, during one of those nights—you did not want to lose him in any way.

The cost was too high, the sheer magnitude of your secret that you never intended on him finding out. You had promised yourself you couldn't, you wouldn't tell him, no matter how much you yearned to.

You wonder now if you would have been better off if you'd never met him at all.

Never trusted him, never took his hand, and stood by his side to learn how to fight. No learning how to trust after years of desolate solitude, just to have it ripped from you. No shared smiles in the dim light of the evening, glancing away when you're caught looking for too long.

No hurt, no pain, no replaying the look on his face as he uttered the secret you had kept hidden for nearly three decades.

The burning spasms of your cycle seem almost dull compared to the ache in your heart. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. You feel like you're burning up from the inside, like there's a hurricane of regret building in your chest and its' howl is as torturous as it is loud.

Time passes. Outside, the snow turns to heavy rain.

The painful throbs that wrack your body ebb and flow but the heaviness in your heart never seems to fade. You can't decide between being angry at Azriel or at yourself.

How could he be so... so unfeeling? So merciless, not giving you even a moment to truly explain?

There had been a time where you thought when he looked at you, he saw beyond the surface; more than a mutt, more than just another bastard. You half hoped he saw through your facade and didn't care anyway.

You're a fool for that, you realise now.

Your consciousness wanes as you burrow as deep as you can into your blankets, wanting them to swallow you whole, wrapped in half-hearted warmth and ribbons of pain. He's never coming back, you realise. The tears start up all over again, your heart sobbing out for a piece of it that's missing. He's never coming back.

You know that for sure— so when there's a slushing of feet through the snow and a pounding knock on your door, your hackles rise in pure fright. Your wings tuck around yourself a little tighter, right as another spasm of agony rocks through your bones. You cry out weakly, teeth gritted tightly.

There's someone at the door who's come sniffing for a fight. It's not Azriel.

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs

#forgive me.... hehehehehe >:) #but im not sorry!!!! its been planned from the beginning!!!!!! #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger x you #whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn) #whom the shadows sing for #notice how there’s no moon in the header this time? :)

[abouttofillhisshoes]

Facedown - Matty Healy

A/N: I don't shag men irl, so soz if there are any inaccuracies regarding the ins and outs of anal xx thank you to my mates @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff, @man-im-so-high and @awellposhmagazine for indulging in my stupid questions and mental breakdowns in the GC❤️

wc: 7k

content warnings: smut, fluff, dirty talk, pegging, praise, also a bit of degradation depending on how you look at it use of sex toys (strap), mentions of lingerie/matty in womens clothing, sex shops, spit, masochism, cursing, polaroids/cameras, so picture kink?, girlie immortalizes him in a picture let it be poetic

“I want you to fuck me.” 

You choke on air. Matty is a blunt person, always has been, never really caring for beating around the bush. You didn't mind it, but you feel like he could’ve worded that a bit more eloquently. He’s laying on top of you, hair tickling the bottom of your chin, curls obstructing a bit of your vision. 

“Okay, fucking hold up, what?” you're convinced you've misheard him. Even he wouldn't be that blunt. He takes a deep breath, his tone slow and condescending

“I said, I want you to fu-” you hit him, giggling in disbelief. He jumps back in surprise, a grin spreading onto his face. He was actually serious.  

“I fucking heard what you said, jesus.” Matty has this look in his eye when he’s about to do something he knows you won't like, this glimmer in his eye, and you see it so clearly. His hand grabs your face, licking across your cheek, starting from the edge of your jaw. You squirm away, wiping your skin with your hand, throwing curses at him. 

“Fuck's sake, you're like a dog. Behave and I'll give you a treat, christ.” 

“Depends on what the treat is.” he winks at you, grinning widely as you screw your eyes shut in annoyance. He just wouldn't let up, like it would kill him to be PG for even five seconds. 

“So?” he asks, referring to his original statement.

‘I want you to fuck me.’ 

His words echo through your head, making all sorts of images flash in front of your eyes. Of course he notices, trailing his fingers up your bare arm, making goosebumps kiss your skin in his wake.

It's hard to even think straight, the suddenness of the question making your head spin. The two of you had never talked about it before, thinking it wasn't even on the table. 

“Are you- are you sure?” you stutter out, a small part of you scared he was joking, trying to see how you would react. His answer makes you sigh in relief.  

“Never been more sure.'' He's smiling, a genuine, reassuring smile. 

“Actually?” 

“No, I meant metaphysically, philosophically-” he deadpans, but it takes only a few seconds for him to crack up laughing, burying his face into your chest, trying to stifle his giggles. 

You breathe out, weaving a gentle hand through his hair, guiding him up to kiss you, lips locking as he gasps softly. You stay like that for a while, kissing and holding each other, neither wanting to let go. 

“You're mental.” you mumble when he pulls away, brushing a small strand of hair out of your eyes, sweetly tucking it behind your ear. 

“Yet, you love me.” It's so perfect. His body is warm against yours, acting as a sort of weighted blanket, pressing you into the sofa. The scent of his perfume is strong, tinged with a hint of the spliff you’d both smoked earlier.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

You can tell he’s never been in an actual sex shop by the was his eyes widen when you enter, flicking between the multitude of displays and posters, having no idea where or what to look at. His hand grasps yours, one goal in mind as you both step inside, heading towards a specific aisle. Strap-ons. 

Even if it was his first visit, he seems immediately at home, casually browsing through strap-ons and vibrators like he was in a department store, looking at lampshades or containers. At some point, you manage to break away from him, finding yourself in the lingerie section, lace and silk and satin surrounding you on all sides. Your fingers graze over a specific pair of green lace panties, the material soft to the touch. 

Your mind goes back to that night, to the memory of Matty, on your bed, shirtless and panting, the only thing concealing him a pair of lacey black womens underwear. You wonder if he’d be into it, buying more stuff like that, or if he maybe had more back home, hidden in a secret corner of his drawer. 

You're snapped back into reality by a repetitive tap on your shoulder, turning around to see it was Matty. He was holding something in his hand; a light purple, see through strap, decorated with specks of glitter and incredibly detailed. You blush at the sight, before remembering where you actually were. It looked big in his hands, intimidating almost. 

“This one’s pink and glittery! Fucking awesome, who knew they had so many types?” he booms, holding it up right in front of your face. A few people turn, but most ignore his loud proclamation, going back to their own shopping. 

“You're so girly, Jesus christ.” you snigger, stifling a crude laugh. It was so Matty, always one to pick the most extravagant, out of the ordinary, even when it came to sex toys.  

“Don’t make me fucking start-” he threatens, and you promptly cover his mouth with your palm, staring deep into his eyes. 

“Shut it.” and to your surprise, he did. 

He goes back to the isle he came from, looking for more options. You’d expected it to be more uncomfortable, but you felt light, like anything was on the table. Seeing him move out of your sight, you turn back to the fabric you’d been admiring earlier, running your fingers over it, and out of the corner of your eye, something shiny catches your attention. Garters. 

Your core stirs at the thought of Matty in garters, maybe even stockings or heels. You wonder if he’d even be into it, or if that was where his adventures in femininity ended. Lost in your fantasies, you don't even realize you’d picked something up. A black garter, little heart details making it sparkle in the low light of the shop, leather and metal cool against your skin. 

“Oh?” you hear a teasing voice say from behind, making you jump slightly. Clutching the object between your fingers, you spin around, eyes meeting Matty’s, and he has this filthy grin on his face, knowing he’s caught you.

“What's this?” he takes it from your hand, looking at it closely. His eyes light up when he realizes what it is, or more, who it's for. Matty’s ego inflates as he dangled in front of you, relishing in your flustered reaction, a blush creeping onto your face. 

“Is this meant for me?” he asks, pressing it onto his thigh over his jeans, trying to figure out how it would look. He moves to the mirror located off to the side to get a better look, admiring himself in the mirror.

“You don't have to- it's just an idea.” you say defensively, scared he’ll find it weird or odd or-

“It's a wonderful one. Do tell me more, darling.” his hand trails up your arm, landing on your shoulder. You don't have time to react as he pulls you in for a kiss, short and hot. A suggestion.

You stare at him for a few moments, not sure how to react. 

“What else do you want to see me in? This, perhaps?” he struts over to the lingerie section, picking up a pair of silk panties, showing them to you. You nod your head, earning a sly grin and a wink from Matty as he puts them into his little basket.

“Or are you more of a lace kinda gal?” There's a hint of tease in his voice as he holds up another pair. The green pair. 

Your breath hitches as he stares at you, looking for a reaction, smiling victoriously when he sees it. Raising his eyebrows, he wordlessly adds them to the growing pile of merchandise he’s accumulated in the short span he’d been wandering around the store. 

“Fucking hell.” you mutter under your breath as he grabs your hand, dragging you over to the garters. It all seems unreal, the way he confidently shows off the pieces over his clothes, ‘modeling’ for you in front of other shoppers, utterly shameless. 

“I'll wear it for you, you just have to tell me what you want.” he parrots your words back at you. ‘Just tell me what you want, Matthew’

If only he knew. 

“You look pretty in everything Matty, I'd rather you pick.”

“And I'd rather you be turned on, hm? C’mon, tell me, I don't bite.” you giggle a bit at his choice of words, the marks on your neck contradicting his statement. 

“You like it when I'm pretty for you?” he whispers into your ear, the words going straight to your core. Your knees feel weak, ready to buckle at any moment if he keeps talking like that.

Nodding frantically, you press a small kiss to his lips, taking his hand. You lead him to the shoes, heels and boots of all heights and colors stacked neatly in piles against a wall.

“Oh, I'm liking this turn of events.” he grins, hands reaching out to touch a specific pair of black platforms, adorned with small gemstones along the strap. You had a similar pair, knowing just how hard they were here to walk in. 

“You are?” you question, feeling his free hand wrap around your waist, bringing the shoes up for you to touch, the leather rough under your fingertips.

“You turn me on so much it fucking hurts. I love being your little fantasy, all dolled up for you.” he speaks slowly, quiet enough so that only you can hear. You cough, almost choking on air as he adds the shoes to the basket, walking off as though nothing happened. 

“This one?” he asks, holding up another toy. A pale pink strap-on, less glittery than the last one, but still incredibly eye-catching. You eye him up and down, the way he stood like he was holding the most normal thing ever appalling you. 

“You sure?” he nods enthusiastically, eyes silently begging you to say yes. “Imagine how pretty i’d look, imagine the pictures-” 

Oh, he loved to tease you about those, your collection of filthy polaroids growing larger and larger the longer you were together, stashed at the bottom of your nightstand. 

“Sure you can take it?'' The expression on his face is priceless as you fight fire with fire, his grin vanishing, being replaced with an embarrassed blush dusting his face. 

He wordlessly adds it, walking off in the direction of the till. You follow closely, watching him take a bottle of lube (strawberry flavored, because it's Matty) from the shelf, placing it in the basket.

It was all so new, uncharted territory for both of you. Sure, he teased and you teased back, throwing witty retorts at each other until one eventually gave up, but you were both equally nervous and excited, the idea absolutely thrilling. 

The bus ride back home is slightly awkward, the bags in your hands adorning the very obvious logo of the sex shop you’d just been in, earning judging glances from strangers. Matty remains unbothered, engrossed in an old edition of vogue he’d bought at check out. You watch him leaf through the pages, inspecting outfits and designs, muttering when he doesn't agree with them. It was endearing, watching him critique world famous fashion designers, like his opinion would hold and weight in a proper argument. 

200 quid was what the trip had cost you, spending way more than you had planned. Matty had paid for it with his parents' money that they sent to him every so often, wanting him to be able to live comfortably even if they were away. You felt sort of bad, offering to use your own cash, quickly being swatted away by an insistent Matty.

“I have to pay, seeing as I am a gentleman. Besides, you're going to be taking great care of me later, so-” you manage to cut him off with a stealth elbow in the ribs, sparing the poor cashier from one of his terribly inappropriate rants. 

—----------------------------------------------------

Home is comfortable, much unlike the harsh summer weather and the beating sun that waited for you outside. Unlocking the door, you've met with the soft hum of the air conditioner, the cool air kissing your skin. Matty lets out a relieved sigh as he finally sets down the bags, stretching his arms over his head. You catch a glimpse of his lower stomach, a small trail of hair traveling from his belly button and into the waistband of his pants, which were hung obscenely low on his hips. 

“Do you want to-” you're cut off by Matty’s lips on yours, one hand gripping onto the base of your neck, the other pulling you in by the waist. Despite being almost three inches taller, you manage to overpower him quickly, pressing him into the wall behind him. He gasps against your lips, his fingers digging into your hips as you grasp him by the hair, tugging him down to meet you. 

“Desperate, much?” you say condescending, one of your fingers trailing down the hollow of his throat, grazing the skin enough to leave a faint red mark. 

He loved seeing the aftermath of you on his body, and you’ve caught him admiring himself in the mirror more than once, running his fingertips over the bruises and scratches, reliving the moments that caused them. It's not like he left you bare, either, the complete opposite, actually. Your neck was full of hickeys in various colors, some more faded than others. 

He loved using his teeth, and had once left an incredibly obvious bite mark on the skin just above your collarbone, getting disgusted and borderline traumatized looks from both Ross and George. Adam never did mention i, but you caught him stealing glances at both of you, his tell tale ‘what the actual fuck did you do’ look on his face. 

“You’re one to talk, don’t think I didnt see how you looked at me back there.” he smirks against your lips, tongue swiping along your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth. You use your body weight to hold him up against the wall, pressing a knee right between his legs, a move he loved to use on you, and watching you grind against him is his favorite sight in the whole world.

His hips buck against your lower half, his hard-on brushing up against your thigh. He groans at the slight friction, repeating the action until you stop him.  

“Please, fuck- please.” he breathes, eyeing the bag on the ground behind you with a look of pure lust on his face.

Your knees feel weak, your stomach flipping as he reaches out to touch your face, trailing his fingers down your jaw and onto your neck, lovingly pressing kisses all over your skin, almost as if to try and convince you of something.

Wordlessly, you grab him by the collar of his shirt, leading him down the long hallway and up the stairs, almost tripping. You near the bedroom, unable to take your hands off each other as he pathetically whimpers into your mouth, nails clawing at your back.

The door swings open and you push him forward until the back of his knees hit the bed, making him fall onto it. 

“Been thinking ‘bout this for a while, haven't you?” he nods slowly, chest heaving from the sheer force of your kiss, leaving him breathless.  

“You can’t imagine.” he answers, eyes looking up at you from his spot on the bed, wide and full of want. 

“So pretty.” you whisper to yourself, reaching down to push his shirt up, revealing that little bit of hair on his stomach, so incredibly sexy it made your head spin. 

“Take your shirt off for me, I'll be back.” you kiss him again, softly this time, not even looking at his reaction before turning around and disappearing through the door. Your legs carry you as fast as they can go, taking two steps at a time as you race downstairs, eyes settling on the hot pink paper bag left abandoned on the floor. 

Rifling through the pile of various clothes, underwear, gags, toys; really anything you could think of, your breath hitches as your fingers brush against cold resin. Of course it was made of resin, ridiculously expensive as well, typical Matty. You laugh to yourself, taking a close look at the toy in your hands.

