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#whats the difference between not a woman and no longer a woman
gordonmurraysugarbaby · 16 hours
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Something in the Orange – LN4
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lando norris x fem!mclaren!driver!reader
When Oscar leaves McLaren for RedBull, you have no idea what you're getting into becoming McLaren's second driver...and what that means for you and your new teammate. A specific country song doesn’t help, but it makes all the difference.
content warnings: misogyny, mention of social media hate, and a lot of crying...I think that's it, I promise it has a happy ending. angst adjacent, but maybe that's underselling it.
word count: 2.7K
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You had thick skin. You had to in order to be a woman in motorsports, but some of the comments in articles and on social media about your promotion still hurt.
The path you took to Formula One was…not traditional. Sure, you’d grown up karting with the boys, but as you got older, you switched to racing in some of the IMSA classes—first MX-5 Cup then Carrera Cup. Starting out in the Miata—a car that was referred to in one of the many Top Gear episodes you watched as a kid as “a sports car for girls and blokes who like ABBA”—had given you a taste for the real wheel-to-wheel racing that you had yearned for in karting and you skyrocketed from there.
When Zak Brown contacted you, you figured it had to be for the McLaren IndyCar team. You almost dropped your phone when he said that he wanted you as McLaren’s F1 reserve driver for 2026.
The team had been unbelievably welcoming and you bonded with the girls on the team immediately—even making a group chat called “hot girl garage” that included some of the engineers and social media/marketing admin, and the past and current F1 academy drivers. Oscar and Lando were nice, but you didn’t talk with them much, and you still felt like a nobody in the garage most of the time, so you understood.
Your times on the test track said otherwise.
When Oscar signed with RedBull for 2027, you were as shocked as the rest of the team. The news that you would be taking his seat lost in the sea of anguish from everyone at McLaren. You were excited, but they were big shoes to fill, and your future teammate had taken the announcement pretty hard. He was chipper in interviews, but in all the meetings you had with the rest of the team—beginning to make preparations for your onboarding as a fully-fledged driver—his eyes were lackluster and your conversations were brief.
The reality that the two of you would be teammates and not just generally amicable coworkers was bearing down on you. Lando wasn’t bad to look at, but it felt like he hated you, and you knew something had to give before pre-season.
It was after one of the last meetings following Abu Dhabi, the team had done well that year and you were desperately trying to ignore the weight of those implications for next year, that you you grabbed Lando’s hand.
Taken aback by the sudden contact, he turned to face you—looking at you as though you were a stranger.
“Hey,” you start, trying to sound normal—like you aren’t about to shit bricks over your imminent rookie season, “I’m sorry I haven’t been more...proactive in getting to know you. I know I’m no Oscar, but it’ll be fun to learn from you...I’m looking forward to it.”
He still looks a bit stunned.
You realize you’re still holding his hand and you let go. His hands are a lot softer than yours, but maybe that’s just in your head.
“Yeah…no worries. You’re going to be great.” He says, a bit stilted. “Let me know if you need anything.” He turns from you, his brow still slightly furrowed, but his eyes linger on yours a second longer than it feels like they should have.
You hate that you flush easily, and you feel your cheeks quickly as you walk back to your ‘office’ hoping they’re not too hot and that no one has noticed it they are.
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P6. It’s not bad for your first race, amazing really.
You and Lando had finally broken whatever ice there was between you before the start of the season, probably thanks to the dumb games the media team made you play for the sake of bonding, but neither of you would admit that. You were funny and he appreciated how childish you could be at times; the two of you were well-aware of the perfect storm you could easily create with your antics.
The races seem to fly by.
P8.
P5.
P4.
P10.
P7.
P3.
P6.
P2.
It’s unheard of. People were comparing you to Lewis Hamilton, but despite the praise, you had to leave all your social media to the team as the hate comments became unbearable.
As much as you enjoy your second podium finish, the celebrations are cut short by some misogynist asshole who had somehow made his way into the media tent. You maintained your composure as the man yelled profanities that had to be bleeped in the tv coverage, with cameras cutting back to overhead angles of the track as the commentators apologized for the interruption in an effort to preserve the sanctity of the sport.
You finished your interviews quickly, making blunt comments about the need for better recognition of women in the sport:
“We’ve always been here,” you say, your face steeled to the camera, “and none of us are going to back down because you call us names. I deserve just as much respect as the other drivers.”
You thank the interviewer before heading to the team motor-home. You walk as though you’re on autopilot, a mildly content look plastered on your face as you ignore the photographers and people asking for further comments.
Lando finds you there a few minutes later with your head in your hands, ignoring the message from the team that you wanted space.
“Hey,” he says quietly, sitting down next to you and delicately placing a hand on your back before continuing, “y/n…I’m really sorry. I wish I could have done more.”
You haven’t moved. His breath catches in his throat when he realizes you’re not breathing.
“Y/n you have to breathe.” The concern evident in his voice.
It’s then that he realizes your arms are soaking wet—the tears streaming silently down your face and into the fire-resistant base layer.
Lando pulls you up to face him. Your eyes are red and you choke on air slightly as he runs his fingers across your tear-stained cheeks, trying desperately to heal the pain he knows he can’t.
“It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything—I won’t tell anyone.”
The two of you had never been very touchy, but you were more than thankful that he pulled you into him then. He texted the team that he was with you and that you were doing ok—comparatively that is—only leaving your side on occasion to get you more water. He stayed with you well into the night, listening to the sad country music that he knew you loved so much (now understanding partially why) and reminding you that he was there as you tried not to drown in the swirling pool of doubt, grief, anger, and frustration inside your head.
He watched the sun set outside. You had fallen asleep against him, exhausted from the exertion of the race and crying for hours. You were always so strong he thought to himself, turning to look down at you. The tension was finally gone from your face as you slept, and he wondered to himself when you’d learned to cry without making a sound.
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From that race onward, Lando was your rock on the team. Everyone was supportive of you obviously, you were their shining star, but Lando let you go almost nowhere without him. He stood awkwardly close to you for all of your interviews, and when he was politely told that he couldn't be in the shot—which happened frequently—he would back up only *just* far enough to be out of frame, but never more. You joked that he was your guard dog, but if you were honest he was more like a puppy.
He'd tackle you when you did a good job in training and would run through the crowd to pull you into a tight hug whenever you finished well in a race...which was...every race now that you thought about it.
The breathless smiles the two of you would exchange in each other's arms, steam sometimes rising off your skin slightly as you cooled off from being in the hot cars, were incentive enough alone for you to want to win…or at least get p5 or better.
The abuse from so-called fans continued, but it was drowned out by the waves of support you got from the real fans who cheered you on with every victory. Lando was diligent in his habit of sending you tweets and tiktok compilations about the two of you. You'd always send a thumbs down to the messages, but you both knew there was a bit more than friendly camaraderie behind the celebratory hugs, shoulder bumps between interviews, and the three taps he gave your helmet every time you got in the car.
By the time Silverstone had rolled around, the two of you were practically attached at the hip. Most meetings contained at least one instance of either of you smacking the other on the head with something as a greeting, when you had down-time it was almost inevitable that one of you was sleeping in some seemingly uncomfortable position on the other, and your habit of frequently taunting one another into sporadic games of tag when you were at home for testing or training meant that the media team had no shortage of content.
Your sad country playlist had turned from your coping mechanism into your and Lando's personal carpool karaoke playlist. He'd never listened to that much country music before, but watching you sing your heart out to the sad lyrics as the two of you drove along the roads in the British countryside had won him over on the genre. That said, there were some songs on the playlist that he always made you skip because he thought they were too sad.
He wouldn't admit it to you, but he'd saved almost the whole playlist and would listen to the songs on his own when he needed to. He’d listen to the ones he knew you liked when he wanted to remember the way you smiled when they came on, and he’d listen to the saddest ones...well, those had their time and place.
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The day the two of you had your argument was one of the days he listened to the sad songs that he always made you skip. He stood there, unable to move, watching from a window as you drove away from the MTC.
After your win at Silverstone, only somewhat guiltily stealing p1 from your teammate at his home race, you'd been approached by Ferrari. They wanted you onboard for the next season—who wouldn't, it was your first season and you'd just beat out every other team on the track with almost no real F1 development.
Lando wasn't excited when you'd told him. He was sensitive, more than he'd like to admit, and the thought of losing you—the third teammate he would have lost to a transfer since the start of his F1 career was unbearable. You'd hadn't seen things from his perspective, and you were maybe a bit too harsh with him when you had said you didn't think of all people that he'd be the one trying to hold you back.
But he wasn't, at least not intentionally anyway. He was trying desperately not to let the one person he loved cared about on this team slip out of his hands. In that moment he felt like he had failed.
The chords of the song pulled at his heart strings as it began to play through his headphones. He closed his eyes and thought about the last few months with you. He remembered the way your head had felt slumped against his shoulder for the first time in Montreal, the way you'd jokingly tell him that you missed him when you hadn't seen each other in a week or so—knowing that there was a bit of truth to it despite your sarcasm, the way you looked in the early morning trainings out at the track—your papaya race suit matching the orange halo glowing around the edges of your head as the sun rose behind you.
He felt the warmth of the sun on his face as it dipped closer to the horizon. He opened his eyes and sighed, the lyrics of the song echoing in his head. He knew where he needed to go, he knew how he felt, and he knew he couldn't lose you.
Not like this.
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The tears streamed silently down your cheeks to the back of your jaw as you drove home. The road in front of you was a messy blur of different shades of orange from the sunset as you approached your apartment.
You didn't know why you had been so upset with Lando. In all honesty you didn't know what to do. You were a talented driver, but you never expected things to go so well in your rookie season. It was no longer the pressure to do well that got to you, but the expectation that you would eventually become a champion that scared you. You felt like you were drowning again, and you'd just pushed away your lifeline.
Maybe Lando was right, you should turn down the offer and stay with McLaren...but you weren't sure he would even want to be friends after this. The thought brought even more tears to your eyes, blinding you as you parked your car and walked towards the building.
You paused when you reached the top of the path. The apartment building was on a bit of a hill, and you always enjoyed the view from this spot. Looking out across the scenery, bathed in golden light and shades of orange from the sunset above, you notice a McLaren pulling into the parking lot.
It's Lando.
You're frozen in place at the sight of your teammate turned best friend sprinting up the hill towards you. Part of you is almost surprised that he remembered how to get to your house since he'd only been to your apartment once. He's out of breath when he reaches you and his eyes are red from crying on the drive over. Instinctively, he clutches your arms; his grasp is gentle, but with a subtle tension—as though his life depended on holding you like this at least one last time.
"Please.." He gasps after a moment, trying to catch his breath, "I'm sorry, y/n...please," you watch as his eyes glaze over a bit from the tears forming in them, "I don't care if you go, just please don't leave me." His normally steady voice now trembling with emotion.
It's in this moment that you realize why he wanted you to stay. You're his teammate. Even in such a short time, the two of you had become closer to one another than he'd ever been with Carlos or Oscar, and he knew that you leaving the team would likely mean the end of the kind of friendship you had now.
You'd never seen him like this: shaken with the fear of losing his friend, losing you. He looked at you pleadingly.
You had already decided.
You wanted to end the kind of friendship you had now.
Bringing one of your hands to his cheek, you brushed away some of his tears, looking across his face with your own blurry eyes.
"Lando...I'm never going to leave you. You're my first teammate." You smile, blinking a bit to clear the tears from your eyes. "I'm sorry I lashed out at you earlier," you continued, now stroking his cheek lightly with your thumb, "I'm scared too, and I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing."
