#Political Text Messaging Service

[mudshare]

Could Your Campaign Benefit from a Political Text Messaging Service?

In today's fast-paced digital world, political campaigns always seek new ways to connect with voters and supporters. At MudShare, we're experts in using communication to make essential connections. Our political text messaging service is one of our most effective tools; we've compiled a list of how it can significantly impact your campaign plan. Keep reading to learn more!

[smutmind]

When It Doesn't Fit ft. Ryujin

Itzy Ryujin X BBC

Seoul gleamed like a circuit board under glass.

You watched from the 38th floor, forehead resting against the cold window. The city didn’t sleep—neon bled into haze, horns echoed off glass. It was almost midnight, and the sky hadn’t gone black yet.

This wasn’t just another road trip. It was a political stunt.

An NBA-KBL goodwill game, they said. Bridge two basketball cultures, they said. You were the poster boy. Six-foot-nine, MVP finalist, America’s most marketable savage in sneakers.

You'd barely stepped off the jet before cameras were in your face. And something had felt… off.

Too many smiles. Too many eyes that lingered.

Coach had warned you. “You’re the prize they wanna claim. You drop 40, they look weak. Don’t expect a warm welcome.”

But it wasn’t the opposing team you noticed watching you. It was their PR staff. Their assistants. One of the security girls at the press conference.

They looked… expectant. Like something was planned.

—

The hotel was too nice.

Private elevator. Champagne in a silver bucket. Suite big enough to shoot a commercial in.

You ate half a protein bar and stared at the untouched king bed. Sleep wouldn't come easy. Not here. Not with your instincts humming.

You checked your phone. No texts. Just a single message from your agent: “Play nice. This is bigger than basketball.”

You tossed it aside.

The air conditioning purred. You sat shirtless on the edge of the bed, rubbing tension out of your thighs. Ten-hour flight. Two-hour media wall. And something else—this low, crawling heat you couldn’t shake.

You poured water. Opened the balcony door.

And just as you turned to kill the lights—

Three quiet knocks at the door.

You pulled the door open, expecting room service.

Instead: five women. Silent. Poised. Beautiful.

ITZY.

Your brain hesitated. You recognized them from the press conference—now dressed in sleek neutrals, like they belonged more in a designer showroom than the hallway of your hotel. No entourage. No cameras.

They walked in without asking.

You stepped back. Blinking.

Yeji moved first, a cool nod like she was used to being first through doors. Ryujin followed, hands in her pockets, casual as hell. Lia glanced at the room, then at you, like she was measuring how much of it you owned. Chaeryeong’s gaze skipped your chest, then dropped fast. Yuna closed the door behind them with a soft click.

No one spoke for a full beat.

You reached for your shirt on instinct. “Uh... can I help you?”

Ryujin smiled, faint. “No need to act surprised. You knew something was coming.”

“I didn’t think it’d be this,” you muttered.

Lia walked to the window. “You’re the game tomorrow.”

Chaeryeong added, “They want you... tired.”

There it was. Clear, shameless. You stared. Not angry. Not scared. Just... stunned.

Yuna leaned on the back of the couch, arms crossed under her chest. “They figured if one of us could... keep you busy tonight, maybe you won’t drop forty.”

You exhaled. “This is a joke, right?”

Yeji stepped forward. “You get to choose,” she said, voice even. “One of us stays. The rest leave.”

Your jaw clenched. “And if I say no?”

Ryujin cocked her head. “You won’t.”

She said it too calm. Like she wasn’t guessing.

Your heart thudded once. Hard.

You looked at each of them. Five stares. Five bodies. Five different types of confidence.

None of them moved.

And you still hadn’t answered.

You crossed your arms. Let the silence stretch.

“I’m not choosing.”

Five pairs of eyes blinked. Subtle shifts. Yeji raised a brow. Lia’s lips parted, surprised. Chaeryeong looked down. Yuna smirked like she expected it.

Ryujin just stared at you. Blank. Focused.

“I don’t need help losing a game,” you said. “And I don’t need someone sent to my room to prove I’m human.”

Nobody moved.

You nodded toward the door. “We’re done here.”

Yeji exhaled and turned first. “Fair enough.”

No drama. No pushback. Just quiet footsteps and the soft snick of the door swinging open. One by one, they walked out.

Except Ryujin.

She didn’t flinch.

You glanced her way. “You forget how doors work?”

She stepped closer. Not enough to threaten. Just enough to be inside your air.

“You’re not scared,” she said. “You’re annoyed.”

You didn’t answer.

“I didn’t want to be part of it,” she added, gaze steady. “Not really. I volunteered because I wanted to see you up close. To see if the hype was real.”

You laughed, dry. “And?”

She looked you over—head to toe, slow and shameless. Then back to your eyes.

“It’s worse than I thought.”

You stared. She didn’t blink.

“I’ll leave if you want,” she said, voice calm. “But I’m not here to seduce you. I’m here because I want to find out what you’re like when nobody’s watching.”

Your heartbeat kicked, sharp.

Still shirtless, you walked to the table, poured water just to have something to do. “You expect me to believe this has nothing to do with the game tomorrow?”

“I don’t care about basketball,” she said.

You turned.

She stood in front of the window now, city lights painting her in neon glow. No makeup tricks. No media smile. Just Ryujin—low voice, loose stance, one corner of her mouth tugged up like she already had your answer.

“I’m not a fan,” she said. “I’m curious.”

You studied her. Long enough that the silence thickened.

Then you nodded once. Just enough.

Ryujin pulled one leg under herself on the couch, fingers laced over her knee. She looked at home. Like this wasn’t the penthouse suite of Seoul’s most expensive hotel. Like she belonged exactly here—with you watching her, trying not to want her.

You sat across from her, water untouched. Every breath a little shallower than the last.

“You really don’t care about the game?” you asked.

She tilted her head. “I care about what happens after.”

That landed heavy between you.

You leaned back. “Why me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Because you don’t flinch.”

Her eyes dragged across your chest, slow and deliberate.

“Everyone else stares like they’re waiting for you to crack. You stare like you’re already picking out their weak spots.”

You smirked. “You’re analyzing me.”

“Mind if I ask you something?” she said.

You nodded.

“If I hadn’t said anything tonight… if I’d just stayed quiet, sat on this couch—what would you have done?”

You didn’t answer at first. Her eyes didn’t leave yours.

“I would’ve kept watching you. Trying to decide if I was imagining the tension.”

Ryujin smiled. “You weren’t.”

She stood, slow. Walked toward the minibar. You watched the shape of her move, too aware of how little stood between you and the edge.

She poured herself a drink. One finger trailed along the rim of the glass.

“You want one?” she asked.

You shook your head. “I want you to stop playing with me.”

She didn’t turn around. “Who said I’m playing?”

You rose, crossing the floor with measured steps. She felt you close—your height wrapping around her like heat. Her breath hitched.

You didn’t touch her. Not yet.

“You sure you didn’t come here to seduce me?” you asked, voice low.

She glanced over her shoulder. “I came to see what happens when I get too close.”

You stepped closer. Your chest brushed her back. She didn’t pull away.

But you didn’t push.

You let the tension coil between you, tight and humming.

And then you whispered against her ear:

“Keep going. Let’s both find out.”

Ryujin took a slow sip from her glass and leaned back against the counter. The hem of her sweatshirt rose slightly, showing just a slip of her waist. Her eyes lingered low, then climbed back to your face.

“I’ve never been this close to someone built like you,” she said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Tall?”

She smirked. “Tall. Big. American. Black.”

There it was—no filter, no apology. Just curiosity sharpened to a fine, gleaming point.

You held her gaze. “You’re wondering about the stereotype.”

She didn’t deny it. Just stared at your mouth like the answer might come from there.

“You think I’m going to confirm it?” you asked.

She stepped closer. “I think you don’t have to.”

Her voice dropped into something breathy. Something confessional.

“I’ve seen photos,” she said, almost like a dare. “Clips. I’ve heard things. But hearing isn’t the same as…”

She trailed off, eyes flicking down again, her lip caught between teeth.

You moved closer. Close enough that her breath hit your chest.

“And you think if I showed you, you’d be able to sleep tonight?”

Her cheeks flushed—just a flicker—but her stare didn’t waver.

“No,” she whispered. “I think it’d fuck with my head.”

You laughed, low and rough.

She stepped back just slightly, like the distance would help her breathe.

“You’re not even touching me,” she said. “Why does it feel like you already are?”

“Because you want me to,” you said. “And because you’re letting yourself wonder what it’d feel like.”

Her thighs shifted. Subtle. Wanting.

“You want to know how I got here?” she asked.

You didn’t answer. Just watched her—shoulders tight, breath measured, like she was about to jump or confess.

“I didn’t win anything by singing,” she said. “Not really. Not enough.”

She walked to the couch, sat like a dancer—back straight, knees tight, chin lifted. “But when you know how to move… how to look at someone like you already own the room…”

Her sweatshirt slipped off one shoulder. Intentional. Every move was.

“You don’t need to beg for deals,” she said. “You make them beg to sign.”

You stood across from her, arms crossed. “You saying you fucked your way to the top?”

She laughed softly. “No. I made them think I would. That’s all it took.”

She lifted her legs onto the couch. Turned sideways. Bent one knee toward her chest. It pulled her loose shorts higher on her thighs. Every inch was choreography.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, “I’d sit in a director’s lap just long enough to ruin his focus. Whisper things while adjusting my bra. Let fingers slide under a table and stop an inch too soon.”

Her eyes found yours.

“I never had to fuck anyone,” she said. “But I learned exactly how much power a body has—if you know how to use it.”

You stepped forward, slow. Sat across from her, knees nearly touching.

“And you think I’m one of them?” you asked.

She shook her head. “No. You’re not a man who needs tricks. That’s why I want to show you anyway.”

She shifted forward. Placed one hand on your thigh—not bold, not demanding. Just there. A test. Her nails grazed the fabric of your sweats.

“Let me show you what I’ve learned,” she said. “Not for a deal. Not for fame. Just for you.”

You didn’t stop her.

Her fingers slid higher. Her breath hitched.

And then she dropped to her knees between yours, slow as a curtain falling.

