#read them all to FILTH... where is her award

[bonescaps]

[sillyteecup]

Nowhere But You

Terry Richmond x black!o.c

Warnings:

18+

Swearing/Cursing

Smut

Oral (female receiving)

The greed they talk about in the Bible😔

Word count: 4463🧍🏾‍♀️

A.N: I'm not a monster so here's a little band-aid for "Requiem For My Lover". Anyway, if you've read any of my stuff then you know that I don't write fluff. Because I don't really know how to. So I don't know if this counts as fluffy, but I'm giving Mila a break. Now, what I lack in the sweetness department, I try to make up for with filth. So sit back, relax, and enjoy some Milaverse shenanigans where there are only 3 constants: Mila, Terry, and smut.

~Tee❤️

-SoMiLa/Ring Finger.

T.R

One would think that being a Grammy award-winning artist and having a painter for a husband would make Mila some sort of a visual art connoisseur; or at least mean she at least understood it. But neither were true. In her 29 years of life, Mila had been to many an art gallery. Be it on a date or for her sister’s friend’s exhibitions, she never truly grasped the concepts of any of the works she had laid eyes on. Other than being pretty artworks, they sparked nothing but confusion in her regardless of how long she stared or how many artists and coordinators explained.

Until she met Terry. Suddenly the art began to make sense, invoking all kinds of different thoughts and feelings. And maybe it was vanity, but an artwork that centered her was the only kind that could capture and hold her attention hostage.

Although she was a household name in the music industry for her entrancing voice and soul clutching lyrics, she was shrouded in mystery. Her fans and the public had been grasping for straws for anything personal regarding the enigma that was SoMiLa. All they had to speculate over was the music and the rare interviews. Terry was no different. Critics, peers and fans alike would jest about how they could count on their fingers how many times he had made public appearances. The number would come to dwindle when he and Mila moved in together, both prioritizing a quiet and private life together over their public images. Even though they had been spotted out together a few times over the last 7 years, fans couldn’t tell if they were together or just close friends. This sparked a years-long movement of fans analyzing the rather cryptic lyrics in her love songs and his paintings that centered the same black woman who always somehow resembled Mila. The pair remained silent, not confirming or denying anything. Not out of secrecy either; they just had no desire to entertain the public.

Then came the release of her latest album, "I Rich(MoNd)". With the added bonus of the famous "T.R" signature across the originally hand-painted cover art. But the real icing on the cake? The final track being titled “T.R/Ring Finger.” The public was sent into a frenzy, but the couple paid them no mind, continuing with their lives in private while everyone fretted over the long awaited confirmation of their relationship.

“Don’t tell me you named it after-” Mila gasped as she marveled at her man’s latest creation.

“Our song? You’re my muse, I’m yours. It only felt right,” Terry said from beside her.

Terry’s newest exhibition, “RiChMoNd,” consisted of personal works that symbolized his adoration for and marriage to Mila. Thus none of the works were for sale. They were however available for public viewing at his Johannesburg museum, “Heart of Richmond.” The museum housed many artworks. Some were favorites from his mother’s collection, others were the very few that Mila remotely got and liked, and the rest were works by Terry that he refused to sell. The exhibition also served as the opening of the latest addition to the gallery, also titled. “I Rich(MoNd)”. A passion project he had been working on since he had proposed 4 years ago.

Despite standing in an entire gallery of works devoted to her and their love, the image of the semi-faceless black woman intrigued her. Aside from the boho locs, the subject’s resemblance to Mila hid in the more intricate details. From the tiny mole above the deep-thought induced dimple, to the scars that painted memories of her childhood over the cocoa skin of her arms and the single raised thigh that was visible. Glimpses of her personality appeared as the pens sticking out of her locs, the lit J tucked between her full two-toned lips and the way the white sheet draped over only a fraction of her body. Laid up in an unorganized space full stationary and opened CDs, tinted by the red hue of the sun was the exact reflection of Mila’s writing process. Complete with the song that not only perfectly encapsulates the way her husband inspired her, but also won her 5 new Grammys.

While Terry was a man of very few words, his hands always found ways to say the most endearing and intimate things for him. Their families joked about how stoic and quiet he was for an artist, but Mila knew better. Terry’s love language was only understood Mila, a canvas, and every crevice of the house he had fucked her into.

“You’ve done it again. It’s amazing. All of it is perfect,” Mila said appreciatively. 

His breath lightly brushed her skin as he leaned into her. “Not as perfect as the woman that inspired it all,” he whispered between light kisses behind her ear.

It didn’t take much for Mila to have Terry bricked like the third little pig’s house. He had been absolutely taken from the very moment he had laid eyes on her and only grew to fall in love with her and everything about her. All she had to do was open her mouth to breathe and Terry would be on his knees before her. The way she looked at the moment didn’t do his self-control any favors either. As much as he didn’t care for what the media thought of him or their relationship, he still wasn’t one to get caught up in a scandal. But damn, the way the exposed parts of her soft, mocha skin in that backless wine-colored satin gown invited him, silently goaded him into throwing all rational thought away. If the cost wasn’t a possible snapshot of him making love to his gorgeous wife in the middle of an exhibit modeled after his love for her, he probably would have ripped that dress off right there and then.

Cameras clicked behind them, reminding them that they weren’t in the safe bubble of their home where they were just Terry and Mila Richmond. Now they were SoMiLa and Terrence Richmond, music’s prodigal son and the new age Basuiat. The public’s favorite unicorns making one of those prized rare appearances before disappearing back into whatever hidden mythical realm for who knows how long. Although conscious of the attention, Terry kept his nose buried in the skin of her neck and his hands planted firmly on her waist. As far as he was concerned, their love had never been a secret: everyone had just either been too blind or dumb to see it. Not that he cared either way. 

“Fuck baby, I need you,” he rasped needy in her ear. 

Although her own arousal had begun to make itself known and was begging Terry to just drag her out of the building so he could turn her every which way all over their Bryanston home, Mila understood that he still had some work to do. And if the boner digging into her lower back wasn’t enough of an indicator, Terry’s erotic declaration was definitely a sign that she had to be the smart one. Otherwise his agent, Sandra, would have both their heads for weeks to come. Neither of them feared the cut-throat agent, they just didn’t have the energy to have her yelling down their throats for a week.

“And you can have me T, but first you have to find Sandra and then get through this opening night,” Mila replied, biting back a moan at the unrelenting kisses on her sweet spot.

His grip tightened around the satin covering his wife’s waist as he let out a disgruntled grunt. “Man fuck Sandra and all these people. Let’s get out of here so I can taste you. Make you feel good, hmm?” he hummed against her now goosebump riddled skin, a natural green light from her body that contradicted her words.

“How about you make me feel even better by keeping me by your side while we make tonight a success? Then I'll let you taste every single part of me all you want, loverboy,” Mila said, objecting to her own deep desire for the man that threatened to consume her whole.

“Promise?” Terry asked, moving his affectionate attack to the other side of her neck.

Mila raised her pinkie for Terry to interlock with his. “Pinkie promise.”

Terry texted Sandra to open the doors and have everyone gathered in the center immediately. He wanted this over with, and he wanted to do it quickly. He had a wine colored bowl of a chocolate dessert waiting on him. The kind that had a creamy center and melted on your tongue. And Terry was never one to deprive himself of his favorite treats, let alone the one next to him. 

As the guests poured in, Mila helped Terry straighten out, smoothing his jacket and wiping his glasses. She placed them back on his face, gracing him with a proud and grateful smile. Despite his lips barely moving an inch, the corners of his eyes crinkled as if he were grinning. Such little expression covering so much emotion. Emotion only Mila could read, like her own secret diary. 

Still, it was a miracle that this man could paint because he was terrible at expression of any other form (that wasn't affection for Mila). 

Having become accustomed to large crowds, Mila had grown indifferent to all the eager eyes focused on her and Terry. They stood in the center of the gallery, hand in hand, as they waited for everyone to settle down. Right behind them stood Sandra who was nursing a glass of champagne to ease the nerves and whispering animatedly with her best friend, and Mila’s manager, Sid. The couple’s mothers and teams chattered excitedly among themselves about the direction of the night.

“Good evening everybody. My name is Terrence Richmond and I wanna welcome you all to the grand opening to the latest, and dearest to my heart, vessel in the Heart of Richmond, a passion project that I’ve put my all into because a tribute to my literal heartbeat and our love deserves nothing less: “I Rich(MoNd)”,” he announced, garnering loud applause from the crowd.

He waited for the clapping to subside before continuing. “I would like thank each and everyone of you for taking time out of your busy lives to celebrate with me this ode to the love of my life, Somila Richmond.” Another round of applause sounded through the room as Mila stepped into the imaginary spotlight that was the audience’s admiration and his loving gaze. She shone them a grateful smile before stepping back to place short but yet desire filled kiss on Terry’s lips. The low growl that rumbled in the depths of his chest had her fighting the urge to deepen their kiss and have him show the room just how much he loved her. But she was the rational one, so she pulled away, but not before sneaking a light swipe of her tongue over his lip. The only reaction she had dragged out of him was a sharp inhale and his nails once again digging into her waist. She retook her place beside him while he finished his relatively short intro speech. 

He implored everybody to enjoy their evening, watching the crowd disperse into the gallery. Almost immediately the press swarmed in with their cameras, beckoning the power couple’s attention for a photo op for their websites, blogs and magazines. Terry had banned microphones from the opening, stating he would only be giving interviews starting the following week. This decision was influenced by Mila during his meeting with Sandra a month ago at their Phuket home. Her reason was that Terry would be too tired from planning and setting the gallery up, and her man’s health was a top priority. The public would wait till he was at least somewhat well rested and that was that.

“Abagqibi na aba? It’s been 10 minutes and I, personally, get tired of smiling,” Mila hissed through what was slowly becoming a strained sneer.

“Imagine how tired I am,” Terry gritted through his teeth, cracking Mila’s sneer back into a genuine grin as she bit back a chuckle.

One of her favorite things about doing press with Terry was his absolute disdain for smiling and how much of a grouch it made him during photo ops. If she was lucky, he’d start cussing like a sailor any second now.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Sandra called out, earning disappointed groans and protests from the disgruntled photographers.

“That’s a lot of complaining from people that haven’t been kicked out. You guys getting ungrateful with me now?” she demanded as she stood before them with her hands placed on her hips and an expectant glare. That seemed to silence them as they also ventured into different parts of the gallery.

Terry and Mila both instinctively relaxed as the cameras disappeared into the crowd. Terry flexed his jaw while Mila stretched her neck. Terry’s hands came to the rescue, gently grabbing and twisting at Mila’s chin and cranium till a tiny crack signaled a job well done. Mila mouthed a grateful thank you right as Terry placed gentle kisses on her cheek and forehead. Sandra approached the pair, smirking as they gathered themselves. 

“Where would you two be without me?” Sandra asked sarcastically, making Terry roll his eyes.

“Scary Terry over here would probably be in jail for massacring a gaggle of photographers because they dared to ask him to show some tooth,” Mila quipped, earning chuckles from their managers. Terry just scoffed as he absentmindedly rubbed circles on her shoulder.

“Like you weren’t complaining,” he deadpanned, his unamused glare making Mila giggle like a schoolgirl.

“You’re so cute when you’re grumpy,” Mila gushed with a playful elbow to his side.

The corner of Terry’s lip twitched into a smirk. “I’m even cuter when I’m eating you out till you cry.”

Sandra’s features scrunched up in disgust before strutted away, muttering something about finding Sid and the champagne. A flustered Mila on the other hand, smacked his bicep, only earning a wider smirk as a reaction from Terry. “Kanene wena woyikwa zintloni,” Mila sighed with a click of her tongue. 

Terry took her wrist into his hand, gently pulling her into him. His palms cupped her face, angling her upwards to meet him for yet another soft kiss. Only this time her lips felt like they were being claimed as his by his. His hands had taken refuge back on her waist, keeping her body flush against his to make her feel his growing arousal. Thank God for the long wrap-around coat his stylist, Tori, had picked out for him. Although the matching slacks were a little loose around that region, Mila doubted they would have fared well on their own. With a gentle tug of her lip, he pulled back, leaving Mila in a semi-lustful haze.

“Let's get out of here. I'm not asking this time,” his tone, although barely above a whisper, left no room for argument. Luckily for the two of them, Mila had none left in her. Especially when he had stolen her breath and common sense a mere moment ago. 

She nodded, offering a breathless “yeah” as he led her out of the building, not bothering with any formalities. Either way, his job for the night was done. He'd just text Sandra to handle the rest of the night. 

With Mila in front, and Terry trailing right behind her like a bear-sized pup, they quickly paced to the car. He hurriedly opened the passenger door to their Rolls Royce, ushering her in and making sure she was safe inside before making his way to the driver's side and starting the car. 

One hand gripping the steering wheel with purpose and the other firmly perched on Mila's thigh. Halfway through the trip, Terry had begun to regret his insistence that they drive there and back themselves. He stupidly ignored the possibility of wanting to turn his wife inside out on the way back. Now he had to give all of his attention to the road while ignoring the temptful gaze piercing threatening to veil his judgement. He was only able to spare her the occasional squeeze of her leg, resulting in a subtle clench, a light gasp, or her fingers brushing against his knuckles. 

The usual 29 minute drive was cut to 19 as Terry basically drifted into their driveway like he was Dominic Toretto. He wasted no time, moving like a man on a mission from the driver's seat to retrieve Mila from the passenger side. A quick shuffle and a fumble with the keys later, they were in their living room, locked in a tangled frenzy of wandering hands and spells against each other's lips. 

“Where?” he breathed against her. 

“Anywhere. Fuck, right here,” she moaned into him. 

He hoisted her by the backs of her thighs, placing her gently on the suade couch. He knelt before her and slid the scarlet So Kates off her French-pedicured feet, placing soft kisses up her ankle to her calf. Repeating on the next foot, his heavy lidded gaze found her needy one. 

Her chest gently rose and fell under the top of that dress. That dress that took him three steps back from God whenever he laid eyes on her that night. Her deep cherry lined lips were agape as she welcomed the last few regulated breaths for the night. All these shades of red, like the blood pumping through his veins, into his hardened cock, goading him into fulfilling every sinful thought that had crossed his mind since they had left the house. 

“Sandra…you need to-” 

“She's a grown woman, she'll be fine. I need to attend to more pressing matters,” he interrupted, as he pushed her dress up to her hips and guided her legs open to reveal the thin lace material covering the aforementioned matters. 

Red. The thong was red. 

“But T, the gallery-your work-” Mila breathlessly protested, earning a sharp smack to the back of her thigh. 

“It can wait. My princess’s pleasure on the other hand can't, and if she can't understand that then I'm going to have to gag her for the night,” Terry stated. 

“Do you want me to gag you princess? Do you want to deprive me of hearing that beautiful song of you coming undone? Are you trying to punish me Mama?” he asked, tone dripping of lustful sincerity. 

Mila's head shook frantically as she reached for the hands clamped around her calves. “No baby, I want you to hear me. Need you to touch me, please.”

Terry's head tilted to the side, feigning confusion at her request. “But I am touching you sweetheart. Is there something I'm doing wrong?” he was taunting her into specificity, and he knew she wasn't far gone enough to understand that. 

“Fuck, Terry just touch my pussy please!” she breathed out, beginning to lose her patience for his games. He had insisted they leave early so he could make her feel good. Now was the time, and teasing just simply wouldn't do. 

At her command, Terry’s fingers hooked beneath the thin waist straps of her racy underwear. Instinctively, Mila lifted her hips slightly for him to pull the only thing in the way of him feasting on her, down her legs. He tossed the thong over his shoulder as though it were a nuisance, not caring where it landed. Mila’s hand reached behind his buzzed head, angling him to meet her in a careless gathering of lips dancing against one another. 

Her tongue slid into his mouth, occasionally brushing against his own in a claim of dominance. He groaned into the kiss, the sharp tips of her acrylics grazing his nape and pushing him into a delirium that only grew his hunger for her. Like a psychic. her teeth sunk into the plump flesh of his bottom lip, daring him to consume her as she had just done to him.

The sense of duty his military father raised him with, overtook him as he reluctantly pulled away from the soft, cherry flavoured appetizer. Like a panther in the night, his bright irises zeroed in on his meal as he grabbed her legs and reeled her in for her reckoning. Mila’s shaky gasps and growing whimpers hit his ears like music. Melodies he controlled with the varied pressures of his thumbs on her clit. With every stroke and light brush, her pussy leaked with a call for Terry to devour her whole. 

His index and ring fingers joined the fleet, greedily plunging into her entrance.The curve of his digits against her walls rewarded him with a lewd cry for more, and who was Terry if not a dutiful husband. Daring to tear his gaze from his treat, the sight of Mila’s needy state cracked the stained glass window that was his self-control. Her hooded eyes burning with wanton, her cherry stained lips trembling, and the rest of her features idle from the pleasure only nurtured the unholy lust scorching him from the inside out.