You meet his gaze again as his grip loosens, he's looking at you softly, the warm glow of the sunset intensifying behind him. You can't stand it any longer, but as soon as you reach for the back of his head, he beats you to it. Wrapping one of his arms around you to pull you close and guiding your face to his with his other hand.
His lips were warm on yours. It was like you had been parched your whole life and this was your first taste of water. The tension between the two of you from the argument before and from the past months of calculated glances and secret hand squeezes in the paddock finally melting away. The two of you only pulled away from each other when you had to breathe; laughing as you gasped for air and smiling at one another in the deep glow of the setting sun.
When you re-sign with McLaren at the end of the season, you know what you're doing and you don't feel lost.
When you get home to Lando that night, he smiles as he walks towards you across the apartment.
"Congratulations love," he said softly, pausing to kiss you, "I knew you'd come home."
You laugh and shake your head as his eyes dance across your face, there really was something about that papaya orange that you just couldn't seem to get enough of.
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author's note: @arieslost continues to be my bad influence, so you can thank her for this. Only minor editing soooo fuck it we ball. Based on the song by the same title by Zach Bryan (listen to the Z&E's version if you want to listen to it, it's better imo). Ignore the firestorm that would happen on social media if the ending happened in real life ok, I know it's not realistic just shhhhh ignore it.
tag list: @arieslost @venusacrossthestars (my enablers <3)
dividers created by, and slightly modified from, @/saradika
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Lucien Vanserra's Hero's Journey with Vassa- The Firebird Legends
Hello friends! This is my very first tumblr post, and is IN DEPTH. It seemed like a good place to explore some of the the themes I've been discussing on TikTok regarding Sarah's book structures, how closely Sarah utilizes The Hero's Journey for ACOTAR, and how many "ingredients in the fridge" as I like to call it are already there for Lucien and Vassa's story, despite arguments that there is very little on page action with The Band of Exlies. If anyone is interested in nerding out about book structure with me, I'll do a quick run through of The Hero's Journey with ACOMAF as the example (I made a video about this already!) and then fill in a possible hero's journey beat by beat for Lucien using only what is on the page. I'm not being hyperbolic when I say I could literally plot out and write this book today with everything Sarah has given us!
A few things to know about me: I love all of the characters involved in these ship wars. I am a die hard Elain stan, Az is my favorite Bat Boy, Lucien is one of my all time favorite characters and one whom I deeply relate to (I actually think I relate to Elain and Lucien the most, and I'll share how they mirror each other quite well) and I literally had to pull over in a Sprouts parking lot listening to the ACOSF graphic audio when Gwyn told her story. An elderly woman knocked on my window to ask if I was okay because I was sobbing. I do get passionate about my ships (Elriel and Vassien) because of my reading experience and how I process Sarah's structures. It would be the shock of my life if it goes in a different direction. BUT I love all the characters and respect all ships. My only goal is to get people excited about everything possible for our Bird of Flame and Lord of Fire, because their story stands to be by second favorite after Elain and Azriel!
Here is a quick rundown of The Hero's Journey: A three act structure famously based on the works of Joseph Campbell, an author and educator in the field of comparative mythology.
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I will try my best to *briefly* break down the first act of A Court of Mist and Fury (I could do the same for Nesta's Journey in A Court of Silver Flames!)
Step One: The Ordinary World Status Quo. Feyre's status quo after Under The Mountain is the simultaneous evolution of her new life as Fae, and devolution of her spirit and personhood. In her new ordinary world, she is being kept in the dark. She is relegated to wedding planning and isolation.
Step Two: Call to adventure. Feyre is called to adventure on the day of her wedding, when the status quo has become unmaneagable. She calls out for help, and Rhys whisks her to the night court. In the Call to Adventure, our Hero learns a truth about the world that they will have to face. In Feyre's case, it is that the war is immenent. She realizes there is a threat to the safety of her sisters, and Rhys pushes her to train so that she is not unprepared if she is the only thing standing between them and Hybern.
Step Three: Refusal of the Call (in other structures or variations this is called The Debate.) The Hero is not sure if this is their story, if they are the one to face the call. They experience a period of maintaining the status quo a little longer. This is when we see Feyre sinking back into life with Tamlin. He is loosening the reigns, she doesn't want to rock the boat. She believes The Ordinary World might improve without her having to take the next step.
Step Four: Meeting the Mentor. Our hero meets someone that will assist them in their journey, and help them move forward in answering the call. This can be friendships, trainers and teachers, mystical guides, any number of things. In Feyre's case, it is dinner with the Inner Circle. She hasn't yet decided if she will join Rhysand's court and work with him in the efforts against Hybern, however she agrees to meet his court members. Each of them provide guidance to Feyre. In strength and training (Cassian and Azriel), emotional resilience (Mor), and histories/education on how the court and Fae lands function (Amren). Feyre agrees to work for Rhysand and then we cross the threshold into act two.
When I talk about "ingredients in the fridge," I am talking about a dinner that has been planned, ingredients purchased, and everything ready to go for book dinner to be on the table tonight. At this point, Sarah has been grocery shopping for future book plots for many many years! This is my personal interpretation of a really powerful story for Lucien and his hero's journey to free Vassa from Koschei.
Step One: Ordinary World. Lucien wakes up in the human lands in the manor he shares with his Band of Exiles. (I also am obsessed with how messy and hilarious it is that this was gifted to him by his mates ex fiance but I digress.) He has become so close with Vassa that he is no longer trusted to do his job for the Night Court. All the while he is worrying about Koschei, and when he will come for Vassa. Her enslavement to the deathless sorcerer pains him, and the pressure is building.
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I hate to poke holes in another ship, however it is important to note that during all of these conversations Elain is not present or mentioned by Lucien in any way. However, Mor states that Lucien is choosing to live in the human lands despite Elain. And of course, in ACOSF Lucien makes it clear that even being in Velaris doesn't mean it is to see Elain, and the thought of his presence being expected only for his mate makes him uncomfortable.
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I'm not saying these things couldn't change in the next book, I am however just setting Lucien's Ordinary World or Status Quo. Lucien is living in the human lands with the Band of Exiles and his main areas of concern and growing conflict are with Vassa and Koschei. This is what is being built to send the status quo to a breaking point *at present* His interest or efforts in Elain are devolving while his connection to Vassa and interest in defeating Koschei or freeing her are evolving.
Step Two: Call To Adventure. Lucien already has a powerful possible Call to Adventure (or inciting incident, as other similar structures call it) set in place. Koschei decides to reign in the leash on Vassa and force her to return to the lake, being ripped from her home with Lucien and Jurian and no longer able to provide assistance with the human queens.
Step Three: Resisting the Call. The reason Lucien is so perfectly suited for this is because he is the only character with such torn loyalties. He is loyal to Feyre and the Night Court, he attempts to be respectful to his mate, he is glad to work for Rhysand. There are many other threats present, Lucien's own father Beron suspected to be at risk of allying with Koschei. The human queens in the wind who have powers and a vendetta. While the Firebird legends retelling *could* take place with Jurian and Vassa, my issue with that is similar to my issue with Gwynriel. There is literally nothing, and I mean NOTHING that would create conflict for the character or a debate period. There are no obstacles or stakes in place that could keep the characters apart, which is critical to all storytelling but Sarah utilizes so much conflict. Lucien is the lost wanderer, torn from court to court, abusive home to abusive home, without a true family until the Band of Exiles. But it is still a matter of chosen family over loyalties he still feels to Feyre and her court. So, Vassa is taken by Koschei. Lucien now must be spurred into action, but is *he* the hero of this story? Is he going to be the one to take on Koschei?
Step Four: Meet the mentor. Oh, I think we all know where I am headed with this! What better mentor could there be in place for Lucien in freeing Vassa from her curse than Helion Spellcleaver. Aka Lucien's biological father. Helion also has maintained a consistent presence, being called in to attempt to manage the dread trove items. He has returned to the page in ways other High Lords haven't. We are gearing up for Helion 100%
Now, to get a little farther into some of the details beyond act one, tests allies and enemies, innermost caves, ordeals, so on and so forth, I simply want to focus on the stakes of this story specifically, and why I find them the most powerful.
As far as theme for Lucien, he has been aimless and suffering and ultimately ended up with no home and nowhere to spend Solstice. Feyre and Elain were a default because, in his own words, he had nowhere else to go.
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Feyre urges him to call the Night Court home, but he has found a true home with Jurian and Vassa. He cares deeply for them and for their safety. He is amazed by Jurian's leadership, literally saying "Thank god for him" keeping everything together. Even at his best with Rhysand, Lucien has never put full faith in Rhys as a leader (which is very similar to Nesta who, while still an Archeron sister, continues to dismiss Rhys as her high lord and has found her calling and found family with The Valkyrie's.)
Lucien learning Helion is his biological father pairs perfectly with his metal eye, which can see through glamours. We may come to find that Lucien has hidden spell cleaving abilities making him uniquely suited to save the woman he loves. However, this brings us to...
THE BLOOD DUEL.
Lucien and Azriel blood dueling over Elain makes no sense plot, character, or world building wise. Lucien does not identify with the Autumn court or its laws, and he has been nothing but respectful of Elain's lack of interest in him and by all accounts is moving on in a very healthy way. It is stated clearly that Beron knows Lucien is not his son, hence why Lucien received such additional torment and ab*se as well as Beron's treatment of Lady Autumn. However, for Lucien to publicly display Helion's powers would make Lady Autum's affair public knowledge. This gives Beron cause to call for a blood duel with Helion over LoA. These are incredibly high stakes and obstacles. Does he risk the life of his mother and newly discovered father to save the woman he loves by revealing his true power?
As far as Lucien being sole heir to the Day Court, there is another possible outcome where Helion wins the blood duel (thus securing Eris's place as the new High Lord of Autumn, another long established plotline) and Lady Autumn and Helion get a second chance while Lucien still chooses his found family. Or, at the very least, as long of a life with Vassa as he could get before taking up the Day Court. Sarah also of course has had both mortal characters choose mortal life spans for love (Elorcan) or make mortals immortal (Feyre and Miryam.) However, Lucien stated he never had any interest in being a high lord. Of course this is up for interpretation, but I believe his character development still maintains that. This man has been through so much. He just wants to live in peace, and I think it would be a beautiful thing to know that his mother is now safe and not a political pawn.
Speaking of political pawns, this is also why I believe Elain and Lucien have a lot to heal with each other. When Lucien discovers that he could have been raised by Helion and not Beron, but his mother was sold and used as a political pawn and her agency taken away, he is going to face quite a few demons. I do not personally think Lucien's story (or Elain's) is most powerfully served by he and Elain choosing to de-escalate all the conflict and spend time with each other and wind up falling in love. It COULD happen, and if it's what Sarah chooses to do, it will be lovely! But Elain is such a mirror to Lucien's own mother. The only difference being that Lucien is a good male while Beron is a monster. Lucien, when faced with this, would be motivated to prevent his story repeating itself. Elain and Lucien's mother are the only two alive today presenting as unhappy with their pairings. I believe this is what Sarah was referring to when she said Elain was a better mate for Lucien than Nesta (her original plan) because of the healing they could provide each other. While I am not stating this as fact, it is my opinion that there is enough foreshadowing for rejected mating bonds, the suffering of poor matches and females being owned with archaic laws, that Sarah always intended to have Lucien participate in the rejected mating bond story line with one of the Archeron sisters. Lucien and Elain as a rejected bond is a much better fit as Lucien and Elain are actually both quite passive about their mating bond, letting the plot develop and build elsewhere whereas Nesta would have likely just burnt Lucien to a crisp or had it take up a lot more of ACOSF which would have been truly tough to fit in.