It was pale pink, hyper realistic veins running down the sides of it, the actual strappy part a deep purple, almost black. Your heart thrums against your ribcage, almost forgetting one vital thing: the lube. 

The sight before you open the door again is one that should be chiseled into stone and hung up for thousands of years. Matty is on the bed, further up so that his head is resting on the metal bed frame up against the wall, it being more comfortable that way. His shirt is off, just like you had told him. 

One thing made you freeze. His hand was covering his lower half, palming his obvious hard on through his insanely tight jeans. It looked painful, well hidden by the filthy smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips, making your heart skip a beat. 

“Kept me waiting.'' His voice is low, raspy, and desperate, even if he tries to play it off. You move without thinking, watching his eyes flicker over to the toy in your hand, which you place onto the bed out of his reach. 

“Not my fault you can't go five seconds without touching yourself.” you shoot back, kneeling onto the soft mattress. 

“Sort of is, isn't it?” he sounds playful, almost giddy as you catch his lips in a kiss. 

“You were begging so nicely before, what happened?” you fake pout at him, putting on a slightly condescending tone as he rolls his eyes at you. 

“I caught my breath.” he says, hands settling on your hips as you straddle him properly, his aching cock grinding against the curve of your ass. It feels amazing, your ego swelling as you take him in, needy and wanting for you and you only. 

“Yeah?” 

“Might have to take it again.” 

You get what he’s playing at immediately, reaching up to wrap your hand around his throat. Matty lets out a choked gasp, eyes widening at the sensation. 

“Fuck-” he’s cut off by you pressing down harder, watching all the blood in his head rush down south. 

“What? Couldn't quite hear you, speak up.” you taunt, loving watching him struggle to answer you, all that came out being needy gasps and curses.

“Please-” his breath hitches when you reach down to skillfully unbutton his pants with one hand, silently thanking the gods above he had decided to forgo a belt today, peeling the jeans off of him. He lets out a choked moan as you grip him through his boxers, wishing he had worn a pair of women’s panties, knowing it would rile you up even more.  

 “What? Use your words, Matthew, tell me what you want.” you tease, ignoring his silent begging, only slightly letting go of his throat, scared he wasn't properly getting oxygen. 

“Touch me, please.” he manages to force out, tears of relief welling up in his eyes when you take him out of his boxers, stroking his cock lightly. 

“This all for me? All because of that toy? Filthy, filthy boy.” his mind blanks, ecstacy overtaking his body and mind, the only thing he could think of was how fucking lucky he was. The strap is only visible in the corner of your eye as you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, drinking in every little gasp. 

You dig your thumb into his slit, his hips arching off the bed and into your hand, spurts of precum leaking out of his tip. You smile at his reaction, one question still running through your mind. This was all so new, and you were riffing off of what you already knew he liked, trying to build up as much tension as possible. 

“Have you done this before?” he takes a second to answer, slowly nodding his head. You motion for him to elaborate. A pang of insecurity rushes through you at the thought of him doing this with someone else, another person seeing him like this. You push it all down, turning your full attention to Matty. 

“Only alone, trying some things out..” his voice is uncharacteristically small, eyes avoiding you as he stutters over the second part of his sentence, clearly a bit embarrassed. 

“Oh yeah? Did it feel good?” you encourage him, desperate to make him feel as comfortable as possible. He smirks, and you can basically see the memories flash behind his eyes. 

Alone, late at night. Curiosity striking, clothes hitting the floor of his old bedroom. A mess of lube and spit, fingers experimentally curling upwards and finally, finally hitting that perfect spot deep inside of him, making him moan into his pillow, trying to muffle the sound. 

But of course, Matty has to do and say something so utterly stupid, it makes your eyes hurt from rolling them. 

“It’ll feel so much better if you do it for me, darling. Treat me right and all, seeing as I am your girl-” you playfully hit his arm, effectively shutting him up. He wasn't fully wrong, but the way he worded it was purposefully supposed to make you cringe, your eyes screwing shut and hands going to cover your face in embarrassment. 

“Shut up, what is your damage?” you ask, glaring at him as he tries his best to stifle his giggles. It's infectious, and soon you start laughing as well, falling into his arms, losing it at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Can you take nothing seriously?” It's a rhetorical question, but he still answers.

 “Nothing.” he drags out the word, mocking you.

You take this opportunity to tug at his cock, wiping the smug grin directly from his face. It was satisfying, watching him go from cocky and borderline bratty, to a sweet, moldable putty in the palm of your hand, willing to do whatever you asked of him.

 “A-ah oh fuck, i’m not gonna- stop.” he gasps, trying to push you off. You fight back, pinning him down using your entire body, your fingertips ghosting over his cock. 

“Gotta get you ready to take me, don't want it to hurt, do you?” your voice drips with lust, relishing in the wanton sounds he lets out at your words. Matty looks at you, mouth slightly ajar as if trying to say something. You nod at him. 

“I can- I can show you. If you want. We both know how much you like to watch me.” he gestures to the camera sitting on the nightstand, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Go on.” you whisper, your voice cracking. 

He flips around, and you use this little bit of time to slip your own clothes off, leaving your shirt and panties on, settling onto the bed behind him.

His hands reach for the bottle of lube, blindly feeling around for it. You hand it to him with a sickly sweet smile, making his stomach flip as he spreads his legs, a performative moan leaving his lips as he uncaps it with his teeth, pouring the liquid onto his fingers.   

It's weird, seeing him in this position, facedown against the mattress, tugging his boxers down with his clean hand. He can feel your eyes on him, raking over his milky skin, watching him take a deep breath as the cool lube hits his skin. 

“You look pretty.” you hear him snigger into the pillow at the breathlessness of your voice.  “Right? Good genes, innit?” he says smugly, craning his head around to get a look at your annoyed expression.

“Oh fuck off.” you smack him on the arse, taking the piss out of his stupid comments. 

He gasps, and now it's your turn to be smug, grazing your nails over the skin you’d just hit 

“Seriously? That turned you on?” he nods, tracing his lube covered fingers over his hole, shivering a bit before pushing one in. 

A string of moans and curses spill from lips, panting as his back arches at the intrusion. You watch him with wide eyes, taking every minuscule twitch of his body as he curls them slightly, going even deeper. You commit everything to memory, wanting this moment to last forever, and you reach out to trail your hands down his sides, digging your slightly grown out nails into his hips, making him moan into the pillows.  

“Giving me a proper show then. Anything to get my attention, right?” you mumble, leaning over him as he fingers himself for you, groaning and twitching against the mattress, overcome with pleasure.

“It’s working isn't it?” he forces out, the feeling of your chest pressed to his back making his eyes roll back in his head, his tip leaking spurts of precum onto the sheets  

“Fuck, yeah, its working.” 

His fingers brush up against a certain spot inside of him and he quite literally shakes, arching and pushing down onto his digits, his body begging for more. You watch, entranced in every movement he makes, in a sort of daze. 

You could sense him gaining back a sense of confidence when he peers back at you, seeing your blissed out expression at the sight of him fucking himself open for you, moans and whimpers going straight to the growing heat in your core.

“Wanna fuck me? Make me moan for you?” he teases, moving his lube covered hand to his cock, tugging at himself as you pull him closer. The strap next to you burns a hole into your brain, and you reach for it, hand gliding over the resin. 

“Wanna take a pretty picture with that little camera of yours?” That was the final straw that made you scramble up, fumbling with the fastens of the toy, unbuckling them and slipping it over your underwear, the weight of it a bit strange. 

 “I’m going to make you eat those words.” you threaten, one of your hands threading through his hair, pulling his face up before dropping it back onto the pillows. He whimpers at the sharp pain radiating from his scalp, spreading all the way to his fingertips that clutch the sheets so tightly, his knuckles look pale white. 

“It's what I'm counting on, darling.” he winks, arching his back towards you, grinding his arse against your strap. This was really happening. Sucking in a deep breath, you steady yourself on your knees, taking the toy into your hand, circling his hole with it. A sigh of pleasure leaves his parted lips as he relaxes into the bed, arse up and face buried into the dark blue fabric of his pillow. 

The sound of the lube covering the strap is a bit awkward, and you both laugh lightheartedly, nervous and excited to do this with each other, to each other. He groans as you finally line up with his entrance, the tip teasing him as he bucks back onto it.  

“Want me to go slow?” you ask, slightly nervous, scared of doing something wrong or god forbid, hurting him in any way. 

“Fuck me slow, yeah?” His words drip with lust, raspy and deliberately drawn out. He notices your hesitation, and his hand reaches back to grab yours, rubbing reassuring circles into the skin of your palm.  

“Jesus, you make it sound so filthy.” His vulgar words were nothing new, his cocky manner only another tool to get you to lose it on him, never showing mercy. Just like he liked it. Rough, hard, fast, never ending pleasure until both of you were fully satisfied. 

“Stop being a tease and just fuck me.” he was now at the point of making demands, blatantly ignoring the imbalance of power between you. You tut at him, nails digging into the fat of his arse, making him wince in pain.

“Not in a place to be demanding things from me, are you now?” your tone is deliciously condescending, making his cock involuntarily twitch under him, begging for attention. 

“You want it just as much as me.” he breathes loudly, a feeble attempt at trying not to sound as desperate as he really was, not wanting to admit defeat. 

“Make me mess, fuck me dumb, I know you want to.” an animalistic groan rips itself from your throat as you push into him, feeling the smallest bit of resistance at first. 

Remembering his little reaction from earlier, you experimentally smack the side of his arse, right where its curve meets the top of his thigh, and he shudders beneath you, crying out in pleasure. You don't know what you're doing, but you do gain a flicker of confidence when he grinds down against the bed, mumbling into the pillow. Asking him to speak up, his face is now visible as he moans, hips pushing back onto the toy as you pull back out, leaving him feeling empty.

You snap your hips forward, a bit harsher this time, watching and listening for his reaction, wanting to make it feel as good as possible for him. He was trusting you with the most intimate part of him, giving up almost all control as his arms go slack under him, nothing holding his body up anymore. 

“Fuckk, that's so good.” he breathes as you set a delicate but even rhythm, speeding up a bit with every thrust as he slowly gets used to the sensation. It takes a few minutes of fucking him at an agonizing pace until you feel his whole body tense up, a choked moan spilling from his parted, spit covered lips. Your breath hitches at the sight of him drooling, eyes screwed shut in pure bliss. 

“OH FUCKK- right there right there right there jesus christ, fuck-” he curses, clawing around him, trying to find something to bring him back down to reality as your strap brushes up against his G-spot. There's a wet patch on the bed under him, precum covering the blue fabric of the sheets. 

“Sound so pretty, all for me.” you hit that same spot over and over as he pathetically cries out your name, begging for you to go faster. 

“Please, it's so good, so good, fuck me please oh FUCK.” you oblige, gripping onto his hips as you slam back into him, his back arching sharply as you pant, your cheeks a bright red. Your whole body is flushes crimson, your cunt clenching around nothing as you get off to the sounds and movements he makes, your witty words getting caught in the back of your throat

You're so incredibly turned on that everything else disappears around you, your only focus being a desperate Matty under you, writhing in pleasure as he experiences actual heaven, his whole body covered in a thin layer of sweat, making him glow in the dim light of the bedroom.

Sinful sounds fills the bedroom, reverberating off the walls making you feel dizzy, partially from the effort and partially from the boy in your bed, whimpering your name betweens strings of curses, begging you to just fuck him harder. 

Matty, though he hates it, is awfully predictable. He has cues that let you know when he’s close, his voice pitching up several octaves as you slam into him, never faltering. 

You take the opportunity to press your chest against the curve of his back, hard nipples rubbing against his skin through your thin shirt. Your voice is low, whispering lewd promises against his ear, occasionally nibbling at the skin, sucking a hickey into it. 

“Gonna cum for me? I can see you leaking all over the sheets, dirty boy” he cries at your words, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaming down his face, leaving small stains on the pillow. 

“Yesyesyes please don’t stop- so close.” he begs, every part of his body twitching and tensing, so close to the edge he could taste it. 

You don't know what possesses you. Maybe it was his comment from earlier, his tone playful and teasing, eyes dark with desire. 

“Wanna take a pretty picture with that little camera of yours?”

It's like a foreign force taking over your body. You still, ignoring Matty’s pleas for you to keep going, his hips bucking wildly onto the toy still deep inside of him.

“No- nonono please, i was so close, fuck.” you click your tongue at him, effectively shutting him up

He winces when you move, hand reaching for something on the nightstand, not even realizing what you were doing. The plastic is heavy in your hands, black lense staring back at you as you reposition yourself behind Matty, the tip of your strap teasing his hole.

He thinks you’ll continue as normal, that you'll give him what he’s been craving this entire time. All he wants to do is cum, mind so clouded with desire that he could barely speak properly

Your hands threads into his hair, his neck limp as you pull him up by it. Your fingers find the shutter, knowing you had to act fast to get the result you so desperately wanted.

Pulling his head further back so his whole face was visible, you position the camera in front of it, the sight of the lense making Matty’s heart skip a beat. 

Right as you take the picture, you violently snap your hips forward, thrusting into him at a brutal pace, making his face contort in ecstasy, mouth falling open, revealing a pink tongue between his lips.

The camera flash is disorienting for him, the shutter barely heard over his impossibly loud moans, the sounds making you feel weightless.

He lets out a high laugh as he fully gets what you’d just done, only proving his earlier point further. His little victory is interrupted by his impending orgasm, the combination of the pressure from your strap on his G-spot and the delicious friction of the sheets rubbing against his cock sending him into a lust driven frenzy. 

His moans are high pitched, almost feminine as he buries his face into his slack arms, trying to bite back his noises. You tell him to quit it, demanding to hear every single cry that leaves his lips.

“You’re such a brat, acting like I cant have you fucking purring under me in the blink of an eye.” you speak, an intense feeling of power and control taking your body as you slam into him, licking up the skin of his bare neck, making him shudder under your touch. 

“I promise i’ll be good- just please let me cum.” he’s a blubbering mess, tears rolling down his cheeks as you tug harshly on his hair, the pain only making it harder for him to hold off his orgasm.

“Please- I need it so bad- fuck, please.” 

“Oh, you need it, do you?” you taunt him, your fingers moving to shove their way into his mouth, pressing down on his wet, hot tongue. The whimper he lets out as you gag him makes your brain short circuit, your eyes are fixed on the way he grinds his hips to meet your frantic thrusts, desperate to get himself off.

“Go on then, cum all over our nice sheets. Make everything dirty, just like you are, aren't you darling?” the filthy words spill from your lips before you could even think, and Matty stills for a second before moaning around your fingers, bucking against the mattress. 

“So good, so fucking good- oh my god, fuck, feels so good-” his words are muffled by your fingers, and as much as you need to hear him, you let it slide, wanting your perfect boy to finally come undone. He cums with a scream, an actual, guttural scream of your name, convulsing under your touch as you reach around and grip his cock, working him through his orgasm. 