Eyes locked to yours.

Mouth parting.

Worship in her posture.

No more teasing.

No more pretending.

You stopped her before she could go further—fingers in her hair, firm.

Ryujin froze on her knees, eyes wide, breath short.

You didn’t speak.

Just leaned down.

And kissed her.

Hard.

It knocked the air from her throat. Her lips opened against yours, soft, then hungry. She melted forward, hands climbing your thighs, fingers curling into your skin like she needed to anchor herself.

You pulled her up by the waist, lifting her into your lap in one smooth motion. Her legs straddled your thighs, sweatshirt rising, skin hot.

She gasped as your hand slid up the inside of her shirt—tracing ribs, the undercurve of one breast. You palmed her through thin fabric, thumb circling her nipple until she moaned.

"You're not ready for this," you murmured into her ear.

"Try me," she whispered.

You slid your sweats down just enough. Her eyes dropped.

And widened.

She swallowed.

"Fuck," she breathed. "It won’t fit—"

"It will," you said, steady. "But only if you stop thinking and start feeling."

You pushed her shorts aside—no panties. She was soaked. She trembled in your lap, breath hitched, hips already shifting.

You lined up. Gripped her hips.

She whimpered as the head pushed against her entrance. Her forehead dropped to your shoulder.

"Too much," she whispered.

You kissed her neck. "Then take it slow."

She lowered herself, one inch at a time.

Her body rolled—slow, unsure, trembling. She gritted her teeth and rocked forward, trying to open wider. You held her still. Guided her hips.

"You want to impress me?" you said against her collarbone. "Then ride me like this is your debut stage."

Her laugh cracked—nervous, breathless. Then she moved.

She slid down further, tight heat dragging every inch.

She cried out—half moan, half disbelief. "I can’t—"

"You’re doing it," you said.

She buried her face in your neck, nails digging into your shoulders. Her hips rolled again, tighter this time. Rhythm building. Skin on skin.

She wasn’t graceful. She was raw. Messy. Desperate.

And it was beautiful.

You held her, lifted into each stroke, let her grind deeper, feel every impossible inch.

“God,” you muttered, voice low. “These are fucking perfect.”

Her mouth twitched into a breathless smile. “You like Asian flavors?”

You grinned. “Didn’t think Korean cuisine would feel this soft.”

She laughed against your mouth—then gasped as you rolled her nipples between your thumbs. Her whole body shivered.

“Oh my god—right there,” she whispered, eyes fluttering.

You leaned forward, mouth brushing the curve of one breast. “You ever let anyone taste you like this?”

She shook her head. "They never… touched them like they mattered."

“They matter now,” you growled.

You sucked one nipple into your mouth—slow, focused, teasing. She cried out, grinding harder on your cock as your tongue circled, teeth grazing gently. You switched to the other, wetter this time, letting her squirm in your lap while her thighs quaked around you.

“You feel everything so deep,” she gasped.

You pressed her down, full length inside her again.

“I want you to feel it in your chest,” you said.

Her lips trembled. Her fingers curled behind your neck.

You moved together—her riding, you thrusting up to meet her, both of you moaning now, louder, breath tangled. The wet sound of your bodies slapping echoed off the walls.

She arched back suddenly, hands braced on your thighs.

“Harder,” she whispered. “Please—I want all of it.”

You gripped her waist. Slammed up into her once. She screamed. Again. Again. Her tits bounced wildly with every stroke, nipples slick and flushed.

“You’re handling me like a fucking champ,” you groaned.

“I’m not done,” she panted. “I want to feel sore. Wrecked.”

You flipped her.

Flat on her back, legs hooked over your arms. You drove in again, deeper now, fucking her slow and hard, watching her face twist—pleasure, disbelief, surrender.

“Never had a black man fuck you like this?” you growled.

She moaned so loud it cracked.

“Never had one, period,” she gasped. “You're ruining me.”

You bent down, kissed her mouth, her neck, her chest—then bit softly over her nipple.

Her body was twitching, lips parted in a moan she couldn’t control, nipples shining from your tongue. Her thighs trembled every time you thrust up into her—deep, thick, stretching her wide enough to leave her gasping.

“Fuck,” she choked, hands pressed flat on your chest. “I—wait—something’s—”

You knew.

You felt it—tight around you, wetter than before, her whole core pulsing.

Then it happened.

Her hips jerked once—twice—and she screamed. Not a polite moan, not a staged gasp. A raw, guttural, high-pitched wail as liquid burst out of her and soaked both of you.

“Oh shit,” you said, eyes wide.

She blinked, dazed, and then looked down.

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “Did I—? I did—”

You both started laughing.

You wiped your face with your forearm, still buried inside her. “Jesus, Ryujin. I thought you were about to pass out.”

She collapsed onto your chest, giggling. “I might. That was—holy shit. Did I just… squirt?”

“You did,” you said, grinning. “Like a fucking geyser.”

She looked mortified. You kissed her anyway.

“Don’t be shy,” you murmured. “That was beautiful.”

She exhaled, messy and breathless, still smiling. “I’ve never—no one’s ever made me—”

You kissed her again. Softer now. She tasted like sweat and heaven.

Then she shifted in your lap, still breathless, and looked down between your bodies.

“You didn’t finish,” she whispered.

You shook your head. “Didn’t want to yet.”

Her hand curled around your jaw, pulling your face to hers. “Tell me how to do it.”

You blinked. “What?”

She grinned. “Teach me.”

She licked once, from base to tip—slow, deliberate. You exhaled through clenched teeth. Her tongue circled the head, then slipped over it like silk. Her lips followed—soft, warm, swallowing you inch by inch.

“Fuck,” you muttered, head tilting back.

She moaned around you, the sound vibrating through your length. Her pace was slow at first, hands resting on your thighs, eyes locked to yours. Every bob of her head was smoother than the last. Deeper. Greedier.

Her spit coated your shaft. She pulled back to stroke it, watching her own hand move with a little awe.

“You feel insane in my mouth,” she said.

“You’re making it hard not to finish.”

She smiled. “That’s the goal.”

She went back down—lips tighter, cheeks hollowed, tongue working every sensitive nerve. You watched her: ponytail swaying, jaw working, throat stretching around you.

You warned her once—voice rough, barely holding back.

“Ryujin, I’m close.”

She pulled off, breathing hard, mouth slick and red.

“No,” she whispered, climbing into your lap. “Not like that.”

You blinked, chest heaving. “What?”

She kissed you hard, then lined you up between her legs again.

“Inside me,” she breathed. “I want to feel it. All of it.”

You grabbed her waist and thrust up—deep. Her mouth fell open. She dropped all the way down with a shuddering moan.

“That’s it,” she panted. “I want to keep it this time.”

You gripped her hips, lifted her up, let her slam down again. Her body clenched around you, tighter now. Hot. Desperate.

You didn’t hold back.

Each thrust shook her. Her tits bounced against your chest. She was babbling now—broken Korean, breathy English, fingers clawing your shoulders.

You warned her again, voice rough. “I’m gonna fill you.”

“Do it.” she gasped. “Please—I want it.”

You came with a growl—hips locked, cock pulsing deep inside her. She cried out as the heat flooded her. Her nails left marks. Her breath staggered.

But she didn’t get off.

Not in the emotional sense.

Not yet.

She stayed straddling your lap, hips resting against yours. You felt her shift—just a little.

You flinched.

“Too much?” she whispered, eyes wide and innocent.

You nodded. “Sensitive.”

She rolled her hips again.

Your whole body jerked.

“Still so full,” she said softly, like it was a compliment. “Still hard enough.”

You groaned. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She smiled—and started moving.

Slow at first. Lazy. Just the barest grind.

Your cock was softening, but still thick, still inside her. Her warmth kept you there, her slick body teasing you without mercy.

Your thighs trembled.

“Fuck, Ryujin…”

She leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “You shouldn’t have let me stay.”

You blinked.

She kissed the shell of your ear. “You really thought I came here for fun?”

You opened your mouth—but she rolled again, deep. You gasped instead.

“I told you I volunteered,” she whispered. “What I didn’t say… was why.”

You were dizzy. Sensitive. Helpless.

She rode you with soft, deep strokes now, not fast, just steady. Every nerve in your cock lit up. Your whole body was trembling, too wrung out to fight it.

“You’re not playing tomorrow,” she said gently. “You’re not going to move.”

You tried to grab her waist, slow her down. She caught your hands and pinned them to your chest.

“You think you’re still in control?” she teased. “Sweet.”

Your hips twitched. You were barely inside her now—just the head—and she still worked you like she owned you.

“I made you come inside me,” she whispered. “Made you spill every drop. And now I’m keeping you here.”

You groaned. You couldn’t stop her.

“You’re twitching,” she giggled. “Are you gonna cry?”

You laughed—breathless. “You’re fucking evil.”

Her eyes softened. “You loved it.”

You did.

You hated how much you did.

She leaned down, kissed your jaw. “Sleep, starboy. Tomorrow’s game’s canceled.”

She kept moving. You couldn't stop shaking.

And then… you went under.

You woke to warmth. Soft skin. Bare thighs straddling your hips.

And Ryujin’s nipple brushing your lips.

You blinked, disoriented.

She giggled, already grinding slow, teasing, like she hadn’t just ridden you into unconsciousness hours ago.

“Rise and shine,” she whispered. “Literally.”

You groaned. Your body ached in places you didn’t know could ache. She rolled her hips, and you twitched—half hard, half helpless.

“Ten rounds,” she said softly, tapping her chest. “One for each time you finish today.”

She leaned in, slipped her nipple between your lips.

You sucked.

She moaned, arching against you, hand braced on your chest. “You ditch the game,” she whispered, “you get both tits and the rest of the buffet.”

You looked up, dazed. “You’re serious.”

“Totally.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What if I want just two rounds?”

Her smile turned slow and wicked. “Still worth it.”

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

You looked at her. Then at her chest, rising and falling against your mouth.

You grabbed the phone, turned it off.

Then stood up—naked, cock rising, muscles shaking.

She clapped, beaming.

And then—

A second knock at the door.

You froze.

It opened on its own.