I could go on and literally plot out the whole book beat by beat with the Hero's Journey, but I would be here all day. I truly think Lucien and Vassa in the Firebird Legends would be so beautiful and powerful. I've teared up thinking about it! It always disheartens me to see characters getting thrown under the bus for the ship wars, or to be accused of hating Lucien because I ship Elriel. I am brand new to the online ship space, and this was truly how I experienced the books as someone who loves all the characters and wants the best for them. I believe Lucien has been nothing but respectful towards Elain and deserves to be happy. I just don't think Elain is his happiness. Even Feyre and Rhys had moments of trust and connection building in A Court of Thorns and Roses before ACOMAF. Their relationship was not out of left field at all. Elain and Lucien have a LOT of work to do to make their interest in each other suddenly believable, and in my opinion now we are getting into poorly paced and structured writing to accommodate it.
I've definitely seen compelling compilations about how both Elain and Lucien are tied to Koschei and it could just as easily be their shared love story while saving Vassa, and I won't go into a rage if that is what happens. It is simply difficult for me to ignore all the conflicts that would conveniently resolve and obstacles that would be removed. I know people love to call the three brothers and three sisters "lazy" but three is simply a motif, not book structure or line level prose. In my opinion, a sudden resolution to active political conflicts by putting two characters together is much lazier when it comes to the actual writing of the book.
These are just my musings, and the things I picked up on whilst reading (and re-reading a million times tbh) and experiencing books! What do you guys think of Vassien? I personally am so excited by how beautiful it could be!
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lizbethborden · 2 days
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I was thinking a bit today about the word "queer." I identified really strongly with it in my early 20s, then soured on it as I got older. I think one part of it was my building political knowledge and understanding. As I learned, I was able to see more clearly how "queer" and its politics perpetuate rather than reject or disturb dominant, hetero, patriarchal paradigms. Another part of it was my realization (half through therapy [sorry anti-psych folks], half through getting older) that my deep internal sense of freakishness and difference had less to do with my innate nature, more to do with how other people perceived and treated me. On both a political and a personal level, it seemed to me that accepting "queer" as my identity was an acceptance of both levels of mythology--the heterosexual mythology, the one that I was trying so hard to forcefully reject, and the interpersonal mythology, the one that was as much self-inflicted ("No, I can't go to that, I won't make friends, they'll think I'm weird, and I deserve it, I'm a freak, I'm going to be alone forever, nobody really cares about or understands me," etc) as imposed upon me from the outside. I was accepting the definition of me written by a heterosexual, woman-hating, reactive, backwards, conservative society.
I no longer believe in an ontological difference between myself and others that makes me "queer". I do believe in differences in life experience, perspective, and thinking; I believe in differences in relationships and approaches to community, love, and friendship. I believe there are some gaps in those areas that can be crossed with healthy, positive, and respectful communication; I believe there are some gaps that are chasms and might never be crossed, and that's OK. But I don't believe that I am, profoundly, deeply, innately, some fucked up freak who is sooooooo different from others (even if there are plenty of days where I feel that way). I think I'm doing fine, actually, and I think I am actually doing better than the heterosexuals et al who have perpetuated this definition of me and people like me, because I see what they're like and how they're living very, very clearly, and honestly, lol, they're the fucking freaks.
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glitterp0prhaps0dy · 2 days
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Heartbreak part 2
WARNING: I DID NOT PROOF READ THIS, IF THERES ANY SPELLING MISTAKES OR GRAMMER MISTAKES JUST IGNORE IT I WROTE HALF OF IT DURING SCHOOL.
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John Dory burst from Branch's bunker, a whirl of emotions etched on the faces of those left inside. Floyd's expression was tinged with worry, Bruce wore a mask of confusion, and Clay seemed nothing short of irritated. Branch broke the tense silence with a blunt, "What the actual fuck just happened?
Seated on a beanbag, Floyd shifted, glancing at his brothers. "He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack, not at all himself," he said, his concern palpable as he exchanged a meaningful look with Bruce. "I'm going to check on him. We can't let him wander off when he's this upset," Floyd declared.
Floyd grasped his wooden cane and painstakingly rose from the beanbag. He made his way to the bunker's elevator, pulled the lever, and ascended, leaving the bunker.
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John Dory burst through Rhonda's door, slamming it shut as he collapsed to the floor, his breaths coming in heavy gasps and sweat beading his forehead.
Gathering his strength, he pulled himself up using the countertop for support and staggered toward the loft. Once there, he climbed into his bed and reached under his pillow for something concealed there—a blue plushie. This wasn't just any toy; it was a Flopper Hopper, distinguished by its large green button eyes and long, fuzzy ears, though one ear was notably damaged, missing its latter half.
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Clutching the plushie tightly, John curled into a fetal position and began to cry, his tears soaking into the soft fabric of the doll.
John's eyes wandered upwards, resting on the tapestry of memories plastered across his ceiling. Among the snapshots capturing his wild escapades on the Neverglade trail, one photo held his gaze longer than the others. It wasn't just any picture—it was a heartfelt reminder of a different kind of adventure.
Centered amidst the chaos of his thrilling journey memories, this particular photo was more personal, more intimate. It featured a woman with hair that flowed like a cascade of deep, reddish-pink sunset, her skin aglow with a yellow sparkle that seemed to light up the room. Cradled in her arms was a baby, a tiny mirror of her luminosity but with hair the color of the deepest sea green, tinged with teal.
This picture, unlike the others, spoke of a journey not across wild landscapes but through the
realms of love and connection. The striking visual contrast between the woman and the baby, with their shared glittery skin and uniquely colored hair, painted a vivid image of familial bonds and the beauty of heritage. It was a precious, frozen moment that John cherished, a beacon of warmth and love amidst his adventurous exploits.
This photo was John's sole keepsake of them together, the singular testament to their intertwined lives. Clutching the child's doll, he felt the weight of memories it carried. Beneath his glove, hidden from the world, lay his ring—a silent vow, a whisper of a life once promised. These items were more than mere objects; they were the guardians of his regrets, the symbols of the heartbreaking truth that he would never see them again.
As tears streamed down his face, soaking into the fabric of the doll, John's whispered apologies filled the quiet of the room. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't protect you, I failed you both," he repeated, his voice a broken melody of sorrow and guilt. Each word was a testament to his pain, a sorrowful lullaby that spoke of loss, love, and the unbearable weight of his remorse.
The persistent knocking at the door seemed to dissolve into the void of John Dory's grief, his ears deaf to anything beyond the echoes of his own sorrow. When Floyd received no response, driven by concern and impatience, he decided to take matters into his own hands. With a determined push, the door swung open, and he entered the armadillo bus, his presence unannounced
Navigating the stairs proved a challenge, his cane a necessary but cumbersome companion that made the ascent more difficult than usual. However, Floyd's resolve was unwavering. As he entered, he paused, scanning the space with a keen eye. It didn't take long for the muffled sounds of John's despair to guide him towards the loft.
Spotting John, Floyd hastened his pace, an urgency fueled by concern propelling him forward. The ladder to the loft posed another hurdle, but Floyd navigated it with a clumsy determination, mindful of the limited space. John's form occupied most of the loft, leaving Floyd to awkwardly balance on the ladder, his presence now impossible to ignore.
Floyd's heart ached as he witnessed the depth of John's sorrow. With every fiber of his being urging him to offer some solace, he carefully navigated the tight space of the loft, settling near John yet ensuring he respected his need for personal space. In the dim light, Floyd's presence was a silent beacon of empathy and understanding.
"John," Floyd's voice was a soft murmur, a gentle breeze in the stifling air of grief. "I'm here for you." His words floated in the space between them, an offer of support, laden with unspoken promises of companionship through the storm of sorrow.
The loft was cramped, but at that moment, it felt like the entire world had narrowed down to this intimate setting of raw emotions. Floyd, sensitive to John's need for space yet eager to offer comfort, extended a tentative hand but paused, letting it hover in the air for a moment. He wanted to bridge the gap between them, to offer a touch that said everything words could not, but he also understood the sanctity of personal grief. He waited, allowing John to dictate the terms of their interaction.
As the silence stretched on, Floyd remained a steadfast presence, his heart silently breaking for his brother. "If you need anything—a glass of water, or someone to just sit with you—I'm here," he offered softly, his words laced with the warmth of genuine concern.
And so, Floyd waited, a quiet guardian in the night, ready to provide comfort or companionship, to listen or to share the silence. In the loft that night, amidst tears and whispered apologies, the foundation of their friendship deepened, grounded in the understanding that sometimes, just being present is the most profound support one can offer.
John continued to sob into the plushie, his emotions spilling over. Slowly, he rolled over to face Floyd, revealing eyes swollen and red from crying, with tear tracks marking his cheeks. As their gazes met, a fresh wave of tears surged, amplifying John's cries in a heart-wrenching crescendo of grief.
Floyd, moved by the sight of his brother's pain, reached out to pat John on the back, his expression etched with concern. "I couldn't save them. I couldn't protect them. I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry," John's voice broke with each word, a confession of his deepest regret.
Floyd, initially puzzled by John's words, followed his gaze to the collage of photos adorning the ceiling above the loft. His eyes settled on the photograph of the woman and the baby, a realization dawning on him. With a heavy heart, he whispered, "Oh... John, I'm so sorry," now understanding the depth of John's loss and the source of his profound sorrow.
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i hope you guys like it :D i have alot of ideas for this au! feel free to give feedback or ask questions
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daenerysies · 12 hours
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rhaenyra is as much of a girl’s girl as the society she lives in allows her to be.
book wise she has multiple ladies in waiting (not just alicent, which is a grave oversight in the show), one of which is said to have gouged out her own eyes at the sight of rhaenyra’s murder. that doesn’t sound like someone who isn’t capable of inspiring loyalty from the women around them. rhaenys fully and wholeheartedly supported rhaenyra and her cause, even dying in her attempts to make her the first queen regnant of the seven kingdoms. laena betrothed her daughters to rhaenyra’s sons, ensuring that her blood sat both the iron throne and the driftwood throne, all while being a pretty difficult backing to break due to the wealth and naval power of the velaryons (all of this in spite of the bastardy rumors surrounding jace and luke). the agreement also puts forward how politically astute rhaenyra is, and how she didn’t just rely on her father’s word to put her on the throne. she made alliances using her sons hand in marriage; borros baratheon might not have declared for aegon had a proposal taken place the night luke brought rhaenyra’s terms. baela was only held back from partaking in the many battles because of her dragon’s size, otherwise she would have been right beside her betrothed fighting for rhaenyra. there’s even a chance that rhaena would have joined had she had a rideable dragon of her own. she had mysaria, a former sex worker, as her mistress of whisperers, a very esteemed position on her small council. the cases of rosby and stokeworth have no bearing on this, because they were never named as heirs (along with being literal children during a war time) which is what rhaenyra was using as the basis for her rulership. jeyne arryn knew her own position as lady of the eyrie would be challenged (again) if aegon stepped over rhaenyra and subsequently supported her cause. important women like alysanne blackwood and sabitha frey were key players in cregan’s army.
show wise she is shown in the season two trailer to be taking advice from rhaenys and allowing her to be a part of the war efforts. baela and rhaena are explicitly included on her war council, with rhaena as her cupbearer. moondancer is no longer a hardly rideable dragon and baela seems to be taking direct part in the war. rhaenyra is already shown in a set picture to be communicating with mysaria (whether that’s discussing blood and cheese, the aftermath of it, or something entirely different remains to be scene). these are not the acts of someone who hated other women, and using her falling out with alicent and resulting enmity between them (that is almost completely one sided due to the difference in power dynamics) as an excuse to otherwise is worse than strange, considering alicent’s canonical goal was to seat her son, a known violent misogynist, on the throne over a woman who was the named heir to the king.
the green’s entire idealogical standpoint is that women cannot rule, ever, for it would make the main members of the green’s powerless, and any other lord or heir’s claim would be up for debate if they have an elder sister. if the iron throne had truly been aegon’s by right alicent, otto, and criston would not have left viserys’ body to rot for days AND they would have had the backing of most of the houses. if alicent had cared more for her children’s wellbeing she would have convened a great council before the war began or considered any other effort that would not lead to her children fighting on dragonback. rhaenyra’s (peaceful) ascension would have at least started the necessary changes needed to grant women more authority and (!) autonomy in the seven kingdoms. queen consorts had significantly less influence after her murder, along with the targaryen’s losing their ability to hatch dragons. rhaenyra does not need to be a feminist for her cause to be inherently feminist by proxy.
rhaenyra was not a feminist, but she did have great love for other women. it’s disingenuous at best and downright insulting at worst to try to paint her as anything else. she inspired loyalty even after her murder. if the black’s cause had truly relied on putting rhaenyra on the throne, her armies would have disbanded once she was dead. instead corlys and larys poisoned aegon, with rhaenyra’s son being placed on the throne afterwards. it was ultimately about bloodlines in the end. jaehaera suffered the unfortunate consequences of an ambitious hand because of her status as aegon’s daughter. it plays directly into how alicent outlived her entire family, besides jaehaera, and went mad with grief, learning to hate the color green. how greed and the allure of power can and will corrupt those who choose to make that a priority in their lives, and how the innocent will usually pay the price for those sins.