He gasps as ropes of cum paint the sheets, covering your hand. You slow down your thrusts, not wanting to rip him out of his dazed state just yet. He whimpers as you pull out, feeling strangely empty without you filling up every inch of him. His body is limp against the bed, chest heaving trying to take in as much oxygen as possible as he comes down from his high, slowly but surely. 

You yelp when a hand grips the side of your arm suddenly, pulling you down onto the bed next to him. Matty’s sweet smile makes your heart swell up with love as you make eye contact, his brown eyes drooped half shut in pleasure. 

“Fucking mint.” he breathes, giggling as you roll your eyes at his utterly unsexy reaction to you fucking his brains out. 

“Really?” 

His smile turns into a grin as he pulls you in for a kiss, lips pressing firmly against yours. You hand cups his cheeks, wiping aways what's left of his tears.

“I fucking love you, that was world altering, fuck me.”   

“I already did, remember?” the opportunity was right there, and you both erupt into a fit of laughter at your bad jokes, grinning widely at each other. Matty lets out a grossed-out groan when he accidently rolls into the wet patch he had left in the bed, crying at the feeling of the damp fabric against his bare legs.

But, in typical Matty fashion, he opts to just cope, too lazy and fucked out to do anything about it. You try to convince him to get up, shower, maybe do anything except roll around in his cum soaked sheets. He flat out refuses, gripping your waist so tightly you felt Matty-shaped bruises form on the skin. 

He forces you to lay with him, not letting you get up. 

“Did it hurt?” you ask tentatively, genuinely curious. He shakes his head, trying to describe the sensation. 

“A bit, but it felt really fucking great after about two seconds, so totally worth it.” he kisses you again, softer but still passionate, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down lightly. 

“Did you like it?” he asks, trailing a finger up and down your arm, scratching it comfortingly. 

All you can do is smile, the memory of what you felt making you giddy. 

“I felt powerful.” you confess, a faint blush spreading onto your already flushed cheeks. Might as well let it all out, right? 

“You like being powerful?” you nod your head, confirming the sneaking suspicion he’s had since that very first night on his living room sofa. 

“I like it when you hurt me.” you laugh, that information having been painfully obvious for a while now. 

“I know, darling, you make it so obvious.” he curses at you for quote un-quote ‘kink shaming’ him, immediately mentioning your little knack for photography. 

“What do you do with the pictures?” you’ve never told him what happens to the polaroids after they properly develop, stashed in your nightstand drawer. 

“I don't kiss and tell.” you snigger at his hurt reaction, now even more desperate to know what goes on in your mind when your finger presses down on the shutter, immortalizing Matty in a picture as small as the palm of your hand. 

“That does not work if I'm the one you kissed, I’m afraid.” you dismiss him with a shake of your head, watching the hope leave his face. He nags you further, offering all sorts of services to get you to confess to him.

“I’ll show you sometime.” his eyes light up, ready to make yet another filthy comment. You press a finger to his lips, shushing him like he was a misbehaved child, smirking at his reaction. 

“Only if you're good, though.” he nods his head so eagerly, you're afraid he might get whiplash as he shuffles closer to you, nuzzling his face into your shirt (well, his goal was clearly your tits, but you didn't need to know that.)

“I'll be so good for you, you’ll regret ever denying me.” you laugh, vowing to hold him to it.  

#they're back it again #everyone cheered #the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann #matty the 1975 #mpind matty #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy fic #truman black #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fluff #matty healy x you #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic

[trashpandacraft]

so about a year ago, i moved to australia to be with my lovely wife, @binchickencrafts, which has been amazing. unfortunately, though, i lost my treadle spinning wheels in the process, and have been sulking a bit ever since.

a while back we bought a loom off of gumtree, which was a great investment, and then last month it occurred to us that hey, we could buy a wheel on gumtree! or, as it turns out, facebook marketplace, which is much more active for this kind of thing.

so active that we ended up with, um, three wheels, two spinning chairs, a niddy noddy, a lazy kate, and hand cards. it turns out that there are a ton of people who are downsizing or getting rid of a recently deceased parent's stuff, and they're very happy to sell it to you, very cheaply. (like $70 aud including delivery cheaply, in one case.)

family picture time

left to right, it's a sheridan scandanavian (but a bit of a frankenwheel), a pipy saxony, a tara evelyn (another slightly odd duck), and my electric eel wheel 6. (we also have an eel wheel nano, but she's currently tucked in the closet, and i didn't feel like fighting off three closet-obsessed cats for a mildly amusing photo.)

these are all the same style of wheel, but it's funny to me how wildly they vary in size. it's hard to tell in the pictures, but the pipy is about 2/3 the size of the sheridan, which is slightly smaller than the tara.

some of them were pretty grimy when they showed up, so i've spent the last few weeks ducking outside to disinfect and oil and shine things up. they're not quite done yet—there's some slightly stubborn rust on a few flyer hooks, the pipy has a leg that's a bit loose, etc—but they're all fully operational, which is a massive victory for three wheels that we bought sight unseen.

#spinning #hand spinning #handspinning #fibrecraft #fibercraft #spinning wheels #crafts #in the next couple days i'm going to make posts about the individual wheels #and then we're gonna be spinning so many things! #one of us can spin while the other weaves #it's the dream #we remain the *most* stereotypical dykes #smartest raccoon i know

[ghouljams]

A deal is struck between you and Soap. One round to get you out of his system and he'll leave you alone.

Cw: piv sex, mean dom Soap, fae magic, afab!reader, mild dubcon bordering on cnc at the end

Fae are often curious about you, but you have to admit Soap takes the cake. He follows you around like a dog on a short leash. It's maddening. You have no privacy and no recourse to send him on his way. After all the fae don't help without expecting something in return, and the police hardly seem bothered by the stalking. As always you have to take matters into your own hands.

You ask him what he wants, because you can't decipher the tangled web that seems to drift around him like a cloud and it takes him a moment. Fae get that question a lot you suppose, and they're so particular about language. It's why you're good at your job and get so few complaints, what you traded your eyes for.

"I want you," he says finally. You catch the spark of a want, lust that's sucked back into the mire of him. You can do that, though it's a little annoying.

"You just need to get me out of your system," you tell him, watching something crumble in his eyes. His brows draw together, his lips draw down, he does a good show of looking upset.

"I don't want you-"

"If I sleep with you, will that work?" You ask, no time for whatever nonsense he's going to try and weave. It perks him up, makes him nod like he can't do it quick enough. You hold up your hand to stop him, "you get one round, then you gotta leave me alone."

Soap mulls it over. You can see the way his lips purse, his tongue running over his teeth. He holds his hand out.

"Deal." He nearly drags you across the bar when you take his hand.

-

"You came, thats-" you sob out a moan, your eyes rolling as your back arches and your hips force themselves down onto Soap's cock, "-That's one."

"Oh no bonnie," Soap grins, grabbing your hips and pulling you down like a toy, fucking his thick cock up into you and hitting just the right spot each time, "the round's nae over until one of us taps oot."

You dig your nails into his shoulders, squeeze your eyes shut against the pleasure that he fucks into you. It feels electric, your stomach clenches, your pussy clenches, your body is desperate for more. The arch of your back forces you to lean closer to him, keeping the angle just right as you struggle against your traitorous body's desire for more. Soap takes the opportunity to lean up and drag his teeth over your nipple, catching the bud in his mouth and sucking hard. You gasp and feel your rhythm falter. Soap's hips still piston into you, but the gap in your hiccuped wailing makes him growl.

He pulls out, spins you around, forces your face down into the sheets and smacks his cock against your cunt. "No tappin' out hen," he tells you, sheathing himself inside you in a single hard thrust, "ya want this as much as I do." Your moan is high and tight. Your cunt aches, your insides battered and throbbing for more. Everything is tight, tight, tight. Your breath comes quick, gasps between moans, everything is wet and wonderfully painful, pleasureably painful. Too much and yet you still want more, more, more.

Soap smacks your ass, rubs his hand over the sting when you press into it. His hand slides to push your shoulders down, muttering for you to arch your back, but you can't, not when he makes you want to run with every perfect thrust. Soap's body blankets you, his thick thighs cage your own, his broad chest presses against your back, and he hooks his arm under your chin to pull your teeth from the blankets. You are well and truly pinned when his other hand sneaks between your legs to rub your clit in quick tight circles.

The come dripping out of you, forced from your cunt with each snap of Soap's hips, provides ample lubrication, and makes your cheeks burn. He flexes, chokes you between his bicep and forearm, toying with your clit while he fucks you. You may as well have handed him a manual on how to make you come. It should have happened by now, should have shuddered through you, but you rest just at the precipice of it, whining and whimpering when you aren't gasping and groaning. Soap kisses your temple, your eyes find his, that awful ice blue shining with something you can't put a name to. Pride, maybe.

"You don't come until I tell you to," he says it like a law, it feels like one. You whine, reach to push your hands weakly against his muscular, hairy, thighs, just for a second of reprieve.

"No-o," you whine, you're drooling, dripping from your cunt and your lips. Soap licks his tongue across your mouth, spreads your slick folds with his fingers and pinches your clit.

"Yes," he coos, "you want to don't ya?" You can feel the undercurrent of the question, the monkey's paw of dealing with the fae. But you do. You do. You're so tight and wet and wanting, you want to come, you want to fell apart for him, you want to be good and give him what he so desperately seems to need. And then you can wash your hands of him. One round to get it out of his system, that was the deal.

"Tell me you're mine," he murmurs, "tell me you're mine hen and you can come."

"Yours." Its out of you before you can even think the word, fucked out you, your body a cock-drunk traitor, "yours, yours." You sob it, scream it, tiny knots loosen inside your chest and the feeling floods you.

You stiffen, your voice and breath caught in your throat as something choked rips through you. Your muscles shake with it, you heart beating like a drum as pleasure crashes down into you. Soap fucks you through it, keeps you full of his cock while your cunt clenches and tries to suck him through another orgasm.

Soap groans, and you feel heat flood you a second time. Your eyes roll back, a shiver going up your spine as it burns against your aching cervix. He pulls back, his cock drags against your overworked, gummy, walls and it's bliss. The gentle stretch, the punctuated ripple of heat when he bumps against your g spot, it's a welcome reprieve. Until he thrusts back inside.

"Can't, no-" You don't think Soap heard you, too busy dragging his stubble against your neck, mouthing at your jaw. You're pushed over another cliff, your pussy squeezing so tight around Soap's cock you think you can feel ever vein on that beautiful thing. He groans, the sound low beside your ear and dangerously intoxicating.

"What did I say love?" He reminds you, "we go until you tap out."

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap x reader #fae!soap #1fae1 #f!reader #oc: moon

[skylarkspinner]

fiber art adventures in egypt

I recently got back from a trip to Egypt & finally got around to organizing some pictures to share. One of the things I was most excited about was seeing what I could find on fiber arts and textiles.

Dropping everything under a read more, 'cause this will be a long post haha

first visit: the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization (NMEC)

At the time of visiting, they had a special textiles exhibit. It covered Pharonic Egypt all the way up to modern times, although I only had time to check out the dynastic & a bit of the Coptic portion of the exhibit (which was what I was really hoping to see anyways)

Was super excited to see this diorama in person. I knew about it but had never seen good pictures of it. From the little I've seen of ancient Egyptian spinning, spinning with two spindles seems to be the norm rather than a master technique? It also shows up in tomb art, which the exhibit also shared:

They also used a different fiber preparation (splicing to create a rove of fiber, no traditional drafting to my understanding) so that probably made a difference? Regardless I really want to see if I can replicate the technique, especially because their spindles look so similar to modern spindles??

I took so many pictures of spindles, guys, and I fully intend to either have a few replicas made or to learn to make some myself. Also, although they were unlabeled... I'm pretty sure those are beaters for weaving? That was a bit of a trend with this trip, so much stuff was unlabeled :( I would've killed to at least get some date estimates for some of the stuff they had on display. I was nerding out in here though, and my family took a few pictures of how excited I was getting. A bit embarrassing, but eh haha

The exhibit also had a section on natural dyes used with a fun visual;

There was several diagrams specifically describing each dye source, but in the interest of not overloading on pictures I'll just list them out. For blues; woad, Yellows; turmeric, safflower, saffron, or yellow ochre; reds; madder, henna, pomegranate, and kermes. I originally thought kermes was another way to say cochineal, but it only seems to be distantly related.

next visit: Ramses Wissa Wassef Art Center

A small art center dedicated to hand-weaving wool and cotton tapestries. All of their work was museum quality & awe inspiring!!

Was even invited to their back rooms to watch a few of their weavers working; no I don't have room to put a room-sized loom anywhere but heck do I want one now

Our guide that took us through talked a bit about the natural dyes they use (all of their dyes are dyed in house with what they grow in their dye garden!!!) and got excited to hear I was also interested in natural dyes! He seemed a bit disappointed I'd never worked with indigo and. while indigo scares me, I'll take it as a sign that maybe I should try some time this year haha.

final visit; the Egyptian Museum

we really had to rush through this one which was a huge shame because it's packed full of artifacts. Also, the lighting in there is atrocious, so apologies for the not great pictures ahead.

They had a fascinating display of textile tools, more than what the NMEC had;

(Hand for size reference) I want all of these spindles! So badly! But a few of them look so much like a few of the spindles I own already?? A few of them had a spiraling notch, that's so cool? But also, what's going on with the one with two whorls? I have no idea. I'm fascinated.

Look at these whorls!! Although again, I'm a bit confused; the lack of labeling strikes again. Unsure why some of these "whorls" have two holes, or what the metal object with the wooden handle is. The display implies sewing needles, and some of them do look like it, but others.... really don't look like sewing needles. I'm absolutely enchanted by this little whorl though. I think it has birds on it?

More objects that I'm baffled by- the signage doesn't really indicate what some of this stuff is, if it's even known. Also confused by the object wrapped in white string in the right pic; it looks like a distaff but to the best of my knowledge the (ancient at least) Egyptians didn't use distaffs. It probably popped up in later times and was put in this display since it was still relevant, but I'm still not sure.

I have so many more pictures & thoughts but I'll save those for more specific future projects. I've been doing research outside this trip on ancient Egyptian spinning techniques and desperately want to go deeper into that, this trip just solidified how excited it makes me. If you made it all the way through this, many thanks for reading!

Bonus; look at this ancient linen 🥺

#hand spinning #archaeology #extant artifact #weaving #fiber arts #long post #letters from skylark #sorry for the overall low quality images in this post. Got a new camera and wasn't the best at using it this trip #also the raw image files were huge so I heavily downsized them to make sure this post wasn't a beast to load #would be happy to share the raw images if desired though

[bara-izu]

☼Personality | Family | Diety | Relationships ☼

v Full profile under cut v

☼ Personality ☼

A gentle giant, Halion prides himself on his ability to defuse situations through constructive conversation, only using violence as a last resort. (*Cough* With the exception of some big bad nasties who dont deserve a chance...*Cough*)

In an ideal world, he believes power should be used to protect those in need, and while not everyone shares this idology, he will ensure his own strengths will do just that.

Although Halion may seem naive on the surface, he just likes to see the best in everything, desperately trying to keep a positive spin on things - for his own sanity... He hopes this positivity can be a beacon of light for others, though it can be a detriment to himself, hiding his own anxieties to keep up a smile...