Yeji stepped in first, hair loose, wearing nothing but a silk shirt and that same unreadable smile from two nights ago.

“Game’s canceled, huh?” she purred.

Lia followed, in boyshorts and a lace bra. “Good. Now we get to play.”

Chaeryeong peeked in from behind them, blushing, holding a tray of food—actual food—but her eyes said something else.

Yuna walked in last, stretched like a cat, wearing Ryujin’s discarded hoodie. She winked. “We brought dessert.”

You stood there stunned—naked, hard, marked by Ryujin’s bites.

And five idols stood before you, all in various states of undress, all with the same look in their eyes:

Hungry.

Ryujin leaned into your ear. “Full Asian course meal, starboy.”

Yeji blew you a kiss.

And the door clicked shut behind them.

----- m night shyamalan twist ahha

[lokis-army-77]

Hi 👋

I had a smut idea about a modern version of Rockstar!Eddie. Corroded Coffin is just taking off so of course Eddie interacts with fans through social media, answering dms and liking fanart. One day Eddie gets a dm from Virgin!Reader, asking him if he can take her virginity. At first Eddie is very unsure about it until he learns more about Reader and agrees. How does that sound?

Xx

Drunken Texts

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Virgin!fem reader

Word Count: 5.6k

You drunkenly DM the Eddie Munson asking him to be your first.

Warning: 18+ I will block you if you are under 18 or have no age in your blog. oral (f & m receiving), p in v, fingering, virginity taking.

Thank you to my beta readers @munson-blurbs, @xxladymjxx, and @emma-munson

AN: I am so sorry this took so long! I started my masters program and have kinda been in a slump lately, but I am so happy that I finished this for you @randomreader1999 I was determined bc you have read and liked literally everything I have ever posted and I love you!

Masterlist

Eddie scrolled through his DMs in the dark of the tour bus. He loved to answer fans, even if his manager told him it wasn’t a good idea. The rockstar life was brand new to him and he couldn’t help wanting to have a relationship with his fans. He knew he would have loved for his idol to message him back when he was once a nobody, so he was only doing what he thought would be great fan service.

It wasn't until he clicked on your message that his heart skipped a beat. 

Hiii Eddie 

I know this iis a weird thing to ask but… woul dyou take my virginity???

His mouth hung open, shocked at what he was seeing. Sitting there, he battled with what he should do. Did he just leave it on read or maybe turn down the poor girl as politely as he knew how? 

Then, he saw that little green dot next to the profile picture and all of a sudden Instagram was telling him you were in the chat. 

He freaked out even more when he saw the bubble appear, signaling you were typing. 

Oh my god!!

Please ignore that 

I wasn't exactly sober when I sent it to you 

Eddie chucked at the speed at which your messages came in. You were definitely freaking out on the other side. So he decided to answer and put you at ease.

It's alright

Mistakes happen, believe me

He watches as your typing bubble appears once more. 

Oh my god, you actually answered me.

I'm going to fucking die

Please don't think I'm a creep, I promise I'm not!! 

I didn’t think you would see that 

Eddie shakes his head, a bemused expression washing over his face. Deciding it was late, he turned his phone off and set it aside. Sleep comes fast. It usually did, not only because Eddie could fall asleep anywhere, any time, but life on a tour bus–performing in a new town almost every night–was exhausting, especially for someone who was still new to the rockstar world.

When Eddie awoke the next morning, the first thing he did was grab his phone. Opening it, he was still in the chat with you. He laughed through his nose softly as he reread your messages. He should have clicked out and gone about his day, but for some reason, he wanted to continue talking with you. 

So, as he climbed from his bunk, he texted you back once more. 

Hey

Hope you didn’t die

…..

The ding from your phone caught your attention, pulling you away from typing on your computer. It was muscle memory that had you reaching for the device and pressing on the notification before even looking to see what it was, too confident it was either your best friend/roommate or your mother who always seems to be in your business. 

But as you look at the message, your eyes widen and your face heats with embarrassment. It was neither your mother nor your roommate… No, it was Eddie Munson, lead singer of Corroded Coffin, who had been witness to your most epic blunder. 

“Fuck!” The curse echoes through the apartment. Why is he messaging me? Again? Your heart thuds in your chest. Should you answer him back? Should you just ignore it? You had no clue what to do as your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

“What’s all the yellin’ about?” 

You startle when a voice calls out from the front door. Looking up, you see your roommate, Robin, taking her shoes off. 

“Hey, Rob. I’m actually going to fucking die. Like you need to find a new best friend because I am no longer here.”

She walks into your room and leans on the door frame, eyebrow raised quizzically. “Normally, I’m the dramatic one… What’s happened?”

You can’t help but nervously laugh and rub the back of your neck with a sweaty hand. 

“Oh my god, what did you do? You have that look!” She gasps and points a finger at you.

“What? I don’t have a look.” You defend. 

“Oh, yes, you do. You have this guilty look when you do something bad.” She argues, stepping further into your room. “Tell me what you did or I’ll hit you.” She makes a hard swipe at your shoulder.

Instinctively, you go to hold your assaulted arm. “Ow! What the fuck Rob!”

“Tell me or I’ll do it again.”

“Okay, okay! No need to get violent. Sheesh.” 

Taking a deep breath, you turn in your chair to face her as she sits on the edge of your bed. 

“So remember when we went out drinking the other night and I got all sad drunk on you because I’ve never had sex, let alone been in a relationship?”

She squinted her eyes, trying to determine where you were going with this. 

“And then you told me to just shoot my shot?” Well, drunk me apparently thought DMing my celebrity crush “Take my virginity” was a good fucking idea.”

Robin gasps, hand covering her mouth. “Oh babe, you did not…”

“Oh, wait, it gets worse.” You clap your hands together. “He fucking messaged me back. Twice! He probably thinks I'm a weirdo, maybe a stalker? I can never show my face in public again!”

“Alright, just calm down for a second.” Robin stands from her spot on the bed and stands in front of you with her hand out. “Let me see the damage.”

Reluctantly, you hand her the phone. She’s doing an awful lot of humming while looking at the short yet mortifying conversation. 

“Why do you keep humming like that?” You ask. She's making you nervous. 

She looks over the top of the phone at you and then back down. “I think he’s trying to start a conversation with you. Why else would he respond after seven hours? He actually might be flirting.”

You look at her horrified. “Robin, I highly doubt he is flirting with the crazy nobody who drunk texted him at 2 a.m. on a Saturday. If anything he’s trying to get information on me for a restraining order! I wouldn’t blame him.”

“Babe, you–and I can’t stress this enough–need to take a chill pill. Sure, you asked rising rock sensation Eddie Munson to take you to Pound Town, but the man is into it. He wouldn’t text you again if he wasn’t. If anything, he would have deleted the DM and gone about his day, he probably gets hundreds of texts just like it and there is just something about you that is reeling him in. In my expert opinion-”

“I’m sorry, expert?”

“Yes, expert. Now shut up. I think you should go with it. Text him back, flirt it up, because who knows what could happen? Maybe one day he’ll follow through on your request.” Robin is giving you a manic smile, one that has an idea behind it.

You squint your eyes at her, deciphering what she could be thinking. “Robin. No, don’t you dare.”

She yelps, shocked at the way you grab for your phone. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean, don’t do whatever it is you are thinking of doing!” You stand, reaching for the phone again. That’s when she bolts. “Robin! Come back here!”

“I’m doing you a favor! You’ll thank me later! Trust me!”

You chase after her through the apartment. Your poor downstairs neighbors probably think a herd of horses is running around above them. 

“I really don’t trust you, Rob! Give me the phone!” 

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold dead hands!” She screams as she makes a run for her room, slamming the door behind her. You catch up fast, pushing on the door and entering without a problem. She’s nowhere to be seen. 

“Rob? Where are you?” You ask, knowing she can only be in one of two places in the room. She’s either shoved herself under her bed or in the back of her closet. 

So, you stop and listen. You can hear the faintest of tapping sounds as her fingers furiously type away on your phone and it’s coming from under the bed. Diving to the floor, you pull the bed skirt away and see her lying there. 

“Robin, I swear to god, I'm going to kill you. Give me the goddamn phone.” You grab at her ankle and pull. She begins to scream and you can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous situation. 

“Stop! Stop or I swear I’ll send the message!” 

You stop pulling but you don’t let go. 

“How do I know you won’t just send it?”

“You have to trust me.” 

Sighing, you shake your head. “This situation has destroyed my trust in you. Slide me the phone and I’ll let you go.”

“Are you negotiating with me?” The tone in her voice is almost offended.

“Yes, I am negotiating with you. Your life for my phone with an unsent message.”

Robin huffs, “Alright. Deal.” She slides the phone back to you and you let go of her foot, snatching your device off the floor. 

She clambers out from under her bed but you can’t help but see the suspicious-looking face she’s making. 

Hastily, you unlock your phone, and low-and-behold, there is a message from you, or rather Robin, to Eddie Fucking Munson. 

Currently dying as we speak

“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you!” You jump forward, grab one of her many stuffed animals from her bed, and launch it full speed at her. 

Robin ducks, laughing hysterically as she does so. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, you aren’t!” You throw another plushy. 

She moves to grab what you’ve thrown off the floor and begins pelting them back at you. “You’re right, I’m not! I’m helping your love life!”

Soon, you both calm down, each of you falling flat onto Robin’s bed and laughing. 

“I can not believe you did that.” You nudge her shoulder and she can’t help but giggle. 

“I really am sorry, but where else are you going to get the opportunity to flirt with the guy you’ve liked since before he got famous?”

Huffing, you roll your eyes. “I actually hate that you’re right.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“Unfortunately.” You groan as you stand up and begin to walk back to your room. 

You’re greeted with another ding when you fall back into your desk chair. This time you check the notification. Eddie has messaged back and it has your nerves standing on end. 

Could he really be flirting with you like Robin suggested? Is he like this with every girl who comes crawling into his DMs?

Against your better judgment, you open the message.

If you’re going to die, at least leave me something in your will.

That makes you laugh softly before typing back. 

And what makes you think I’ve got something for you to have?

He answers quickly.

I’m sure you can think of something 

No can do. 