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craycraybluejay · 4 months
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Transphobes get off my blog, transandrophobes especially. In fact go hate queers with the evangelical white moms who have coincidentally the same talking points as you about trans men.
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dirt-str1der · 1 year
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I will forever be pissed that they gave kiryu an actual love story (the first and only time they actually gave him a proper love story instead of just confessing his love very quickly before the girl succumbs to her injuries) and then retconned his love interest out of the other games like WHY WPUDL YOU DO THAT.
#Yakuza HATEblog#like they motherfucking took her away from me#just because shes a cop ???? they didnt even bring her back for dead souls#like what difference would it have made if they replaced that lady soldier with sayama it would have been the exact same#especially the ‘ive handled guns for longer than you’ line where she fucking shot between her allies to hit the zombies like first of all if#you truly knew about gun safety you wouldnt have done that but what do i know maybe thats just how military dogs are#yeah ehats the difference between a pig and a dog they can both be your best friend#ryuji met his little sister once before she completely dissapleared forever#like what the FUCKKKKKKK BRING HER BACK#SHES THE ONLY WOMAN THAT KIRYU HAS EVER LOVED SHES MY ONLY EVIDENCE FOR BISEXUAL KIRYU PLEASE ....#kiryus like dont call me gay boy call me bisexual boy so that ladies know to hit on me#kiryu doesnt even realise that he himself is bisexual because he keeps falling for men and having sex with girls like sayama is the first#girl hes ever fallen in love with and they took away his gf like they took away pacmans wife fml fuck everything#idc if he actually lover yumi or not but he loved sayama and they just made us forget about her because she wasnt real#she was real to me. they were real to me. but then again i am a real poser#because if people actually cared about kiryu and sayama rhen i wouldnt have to defend her with my life#its only because people hate her that im saying anything
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gender-euphowrya · 10 months
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how do i explain to my grandma that sometimes our brains are fucking idiots who come up with nonsense bullshit scenarios that could never happen in a million years and we shouldn't worry about those scenarios and you just gotta tell your fucking idiot brain to shut the fuck up and leave you alone
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lxnarphase · 2 months
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baby put your back into it ๋࣭ ⭑
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☾₊‧⁺...cw : toji fushiguro x fem!reader, smut, penetrative sex, pre-established relationship, overstimulation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, rough sex, begging, smug and cocky reader, feral toji
☾₊‧⁺...a/n : idc idc i wanted something self-indulgent and want toji to call his wife 'ma'. hopefully it's good, it's been a long while since i have written anything so enjoy ☾
☾₊‧⁺...synopsis : you notice a slight change in toji...seems like his breeding kink reached the next level
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it didn't take long for you to notice something was different with toji. he would just...keep referencing families, babies, pregnancy...it was definitely weird coming from him.
"can you believe how expensive diapers are? if you ever had a baby, i'd just steal them, 'm not gettin' scammed for piss-'n'-shit-holders."
"...do you think you'd have a fat baby? jus' asking, 'cause you got some fat cheeks. and this time, I'm talking about the ones on your face."
"i hope you don't get gross cravings if you get pregnant. hot chips, peanut butter, and bacon? nah, wife or not, i'd beat your ass."
but everything really got worse when he started calling you that fucking nickname.
"hey, pretty ma."
"mmm, c'mon, ma, stay in bed with me longer..."
"fuck, you look so good under me like this, ma...can't wait to destroy that pretty cunt."
you didn't think too much of it, it was probably just toji being...toji. except, now? you realize exactly what's been plaguing his mind.
"you make me so fuckin' mad, y'know that," toji huffs, his fingers digging into the plush fat of your hips as he helps you fuck yourself on his thick cock.
you scoff, giving a little grind of your hips. the way he sucks in a breath and rolls his hips up into you made you grin; he talks so much shit for someone whose dick throbbed so much from that little movement.
"if i didn't make you mad, toj, you wouldn't have stuck around."
you don't give him the chance to give you a snide response before you climb off his lap and further up on the bed, giving the silent hint to switch positions. toji has to bite his tongue, shooting you a glare that makes you grin.
"you are insufferable, woman," he grumbles, coming to hold himself over you as he continues to glare down at you. toji sucks at pretending to be mad you, you think with a giggle, seeing need swirl in those pretty eyes of his. he slides his cock between your slick folds, cursing when it catches on your entrance.
just as toji is about to slide back in, you press your hand against his abdomen while your other hand wraps around the base. "ooh," he hisses, smirking down at you. "pretty wife's gonna put it in for me?"
however, it's clear he doesn't expect it when you begin to tug the condom off, eyes snapping up to you. oh, that absolutely adorable look on your face, brows furrowed together and embarrassment all over it...he felt himself twitch because of it. your usual cocky and smug persona seemed to have melted away.
"babe...what are you—"
"toji, do you wanna have a baby with me?"
the sudden question makes him freeze, his eyes widening with a mixture of shock and arousal. were you seriously asking him this now? as you fucking tugged the condom, making it slowly peel off his dick?
did you know there was no coming back from this?
"i'm being serious, fushiguro, give me an answer before i make you put a new condom on," you mutter shyly under your breath, the condom finally coming off.
he's snapped back to the present when he feels you rubbing his tip through your soaking cunt, little sighs leaving you when it brushes over your clit.
"...are you serious? hey, hey, look at me. you're not fuckin' with me right now, are ya? tell me. you really want t' have a kid with me?"
you finally make eye contact with him, that vulnerable look on your face making his heart race. you were too precious for your own good...god he was so fuckin' happy he wifed you up.
"yes, toji, i want you to make me a mommy. i...i-i want to start a family with you, okay? so stop asking me questions and jus—oh-!"
with no hesitation and no time to finish your sentence, toji slides himself inside, his hips flush against your ass as he groans your name. you're so fucking warm and wet, holy shit, he could cum just from having you wrapped around him like this.
"good god, you're gonna be the fucking death of me," he groans, leaning down to press a heated kiss against your lips. "i'm gonna ruin you, i'm goin' to fuckin' destroy you and this little cunt, you know that right?"
toji starts moving, setting a fast, deep, rough pace that makes his hot tip press against every part of you in ways that make your eyes roll back. "t-toj, w-waaait—!"
he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as he lifts your legs up, putting you into a goddamn mating press to stuff you full and you know you aren't going to make it out of this sane.
especially not when you keen at the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix.
"i can't, i can't wait, ma, i can't," he huffs into your ear, the room filling with the wet slaps of his balls smacking against your ass, the wet squelching of your needy cunt trying to suck his cock back in each time he pulls out.
"do you know what it fuckin' does to a man to hear his. fucking. wife. say she wants him to knock 'er up? huh? you don't d'you, baby girl," he asks into your ear, hips pounding hard against yours to punctuate each word.
all toji can think about is you, you getting round with his baby, you glowing so gorgeously, the way you'll out all cute, maybe get pudgy all over, all because of him...and everyone would know who did it.
"hoohmygod, listen to that pretty pussy," he hisses, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as his eyes flutter back into his head.
you can't help but hear it, it sounds so messy and sloppy, you just know you'll have to replace the sheets after this. but that's the last thing on your mind when he shifts forward just a bit, making your hips tilt up just a little more—
"oh my god, toji, t-toji, baby, don't stop, please," you practically sob, lifting your hips up to meet his thrusts as he hits that sweet spot so perfectly.
a cruel smirk breaks out on his face when he realizes he found that spongy spot inside you that makes you cream, leaning close and pressing his forehead against yours. "i know, i know, it feels good, doesn' it? yeah, you're such a slut for my cock, fuckin' milkin' it like a good girl," he coos to you condescendingly.
"w-we can't go back, toj," you whimper, your hands coming up to cup his face. you messily press wet kisses all over his face as you moan openly. "c-can't fuck with condoms anymore, it feels too good, baby,"
"shh, shh, mama, i got you," he reasures you, chuckling at how precious you are...telling him not to fuck you with condoms anymore? oh, he had no problem with that.
"'m gonna make sure i breed you nice 'n' deep, yeah? gonna get you pregnant with my baby," he coos, moving his hand between you both to rest on your stomach. "'m gonna fill you up...right here," he says with a devious tone before he presses down right as he pushes back inside of you.
"babyyyy, i'm cumming," you cry, digging your nails into his back as tears stream down your face. he didn't stop, still snapping his hips into you as you orgasm, feeling you squeeze him so fucking tight as he talks you through it, little phrases of 'that's it, keep cumming' and 'goooood, you're gettin' so wet, milk that cock, it's all for you' being huskily groaned into your ear.
but, when you think he'll stop, giving you a break...you realize he's not, he's not stopping, toji's still fucking you, and you glance down and see how you're creaming, your cum coating his cock in a milky sheen as you squeal, managing to get your legs off his shoulders to try and move up on the bed away from his unforgiving pace.
"tojiiii, 's too much," you huff, managing to move far up the bed enough that only the tip is inside of you...but toji isn't letting you get away that easily.
"nononono, don't run away, don't run away from me, mama." he follows you up the bed until you are trapped between him and the pillows messily pushed against the headboard.
"don't run, c'mon, get back on my cock, tha's it," toji rasps, his voice making you shiver. he sounds so desperate, so unhinged, so needy. he looks so good like this, you think, mewling when he pushes back inside.
"there she is, good girl, lettin' me breed her cunt."
your insides are getting turned into mush, and, fuck, was he going deeper? you nodded your head, but you didn't even know why, it jsut felt right, felt so good, you were gonna cum again—
"i need to fuckin' breed you," he practically whines, toji's eyes squeezed shut as he focuses on chasing his end, your sticky cunt driving him fucking mad. soon, he'd be cumming inside of you, filling you up, his hot, thick cum getting sucked right into your womb by your desperate pussy...