Behind his cheerful disposition, he also had a devious sense of humor, he also understands that sometimes, feigning ignorance, makes it easier to get what you want....sometimes....

Gorgeous template by: Arcandoria

☼ Family ☼

Born in Elturel, Halion was raised by his adoptive parents; his half-elf father, a quiet, mild mannered scholar, and his Dwarf mother, a loud, cheerful jeweler in the city of Candlekeep. Growing up in the fortress of knowledge, the young teifling was surrounded by stories documenting the achievements of heroes past, filling him with an desire to join them one day.

At the age of 7, the family moved to Baldur's Gate, his parents retiring to focus on themselves and raising their child. Halion still has a very close relationship with his parents, with of course them being the first people he went to check on after arriving back in the city.

☼ Diety & Paladin Oath ☼

While his parents aren't particularly devout, during his younger years, still attached to stories of powerful and heroic characters, Halion looked to the Gods that inspired them, in hopes that he could channel their goodwill.

Growing particularly fond of the MorningLord, Lathander, Halion aspired to become a Paladin under the 'Order of the Aster', some of the highest ranking knights in the clergy. However, as he grew older, he began to understand that The Order, much like many others, were far too militarian and heavy handed for his liking. While he was still determined to train and protect those around him, Halion had detached himself from the church as an institution, to follow his own head and heart.

'Sunblaze' is not his surname, but a title given to him when he first took up his Oath. While he no longer follows the group he got the title from, he still holds it dear.

☼ Relationships ☼

!!! ENDGAME SPOILERS MARKED IN RED!!!

☼ Shadowheart:

Like a sister to him. While he found it difficult to navigate around her spikey exterior at first, he soon found a little banter and trust goes a long way. He felt an great smpathy for the way her desires to be a dark justiciar fizzled out after the events with the Nightsong, and while not as dramatic, could related to his aspirations with the Aster Order.

After the events with the Netherbrain, she has been invited to stay with his parents, himself and Astarion for as long as she wishes, while they find a new place to settle.

☼ Gale:

From their first meeting, the two got along incredibly well. Sharing their hunger for knowledge, the two would share whatever books they had collected along the way. Unfortunately, this also lead to a little bit of misunderstanding...And while Halion was very excited to learn about the weave, he couldn't quite read the signs... And was severely embarrassed when he had to turn gale down... It took some time but after they were able to go back to being friends.

After the events of the Netherbrain, Gale left following an argument about the crown... Halion is still sad about this and hopes to eventually make contact with him again, wherever he may be...

☼ Astarion:

Starting on a bad note, Halion found it hard to understand him at first. But despite his grumbles Astarion stayed with the group, which lead him to understand his prickerly behaviour was similar to Shadowhearts- in a form of self preservation. Similarly to the events with Gale, Halion didn't quite read the mood (or pass the insight check...) and was swept up in Astarion's manipulations, thinking they had formed a close bond...

However, after the encounter at Moonrise, Halion suggested they start again, as friends first. in a 'I know we both have feelings, but i think you have more important things on your mind' kind of way, reassuring him he'd still be there.

It was only after the conclusion of events with Cazador did the pair start again.

After the final events with the netherbrain, Halion swore to continue to search for a way for Astarion to walk in the sun again. Along with shadowheart, the trio are currently relocating his parents first before they continue their adventure.

#halion sunblaze #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #my tav #my oc #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 gale #bg3 astarion #bg3 spoilers #tav #i updated his profile art to actually look more like the ingame model now- much happier with it

[kitashousewife]

sakusa doesn’t mind errands.

it makes him feel a little more accomplished, crossing things off of the to-do list. big or small, it gives him a chance to get out and enjoy himself, maybe even indulge on something new.

today is a day he would consider almost perfect. he’s grocery shopping through what feels like an empty store, listening to music while he weaves through the isles. this is his last stop of the morning, after the post office and the gym, and he’s ready to go home.

sakusa slows his cart to a stop when he reaches the last isle, eyes skimming the shelves for some fabric softener before he can head home.

a tap on his shoulder makes him just about shout in the store, the physical feeling of a record scratch makes his body jolt.

“e-excuse me?”

“yes?”

“h-hi,” you pull your hand away slowly, staring up at him with a rather nervous look on your face.

“hello.”

“sorry, i just,” you sigh, turning back to the shelves again. “what fabric softener do you recommend?”

at first, sakusa thinks you’re kidding. he tries to think if he’s ever been asked that in his life.

ever since his career took off, he’s had people stop him for numerous things. photos, autographs, cheap excuses at getting a few flirty comments in, you name it. this is a new one.

“u-uh, i guess it depends on what you’re looking for.”

you hum and nod, eyes still fixed on the bottles in front of you.

“something that smells good and leaves my clothes feeling soft i guess, but not something cheap and perfume-y, you know?”

sakusa absolutely does know, having gone through this same thing. he reaches forward, grabbing a familiar bottle and holding it out for you.

“this one’s good, not too expensive but still has a good smell.”

you turn to the stranger, only now realizing who you’re talking to. you’ve seen his photos, his instagram, and you’ve watched a handful of his games. your eyes widen for a second, but you give him a smile.

“thanks! ill try it out. i trust you,” you place the bottle in your basket and wrack your brain for something else to say.

“you’re welcome,” he mumbles, grabbing a bottle of his own. you’re about to walk away when he decides to speak up. “i hate having to find new products like this, so i’m happy to help.”

you smile wide, turning to face him again with a relieved expression. “right! it’s like as soon as you start to use something regularly, it completely stops working!”

he gives you a small smile and nods.

“i had the same thing with the bathroom cleaner i was using a couple weeks ago. i still haven’t found a replacement.”

sakusa is not one for small talk. he thinks it’s a waste of time, and something that typically makes him uncomfortable. but for some reason, here he is, blabbing about different cleaning products to some stranger.

a very pretty one at that.

“let me return the favor,” you spin around to the shelves behind the two of you, searching for something while a pop hit plays faintly in the background. you grab a spray bottle and hand it towards him. “this one’s great. one of the few things that hasn’t failed me in a while.”

sakusa smiles, and he can feel his cheeks turning pink. this feels so unfamiliar yet natural at the same time, and he’s having trouble keeping up.

“thank you,” he looks back at his cart for a second, suddenly feeling a little more shy than before. you sense this and give him a small wave.

“i hope you enjoy it! and thanks again for the help. i can now wash my clothes in peace.”

he nods and gives a small wave in response. you begin to walk away, and sakusa feels his heart beginning to race. he debates between following you and walking the other direction for a moment or two.

“w-wait,” he reaches towards you, but you’re just a bit too far. thankfully you stop, and sakusa feels relieved. “could i get your number?”

stunned with his new-found outgoing behaviors, he almost doesn’t hear you when you agree, only registering what’s going on when you hand him your phone. he takes it carefully, inputting his number quickly and handing it back to you with rosy cheeks.

he goes home that day with a giddy feeling in his tummy, hoping you text him back. when his phone buzzes later that evening with a photo of your folded laundry and a thank you, he feels a bit more confident and thankful for stepping out of his comfort zone.

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa kyoomi x reader #sakusa fluff #sakusa x reader fluff #hq fluff #sakusa drabble #kiyoomi sakusa

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Your Six

Warnings: dark elements, stalking, violence.

Another sidequest complete (...or maybe you want more of this one? Let me know your thoughts!)

You have a second shadow. You're not alone. While your pursuer has given themself away, you're in no rush to do the same.

You keep going, slinking from pillar to pillar, balancing your target with whoever seems to have made you one. You keep your back to the wall as you grip your pistol, one ear listening ahead of you, the other behind you. You dip back into a pool of darkness and shuffle your foot to make it sound like you're running, let the noise peter off as you wait

A figure smoothly turns the corner and you stand unseen in the alcove. Shit, you know that goddamn strut. Even when he's trying to be covert, he's a dead giveaway.

What the hell is Hansen doing here? This isn't his kind of job. Unless you're his assignment.

You watch him creep past. He slows as he listens to the silence, stopping completely. You raise the barrel of your gun towards him as you tiptoe out from behind the pillar. He hisses into a cackle, raising his hands.

“Take it easy, toots,” he faces you slowly, “we're not enemies here.”

“Aren't we?” You approach with your hand steadied against your forearm.

“I'm just watching your six. Like a nice guy does.”

“Hansen,” you walk to him until you have the barrel to his back, “what the hell are you doing here? I'm not splitting the fee and I have no problem wasting a bullet in your ass.”

“Oh, I love it when you talk dirty,” he gives a dramatic shiver, unfazed by the gun between his shoulder blades.

“This isn't an open bounty,” you snarl.

“Toots, if you're not gonna use that thing, put it away,” he turns to face you slowly, “at least, that's what I've always been told.”

You shake your head and scoff, lowering the gun halfway. You sneer at him in the darkness and huff, “why are you getting in my way? Again.”

“Again? What– are you talking about San Paolo? I'm flattered you remember–”

“I nearly lost an eye.”

“Really? You're looking good, toots–”

You close your eyes and exhale through your nose, “I don't have time for this.”

You sidestep him and continue down the pillared walkway. You keep along the wall and stop as you sense him following once more. You pull back and holster your gun, just as swiftly slipping free your knife. You spin to bring it just along Hansen’s throat.

“I'll tell you one last time,” you hiss.

“I'm helping–”

“I told you, you're not getting a cent.”

“Trust me, honey, the view is worth it–”

“You are–”

“Deranged. Devoted. A total bottom.”

You bite down another snipe as the stone pillar beside you cracks and powder puffs in the air. Fuck. You dip into the shadows as Hansen shoulders past and raises his gun. Two shots before he crams into the alcove next to you

“Really?” You sneer.

“Tight fit, babe, but always figured it would be,” he chortles as he squints into the darkness. “Think I got th–”

Another shot silences him. You wonder if he's hit but don't really care. You duck down and switch out your blade for your fun. You creep along, listening to the approach of those that pest has drawn in.

You weave in and out of shadows, zeroed in on the echoing footsteps. The first silhouette falls before your silenced shot, the second doesn't notice his comrades collapse until it's too late and he joins him on the stone. The third you don't spend the bullet and use the but of your gun against the back of his skull.

You hear a scuff and raise your gun. Hansen waves and pants as he appears once more.

“Got one,” he puffs proudly, “damn, look at that.” He marvels at the bodies heaped around your feet, “you work fast, baby.. I'm more the type to take it slow.”

“Ugh,” you scowl and turn away.

As you do, you hear Hansen barrel towards you. It's too late for you to get your aim. You dodge as best you can as the rifle levels across from you only to be bowled over from behind.

You hit the ground as a shot fires and Hansen grunts. He fires back and the man lands on the rifle with a rattling gasp.

Hansen hisses and drops to one knee, grasping his side as he wheezes. You sit up, check your gun, and stand. He should've stayed away.

You flinch as suddenly a loud thrum cuts the night air. Fuck. You look above as the helicopter rotor whirls loudly. You harumph and kick a body near your feet.

“Fuck.”

“Don't worry, baby, I can take you on a nice vacation, you don't need the bounty,” he sucks in air and stands, “I got you.”

You look at him and scoff. You sneer and bring your gun up, aiming at his ass as you fire. He yelps and falls back down, grasping his rear. You shake your head and mutter.

“Fucker.”

You spin and walk back the way you came. Dimwit better get the hint. Next time you'll aim higher.

“See ya soon, toots,” he calls after you in a strained grit, “probably in my dreams.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #drabble #lloyd sidequest #request

[marsprincess889]

About Bharani

Fate, The female and Desire.

Venus ruled, Mars's sign, Rahu's birth, Saturn's debilitation.

A kind of love letter to myself and other bharanis, especially bharani moons.

So, aren't we amazing? 😄 jk, but in all seriousness, I have some opinions and want to express them.

We're mleccha(outcaste) and venus ruled. What the hell is that? We're precious, that's the truth.

If there is one nakshatra that caters to females exclusively, this has to be it. This is no male territory. They wouldn't even understand. They don't. Think of how helpless they are when a female is birthing, how clueless they are about what menstruating feels like. We know some things have to be gatekept, for our sake. That's what we are about: guarding, protecting, gatekeeping, and we do it harshly, mercilessly, there's no other real way of doing it anyways.

I want to talk about what i think Bharani nakshatra is truly about: Fate.

Fate, choicelessness, being at the mercy of higher beings, authority, hierarchy...

Bharani's symbol is widely known to be the yoni(female sexual organ), a gateway to another world. Another symbol is the boat. In Greek mythology, souls were transported to the underworld via a boat. In various cultures, when a person died, people would put the corpse on a boat and let it burn while it floated away on water. Bharani-death association is no news, but why are females the key to all this?

After the freedom in Ashwini, the Sun's exaltation, we come to restraint, and not restraint from our own will, but the restraint we have no choice but to accept. This is the first nakshatra where we see the female. This is Saturn's debilitation, and amidst all this restraint we have the birth of planet Rahu, the birth of desire. Makes for a thrilling combination, does it not? While the male is cerebral, solar, the female is material. She IS the nature. While the male does, female is. The male's the user, the female's the used, and she can be used unfairly, poorly, incorrectly. This is the place where the female gets her revenge. Bharani is like a protection mechanism for ladies, she's given the right to refuse and if that right is violated, the will get her revenge. I'd say she has the power, but that would be wrong, because she IS power.

After all, all that male energy needs grounding, or it will disperse, that's why the female and her body, as well as mother nature that we all live on, are vessels_ material manifestations of the male energy that they hold. Bharani is about the rules that the universe is governed by, the unchangeable rules, the simple truths that have to be accepted. When you realize that the female perfection can be so easily ruined by the incorrect use of male energy, the choicelessness gains a whole new meaning in this context. It's the female that is choiceless, she's simply replicating the energy given to her on the material plane, giving it a shape, its proper shape, and if they don't like what they see, the blame should not be placed on the feminine.

So the female is the material and the rules,the boundaries, the limitations. That's why, in the most stereotipical way, many men fear women or are annoyed by them. The fate cannot be escaped, fortunately or unfortunately, and it does not really care what any individual thinks, it's much bigger than that.

Mythologically, various cultures have attributed fate to the feminine. The fates in greek mythology, three women with their threads of human fate, are one one of them. Another one that comes to mind is the norse goddess Frigg. Although I wouldn't coorelate her to Bharani, I think it's interesting that the highest standing(debatable) Norse goddess has a spinning wheel and a spindle, and it had been said that she knows the fate of everyone and eveything but keeps silent. Another interesting example would be Arianrhod from Welsh mythology. Her name literally means "The Silver wheel". Her various symbols include the tools used for weaving. The wheel-fate coorelation is apparent, and it's also interesting that fate is something to be "weaved" in all these mythologies I've mentioned.

The movie Brave(2012) comes to mind, where the rebellious princess Merida wants to change her fate, without any spoilers, there's a scene in the end where she has to repair a tapestry to avoid some disaster. She also has a tumultuous relationship with her mother, something that is also closely connected to Bharani. A really good example of this is the movie Ladybird starring Saoirse Ronan and Laurie Metcalfe, both Bharani moons.