All of my belongings are going to the ole best friend

so you’ll have to take it up with her

Dang, I was really hoping for something to remember you by.

I guess these messages will have to suffice ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You catch yourself biting your lip, a blush blooming on your face. 

Maybe you could think of something for me to give you…

What you were doing was a slippery slope. The ellipsis at the end of the sentence insinuates something less than innocent. You just couldn’t help it, Robin was right, he was flirting with you and obviously, your very forward first message didn’t deter him, so what was the harm in being a little risky? 

The three little dots appear as Eddie types. Then they stop and start again over and over. It makes your stomach flip. Maybe you shouldn’t have been suggestive. 

Oh I might have something

Your heart beat faster.

And what’s that?

I couldn’t help but go through your profile and I’m guessing you live in New York

Are you coming to the CC concert in a few days?

You aren’t too sure what he’s getting at but you answer him anyway.

Tickets were sold out in like five minutes, so unfortunately I’m not coming. 

He’s quick to respond.

Well, we can't have that. 

What if I put you on the VIP list? Would you come?

Are you sure? You don’t have to do that, it’s too much. 

Yes, I’m sure. I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn't.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unsure of what you should say. ‘No’ would be the best answer, the safe answer but ‘yes’ was exciting and what you wanted to say deep down. After a game of mental tug-of-war, you finally begin to type.

Alright, I’ll be there. 

Great. The VIP entrance is on the north side of the venue, I'll be waiting for you.

……

The Corroded Coffin concert wasn’t for a few hours but with a mix of anxiety and excitement, you had gotten ready and made the long trek to the venue quicker than you thought you would. Luckily there was a tall man, most likely security, standing in front of what Eddie said would be the VIP doors. 

He spots you as you walk closer, his arms crossed and his eyes squint at you with suspicion. Taking a deep breath, he speaks, “Can I help you?”  

“I know I’m early but I should be on the VIP list.” The statement came out sounding more like a question than you had wanted it to. 

“I think you have the wrong place, there’s no VIP for this concert.” 

You turn your head to look back down the street and then back to the man in front of you. “This is the Corroded Coffin venue, isn't it?”

He nods, “Yeah, it is.” 

Before he could continue, theres a ringing that interrupted him. Pulling his phone out he takes a glance at the screen before his eyes snap back to you. “What’s your name?” 

You give it to him and before you can ask what’s happened, he steps back and opens the door. As he waives you inside, he says, “Eddie’s down the hall, to the right, and through the only red door.” 

The area backstage is as grungy as expected with its black-painted cinderblock walls covered in hundreds of stickers and graffiti. The band’s equipment fills the space making the path around it extremely narrow. You squeeze past amps and instruments and step over loose cords on your way to the door where you were told Eddie would be waiting.

It’s easy to find the red door. It sits at the end of the hall one bright light shining overhead, like it’s beckoning you forward, enticing you. 

You can’t help the nerves you feel, your heart pumping faster and faster, the lump in your throat. It all gets worse when you knock on the door and hear a muffled, “Yeah?” 

Taking that as your cue to go in, you open the door slowly. Eddie is sitting there on a black leather couch face buried in his phone. He looks up only slightly before he moves his gaze back down only to do a fast double-take when he realizes who you are. 

“Oh shit, I didn’t think you would be here this early.” He sets his phone down on the arm of the couch before standing and walking toward you. 

“Why? Waiting on another girl to show up before me, trying to worm your way into someone else's will?” You ask.

Eddie shakes his head, “No, yours is the only one I’m trying to get written into at the moment.” 

You can’t help the sheepish smile. “Ah, so I’m the only one for now but there will be others.”

“We’ll see,” Eddie winks, moving back to his seat on the couch.

Silence falls between the two of you. Nervously you begin to flit your eyes around the small room, fingers plying with the hem of your shirt. 

“You can sit if you’d like, I won’t bite.” Eddie motions for you to sit beside him and slowly you make your way over. 

Your skirt rides up and the leather of the cushion feels sticky against the backs of your legs, but it doesn’t distract you from how nervous you have become being in direct contact with one of your biggest crushes.  

“You okay?” 

Nodding stiffly, you respond, “Yeah, I’m good.” 

He takes your hand, and the warmth radiating off him makes you feel more at ease. The nervousness slowly dissipates as you get lost in his deep brown eyes. “You seem a bit nervous, I swear I just wanted to hang out with you, no funny business,” he raised his right hand, holding up three fingers, “Scout's honor.”

Laughing, you say, “I believe you! It’s just that you’re you and I’m me.”

“You say that like I’m some kind of celebrity.”

“But you are. And it’s kinda intimidating.”

Edde laughs loudly, “Me? I’m intimidating? What about sweet ol’ me intimidates you?”

You can’t help but giggle, entranced by his liveliness. “I don’t know, probably everything?” You motion up and down at him. 

“Oh come on!”

“No, really!” 

He looks at you, eyebrows raised quizzically. 

“I’m just shy, and you seem to exude confidence.”

“Na, that’s only on stage sweetheart. Think of it as an act.”

The longer the conversation went, the more comfortable you became. Eddie was no longer this scary rockstar sitting before you but a regular charismatic guy. Your posture was no longer rigid as you sat curled up on the couch. Eddie had gotten closer but he was still at a respectful distance. 

You’re pulled from your chat when someone knocks on the door. When it opens, a short blond woman is standing with a clipboard clutched in her hand and her finger pressed to a button on the side of her headset. As she spoke into her mic she waved her clipboard at Eddie, beckoning him to come with her. 

Eddie checks his phone and stands within a second. “Looks like it’s show time. Follow Chris here and she’ll lead you to the barricade. I’ll see you after?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’ll see you when the show’s over!” 

……

The venue isn’t big but it feels like thousands of people are cramped into the tiny space. You’re thankful to be at the barricade where you at least have no one crowded in front of you, even if you are being squished against the metal railing.

The crowd is rowdy, chanting for the band to come out. Their screams only become louder once the lights dim and the squeal of a guitar erupts over the speakers. Your heart is in your throat as you make out the band filing onto the stage in the almost pitch blackness. 

Then, in an instant, the spotlight comes on and Eddie steps forward as he plays the opening riff to their newest song. 

The way his fingers dance across the frets is making you clench your legs. If his fingers could play that fast, what else were they capable of? 

As he begins to strut across the stage, lyrics flow past his lips carried by a deep, sensual tune. His eyes catch yours in the crowd and from that point on, you were entranced. Your eyes never left his. No longer were you surrounded by a crowd, separated by a stage and a metal barrier. No, you were right next to him. You could feel him, his warmth, and the way his breath fanned over your face as he sang. 

The concert went by with you bewitched, like a sailor hearing a siren song. Eddie seduced you with his words and movements until you were almost a puddle on the floor.

Finally, when the lights went down and the crowd filed out, a security guard came to escort you backstage once more. 

The atmosphere had changed from the light-friendly one that had been there hours before. Now the air in the small room was charged. You felt the air crackling as you ended, goosebumps rose on your arms as Eddie greeted you. His eyes were filled with something more than friendliness.

Your tongue felt heavy as you tried to speak and your mouth felt dry even as saliva pooled in response to the sweaty mess that stood in front of you. 

It’s like your body went into autopilot, your mind swirled as you stepped toward Eddie. Your hips swung sensually and once you were close enough to him, you reached a handout and pushed him back onto the couch. 

He landed with a “humph”. His eyes followed you as you slowly fell to your knees. 

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?”

You look up at him though through lidded eyes. “I meant what I said the other night.” Your hands glide up his thighs, fingers barely tracing over the bulge underneath the zipper. “I want you to take my virginity.” 

Eddie catches your hands. “You sure about that? I don’t want to make you feel like you have to.”

Sighing, you lean into his space, “I’m so sure.” 

With nimble fingers, you unhooked the button of his leather pants, the zipper moved down on its own thanks to Eddie’s stiff cock pressing against the tight fabric. 

You can't stop your mouth from salivating when you see he isn’t wearing underwear. He lifts his hips, helping you to pull his pants down. Your eyes widen at how massive he is. Eddie smirks when you look up at him through your lashes. 

“Don’t worry baby, you can take it.” 

You aren’t quite sure you can. He’s intimidating, especially for your first time, but he soothes you with gentle, calloused fingers brushing your cheek, pulling you to him. 

With a quivering lip, you open your mouth, tongue pushing forward–waiting eagerly to taste him. You can’t help the lewd moan that erupts from the depths of your throat once Eddie’s cock is placed on your wet muscle. He’s warm, hot almost, and the bead of white at his slit tastes weird. 

Your eyes meet his when you look up at him, the once-milk chocolate of his irises had turned pitch black as he watched. Slowly you close your lips around him and begin to bob up and down along his length. 

“Oh- oh fuck.” Eddie choked out. His hand flew to the top of your head, harshly tugging on the strands of hair. It sent a delicious sting down your spine and a pulsing throb through your cunt.

You keep going, the whimpering moans erupting from Eddie the only encouragement you needed. His mouth is spewing filthy words, ones that would have any grandmother clutching her pearls, but no, they spur you on, had wetness soaking into your underwear. You were afraid if he didn't stop, you'd cum without having been touched. 

“God damnit, your mouth is so fucking good, Baby. Fuck.” Eddie’s fingers grip tighter and his hips start to tick upward, shoving him further into your throat. You can’t stop the gag that comes at the intrusion. Pulling away a line of spit still connects your mouth to him. You take a moment to breathe, the sight of Eddie's flushed face and dark eyes fueling your desire. He looks down at you, a mixture of awe, concern, and raw need in his expression.

“Fuck, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him once you catch your breath. “I just wasn’t expecting that,” you laugh a little. 

The two of you sit there for a moment, chests heaving and eyes wandering, until Eddie begins to move. He grabs hold of your arm, pulling you up and into him, his lips press to yours and you melt into him. The kiss only lasts for a few seconds before he is trailing down, tongue smoothing over your jaw and he attaches against the soft skin of your neck. The sucking you feel is a weird sensation but not at all unpleasant. 