"shit, fuck, doll, let me cum in you, let me empty my balls inside of you, i want it so fuckin' bad, mama, let me make you my pretty pregnant wife, please, let me give you a baby—"
he was rambling, eyes snapping open as he tried to glare at you but you just moan when he made eye contact. he's trying sohard to seem angry, but he's not, he's melting in your walls, eyes begging you to let him paint them white, to try and knock you up.
you nod again, rapidly to the point you get dizzy, hands grabbing his biceps and squeezing hard. "toji, don't you, hhf, waste a fuckin' drop, or i swear to god i will t-tie you up and milk you until you are shooting blanks, give me your fuckin' baby—"
"—fuckin' shit, babyyy, i'm cumming, fucking take it, take it, take my cum into that pretty little cunt-!"
the groan that he gives you is loud and needy, dropping down to messily kiss you as he pounds into you in deep, hard thrusts trhough his orgasm. you shudder violently at the feeling of thick, hotness filling you up from the inside. it's so much, you can tell it's not all gonna fit, feeling some of it messily spurt out of you as his thrusts grow lazier.
"thank you, baby," you softly coo, thankful for both the break of overstimulation and the pleasant feeling of being so full. he nearly collapses on you, holding himself up with his forearms as he pants, catching his breath as you kiss all over his face, waiting for him to come back to you.
eventually, he sits up, a hand running through his messy hair as his other one stays on your waist, stroking it up and down, taking in the view of you catching your breath against the pillows he cornered you against.
...you're so so pretty.
"shit...ah, damn, you're a mess," toji mutters to himself, looking between the two of you. it's a filthy mess, a mixture of your cream and the thick cum that couldn't stay inside. hell, he doesn't think he's ever cum this much in one go before. "mmmn...it looks pretty though," he says with a proud smirk. he did that to you, after all.
as he goes to pull out of you, toji's shocked by the way you manage to gain the strength to flip him onto his back...just that single move had him twitching back to hardness inside you as wide eyes looked up into your mischievous ones.
"don't pull out, yet, toj...just one more time? just to make sure it takes?"
an almost evil smirk breaks out on toji's face as he digs his fingertips into your ass, hard enough that it'll leave marks.
"shit, i knew i married the right fuckin' woman. come on, baby girl, let me see you fuck me stupid. let's make sure i give my wife what she wants.
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all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter this work
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augustinewrites · 7 months
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“pleeeease, shoko? as my best friend–”
“hold on,” shoko sputters, choking on her drink. “who said i was your best friend?”
“do you think i’d pay for lunch if you weren’t?”
the woman sets down her chopsticks, sending him an unimpressed look. “that’s what this is for? to bribe me into being your best friend so i can tell my actual best friend to go out with you?”
satoru leans forward in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. “i’m not asking you to tell anyone anything. i’m just saying, plant a few seeds here and there. maybe mention how devastated i was to get friend-zoned and that i’m way too hot to be strictly friendship material.”
“that’s way too unbelievable, coming from me. maybe you should ask nanami…”
“no, it has to be you. you think anyone would believe nanamin if he said i was a total smokeshow?” he asks, shaking his head.
“well, no one would believe him because it’s not true.”
“you’re being mean,” satoru pouts. “you’re supposed to be my best friend–”
“friendship isn’t how you’ll get me to do your bidding,” shoko interrupts. “i like whiskey.”
_____
“this is really good,” you hum in approval as you take another sip. it’s smooth, sweet, and strong. much better than any whiskey you and shoko have shared before. “how on earth did you afford this?”
“a friend bought a few bottles for me,” she waves off, settling herself into the opposite end of her couch. “so…how was your date on saturday? with that guy from the kyoto school?”
“it was okay. but i don’t think i’ll see him again,” you tell her honestly. “he just wasn’t…” 
“wasn’t gojo?” 
“what?” you ask. the idea that you didn’t enjoy your last date because he wasn’t gojo was downright ridiculous, but the quickened beat of your heart is trying to tell you otherwise. “why would you– you think i like gojo?” 
satoru gojo, whose second job seemed to be roping you into his nonsense back in your school days (and taking the fall when yaga eventually caught you). who showed off during missions and always yelled for you to watch (he has a small scar on his cheek from a failed infinity barrier projection). who now routinely showed up to your apartment uninvited to watch a film with you (and always left with a few rolls of your toilet paper).
“you don’t have to like him,” your best friend says, pulling you out of your thoughts. “you just have to sit on him.”
“ieiri!” you shout, horrified. “we’re friends. friends don’t sleep with friends.”
“what? i slept with him once - in a moment of complete weakness - and we’re still friends.”
“but now you no longer sleep with men,” you point out. 
she seems taken aback by that for a moment, but eventually shrugs it off. “true, but it’s different for you guys.”
“how?”
shoko fills the bottom of her glass with a heavy pour. “because he’s actually in love with you. he may be stupid and annoying, but maybe he does the things he does around you because he likes making you laugh, even if it’s at him.”
_____
satoru stumbles backwards into the wall, using his grip on your waist to pull you flush against him. you’d barged into his apartment, ignoring his questions and immediately pulling him in for a kiss.
“i thought–” he tries to get out between kisses. “–you didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”
you draw back to look at him, smiling. “i have other friends.”
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bettsfic · 2 years
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today is my birthday! i’m 33 today and i have done an ungodly amount of stupid shit in my life that honestly probably should have gotten me killed. so here are 33 hard-won things i’ve learned that i wish someone had told me sooner.
whenever you buy an object, you are going to own that object for your entire life unless you make the conscious decision to throw it away or give it a new home. maybe other people don’t struggle with this as much as i do, but i’ve grown to become a little exhausted by finding a thing and realizing i don’t want it anymore, but i don’t have the energy or motivation to do anything with it. signed, a woman with a packed 10x10 storage unit who is now extremely hesitant to buy new things.
food, and by that i mean good food (and by that i don’t necessarily mean healthy food, but food of good quality that you love), is necessary to live, and buying it, preparing it, and eating it is not a chore. the sooner you accept this and make food a priority in your life, the healthier you’ll be. 
speaking of food, not everything you buy should be the cheapest version of it. personally i’ve found it’s always worth it to splurge on good olive oil, butter, and canned tomatoes. for years i thought i was an awful cook because i was cooking with cheap, disgusting olive oil that made my food taste like shit.
speaking of food part 2, i can’t BELIEVE how long this took me to figure out, but mise en place is the real real. get your shit out and organized and prepped *before* you start cooking, even if it makes things take longer. and yes, it is always worth it to do the dishes as you go, which pisses me off.
when i was teaching myself how to cook and feeling daunted about it, the best advice i ever got was to aim to learn 15 recipes and then put them in rotation.
this is the most horrific and awful truth i have forced myself to accept: there may come a day you can no longer digest your favorite foods, and you will either have to stop eating them, or remain very close to a toilet. i’m sorry.
other people are always going to misperceive you and misunderstand you, sometimes willfully. other people’s opinions of you don’t actually have anything to do with you. they’re not your business, and you don’t have to worry about it or change yourself.
when innocuous or neutral things make you irrationally angry or upset, step back, realize you’re having a big reaction, and then when you’re ready, pay very close attention to the thing that upset you, because you’re about to learn something important about yourself.
a pill sorter can save your life. i don’t know how i managed my meds without one.
sometimes college is about learning stuff, and not about becoming something.
no matter how many perfectionist tendencies you have, it’s worth it to remind yourself that no matter how much of a mess you actually are, you deserve to be loved.
if you’re always forgetting to do important but tedious things, set an alarm and set aside one hour of each week, not to do the important tedious things, but to assess what needs to be done, and *schedule* the important tedious things for the following week. this literally changed my life.
during that hour, make a meal plan too. the point of doing this is condense the time in which you’re making decisions (what to do, what to eat, etc) so you don’t have to burden yourself with them throughout the week. decision fatigue is real. any way you can alleviate that is a good thing.
learn the difference between aggressive, passive, passive-aggressive, and assertive behavior. recognize when you’re being one of the first three, re-assess and aim for being assertive, even if it’s hard.
you can tell you’ve processed trauma, not when the traumatic thing stops upsetting you to think about, but when the traumatic thing takes up the same size in your brain as all your other memories.
if you’re one of those people who never seems to finish projects or follow through with things, there’s a chance you may just grow out of it naturally. until then, follow your interests and don’t feel bad about putting down a hobby to pick up another.
if you love stickers but have sticker anxiety, buy vinyl stickers. you can re-stick them.
there are only a few careers i can think of that you have to commit to early in life because getting the undergraduate credentials is a pain in the ass (teachers, doctors, and engineers, from my research). nearly everything else you can switch to later, which takes a LOT of pressure off having to figure out what you want to do with your life.
people say there’s no money in becoming an artist, writer, musician, etc. actually there’s a ton of money in all of those things, it’s just in the stuff other people want you to make and never what you want to make. it’s still worth it to develop the creative skill and not force yourself into business school because it’s more “practical” or whatever. 
sleep when you’re tired. SLEEP WHEN YOU’RE TIRED. don’t beat yourself up about it, don’t tell yourself you shouldn’t be tired or that you’ve already slept too much, just take a fucking nap. you would never say “hm i’ve already had enough water today, therefore i should not be thirsty” so don’t treat sleep the same way.
when you build a piece of furniture from target or ikea or whatever, the first thing you should do is count all the little screws and things to make sure everything’s there that should be. it sucks to get halfway into putting something together only to find there’s a piece missing and you have to go buy it.
learn to travel by yourself, go out to eat by yourself, see a movie by yourself. in my early 20s i was scared to do these things, but i do them so often now i don’t even think about it. it’s the most fulfilling skill i’ve ever learned.
adding to the above, if you’re a people-pleaser, being alone is especially important, because you’ve probably developed the habit of making the people you’re with more comfortable and happy than yourself, and you’re missing a lot of the beautiful and interesting things around you. when you’re by yourself, you can focus on what *you* want without guilt. 
sometimes you’ll want to break things off with a friend for reasons that are no one’s fault, and you don’t want it to be volatile or make a big thing of it, in which case the goal is to simply fade out of their life. it is okay to let people go.
shame is useless. get rid of it.
no matter how much of yourself you put into your art (or writing, or music, or whatever), when people criticize it, they are not criticizing you. they are having a reaction colored by their own tastes and perspectives. their opinion of your work has nothing to do with you. you don’t have to take everyone’s feedback. in fact you don’t have to take anyone’s feedback. the other side to this coin unfortunately is that compliments don’t have anything to do with you either. it’s good to accept this because it means you’ll stop seeking validation from other people and won’t let anyone else’s perspectives impact your work. anything nice anyone says about your work is merely a bonus to an already good thing.
if you’re an artist of any kind, take one day a year to look up opportunities like grants, funding, residencies, workshops, whatever. put the due dates of all of them on a calendar for the year following and get into the habit of applying for stuff. getting rejected sucks, application fees suck, but in all the years i’ve been doing this, it has always, always been worth it. these things give you a chance not only to help fund and support what you’re passionate about, but they force you to take your own work seriously, and that is something that’s absolutely necessary in order to be successful.
you must become your own greatest advocate. in all respects--in health, in love, in happiness, in freedom, you must. no one will ever fight as hard for you as you will. this in turn will give you the strength and motivation to help others fight for themselves too. the only way the world will ever get better is if every person on this planet learns to see themselves as equals to everyone around them.
brag about yourself as often as you can. for one, people develop their perceptions of you based on how you treat yourself and speak about yourself. but for two, it’s the fastest way to figure out which people to keep in your life, because they’re the ones who are going “oh hell yeah, you’re awesome.” 
be the person other people want to brag to.
at some point in your life, someone is going to hurt you, and it’s going to be willful and intentional. it is not worth it to waste brain space figuring out why they did it or why you think you deserved it. all you have to do is let yourself feel that pain, acknowledge it, and try to move on.
no matter how bad off you think you are, recovery is possible. the first and hardest step is to learn you’re worth the time and effort it takes to recover from the awful things that have happened to you.
developing an expertise does not mean you’re getting objectively better at something. becoming an expert is only the process of seeing your mistakes and having the patience to sit in the discomfort of not knowing how to fix them.    