Now we come to the part where I mention my personal life. As Bharani moon my relationship with my mother has been chaotic and full of tension, it's not exactly easy to talk about or explain. I've also noticed this in almost every Bharani person I ever knew. We always have that passion to stand up to authority and injustice, and it frequently leads to quarrels.

TRIGGER WARNING (gaslighting)

So I always thought that the gaslight gatekeep girlboss term was very Bharani. We've discussed the gatekeeping part, the girlboss part is obvious, and about gaslighting... the yoni is called "the great deluder"(source_claire nakti. Had to credit her!).

I want to talk about the movie Tangled and about Rapunzel's tale in general. The original story goes like this: A couple want a child(that venus, rahu's birth, desire theme) and the wife is pregnant(another bharani symbol) and she's craving a plant- rapunzel, that grows in their neighbor's garden(again, the desire-craving theme). Their neighbor is a sorceress. The husband ultimately steals the rapunzel, but he is caught by its rightful owner. They strike a deal: he can take all the rapunzel he wants in exchange for the baby. The man agrees.

After some time, the baby girl is born, and the witch comes to claim her. She names her Rapunzel, after the plant, and eventually, when she's twelve, locks her up in a tower. Let's pause for a moment to note the fact that we already have the Bharani themes of karma, cause and effect, desire and now claim and ownership(bharani, as the first venus-ruled nakshatra often tries to claim things and label them as their own and then gatekeep it harshly, just like the sorceress in this story. It's also interesting that the OWNED is also feminine).

Now, I really relate to Rapunzel. I also feel like I'm always missing something and that I could attain if only i could escape my current circumstances(the tower). Despite this state, I'm also full of desire and enthusiasm. When I was 8 (?) I won the tickets for my family to the premier of Tangled at my friend's birthday party. I obviously loved it(I still do), loved the story, the animation, THE MUSIC, Eugene... but never did I ever imagine that it would be so emotionally relevant to my life 12 years later. I kinda cracked the code and realised why I love it so much, it's cause she's basically me, and to be honest, she's every human in the truest, simplest way possible.

Anyways, let's continiue wuth the story. Rapunzel is locked in and while she's safe from the world, she's not safe from her "mother". Here I want to move over to the movie Tangled, but before that I'll finish the original. A prince finds her, they become lovers behind the sorceress's back, she eventually finds it out because Rapunzel can't keep her mouth shut, she cuts off Rapunzel's long golden hair and exiles her. When the prince comes to the tower he is greeted by Dame Gothel instead of Rapunzel, she tells him he's not to see Rapunzel again, he falls from there into the rose bushes and blinds himself. After years of wandering, he and Rapunzel finally find each other, Rapunzel's tears heal his blindness, they go to his kingdom and live happily ever after. Now, to Tangled.

The relationship between Rapunzel and and Gothel in Tangled is explored well enough for the audience to realize that she's abusive and a gaslighter(watch cinema therapy on youtube, they have a video about Tangled. They're also very wholesome). She's lying to her to keep her to herself, not really caring about her at all. The way Rapunzel feels misunderstood by the person who raised her feels very personal to me. This theme of gaslighting is very Bharani, as well the theme that love conquers all which is prevalent in the original tale. Also, I think that the damsel in distress archetype is very Bharani, as is the princess in the tower trope. She is power herself, so she's this completely passive power, waiting to be seen and be of use, longing for the other side while being trapped(saturn's debilitation). Bharani is about that leap of faith, to approach the female, to stand up to authority, to be brave, to follow your heart...

My another point is what drives these actions, which is desire and love. Overcoming fear through desire is the theme of Bharani. That's the very basis of life. There are tons of things to be wary of, but if we had no desire, no lust for life, we might not have lived at all. It's no secret that life and death, or birth and death, nourish each other. It's simply a matter of time(saturn, the material. The illusion of time is nessecary for life, limitations are nessecary for life, as bharani teaches us, the point is, are your limitations correct for you and your desires?), it's a process created by the illusion of time, and all that is driven by desire. While analyzing the tale of Rapunzel, I've noticed that most people focus on her long golden hair, ignoring what this tale is truly about, which is destiny, karma, cause and effect, bravery, how desire can lead to actions that have undoable consequences, how helplessly we are driven by desire.

One of my favourite movies, Tristan + Isolde (2006) is about the famous couple written about in medieval texts. They live in a cruel world but they're still driven by love, even though everyone and everything around them urges them towards restraint. They choose the limitation based on their hearts, knowing of the consequences that they would most likely have to face. I won't spoil it for you, but there's a quote in the end that i think really represents the essence of Bharani, at least, from the human perspective: " I don't know if life is greater than death, but love was more than either." This is very poweful. Life and death are just opposite sides of the same coin, death leads to birth, birth leads to death, and it's all driven by desire, it's all driven by love. And whether or not we have choice in all of this, we still simply have to accept the truth, we have to accept our truest limitations, as that is only way of growth and self-realization.

I'll leave you to that movie, that quote and this song. Love all of you, take care ❤

Please, interact with me. Like, reblog, COMMENT, especially if you're bharani, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

#bharani #bharani nakshatra #vedic astrology #moon in bharani #moon in bharani nakshatra #feminine #Spotify #sirereal astrology #sun in bharani #ascendant in bharani #ketu in bharani #astrology #nakshatras #bharani observations #bharani nakshatra observations #astrology observations #vedic astrology observations #astrology tumblr

[dxckgrxsonx]

Half My Soul

Pairing - Jason Todd X (F) Reader Words - 4.6K Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Graphic Sexual Content - Unprotected Sex - Swearing - Choking - Dirty Talk - Multiple Orgasms - Crying - Begging - Jason makes reader Embarrassed - Jason is giving major Dom Vibes - Car Crash mention at the start (Reader hits Jason with her car lol) - Fluff at the End. Notes - I have nothing to say for myself. The idea of the reader wearing Jason’s holsters came to me in the middle of the night and I scrambled to come up with something resembling a plot. I love you all very much and hope you like this!! 💕

MASTERLIST

**

You spin into his life with no clear trajectory.

For a second he thinks you’re a misfire, a stray bullet fired straight into the centre of his armour-covered chest. He feels your impact burn, the bones of his spine shaking in response to a wound that isn’t there. There’s adrenaline bleeding into his bloodstream and while Jason knows his mind works a mile a minute, it goes completely silent when he looks at you.

Because you just hit him with your car.

And he’s lying on his back in the middle of the street like a moron.

“Oh fucking shit! Please don’t be dead.” Your voice registers vaguely in the back of his skull, there’s a shrill note of panic weaving through your words and he’d laugh if the breath wasn’t knocked from his lungs. “Also, please don’t sue. I’ve got no money, the only thing you’d win in the settlement is my fucking cutlery.”

He could use some new cutlery.

“It’s not even legally mine.” You continue, lost in a ramble. He thinks you’re going into shock. “I stole it from IKEA. Oh god. They’re not even metal, they’re plastic! Who even uses plastic cutlery?”

He smothers a chuckle, sits up and starts assessing.

Jason knows the Lazarus Pit changed his body, offering abilities that would be labelled unnatural by any sane person. He’s given up on trying to catalogue all the ways the pit altered him, a large part doesn’t want to know, isn’t ready to process it. But he does know he’s stronger, harder to kill, quicker to heal.

You hit him with your car and the only thing he feels is a tight ache in his shoulder from where he slammed into your windscreen then the tarmac.

Some might call it a gift. On hard nights, Jason calls it a curse.

He pats along his thighs, searching for the holsters that house his dual pistols. He can’t remember when being armed became such a comfort. Somewhere between torture and death and rebirth. Either way, the cold metal bleeds into the tips of his fingers and he sighs, exhales the tension biting at his throat.

Until he pats his second holster and finds it empty.

There’s a split second where his stomach drops, a gaping hole swallowing the wet meat of his organs. The drop feels endless, feels like jumping from a building and realising you have no grapple to break the fall.

Jason reaches for the one pistol he has, moves to flick off the safety and point it at your centre mass. He didn’t see you as a threat, can’t see any bumps of concealed weapons under your clothes but he’s been wrong before, been foolish. He isn’t going to make the same mistakes.

“Oh,” You mutter, “I think this is yours by the way.” Jason looks at you, thankful that his helmet covers the horrified look on his face because you’re holding his pistol. “It kinda fell out of its umm–pocket?” He watches your face, cataloguing the way your pupils are so dilated he can hardly tell what colour your eyes are. You look at his helmet, then back at the gun and suddenly your hands start shaking. “This is a gun…I’m holding a gun, right now, in my hands…”

Inexperience shines fever bright on your face. Your fingers hold his gun clumsily, almost like you’re tugged between curiosity and fear. Jason tries to swallow the harsh words from his mouth, tries to control the reflective urge to snatch the gun from your hands. He’s never liked other people touching his weapons.

“Yes you are.” Jason finally says, mouth bone dry. “And it’s mine, so hand it over.”

Your eyes flick to his helmet for a split second, an unreadable expression slotting into place, “Would you mind if I borrowed it for a minute? I’m gonna go get myself some metal cutlery and live like a millionaire before I go to jail for running you over.”

Jason grabs his pistol before you have a chance to react. There’s no way you are using his baby to commit robbery.

“You’re not going to jail.” He sighs, slotting the weapon into its holster. It’s the truth, he’s in no way going to press charges against you for something that’s his fault. “No one in the right mind would sue you for plastic forks.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I was in the presence of royalty.”

You say it like it’s an insult and Jason, for the smallest second, finds himself thoroughly amused, the edges of his mouth quirking up in the ghost of a smile.

Swinging himself upright he glances at your car and brushes off the glass caught on his jacket. Staring at the windscreen he understands why his shoulder feels like it was dragged from its socket then shoved back in. His impact has shattered the glass, raining glittering shards over the road and all across the interior of your car.

“Look what you’ve done to my car.” You growl, hooking a thumb over your shoulder and gesturing wildly to the ruined windscreen. “How am I supposed to get home now? Better yet, how the fuck can I pay for the damage?”

Jason wants to run his hands through his hair, maybe tug at the ends in frustration. He’s already mentally run through the costs on fixing your car, has the numbers for two different people who could come and get the vehicle now and get working on it. They both owe him a favour after all.

But then one question remains: how are you supposed to get home?

Jason knows his bike is close by and the solution easily wades to the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t want to leave you to find your own way home in the middle of the night, especially for something that wasn’t your fault.

He’ll have to take you home.

Apprehension quickly follows the solution though, and there's a weight sitting heavy in his stomach, he thinks it might be the beginning of a warning.

“I’ll take you home.” He says, trying to swallow the taste of bile from his mouth. You’re not a threat, you didn’t hit him on purpose. It was his own fault for misjudging his landing from the roof above. “We’ll need to wait for someone to come get your car though, it’s not exactly in a drivable condition.”

You arch an eyebrow in his direction, hands still shaking, “Yeah. That does tend to happen when a masked idiot falls from the sky directly in front of your car.”

Turning his back Jason doesn’t reply. Instead he uses his helmet's heads up display to call someone for your car.

Watching you from over his shoulder as he speaks he measures your gait as you walk, checking for injuries hidden by adrenaline. You slide into the driver's seat, clearly ignoring the bite of glass scattered across the fabric. Leaning over the centre console Jason hears you click open the glovebox and pull something out.

Immediately he maps out his options, fingers hovering over his holsters.

“Don’t think it would be a good idea to leave my purse in there, huh?” Jason’s heart pounds beneath his ribs, blood rushing hot through his head. It’s not a weapon, you’re not going to attack him. You slip out and lean against the side of your car, thumbing through your belongings. “If anyone asks. Yes, I do have a valid licence.”

“You don’t have a valid licence?”

You roll your eyes and deadpan, “What did I just say?”

Shaking his head, Jason turns to face you fully, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Your eyes follow his movements, gaze lingering on the ripple of his muscles. Glancing away just as fast Jason can’t find it in himself to fight the smug smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Question–” You start.

“No.”

Frustration blazes across your face, jaw tightening. You shove off the side of your car with a growl, steps quiet as you stalk towards him, purse in hand. There’s a bright flash of something in your eyes, you look powerful, downright lethal.

Jason’s heart skips.

He can’t deny he finds it attractive. That your immediate response is to challenge him head on rather than go quiet and back off. Your whole posture flips in the blink of an eye and Jason finds himself responding, curious and giddy at the prospect of pushing your buttons. He knows it’s stupid of him, you might very well be in shock, you did just hit him with your car. But it's been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

“I will hit you with my car again. Don’t test me.” Jason grins, a mean flash of teeth hidden behind his helmet. You step easily into his space, getting up on your tip-toes to almost stand at the same height. Cute. “Anyway, as I was going to say–”

Jason finds himself distracted. It's a dangerous thing, to let your mind wander in the middle of the street in Gotham. He can hear the grumbling disappointment of his own brain, thinks that the voice it adopts sounds like Batman.

Jason swallows, fingers tapping along his holsters for comfort, reassurance.

The distraction is you and there's a part of him that hates it.

You’re on your tip-toes, fired up and ready for a fight. There’s not a single speck of fear swirling in your eyes and Jason doesn’t quite know how to react. Doesn’t know whether he wants to nudge you so you fall back onto the flats of your feet just to see your reaction, or press his mouth to yours and swallow all that controlled fury into his stomach.

“–we’re stopping at Batburger, right? I mean, hitting someone with your car really works up an appetite.”

His brain throws him out of his own head. There’s a disbelieving laugh caught in his chest, “Are you for real?”

You smile, and Jason’s head goes quiet again.

The dim street lights cover your face in shadows, features drenched in artificial light and darkness, but your smile is the brightest thing he’s ever seen. He thinks you’re ethereal, goddamn fucking beautiful.

“Deadly.” You breathe, rocking back onto the flats of your feet. “I’m going to see how many free packets of ketchup I can get.”

There's a heavy flip in his stomach and–

Oh.

This is what his brain was warning him of earlier.

**

You still manage to surprise him.

Like hitting him with your car as a first meeting wasn't good enough and you’re trying to one up yourself.

Jason thinks it’s in your nature, thinks that part of who you are is geared towards throwing a curveball at anyone close enough. It used to shock him, coming home from patrol in the early hours of the morning and seeing you awake and alert and doing something goddamn stupid.

Last time it was seeing how many glow in the dark stars you can stick to the ceiling. The time before that it was pulling all the spices out of the cupboard and mixing them together just to see what it was going to taste like.

Terrible.

This time though, he comes back from patrol swimming in frantic adrenaline to find you standing in front of the bedroom mirror. There’s an almost wicked look on your face, mouth tipped up in a mischievous smirk. It makes his fingers twitch with the overwhelming urge to touch you–even after all the time you’ve been together, Jason never tires of seeing you, touching you, loving you. 

His eyes are greedy and he takes you in with measured appreciation, blood thrumming hot through his veins.

You’re in your underwear, wearing one of his worn shirts–the black one with the hole in the side. 

With a pair of his holsters strapped around your bare thighs.

**

In the back of your head, you think pulling a gun on him might give you more of a reaction.