Goosebumps appear in the wake of Eddie’s fingers as they travel down your arms and to the hem of your shirt. He tugs on it slightly, prompting you to pull away so he can slip the top over your head. Deft fingers work at your bra strap as he starts kissing over your shoulder and chest, stopping to suck and nip where he pleased. 

“Eddie,” you sigh.

He hums in acknowledgment. 

“Need more. Please I need more.” 

Without a word, he breaks away and pushes you onto your back. His hands are hot as they travel over your legs and under the pleats of your skirt. Your breath hitches in your throat when Eddie begins to drag your panties down your legs. 

Embarrassment flushes over you when his eyes lay upon your needy cunt. No one has ever seen you like this, vulnerable with all your most intimate parts on display. You can’t help but shy away, gazing anywhere but at Eddie. 

“Prettiest pussy I've ever seen,” he remarks as he leans closer. His tongue slips past his lips, tasting the wetness gathering at your folds. A primal moan escapes him as he begins to lap at you, drinking you in. His fingers splay over your thighs, pulling you closer as he eats you like a man starved. 

“Oh! Oh fuck-” You can't help the exclamation. The feeling of his wet muscle sliding over your clit in just the right way, at just the right rhythm. Your hands grip at anything they can, trying to keep you from floating away. 

You felt so good. He felt so good. Ecstasy flowed through your veins like rushing rapids, untamed and strong. Zaps of electricity could be felt throughout your body as he ate you up. 

Thick fingers tease at your entrance and your legs instantly snap shut. Eddie uses his other hand to pry your thighs from around his head. “Keep ‘em open sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered and seized when one of his digits easily slipped into you. You could feel yourself clenching around him, it wasn't enough, you needed more, needed him to stretch you out further.

“Eddie- Eddie please,” you gasp. “More!” 

He hums into your cunt, the vibrations make your back arch off the sticky leather of the couch. Within seconds of your demand, Eddie is slipping a second finger inside you. You can feel the sharp cold from his rings as they come into contact with your hot skin and his thick fingers curling into you. 

All that could be heard in the room were the wet sounds of the rockstar feverishly finger fucking you and the gasping moans you let out every time he licked you just right or his fingers brushed just against a sensitive spot.

Eddie removed himself from your clit with a ‘pop’, the cool air that rushed over the wetness made you shiver. “Look so fuckin’ pretty all splayed out for me, Baby. What do say we kick it up a notch hum?” He asks, voice sickly sweet. 

“Yes, fuck- yes.” You agree, body thrumming with anticipation. 

Slowly, he removed his fingers from you. You blushed as you watched him bring the digits to his mouth, tongue licking the remnants of you off them. “You taste so fucking good. God, I want to be between your legs forever.” 

His words did something to you. Your pulse quickened and your cunt fluttered, emotions went feral inside of you. It took all your energy not to pull him into you at that moment. 

“Fuck me,” you spoke, just above a whisper. 

“What was that, baby?”

“I want you to fuck me, Eddie. Please, I need to feel you inside me, pounding into me. Make it so I feel you for days after I leave, I need it, I want it so bad, please.” It might have sounded desperate but you didn’t care. It was the last thing on your mind. You were so close to having him, you could just taste it and it was driving you crazy.

“Oh yeah? Want my fat fucking cock inside that tight cunt? Stretching you out, ruining you for anybody else? Hum? Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” you beg, “yes, please. Want your cock in me now.”

“Alright, Sweetheart, I’ll give you what you want.”

Eddie’s large hands splayed over your hips, pulling you into the position he wanted. You watched in awe as he brought the angry red tip of his cock to your drooling cunt, gliding it through your folds and pushing it gently inside. 

He was so big, just the tip of him was stretching you farther than you ever had been before. Your hips careened away from him but he held your steady. 

“Not gonna hurt you, just gonna take it slow until I get all the way in,” He spoke gently, soothingly. 

Nodding, you take a deep breath, trying to relax as he pushes into you inch by glorious inch. 

A loud cry sounds in your throat as he bottoms out. Your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as a fierce ache erupts in your abdomen. 

Eddie grunts, pulling back slowly, just an inch before he pushes back inside. The tip of him presses into you, coaxing the fire in your belly. It’s only been a few minutes but you want more, you want it harder, faster, less careful. You wanted to be fucked. You wanted to know what it was like to not be able to walk straight after, wanted to experience life-altering sex with the man of your dreams. 

“More,” you mewl. “More, Eddie, I want more!” 

His hips pick up pace in answer his movements becoming more urgent as he responds to your plea. The room fills with the sounds of your mingled moans and the rhythmic creak of the couch. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You cling to him, lost in the sensation, as he fulfills your deepest desires.

You could feel it, a little tingling in your tummy as he fucked you deep and raw. Something you had never experienced before, not even when you had come by yourself. You were building up fast, causing your body to shake and your toes to curl as you tried to hold it off, but it was no use. You were tipping over the edge within a second. 

“Oh, fuck!” You scream, head flung back into the cushion. Your chest rose in the air and Eddie held you tightly, his thrusts coming short and fast as he worked you into your rapture. “Eddie! I’m- I- I’m- Oh shit. Oh, holy shit. I’m about to-”

“I know. Can feel you squeezin’ me like a fuckin’ vice.” His arms flex as he holds you steady against his assault.

Your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave, every muscle in your body contracting with intense pleasure. Eddie continues to move within you, prolonging your ecstasy until you collapse back on the couch, utterly and completely spent. He follows soon after, his release warm on your stomach, leaving you both breathless and sated.

Laying there, you couldn’t believe what had just happened. You had just fucked the Eddie Munson… Not just fucked, you let him be your first. Who knew a drunken text could lead to something as inconceivable as having a literal rockstar fuck you until you were seeing stars. 

You could feel Eddie shifting, and you opened your eyes to see him looking down at you. His lips moved, but you could hear no sound. Your heart was racing, and the blood was pumping too loudly in your ears for you to make out what he was saying. 

“Huh?” 

Eddie just shook his head, a smirk forming on those kiss-swollen lips. He stood from the couch, careful not to put his weight on you. 

You watched him closely as he pulled his pants up his thighs and walked to a black duffel bag in the corner. He rummaged through it for a moment before coming back, a green and white package of baby wipes in tow. Taking one out he slowly wiped at the mess you had both made, cleaning you gently. 

By the time he finished, the rushing in your ears had stopped. “Thank you,” you said as you sat up, pulled your skirt down, and searched for your bra and shirt. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Sweetheart. Any decent person offers aftercare.” He bends down, grabs the garments you were looking for, and hands them to you. 

Shaking your head, you say, “Not just for that, Eddie, for everything. I was mortified when I noticed those drunk texts, I still kinda am, but I’m glad you didn’t just block me and move on.” 

“‘S’all right, I actually thought it was cute.”

“You did not… It’s so embarrassing.” You bury your face in your hands blushing as red as you possibly could. 

“Oh, but I did. I wouldn’t have entertained the conversation with you if I hadn’t.”

“Mmm, okay then.” You shake your head. Standing up, you grab your stuff and look back at Eddie. “I guess I should go now, you probably have somewhere to be.” Taking a step toward him, you were going to kiss him on the cheek but thought better of it. Somehow that felt more intimate than the sex you had just had. 

He caught your hand as you turned to go. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Looking back at him you spot your panties hanging from the index finger of his other hand. “Oh, sorry.” You reach to grab for them but he pulls them away. 

You look at him, brow raised in confusion.

“On second thought, maybe I should keep them so I have an excuse to see you again?

[echoasdfghultrakill]

Alright kids, I've worked all evening on compiling this info, so to anyone who needs it:

PROTESTING SAFETY

------------------------------------------------

1. Preparation:

- Do not wear any accessories or anything identifiable. If you have tattoos or piercings, cover them up and hide them. Do NOT use makeup to cover them up either. In fact, don't wear makeup at all in ANY capacity, especially on the face, because it makes gases and sprays WORSE. Avoid jewerly entirely as it can be grabbed onto or traced back to you.

- Wear long sleeve shirts and pants and running shoes, CLOSED TOES, preferably all gray or black or all one singular (nonbright) color, neutrals. Avoid loose clothing and drawstrings. Wear head coverings, even more so if you have dyed hair. Nothing eye-catching, no slogans or logos, no customized or political clothing, nothing identifiable or unique that can be traced back to you. Wear head coverings that cover the entire head, including your ears, nose, and mouth.

- Make sure you can run in your outfit, just in case

- ***DO NOT WEAR CONTACTS, WEAR GLASSES INSTEAD***

I CANNOT stress that enough. If you wear glasses, make sure they're secure and cannot fall off easy.

- Helmets or elbow and knee patches are good for general safety but wear nothing that limits movement. Also, WEAR GOGGLES, but in a pinch firearm safety glasses of some kind can work. some sort of mask covering for your nose and mouth for, again, gases and sprays. A regular covid mask underneath a balaclava or bandana is better than nothing

- An extra note to medics: DO NOT wear anything that designates you publicly as a medic. A known medic is a targeted one. Only make it known you're a medic through word of mouth, **please**

- Write energency phone numbers on your body somewhere hidden, keep your ID and cash on you in a shoe or something but don't bring a wallet. If you have to bring a phone keep it shut down the entire time until you are far from the location the protest is happening, keep your biometrics and face ID off, turn off location services and if you take photo or video erase the metadata even if you don't plan on posting it.

- There are typically jail support and legal aid for protesters, find whats specific to your area and write their number. If you can get a lawyer, write their number down, too.

- PREFERABLY* go with a friend. Keep a designated meet up spot away from the protest to run to if things go south. If you are alone? get a buddy or make a friend at the protest so you both have someone to fall back on, and make it known to others that you are alone so they can watch out for you. If anything else, make sure at least 1 other person not at the protest knows where you are.

- Have backup meet-up spots in case of them being compromised, set up check-ins, too.

- KNOW YOUR RIGHTS BEFOREHAND, be prepared to exercise them

AGAIN on phones:

- have location data and airdrop turned off, AND in airplane mode because it can still ping towers with it off. Consider a faraday bag, if you can.