“I’m the luckiest nigga on earth, no doubt about it. You’re so fucking perfect Mama,” the curl of her lips paired with the light giggle his words elicited drove Terry’s fingers even deeper into the valley of her sex. 

“Teeerryyyy!” her honeycombed voice, accompanied by the squelch of Terry working her pussy like a fiddle, cried as her head flew further into the back of their couch.

Between watching her unravel on his fingers and watching said fingers take a swim in the frothy center that awaited his taste buds, Terry was beginning to grow impatient.The fragile glass of his window was falling apart as her desperate song for more backed by the raw instrumental of her pussy being prepared just for him, dealt devastating blows. But with the way she screwed herself around his digits as her walls clenched, the light at the end of the tunnel appeared. She would cum soon, and then he would feast on her as if he were a death row inmate and she was his last meal.

“Terry I-”

“I know Mama, just let go. Let me handle the rest. Let me take care of you,” he coaxed as her juices thickened and whitened into the creamy delight that consumed his more sinful thoughts. Her eyes clenched shut, prompting a sharp smack to her thigh. “Come on Princess, I need you to look at me. Need to see those beautiful eyes process what I’m giving to you,” he cooe’d. 

And there they were; beautiful brown eyes spiraling through mindless pleasure while Terry’s words and fingers carried her through to the other side of the bridge he had built her by hand. The bridge called ��mind-scrambling pleasure”. The end of it being Terry’s insatiable hunger for his Princess. The center of his being. His wife. Somila Richmond.

Feeling her come down, Terry slowly retracted each finger individually, savouring the labored gasps and strained whimpers he drew out of her. Each finger was immediately cleaned off by Terry’s tongue. A satisfied groan vibrated in his throat, eyes closing as he enjoyed his little taste test. The thought of how close he was to tasting the real thing sent a rush to his head and his dick. This woman had no idea how much of a crack fiend she had turned him into.

“Y’know Mama, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t need trivial shit like food, water or even air. You’d be all I need to survive-no. You’d be all I need to live,” his words of praise were punctuated by kisses of worship against the soft skin of her inner thighs.

“I love you…so fucking much T,” Mila declared breathlessly, making Terry’s heart flutter.

His loving gaze, carrying a predatory undertone, connected with her love-drunk one. His heaven on earth sat before him. The only woman to ever have him on his knees; not sexually, but in full submission of his heart, mind and soul. Everything he did was for her, and the moments like these? With her lost in pleasure he had hand delivered to her (although sometimes out of greed) professing her love to him? These were the moments that made life feel worth it. Because what would his be if it weren’t the one he built with her?

“I love you too Mama. More than you could ever comprehend.”

Having said his grace, Terry pressed his forearm to her hips, pinning them to the velvet seat cushions without breaking eye contact. One thing he just couldn’t have interrupting his meal, was uncontrollable squirming. His knowledge of Mila’s body was extensive enough for him to anticipate and plan for such…inconveniences.

He watched her watch him have a few quick laps at the mess he had created. The remains of her previous orgasm were always the first focus. In tandem, the thumb on his free hand began to massage her clit, coaxing her pussy to increase his supply. 

His tongue dipped into her sex, scooping through anything it could taste. The once smooth, lewd sounds sliding from her lips became indecisive erratic cries. As the tip of his tongue swirled through her entrance, the pressure of his thumb increased, as if opening a faucet. Uncontrolled grunts vibrated against her entrance as her essence kissed his taste buds and flowed down his goatee while her body writhed and shook from unbridled pleasure.  

Terry wasn’t even in the business of overstimulation, he just had a tendency of feasting on her like a madman. The way his tongue would rearrange her mind just by pressing deeper into her pussy always blossomed a few seeds of pride in his chest. His lips had begun to glisten, matching Mila’s now glowing skin from the sweat she was working up. 

He momentarily swapped his tongue and thumb, the coarse, flat pressure on Mila’s nub sending ripples through her body while his thumb worked her back to where he needed her to be. Flat pressure turned to light flicks, and Mila turned to mush as another orgasm tore through her with a guttural moan. 

More creamy froth coated Terry’s thumb, telling him to switch back. The onslaught continued as Terry relished the taste of Mila’s undoing while Mila dissolved into a body of incoherent whimpers. Like the glutton she had turned him into, he went for thirds, then fourths, cleaning her out of every orgasm he could claw onto. But alas, his jaw could only take so much, and his tongue could only flex for so long. 

Finally releasing her, Terry got off his knees and stood at full height, only then being reminded of the raging boner he had developed back at the museum. Unfortunately his greed had delivered him his comeuppance rather soon. Mila was a twitching mess of nothing but pleasure and vibes on the couch. The bun her locs was in had come undone, leaving them in a sprawled high ponytail. A clear sheen covered her face and the dark brown skin glowing iridescent under their dim orange light. The lip liner had faded but the cherry lip gloss remained, keeping her plump lips soft and smooth. 

Still absolutely perfect. 

“Fuck, I did too much didn’t I Princess?” he chuckled hoarsely, earning nothing but a mere incoherent mumble in response.

If Terry were a lesser man, he would take more than necessary. He would take the monster prowling in his slacks and fuck her till she didn’t even know who he was. But he wasn’t. He was a man of honour. One that at least accepted consequence when met with it. So he gently scooped her into his arms and carried her bridal style into their ensuite bathroom.

He would just use the hand that was complicit in his gluttony to get himself off. A small price to pay really.

[neonovember]

Oh. My. God. Oh my god but imagine though, waking up around 8 or 9 or so on a day off where both you and Carmy have the day free. It’s a big deal maybe because oh my god Carmen’s in bed at 9 in the morning *affectionate sarcasm* holy moly Carmen settle down!

But just waking up with him, the sun coming through the window through the thin curtains with a little breeze, looking over and watching Carmy’s face form into the softest, most precious smile, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks as he slowly comes to and lets out a little sigh “Morning” his voice is all husky from sleep and lack of use. You smile back with that sweet giddiness and relaxation in filling your body as you softly whisper good morning back to him. Watching him shift as he sits up to lean over and place a long, soft and slow and tender kiss over your lips, still with that little smile on his lips (I am about to exPLODE-)*CRYING!!!!!!*

okay okay, i know i wrote a drabble similar to this idea here, and for some reason my mind fell back to the night before..y'all, imagine the night that resulted in a soft, needy carmen spending the day in bed with you, all sore and a mess of slick and cum-

Midnight Cars

summary: You’re not about to fuck in the car park. So you end up fucking in the car park. Your apartment’s one at least. 

a/n: read @nolita-fairytale fic's about fiance!carmen, and god did that get my gears going. Her series is a mf masterpiece! Fiance Carmen is dirtyyy, even for Berzatto himself. There's public sex, I'm talking Carmen is knuckles deep in you swallowing you with praises whilst a few feet away from Auntie Susie, public. 

warnings; filth, utter FILTH, this is kind of insane even for me, car sex, public sex, fingering, dry humping, cowgirl (yeehuh!) but carmen's doing all the work, fiance!carmen, wrap it before you tap it lmao, 18+ explicit, feral and a little deranged carmen, possesive! carmen

The tangy burst of vermilion and cherry grasps your tongue as you tilt the rounded bowl of your drinking glass towards your lips, gliding your tongue to catch any wayward drops of the wine being poured by waiters dressed down in black and white. 

Your eyes don’t leave the dirty blond tresses that had long broken from their gelled back form through the night's progression sitting atop Carmen’s head. You can’t help the giggle you let out from your position against the bar, watching him join in a very drunk, but surprisingly harmonised rendition of “Ain't No Mountain High Enough" By Marvin Gates.

His tie sits undone around his neck, and his face is sort of flushed from the extended night, his cheeks a tinty rose and his lips turned red from his repetitive swipes of his tongue across them nervously.

All inhibitions are gone now, and you're able to indulge in the site of a carefree Carmen, left unaware of the never ending responsibilities he carried by the honey haze of a night just for him and his award winning restaurant. 

The low lights of the speakeasy room sets the air into a mellow haze, hints of cocoa and aged bourbon waft through the corners of the room, across half finished plates of food on tailored tables, and the stage where your Carmen had won the very award that now sits dangerously close to the edge of your table.

You knew the James Beard Association was prestigious, but god had they truly left you dumbfounded when you stepped into the low lights of the speakeasy.

You didn't even know places like this still existed. 

The speakeasy was tucked in a bricked alley, unassumingly between an Italian and a car park. You wouldn’t have ever guessed it to boast this attraction, with aged vintage black and white photos of late singers who’d sung on that very stage years ago hanging across the walls, polished dark exposed wood and velvet booth seats in corners surrounding round tables, even the parlour looked like it was out of an 80’s  bar house. You think if you shut your eyes and reached out you would have touched the sequence dress of Etta Jones.

Carmen didn't get drunk, not often anyways, and even now, after winning the prestige of “Chicago's Up and Coming Restaurant of the Decade”, he waved off every raise of a glass towards him.

Carmen felt a level of unease at even touching a drop of liquor whilst driving you both home, no, every fiber of his being screamed at him to keep you safe at all times, and the taste of bourbon held nothing against the taste of you. 

That didn’t stop him from enjoying himself, in fact he felt an unnatural sense of bubbly relaxation fall over him as his gaze fell towards you, sipping on a glass, looking the very bit the picture of gorgeous he’d ever seen. 

Carmen had always been horrible at these sorts of things, getting doted on, sucked up to, boasted to. He hated every second of it, but even he can attest to the absolute wonder of a night this has been. He glided you against the dance floor, under the iridescent glass panes of the skylight window, the soft crescent moonlight shining through in a way that bounced against the glitters of low hanging ambient lighting and shimmers of dresses and disco balls. 

The dance floor had been packed with family and friends but then? Then, it had felt like the entire world had stood still, it had felt like it was the both of you, infinitely, you in his arms like it was meant to be, forever.

And now you looked across to him, with those eyes, those fucking eyes of yours, comfortable in the vision of your gorgeous man looking at you under hooded lids, his bottom lip sunken into his mouth. The hint of a smirk tucks at the corner, and it takes everything in you not to jump at him then.

You motion with a manicured finger, and his eyes catch yours in a second, despite being in a group of people currently huddled around him, eager faces hanging onto his every word. He leaves them, in the middle of a mountain of questions they prodded at him, towards you, following your every desire, always, until the very end.

“I see congratulations are in order, Chef” You softly reply, when he makes it close enough that you take in the veins trailing up his forearm, left bare from his rolled up sleeves. The vision shoots straight to the heat building in your belly, and you have to press your drink to your lips to stop the bubbly moan from escaping.

Carmen looks down at you from his height, eyes trailing down the cut of your body hugging dress, lingering on your snug hips catching against the silky black fabric. 

He wanted to feel them beneath his hands as he took you.

“Oh yeah?” Carmen replies, his voice like silk fluttering across your body. Heady in that way it always is.

“Mhm, but I didn’t get to really say anything since you were busy with the rest of them” You don’t have to gesture for Carmen to know about the huddles of people crowding his every move. Another thing he disliked about these sorts of things, they took him away from you.

“Does my girl feel neglected?” 

“No” You draw out. “ I just want to show you how proud I am” You whisper through dark lashes. Carmen trails a tattooed fingers across your jaw, letting glide against the smooth skin until it bumps against your lips. Trailing your bottom lip fervently, his own pulled into his mouth.

“And how are you going to congratulate me hm?”

“That will just ruin the surprise, won’t it?”

Carmen let’s put a chuckle, before leaning into the crook of your neck

“Careful..you know I don’t like it when you keep things from me” 

You can’t help the shudder that crawls up your spine at his words, flashes of being bent over his desk, of being pushed onto your knees corrode your mind and you feel the burning ache travel to your core.

Carmen tilts his head, a hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you, eyes glinting in want.

“No? You’re not gonna tell me?” Carmen replies in a low voice, and as he trails his thick digits across the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material.

He trails his thick digits across the bodice of your dress, his hands dipping into the spill of cleavage before trailing it to the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material. Surely he’s not?

“Mhm” Carmen nods, eyes flickering to you, reading your mind as he takes you in appreciably. His pupils are blown out in lust, the familiar ceruleans dipping into a depth only reserved for you.

You let out a squeal when you feel Carmen’s fingers trail up the slit on your thigh, squeezing the naked flesh before tracing his fingers along the lace trim of your panties. You’re up against the bar, shielded by the low ambient lighting and Carmen’s huge back obscuring every manoeuvre of your body to his every desire.

“Carmen-“ You admonish, eyes darting across the room now filled with happily drunk family and friends dancing or laughing amongst each other.

However your admonishment is light hearted, it trails off into the air when you feel Carmen press against you, then, you don’t really care, you miss him too goddamn much to.

“Been watching you the entire night you know? When you were dancing with your friends, god I wanted to drag you from the floor and just take you in the fucking coat closet” Carmen muses, his lips brushing against the pulse point behind your ear. Your drink long forgotten on the bar counter, your hands now gripping his shoulders as you bite back a moan.

“Yeah, just thinking about wrapping these thighs around me and letting that pussy grip me for hours��

“You’d take it all, right honey? You’ll be my good girl?” Carmen grunts out softly

All you can let out is a half hearted nod, your eyes falling dangerously closed as Carmen prods and sucks against every sliver of skin he can get ahold of.

His deft thumb drags along the fabric of your undergarments, cupping your mound as you let out a sharp exhale, making approving noises as the slick that has begun to already begun to drench your panties.

“Already wet for me Darling?” Carm replies, the hint of mirth surrounding his voice doesn’t allude you, and if you didn’t want to keep chasing that sweet friction of Carmens thumb against your heat you would have shoved him.

“Please Carm” You exhale with a sharp breath, trying to grind your hips onto the palm of his hand. He strokes you softly, featherlight touches that barely feel like anything.

And this man, this goddamn man, laughs. A roll of a chuckle rolls through his body and you want to scream at the denial of the pleasures he's keeping from you, before his deep baritone voice replies.

“All you had to say was please”

His rough fingers sink into your heat, it’s silky, and rough and hits you like liquor, straight to the building pressure. He drags your slick through your folds, arching his fingers ever so slightly when he bumps up against your clit. Never fully putting any pressure on that precipice of pleasure you want to dive head first into.

Dipping a thick tattooed digit into your tight hole, Carmen lets out a groan at the way you grip him so tightly, masking your pitched moan at the feeling of him circling his thumb against your bundle of nerves and stretching you out with his thick digits.

Carmen is practically holding you up, his large bicep wrapped tightly around your waist as you sink your teeth into his shoulder, letting the skin absorb the litter of stuttered mewls you let out at the swipes of his thumb against your clit.

The coil begins to tighten, and you can faintly hear Carmen softly whisper sweet nothings, proclamations, declarations, praises. They fall from his mouth like honey and push you further up the cliff. 

“I know sweet girl, taking it so well, just keep taking it, let me make you feel good, yeah?”

A second finger joins the first, dragging your sopping slick up your folds, before dipping into your tight hole. Rough fingers massage up against your walls that grip him so tightly, Carmen knows your body inside and out, and it doesn't take long for him to find the soft spongy patch of skin deep within you, curling a third finger up into that spot, roughly thrusting into relentlessly. 

Carmen watches the way your pussy swallows his thick tattooed fingers, thrusting them out slicker and wetter each time, the image has his jaw and slacks tightening and it takes everything in him not to sink his entire length into against the bar counter, fuck whoever else.

Your hips buckle beneath him, and he grips you harder into his chest, his mouth presses bruising kisses along your neck, jaw, clavicle. Your heated moans fail to reside in you as you begin to cant your hips into his hands, rubbing your clit rapidly on the flat side of his palm. The coil tightens within you, and you roll your eyes back, letting out a bubbling of half syllabus, your brain a mush from the saccharine pleasure curling your toes.

“M’ fucking you dumb baby? You getting off so good on my fingers you can’t speak?” Carmen groans out, he can’t stop himself from canting his hips forward, his erection bumping into your stomach.

The feeling of him pressed and thrusting against you, outlined by his suit pants is a vision that breaks you entirely, and you can’t even blink before you feel the band snap, the delicious white hot burn spreading through you like a wildfire.

“Carmen..s-..gonna” You manage to let out with a breath, and Carmen knows already, of course he does. He’s knuckles deep in you now, and his relentless rutting is inescapable, you can fucking feel him in your bones, down to your goddamn marrow. He continues his rapid thrusts into you, refusing to relent, pushing you further, and further through the waves of your unending. 

Your head lulls back, but Carmen catches it with his arm, his mouth slatted over yours as you fail to keep in the loud yell of his name from your lips. 

Carmen swallows your stuttered mewls, your swears, your please, he swallows it all and keeps it for himself. His tongue darting across the inside of your mouth, swiping along the roof of your mouth, across your front teeth.