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buckyalpine · 7 months
Text
Soft subby reader jealous stroking bucky
CEO Bucky x Jealous Secretary reader - slutty thot - making dom Bucky a needy slut for you.
Imagine being the soft, quiet little secretary of the very handsome James Barnes. What started off as a professional relationship quickly turned into something else once the sun had set and everyone left the office. No one know about the way he love the toy with your body to his liking, about how well you responded to him once the doors were locked.
James Barnes who had to stuff his tie in your mouth to keep your moans quiet, shoving his fingers deep down your throat while he railed you with his cock. His warm tongue would lick up your tears while you milked him dry with your needy, tight cunt. No one would ever guess such a shy little quiet thing would be a cockdrunk bunny on the inside, practically humping yourself on his thigh once his meetings were over, drooling and nursing off his cock under his desk when he was on calls.
****
You took another long sip from your drink, watching a red head trace a long, sharp manicured nail up Bucky's chest, giving him a flirty smile which he smirked back to. She was a prospective investor, one of the few people on the VIP list in attendance for the yearly company gala. Bucky threw her a charming laugh, clinking his glass with hers to something she said, the red head now resting her hand higher, stroking the expensive fabric of his suit.
This was the James Barnes who would pick you up from your desk and throw you over his shoulder when things didn't go his way, fucking his frustrations out with his hand slapped over your mouth, jaw clenched with his heavy balls slapping your clit with each thrust. James Barnes who would fill you up with so much cum, it would drip and make a mess on your skirt, making it impossible to stand up once he plopped you back onto your chair. James Barnes who loves what a secret little slut his secretary is. Such a quiet, sweet kitten who was too innocent for her own good.
The very James Barnes everyone wants and he damn well knows it.
And loves it.
So here he was, biting his lip and cocking his brow suggestively while the woman stood tall with poise, leaning over to whisper in his ear, making your cheeks grow hotter with each passing minute. You weren't aware making business deals with new partners involved wanting to eye fuck them in the process.
You downed another glass of bitter liquid, no longer able to ignore the surges of jealously that pulsed through you. You had no business being jealous or possessive but you couldn't help it, seeing him pull the same charm he used with you, even if the context was different. You missed the way his eyes glanced over to you each time you looked away; he grinned on the inside with the soft flare of your nostrils and the clench of your jaw.
The last straw for you was when he whispered something in her ear, her eyes growing wide in response, a crimson flush covering her face.
"Sir" You strode over, rolling your shoulders back, ignoring the woman, only keeping your eyes on him, "There's a call for you in the office, its urgent"
It was clearly a lie, he knew it, as did you but you didn't care. Bucky smirked at you, cocking his head to the side curiously while you continued to stare at him, waiting for him to follow you. The woman coughed, hoping to break the tension between you both, unamused at the way Bucky's attention was completely on you.
"Aren't you the secretary, shouldn't you cover the calls-
You didn't bother letting her finish, slipping your hand into Bucky's and pulling him away towards the large elevators, the brunette letting you take him wherever you so well pleased, curious about what you'd do. You were just a soft little bunny.
"What is it kitten" Bucky smirked at the scowl that tugged your lips.
"I didn't know your business ventures required flirting with new partners" you kept your voice steady, fighting against the alcohol that was coursing through your body.
"Are you jealous" he smirked, letting you drag him away from the crowd, shoving him into the elevator.
"What's there to be jealous of" you shot back, the fire in your belly growing stronger the more he taunted you. Bucky's cock grew harder and the change of your demeanor, your possessiveness making his tip weep.
"No need to be angry bunny, look at you acting so needy" Bucky tsked while the elevator doors opened to the top floor. The grip you had on his hand tightened as you both went into his large office which overlooked New York. You clicked, while he leaned against the doors with a cocky smile, arms crossed against his chest. His cockiness took a hit when you glanced down at the way his length strained against the fabric of his pants, just as needy as you were, if not more.
"You were acting like a whore, sir" You shrugged while letting your finger trace over the outline of his erection, pressing where the tip leaked through his slacks.
"Don't tease m-
"Please" You caught him off guard, grabbing his tie and tightening it around his neck just enough to make his breaths heavier, "Now tell me what you want"
"Play with my cock" Bucky swallowed thickly, his control slipping when you unbuckled his pants, his cock springing free, begging to be touched. You took a step back, humming at the sight of him; not a single wrinkle on his pristine suit, not a hair out of place, his beard trimmed, lustful eyes boring back at you. He looked so pretty with his cock out, waiting for you to do something, his dominant side faltering in confusion.
"Why don't you ask her to play with it, sir" you cocked your head to the side like he did, waiting for him to answer, his cheeks flushing. "Hm?"
"Want you to play with it" His voice was a whisper pushing his hips forward, showing you exactly where he needed you.
"You want me to play with your cock baby, it that it?" You cooed, tapping the tip with your index finger and pulling away slowly, letting the string of precum stretch before popping your finger into your mouth. "You're so wet" You hummed at his taste, stating the words he'd always throw at you before tracing circles onto his sensitive head again, smearing his arousal around without actually stroking him.
"Fuck" Bucky hissed, nearly slumping again the door while you teased him, biting back the moans that were lodged in the back of his throat. You wrapped your hand around his thick length without actually moving, squeezing the base of his cock.
"What is it kitten" you sneered, mimicking his words from earlier, smirking at the way his cock throbbed in your hand in response. "Look at you" you whispered, "Oh sweet boy" You cooed again, this time moving your hand to cup his full, heavy balls, rolling them in your palm, "They've so heavy, does it hurt?"
"Hurts so bad" He moaned when you tugged them and squeezed them while nipping his neck. You lazily wrapped around his length again, giving him long languid strokes, watching his face twist with desperation for more. Bucky felt like a teenage boy, thrusting into your hand, struggling not to blow while you continued to jerk his cock, his hips rolling to fuck your fist. He felt like he'd never been touched before, this being the first time someone had ever taken control over him and it was something else, especially when it was you.
"Mmmph" He whined, confused and aroused at the same time, desperate for more of your delicious torture, his dom side slipping even more. He tried to regain his bearings, standing straight up again, sucking in a breath, "So jealous-
"So desperate" You tutted, smacking his cheek for opening his mouth while rubbing and stroking his shaft, ignoring his tip completely.
"C'mon bunny, touch me" He was breathless, chasing your hand each time he got close to getting the tip into your palm, groaning when you moved away.
"I am touching you, aren't' I?"
God, he loved you like this.
"The tip- please, need you there, c'mon, please"
A wicked idea sparked in your mind, pulling him by his tie to stand in front of the floor to ceiling high windows that overlooked the city. The same windows he'd fucked you against countless of times, letting the world see you fall apart. Now it was your turn.
Bucky could feel his heart hammer against his chest standing in front of the window, the city twinkling below him while you stood behind him, your hand coming around his waist to grasp his cock. Bucky's hands flew to the window, splayed wide to hold himself up, fucking his cock into your hand, hardly in control of his movements.
He pulled back enough so the head of his cock would rub against your palm before pushing forward again, chasing his orgasm, unable to take his eyes off the way his fat cock slipped in and out of you smaller hand.
"S'good to me bunny, need you ta' squeeze my cock harder, c'mon, need you bunny, I need you" He practically whimpered for you, balling his hands into fists when you complied with a hum, moving your hand with his movement, adding more pressure, feeling his cock grow harder.
"Gonn'a c-cum" Bucky stuttered out while you kissed his neck, letting him continue to fuck your hand, his tip nearly touching the cool glass with how fast he was moving. "Oh God-"
"Such a pretty, fat cock, you're making a mess baby, are you gonna cum in front of everyone and show everyone who you really belong to?" You whispered, only getting a slutty, guttural moan back in response. "Go a head baby, make yourself cum, show everyone you're mine"
"OH FUCKKKK" Your words tossed him over the edge, a pornographic moan slipped past his pink lips as he started to paint the windows with thick spurts of his cum. His body trembled, shivers running down his spine as his balls seized against his body, still feeling full as ever.
"Oh god, I can't stop" Bucky wrapped his hand on top of yours, jerking himself off faster, working up to a second orgasm, angling his hips to shoot at the window again, his head thrown back, nearly falling onto his knees. "C'mon, make me cum again, pleaseplease-
You pushed him back onto his large chair, pulling your dress up and panties to the side, impaling yourself onto his overstimulated cock, crying out when he gripped your hips and started to thrust up, not giving you any control. You clung onto him while he drilled up into you, dribbles of cum still pouring from the tip.
"You're mine sir, mine"
"M'all yours bunny, all fuckin' yours, use me, oh fuck, use me" You grasped onto his shoulders, riding him till tears streaked his face, taking everything you gave him while you pulled a third orgasm from him. And a fourth.
"I-I can't cum anymore, please, cock hurts bunny, I can't-
He was begging but he didn't want you to stop, his hips continuing to thrust up while he slammed your ass down on him sloppily, eyes rolled back while chasing your peaked nipples. He pulled you forward so he could suckle onto them while
"Your cock hurts baby boy?" you stroked his cheek, the new term of endearment making him hard all over again, a sob escaping him.
"It hurts so much, make it go away, m'still so hard, why's your pussy so good bunny"
"One more baby boy?"
"O-one more bunny"
By the end of the night, he was milked dry, holding onto you while you were tucked into his chest, his soft cock still buried deep in your pussy. His neck was littered with dark bruises you marked him with, trailing down to his chest. He cuddled you for a few more minutes before you both had to make your way back down, his hand not leaving yours.
"How was the call - oh-" the red head's eyes grew wide seeing the red and purple hues that peaked under Bucky's collar a proud smirk on his face while he put his arm around your waist.
"It went well. Closed a new deal, if you must know" He stated before pressing a kiss onto your cheek, grinning at the way you melted into him, his soft little bunny.
sorry, this was longer than i intended.
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messylustt · 9 months
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We need more touchy & needy Hobie who has feelings for his friend (she's the prettiest girl in! the! world! and his eyes akhxsj) i can imagine him being that type who brags a lot about her too lol (but he's not with her.....yet, he's just crushing very hard)
my girl — hobie brown. longer name. your best friend, hobie, is a protective bastard.
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you were laying back against the couch, busy glaring at the tv. hobie walked in, a slight tilt to his head as he moved towards you. “please don’t hit it.” you shift your gaze to hobie sighing. “it’s not the tv i’m pissed at. it’s him.” you gesture to the actor on tv. “i mean can he be any more oblivious?” hobie bites down on his lower lip chuckling at your furrowed brows. he jumps down into a seat beside you, fingers reaching to smooth out the wrinkles on your forehead. you swat his hand away, and his eyes narrow. “i’m only tryna help.”
“with what?” you give him a side glance. his fingers shift back to grab your chin. “just makin’ sure you don’ grow too old, too fast.” you narrow your gaze on him, scoffing at his ‘wrinkles equal old’ joke. “and here I thought you were into older woman.” hobie scoffs, shifting slightly closer to you on the couch, arm moving to rest behind you.
“not that old. i prefer the forty to fifty age range.” you jab his side with your elbow, making him chuckle, slightly doubling over. “what time is it?” you suddenly ask, seeming to just realise how dark it had gotten outside.