- turn off biometrics or face ID, cops can force you to open your phone. Again, preferably, keep it turned off

- burner phones are often registered with identifiable information so I don't recommend it, but if you can get it under someone else's information especially if they aren't going to be with yoy at the protest *with their consent

- if you are going to take video or photos for any reason, get CONSENT FIRST. Do NOT post anything in the moment. Only after the protest has concluded and once you've wiped the metadata. (And no, that screenshotting trick doesn't always work).

- use encrypted messaging, no socials, no texting, no phone calls. Verbal communication face to face is best

- while im on that topic: dont post anything beforehand either. Dont sign up to things on facebook, don't RSVP, and definitely don't post anywhere on social media that you're attending.

- Beforehand, look at maps of the area. Know your routes and exits.

------------------------------------------------

1.5. supplies:

- WATER WATER WATER, enough to stay hydrated AND to flush your eyes

- backpack or something secure AND crossbody to carry supplies in, one that doesnt limit movement and can't be pulled off easy

- umbrellas block projectiles, use them

- earplugs or eardefenders, *(do not get completely noise cancling because you still need to be aware of your surroundings)*

- some sort of snacks (not sugary, preferably): peanut butter crackers, slim jim, crackers, granola, trail mix, etc

- sunscreen, if not for you then someone else

- basic prepacked medkit supplies, bandages and gauze, if nothing else

- gloves (heat safe, oven mitts work too. They're for handling canisters thrown your way safely)

- BAIL MONEY, stored somewhere safe, probably in your shoes. Even if you intend on being peaceful, even if you don't do anything illegal or plan on it. They *will* still try to arrest you anyways.

- a change of clothes for afterward, both so you have clean, uncontaminated clothes, and so you're less likely to be identified after

- Whistle (noisemaker and you won't lose your voice as easily. Also, it's good for if you've been injured or need to call out for help)

- Sharpie to write on yourself if needed, notepad can be used to record badge numbers in future court cases

- card with crucial medical information such as blood type, disabilities, allergies, or other needs stashed somewhere on the chance of a medical emergency or being hospitalized.

Medic specific supplies:

- everything above^

- Water

- saline solution (found at wallgreens or walmart in eye sections, didinfectant and can be used to clear tear gas)

*note: I wouldn't recommend baby shampoo because it often had fragrances which can hurt more or damage your eyes, and sometimes oils too which can make it worse)

- safety scissors

- butterfly bandages and bandaids

- alcohol wipes and q-tips

- neosporin

- *latex free* gloves

- guaze

- tampons and pads to pack wounds

- duct tape

- emergency blanket

- did I mention WATER

- Extras of anything you can spare for those who are less prepared

IF YOU ARE BRINGING ANY FLAGS

- i urge you to bring American flags. Anything else and the media coverage can be twisted as an 'Us vs. Mexico" or "Us vs. Trans people". American flags let them know undeniably that no matter how they try to twist the narrative: *this is happening to U.S. citizens*

------------------------------------------------

2: While you're there

- Keep an EYE ON YOUR SURROUNDINGS. Exercise spatial awareness, keep an eye on the crowd and out of the crowd. This is easier said than done if you dont have a buddy, so I really recommend finding someone to group with.

- I recommend staying on the outskirts if you can. Avoid dark and enclosed areas in exchange for open and well lit ones. Watch out for infiltrators there to insight violence and agitate crowds, or undercover cops.

- DO NOT PANIC OR RUN, DO NOT SCREAM. It takes one person to make an entire group panic, and that can lead to violence, stampedes, crowd crushes... stay calm and react accordingly.

- Panicking can be read as aggression too, so all the more reason to stay calm. Alongside with that: do NOT be innebriated. Do not do drugs, do not drink alcohol. Stay sober, stay aware.

- If you are recording: narrate loud and clealy, narrate the time and date, the location, the events before and during recording. Footage is evidence that can be used in court. Blur and obscure faces with multiple methods

- If things get violent or go south, distance yourself and find somewhere to regroup. Be prepared to protect yourself, have umbrellas ready in defense of being shot at. I cannot stress this enough but 'rubber' bullets (metal encased in rubber btw) can still maim and kill. The police often shoot directly at people without regard for safety. Be careful.

- If police begin to surround and barricade your group, you are being locked in a *kettle*. (Yes, even if it's illegal in your state) They may keep you there for an extended period of time or attempt to arrest everyone. The safest way out if you see it coming back the way you came. Do NOT talk to the cops under any circumstances.

- If nobody talks, everybody walks

- if you are arrested, be prepared to exercise your rights and speak clearly. Not speaking clearly gives them cause to ignore you or take your words differently than what they mean because they have to obey the word and not the spirit of the law.

- if you are detained: "I am exercising my right to remain silent, I will not speak without an attorney present."

- They can't make you say shit without one, so do not say shit without one, no matter what they say. (Eventually) they will be forced to comply.

if tear gas cannisters are thrown:

- please note that throwing them back is a felony, do so only at your own risk

- USE HEAT SAFE GLOVES TO HANDLE, or else you WILL get burned

- COVER AND SMOTHER is the way to go. Pot lids or garbage can lids are great. Pouring water on them helps a lot

- SALINE IS BETTER THAN MILK BUT MILK IS BETTER THAN NOTHING. Saline is much more sterile and effective. Antacid mixtures are a safe backup, water is fine and milk is a last resort option.

- do not rub your eyes, blink and let your tear ducts do the work to flush them out or you will spread it further and deeper

- do not use oils or lotions to decontaminate your skin, breathe slowly, do not scream

- when/if you can, rinse yourself down with water

------------------------------------------------

3: afterwards...

- decontaminate yourself. Take your clothes off, especially if you've been gassed, and leave them at the door of your home and head to the shower in a palstic bag or trash bag.

- Shower with COLD water. Hot water opens pores and worsens chemical absorption. Rinse eyes and face first, wash your hair THOROUGHLY

- unscented soaps, fragrance oils can worsen contamination

- wash your clothes entirely seperated from your laundry and don't forget to include the afformentioned gloves/oven mitts if also contaminated. Wash on cold water

- DOCUMENT YOUR INJURIES including date, time, severity, and other details. Pictures too. Do a full body survery to make sure nothing is missed.

- Back up all footage and data to somewhere encrypted, preserve the original metadata for court and legal use only, and wipe everything completly of metadata and CENSOR FACES to anything shared publicly. If you're device was handled by the police change your passcode

- while the memories are fresh document everything, a timeline of events, crowd control tactics used, badge numbers of the officers, anything and everything and share only with a legal observer.

- Make sure to calm down and decompress. Check in with others, and yourself too. Hydrate, eat a full meal, get some rest

------------------------------------------------

3.5: If you are..

Arrested:

- to reitterate: do NOT speak to cops. Do NOT speak without a lawyer. KNOW AND EXERCISE YOUR RIGHTS

- If you are under 18 do not speak without a legal guardian, even with a lawyer present, if you can

- if you are injured during your arrest, report it upon arrival to jail. If they refuse care, insist that they document the refusal and note name, date, and time

- if you are assaulted or mistreated in your time there you can report it to legal aid organizations

- REMEMBER: "I am invoking my right to remain silent and my right to an attorney." Repeat as many times as needed

- if you get a phone call, either your emergency contact written on yourself or a jail support hotline is your first priority

- Do not unlock any devices if you can help it

- Upon release, get copies of everything and DOCUMENT. I can't stress that enough

Hospitalized/EMS:

- be honest with them. They don't have to tell the cops shit, they just want to know everything they need to treat you accordingly. Don't lie to them and it'll make their jobs easier.

- Again: THEY ARE NOT THE COPS. BE HONEST WITH THEM.

- ask for your treatment and injuries to be documented, this will help on future court cases as evidence.

- designate a release contact and make sure to follow up on care for anything serious.

I think that officially covers everything I can think of but if anyone has something to add dm me and let me know. I will update this as I find more information, and will get to work on making a better formatted version to print out when I can. Spread this as much as possible and repost wherever.

Stay safe everyone.

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part seven: invisible string

word count: 1.8k

warnings: implied violence? but that's it i think

six | seven | eight

Lando’s mind was sharp, his eyes scanning the scene in his peripheral vision as he moved down the city street, pretending to focus on a text. It was collection week – the time where everyone knew that Norris's boys would come around and collect on all the overdue payments from the past month. Lando himself made a special appearance this time, just for old man Binotto.

That son of a bitch never paid on time.

It would almost be amusing if it wasn’t such a fucking nuisance – like a pebble in his shoe on the 27th of every damn month.

Lando and his boys were known for a particular set of skills. The mob was a business just as much as anything else was – skills and services for a price.

So that would make Lando a commonplace business man. Lando and his crew provided a variety of services for the city’s underworld—protection, intimidation, and, above all, discretion. For those willing to pay, the Circle offered a guarantee that no one would mess with them. Whether it was keeping a business safe from rivals or sending a message to someone who needed reminding, Lando’s men got the job done. The Reaper’s Circle made sure that the people living on their turf had nothing to fear but them. The money then went into funding the city’s most lucrative ventures—high-end casinos, exclusive clubs, and the kind of entertainment that stayed behind closed doors. 

A little something for everyone.

In a world where everyone was looking over their shoulder, the Reaper’s Circle made sure its people didn’t have to. 

All in a day’s work.

This was giving him a fucking migraine.

It had started cordially enough — polite conversation, adequate small talk before delving into their familiar routine. Lando would demand his money, Mattia would act clueless, and then Lando would reacquaint him with their deal until Lando’s knuckles split.

Apparently they were still at the clueless part.

“Come on,” Binotto tutted, placing his clasped hands in his lap, eyes sharp beneath the warm lighting as if he had even some semblance of power in this situation. “We’ve known each other for how long now? What is business between friends?”

Lando gave a slow, calculated smile. “Somehow, I don’t recall us ever being friends,” he replied smoothly, hand coming up to massage his temples.

Binotto, predictably, didn’t like that.

His fingers tightened around his glass. “You are acting like you don’t need friends?”

“I’ve got enough,” Lando rolled his eyes.

Binotto leaned in, his expression darkening. “That is a polite way of telling me to fuck off?”

Lando’s patience thinned. Yes, he wanted to say. Instead, he let the silence speak for itself.

The other man exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Bad idea. A very bad idea.”