His fingers continue to thrust into you, helping you ride through the burst of colours and stars that light your vision beneath your lids. You're pushed up against his hard chest, and it takes some time for your limp body to come back to life, your head a daze of pleasure.

“S’fucken good girl”

Carmen mutters so softly, almost to himself, his fingers are still cupping your heart, whisper grazes of his thumb against your drenched folds. 

as he fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile.

Through hooded lids, you see a man approach you both, interrupting the heated gaze Carmen imprints down to your very bones. Carmen slinks his hand back, discreetly popping those deft digits into his mouth with a low groan, before wiping them on his suit pants. He carefully fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile as if he hadn’t just fucked you up into his knuckles, and goddamn tasted you. 

The scene causes a shudder to roll down your back, reigniting the heat deep inside you once again, you never thought you could be this depraved, this-, but the way he sinks into you so perfectly has you nodding to every desire he has. He was a goddamn drug.

Your body is still recovering from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you feel Carmen's heated gaze on you as you try and coherently respond to the stubby man who’d interrupted you both. The man rambles on, clearly oblivious to your state, too focused on the sound of his own voice. You nod along to his words, something about a farmers market or an Indian restaurant that had opened, but you're jittering in your heels and you can barely stand, opting to lean against the bar counter. 

You look towards Carmen, to find him staring at you, amusement lighting his cerulean blues as he takes in your insatiability. Hell, it took him god near everything to not fling the man to the other side of the room so that he could probably taste you. 

Remind him again why he agreed to this?

It gets to maybe the second inception of an animated story before Carmen is bidding the man goodbye with a shake of a hand, and all you can do is swallow the desire that no doubt has you salivating by the second. God if Carmen had made you wait even one more minute you would have tugged on his shirt like some petulant child.

“Took you long enough” You murmur, when Carmen eases out into the speakeasy car park with a hand against the small of your back.

A soft laugh escapes Carmen, scratching at his jaw as he shakes his head. 

“If I didn’t already know, I would think you're the one that hates these things” Carmen murmurs with a teasing smile, as you make your way to the sleek black car that camouflages against the midnight.

You make a sound that sounds close to a snort, “Not when it keeps me from jumping my fiances bones” Your engagement ring seems to glisten at those words, and you don't miss the way Carmen’s eyes flash with a look of hunger, adoration, glee, even possession all mixed in one.

You’d been his since the moment he laid eyes on you, that was a given. Putting a ring on your finger just gave him something to latch onto, a mark that told the world you were finally his.

It anchored him, it made him feel good. It eased the anxieties that would flood his mind, washing them away like a current every time he kissed that damn princess cut.  

Carmen wasn’t exactly all that sentimental, but with you? God did he mutter till death do us part like it was tattooed onto his tongue. And even then, when he’s a zombified version of his human self, traveling the underworld soullessly he’d find you.

Oh were you Carmen’s, but wasn’t he yours too?

“Language sweetheart, you make me sound like a piece of meat” Carmen murmurs teasingly shuffling so that he’s leaning over your body pressed into the passenger seat door.

“Language? Your talking about modesty after you just-” Your cut off by Carmen's rough finger pressed against your lips

“Would be careful about what you're going to say next sweetheart” Carmen raps in a low voice, tracing his finger against your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed as if the motion of his fingers brushed up against you was of utmost importance.

You gulp back the words you wanted to say, Carmen's blown out eyes flicker from yours to your lips, and you lift your head towards him. Carmen catches you with a hand wrapped around your jaw, pushing you further against him as he crashes his lips sweet against your own. Swiping against your bottom lip, dipping into the heat of your mouth as he groans against the taste of you.

“So sweet,” Carmen murmurs into the kiss, before pulling back. Amusement clouds over lust filled eyes at your immediate anger against his denial

“What about my surprise?” 

“You can’t really get to enjoy the full experience in a public car park on Michigan Ave” You whisper, suggestivity laces your tone as you feel the heat of embarrassment flood through you. You were not good at this stuff, and yet the sharp sound of Carmen’s soft groan causes you to lift your eyes up to meet him.

“Then what are we doing standing here?” Carmen replies with a growl, it erupts from his chest, and as you stare up at him, you finally take in the wolfish expression on his face. He look’s insatiable, goddamn animalistic as he eyes you carefully, a darkness that prods at his blues.

You let Carmen place you into the passenger seat, the resounding click of the seat belt the only sound in the stretch of silence between you both. A heaviness laces the air in the car as you ride home, a headiness, a lurking desire beneath the illuminating light of the console, and the flashing lights of Chicago sitting against tinted windows. 

Carmen spreads his thighs across the drivers seat leisurely, resting a hand on the steering wheel, whilst the other grips your thigh tightly. There's going to be a bruise there tomorrow, and you can't help but preen at the thought of his mark on you hours later.

You count the seconds that tick by as Carmen rolls into the basement garage of your shared apartment, parking silently as he cuts the engine and remains unmoving, except for his hand gripping your thigh which he squeezes periodically. 

Carmen cuts his gaze towards you, the wolfish expression that overtakes his features and turns him into a predator tells you all you need to know, but his eyes soften ever so slightly, almost telling you the next move is up to you.

Carmen doesn't need to hear the seat belt unclasping before he's tugging you on his lap with rough skillful hands. His erection pushed against the softness of your belly as groan out in blissed relief, Carmen can’t help himself, grinding his hips up into you frantically.

“Need” Carmen breathes out heavily “Need to feel you, need to be inside of you. Right now, right fucking now” Carmen groans.

There is a fumble of clothes being ripped and thrown into the backseat, and Carmen shifts the driver's seat to lean back a little. The position is unforgiving, your back is pressed against the wheel, and the space is too small, but strangely, it’s a tight proximity you crave, too long have you gone without the ecstasy of Carmen’s skin against yours.

You settle your thighs on either side of him, his deft fingers drawing soft circles across your hips, his pressing fervent kisses along your jaw causing you to fall into the crook of his neck.

“Please, sweetheart, let me feel you, let me see you, shh, it’s alright, let me feel you” Carmen hums into the heat of your skin, tasting your sweat with the flat of his tongue as he grips your hips gently.

You lift them, and with Carmen's help, you finally, after what felt like centuries, sink onto Carmen's length, the sobbing slick drenching your folds causing him to slip in easily, eliciting a breathless groan from him as he feels the heat of you wrap around you.

You can hardly breath, all you can feel, all you can taste and see is him, the delicious stretch that comes with the first sink into you is glorious, its fucking ineffable. The entirety of his length sinks into you to the hilt, and you feel every vein and ridge of him graze against your tight walls as you let out a strained whimper into Carmen's shoulder.

“ ‘S Fucking velvet, pussy grip’s like a goddamn vice every time sweetheart” Carmen praises, pressing kisses to your skin, his eyes shut as if he was memorising the feel of you, savouring it in his mind like it was the last time.  

Carmen always gave you a few moments to get comfortable around his thickness, but there was a neediness in the way he held you, like you would turn to dust if he let go, and the restraint he held earlier falls apart as makes that first thrust up into you without warning.

You cry out as the blanket of pleasure courses through you, your heart is in your throat, you can barely breath, and you throw your head back cause god don’t you want more.

You press your nails into his shoulder as you try to lift your hips, eyebrows furrowed at the feeling of pleasure that fills you with every inch of him that glides against your walls, your clit, your slick. You’re a mess, and Carmen tugs at your hips, sick of waiting, and thrusting into you mercilessly, maintaining an unforgiving pace as you quake above him.

“Take me so goddamn well, huh sugar? Doesn't my wife take my cock so well?’ Carmen grunts, his eyes watching the way his length sinks into you and leaves glistening with your slick. The sight nearly tears him into his undoing, nearly causing him to spurt into you, if only he had a damn polaroid.

Your head brushes against the roof of the car as Carmen pistons into you, his hands gripping your hips as he slams you onto his length, rutting into you as the velvet of your walls cling to him. It was like goddam silk wrapped around his length, the gooey slick of your arousal coating his every ridge, dripping down onto his balls and between the space where he’d thrust into you.

A litter of profanities fall from his mouth with every stuttered thrust of his hips, its uncontrolled, and Carmen shows no restraint, no signs of stopping as he chases the wet softness only you have, the decadent caramel, your natural addicting scent, the car fucking stinks of you, and it takes everything in Carmen not to rip you off him and drink from you like a fountain elixir.

His tip brushes against your cervix, thrusting impossibly deeper with every move of his hips, he changes his position, and it causes his length to brush up against that spot that causes stars to burst in your vision. You practically arch your back against him, lifting your hips up when you feel the white hot pleasure that drips down your back, exploding your senses.

“No no no, fucking take it” Carmen snarks, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you down deeper, further onto his length, till your filled to the brim, your slick gushing out of you.

A shudder rolls through you and the sound of Carmen's low voice, dipping into something untapped, something animalistic and merciless, something that would pull every drop of pleasure from you until you were a sobbing mess.

You roll your hips against his length, a shaking, stuttering mess of gurgling words and cries as you grind your clit against Carmen's length, whilst the girth of his thrust into the spongy spot within you that leaves you heaving.

The familiar burn of a coil tightens within you, and as Carmen presses a thumb against the swollen bundle of nerves, circling it softly. The contrast of his soft feather touches against your clit paired with his unforgiving pace thrusting into causes you to keen, arching your back against him as Carmen murmur below you fervently, like he's chanting something, worshipping every curve of your body.

“Open your eyes pretty girl” Carmen murmurs, the soft voice of his voice comes back, the rough demeanour falling away like dust as he takes in the signs of your closeness.

“Please Carmen” You beg, you don't know what for,  but it seems like everything from the pleading lilt of your voice. Give me everything Carmen, your love, your pleasure, your skin and bones.

“I know Baby, I know, let me see you yeah? Let me see those pretty eyes” Carmen prods gently

You squeeze your eyes open and the vision that finds you almost snaps the coil tightening deep within your gut, bellowing with heat and pleasure that sizzles below your skin like electricity.

Carmen lies beneath you, his cheeks red with heat and blushing desire, his eyebrows are furrowed, and below them, below them lie cerulean blues that glaze over in a daze, hooded lids with curls lashes that brush against cheekbones. It’s like he's in a trance, his pupils blown out in lust and something else as they watch the bounce of your chest against him each time you shealth yourself onto his thick, hard length.

White teeth pressed into reddened lips watch you eagerly, imprinting you into his mind forever, he wanted you like this always, taking every inch, screaming nothing but his name.

“Fucking gorgeous”

The lilt of his voice, grown husky and low from pleasure breaks something in you, and you aren’t able to warn him, before you arch your back impossibly, driving yourself roughly onto his hips as you get the wave of pleasure wash over you. Colours of vermilion, blue, of the wine you had drunk and Carmen's cologne burst under your lids, on your tongue, everywhere. Carmen groans loudly below you, thrusts growing sloppy as he ruts into you desperately, chasing his own release brought on by your own unending. 

Carmen barely controls the thrust of his hips into you, releasing spurts of thick cum, coating your walls endlessly. His arm wraps tightly around your waist, making you take everything he gives you, forcing you into the whirlwind of ecstasy and base desire you can’t escape from.

You both temporarily forgot about where you both are in that instance, the pleasure from the both of you transports you somewhere boneless, and for a second you feel your heart stop, the  wave of pleasure that crashes over you as Carmen continues rutting into you, lengthening the wave as long as possible until you feel it swallow you both whole.

It’s somewhere between a few minutes to a few hours when you resurface, you don't know, your mind is a mess of sound and colour and the ecstatic aftershock of pleasure that still runs through you. You're nestled into Carmen’s chest, the scent of your coupling thick in the air, your thighs and the leather seat are covered with your combined slick.

The only sound between you both is your heavy breathing, you still nestled up to the hilt of Carmen, and when you slightly shift your hips Carmen shoots out a hand to stop you.

“Easy there sweetheart” Carmen replies in tight constraint, over stimulation washing over you both as the buzz of pleasure still hasn't quite dissipated.

“S-sorry” You reply, breathlessly, lifting your head tiredly to catch the soft gaze of Carmen watching you. His hands glide across your naked frame, pressing soft circles, shushing and smoothing out every shudder and shake of your legs. Carmen doesn't tell you the thought of you visibly shaking from him and he only causes his length to stiffen and his mind to reel.

“So..where’s my present?” Carmen’s teasing voice re-emerges, his eyes crinkling as you swipe at him playfully.

“You’re still in me, dick” You reply with a roll of your eyes, falling back against the hardness of his chest

“Mhm, and I didn’t even get to taste you” Carmen murmurs, tracing his fingers along the curve of your waist, cupping your ass as you shudder from his words. There was a finality in it, and you don’t know if you’ll make it to the elevator before he fulfills that very desire.

The obscenity of it, you love it, only Carmen could make you this depraved. And god do you thank him for it.

Taglist 🏷 (send an ask to be apart of my taglist for carmen)

@kpopgirlbtssvt @rooster-bradshaws

[theinfinitedivides]

Regarding your recent post, I'm not even shocked that a certain section of this fandom are still trying to pretend Assad fans are any more anti black than Sam fans. I've seen plenty of anti blackness from all corners of this fandom, from both Lestat and Armand fans. But somehow weirdos think Sam fans are woke and progressive in comparison? there were Samstat fans who wrote disgusting fanfic of Louis calling other black people 'gorillas' for fuck's sake and specifically to prop up Lestat. There were Loustaters who thought it was a brilliant idea to go to a slave plantation so they can pose for their OTP photos. The Lestat fans who gloated about Claudia finally getting what she deserved, until they decided to use her as a prop for lestat sympathy post s2. But it's convenient for them to focus all that energy and blame solely on Assad and all his fans, because it suits the narrative they've already developed in their minds.

When people were making rape jokes about Assad's character, I recognized some of those blogs. One of them was a Loustater who I distinctly remember talking about Assad derisively. Because according to this fan, he's supposedly replacing Jacob next season. Which is an insane take like these people do know who next season about right? It's supposed to be a TVL adaptation and Armand does have appearances in that story. But here's the thing, they don't mention Sam at all. Now why would they claim Assad (a brown actor who has already has been sidelined repeatedly in marketing and nominations) has more potential to replace Jacob and not Sam, who Rolin already stated was going to be the lead in s3? When AMC has already pushed for more samstat presence in s2?

Let's be real here, some of these people live vicariously through the Jacob/Sam dynamic and the validation they feel from it that they are resentful of obstacles to that. Even if it's another actor of color potentially sharing more scenes with Sam in the future. This is also why they took that rpf poll so seriously ("if you don't vote for my preferred coworker ship, you're anti black") It wasn't just this blog, literally other people who were downplaying the racism for the awards snubs were very similar in that they are very invested in jam conspiracies and/or more lenient towards Sam and other white actors on the show. This bias has been called out by several black fans who I follow.

IWTV fandom directs a very noticable amount of vitriol towards the cast of color on this show. And yes, this includes the Muslim brown actor who fans see as the source of all their problems apparently. Fans behave like they can pick or choose what is racism or not with the marketing and nominations. Jacob, Delainey and Assad have all been subjected to all kinds of nasty remarks that are racist and colorist before this season even began.

It is possible to care about both anti blackness and racism against South Asians. It's absolutely important that both are addressed. But I guess these fans think that only one of these issues matter while continuing to bootlick a white corporation. It's sad and transparent what's really going on here.