“‘bout eight.” he comments, his hand moving to fiddle “absentmindedly” with your shirt — arm having to move further around you to do it. “eight? shit, i should go.” you move to stand, but hobie pulls you back down by a now permanent arm around your shoulders. you slightly fall back into him, the back of your head hitting his chest, as you feel it rumble in a chuckle.
you grab his wrist, preparing to move his hand, but hobie just pulls you closer. “jus’ stay ‘ere tonight. i don’ mind.”
“i should be getting back to my own universe.” you say, trying and failing again to move his arm. “hobie.”
“nah they won’t miss you.” he says, hand now rubbing the material of your collar between his calloused fingers. “that was nicely put, hobie.” you sarcastically say, twisting so that you can see him, but his hold still doesn’t let up.
“mhm.” he hums, a wide grin on his face as he catches your gaze. “you’re being clingy…” you narrow your gaze. he feigns innocence. “am i?” he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling you even closer, making your breathing hitch a fraction. you quickly place your hands on his chest, so that you physically couldn’t get any closer. “yes. and it’s…weird.”
“weird? and here i thought ya were a nice and accepting girl.” his teasing smile hasn’t left. your tongue pokes out against your cheek, as you push farther away from him, finally managing to stand. hobie holds back from grabbing you again, having liked having his friend that close. his…friend.
that’s all you were, or all you saw him as. he saw different. he liked sparing you touches, and disliked when you would inevitably leave his hands. yeah, he knows you need to protect your universe but sometimes he wishes he could be a bit more selfish with you.
;;
when you were in groups, say with pav, gwen, miles and peter. hobie would have an arm wrapped around your shoulder. or when you all would sit, he’d make sure you were sat beside him, tugging your suit closer if necessary. the others found it rather sweet, how whenever you couldn’t make a ‘hang out’ being on a mission or something alike, hobie would use the time to talk you up. saying things like “yeah, did ya see y/n the other day? one of the best swingers i know.”
“didn’t y/n win that one? yeah i think she did.” he’s always been there to brag about you, but when someone else found a place to compliment you — especially if it’s the guy whose been eyeing you — hobie would use the terms ‘ma girl this’ ‘ma girl that’. “ma girl could have done better.” and everyone would know who he was talking about.
so, maybe he did have a little crush on you, maybe he wanted to get the spiders who paid extra attention fired. and maybe he liked your entire attention only on him. to anyone new you two would seem together with how hobie talks about you, but no, you’re ‘just friends’.
;;
hobie grins when you walk into HQ, but a frown soon forms when he sees how battered up you look. rushing past the others he reaches your side, grabbing your chin. you slightly startle at his fast movements. “oh, just a hard mission. i’m fine.” but hobie doesn’t loosen his grip, actually slipping his large hand further around you as he forces you to sit.
“what happened?” gwen asks, all of them having moved towards you after hobie. “just a mission. i’m fine though.” you somewhat chuckle, trying to stand again. “sit down.” hobie states, leaving no room for argument as he inspects your face full of cuts, his frown not lifting.
“hobie.” you move to grab his hand, but he only tightens it. your brows slightly furrow at his clear concern. you weren’t that badly injured, nothing life threatening. but to hobie it was the prospect of it, it could have been life threatening. “let me come next time.” he says, catching your gaze.
“you don’t have to — ” but he cuts you off. “i’m coming next time.” he sounds more sure of himself, as he grabs you into a stance. bringing you to the medical room, even after your protests of ‘i’m fine’. it goes in one ear and out the other, hobie just sitting you down as he mends your cuts, waving off the medical spiders.
“i feel like i should be flattered.” you slightly chuckle, as he tilts your head how he wants. “yeah, you should be.” he says, dabbing at a cut on your lip. “look at all this attention i’m giving you.” you chuckle, mouth opening a fraction. hobie shifts closer to you on the medical bed, hand moving to hold part of your ear and hair as he makes sure he got every cut.
“what is with all this…attention anyway?” you ask, forcing him to meet your gaze. “we’re friends aren’t we?” he asks, still not removing his hand from your face. “yeah, but…you’re acting….” you drift off brows furrowing. hobie shifts his fingers to smooth the lines on your forehead. “remember: forty to fifty age range.”
you raise your brows. “then i’m in the clear.” hobie licks at his lip ring. “not quite.” he mutters. you tilt your head, as hobie’s fingers leave your face by drifting down your skin, stopping by the cut on your lip. you both freeze at the movement, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “does it hurt?” you shrug. “more of a sting.”
“hm.” hobie hums absentmindedly, his gaze caught up in the cut. at first even he doesn’t realise how close he’s moving. your eyes slightly widen, as you lose your breath.
hobie moves closer a small tilt to his head, as his breath then fans over your bottom lip — over your cut. and then before either of you can say a word more, hobie’s lips are slowly wrapping around your lower lip, his tongue poking out to brush right along your cut, soothing the wound with his spit.
his hand has moved to your hair, a tighter grip accompanying. he draws back a fraction, your bottom lip now wet. hobie can’t help as his tongue comes back out to soothe at your cut again, dragging all the way across your lower lip, and stopping when he’s hovering over your entire mouth, tongue so close to slipping in. you feel lightheaded, as your grip has moved to his jacket, but hobie seems in a daze of his own.
“i jus’…it looked…” and he swiftly pulls you closer, hand now weaved completely into your hair as he slips his tongue into your mouth, lips connecting with yours as his head tilts for better access. “yeah…jus’ looked sore…” he pushes harder against your mouth, his hand slipping to grab your waist. ‘friends’ can now officially be used loosely, as hobie’s eager mouth takes ownership of yours.
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© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.
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ghostbsuter · 4 months
Text
"What exactly are halfas?" Constantine asks, cigarette lit and leaning against the table.
They were in the justice league, having attended a meeting previously and now just lazed around.
Batman loses focus on his laptop screen and openly looks at the two, interested.
Green Lantern, Hal, jerks up at the question, looking between everyone still in the room and trying (and failing) to seem uninterested.
Zatara is glaring daggers at Constantine's back, eyes narrowed.
While flash had no context, having just arrived back with his food to sit with the rest, he appropriately tenses as well, from just one glance around the room.
Superman and Wonder woman aren't different from batman, not as discreet as some are trying to be and just staring at the two.
Slightly amused, Danny decided to entertain the question.
"Unlike ghosts and the undead, halfas are created and not born." He explains, looking at the man when he writes it down.
Who knew the infinity realm were this closed off that John Constantine had to get information from the source itself just to keep updated?
"Care to elaborate?"
Clicking his tongue, he does so.
"Halfas get created during extreme circumstances, it has to be right place, right time and correct amount of ectoplasm." Danny catches the lollipop that Batman throws at him, sending the bat a quick smile.
"Not everyone can become a halfa, our race is a rarity amongst the dead."Constantine raises a brow, pursing his lips. "There are only 3 of you right? Is that a normal amount in the realms?"
Another click. "No, thousands of years ago, when our kind reached its peak of over hundreds of people, Pariah Dark happened."
He briefly shares a glance with Martian Manhunter, he wonders if anyone here sent out a message of phantom story time? Why were they all lounging around?
"It was genocide. He killed off an entire species just because he felt threatened." He shrugs.
Constantine jolts, eyes clear as if he'd just connected the dots.
"So his downfall wasn't only because of rights of conquest but— the reason no one joined nor fought between you and the old King was because it was a revenge kill."
Danny ponders the words over, nodding. Yeah that sounds right.
"Many aren't surprised that Pariah Dark went berserk. It was kind of predictable, considering his soul was brought to the Infinity Realms after he'd died in the Phantom Zone as you know it."
Hal straightens up, Batman tenses and Diana leans forward.
"This previous King of yours– he was a past prisoner of Aethyr's Mind?"
The halfa nods, uncertain now that he'd stumbled upon unknown territory.
"Yes, the Phantom Zone and the Infinity Realms are sister spaces. Were you not aware?"
They were not, he quickly finds out.
Fumbling with his words, mind working overdrive as he sorts through information, he speaks again. "They are the two sides of the same coin, Phantom Zone being non-habitable while the Ghost Zone is filled with unalive."
He briefly struggles with his words, genuinely taken off guard with the lack of knowledge.
"Aethyr isn't just a being, but someone who is connected to the realm itself. Its similar to my position as King of the ghost zone." He summons his crown of ice to simple gesture.
"Besides! Phantom Zone, Zero Zone? Anti-infinite? That's literally the opposite of the Ghost Zone, the Infinite Realms!" he exclaims, throwing his hands up.
"Could you tell us more of your realm?" Superman asks, voice gentle and non threatening. "Some of us have been in the Phantom Zone, so hearing that there is a place being the complete opposite?"
The halfa nods in understanding. "Sure, why not?"
Three simple words yet everyone feels the trust put on them with such information.
"The entire realm is an ever shifting space, we categorise eith the sectors of each afterlife. From the Greeks to the Yetis and different eras."
(The tale of his realm lasts longer than expected, it is only when Hal started to get ready to leave does Danny address a certain area in his zone.
"The... Emerald Space is also a sector of the Infinity realm. The sector itself is formed in a sphere like form, we aren't sure what's inside since the fallen lanterns keep to themselves rather."
Hal froze, eyes catching the ghosts, and looked away again. He'd tell OA of this, but now he was going home.
Danny watched him leave and declared it down for now, free for more question the next time and left just as fast.
At least Constantine and Zatara can update their books now.)
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hollyskywalker · 4 months
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Worst nightmare
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She had him wrapped around her little finger.  
Coriolanus knew she did. He's no longer the same teenage boy trying to wrap his head around what this achy feeling in his chest is. He no longer convinces himself it's hunger, or that he's just confused. He knows the feeling is longing, desire, lust, or maybe even love.  
After everything that happened in District 12 with Sejanus, with Lucy and the people he left behind he had hoped he'd never have to go through this again. A foolish hope, he realizes now. He's a human being and it's almost unavoidable there are people out there who would know just the right thing to say or just the right thing to do for him to lose his ambition focused mind in the fog that is love, or obsession in his case. He's not sure there's really a difference between the two.  
But he thought he knew better than to let someone in again. He hadn't liked how Lucy made him feel vulnerable, and how it had hurt when he realized she'd left him in the woods.  
Yet here he was, pressing this infuriating woman against the wall with her legs wrapped around his hips, their lips barely parting to breathe before pulling the other back in. 
She was perfect.  
Absolutely perfect.  
She was also his close friend's wife. 
He always thought of himself as a gentleman. Sure, he did questionable things and studied under the most questionable woman of Panem during his time at university, but at least he was polite about it. Or at least, he acted in the way one would expect a gentleman to act. 
Kissing your old classmate and close friend's wife is not very gentleman-like. He knows this but when she tangles her hand in his hair the way she does, he can't find it in himself to care.  
“Festus will come find me” she murmured into the kiss. He ignored her and started to kiss his way down her neck. He's not going to acknowledge another man's name coming from her mouth when his mouth is the one making her keen so sweetly. 
She repeated her words and when ignored her once again she gently nudged him back a bit so she could look into his eyes “Coriolanus, you know he can’t catch us. Everything will be ruined” 
He thought he might start laughing. He honestly pities the tree somewhere out there whose single purpose is to replace the oxygen her husband wastes. “Festus Creed does not have the capability of ruining anything for me” 
She hummed and brushed his hair off his face. “Your mood before we came here seemed pretty ruined to me” 
His grip on her waist tightened at the memory of Festus drunkenly clinging to her, embarrassing her, during the entirety of the evening before Coriolanus had cleverly thought of an excuse to whisk her away. 
“Very daring, to take me away from my husband in front of all those people” she whispers, her hands coming up to rest gently on his shoulders.  “Not at all like you to take that kind of risks” 
He didn't bother responding to that and simply rested his head in the crook of her neck, pulling her body as close as possible to his. She rolled her head to the side, giving him better access as her eyelids fell shut. His nose grazes up and down the length of her neck, breathing her in. 