Jason goes strangely still. His silence reverberates throughout the apartment and there's a quiet part of you that just barely scrapes the blunt edge of apprehension. You wonder, for a split second if you’ve crossed a line. That the sight of you wearing his holsters offends him somehow.

After all, you know how protective he is over his weapons.

You look at him, twist so you can face him fully, then pause. There’s an apology balancing on the tip of your tongue and you find that you hate the taste of it. You shift slightly from foot to foot because sometimes–if he doesn’t want you to–Jason will almost close off his body language.

It took a long time to learn his quirks, to read between the thin lines he gives you. For a long time you think he was bracing himself for an endless fall. That he was purposefully preparing himself for you to decide he wasn't worth your time, like he expected you would wake up one morning and realise something horrible about him.

You never did, you never would.

Jason Todd is threaded through the delicate wisps of your soul. Tangled himself so deeply that sometimes, if you close your eyes, you don’t know where you start and he ends.

But looking at him now, you get a soft tug along the notches of your spine.

Wrapped in kevlar and dusted with gunpowder you think you understand the bolt of fear that runs through Gotham's criminals. Understand why that bright red symbol on his chest makes them scramble for cover.

Jason is tall and broad and fucking deadly.

The helmet over his head offers no reassurance, gives you a blank, emotionless stare that leaves your stomach half in knots. It’s hard to look for something tangible on something so blank.

His hand reaches up to press along the release mechanism and you hold your breath.

“Sweetheart,” Jason drawls, voice half shrouded in his modulator. “You are a motherfucking menace.”

The smile that breaks over your face feels like relief.

Spinning in a quick circle you rub your fingers across the rough fabric, thumbs hooking into the holsters. “You like?”

Jason’s eyes are appreciative as they rove over your figure, you feel the weight of his gaze skirt across your thighs and stop there. Tucking his bottom lip between his teeth you watch as his pupils blow out, darkness sweeping in over a bright blue horizon and swallowing everything in its path.

“You’re so pretty baby.” He says, helmet dropping to the floor with a thud. “I had no idea you’d look so fuckin’ good wearing those.”

Your smile turns hungry.

You almost want to sink your teeth into his jugular and never let go.

“Yeah?” You grin, edges of your mouth turning a little too sharp. “So you don’t want me to take them off?”

Tapping the pads of your fingers along the plastic clips you threaten to undo them and let the holsters slip off your thighs. Across from you Jason growls, low and threatening. Your skin prickles in response, hair along the back of your neck standing on end.

Between one blink and the next Jason has you shoved against the wall. Your spine trembles in response to his strength, fingers quickly smoothing along his lower stomach, searching for soft, warm skin. Resting his hands either side of your head Jason ducks to catch your eye.

“Nah baby, want you to keep them on so I can fuck you in them.”

His tone is authoritative, almost brushing the edges of an order.

You respond with a quiet noise and slip your hands under his shirt, finally touching the warm skin of his stomach. Tracing the hard lines of his muscles you feel them twitch under your gentle ministrations. Without breaking eye contact you rake your nails down his abs, scratching the sensitive skin to leave red marks in your wake.

Jason snarls in response and for the smallest second, you regret doing it.

One hand closes around your neck faster than you can comprehend and squeezes. The air drags through your throat and your eyes roll straight into the back of your skull.

“You just can’t be good can you? Not even for one second.” Jason hisses, lips touching the shell of your ear. “Just have to piss me off.” Your throat works hard under his palm, words trapped thick in your chest. “Nu-uh baby, you don’t need to speak, you just need to be quiet and take my cock.”

Sweeping his free hand over your hip Jason slips his thumb under the elastic band of your underwear. Snapping it against your skin he loosens his fist, tips your head back and forces you to expose the soft arc of your neck.

Vulnerability never came easy to either of you.

In the first few months Jason always chose his words carefully, never put himself in a position where he was exposed, where he didn’t have at least some advantage. He was curious but overwhelmingly afraid. You knew, even back then, that something had shattered him. Someone had broken him so brutally that he reflectively decided the only way to stay safe was to remain alone.

Sometimes, you wonder if his soul was pulled out of his body and replaced with something else.

Sometimes, you wonder if it was replaced at all.

And you?

Ex’s are ex’s for a reason.

You have no desire to relive that portion of your life.

Cupping his palm over your pussy, Jason places the slightest amount of pressure there and your mouth parts in a silent whine. Rubbing two fingers along your weeping slit Jason chuckles as he feels your swollen clit throb when he passes over it.

“You must really be desperate, sweetheart.” Jason mutters. “I can feel your horny pussy soaking through your panties.”

“Shut up.” You growl, embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“What?” He coos, circling your clit through the wet fabric. “You don’t like me talking about how wet you are? Don’t want me to tell you that I can feel you soaking my fingers after a few light touches? Fuckin’ Christ baby, I think you could come just like this, just from me rubbing your little pussy through your underwear.”

There’s something humiliating about how he points it out and you want to hide.

But you’ve never been this wet.

“Jay.” You whine, wide eyes darting over the ceiling, pulse positively thrumming under your skin.

The pads of his fingers press against your jugular, measuring the frantic thud of your heart. Humming quietly, Jason dips his head, mouths at the sensitive skin under your ear and you want to flinch. Dragging his teeth down your neck he licks over your pulse point, smiling when he hears your breath catch in your throat–feels your heart skip against his tongue.

Refusing to slip his hand under your underwear Jason keeps circling your clit. The fabric turns sticky, starts to mould to every dip and groove of your cunt. You feel it stick, warm and wet to the puffy lips of your pussy. You want to start crying.

If Jason was to look, you know he could see everything.

The thought is almost as mortifying as it is arousing.

Scoffing against your throat Jason moves one hand to your hip and stops you from rocking against his fingers. “You’re so easy, baby.” He teases, “A few gentle touches and look at you, desperate to come in your underwear.”

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip you try to swallow back a moan. You think your thighs are shaking.

“Think I should make you keep them on after you’ve come.” He muses, thoughtful. “Or maybe I should come in them too, make you sleep with them on, all wet and sticky from our come.”

Part of you wants to strangle him just to shut him up, but your body betrays you.

Just like Jason knew it would.

You come with a desperate cry of his name, thighs trembling and threatening to give out underneath you. Tears well in your eyes, lashes wet, eyes glassy. Your clit twitches wildly against Jason's fingers, the rhythmic spasms barely felt through the fabric. Your walls flutter around nothing but empty air.

You ache.

Hooking his hands under your thighs, Jason hoists you up and guides your legs around his thick waist. A quick, surprised noise escapes from between your teeth. His strength never fails to make you feel like you’ve been hit by lightning, all buzzing and sparking like a live wire.

Spinning on his feet he dumps you on the bed.

Jason stands over you, leaves you spread out across the sheets, legs parted to give him a perfect view of the soaked piece of fabric sticking to your pussy. Dragging his eyes over the holsters still strapped around your thighs he groans, low and a little feral.

In the back of your head, you’re glad the sight of you wearing his holsters makes him so unhinged. For far too long he’s pulled that reaction from you when he gears up for patrol, something about the danger that gets you hot under the collar.

Sweat beads up along Jason’s hairline and he swipes it away absentmindedly.

Shifting onto your knees you rest your hands on his shoulders, twist your fingers into his hair and guide his mouth to yours. Licking into your mouth Jason sighs, the harsh line of his shoulders softening. Cupping your jaw to hold you in place Jason kisses you, warm and soft and lovingly. The taste of him coats your tongue and your eyes flutter shut when he nips at your bottom lip.

Letting you go, Jason grins, lips swollen and flushed a deep red.

Shoving you backwards he unclips his own holsters and lets them drop to the ground with a heavy thud. Unbuckling his tactical belt he wrestles with his pants and boxers, just barely getting them shoved down far enough to free his throbbing length.

Curling his hand around the base of his cock Jason groans and gives himself one, slow pump from base to tip. Precum beads up on the fat, flushed head and you find that you want to lick it off, want to have the heavy taste of him on your tongue.

Dragging you to the end of the bed Jason pauses, only for a second, but long enough for you to hook your thumbs into the elastic of your underwear and try to pull them off.

Growling your name Jason swats at the inside of your thigh. The sharp slap leaves your skin tingling and on a reflex you try to close your legs, but Jason simply shoves them apart and delivers another smack to the opposite thigh.

“What did I say I was going to do, baby?” He questions, a horrible glint in his eyes. Heat scathes across your cheeks, you think he’s set you on fire. Shaking your head you find that you can’t quite look him in the eye. “Come on, sweetheart. S’not that hard.”

“Jay,” You say, voice touching the edge of pathetic. “Don’t make me say it.”

Tipping his head to the side Jason coos, “Aw baby, are you all embarrassed?” The look on his face has you moving to hide, hands coming up to cover your eyes and block him from view. “M’not going to make you say anything. You’re going to say it because you’re a good girl.”

Tugging your hands away from your face Jason brushes his thumb over your lower lip. There’s a hint of softness swirling under his skin and you don’t know if he’s comforting you or manipulating you.

He’s always been good at getting his way. Uses your weaknesses against you to get what he wants.

“You’re going to come in my underwear.” You finally get out, voice quiet, small.

“And?” Jason grins.

Tears bubble up along your lashes and slip into your hairline, “Make me sleep in them.”

Pulling your underwear to one side Jason sinks into your pussy, the fat head stretching your slick walls apart. The thick girth of him burns as he splits you open around him and you hate that the slight pulse of pain makes you wetter, has you clamping down around him like a vice.

“There we go,” Jason says, “That wasn’t so hard was it?” Crying out when he pulls back and thrusts back in you shake your head, mouth parting to choke on a drawn out gasp. “See what you get when you’re good?”

Moving to press his palms against the inside of your knees Jason spreads you out wider, holds your legs down so he can shove his cock deeper. Your muscles stretch and burn and when you try to buck your hips up in retaliation Jason smiles because you can’t move more than an inch.

“Oh no baby, you’re not going anywhere.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bleeding into a rough rhythm you moan, body shaking with the sensation of being so full.

“Jay–please–.” Your fingers twist into the sheets at your side. “I–I…fuck!”

“What do you want, baby?” He pants, sinking balls deep into your wet heat.

“Hng–Jay.” You sob, tears quickly streaming down the sides of your pretty face. A harsh thrust has your eyes rolling back. “Jason, oh please–please.”

“I don’t think you even know what you’re begging for, sweetheart.” He replies. 

Arching your back you shudder, pleasure rippling and alive under your skin. Jason releases one of your legs to swipe at your clit and your voice cracks, then breaks on a shuddering cry when the pressure becomes too much. Your pussy gushes around Jason’s cock and you wail when your underwear soaks it straight up.

“Oh–oh, I’m…”

“Gonna come?” Jason finishes for you. “I know, can feel your messy pussy squeezing me.”

Not pausing in his rhythm Jason keeps rubbing your clit and you think your brain is going to rot right out of your ears. There’s a flicker of overstimulation across your nerves and your cunt clenches up tight when the head of Jason’s cock brushes over a soft, sensitive patch inside you.

“Oh really?” He says immediately, choking back a moan. “Right there?”

“Uh-huh.” Pulsing hard around his length again you want to crack your chest wide open. “Jay–s’close.” Scrambling at the sheets for stability you feel your head spin, think that being drunk on pleasure feels the same as being drunk on alcohol. “Please, Jason. I can’t–I’m not–please!”

“I know, baby. I know.” Jason soothes. “You’ve been so good for me.” Your clit swells against the pad of his finger and you balance on the blinding edge of oblivion.

“Come for me, baby.”

Your whole world implodes and Jason Todd stands at its centre.

**

Moving around the kitchen with practised efficiency Jason makes breakfast.

At two in the afternoon.

You sit at the kitchen table, eyes still soft with sleep. He finds it hard sometimes, to focus when you’re sitting there with warm afternoon light streaming through the windows. You must feel his gaze on your face because you look up, catch his lovesick gaze and smile.

He loves you.

Grabbing two plates he dishes up breakfast and pads over to the cutlery drawer. Tugging it open he grins, mouth pulling up into a beaming smile. Sometimes he can’t believe that he ever managed to live without you.

The first, and second time.

Grabbing the one set of plastic cutlery in the drawer he slides it across the table and when you spot it you laugh, eyes crinkling at the edges.

You’re so beautiful it hurts.

Under the soft light of the afternoon he thinks: you are half of my soul, the half that the pit took away and never returned.

Jason Todd loves you.

**

#jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #red hood x reader smut #red hood x reader #red hood smut #dc fanfiction #dc fanfic #ella writes #I’m going directly to bed #today has been a day #unconsciousness take me awayyy

[flwrshwr-chenji]

Cheerleader -SJY-

Sim Jaeyun 

Pairing: Soccer Player!JakexFem!Reader Genre: Fluff, Best Friends to Lovers, Soccer Player!Jake

Fic under cut 🫶🏾

As Jake’s best friend, you were obligated to attend every single soccer game. You always showed up clad in his jersey. You were his number-one cheerleader and he couldn’t ask for better support. You were always the loudest in the crowd when he scored a goal, and you only fueled his fire to play better. 

Today was one of the biggest games of the season. Jake had been talking about this game for weeks. If they won, they were going to nationals. You had been hyping up your best friend for weeks, telling him he had this game in the bag. With your extra motivation, Jake walked into this game with all the confidence in the world. 

You took your spot in the bleachers. While Jake was warming up, he looked over, scanning the crowd until his eyes met yours. A wide smile spread over his face as he gave you two huge thumbs up. Your smile matches his along with a thumbs up. You turn around to show off the ‘SIM 05’ splayed across the back of the jersey you’re wearing. You hear him let out a celebratory yell, turning back around to look at him again. “Jake Sim for the win!” You yell back at him, making him laugh before he runs off the continue his warm-ups. 

Throughout the game you watched Jake intently, biting your lip anxiously at every goal he shot. You watched as the time counted down. Both teams were tied and Jake had the ball. Deciding to pull out your phone to record him, hoping he scored the winning goal. You sat on the edge of your seat as there were only a few seconds left on the clock. “C’mon Jake… You can do it.” You mumbled to yourself, watching him bob and weave through opponents with the ball tight between his feet. 

The crowd erupted with screams as Jake scored the final goal just as the buzzer went off. You couldn’t help but scream along with the crowd as you pocketed your phone and made your way down the bleachers to the sidelines. You watched as Jake’s teammates cheered around him, thanking and congratulating him for sending them to nationals. 

You stood jittery on the sideline, awaiting your turn to congratulate him. The moment you made eye contact with him you were in a full sprint in his direction. “You did it Jake!” You yelled, tackling him into a tight hug. He quickly secured his arms around your waist, spinning you around as you wrapped your legs around his torso. “I’m so proud of you Jake! I could kiss you!” You said without thinking, and before you could process what you’d just said, Jake’s lips were on yours. You quickly melted into him, your lip melding into his. You held his face as he placed you back onto your feet, your lips never disconnecting. He was the first to pull away, looking into your eyes with a dazed look. 