A SECOND IWTV FANDOM READ HAS HIT MY INBOX. I REPEAT A SECOND IWTV FANDOM READ HAS HIT MY INBOX. someone call the fire department y'all trying to burn down my house with this one hold on

first off. idk where all of you are coming from with these good good takes but keep making them and keep reading the hypocritical fuckers in this fandom for filth while you're at it bc you are right and true and correct. we have seen shit on all sides bc having your pet character to hide behind doesn't change the fact that your ass is racist, but there's something about the racism from so-called Sam fans that is like. how do you even come up with that. how do you look at what you just said and think that's ok to post. and most times it is about making the South Asian Muslim actor the big bad, just like how here in the US racist pasty ass motherfuckers hear 'terrorist' and immediately conjure up images of folks from the SWANA region/South Asian subcontinent. it's othering. he's not like us so we can use him as a punching bag and pin everything we think is wrong in the fandom on him

living vicariously through the Jam dynamic................................ anon truer words have never been spoken. i get it. maybe they latched on too hard to the unholy trinity of the Loustat + Claudia family in the early days of s1 before that went down the drain and mother and daughter headed off to Paris and so they love seeing Jacob and Sam interact for promos irl. for those Jam fans who might see this listen to me. i am holding y'all very gently rn. go outside and touch grass there is no fucking reason whatsoever for you to get so delusional about two coworkers/work besties that you will use that to give the corporation propping up the white half in content he is not meant to be submitted for over the other members of the cast a free-for-all pass. no. it's like using fly swatters in this place the amount of messages i've had to delete from my inbox this week bc they all start with some variant of 'but Sam' and i do not have the spoons to answer that foolishness again

jumping all around your ask in terms of the order in which i make these points so i apologize but heading back to the Loustat blogs that have it out for Assad for whatever reason (specifically the ones making SA jokes about Armand)—i remember seeing that post and just being instantly horrified. i'm talking cold sweats level of freaked the fuck out. just bc you think AMC is going to use the shift in main vamp focus to possibly give Armand slightly more screentime that means he's going to replace Louis and therefore you can now wish things i wouldn't wish on my worst enemy on him. what the actual fuck. in my mind there is a spectrum and this shit is on one end and the rabid Marius stans are on the other and they are both equivalently bad. those two are shaking hands in the center over ways to violate and overlook Brown bodies and ykw i'm tired of not naming names so i'll name the ones who made these statements in the first place (note: i'm putting them below the cut at the very end of this ask bc i don't want anyone to be triggered by that kind of vileness as a jumpscare when i still have things left to say. not worth it.)

ykw honestly the obvious attempt to get Black and South Asian IWTV fans to split down the middle over whose blorbo/actor experiences more racism is disgusting. it's just like when they're always trying to get the diaspora (mainly African-Americans + Caribbean people of African descent, although i have seen them get the West African brethren involved) to start infighting over stupid shit bitch when the cops pull us both over they're not going to ask for a geography lesson. they won't ask us if we immigrated or if our family's been here since before the fucking Civil War. they'll shoot us both and call it an encounter where the two of us were resisting and they feared for their fucking life, like they always do. kicking Assad to the curb to lift up Jacob or vice-versa is not going to get you brownie points with the other infinite amount of racists on this hellsite it'll just buy you time until they decide to kick you to the curb when you open your mouth (if you open your mouth) and point out anything about their blorbo + the way AMC is choosing to promote said blorbo. frankly not even bootlicking anymore we're deepthroating that shit all the way to the back no gag reflex. get up. your Islamophobic xenophobic posting and 'pick a side' propaganda is not the slay you think it is

(note: the Armand SA post in question is below this marker. if you think a trigger warning applies, it probably does. stay safe. don't open this shit if you can't handle it. i'll drop the usernames in the comments for extra precaution regardless)

i had to unblock their asses to get this and then i blocked them right back. fuck me for even having to see this again but i did it for a good cause

[w3sternwild]

LOVEFOOL: CHAPTER II

word count: 3.8k

chapter I : chapter III

It was like fucking a chihuahua: all bark and certainly no bite.

The old patron she sought to tend to after her time on the balcony was especially eager, making her stomach churn. He was quick to have his way with her after the event ended, and the only benefit she got out of the whole ordeal was the fact that not once did he make any attempt to kiss her. She would have come away with some kind of mouth sores if he had, no doubt.

It was now the morning and finally time for her to slip away. She avoided touching anything she hadn’t already as she struggled with the little zip of her evening gown, ultimately deciding to leave it undone at the nape of her neck, hidden by the curtain of her hair. She fixed her face in the mirror, smoothed over her hair and the creases in her dress. In the reflection, her eyes fell upon the snoring mound of filth half-covered by soiled silk sheets and she forced herself to breathe the nausea away. When her eyes fell back to herself, she finally noticed the exhaustion in her features. It was indisputable; the shadows beneath her eyes and the set frown on her face. She always tried her best not to let this grind her down, but there were instances where she just had to let it. 

She missed how things were - the painful simplicity of it all. Sure, her stomach had been more empty than it was full, but she had them with her to keep her warm, to feed her light. In a sense, she used to have everything to keep her soul full, her mind sharp. Now, that same soul relied on monthly visits for sustenance that felt rigid and cold, that mind on books and papers she could find on the sly. 

This particular patron seemed to adore himself and his supposed achievements for every surface was adorned with some kind of exorbitant trinket or trophy. Upon closer inspection of those upon his dresser, she noticed a miniature golden man looking triumphantly upwards, in his hands a wreath. What he did to receive this award she had no idea and equally no interest in reading the engraved detailing below - she simply slipped it into her purse and gave the sleeping magnate a final, venomous glance before clicking the condo door shut.

Her heels clacked against the marble flooring of the corridor, her strides purposefully long in order to put as much distance between her and that client. Never, never had she enjoyed this business. Who would? It left her skin forever grimy, and that was something she wouldn’t ever be able to change, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

Thankfully, the complex was quiet and she could step into an empty elevator, her gold prosthetic instantly being caught between her other fingers to be played with. The weight of what was to come today played heavily on her mind as it always did. She had to be grateful, she supposed, at how easy it was to slip away unnoticed. 

“We’re out of screws.”

Jayce looked up from his station, lifting his goggles to rest atop his head. “Already?”

Viktor nodded, flicking forward the remaining screw so that it rolled across his desk, essentially useless. “We get through them like water.” He noted, resting his head upon his fist, eyes scanning over his equations, quadruple-checking. 

“You’d think Heimerdinger would give us an endless supply,” Jayce replied absentmindedly, his voice quiet as he focused on his soldering. Once he finished, he declared, “I’ll go pick some up after my meeting.”

At the mention of a “meeting”, Viktor made a sound. It seemed to be all Jayce could think about nowadays - his business in governing this beloved city. He made it no secret that he missed the intense focus they shared when all they had was their work. When 24 hour streaks of solving equations, electric shocks and litres and litres of coffee weren’t interrupted with meetings and politics. Jayce knew this, understood this more than Viktor could imagine, and part of him wanted the same. But the other part of him enjoyed the more direct role he played in governance now - nobody was forcing his hand. He felt he was a genuine voice for the people, someone some of the other councillors certainly were not, and he took pride in that. The corruption of Piltover stopped with him.

Jayce tactfully excused himself when it was time for him to leave, setting down his tools and casting Viktor an apologetic smile, though he knew he would not look up, far too immersed in his work. He had grown mostly immune to Jayce’s pleading eyes, anyway.

Once the mostly fruitless meeting concluded, Jayce was finally able to go buy those damned screws. The pair’s preferred supplier lived on the outskirts of the Promenade level of the Undercity, and before Jayce became Piltover’s “Golden Boy” he could traverse there with reasonable ease. Now, however, with his newfound position, the journey is made much more consciously.

The further away from Piltover he got, the longer and nastier the stares became. He didn’t feel unsafe, per se, but felt scrutinised, like an ant under a magnifying glass. He was fortunate enough that his supplier was as close to Piltover as you could get, saving him from the snide remarks he’d undoubtedly receive were he to go any further in or any further down. 

But passing into the Undercity was never as stark as others had described: the people, though more rugged-looking, would occasionally give Jayce a polite smile or greeting if they were indifferent to his status or compassionate enough to ignore it. Certainly, prior to his political ascension it was easier for him to slip in and out of this region without much fuss, since the Promenade people were much more accustomed to Piltovian tourists. He enjoyed it, too: his regular stops for nuts and bolts and other mechanical supplies at the same shop earned him a particular rapport with the owner, even if it was only mannerly conversation; Jayce nonetheless took a small amount of pleasure in these little excursions.

The soft tinkle of the bell signalled his entrance. The little tool shop glittered with thin dust and was deeply infused with the strong scent of metal, something that did not strike Jayce’s nostrils like it may a new customer. He greeted the owner, asked him how he and his wife were doing, all whilst scanning the shelves for the particular screw he was searching for. A small, triumphant sound escaped his lips when his eyes fell upon the small tin, crouching to retrieve it from a lower shelf. As he was handing the shopkeeper his coins, his gaze travelled outside the front window, and that's when he saw her.

Perhaps. Maybe it was her - he could not be certain. Although, upon stepping away from the counter, peering flagrantly through the glass, his eyes followed her, and he was certain. 

He swiped his tin of screws from the wooden desk, forgoing adding the leftover coins to his palm. He strode towards the door like a man entranced, eyes fixed on her swift figure which darted through groups of people much too quickly for his liking. “Keep the change.” He muttered just loud enough for the shop owner to hear before the bell signalled again, announcing his departure. 

Jayce didn’t know why he felt the sudden, urgent need to speak to her - couldn’t explain it, even when he paused briefly to consider what he was doing. Having had her snatched from him so abruptly last night, he reasoned, influenced him to feel a certain obligation to continue their conversation, however it may have ended. His feet picked up again, faster this time, eyes working hard not to lose sight of her. Her brown cloak didn’t help her stand out, much to his dismay, and neither did the hood shielding her face from him. She turned a corner into a quieter alleyway, oblivious to how she was leading him, and he took this as an opportunity to call out to her. Her head, previously bowed, shot up, and she whirled her sharp, startled gaze around over her shoulder just as she darted into another street. Jayce swore her eyes fell onto him before she disappeared. 

This new street was much quieter, only one other person leaning against the wall at the end of it, smoking. Jayce, feeling increasingly foolish but inexplicably dire, called out to her again, and this time she stopped. She paused, back to him for a few moments as she considered whether this was really worth her time, before turning to face him, eyes narrowed. 

“Why are you following me?” She questioned hotly.

“I’m not–” She gave him an incredulous look and he sighed. “I recognised you.” He decided, and winced at how feeble an excuse it was.

She stepped towards him, observing him cautiously but still with that cutting gaze. “Do you follow everyone you vaguely recognise into dark alleyways?”

He rolled his eyes, “You led me here,” he began, tilting his head, “I called out to you and you ran.”

“Speed-walked.” She corrected with a huff. She didn’t even know why she was bothering with this; she had places to be. She supposed she felt obliged (for whatever reason) to entertain him and his hopeful eyes. Telling him to leave her alone would be like telling a puppy he couldn’t play ball, and she wasn’t completely heartless. “And I was attempting to evade you, who was chasing me.” 

Jayce clicked his tongue, growing a little frustrated. Perhaps because there was some truth to her accusations, and he hated seeming foolish. “What brings you to Zaun?” He posed instead, scanning her. For the first time, he noticed the small brown paper bag held between her fingers, and his eyebrow quirked up in silent questioning as he observed the rest of her: her clothes were drastically different to what she had been wearing at the gala - these were plain. Inconspicuous. Her legs were enunciated by the trousers she wore, contrasting the lack of definition from the night previous with her glossy silk dress, and her blouse hung loosely from her shoulders, pale and beige. Her face was somewhat stripped of that glow too, bare and rather tired, like in the hours that had passed since last night she had seen a thousand wars.

“I could ask the same of you, Councillor.” She returned, the corner of her lip curling in the false belief that she had him on his back.

Jayce merely held up the tin of screws, shaking it to allow the jingle to ring out and echo against the cobblestone. Her expression fell flat and he lightened.

“I have business here.” She managed to get out, a little hum escaping her throat, as if satisfied by her lie. 

“Business?”

“Indeed.”

“What kind of business?” Jayce pressed, his thick eyebrows raising inquisitively. He matched her little, amused smile, the one that told him in a million different languages that you’re not funny. 

“Business of which is none of your concern.” She returned swiftly, and Jayce knew he was at a dead end, so he pivoted.

“What’s in the bag?”

She sighed impatiently, “You’re incessant.” she muttered, going to unfold the top of the bag which she had pleated over itself neatly. Her gold finger glimmered in the afternoon sunlight as she did so, shining like a heavenly light that just beckoned Jayce to ask her about it. The question burned his tongue but he wisely chose to hold it.

She held the bag open beneath him, and he was initially underwhelmed - within it sat in what must have formerly been a relatively uniform pile of sweet treats: cupcakes, miniature tarts of various flavours, macarons and other bite-sized pastries. Just as he pulled away he made the connection between what felt like a familiar icing design and the question that sat in his mind, “Those treats are from the other side of Piltover.” He noted pensively, eyeing her with a gradually-forming grin, realising that he may be in the delicate process of catching her out.

“And?” She retorted, eyes squinting with him, fearing he was catching her out.

“Where are you taking them to in the Undercity?” He finally asked.

She frowned, her lip pointing into a subtle pout, “Nowhere.” She uttered stubbornly. “I was going to eat these myself.”

“At home?”

“At home.”

“Your home in Piltover?”

She groaned loudly, frustratedly, “You’re unfathomably nosy!”

He laughed, displaying her with his full set of pearly teeth. “It is my job.”

Rolling her eyes, she began walking back where they had just come, Jayce following close behind her. Ceaseless. “Your job is to ask relevant questions about all of your scientific endeavours, not about my eating habits and where I choose to partake in them.”

He hummed as they drew closer to the first corner which they had taken, returning back to the now hushed main street. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Her eyebrow quirked in silent acknowledgement of his sarcasm, looking around at the flow of people, some of which were obviously of Piltover with their lustrous jewellery and sumptuous fabrics, and others, comparatively, from Zaun, otherwise indicated by their less obvious conceit. “You should get going.” She remarked, bringing her fingers to rub at her brow tiredly. “You shouldn’t be on this side of the bridge when the sun goes down.”

Jayce was markedly unsurprised by her brusque words, looking over her curiously while he still could. She was, indeed, curious. “Neither should you.” He commented.

Her face curled into an elaborate, sympathetic pout as she said, voice dripping with motherly affection, “I will be right behind you; don’t you fret, Councillor.”

He scoffed. He’d never win her over.

Nodding slowly, he gave her one final, perplexed look before stepping away, the screws jingling faintly in his coat pocket.

She exhaled a heavy breath, watching him leave, the bag of treats clutched tightly in her grasp. She saw his steps stutter with his hesitation and he spared a glance over his shoulder. Her blood froze, like in that moment he had figured out everything she had avoided mentioning, every question she eluded answering. He frowned when his eyes found her again, the cogs in his mind visibly churning, eventually electing to just turn around and continue walking.

In all honesty, she was caught by surprise at having met him again. It was strange, she thought, to come across a member of the Council in the Undercity, even if it were the outermost and least unpleasant part. And for him to reach out to her directly certainly elicited a feeling of ambivalence toward him: she assumed, had they caught eyes whilst passing, for example, that they would exchange polite nods, perhaps, and nothing more. He instead chose to follow her, the creep that he was, and investigate her sweet treats.

She let a dry chuckle emit from her chest as she walked and pondered, now much further in the smog of the city. The fumes undoubtedly clung to the fabric of her clothes, as they always did, and were she to turn around and head straight back to Piltover she would receive looks of utmost abhorrence, the smell alone removing the glossy mask she wore on that side of the river and revealing her naked for what she was.

Ironically, the deeper she travelled into the city the higher her head rose, when before it was very much lowered. Acquaintances she recognised gave her a pleasant smile when she passed, making a venerated comment about her success “up there”, navigated with that voice of hers. “We miss hearing it down here,” they’d say.

The Entresol level was comprised of narrow, winding lanes. She relied entirely on muscle memory now, because if she thought excessively about where she was, what landmarks she was supposed to pass on her way, she would get entirely lost. Years of Piltover’s expansive clarity will do that to you. Thus, she relied on feeling alone: deciding whether or not turning left here feels proper, or no, turning right leads there, and that takes me in the opposite direction, and so on. She eventually arrived in a quieter lane, the ‘street’ in which she grew up, should a ‘street’ constitute a corridor, more suitably. 

Standing opposite the shanty-esque building, she was filled with sudden gloom. It hadn’t changed much since last month, but she felt that she had, if just a little; but all these small changes within her, these small decays, accumulated into greater erosions within her heart like acid onto the skin. It hurt to come back, but she stepped forward.

The front door had been fixed since last time, however. It was at her instruction and through her payment that it be realigned properly, for it was previously crooked on its hinges and a draft of fumes would waft in. Her fist rapped upon the wood and she rocked on her heels slightly, waiting. There was commotion inside, a loud clatter, a shrill, frustrated curse, like the owner had been at their wits’ end, and then the door finally swung open with a chaotic whoosh.

“My daughter is home!” She exclaimed, opening her arms wide with a matching, joyous grin splitting her face. She was pulled into a hug a trifle forcefully, feeling the bones of her mother’s shoulders stab into her’s.

“Mother,” she greeted, feeling somewhat apprehensive. The older woman stepped aside, granting her daughter entrance, who was quickly met with the dusty, acrid smell that was her childhood home. Habitually, she shrugged off her cloak and hung it up on the far-right peg, turning to see her mother already fussing in the kitchen as she set down her bag of sweet treats. Her hair, though scraped back in a hasty updo, was loose and already had strands falling over her forehead as she tended to the stove and the pot of bubbling stew upon it. She observed the shattered plate fragments that had been hastily kicked into a pile on the stone floor and, with a somewhat amused sigh, went to deposit them in the bin.

“That program of yours was particularly generous, this week - more than usual.” Mother chirped, tasting the sauce with a few cautious blows of cool air. She hummed, turned off the heat, then faced her daughter properly with an adoring smile. “How you’ve changed over this month. Have you been sleeping alright?” She questioned, stepping forward to cup her face worriedly, observing the bags beneath her dispassionate eyes, then going down to grasp her hands, examining them. Her aged fingers ran over all nine of those that were flesh, running thoughtfully over the tenth, golden finger. Satisfied, she patted those hands and gave her a warm smile, backing away to begin plating their meal.