It had been a long day. His path to becoming Panem's president was set and he was prepared to wait for the perfect moment now that he has the right people on his side. He was not an impatient man, but so close to his goal it was hard not to long for time to speed up just a little bit. 
That's why he'd already been annoyed when he arrived at this fundraiser which must be the 10th this month, and then he had to watch Festus wrap his arms around her. It was just too much.  
When they are together, it's like all the noise is cancelled out and he can finally feel at peace. His mind finally rests and he enjoys when they focus solely on each other and nothing else.  
“Marry me” she murmurs in a voice like honey.  
He's taken aback, pulling away from her to look at her wide-eyed. He hardly noticed anything around him; he felt disorientated, dizzy. His mind worked feverishly. Did she really just ask that? Did he imagine things?  
It takes a moment for him to gather himself enough to answer her. “What?” 
She tilts her head to the side with a grin, linking their hands. “Marry me. You want to become president and you have all it takes to become one except for a wife. People will expect you to have one by the time the campaigning truly starts, and you know no one works a crowd better than me. I have them hanging onto my every word within seconds,” she pulled him down slightly so she could comfortably wrap her arms around his neck “With my family name, and influence, and your talent as a natural leader, combine the two of us and Panem would be yours by the end of the year” 
He stared at the wall on the other side of the room.  
Laying her fingers on his left cheek, she turned his face to look at her. “Just imagine how powerful we could be together as a couple” 
He was imagining it. But... 
“They'd never allow you to divorce Festus” he said with certainty. This he knew for sure. The family name and influence she spoke of would not be as impactful if everyone knew she divorced someone from the Creed family. They'd call her crazy, and steer clear of her.  
“We could not marry unless Festus were dead” 
Her eyes darted between his, her hand cupping his face. She truly was ethereal.  
“I know”  
Her response is entirely too calm and he frowned at her.  
During events he would often watch her socialize and play the crowd just like she said, until they were hanging onto every word that fell past her pretty lips. She always seemed so genuine when she talked to people, but he had caught the glint of ambition in her eyes, just like him.  
She was an impeccable liar without a tell. She could lie to whoever she wanted to. Despite that she tended to be a very honest woman. He knew he would be able to count on her if she was on his side. Her, with her always impeccable appearance and her fashionably styled hair wearing nothing but lavish clothing standing out blindingly, concealing her still very much venomous nature.  Perfect. Absolutely perfect she was.  
Festus was undeserving of a woman like her. He'd always thought it but now he was sure of it. 
He could already picture it. Him, waving down at the crowd with her by his side, the envy of Panem. There would always be people against him and his tendency of making unethical choices. But how could they doubt his leadership if a woman as good as her was married to him? They'd believe she'd keep him on the right path. 
She was working her way to the top, and she was succeeding. So it would only make sense for her to ask him. Festus had his sights set on presidency too, but if she believed Coriolanus had a better chance... Coriolanus tried not to let it get to his head.
Was she insinuating he kill Festus for her? So they could marry and she could become Panem's First Lady? Did she know he'd killed before? If she did, she obviously wasn't bothered by it or scared of him because of it.  
But then there was Festus. Coriolanus didn't particularly like the guy, in fact, seeing Festus trip was the highlight of his day not even a week ago, but could he kill the Creed heir? He had killed before but in this situation it's less trivial. It's not about survival, nor about making it to the top. He was sure he could make it without her...but still... did he want to, without her? Is she not worth it? Is having her by his side worth killing Festus Creed for? 
She's not worth it, he thought and tasted the lie as soon as it crossed his mind. 
He met her eyes and thought of her smile – the smile he can't ever seem to get out of his head – and- 
He was going to kill Festus Creed.  
Memories of Sejanus flashed across his mind. Sejanus had been in the way of him ever returning to the Capitol. So he took choices that haunted him, but he didn't regret. Just like he wouldn't regretting ridding her of her infuriatingly incapable husband.  
Truthfully, Coriolanus was surprised Festus was able to stand with a spine that weak. Always following what others told him to do, never thinking for himself, so easy to manipulate. Yet he saw himself suitable for presidency?
His hands have settled on her waist seemingly out of pure instinct. His throat felt dry, and he swallowed several times before he tried to speak. 
“Yes” he nodded, decision made “Alright” 
Something bright flared in her eyes as she looked at him. After a pause, she practically launched herself at him, knocking into him so hard that he had to take a step back. He laughed quickly. One of his hands is still on her waist, but the other cups the back of her neck as his thumb strokes over her throat.   
She tilted her head up and pecked his lips. Something horrible tugged at his chest, and he knew. There's no one more dangerous in the world than her. Because he's obsessed and in love as she gazed up at him through her lashes. 
The blood was thundering through his brain. Happiness filled his chest; a dizzying sensation and his head swam with emotion. His arm slid around her waist, his hand coming to rest on her hip. 
“Mrs Snow” he whispered like a promise, smoothing his thumb over her cheek.  
"What is it?" she chuckled "Why are you looking at me like that?"  
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, roughly but passionately. 
"You are my worst nightmare and the woman of my dreams all at once" 
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sluttsumu · 3 months
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˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆ CASE OF THE EX
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ೃ࿐ feat. gojo satoru
in which: you run into your ex husband just when he realizes he needs you back.
contains: nsfw, smut, exhusband!gojo, dubcon, infidelity, intoxicated sex (alcohol), breeding, gojo calls reader wifey, exhibitionism if you squint. wc: 1.3k
ೃ࿐ ki’s note: this was supposedly to be a drabble and ended up being way longer than expected. i’m also trying out a diff writing style lmk whatcha think!
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it’s freezing, as it normally is in december, but this was a different type of cold.
the standing on your ex husband’s porch, four glasses of wine deep, kind of cold. you’ve been standing outside for borderline five minutes, but you know he’s home.
“satoru..” the door creaks open to a very tipsy gojo standing on the other side. he’s quick to pull you in without another word because, “it’s freezing, why are you here this late?”
locking the door behind you he winces, rubbing his eyes trying to remember what day of the week it is. “is it my weekend to have her?”
her being your daughter, satoru’s beloved angel — the only other girl he’s ever loved besides you.
loved. past tense.
he swears he’s still inlove with you but you never believed it. you hated gojo satoru, but that’s just what you wanted yourself to think. he’s been trying to break down this wall of resentment for months, after all it’s been almost a year since you two split.
“she’s at your mothers house, i dropped her off last night.”
gojo could breathe easy knowing his daughter isn’t here, he didn’t want her to him like this; drunk, that is.
you watched as he disappears into the kitchen, taking your coat and shoes off, leaving them in familiar places.
you don’t why you’re here, back in this house, with him. it’s almost as if you were on autopilot directing yourself to a common place with no intention just…there.
he comes back with a bottle in one hand and two crystal glasses in the other, staring blankly before asking again, “why are you here?”
the silence was loud enough, it was actually the most you two have spoken in the past year.
“do you miss me?” smirking with the tilt of his head he rests his head in his palm, eyes flickering between you and the full shot in front of you. the two of you playing a variation of truth or drink.
“satoru…don’t do this to me.” you face palm.
“i know you do, but if your ego is too big to admit it then take it.” slender fingers slide the glass your way, you could see your reflection in the liquid, and god, you look guilty.
speaking of looks, if they could kill you’d be a dead woman. the way he looks back at you across the table reminds you of all of the reasons you crave gojo satoru.
you took the shot, quickly too. it burned going down almost lighting your body on fire in a self-sabotaging way. he found pleasure in watching you not admitting the blatant fact.
“you deny it but it’s true,” standing, he downs the contents of his glass mid-sentence, making you both somewhat even in intoxication.
the ‘clink’ of him setting his glass down next to yours echos as he’s now moved from sitting across to standing in front of you.
“ ‘m sure there a lot you miss about me, hmm?” his hands slide between your hair and skin, four out of five digits resting on the nape of your neck, his thumbs brushing against your cheek.
from gojo’s pov he couldn’t have you in a better place, literally in the palm of his hand. as crazy as it sounds he had to do this, he loves you, and love makes you do some…not nice things.
to be fair, manipulation and persuasion are not the same to him. he never told you to come over, but then again he could’ve called you an uber and sent you back home…that would’ve been the ‘right’ thing to do.
unfortunately for you everything that comes to mind in the head of gojo satoru is right.
you nod shyly, listening to each saccharine word that leaves his lips.
“c’mon wifey, it’s been so long” the nickname filled your chest, heavy. suddenly it was impossible to move from where you sat. “i’m seeing someone..” a hand, on his chest as a half-assed attempt to defy him.
“s-satoru!” you sound so cute under him, clawing at his sheets. that little confession did something to him, made him want to punish you in the most primal way.
seeing someone? oh that’s not happening, not as long as he’s breathing will you ever be with another man. you’ll always be his pretty, little, obedient wife, who spreads her legs for him any time he pleases.
after all you’re still legally married. gojo refused to sign the divorce papers you sent him and eventually you stopped trying.
you could feel a vibrating pulse within the sheets, it was your phone ringing at a time like this.
“hello?” he answers the phone mid-fuck. “oh well if it isn’t your little boyfriend? i’m in the middle of fucking your girl silly, clearly you haven’t been doing it right..”
his pace increases to a gruelling speed, each thrust clapping against your ass, and it was fucking loud. “fuck! satoru please—! hang uuuuuup.” your begging only fuelled the fire, you needed to know who you belong to and so did your boy toy on the other line.
gojo can’t help but chuckle pridefully, watching you impaled on his cock, but he needed to hear it. no, the sounds of you practically crying while he fucked you wasn’t enough. he wants to hear you beg for him, praise him even. like a god.
“let him hear it wifey ♡︎” he frees a hand by placing the phone next to your head.
“tell him how much,” thrust. “you need your husband’s cock.” thrust. “i fuck so much better than him don’t i ?” thrust. “awe.. you cryin’?”
“need it—! want it satoru! you’re so— hahh! —good!” he was made to torture you like this, fucking you dumb into his mattress while making you spew naughty things for him.
you could feel his speed getting aggressive. beads of sweat falling down his toned tummy to his v-line, the two of you making a sticky mess from being skin to skin. you couldn’t think, mind hazy and full of him.
“fuuuuuck, how about i stuff you full? maybe i should give you another baby, ‘nother reason to be attached to me.” the hypnosis in his voice casts you further under his spell as he grunts sweet nothings into you ear while he pounded your pussy.
“love it,” you growl into his pillows. “i love you satoru! cumming…i’m cumming, please let me cum—” you could only focus on the high washing over your body as your legs begin trembling, muscles spazzing at your arousal tipping over the edge.
your desperation is music to his ears, his lust turning uncontrollable as he assaults your cunt fucking you hard, and deep. at this rate he’ll get you pregnant.
“cum for me, cum with me— shit!” he drawls, gritted through his teeth, bottoming out in his favourite fucking pussy. this feeling will never get old, fucking you will never not be his favourite pastime.
meanwhile the overstimulation teasing your cunt made you that much wetter, and tighter for him. you couldn’t take it anymore, you need it — need his seed sopping out of you. you didn’t even care about your boyfriend who was still listening to this live porn. gojo’s rewired that wondering brain of yours. back to him, in this house, on his bed, fucking his cock.
you might just even take him back.
his pleasure builds as he pumps into your cunt a few more times, before emptying inside of you. you could feel it, cunt full of him. his body collapses on top of yours, fingers intertwining on your hands while you both catch your breath.
“she’s not coming home.” the line cuts.
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