You stared at each other for a moment before bursting into a fit of slightly embarrassed giggles. Soon a soft smirk settled on Jake’s face as he looked at you. “So since I won the game for us, will you be my girlfriend as my prize?” He said, a soft blush dusting his face. You bit back a smile, nodding. “Yeah, I guess I can do that for you.” You replied, cupping his face again and pulling him down for another kiss. 

#kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #sim jaeyun #Jake sim #Enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #Jake x reader #Enhypen smut #Jake smut #kpop smut #sim jaeyun smut #enha #en- #enhypen #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader

[archangeldyke-all]

HEY

what about a reader winning a fight ( 👊👊) w sevika but sev is like :0 cause reader is pretty skinny compared to her like reader seems delicate, she's not, and sev gets so fucking horny that ....

I let that end to you pretty 😉

love this!

men and minors dni

sevika's cocky, smirking at you from across the mat as she wraps her hands. "you sure?" she asks. you roll your eyes as you stretch your body.

"i'm sure, sev. wouldn't have asked if i didn't want to." you say. sevika snorts.

"i'll go easy on you, honey." she says with a wink. you laugh.

sevika's strong. much stronger than you. but you've got an advantage on her.

sevika's a boxer-- it's her primary fighting background. you've seen her fight, and while her hits are powerful, they only land above her opponent's waist. she doesn't use her legs, she's a little too cocky to focus on blocking, and she relies solely on her strength.

you, on the other hand, are scrawny. when play-fighting with sevika, she always wins, pinning you beneath her. but you've got a background in mixed martial arts.

your fighting style is focused on blocking, diverting, and using your opponent's strength against them. you use kicks, knees, elbows, and headbutts just as frequently as you use your fists. and you'll aim anywhere.

last night, when you asked sevika if she'd ever like to spar with you, she simply laughed. she's still laughing now, as the two of you approach each other in the center of the mat.

"ready?" she asks as she reaches her hands out. you knock your fists against hers to signify the beginning of a fight and nod with a smile.

"ready." you say.

the two of you circle each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. sevika fakes you out a couple times, lunging at you before pulling back when you flinch, chuckling each time. you just huff and wait for her to strike.

it doesn't take long. sevika's patient in a lot of areas, but fighting isn't one of them. her arm swings out, aiming at your face, and you quickly duck beneath it. she huffs, then aims a punch at your gut. you take the hit with a grunt, stumbling from the impact as sevika giggles across from you.

"sure you wanna keep going?" she asks. you glare at her. fuck this, you think as adrenaline pumps through your body and your training kicks in. she aims another hit at you.

before she can meet her mark, you slide to the side, weaving your arm around her elbow and spinning the two of you as you shoot a knee up into her stomach. she grunts and doubles over, a shocked look washing over her face as your free elbow comes flying toward her face.

"fuck." she curses struggles in your grip. you've still got her flesh arm trapped, but her mechanic arm is free.

with a solid hook, she hits you in the temple, and you stumble backwards, letting go of her. you stare her down from across the mat.

an impressed smile is creeping up her lips. "maybe i don't need to take it easy on you." she says. you chuckle.

"i told you we'd be good sparring partners." you say with a grunt as you block another one of her punches with your forearm, knocking it out of the way and landing a solid roundhouse kick into her ribs.

as your foot meets her side, her free fist meets your face again. a crunch rings out and blood begins to dribble down your face. you groan, and sevika freezes. "shit, are yo--ah!" she huffs out as you smash your forehead against her nose.

"now we match." you say with a giggle as her nose begins to bleed.

sevika growls and reaches out to grab you around the waist, but you slide away before she can grab you. she glares at you, her chest huffing, her flesh knuckles white from how hard she's clenching them.

she throws three hits your way in quick succession, one of them barely grazing your ribs, the second hitting the center of your stomach, the third a nasty upper hook that knocks your chin back. you take the hits, letting the momentum of your spinning head twirl you into a full body spin, aiming a spinning high kick at sevika's head.

it lands, and sevika falls on her ass. you tackle her onto the ground, but before you can pin her, she's flipping you.

you quickly crawl away, but when she plasters her body over your back, you grab her arm around your shoulder and dive forward, flipping her over you.

she lands flat on the floor, sprawled out with a shocked look in her eye. you giggle from above her and she smiles up at you.

"where the fuck did you learn that?" she giggles out. you smile and duck your head down. sevika flinches, expecting another headbutt, but she melts when your lips meet hers.

it's a little awkward. sevika's upside down beneath you, so your nose keeps knocking into her chin. you pull away and sevika pouts up at you, quickly scrambling to her knees to turn around and push you down onto the mat.

"time out." she grunts as she straddles you, hungrily kissing your lips and grinding her clothed cunt onto your pelvis. you smile against her lips.

"does fighting always get you this worked up?" you ask with a giggle as she trails kisses down your neck.

"no, but it's hot as fuck that you can throw me around like that." she says. you laugh as your hands start scrabbling at her shirt, trying to get her naked. she leans up to help you strip her, leaning back down to kiss you again but being blcoked by your finger to her lips.

"hold on." you whisper as you gently wipe up the blood trickling from her nose with her shirt. she smiles softly at you, and when you're done cleaning her up, she wipes your blood up with her shirt as well. then, she's shoving her tongue down your throat, her hand snaking up under your shirt to fondle your tits.

you moan beneath her, grinding up against her as you claw at her back, trying to get her closer to you.

you trail one of your hands down to fiddle with her button and fly, shoving your hand underneath her waistband and boxers, groping her wet cunt as she shivers above you.

"f-fuck." she sighs as you start rubbing circles against her clit.

you chuckle. "maybe we wouldn't be good sparring partners-- might be too distracting." you say. she moans against your shoulder.

"fuck off. you're the only person i'm sparrin' with from now on." she grunts as she humps her cunt against your hand. you giggle and kiss her lips, gently nipping her swollen lower lip, relishing in the whimper it gets from her.

"you're so wet, can i eat you out? fuck, sev, will you ride my face?" you ask below her. sevika shudders on top of you as she scrambles to her knees and pushes her pants and boxers lower.

you grope her now exposed ass, tugging her higher up your body, trying to get her cunt on your mouth as quickly as you can. when she's hovering over you, her glistening clit three inches away from your eager mouth, the door to the gym swings open.

"what the fuck!?" jinx screams out. you look over just in time to catch the teenager slap a hand over her eyes and gag. "what the fuck!?" she cries out again.

sevika scrambles to stand, but her pants around her knees only make her fall onto her ass again. you giggle as you help her up, tossing her her shirt and helping her button up her pants and zip up her fly.

sevika's blushing profusely. you grin and launch up to kiss her cheek.

"sorry jinx." you say to the teen. "we're good now."

jinx hesitantly peeks between her fingers to check that you're not lying, and then her arms go flying as she starts on a tirade about communal spaces and pda.

sevika's shoulders rise with each of jinx's sentences, until they're practically at her ears. her blush is traveling down her chest and she's biting her lip. she looks adorable.

"relax, jinx, you didn't see anything bad." you cut her off.

"i saw sevika's ass!" she cries out. you chuckle.

"like i said, you didn't see anything bad." you repeat. she groans and throws the towel over her shoulder at you. you quickly dodge it, tugging sevika behind you to leave the gym.

jinx is mumbling about disinfecting the mats as you pass her by, ruffling her hair with one hand, holding sevika's in the other.

sevika makes certain that she locks the gym door each time you spar together in the future.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #sevika smut #i did martial arts as a kid and writing this made me miss it haha #maybe i should take an adult class someday! who knows...

[jeridandridge]

Autumn Days

The giddy excitement Melissa feels as she drives is enough to make her vibrate. You were in the passenger seat as usual, looking at the map on your phone while you two head for the cider mill. Melissa had a secret, one that was on a silver band hidden away in her bookshelf at home. Now, driving in the crisp morning air Melissa glances over unable to stop the warm smile spreading across her lips as the sun rays come through the window giving your hair a warm glow and your black sunglasses sparkle.

“If we keep going straight we’ll hit Main Street and it’s right there.” You tell your girlfriend, completely unaware of her loving gaze.

As you two pull into the grassy parking area you beam like a little kid rounding the truck to hold Melissa’s hand.

“I haven’t been to one of these places since I was a kid.”

“Yeah? Well we’re pulling out all the stops.” Melissa beams lacing your fingers together as you walk through the entrance. Taking in a deep breath you smell cinnamon and cider making you shimmy your shoulders in excitement.

“Hayride and apple picking first?”

“You bet, hon.”

As you two walk through the crowd you find the little stand to pay to get on the hayride and offer Melissa your hand to climb up onto the makeshift seats. “Covered in hay.” You chuckle. “I bet you’re already thinking about what you can bake with the apples we pick.”

Melissa grins squeezing your hand. “And the pumpkins we’re gonna carve.”

She looked like a little kid in a candy store, bright eyed and a permanent smile etched onto her lips. Looking over you can’t help but squeeze her hand grinning like an idiot. She made you feel warm and fuzzy, alive.

As the afternoon goes on you carry your bag of apples over your shoulder as you walk through the bakery and shop looking at all the sweet treats. With a handful of Carmel apple suckers between your fingers you weave around other people and strollers getting to the cider.

“Baby, do you want a jug of cider for the house?”

“Yeah! We can use it as a mixer.” Melissa grins. “You need all those suckers?” She laughs.

“Of course I do! They’re seasonal, Mel!” You smile happily carrying everything to the checkout.

When you two come out of the store you hold onto both bags in one hand and Melissa’s with the other, happily intertwining their fingers.

“I don’t wanna put pressure on you, but I’m gonna kick your coolie at carving.”

You quirk a brow eyeing the playful smirk on her lips. “You’re on, Schemmenti.”

Back at home with a candle burning, cider drinks made, and a cozy fall playlist going you and Melissa stand at the opposite sides of the plastic covered table with a sucker between your lips. Standing with a determined look on your face you finally come up with an idea, not having a clue as to what’s going on with Melissa.

The redhead is already holding the pumpkin back, drawing her design. She tries to keep her hand steady as she writes.

“I got you big time, Schemmenti.” You grin getting started on your carving by taking the top off.

Melissa shakes her head with a smirk taking her time with the carving not wanting to finish too soon. As you get to carving yours you stand up and hum and bop along to Don’t Fear The Reaper.

“You’re so cute.” Melissa chuckles watching you concentrate on your work, the little crinkle between your eyes being one of your favorite mannerisms.

“I’m very cute.” You grin right back at her. “Don’t try to sweet talk me. I’m winning this thing.”

“I dunno about that one, Tesoro.”

You smile flicking pumpkin guts onto the plastic with a scrunched up nose not thinking of anything going on from the other side of the table. When all is said and done Melissa stands up getting the pumpkin guts off her hands with a towel

“Are you done already?” You chuckle, “let me see.”

“No!” Melissa panics. “Not yet, we gotta wait for the reveal with the little lights.” She recovers easily. You nod and open the package for the little fake candles.

“Here, I’ll do those and spin em around for you to see em.” Melissa tells you with a giddy smile. There was definitely something going on.

“Okay,” you chuckle going over to flick the lights off so you can get the full effect.

Melissa’s hands shake as she opens up the top of the pumpkin, the smell is almost too much in the moment with her senses on overload. She’s never been so nervous in her life. Placing the battery powered lights in the pumpkins she turns yours around first smiling at the witch design.

“I carved Kristen, you like it?” You joke.

Melissa laughs holding onto the other pumpkin. “I really do, hon. You got her nose just right.” You were definitely the one for her.

Carefully turning the pumpkin around, she keeps her eyes on you. When you see the words carved and glowing you let out a gasp, your eyes going over the words over and over again. Four words that change everything.

Moving to stand beside you Melissa wraps her arms around your waist.

“Will you marry me, hon?”

Spinning in her arms you beam like an idiot pulling her into frantic kiss.

“Yes!” You laugh, “oh my god, Mel yes!”

Melissa squeezes you in a tight hug before holding the gorgeous engagement ring out to slide onto your finger.

Cupping her cheeks in your hands you lean in giving her a sweet kiss before grinning once again.

“Best day ever.”

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #wlw #melissa schemmenti imagine #melissa schemmenti x reader

[devils-dares]

Could I request Matt Murdock x wife!reader, just something with them, they have a toddler aged child (named after Matt’s dad). Maybe hurt/comfort. Thank you

wordcount: 1383

warnings: assault, bit of blood, daredevil is daredevilin', hospital

-----

“C’mon buddy, let’s get home.” You felt bad, almost dragging Jack home from urgent care. He’d been steadily getting more and more sick, so you’d decided to take him tonight. One hand gripped his little hand and the other scrunched the brown bag with his prescription inside. You’d made him some soup earlier, and wanted nothing more than to give him a bath and put him to bed, and then fall into your husband’s arms to sleep.

“Care to help me out, Miss?” You hear a voice call out, presumably to you, but you keep on walking. You could hear the man grumble and the jingle of the coins in the can quieten, but you thought nothing of it as you slightly quickened your pace, deciding your best bet would be to pick Jack up as he was struggling to keep up with you.

“Mommy?” He whined, presumably upset with the pace you were keeping, bouncing him up and down on your hip with the speed.

“I know honey, but we gotta make it home. Don’t you wanna surprise Daddy before he gets home?” He nods enthusiastically, hiding his face in your neck.

“Mommy, that man is catching up with us.” Jack says, his dad having taught him about being vigilant of his surroundings.

“Yeah, bug?” You say, trying your best not to sound nervous, trying to dig into your pockets to find your phone and dial Matt.

You never made the call.

The man had grabbed you by the waist, practically throwing you into the alley next to you. Jack had landed safely, but you landed on your back. Sitting uo, vision blurry, you reach a hand to the back of your head where it had made contact with the ground, warm blood seeping onto your fingers. Your phone had skidded away from you, the cracked screen tauntingly displaying your husband’s picture and phone number.

“What’s in the bag?” He asks, gesturing a knife wildly to the prescription bag on the floor.

“Sir, please-” You try to reason with him.

“I asked you a question!”

“It’s flu medication! Flu medication for my son, please there’s nothing of worth in there.” He dumps out the bag on the ground, a bottle of medication rattling on impact. He picks it up and checks the label, and he must have realized that it was no worth to him as he threw it on the ground. You gesture to Jack, and he makes a mad dash to position himself behind you.

“You’ve gotta have somethin’ of worth on you, lady.” He turns the knife towards you, but before he can make impact, a sickening crunch of bones interrupts him, landing him against the ground in a rough fashion.

“Leave them be.” A voice rang out, one that sent chills down your spin as well as a feeling of warmth and comfort. The man foolishly takes a swing at Matt, and his actions are met with yet another hard impact.

You pull Jack into your lap, covering his eyes and ears so he doesn’t have to witness his father’s other personality. Matt pulls the other man up by the collar of his shirt, pushing him up against the bricks and throwing his fist, not stopping until you mutter his name under your breath.

“Get lost,” he says, “I don’t even want to find you messing with anyone else.” The man nods, sprinting away with gashes across his face to escape Matt.

“Daddy!” Jack runs over to Matt as he kneels down, burying his head in Matt’s shoulder.

“Hi buddy.” His voice is still hoarse from the grunting and the adrenaline running through his veins.