The silence didn’t stretch on for very long, however, before thunderous steps came stomping down the wooden stairs, which were bound to snap and splinter one day with the rate he was growing. ‘He’ being her younger brother, who jumped on her like a wild cat, wrapping his arms around her middle, exclaiming her name with endless enthusiasm.

Her smile widened exponentially, face finally relaxing into something a little easier, patting his head lovingly before he pulled away to look up at her. “Still got some growing to do before you catch me.” She teased, ruffling his hair. 

“Just you wait - one day I’ll be so tall my head will peek into Piltover.” He countered, rounding into the miniature kitchen to seat himself at the tiny, mismatched assortment of chairs and a table. It was not long before his mother placed a steaming bowl of stew - with real meat, markedly - in front of him. She looked up at her daughter expectantly. Hesitantly. 

“You are staying for dinner, right?”

She slid into the chair opposite her brother, who had been watching her hopefully, in answer, and her mother handed her the plate she had prepared with satisfaction. 

“How are your studies going?” Mother asked, taking a sip of her water and dabbing her mouth with her napkin.

“Just fine.” She answered carefully, focused on scraping the last of the sauce from her bowl. 

Her mother frowned. It went this way every time: she would ask, genuinely curious, and receive in turn a terse response. Though, she wasn’t completely oblivious to her mother’s discontent, “I have exams coming soon.” She lied, “It’s been… intense studying for those. You know how consuming it is at the Academy.”

Pleased at finally receiving a cohesive answer, her mother nodded and swallowed her final spoonful. “It’s good that they’re stretching you; you’d never have received that down here.”

There was a pause in which she didn’t exactly acknowledge what her mother had said, mind instead wandering to other things. “They’re treating you alright? The delivery men?”

Her mother laughed at her caution, “There were no problems last week, or the week before, or the hundred times or so that they’ve come,” she said, smiling, “All they do is hand me the crates and leave, and your brother and I have full bellies for another week.”

She released a rather heavy sigh, nodding at her reflection in her glass. 

“Would you like to–”

“I should be heading back. The gates lock after a certain hour.” She stated firmly, finally looking her mother in the eye. The older woman was visibly hurt, a frown burrowing between her eyebrows as she nodded slowly in acceptance, reaching over to collect her plate. Her brother had long since found himself reading on the frayed armchair in the living room after he had demolished his meal, and she called his name as she approached. “I have a gift for you.”

At this his ears perked up, his eyes lighting up with childish wonderment. He held out his hands as his sister placed a small package in his grasp, immediately going to unwrap it. Tearing the silver tissue paper away, he was unsurprised but clearly delighted to see a small owl carved out of wood in his palm. “To add to your collection.” She stated, smiling down at him and his radiant expression. He instantly leapt up to wrap his arms around her once more, mumbling a genuine “thank you” into the fabric of her blouse.

When he pulled away, she looked over at her mother, who had been watching them from the kitchen with a pensive but contented expression. She went to wrap her arms around her and she met her halfway, pulling her tightly against her. 

All between them that could not be said translated into this devastating embrace.

“You will reap the rewards of your hard work soon.” Her mother whispered into the air, and her heart clenched at her sincerity.

If only she knew.

Note: Thank you for reading! I do apologise it took so long. If it came down to me reading over this chapter again and trying to swallow a bowling ball, I would find more joy in the latter.

Things should go a bit smoother from now on since I've actually outlined the next few chapters (I hadn't before because I truly thought I could just wing it lmao).

[mochiroreo]

Oh goodie! Prologue [breaking in]

Summary: being a latchkey child, you are used to being alone. So when your parents announced that your whole family is moving to Hawkins, you paid them no mind and just packed up your bags. What you are not expecting was that the house that your family just bought comes with two neighbours that are in dire need to have you in any way.

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns. [mentions of god in this chapter] DUBCON. NONCON. 100% FILTH. Smut. Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it). Hidden relationships. Age gap. Cream pie. Size kink. Degradation. Corruption. Choking/slapping (in a pleasurable way). Pet names (no use of y/n). Fingering. Squirting. Overstimulation. Public sex. Recording. Dark!Steve Harrington & Dark!Eddie Munson

Author’s note: thank you for your support on the teaser! I did not expect that

૮ ◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა this is my first time writing and posting my fics publicly so I hope you like them! This part does not contain much but I will still post it for the sake of world building for this fic 💞

P.s. not beta’d. So.. there might be grammar mistakes..

Thank you to @kayaedits and @kitsunecafe for the dividers!

“It wouldn’t be that bad,sweetheart. I swear. Me and your dad promises that the house is really pretty! Plus,you get the spacious room that you have always dreamed off!”

Your mom tried to pacify you,telling you all the things you will like about the new house that they bought at Hawkins, Indiana. A place you did not know even exists when they mentioned that they were planning to sell the house where you currently live and move to the said place. Eyes a bit puffy and red while your lips tremble and jutted out in a pout. Hugging your soft stuffed teddy bear,you were feeling overwhelmed. With their decision already made, you cannot help but look around your room.

The soft pinks and pastel blues are adorning every corner, the trinkets that you collected along the way throughout high school were neatly piled and arranged. The medals, awards, trophies, and books that are lined up on the shelves that pretty sure had indents on them for how long the pile has been there. She looks at you with pity,before sighing and pulling you in a hug. They know that you’re not crying because of how you’ll miss you best friend. Or how you’ll miss the town. No, they know you don’t really care much about those.

You hate big changes. Knowing how shy and timid you are, you always prefer staying home or discovering new spots where you can just relax and let your mind drift away while reading a book or jotting down notes on things you find interesting. And your parents know that. Being painfully aware of the times their jobs affected your upbringing,they try to make it up to you every single time. With you being on their minds when they bought the house,they chose the biggest that they can find which is full of greenery in a quiet neighbourhood.

“But.. its—“ you tried to reason out your frustration,tears slowly filling up your eyes again. “I know honey,I know. I’m so sorry. Me and your father just wants what’s best for you,you do know that.. right? Its not just for work but we can just see that house as our permanent house. No more moving after this.” Your mum apologised in a gentle manner, still patient while hugging you and rubbing your back. You just groaned under her hug,sniffling as you continue to bury yourself on your mom’s arms. “Besides, there are public and private colleges around. You can also get a summer job there too while you are still deciding on what to study. I’ve heard that there’s a book shop and a record store near our house,too. Maybe they’re hiring? Oh,we even have lovely neighbours! Too nice,actually! Me and your dad happened to meet them while we were inspecting the house..” you listened to your mum telling you all about the new place, fiddling with your fingers while it slowly sinks on you that you really don’t have any choice. “Its a really beautiful place,honey. I promise. We promise.” Your mum ended softly, giving you a forehead kiss.

“And—“ your dad’s voice popped the bubble you and your mum had,slightly jumping at his voice. “Maybe you can find a decent boyfriend out there. You know, better than— what was his name again? Frank?” He asked,his nose scrunched in disgust. You laughed at how he tried to remember you ex’s name. Giving your mum a tight hug before standing up to give the same to your dad as well,you answered him while copying his expression. “Yes,dad. Frank. What an ugly name,huh?” Your whole family giggled,slandering your ex while talking about what you and your mum should cook for dinner, the anxiety slowly easing in the background.

“Hey mom, where do you want these?!” You shouted after your mother who is already carrying a box of kitchen utensils with a laugh out of excitement.

After a grueling 6 hour car ride, the first thing you did was immediately jump out of your family car and stretch your limbs. The air was sticky and humid,feeling the spring season already ending. You definitely did not expect the temperature on the way here despite it still being early morning. With the heat making your shirt stick to your skin,you slumped your shoulders,already tired at the thought of moving. Putting your sunglasses up your head, you made your way to the car’s boot, quickly grabbing some of your boxes that you won’t clumsily drop.

Hawkins is definitely an eye catcher. Sure, a small town. But there is something mysterious about it that you cannot help but be curious about the said town. You like how snug and tight the community is. People smiling at your parents here and there, striking up a conversation with them too. It eases your nerves that it looks like your parents chose the right place to settle after all. It looks like you will be spending the upcoming summer exploring the never-ending variety of stores your whole family drove by.

The day ended when the last piece of furniture is inside and assembled. “I’m dead..” you muttered under your breath when you plopped face-down on your bed. The house is beautiful— Pretty is not even enough to describe it. The outside definitely shows the history and age of the place. Vintage,painted with neutral colors, while hints of greens,moss, and crawling plants adorn the vast spaces near the windows. It is definitely different from the two houses on both sides of your house. Your mind is already racing on how you are going to decorate your bedroom, already allocating the empty corner for some massive book shelves and a shrine of trinkets and random journals that you collect for fun. You just finished taking a much needed bath,giggling to the comforters when you became too excited on buying new stuff for your bedroom, not noticing your mom’s footsteps as she make her way upstairs.

Your mom stood in front of you,a big smile on her face. Your giggling stopped when you noticed her presence— and how she is holding two pies that are meticulously packed with a bow on top of each boxes. God knows when she had the chance to bake a pie amidst the chaos of never-ending boxes and assembling furnitures together. You went quiet,noticing how your energy is not matching hers as you press your lips in a line while hoping whatever she plans on asking you for is not the one that you are currently thinking. “Sweetheart can you give—“ she started sickeningly sweet before you immediately answered “no. Nope. No,no,no. Goodnight!” You tried to evade her favor, quickly hiding under you fluffy blanket and closing your eyes. Your mom,expecting the behaviour, had quickly put down the pies on top of your study desk and snatched the blanket from your body. “You will!” She exclaimed before laughing loudly as you fight her back for your blanket. “No! Why am I always the one handing it to the neighbours?! I’m always the sone doing it!” You whined,already losing from your so called “battle” against your mother. “Because! Me and your dad are still busy!” She tried to reason out when you know she’s just planning to make you go out and hopefully make new friends or just meet new people. Your mom tugged a bit too hard that made you sit down. You continued whining and whinging,knowing that you already lost and you have no other choice.

You changed from your tank top and sleeping shorts to a cropped cream sweater and a plain pink skirt before brushing your hair and swiping some cherry lip gloss on your lips to at least make yourself looks presentable. With a last look to the mirror,you have put on your glasses and sneakers,before turning around to your mom. You find your mom holding the boxes once again with a cheshire-like grin before handing it to you. “Yeah,you trickster” you mumbled and your mom knows that you are only joking as her loud laughter and giggles together with yours echoed throughout the house.

The air cooled down quite a bit when you stepped out of your house,the gate creaking as you try to push it close using your foot. Trying to ease your nerves, you looked around and drank in your surroundings. How the cul-de-sac is surrounded by trees that makes the place a bit eerie but also dreamy when the sun had set today. How the clouds are soft and plush,orange and yellows slowly disappearing while the moon and the stars slowly peek out. Slowing your steps as much as you can, you focused on the feeling of the gravel underneath your feet and just avoiding the dread of meeting new people. On your way,were slowly starting to hate the whole thing and how you wish the houses are far more apart.

Finally,you made it towards your neighbours gate,seeing that its slightly ajar which made you hesitate before deciding that you just want it to be over with and stepped inside. “Screw it” you say to yourself while walking towards a black stained oak door. Trying to balance the other pie on top of another to fix your glasses from being crooked and your hair from being destroyed slightly because of the wind, you lifted one of your fist and is already thinking of how to escape the social interaction if they end up being too talkative.

“Well fuck that.” You heard a deep,husky voice as he talk to someone that you cannot hear clearly. You dropped your fist beside you,anxiety slowly creeping in while your mind runs hundred miles per minute if you should just come back later than to interrupt their conversation. “They keep on trying to sell their god to me for how many fucking years already!” The man clearly exclaimed before another man let out a roaring laugh. “If god is fucking real he will present me or you with someone that can fucking blow my balls off and suck my dick so deep that I will be convulsing at the end of the night and he— whoever the fuck he is— will tell me how its his gift for me,like— someone fucking made for me and you—“

It was the last thing you heard before the huge wooden door opened,the man’s rambling abruptly stopped and two of the most breathtaking men entered your view. One with long,curly hair that looks like it’ll be soft under your fingertips. While the other one has thick,luscious hair that is not as long as the other but is styled to perfection.

“Hi..?” with your face red as a beet,that was the only word you can whisper.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 61 – Helpmeet by Naben Ruthnum

Okay first book of the year that’s surplus to reading list requirements. I put a hold on this because it got shortlisted by the World Fantasy Awards and then, well, totally forgot about it such that when my hold finally came in I had no idea what the book was or where I’d heard of it. Going in totally blind like this was, I think, the best possible choice – spending thirty pages thinking it was some kind of literary period piece definitely improved the gothic horror twist.

The novella is set in 1900 and follows Louise Wilk as she prepares to take her husband, a surgeon, away from Manhattan to his family cottage in the country before he dies of a gruesome and mysterious wasting illness contracted during one of his many affairs (and just ahead of the bank repossessing their house). Over the course of the preparations and travel the history of their relationship and of the disease’s progression are teased and hinted at, and it becomes clear that the disease isn’t anything so simple as syphilis – that really its less a disease and more an incubation.

The atmosphere and presentation feel very pure Gothic horror to me – and very well-done, too. Everything from the descriptions and atmosphere to the repressed and evasive relationships to Louis’ total ostraiza tion from her husband’s social scene even before he began to rot to the whole plot centring around sexual immorality leaving the Man Of Science literally rotting from within and helpless to cure himself no matter how much he scrapes and cuts away.

Of course, the ending turns all of that entirely on its head. The eldritch entity that births itself from Wilks’ rotting corpse is actually quite a sympathetic sort, and sorry to have put the pair of them through such trials. It offers to reunite them – or just unite for the first time, really. Pushing Louis into the husk of her husband’s body like an ill-fitting suit and suturing them together in a way that revives his consciousness around hers as both body and mind begin to synthesize into a single whole. With their help, the entity takes the woman who summoned and sought to enslave it as a host instead, and rides off into the sunset to leave them to make a happy new life in the cottage and the orchard around it. In the end, it’s really quite a sweet love story.

The book is beautifully written, and by that I mean it is grotesque and horrifying in the best possible way. The oblique descriptions of the doctor’s rotting body – how Louis walked in on him shaving away the last rotting flesh of his noise over boiling water, the difficulties of finding whole veins to inject morphine into, the way the gauze over his face turns red and yellow in turns so soon after its replaced – fill something like a third of the books wordcount, and even beyond that rot and decay and filth are everpresent themes.

Speaking of themes, really I can’t judge this at all objectively – the whole presentation of casting aside or stepping beyond conventional humanity as something painful and horrifying but still fundamentally transcendent is one I dearly love, and the book hit it very well. Incredibly happy to have read tis strange little book.

[qnewsau]

The political leader Lulu LeMans met while half-naked

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/the-political-leader-lulu-lemans-met-while-half-naked/

The political leader Lulu LeMans met while half-naked

We ask local entertainers to spill the tea about themselves, their craft and the local scene.

This month, it’s multi-award-winning drag star Lulu LeMans from Brisbane.

She took time out of her busy schedule to answer our questions on doing drag, her charity work and some of her best and worst experiences.

The first time I did drag was…

The first day of the rest of my life. I first stepped out of the house as Lulu for Brisbane Pride Fair Day 2018 as a “get it out of my system” experience. What I didn’t expect was to see the joy I could bring to so many people, simply by being the biggest, brightest version of myself. Everything changed after that. 

I chose my drag name because...

I wanted something that said “conceited, with a sense of humour.” And what’s more conceited than “premium” activewear? It’s quintessentially me. 

I would describe my drag as…

Joyful, silly and purple.

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Doing drag

My best skill in being a drag performer is…

Probably my adaptability! I thrive on reinventing myself for all different kinds of events. Knowing how to ‘code switch’ for different crowds is a secret weapon in drag, like going from reading Ascot Mums and Hens Parties for filth at Drag Brunch, to popping my pussy for big dance shows.

Variety is the spice of life. 

Something people don’t know about doing drag is…

Your behaviour off stage impacts your reputation far more than what you do on stage!

Being ‘fierce slay diva boots’ can only take you so far; professionalism and kindness will take you so much further.

People will remember how you treated them, way longer than how hard you slayed that Charli XCX number. 

My family’s reaction to me doing drag was…

Supportive and unsurprised. I have always been blessed to have parents who have encouraged me to live outside the box.

I used to get in trouble in school for being sassy and for talking too much. It only made sense to them that I would grow up to be a professional attention seeker. 

RuPaul’s Drag Race is…

A blessing and a curse. What a privilege it is to live in a world where we are overwhelmed with choice when it comes to drag shows on TV. Not much more than a decade ago, we had no representation, so let’s embrace it while we have it.