"Yeah," he drawled, a smirk on his lips as he stood up. “M’ willin’ to lose sleep over it.”

15 minutes later, Lando turned and walked out, feeling the weight of Binotto’s glare burning into his back. His knuckles ached faintly, already beginning to purple.

Once outside, he exhaled, mind already moving three steps ahead. Binotto wasn’t a real threat, but men like him had a way of becoming problems when left unchecked. And right now, Lando didn’t have the patience for problems.

The Brit counted every bill to make sure each one was accounted for before slipping the thick, worn envelope into one of the pockets inside his jacket. It was important to double check every single detail, he'd learned. He was always aware, always looking over his shoulder. It was how he’d built his empire. 

It was how he’d survived.

But as he turned a corner, his gaze flicked to a head of dark blond hair across the street—Arthur Leclerc, standing at the edge of the sidewalk, eyes flickering as he pretended to scan a storefront, his hand casually adjusting his jacket. It was subtle, almost too subtle, but Lando saw right through it.

Lando smirked to himself. The kid was ambitious, sure, but he had no idea what he was dealing with. No matter how clever he thought he was, he was still the little brother—not the one in charge. 

Arthur was probably just an unwitting pawn in this—too inexperienced to fully grasp what he was trying to do, but Lando couldn’t afford to let him get any closer.

The Leclercs. Always so eager to get involved in things that weren’t theirs.

Lando kept walking, his steps calm but purposeful, allowing Arthur to fall into rhythm behind him. He didn’t want to make this easy. He needed to see how far the kid would go.

Then, just as Lando turned a corner, he spotted another shadow, a darker head of hair this time—a tall figure, with similar gangly features lingering further down the block. 

Lorenzo Leclerc. 

He was older, more calculating, his posture a little more obvious, standing by a streetlight with a phone in his hand, trying to play the part of an innocent bystander. He was watching, waiting for Lando to slip up. Lando’s smirk faltered, and his hand instinctively brushed the gun concealed under his jacket.

Looks like his morning just got more interesting.

Lando’s pulse quickened as he realized he was being double-tailed, and this time, it wasn’t going to be as easy to shake them off. He needed to disappear.

With a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders. He was good at what he did—too good to get caught—but he wasn’t about to let himself get cornered by the Leclercs on a busy street. He needed to vanish. Fast.

His mind worked quickly. The first rule of the game: Never lead them to your next destination. His eyes scanned the street, searching for an exit.

There wasn’t time for a confrontation. Not here, not now. He needed to lose them both—quickly.

Lando ducked into the nearest alley and scanned the area, his instincts already locking onto the perfect escape route. A narrow side street led into a small café with large windows, an unassuming little place that looked as though it could blend into any part of the city. Perfect.

He could blend in, slip into the background, and wait for the Leclerc brothers to pass by. His pace quickened, making a beeline for the door. He slipped through the door, barely drawing attention as the bell above it chimed softly.

But of course, as he moved toward the counter, his eyes landed on a familiar face.

You’ve got to be fuckin’ with me.

He could already feel his irritation rising. There was no way this was happening. No fucking way.

It had to be some kind of cosmic joke.

She was smiling at him, clearly pleased to see him again, completely unaware of how fucked this situation was.

“Liam?” she asked, voice tentative.

Lando froze. Of course, she’d recognize him.

Oh fuck me.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone flat, forcing a tight smile.  She gave him an awkward smile, the kind of smile he’d seen a hundred times before—unsteady, unsure, yet oddly warm. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” she said, the words almost shy as she took a step toward him.

Lando swallowed his irritation, quickly masking it with an aloof expression. “Trust me, I wasn’t planning on it either,” he muttered under his breath.

“Twice in one week!” she mused cheerily, tucking her copy of Crime and Punishment under her arm. “I mean, what are the odds?”

I dunno, but I need 'em to be zero.

“D’you come here often? I haven’t really seen you here that much” she wondered, tilting her head. “Or are you just really, really lucky?”

Lando almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

Instead, he gave her a tight smile, just enough charm to keep her from hopefully asking anymore questions. “What can I say? Good coffee n' all tha'.”

She huffed a soft laugh. “Right, well, I can get you a coffee if you—”

“No,” Lando cut her off, his tone sharp, almost too quick. He needed to keep moving, get out of here before drawing more attention to himself.

“M'fine, really,” he said, his gaze shifting toward the door, willing himself not to look back at her.

“No, thanks,” he said curtly, his eyes already scanning the windows. He wasn’t looking for her, not really. His thoughts were elsewhere. He was thinking of the Leclercs, and how he needed to get out of here without drawing any attention.

Still, her voice broke through his thoughts. “You sure? I could, you know, bring you something.”

Lando didn’t turn to look at her. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t here to entertain her, and he sure as hell wasn’t here to play nice. This was just another complication—another irrelevant, inconvenient detail in his life.

His fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the table, the seconds dragging on in silence. He knew she was still staring at him, probably wondering what the hell was going on, but he couldn’t afford to care.

Y/N stood there for a moment, unsure, then shrugged awkwardly and returned to her side of the counter.

“Just passing through,” he blurted, some semblance of an explanation. Not that he owed her an answer, but… she was only trying to be nice. It wasn’t her fault she’d caught him on a shit day, right?

So Lando was just being polite. 

Politeness. Decency. Yeah, that sort of thing.

Y/N blinked at him, a little caught off guard by his tone. “I hadn’t expected to see you again, especially not so soon,” she said, smiling awkwardly, but there was something else in her eyes now—a curiosity. “Is everything okay?”

Lando didn’t answer right away. He could see the way her eyes darted around, looking at him as if she was trying to piece things together. He couldn’t have her asking questions, couldn’t have her getting too involved.

“M'fine,” he waved off casually. “Just… needed to get out of sight for a moment, yeah?"

“Out of sight? What, are you like… running from the cops or something?” she laughs, her tone teasing.

If only she knew.

“Nah, s'nothing,” he replied coolly, then paused, catching her eye. He studied her for a moment—how she was standing there, so out of place in the chaos of his world. It almost made him question everything. Almost.

Finally, when enough time had passed, Lando took a step toward the exit, but something about the weight of her gaze made him pause. It was the same old pitfall. He was so good at keeping people at arm’s length—he was cold when he needed to be, distant, indifferent—but for some reason, it was different when it came to her. She had a way of making him feel… odd.

“Uh, see you around,” he said, almost too quickly.

And without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out, slipping back into the crowd.

The moment he stepped back onto the street, he allowed himself a brief moment of relief. The Leclercs hadn’t followed him in—yet—but it wouldn’t be long before they realized he’d slipped away again.

The weight of the world was still pressing on him, but now it was tinged with something else—a lingering feeling that wouldn’t quite leave him.

And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the thought that he had just made a mistake.

[gpcwsl]

Leah Williamson x Waitress!Reader

- Hard to focus -

MasterList

Warnings: kissing?

It’s a typical Friday night, and the restaurant is buzzing with activity. You’re weaving through tables with practiced ease, balancing plates and drinks, when you hear the loud laughter of a group that’s just been seated in your section.

As you approach their table, you immediately recognize them. Arsenal Women’s team. Leah Williamson sits near the middle, her blonde hair loosely tied back, her smile lighting up the entire room.

You swallow the slight nerves creeping in and put on your best professional smile. “Good evening! Can I get you all started with some drinks?”

The group turns their attention to you, tossing out orders and banter as you jot everything down. Leah is quiet, her gaze fixed on you as you write. When you glance up, her blue eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the table disappears.

You clear your throat, breaking the moment. “I’ll be back with your drinks,” you say, giving a polite nod before walking off.

As the night goes on, you can’t help but notice Leah’s eyes following you every time you pass by. She’s subtle—her teammates are far more obvious. Beth Mead nudges her, whispering something that makes Leah roll her eyes and mutter a response.

When you return to their table with their food, the teasing starts.

“So,” Beth says, leaning forward with a grin, “do you always get this quiet around attractive waitresses, Leah?”

“Beth,” Leah warns, shooting her a sharp look, though her cheeks flush slightly.

You smile politely, pretending you didn’t hear, but your heart races a little faster. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” you ask, addressing the group.

“Actually,” Katie McCabe cuts in, her grin just as mischievous as Beth’s, “do you have a name? For, you know, great customer service purposes.”

You give them your name with a small laugh, feeling the weight of Leah’s stare.

The rest of the meal is a blur of stolen glances and light teasing from Leah’s friends. By the time you bring the check, Leah is the one to take it, her hand brushing against yours as she does.

“Thanks for putting up with them,” she says softly, her smile more reserved but just as captivating.

“It’s no problem,” you reply, feeling warmth creep into your cheeks.

As the team gathers their things and heads out, Leah lingers behind for a moment. “You work here often?” she asks, her tone casual but her eyes giving her away.

“Yeah, most weekends,” you say, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Leah nods, hesitating for just a second before pulling out a piece of paper and scribbling something down. She slides it toward you.

“If you ever feel like getting dinner instead of serving it,” she says with a small smirk, “give me a call.”

You glance down at the paper—a phone number. When you look back up, Leah’s already walking out the door, her teammates grinning and giving her a hard time as they leave.

You can’t help but smile, tucking the note into your pocket.

You finish your shift that night with a lingering smile, Leah’s number burning a hole in your pocket. By the time you clock out, the restaurant is quiet, and you finally have a moment to replay the evening in your mind. Her smirk, the way her gaze seemed to follow you, the way she lingered just a little longer than she needed to.

When you get home, you stare at the piece of paper for what feels like forever before finally picking up your phone. You type out a simple message, hesitating before hitting send.

You: Hi, Leah. This is the waitress from tonight. Hope I’m not texting too late.

To your surprise, the response is almost immediate.

Leah: Not at all. I was hoping you’d text.

You feel a flutter in your chest, and before you know it, the conversation flows effortlessly. Leah is charming, funny, and easy to talk to. She asks about your job, your interests, and even jokes about her teammates embarrassing her.

Leah: They’ll never let me live it down, by the way. Beth and Katie have been on my case since we left.

You: I could tell. They seemed relentless.

Leah: You have no idea.