“Can you grab your medicine and Mommy’s bag while I check on her?” Jack nods and Matt plants a kiss on his head before getting up to check on you.

“Where’s the blood coming from?” He asks, voice softening with use.

“My head, back of my head.” He takes his glove off, gingerly weaving his fingers through your strands of hair, stopping when he feels the warmth of blood and your quiet whimper.

“You’ll have to go to the hospital for this,” he says, “they have to make sure it isn’t a concussion.”

“Can you come with?” You ask.

“Course I can. I just gotta run home to change. Is it alright if I drop you off there?” You nod. He stands, reaching his hands out to take yours and help you stand. He turns to Jack.

“Can you hand Mommy her purse?” He nods, your purse almost dragging on the floor because of how small your son is.

“Matty, what-”

“Don’t worry your head about that. I’ll drop you off, take him home, and then change and meet you at the hospital.” He presses a kiss to your lips, and then leans down to carry Jack on his back.

“Are you holding on tight?” He asks, and Jack hums his agreement.

“I can walk on my own,” you say, Matt immediately taking a defensive stance, “I can make it, it’s only a few blocks.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I can make it. Keep Jack safe and make sure he takes his meds, I’ll see you when you put on appropriate clothes.” He shakes his head.

“Fine, but I’m following you all the way.”

“Okay.”

He’d called Claire while following you, asking her to take care of you. She agreed, and was there to bring you in from the door. Your cracked phone buzzed a few minutes later, a message appearing from Matt saying he and Jack had made it home.

“Is it throbbing?” Claire asks.

“Starting to.”

“Hm, that’s the adrenaline wearing off.” She separates your hair, cleaning off the sticky blood with alcohol wipes to make sure the bleeding has stopped. She does her assessment, diagnosing you with a concussion, and keeps you there for monitoring.

“Matt’s here,” she says after about twenty minutes, “he brought the kid.” Sure enough, you hear the stomping of little shoes running down the hallway towards your room, little four-year-old sneezing and sniffling Jack pushing himself up onto your bed.

“Mommy!” He shouts, nuzzling up to you. You laugh, watching him burrow his way into your blankets. Claire pats Matt on the shoulder, and he turns his attention towards you once she steps out.

“Hey,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “how are you feeling?”

“Head’s throbbing, but I’ve got Doctor Jack,” you tickle his sides and he giggles, “to take care of me.” Matt smiles down at the two of you, reaching up to remove his glasses.

“I was telling Daddy, he went ‘boom!’ and ‘pow!’ and he scared that man off, Mommy! Did you see? Daddy looked so cool!” Jack excitedly babbles.

“I did see, bug, but you gotta keep that a secret, okay?” You say.

“Daredevil is my favorite superhero.” He says, and Matt grins widely.

“Okay, buddy. Let’s get on this couch and let Mommy get some sleep, okay?” He nods, reaching his arms up towards Matt, who takes him and lays him on top of his chest.

“Goodnight, Mommy. Goodnight, Daddy.” He says, voice still nasally but sounding just a bit brighter.

“Goodnight, Jack, we love you.” You say, turning over and letting sleep take you.

Matt stays awake, the background noise of the hospital too loud to rest. Jack is mouth breathing on his chest, and he can’t get mad at the kid either, he’s getting over a nasty flu, and the patient in the room next door has a wheezing issue. His head aches.

“Matt?” He hears your voice call out.

“What is it? Are you in pain?” He whispers back.

“No, but I can hear you thinking.”

“It’s just loud,” he sighs, “struggling to rest.” He hears you sit up, rummaging around somewhere.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Here, catch.” You toss him a small container.

“What’s this?”

“Earplugs. Just enough to block out most of the sound, but not enough to block out what’s near you.”

“You didn’t have to.” He says, slipping them in. Sure enough he can still hear your’s and Jack’s heart beats, but not the wheezing next door anymore, or the beeping a few floors away.

“How’s that feel?” You ask.

“It feels amazing, thank you.”

“Love you, Matty.”

“Love you too.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock request #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x wife!reader #matt murdock x wife reader #dad matt murdock #dad!matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil

[balkanradfem]

I keep thinking everyone knows the exact same information as me, but since I'm about to make more posts about textiles and clothing, as I'm reading the book on them, I'm going to write down some basic information, just in case it's not very common, because a lot of this I only gathered recently. If I get something wrong please correct me in a kind way!

So where does the clothing come from, and how do we make it? During most of the history, textiles were made by women, from natural materials; flax, wool, cotton, silk, jute. Recently we started using more synthetic materials, like acrylic, polyester, nylon, spandex. If you want to make clothing from the natural materials, like wool or cotton, they first need to be processed, cleaned and combed, then spun into yarn, or thread. Spinning is the process where women manage to pull a thin part of the material and spin the fibres into one consistent, firm thread. It's super impressive to watch them do it and I have no idea how they manage to make it consistent, I've not yet tried to do it myself.

Once the thread is done, it can be made into a textile by knitting, crochet, or weaving. There are also other more complex, decorative methods, like tatting or lacing.

For knitting, you need two needles, or a special circular needle, or, there are also knitting machines, which you can use to make woolen fabric. For weaving, you need a loom. For crochet, you need a crochet hook. While knitting and weaving can be done by a machine, crochet can only be done by hand. Woven fabrics are firm, sturdy, durable, and not stretchy, while knit fabric is the most stretchy and soft. I'm not sure about crochet since I only have one crochet garment, but mine is very sturdy!

All of these methods were historically done by women; families were able to grow flax plants close to their homes, and women would then create linens, woven textiles made from processed flax, which was used to make sheets and clothing. Linen was specifically useful in keeping people clean, since it's very good at absorbing moisture. Used as an under-garment, it was capable of absorbing sweat, and protecting the outer layers, which were not washed. Experiments have shown that frequently changing into clean linen was more effective at keeping clean than showering and then putting on the same clothing back on.

Women's ability to create clothing was sadly exploited, and women were even banned to sell it commercially, or from competing at the commercial market, but their husbands were allowed to profit off of their craft.

In the USA, cotton was the most produced material, however for this too people were enslaved and exploited; cotton took human labour to grow, harvest and process, it also required a lot of water, and caused destruction of environment, because of the chemicals used in it's growth, and the unsustainability of monocrops.

Creating a piece of clothing out of textiles, or sewing, is a process that still cannot be completely automated; while you can use a sewing machine, you cannot make a machine that would produce a whole garment out of textiles. No mass-produced piece of clothing was sewn by a machine, it always has to be made by a human being. This is why a lot of the sewing labour is currently outsourced to third-world countries and companies use modern slavery in order to create fast fashion; there is no machine that can do it, so by the rules of capitalism, the companies are trying to get that labour as cheap as possible, often at the cost of human lives.

We didn't use to have as many garments as we do today, in the 18th century people would have two outfits, one for normal days of the week, and one for Sunday. The clothing they owned was usually made to fit them exactly, either by a female member of the family, or a seamstress, and these garments were made to last them for decades. As clothing became cheaper to buy than to make at home, and more of it became mass-produced, people started acquiring more of it, but also using it for lesser period of time. This would eventually grow into a bigger problem, due to the amount of chemicals and labour used to grow, process, dye and sew the garments, and the amount of waste we were starting to accumulate.

Introduction of synthetic materials, like acrylic, made the yarn and the textiles much cheaper, however it lacks the important properties natural materials have. Do you ever notice how synthetic garments sometimes continue smelling bad even after you wash them? That is because they'll absorb sweat, but become hydrophobic when wet, meaning they will take in your sweat, but refuse to let it go once they're in the water. This means that the longer you have them, the worst their stink becomes. This, of course, can be hidden by the generous use of scented fabric softener, but it won't exactly make the garment clean. This information I've learned recently, but it helped me identify what were the most synthetic pieces of clothing I had. Acrylic clothing had also proven to shed 1.5 more microplastics than any other polyester when put into the washing machine.

Having our clothing grown, processed, spun, woven/knit, and then sewn far out of sight, it's possible to lose the sight of where it came from, or how it's made. Only by trying to do it yourself, or learning closely about the process can one learn to appreciate what a monumental task it is, to create fabric, or a garment. Other than the synthetic textiles, of which I still know very little of, all of the natural clothing is a product of plants and animals, it takes land, farming, agriculture and water to grow the plants, raise the animals, and then labour to process and spin the fibres. It's also something people used to do in their gardens, inside of their homes, something that was normal for women to do, and to trade for anything else they needed, saving them from having to work for wages. Women making fabric was always to the benefit of everyone around them, while m*n taking over the industry and doing it commercially, ultimately brought slave labour to a lot of people, cheap and low quality garments to the select few, and money to the hands of the exploiters.

Being curious about clothing and what becomes of it, is a big benefit to the environment and the future of the earth! Knowing what the textile industry is doing, and how does it affect the planet, can be a great motivator to try and sew, or upcycle and mend clothing, or create garments. It's presented to us as something women were forced to do in the past, and it's connected to 'feminine hobbies', but in actuality, it is power to create something humans cannot do without. Women in the past used it's power too, whenever they could. And we are the only ones who ever used this power for good.

#textiles #clothing #linen #women's history #herstory #radical feminism #sewing #weaving #crochet #synthetic fiber #random information on clothing i've gathered #i feel much smarter so i wanna share! #if anyone knows more and wants to share please add #my sources are the book Worn #and dozens of youtube videos on textiles I've watched recently

[juneberrie]

i don't want you like a best friend - cato hadley

₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. cato hadley x fem!reader

author's note — ꩜ oooooh my first cato fic!! i hope you guys like it ♡

word count — ☆ 1.2k

warnings — ✦ooc clove probably, cato calling reader "shortstack"

the world stopped when his name was called. my lungs seem to shrink in my chest and my surroundings start to spin. he can't go, he can't go into the games. he can't leave me.

cato steps up to the stage, weaving through the crowd of people. he stands there as some capitol person rifled through the other glass bowl, searching for some poor girls name. he locks eyes with me and shakes his head ever so slightly.

"clove kentwell," the announcer says. a young girl starts to walk forward but before she even made it three feet i scream.

"i volunteer! i volunteer!" i push forward, risking a glance at the girl, clove, who glares at me before realizing why i volunteered. she sighs and gestures for me to proceed.

on wobbly feet, i step up to the stage next to cato. he doesn't even listen to the announcer's speech about the honor we'll bring to our district and what not. he turns to me with a look that says i'm going to kill you and thank you at the same time.

we're ushered into the building and corralled into separate rooms. cato looks back at me with an unreadable expression before the peacekeepers shove us both behind doors.

two minutes pass, but nobody comes in to say goodbye to me. i sigh and turn to the window before hearing the door open. through the reflection in the window, i see clove standing there, flanked by peacekeepers.

i turn to face her and we size each other up before she says something. "so, you and cato?"

immediately i feel my face heat up. "no- i mean, we're friends, is all. nothin' else."

she laughs and takes a step towards me. "sure. anyways, i wanted to wish you luck."

"you're not... mad? that i volunteered for you?" her name clicks and suddenly i register who she is. clove kentwell, one of the academy's top fighters. she's on track to volunteer and become a victor before she's even 17, and she would've become one of the youngest victors if i hadn't volunteered.

"i mean, i'm kind of pissed, but i get more training. better odds of winning next year," she states. one of the peacekeepers informs us that her time is up, and as she walks out of the room, she calls over her shoulder, "may the odds be ever in your favor, lovergirl."

after a while, the peacekeepers escort me and cato into the train station, where his family and clove stand at the front of the crowd. as the train pulls out of the station, cato's little sister screams his name, waving her arms wildly at her brother, and he waves back with a giddy smile. clove catches my eye and winks, and i roll my eyes and turn away from the window.

enobaria stands behind us, along with the announcer, whos name i learn is florentino. she quickly explains what will happen when we get to the capitol; the parade, the training, the interviews. she tells us to start thinking of ideas for angles we could use in the interviews, then instructs us to get something to eat and rest before we arrive.

she and florentino disappear behind a door, leaving me and cato alone.

i make a beeline to the mini-buffet laid out on the table and grab some sort of roll, which when i bite into it, is actually a cheese stick wrapped in fried bread theres a little label beside the plate that says "tequeños". these are the best things i've ever tasted in my life. i moan as i bite into another one, letting the flavor explode in my mouth.

i hear cato laugh behind me and reach to grab one. "are these really that good?" i nod fervently, grabbing a glass of water.

we eat in silence for a few minutes before i get up, announcing that we might as well try to sleep. cato agrees, but he doesn't move.

"hey, uh." i turn back, my hand on the door handle.

"yeah, cato?" something in his face changes when i say his name, but its gone before i can register what it is.

"don't let the bedbugs bite, shortstack," he says with a smirk. he follows me to the hallway where enobaria told us our rooms would be. our rooms are right across from each other.

i step into the room and shut the door behind me. then, i jump face first onto the big soft bed. it feels like heaven on earth, with its silk sheets and fluffy pillows. i kick my shoes off and rummage around in a drawer, finding a pair of silk pajamas to change into before i burrow under the covers. just as im drifting off to sleep, someone knocks at my door.

i groan and get up to open it.

cato's standing there, shirtless and wearing a pair of grey sweatpants. "hi shortstack."

"cato," i grumble. "its like, 2 am. what do you want?"

he looks around before stepping into my room. "just wanted to talk."

"and it couldn't wait until morning?" he shakes his head and sits down on my bed. i join him and flop onto my back. i almost fall asleep with the silence stretching between us until he clears his throat.

"the rooms are nice, huh?" he says. filler talk. "way better than the dorms at the academy." the dorms we have in the academy are standard issue, with a twin size bed, a window, a desk, a chair, and a wardrobe. nothing like the opulent gilded queen size bed and dresser with an en-suite bathroom the train has.

"yeah," i yawn. "they are pretty great." i close my eyes. i feel cato put an arm around me.

"sorry for waking you up," he offers, letting me curl up into his side. i throw an arm over his chest and make a sound of assent. "y'know, you didn't have to volunteer."

"i wanted to," i defend. "its not like i was going to let you go into the arena alone, cato."

"i would've preferred that," cato snaps. he sits up and rubs a hand over his face. "i don't want you to.."

"to what, cato? to leave my best friend?" i retort, opening my eyes and shooting up. the words pain me to say; i know thats all i am to him. a best friend. "i thought you would've been glad that i volunteered. the games are all we've talked about since we were ten. and what better alliance than best friends?"

"exactly! i don't want you like a best friend," he yells. he stands up and starts pacing. "you're much too special and kind and pretty and strong to be my 'best friend,' n/n. i don't want to see you get hurt. how would i be able to live with myself if you got hurt in the games, huh? how could i call myself a victor and be happy if the one person who actually made me happy wasn't with me?"

we stare at each other for a few moments. his heavy breathing and my short sniffles are the only sounds in the room. slowly, i stand up and take tentative steps towards him.

we stand face to face, chests almost touching but feeling miles apart. my hand brushes against his for the barest moment and he grabs it, locking our fingers together.

"you mean it?" i whisper, looking up at him.

"i mean every word when it comes to you," he breathes.

#cato hadley #cato hadley x reader #thg #thg x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #[🧸] dear diary