On the flipside, the “Drag Race Lens” on drag creates a very narrow perception of “good drag”. Our local shows have so much more spice and variety than what is deemed ‘acceptable’ on a 40-minute reality TV show.

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Brisbane scene

The Brisbane queer scene is…

A small but mighty family. The Brisbane queer scene features such diverse and talented queers. I always feel so blessed to be a part of it, and so inspired each time I get to experience new facets of our scene. 

Brisbane drag artists are…

Tough as nails! Anyone who can perform shows in a Brisbane Summer should be feared.

The drag performer who deserves more attention is...

Everyone competing in the next Season of Queer Sister Smackdown at Sporties! That is the next generation of Queens to take over the scene. 

The drag performer I’d hate to live with would be…

Any of them. I very much enjoy having my own creative space!

Charity work

I ran Bridge 2 Brisbane in drag because…

I had hosted the event for the previous three years alongside Bebe Gunn, and last year I decided to throw my wig in the ring and do it myself if we hit our target for Small Steps 4 Hannah.

My team and I managed to absolutely smash our fundraising target and helped contribute more than $15k to the cause. The race day coincided with what would have been Hannah’s birthday, which made it extra special. AND, I finished with my wig intact.

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I got involved in Small Steps 4 Hannah because…

I was so inspired by Sue & Lloyd Clarke (Founders of Small Steps 4 Hannah). They are Hannah’s parents, and they have created a national movement for better protections and education in the domestic violence space.

They have turned an absolutely horrific event into something that will have a lasting positive impact for years to come. I see my role with the Charity as the court jester. I am an attention magnet, so the more eyes I can draw in, the more people who can join the movement and contribute to lasting change for our communities!

Best and worst experiences

The awards I’ve won mean…

I‘m better than everyone. (and that I have been blessed to get to work with incredible creative collaborators my whole career, and each time I achieve something, I feel like we have achieved something special together, and that means more than the trophy). 

 The best experience I’ve had in drag is…

Probably getting the chance to step aboard the original Priscilla!!! I have never said yes to an opportunity faster. 

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The worst experience I‘ve had in drag is…

When my event for Gympie Youth Week was protested by members of the community. It made me so sad to know that these young queer people and their families would have to see the awful signs at the front gate.

This was their first experience with queer/drag culture, and it was tarnished by some people with too much time on their hands. We had an amazing night regardless, but it broke my heart. 

Meeting a Premier while in lingerie

The funniest thing that happened to me in drag was…

I met Annastacia Palaszczuk in my lingerie. I was performing at a charity gala, and mid-quick change into my Cher costume, the then Premier happened to need to leave the venue through a side exit, which just so happened to be where I was changing.

Nothing more humbling than standing face to face with the Premier with your foam boob inserts hanging out. 

The best thing a fan has done for me was…

Show up. I am so grateful every time someone comes back and sees me at another show. It still blows my mind whenever I am chatting to the crowd, and people tell me they are there for me specifically.

I never take that for granted, because one day the people won’t show up anymore. So I try to remind myself, amidst the grind, what a privilege it is to be able to show up and bring joy to people. 

The worst thing someone in the audience has done was…

I was doing a round of photos after a show once, and a patron hugged me so tightly, he actually broke one of my ribs.

Even worse – this was after a matinee show, and I chose to still go on and do the night time show two hours later. I drank so much Vodka to mask the pain that I can’t actually remember if it was a good show or not.

Moral to the story – don’t squeeze drag queens. 

One message I have for our community is…

Be kind to one another. The world outside our queer bubble is very dark right now. Let’s cut each other some slack for now and focus on the common enemy. 

You can follow @lululemans on Instagram.

Other Queensland performers:

Meet Brisbane’s “7-foot transexual showgirl” Tall Jan

How Shanny T-Bone overcame hate from within our community

Gayleen Tuckwood shares horror story of drugged-up hens gig

How AFAB drag artist Ladybird thrives despite shocking abuse

Henny Spaghetti’s response to being slapped by a fan

Drag King Zelphia Mann calls for representation on Drag Race

Archie Arsenic calls for more accessible queer spaces

For the latest LGBTQIA+, Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Find us on Facebook, X, Instagram and YouTube.

[m39]

Doom WADs’ Roulette Bonus Round: UTNT's Fury of Fire

Welcome back to the world of pretentiousness known as Ultimate Torment and Torture. Today we will be taking a look at the separate episode of this WAD titled…

B15: Fury of Fire

Main author(s): Daniel Gimmer (Tormentor667)

Release date: September 9th, 2007 (original release)

Version(s) played: 1.07

Required port compatibility: GZDoom

Levels: 1

Not enough of the weird Tormentor667 stench that he puts in his WADs? Don’t worry, you can play another episode that is (technically) not connected to the main part of the WAD. And yes, it does have moments of unintentional cringe and laughter, including the cutscene; you know, like the rest of the WAD. Now with stopping alien-looking creatures from leaving hell or something.

Now, like with the previous, bonus review, do me a favor and read the original one on this WAD before reading this review.

Are you done? Good! Let’s take a look at the final piece of UTNT.

Like the rest of UTNT, Fury of Fire looks great. The demonic cave with outposts coupled with the more grassy tops, while looking kind of boring in the first half (without counting the secret areas), still looks at least good in my eyes.

The music is… I don’t actually know. Just when I started hearing Matrix music again, after what I experienced with the fourth episode, I thought NOPE! I CAN’T TAKE THIS SHIT SERIOUSLY! and just turned it all off. Like I said in my original review, the Matrix soundtrack might fit great when it comes to the movies themselves and some laugh-inducing media that doesn’t take itself seriously, but it all falls down when your work takes itself as seriously as possible and sniffs its own farts in return.

I probably skipped some really good bangers in the process, but can you really blame me?

This map isn’t really complicated, it’s just really annoying in some places. Particularly the demonic cave section, where there are many instances of backtracking from one far place to another just to press the switch or grab a key.

There are two optional sections in this map. One references Wolfenstein, and the other references the original E1M1. I’ll get to them more later when I’ll be talking about the difficulty of this map.

Speaking of which... Fury of Fire is at least as tough as the rest of UTNT. It might be the hardest map to play due to the Wolfenstein section, which sucks; it’s full of hitscanner enemies that fire the moment even one, tiny pixel comes out of the cover; sometimes I feel like the enemies could deal a shit ton of damage while surviving so many bullets/pellets that you will run out of them before reaching the teleporter back to the main section of the map.

The other optional section isn’t that bad; it’s just a mirrored E1M1 with much tougher enemies that aren’t as annoying as the previous one (at least almost all of them) and with different textures.

There are some additional enemies that weren’t in the other episodes. There is Snake Imp (a tougher variant), Zombie Marine (even worse than Hoovy; no wind up), Railgunner which shoots orange projectiles rather than red ones, and the final boss which is Duke Nukem’s Alien Queen and her Protector Drones (or how they are called, I can’t remember). Of course, there are Wolfenstein enemies in their dedicated section.

And... that’s basically all I have to say about Fury of Fire. It’s just more UTNT in all of its glory and cringe. It kind of fits as an epilogue, not gonna lie.

And that’s all for the bonus WADs of 2007. In the next week I’ll be finally tackling the 2008 roster of Cacowards, starting with, surprise, surprise, a gameplay mod (I’ll have to come out with an award to it because these things are different from conversions (booger sugar... something; I don’t know at this point)).

Anyway, thank you all for reading my filth, and I’ll see you next time.

Bye!

[deadlydelicious]

book ask time babe! 3, 6, 13, 20 <3

Right, here we go. I'll preface this by saying i've read 24 books this year, but it wasn't nearly as good of a reading year as 2022. I had a lot of meh 3 star reads this year, but still, for your perusal my dear.

if anyone is curious about the book asks, find them here, and feel free to drop your own ask.

3. What were your top five books of the year?

Wylding Hall by Elizabeth Hand

Hands down my favorite book of the year, and one of my new favorite books of all time. Its actually prompted me to start looking into reading more horror. This story is told through a series of interviews with a band about the events surrounding the recording of their world famous album decades ago, sort of like Daisy Jones. The hook question here though is 'what happened to the lead singer' as we come to understand that at some point during this whirlwind recording summer while they're all shacking up in this creepy old mansion, the lead singer Julian disappeared from his locked bedroom and was never seen again. Its very short, and I listened to it as a audiobook and they went the extra mile of having different voice actors for each band member which added to the immersion. Highly recommend for those who want a spooky book that won't leave you traumatized.

2. In Memorium by Alice Winn

Possibly the most devastating book i've ever read, this book tackles an MLM romance on the highly realistic backdrop of WW1. The romance between the two leads- childhood friends who went to the same exclusive boarding school- is secondary to the brutality of the trenches and the harrowing emotional and mental toll it takes. You need a strong stomach to read this as Winn pulls no punches describing the filth and gore of trench-warfare. There were numerous times in this book where I was gut-punched by sudden character deaths, or off-hand references to upcoming battles which I knew turned out to be massacres. I recommend it, but know that it is a highly emotional reading experience. It will completely grip you by the heart, and you'll likely need to unwind with a fluffy rom-com after (like i did)

3. Innate Magic by Shannon Fey

This was an odd book, a sort of quirky story set in a 40s/50s world were practicing certain types of artificer magic are part of the economy, but having innate magic is highly illegal. The main character Paul is a bisexual magical tailor with an innate magic blessing/curse on him that makes him instantly likeable, but incapable of committing violence- which is a problem as he is a major shit-stirrer. I'll admit, most of the book feels like its juggling 3 completely separate plots before finally managing to weave them together, but what makes this book so good is how real Paul is as a character, and the relationship between him and his chosen-brother Thomas. Its very pulpy, pretty tropey, and definitely not going to win any awards, but I couldn't help but love it. Massive content warning for the conclusion though, out of nowhere we get an INTENSELY gory scene of someone being skinned alive which honestly turned my stomach to read. Read at your own discretion

4. The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez

The weirdest book I have ever read, this tells the story of two warriors trying to escort the captured moon goddess to safety while her monstrous demigod sons pursue her. I can tell you that's the plot, but it does not encapsulate the expirience of reading this book, which is told to you in the format of a man experiencing this story as a myth from his childhood that he is now watching as a theater production in his dreams. The vibes in this book are unlike anything I have ever read, and I recommend it if only because it made me feel like I was rediscovering the way in which books and stories could be constructed.

5. If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio

This is a bit cheeky because I actually read it late last year, but it has sat in my brain like a lingering smoke since then, far more than some other things I read in 2023. I love a dark academia when its used as a genre, not an aesthetic (more on that in q13), and this book nails that gut clench of desperation, pressure, an hedonistic opportunity that hits in university, and the added layer of it being an arts program made it really hit home for me because you have all these people wringing themselves dry for their art, aware that their best friends are also potentially their professional competition, a mood that I'm very familiar with have graduated from an art school with a similar high intensity environment.

BONUS Picture Book Pick (because I'm me) - The Comet by Joe Todd-Staton - A very sweet story about the struggle for a parent and child to connect in a busy world with some truly gorgeous illustrations from Joe Todd-Stanton

6. Was there anything you meant to read, but never got to?

Godly Heathens by H. E. Edgmon

This only recently released so I've not got my hands on it yet, but it sounds like it has all the ingredients to be one of my favorites- nonbinary main character written by a queer author, Goddess of Death as the villain, the main romance between reincarnated godly lovers who maybe used to be evil? This one is top of my TBR

Lavender House by Lev Ac Rosen

Good old gumshoe detective story where the mystery takes place in a house that acts as a safe haven for queer people in the homophobic 1950's. The second one in the series came to my attention earlier this year, so I had to add book 1 to my TBR

Absynthe by Brendan P. Bellecourt

Everyone knows i'm a sucker for decopunk, and a story set in an alternate history version of the 1920's where Absynthe sometimes has the strange side effect of giving you magic powers leading to a hi-stakes political intrigue plot? Sign me up. I received this one for christmas, and its been patiently waiting on my shelf for a full year.

13. What were your least favorite books of the year?

Catherine House by Elizabeth Thomas- This book made me legitimately angry about how bad it was. A meandering waste of text that claimed to be dark academia, but really it was just using it a university campus as set dressing for a story about...something? It could ever seem to decide if it was about unethical medical experiments on students, cult indoctrination, or (as it turned out in the end) a modern retelling of Bluebeard. either way it just felt like the author was throwing a bunch of wet spaghetti at the wall, hoping something would stick and congeal into a 'dark academia story' without spending a minute thinking through how to get there. Also highly egregious- I've seen literal rocks with more personality and drive than the main character. If i wasn't such a stubborn bastard I would have DNF'd it. Do Not Recommend

20. What was your most anticipated release? Did it meet your expectations?

I have to admit I don't tend to keep track of upcoming releases unless its an author or series i'm actively following. I took a long break from reading in my early - mid 20s, so i'm enjoying playing catchup and reading books that I may have missed when they first hit shelves. I will say this year I finally read House in the Cerulean Sea, which I found a bit disappointingly lackluster, but that coming up for next year though I am really looking forward to The Mars House from Natasha Pulley

[chargeeboltz]

smokers area - bakugo x reader

(kinktober entry one - semi public sex)

wc : 1.7k

18+ mdni, contains absolute filth tyvm contains: bakugo possessiveness, semi-public sex, orgasm denial, fucking raw, creampies I suppose (bakugo cums inside), degrading, humiliation if u squint?!

it takes a while for bakugo to catch on to what you’re doing, but once he does he feels a familiar burn in his chest. if there’s anything you’ve learned from dating your bonfire of a boyfriend, it’s that he loves the chase. the chase where he has to work for it, the one that drives him crazy. you’ve been setting this up for a little while now, cooking for him in shorts that leaves the globes of your ass exposed, pairing it with the tiniest shirt in your closet. your excuse for the entire situation had been the heroes award show, hosted every year to go over their achievements thus far. an incredibly important event to bakugo, tonight will be his chance to shine, and you’re giving him all the opportunities you need to for him to get ready and finally be on time for something. throughout your cooking, he hadn’t moved from his chair - his eyes had tracked your every movement while you swayed about the kitchen, movements entirely too sensual for your boyfriend to ignore. he rises from the chair with a soft grunt, but before he can even take one step, you whirled around and told him to “relax! I can handle cooking us dinner!” with that irresistible smile of yours. stage two is in action now, stood around the bar with some of your closest friends after one of the most prestigious hero events you all know.

kirishima is encouraging your boyfriend to drink ungodly amounts of alcohol, goading the UA heroes into many drinking games, each more rowdy than the previous. after events such as these, the old students of UA used it as a chance to catch up, to spend some much needed time unwinding with old friends, people who understand the line of work you’re in. even precious deku has had too much to drink, his cheeks redder than anyone had ever seen them during their UA years. despite the loud guffaws, the conversations everyone is having, you know bakugo has his eyes on you for the majority of the night. you stand, talking away to ochako, ashido, yaoyorozu, anyone who catches your attention at the same time bakugo tries to. of course, your friends are far too drunk to realise this, and you’re a little tipsy yourself, uncomfortably aware of the heat in your cheeks and the way your tongue struggles to wrap around some words. bakugo however, has realised this entirely and is getting more riled up by the second, the familiar scent of caramel making its way through your senses as he struggles to contain his frustration.

after you finish talking to an overly eager kaminari about his new hero gear - which works perfectly if you had to admit it - you feel bakugo’s presence before you see him. kaminari’s eyes leave your face, and he grins up at the figure behind you, eyes lighting up at the realisation that he has someone else to drunkenly ramble about his gear to. before he can even slur a word out from between his lips, bakugo cuts him off with a harsh grunt. “having quality time with my girlfriend, fuck off.”

denki coos at him, but with one glance between the two of you, he reads the situation like a book and chokes out a laugh. “by quality time you mean you’re about to eyefuck her in front of all your old classmates, right?” he taunts, watching bakugo’s reaction with glee on his face. you laugh, bright and bubbly, and it’s like all his anger melts before your eyes. bakugo has never been able to resist your charm, and even when he’s mad at you, your laugh could ease the deepest of his miseries.

“oh come on denki! we’re not like that!” you defend, but your face is warm from the implications, the alcohol bringing thoughts to your mind about your boyfriend taking you in front of some of the world’s best pro heroes. denki just laughs, loud and relaxed, before shaking his head and walking off, shouting something about leaving you guys to it. you don’t have any time to worry about what he says, because bakugo is lacing calloused fingers between your own and leading you out into the smokers. his cologne invades your senses, only adding to the slowly flickering flames of lust pooling in your belly. you’d be stupid to think he hasn’t realised - he saw your face when denki made those comments and he figured out there and then that he had hit the nail right on the head.

“you gonna continue to brush me off for everyone else?” bakugo accuses, crimson eyes burning into your own as you stare up at him, jaw slack and eyes wide.

“was never brushing you off, pretty,” you defend, trying to goad him with the pet names slipping off your tongue like liquid honey. his jaw clenches for a second, but he seems to relax, grip loosening on your hand as he leans down to your ear, hair tickling your face.

“nah, you were just fantasising about me bending you over that table in front of ‘em all, hm?”

you gasp, and bakugo’s face splits into a devilish grin, eyes narrowing and teeth bared. “oh sugar, ya really thought i couldn’t tell? ya think i’m stupid, hm?”

any attempt you make to deny it gets cut off - as soon as you part your lips bakugo surges forward and catches you in a deep kiss, claiming your mouth with fiery passion. whatever words you had conjured as an excuse are gone from your mind as soon as he touches you, replaced with a fire burning so bright you’re half tempted to drop to your knees and beg him to take you here and now. his hand slips under the hem of your dress, hiking it up slightly and rubbing his thumb across the smooth skin there. you feel the cool breeze on your exposed ass, and whine in protest, but bakugo makes no effort to rectify it, instead tugging it up further.

when he pulls away, you gasp for breath as he chuckles, dark. “thought you wanted to be fucked in public?” he taunts, squeezing your ass to punctuate his words. you couldn’t deny it if you wanted to, letting out a desperate whimper as he rubs his fingers over your underwear. “you’re soaked for me, you really want this that bad?”

“please, kats, need you,” you gasp out, and the stupid plan flies out of the window as he groans, grabbing your hair and forcing your back to bend for him. he instructs you to put your hands on the wall, and you don’t consider disobeying, using the wall to support you. bakugo hisses as he unbuckles his belt, tugging you back by your hair to lathe kisses over your neck, muttering about how you better keep fucking quiet, don’t want deku to see you getting fucked stupid.

you can do nothing but nod dumbly, rocking back against him and whimpering. “fuck a condom, wan’ you to fill me up,” your voice breaks on the words, desperate in a way you’ve never been before. his sharp intake of air behind you makes you whimper louder, before he groans and pushes you up against the wall, filling you in one thrust. it forces a gasp out of you - he’s so big you feel like you’ve had the breath kicked out of you, and it doesn’t take long for you to go lightheaded from pleasure. bakugo chuckles behind you, starting to fuck you without holding back in any way, letting out all his previous frustrations on you.

“ya go an’ ignore me for shitty fucking denki, but in the end ya come runnin’ back for my cock, hm?” he growls, voice low and husky in your ear. “keep fuckin’ quiet, princess, can you do that for me?”

you nod frantically, muffling your desperate moans in your arm as he fucks you senseless, stretching you out in a way that makes you see stars, hitting the spots that make your legs turn to jelly, and your eyes roll back. he moans low, catching your hair in his hand and tugging you back towards him, fucking impossibly deeper. “you ever fuckin’ taunt me like that again and i swear, i’ll make you scream my name for all those shitty extras to see, show off how well you take my cock, how much i fuckin’ own you, yeah?”

his words go straight to your cunt, and he hisses as he feels your walls clench around him, hips stuttering as he fights off the urge to cum there and then. “you close?” he chokes out, biting down at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, sure to leave a mark. when you nod, he chuckles, his hand devoid ring a harsh slap to your ass that echoes through the smokers area. your face heats up further, your legs beginning to shake as you fight off your orgasm.

“please- fuck, please,” you hiss, begging to no avail. bakugo laughs behind you and leans over you just that bit more, filling you to the brim. “nah, you haven’t quite earned that yet, have you?” he hums, unfazed by your begging. “‘m gonna fill you with my cum, make you walk around with me drippin’ out of you, n if you can manage that without anyone guessing what it is, then you can cum when i fuck you stupid at home, sound good?” he grunts, fucking you harder to accentuate his point.

you cry out and nod, vision blurring with tears - he isn’t giving you a second to calm down and you’re going wild. the familiar scent of caramel fills your nose, and his hands on your hips burn for a second before he moans deep in your ear, burying himself to the hilt and filling you to the brim with his cum. he pulls out slowly, grunting a little as he helps you up, redresses you and kisses your temple.

“atta good girl, promise I’ll let you cum later no matter what happens,” he reassures, his face soft as he looks at your own, mouth slack and eyes glossy from how well he fucked you.

[elvisabutler]

dove career anon back again! do you have any sfw hcs for dove and austin? like the first time they met each other's families or visited each other's hometowns? any pets they may have (for some reason dove strikes me as a cat person)? just general light goofiness between them

no idea what we're talking about? see the little dove series masterlist for slightly more info, note it's not safe for minors at all. and note i'll eventually get out the next chapters.

you mean how austin charms the hell out of her mother despite knowing that "ah yes this is the idiot who broke my baby girl". and how dove tells austin's dad he's got a villain mustache and it's somehow still cute? dove career anon, i definitely have these.

consider. consider that any actual proper visits happen post cannes smashed in between elvis press tour dates or in the tiny sliver of time austin had pre dune and bikeriders filming. dove has to make her own tweaks to her schedule but it's not as massive as mr. go go go. after all, she gets her oscar nom but she's against some heavy hitters, when warner bros and baz and austin and everyone talk about the award press junket she kind of just says whatever happens happens.

for arguments sake she ties with stephanie hsu because i do whatever the hell i want in this. and i want austin to say that stupid line i envisioned him saying drunk.

the funny thing is though, austin's been in new york city before and she's been anaheim before but never being shown around by someone who calls or called those places home.

consider! he shows her his old elementary, she does the same. he drags her to all the places his mom would take him and she walks him to the theater stages she grew up with. her stomping ground of wanting to be in theater and acting since she was small. his stomping ground of wanting to be an actor once sports failed and he realized that it's weirdly the shy ones who do great work on film.

her trip to disneyland is one where they both keep getting stopped and the pictures except for the pap ones stay confined to small twitter circles and maybe tumblr. no annoying articles about him taking his baby of a girlfriend to disney.

she doesn't know who is more thankful about it, him or her.

when she meets his dad she can't help but blurt out about his facial hair and austin in that moment makes sure he grows it out for bikeriders because of it. just to see her reaction to his own.

his dad laughs and reminds austin that he's got to keep you because she fits right in. dove rides the high of that praise for weeks after. same thing goes for when she meets his sister and gets called her favorite one.

"of course she's your favorite, you don't have another." "shut up daddy, let her speak." "she's the only one i've called my sister, austin."

if it happens before the press tour is over that was supposed to be a hint. if it happens after, she's just being honest and truthful because dove is the only girlfriend he's ever married.

as for when austin meets dove's mom? and to a lesser extent her managers/agents who act like her dad? austin is scared shitless.

it's understandable though because all three of them read that boy for filth and threaten bodily harm if she ever come home or come to them as sad as she was after australia. he swears on his life she won't ever be like that and after that, well he gets dragged to The Diner she enjoys going to with her mom and her managers. and it's a sweet lunch/dinner.

also they have the elvis cat. who was the first pet they ever get even though austin wanted a dog first.

the two dogs come post getting their own house together and during austin's and dove's month break after the oscars to just breathe.

well one of them does. it's a little golden retriever that if they're not around to take care of she goes to stay with austin's dad. her name is jolene.

the second dog only happens post their first baby and that one is a female husky named jenna.

[pixelmensupremacy]

Hi Mai!!! Loved your Christmas fic and wanted to request: how about a Christmas party and Leon just can’t take his eyes off reader? <3

A/N: Cilantro, dear, it was fun writing this! I made this steamy for no reason, oh well...

Summary: The request

Word count: 0.7k

WARNINGS: fem!reader, 18+, frottage, public sex, just filth, not proof read

Chatter and soft Christmas music chanted across the space. Flamboyant garlands were hung low on the ceiling, standing just a mere inches above the guest, who were dressed just as colorfully. Mistletoes were littered in multiple lonely corners, hidden from the attention of the crowd, that gave a perfect opportunity for a needed retreat. And that’s exactly where Leon’s eyes were focused at, more specifically at (Y/N).

No pretentious Christmas decoration could even compare to the beauty (Y/N) embodied at that very moment. Even the tall tree- covered in colorful flickering lights, that towered above anyone, passing by it- was dimmed by her beauty. Her presence alone was enough light up the entire building; her smile shone brighter than any Christmas lights, crimson velvet hugged every curve of her body, yet it was her magical voice that drew Leon in, casting a spell upon him.

Entranced by her, his legs lead him towards her and before he knew it, he found himself a victim of her trap- one he was more than glad to be enslaved in.

“Good evening, Kennedy. It’s a pleasure seeing your face.” The rolled off her tongue akin to the sweetest honey he was tempted to taste.

“I’m not used to seeing you in formal setting. If I’m being honest, I prefer when you are all hot and sweaty.” Leon teased before he took a sip of his whiskey ably hiding the smirk that curled the corners of his lips. (Y/N) let out a genuine giggle.

“Well, you better get used to my new look. Plus, you haven’t seen the best part of the look.” She winked as she made her way to an open terrace.

Enthusiastically, he followed after her, not caring even the slightest if he bumped into anyone; his icy irises were fixed on her and they followed her keenly. She leaned on the ledge with her hand tugging at the material of her dress, teasingly revealing just the skin of her thigh that was covered in a gorgeous black lace. The smile on her face never faded as Leon approached her; his figure was shadowy, the bright lights inside outlined his form. His eyes sparkled under the delicate, yet cold moonlight, with enigmatic vigor that brought a feeling of excitement.

Immediately, her fingers tangled in his golden hair, as if they belonged there; eagerly, his lips crashed against hers, his tongue brushed against the corner of her mouth all the while his hand groped her ass. She gasped, involuntarily giving him access; he chuckled against her as his tongue explored her mouth, tasting the sweet liquor she was sipping at just a few moments ago.

Leon groaned in delight as his hips rutted against her clothed pussy, awarding him the gift of sweet friction that tingled all of his senses better than anything else ever could. (Y/N) let out a strangled moan, her hands grabbed a firm hold of his shoulders in attempt to ground herself, but the sensation was far too intoxicating for her to even want to sober up. His wandering lips found the spot on her neck that had her loose her sanity, kissing and sucking at it until his name was all that could roll down her plump lips.

“Leon..” Her voice was shaky, the grip of her fingers tightened as the coil in her tummy was about to unravel.

“Yeah, baby, just like that. I want to hear you scream my name, let them know how good I make you feel.” He encouraged; his fingers found their way between her legs, where his thumb rested stop her clit and began rubbing in consistent circular motion. It wasn’t long before her legs were softened and trembling as the delight of her orgasm washed over her. She let out a loud moan without caring who might hear it. Resting her head atop his shoulder, she tried to catch her breath all the while Leon whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

“I didn’t get the chance to show you the highlight of my outfit.” (Y/N) pouted in a joking manner once her heartbeat calmed down.

“We have the whole night ahead of us, sweetheart.” He reassured and planted a delicate kiss atop her forehead.

“What the hell is going on over there?” A familiar voice interrupted the moment.

[synmorite]

Still a Brat

Summary: It’s Sammy’s turn with the brat.

Word Count: 1855

Warnings: 18+ only, language, gagging, light bondage, fingering, voyeurism, sloppy seconds, unprotected p in v, rough sex, talk of wincest, breeding kink, mentions of m/m anal sex, orgasm denial, m/m kissing, hair pulling

A/N: This… did not go the way I expected it to.

A/N2: Thank you so much to @negans-lucille-tblr and @writethelifeyouwant for nominating Brat for the Spnfanfic Pond's Angel awards! 🥰And thanks to @hoboal87 for being a bad influence (though we're both bad influences on each other, I think.😏) And tagging @fandomfic-galore who wants to read this filth of mine.

~~~

Dean had barely pulled out of her before he walked into the bathroom and got into the shower. Claire rolled over onto her back and was still trying to catch her breath when the motel room door opened and Sam entered. A smirk formed as he gazed over Claire, noting the light sheen of sweat covering her skin, the bruises beginning to form on her hips, and his brother’s cum dripping from her abused hole.

“Looks like it’s my turn.” He said as he shut the door.

Claire couldn’t help herself. She needed to be bratty. "I dunno, Sam. Dean fucked me pretty good. Not sure you could do better." She trailed a hand down her body to her folds. Swiping a couple of fingers through the mess that Dean left, she brought them back up to her mouth and licked them clean. Sam raised an eyebrow at her before reaching down and grabbing a piece of cloth from the floor. He walked over to her and shoved her own panties into her mouth. He yanked his belt off and grabbed her wrists in one large hand before wrapping the leather around them and securing the other end to the headboard.

Sam smiled wolfishly at Claire all stretched out and gagged on the bed.

“That’s so much better now. Not quite as bratty when you’re tied down and silent, are you?”

Sam stepped back from the bed and stripped his clothes off. His cock was longer than Dean’s while Dean had more girth. He was also harder than Dean had been when they started, but Sam always got turned on more when he had someone tied up and at his mercy.

He reached forward and dipped his fingers into her hole to gather some of Dean’s cum and her slick. He wiped the mixture onto his cock and then started to pump up and down slowly.

“Now, you can be a good girl, can’t you, baby girl? You remember that good girls don’t cum until I say you can, right?”

Claire nodded.

“And I think that tonight, you should wait until I’m cumming before you cum. You think you can do that for me, baby girl?”

Her eyes widened. He’d never made her hold out so long before.

“I think you can be good for me and hold off.” He reached forward with his free hand and ran it up the smooth pale skin of her leg, still watching her.

She nodded hesitantly and Sam smiled.

“Such a good girl for me.”

Sam climbed up onto the bed and ran his hand down her chest, over her belly until he was cupping her mound. Slowly, he teased his middle finger down between her folds and around her clit. She was still sensitive from when Dean fucked her. She groaned at the feeling, knowing that she was going to have trouble holding off her climax for so long. Sam liked to make her wait to orgasm while Dean liked her to have multiple. He slipped his fingers lower and pushed a couple of them into her tight channel. She whined at the full feeling.

The door to the bathroom opened and steam wafted out as Dean walked out with a towel around his waist. He looked over and saw Sam playing with Claire. He grinned and sat down on the edge of the other bed to watch.

“I see you found the present I left for you.” He said.

Sam quickly grew tired of playing with her and pulled her legs apart before settling in between them. He lined himself up and started to push into her.

“You didn’t open her up enough, Dean.” Sam grunted as he continued pushing his length into Claire’s hole.

“I did, she’s just tight as fuck, Sammy.” Dean replied with a smirk. “Besides, I left plenty of cum in there. That should help ya to slide right in.”

Sam finally bottomed out with an exhale. Claire was breathing deeply through her nose at how deep Sam was inside her.

“She’s almost as tight as you are, Dean.” Sam panted out.

“Doesn’t he feel good, Claire? So big, right? Sammy knows just what to do with that cock of his to leave you squirming.” Dean tugged the towel off as he gripped his cock.

Sam carefully pulled out before thrusting back in sharply. Claire grunted out. It was a bit painful, but both she and Sam knew she could take it.

Sam watched her face before saying, “Maybe I should fuck a baby into you, Claire. Maybe you’d stop being a brat and learn some responsibility then.”

Claire clenched as she let out a whimper around the gag. Sam smirked down at her. “You like that, don’t you? Such a little whore who wants to be fucked full of our cum.” She felt Sam slide in and out easier as she got wetter. Now that Claire was more relaxed, Sam got into a steady rhythm.

Dean was sitting on the edge of the other bed, watching as Sam fucked into Claire with sharp thrusts, the sound of skin slapping and small grunts and moans from them echoing through the otherwise quiet room. His hand squeezed and slid over his own cock as he watched the muscles in Sam’s stomach tense with every thrust. Sam glanced over at Dean and saw him breathing in short pants and his cock weeping precum.

“Didn’t get enough when you fucked her, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes flickered up to Sam’s face before going back to where Sam’s cock was moving in and out of Claire.

“She’s not as good as you are, Sammy.”

Sam barked out a laugh. “Hear that, brat? Dean prefers his brother fucking him over fucking you.”

Claire moaned as thoughts of Sam fucking Dean filled her head.

“Shit, she just got wetter.” Sam breathed. “Maybe we should let you watch sometime, baby girl? Would you like that?”

Claire nodded frantically as she clenched around Sam again and whimpered.

“Course we’d have to tie you down. Can’t have you touching yourself to our little show, could we? Cause that would just be naughty. What type of person gets off on watching two brothers fuck, huh? Sounds like someone who’s a brat to me.”

Claire could feel the coil tighten in her belly even more. She was trying so hard to hold on, but it was a battle she was beginning to think she might lose. Claire knew the brothers fucked, but the chance to actually watch them? Just thinking about it was bringing her so much closer to her end. She could feel herself right on the edge.

“I can feel that you’re close. But you know the rules. You don’t cum till I do. I want to feel you as I cum deep inside this pussy of yours.” Sam pulled back and sat back onto his heels. She whined at the loss of him. He yanked on Claire’s legs until her ass was settled onto his thighs and shoved himself back inside her with a grunt. The momentary break was just enough to pull her back from the edge and the angle changed just enough to give her a little bit of relief.

“Get over here, Dean. I want to look at you while I fuck her.”

Oh no. She thought. She thought Sam was being merciful, but he was making it so much worse.

Dean got up quickly and moved onto the bed by Claire’s head. He positioned himself so his cock was pointed over her chest. Claire whimpered again at the close proximity of Dean as well now. Her eyes focused on his hard cock as he continued to stroke it over her. She wanted to take him into her mouth and taste him, but she was still bound and gagged. She was nothing more than a pussy for Sam to fuck at the moment. Seeing movement from above her, Claire watched as the brothers’ lips met and moved together. They were so perfectly in sync that she clenched around Sam’s cock. He moaned a little in Dean’s mouth which only spurred Dean to pull on his own cock harder.

“C’mon baby boy. I know you want to cum all over her.” Sam whispered against his brother’s lips as he thrust even harder and deeper into Claire. She felt tears leaking down from her eyes as she desperately tried to hold off her climax. Sam glanced at her as he could feel her pussy fluttering around his length. Sam moved one of his hands from her thigh up to Dean’s head and grabbed a fistful of hair before smashing his lips against Dean’s and licking into his mouth.

Dean cried out at the sudden roughness and began to cum in thick spurts over Claire’s chest. The noise pushed Sam into his climax just as Claire lost her battle against her own. Sam pushed in deep as Claire’s legs trembled around him and her vision whited out. As Sam gave a last couple of slow thrusts and Claire tried to get air through her nose, Dean flopped down on the bed next to her with a grunt. Claire winced as Sam pulled out of her before reaching forward and pulling her panties from her mouth so she could breathe more easily. Sam dropped them to the floor and went into the bathroom. She heard water running before Sam shut it off and came back out with a damp washcloth. He walked over to Claire and tugged his belt loose from around her wrists. She brought her wrists down and rubbed them where they were red from her pulling while Sam cleaned her up as best he could. She knew that she’d be leaking both brothers’ cum for a while. She sat up, and Sam frowned as he saw her wrists.

“Sorry, baby girl. Didn’t mean to make them so tight. You okay?”

Claire smirked up at him. “I still could’ve gotten out of them, cowboy. I only stayed tied up and gagged cause I wanted to be.”

Dean snored loudly from next to Claire and Sam snorted at him.

“Such an old man. Passing out so quickly.” Claire said as she rolled her eyes.

“I ‘eard that.” Dean grunted before rolling over and tucking a pillow under his head.

Sam smiled at his big brother.

“So, uh… would you really let me watch? You know… you two… together?” Claire asked timidly.

Sam looked over at her in surprise. “You really want to? Like I know that you know we fuck, but it’s different actually seeing it, isn’t it?”

Claire shrugged. “Sounds hot. Seems like it could lead to a lot of fun.” She smirked at him.

“Uh, yeah, sure I guess. I’m sure Dean would be into it.”

You heard a muffled “yup” come from Dean, and Sam laughed.

“Then sure, you can watch us sometime.”

Claire grinned. “Awesome. Just, maybe, give me some time to recover from tonight.”

Sam smirked at her. “Oh, trust me baby girl, there’s no amount of time you can ever take to recover enough from us.”

Part 3- Worth It>>>

[jin-fluenced]

Jin-fluenced’s May Recs

Fics I read throughout the month of May thinking I must have done something amazing at some point in my life to be blessed with these … I can’t believe you guys are letting us read your work for free.

Kim Seokjin

Half-Baked Holiday @ddaenggtan​ – Bakery a.u. F2L, I2L (idiots to lovers) (fluff/smut/slight angst) | The Snow Ball Effect Project | What I love about this project: I love, love, love this project! The way everyone story is told independently; the way each story is unique with its own quirks and twists and the humor! Oh, the humor! The way I understand it the stories are written by four different authors but the way it all comes together and it fits so well, and how they have represented each respective member’s personality and quality so exquisitely and they are all referenced throughout the story even before they meet up at Tae’s cabin. I am sure I will think about this project for years to come, I really have not read anything like this before. What I love about this fic: They really are idiots; adorable idiots in love. Throughout the entirety of this fic I was shouting at them to JUST KISS! JUST DO IT! Jin was so understanding, so patient and so accepting of y/n – a true king.

2,561 Days @gossamie​ – marriage a.u. (angst with a touch of fluff) Summary: Two years of marriage could not stop the relationship from falling apart. As an attempt to seek closure before the divorce, Seokjin and you retrace your seven years together. What I love about this fic: the way the author writes angst, the fic is so well written and structured. Each scene made my heart break all over again. This is art.

Min Yoongi

Sugar @seokjxnnie​ – CEO, escort, office a.u. (smut) Summary: executive assistant to Min Yoongi by day and secret escort by night, the two separate elements of her life spiral into entwinement when her boss accidentally walks in on her taking a sex call with a sugar daddy. What I love about this fic: this one particular scene where y/n is on the phone and Yoongi is watching her …. *fans myself*

I’ll Float Away @ppersonna​ – Post-breakup, idol a.u. (very heavy angst, smut, fluff) Summary: years after the breakup, Yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction finds your wedding invite on Facebook. What I love about this fic: Character development. The way Yoongs grew as a person and overcame his struggles – truly inspiring.

Jung Hoseok

The Worst Wonderful Time of The Year @lamourche​ – Christmas/office a.u. (fluff/with a hint of smut) What I love about this fic: y/n was so close to titling her life as ‘a series of unfortunate events’ but then she meets Hobi and he made those unfortunate events a lot more bearable and liked her for the loveable, funny, clumsy person she is (with a super ability to make babies cry).

The Holiday: Unplugged @gukslut – Established relationship a.u. (sluff/smut/humor) What I love about this fic: their relationship, man … Their dynamic and the fact that they don’t need anyone else as long as they have each other. Therapist Jiminie and Hobi is a noteworthy conversation. I too would moan thinking about Jung Hoseok fucking me.

Kim Namjoon

Phantom Pains @fortunexkookie​ – Ghost a.u. (smut/fluff/angst) Summary: Namjoon had lived his entire life a certain kind of way - slowly, thoughtfully, and cautiously - and one moment of carelessness was all it took for it to end. He thought his death had come before he was ready, stealing his chance to figure out what he’d been missing. It wasn’t until he met you that he realized he’d been wrong all along. His life hadn’t ended a moment too soon. In fact, it had ended just in time to save yours. What I love about this fic: the author said this was going to be bittersweet so I braced myself but boy, I did not expect to weep like that. It’s so heart wrenching and hauntingly (pun intended) beautiful. Their love is so pure … fate can be such a cruel bitch. The way the author illustrated it I could feel what it was like for Joon to touch y/n for the first time, and my stomach twisted knowing that he would give anything to be able to really touch her.

All Aboard! (The Passion Express) @ve1vetyoongi – Office a.u. E2L (smut) Summary: There were not many things that got your blood boiling in the same way that two simple words could. Kim Namjoon. The name of your irritating and (unfortunately enough, as the universe would have it) incredibly handsome co-worker. Which is exactly why you never expected to find yourself on your knees for him on the train home. What I love about this fic: ZADDY JOON! THE FILTH! Man, what I would give for Joon to treat me like the filthy slut I am ON A TRAIN!

Midnight Wishes @ddaenggtan​ – Friend w/ Benefits, roommates, co-workers a.u. I2L (fluff/smut/angst) | The Snow Ball Effect Project | What I love about this fic: How can two people so smart be absolute idiots when it comes to each other? I would give my left arm and both legs for Namjoon to call me slick, and ask me if I want it – because yes, yes, I do want him to fuck me stupid. I relate to y/n when it comes to pining and the butterflies and the clenching when it comes to Joon.

Park Jimin

Snow Don’t Tell @stutterfly – Neighbours a.u. F2L (fluff/smut/humour) | The Snow Ball Effect Project | What I love about this fic: The. Build. Up! The way they were already there and so in love with each other at the beginning of the fic, to them finally caving … I was blown. Jimin is so seductive, playful and loving at the same time, and their sense of humour and the constant teasing back and forth; I am weak!

Gratuitous Redemption @minjoonalist​ – Divorce a.u. (smut/angst/fluff?) Summary: Jimin is Innocent when it comes to his wife’s accusations and as stubborn as she is, the man refuses to go down without a fight. What I love about this fic: The angst. I cried like a little baby … I felt absolutely crushed.

I’ll Lead (and you have no choice) @boxysmiles [AO3] Summary: Park Jimin has always had taken comfort in his soulmate. Knowing that someone out there is connected to him through the red string tied around their fingers. Kim Taehyung, however, likes to make his life a lot more interesting. Because Kim Taehyung’s string isn’t around his finger. It’s around his neck. What I love about this fic: The way I cried, first I cried for Taehyung, then I cried for Jimin, then I cried because there was nothing they could do about it. Truly a masterpiece.

Kim Taehyung

Extracurricular @ppersonna –  Professor, student a.u. (smut) Summary: Your professor Kim Taehyung is on the final key to securing your spot in the top 5% of your graduating class. What I love about this fic: I can’t go to class without thinking about Professor Kim Taehyung bending me over his desk.

Misconceptions @softjimin – Member x member (AO3) Summary: ‘So, Jimin has a daddy kink. Namjoon hyung, can you pass me the salt? Thanks’ What I love about this fic: Taetae, bless his soul, tried so hard to keep it in his pants.

Picking Flowers @jamaisjoons​ – Hanahaki, Neighbours a.u. F2L Summary: in the seven years you’ve been away, love had caused flowers to bloom in Taehyung’s chest only for them to wilt when she’d left him. when you meet Taehyung again, he doesn’t know what love is and more importantly, doesn’t know how to love or if he can ever love again. can you teach him? or will a garden of unrequited love blossom within the confines of your own chest? What I love about this fic: Everything, there is not a single thing I don’t absolutely adore. I don’t have the words to describe the way it made me feel. Please give lots of love to Solar.

Cheap skate @gukslut - Established relationship, domestic a.u. (fluff, smut, humor)  What I love about this fic: THIS COUPLE! Reading about their relationship is the equivalent of having hot coffee, toast and sunny-side-up eggs for breakfast on Saturday. 

Jeon Jungkook

Frost Impressions @fortunexkookie​ – Teachers, Gamers a.u. E2L/F2L (fluff/smut/heavy pining/slight angst) What I love about this fic: Absolute-mess-Jeon-Jungkookie! The humour – the author really nailed the humour. This is one of the best fics I have ever read. The second hand embarrassment was so real! *insert your mind it amazes me picture here*. I am fucking sorry at how smitten I am with these characters.

Little Wolf, Pretty Wolf, Your Wolf @readyplayerhobi (fluff/smut/angst) What I love about this fic: I have read a LOT of werewolf a.u., but this fic takes the cake! I joke about how there is a certain cliché to werewolf a.us but what I got from this fic is not what I expected at all going into it. I love the way y/ n and JK complimented each other, how supportive they were. She did it again you guys … I am in love.

[ryttu3k]

Thoughts on His Dark Materials 2.05, spoilers for the whole trilogy!

jfc you ever see a character so magnetic... If Ruth Wilson doesn’t get an Emmy and/or a BAFTA I’m gonna riot (and unfortunately, that’s likely since SFF rarely gets big results in the award shows). Like how are you literally making me sympathise for Mrs Coulter. How. Because, yeah, she loves Lyra. She loves her so much that it informs every one of her actions in Amber Spyglass, including that one. But god if Lyra had accepted...

Also found it fascinating how Mrs Coulter was given three foils in this episode. Three direct comparisons! With Lyra - she even openly says how alike they are, with Lyra later denying that they’re anything like that - that she had not liked herself when she had Pan attack the Golden Monkey (subtitles used the non-canon Ozymandias name for him from the... stage show, I want to say? Or radio play? One of those. Pullman didn’t like it much, I believe, and I agree - I like that he doesn’t actually have a name, and someone in the sub pointed out it basically meant Mrs Coulter isn’t on speaking terms with her own soul).

Regarding Lyra: really enjoyed saying she’d rather be like Ma Costa or Lee. I just had this great image of her going, “I’d rather be like Ma Costa... or Lee Scoresby... or Iorek... or Mary Malone... wow, what the fuck am I bothering with biological parents for?”

Second foil - Mary. The sheer fascination mixed with absolute envy that Mary had these opportunities that she was denied. Like damn, what kind of a visionary would she have been in our world? ...Probably terrifying since she’s an Objectively Shit Person (how was it phrased? ‘Cess-pit of moral filth’? I doubt that’s just due to the world she’s from!), but still! And their reasons for wanting to help Lyra - Mary’s from curiosity and fascination and wonder, Mrs Coulter’s from... I guess possessive love.

Copypasting an entire comment here by GunstarHeroine from the subreddit:

SO MANY THINGS stood out in tonight’s belter of an episode, but Marisa Coulter’s meeting with Mary Malone and her subsequent Blue Screen Of Death on realising the reality of the patriarchy was something I will not forget.

Look at her. Look at her eyes, listen the words she uses. Marisa is absolutely fucking full of blinding rage at the truth she’s suddenly been hit in the face with. All her life she has been better, clever, smarter, and stronger than the men who dominate her society. And she has been forced to kowtow to these pissants, these simpering dull crude oppressors, slaving constantly in labour and cunning to secure the meagrest of breadcrumbs of respect and recognition in her academic and political fields. She has been forced to swallow the bitter pill of being ineligible for a doctorate, despite the undeniable superiority of her work. She has had to submit to her papers being published under the names of male peers and them taking her rightful credit. She has had to smile and simper and be agreeable and claw her way to power and respect through the utmost ruthlessness and cunning - and even though those things were always in her nature, the mental and emotional toll it’s taken on her is crystal fucking clear. She’s destroyed her own soul to rise to her rightful place.

And then she steps into another world and meets Mary. A doctor in her own right, with academic research in her own right, with her own brilliance in her own right. No fuss. No compromise. Just recognition on the basis of merit. And she realises, in that moment, what has been kept from her all her life, and how incandescently fucking furious she is.

Marisa Coulter is one of the greyest characters I've ever seen, and her handling in this adaptation is masterful. The way you can simultaneously despise her cruelty and feel desperately furious at what she's been forced to endure. Amazing.

And third foil, Boreal. Just flat-out calling him out on his greed. ngl I laughed when Will sliced the statue in half. Also his opening monologue about how there’s too little faith and too much consumerism... he says, from his Tesla, before they go to his mansion full of expensive items.

lmao god I can’t wait for *** ******* ** **** ***.

Speaking of Mary - she’s been told her role! I wonder if non-book readers have worked out who Lyra is yet, if Mary is the serpent? I want to say that’ll be in episode 7, not 6, since it’s just before the camp is attacked.

Also thinking that episode 6 will have Mary encounter the Spectres while passing through Cittagazze - in the book, it just says ‘you will be protected’, so it’ll be really cool if it confirms either of the two main theories, which is either a) the angels are protecting her (which would also be a fantastic way to introduce the angels in general, especially Balthamos and Baruch!), or b) the spectres recognising her as the Serpent and being fucking terrified.

Saw a preview image of Mrs Coulter surrounded by spectres and that’s gonna be a sight.

Want to kick Boreal somewhere uncomfortable after he hurt Will. Pretty sure Lyra did too. Leave him alone you bully!!

Side note, I am so amused they’ve made Pan’s new battle form a wolverine. And it’s still completely narratively appropriate! Like, yeah, it’s a reference specifically to Dafne Keen’s last major role, but also, the wolverine is the largest and strongest member of the mustelid family! It’s completely in character for Pan to use it!

Mrs Coulter and the Golden Monkey - li’l seatbelt was cute as hell. Rest was depressing as fuck. Daemons are souls, they reflect the human they’re attached to, and goddamn but you can learn so much about her by looking at him. The self-loathing - off the charts. The silence - she’s completely shutting herself off. If her daemon speaking reveals anything about her, then she has to cut herself off at all costs. Physically hurting him is literal self-harm. Just. Ouch.

The preview for next week showing Lee and John is giving me a heckin’ frighten. I’m sure they’re going to save Alamo Gulch for episode seven but I don’t want it to happen ;_;

Finally, on a meta note, it’s really fun watching all this come together for the non-book readers! Like someone on the sub was excitedly talking about a part in the opening credits where you see angel wings coalesce out of Dust. And that was a beautifully subtle note from the very start of season 1 that book readers picked up straight away, but now it’s all coming together for the non-book readers, and they’re going, “Wait, that’s not just cool imagery, that’s actually a depiction of canon!” Because yeah I do know the books, so I’m having quite a different experience to those who haven’t read them, and it’s just really cool seeing the non-book readers have these pieces falling together.