The conversation stretches into the early hours, and by the time you finally say goodnight, you’ve already agreed to meet for coffee the following week.

A week later, you’re sitting at a cozy café, nervously sipping on your drink as you wait. When Leah walks in, wearing a simple sweater and jeans, her hair loose around her shoulders, she spots you instantly and smiles.

“You look even better out of uniform,” she says as she sits down, her tone teasing but genuine.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply, earning a soft laugh from her.

The date goes by in a blur. Leah’s easygoing nature puts you at ease, and the chemistry between you is undeniable. She tells stories about her teammates, her career, and her life outside of football, and in return, you share bits of your own world.

By the end of the date, Leah walks you out of the café, her hands tucked into her pockets.

“I don’t usually do this,” she says, stopping just outside the door.

“Do what?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Get this distracted by someone,” she admits, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. “But you… you make it hard to focus on anything else.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world seems to slow. Leah steps closer, her hand brushing against yours.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” she asks softly.

You nod, unable to form words, and before you know it, her lips are on yours—gentle, warm, and everything you didn’t know you’d been waiting for.

When she pulls back, her eyes meet yours, and the smile that spreads across her face is enough to make your heart race.

“Dinner next time,” she says, her voice low but certain. “And this time, I’m paying.”

After that magical first date at the café, you and Leah fall into a rhythm that feels almost effortless. The texts come daily, the late-night calls stretch into the early morning, and every moment you spend together only deepens the pull between you. But there are moments—electric, heart-racing moments—where neither of you can ignore the sheer magnetic attraction that keeps building.

It’s a Friday night when Leah surprises you at work, waiting by the exit just as you’re finishing your shift. She’s leaning against her car, hands in her jacket pockets, her hair slightly tousled by the wind.

“I thought I’d take you home tonight,” she says casually, though the smile she gives you is anything but casual.

“I could’ve taken the bus, you know,” you tease, stepping closer.

Her eyes soften, and she tugs you gently by the hand until you’re standing right in front of her. “I wanted to see you,” she admits, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, the skies open up, rain pouring down out of nowhere. You let out a squeal of surprise, but Leah doesn’t move to run for cover. Instead, she laughs, her eyes locked on yours.

“You’re going to get soaked!” you shout over the rain, but she just shrugs.

“You too,” she counters, stepping even closer until her hands are on your waist.

And then she kisses you. It’s slow and deliberate, her lips warm against yours despite the cold rain falling around you. Her hands slide to your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, and the world around you fades into nothing but her.

By the time you pull away, both of you are drenched and breathless. Leah grins, brushing a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Best rainy night I’ve ever had,” she murmurs.

A month into your relationship, Leah invites you to stay over for the first time. You wake up in her bed, tangled in the soft sheets, with her arm draped lazily across your waist.

She stirs before you do, her lips pressing against your bare shoulder in soft, lingering kisses.

“Morning,” she whispers, her voice husky with sleep.

You turn to face her, smiling as her hand trails up to cup your cheek. “Morning,” you reply, leaning into her touch.

She closes the small distance between you, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that starts slow but quickly deepens. Her hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel her heartbeat against yours as the kiss intensifies.

When you finally break apart, her forehead rests against yours, her eyes half-lidded as she grins. “I could stay here with you all day,” she murmurs.

“Who says we can’t?” you tease, and Leah laughs, pulling you back into another kiss.

It’s a big match for Leah and the team, and you’re in the stands, cheering louder than anyone else. When Arsenal clinches the win, Leah’s face lights up as she scans the crowd, her eyes immediately finding you.

Later, at the post-match celebration, you’re standing off to the side, sipping a drink, when Leah sneaks up behind you.

“Hey,” she says softly, wrapping her arms around your waist. She smells like fresh grass and victory, and the warmth of her body against yours sends a thrill through you.

“You were incredible out there,” you say, turning your head to look at her.

Leah doesn’t reply with words. Instead, she spins you around, cupping your face in her hands before pulling you into a kiss. It’s passionate, almost desperate, like she’s been holding back all night. When she pulls away, you’re both slightly breathless.

“I couldn’t wait anymore,” she admits with a small smile. “I needed to kiss you.”

You smile back, your fingers brushing against the back of her neck. “Anytime, Captain.”

The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, stolen kisses, and soft touches. By the time you leave, Leah’s hand is firmly in yours, her teammates shooting you knowing smiles as you walk out together.

One night, as you’re both curled up on her couch watching a movie, Leah suddenly pauses the screen. You turn to her, confused, but the serious look in her eyes makes your heart skip.

“Hey,” she says softly, brushing a thumb over your hand. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you ask, your voice equally soft.

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching yours. “I’ve never felt like this before,” she admits. “With anyone. You… you make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel.”

You feel your chest tighten, your hand reaching up to cup her face. “Leah…”

“I mean it,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “You’re it for me. I don’t know where this is going, but I know I don’t want it to end.”

Tears sting your eyes as you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s soft but filled with all the emotions you can’t quite put into words. When you pull back, you rest your forehead against hers.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

Leah lets out a shaky breath, pulling you into her arms. “Good. Because I don’t think I could let you go.”

[mariacallous]

Robert F. Kennedy Jr. sent a flood of texts to Bill Nye trying to convince the beloved “Science Guy” of his anti-vax claims.

The old text chain, sent before Kennedy became Donald Trump’s health secretary, was revealed by Nye during a Men’s Health profile of the children’s television presenter.

The barrage of messages from the prominent vaccine skeptic, which the magazine described as “miles and miles of texts,” contained numerous links to articles and websites peddling vaccine-autism conspiracies that Nye said he paid no real attention to.

“Just no self-awareness,” Nye said. “And if you read these articles he sent, they’re all this speculation about autism and just cause-and-effect, and mercury in vaccines, that maybe there’s a connection. I wrote him back and said, ‘Okay, I’ll read your book. I think you’ve confused causation with correlation. Your friend, Bill.’”

The stream of messages did not end there, Nye said, even after he told Kennedy, “Okay, no more texts.”

“He started again! So I cut him off,” Nye said. “He does not have good judgment. He is not suited for this job.”

A Department of Health and Human Services spokesperson disagreed, telling the Daily Beast that Kennedy is “leading one of the most ambitious public health reform efforts in modern history, grounded in evidence, radical transparency, and a true commitment to the American people.”

Kennedy has led a full-blown assault on vaccines as part of the Trump administration’s campaign to restore public “trust” in the lifesaving shots.

That includes the shock move to fire all 17 members of the CDC’s Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (ACIP), an expert panel that evaluates vaccine safety and efficacy. All had been appointed under the Biden administration.

In a Wall Street Journal op-ed, Kennedy said vaccines had become a “divisive issue in American politics” and that public confidence in the health agencies that provide them is ”waning.”

Nye said the increase in vaccine skepticism, which soared amid the COVID-19 pandemic, is having real life negative consequences on people’s lives.

That includes the reaction to a measles outbreak in Texas that primarily hit unvaccinated individuals in the Mennonite community.

“It was a religious sect with historically low vaccination rates. And the argument from the other side is: They have rights not to get vaccinated. No, you don’t,” a frustrated Nye said. “Unvaccinated people can, and usually do, spread a disease. And that’s why we have these rules, for public health! It’s not arbitrary. It’s not about your rights. It’s about my rights, people.”

Nye didn’t hold back on Kennedy’s bizarre public stunts either—like chugging raw milk with health influencer Dr. Paul Saladino to promote the Trump administration’s initially error-riddledMake America Healthy Again report on childhood illness.

“And then this thing where people want to drink raw milk. No, you don’t,” Nye said. “This is very well understood! Louis Pasteur! You guyyys! What is happening?”

[deadpresidents]

"Somehow disruption doesn't begin to cover it. Upheaval might be closer. Revolution maybe. In less than two weeks since being elected again, Donald J. Trump has embarked on a new campaign to shatter the institutions of Washington as no incoming President has in his lifetime.

He has rolled a giant grenade into the middle of the nation's capital and watched with mischievous glee to see who runs away and who throws themselves on it. Suffice it to say, so far there have been more of the former than the latter. Mr. Trump has said that 'real power' is the ability to engender fear, and he seems to have achieved that.

Mr. Trump's early transition moves amount to a generational stress test for the system. If Republicans bow to his demand to recess the Senate so that he can install appointees without confirmation, it would rewrite the balance of power established by the Founders more than two centuries ago. And if he gets his way on selections for some of the most important posts in government, he would put in place loyalists intent on blowing up the very departments they would lead.

He has chosen a bomb-throwing backbench congressman who has spent his career attacking fellow Republicans and fending off sex-and-drugs allegations to run the same Justice Department that investigated him, though it did not charge him, on suspicion of trafficking underage girls. He has chosen a conspiracy theorist with no medical training who disparages the foundations of conventional health care to run the Department of Health and Human Services.

He has chosen a weekend morning television host with a history of defending convicted war criminals while sporting a Christian Crusader tattoo that has been adopted as a symbol by the far right to run the most powerful armed forces in the history of the world. He has chosen a former congresswoman who has defended Middle East dictators and echoed positions favored by Russia to oversee the nation's intelligence agencies.

Nine years after Mr. Trump began upsetting political norms, it may be easy to underestimate just how extraordinary all of this is. In the past, none of those selections would have passed muster in Washington, where a failure to pay employment taxes for a nanny used to be enough to disqualify a cabinet nominee. Mr. Trump, by contrast, has bulled past the old red lines, opting for nominees who are so provocative that even fellow Republicans wondered whether he is trolling them.

The message to Washington is simple, according to Roger Stone, the longtime Trump friend who relishes his own reputation as a political dirty trickster. 'Things are going to be different,' he said by text."

-- Peter Baker, "Trump Signals a 'Seismic Shift,' Shocking the Washington Establishment,' The New York Times, November 17, 2024.

Here's another incisive article about President-elect Donald Trump's transition and his frightening Cabinet nominees, who are abnormal even for Trump and the personality cult that has been built around him since 2015. For the past quarter-century, Peter Baker has been one of the very best, most level-headed analysts of the contemporary American Presidency, and he seems be stunned by the direction the incoming Trump Administration is already heading. Once again, all of these links are gift links to bypass the New York Times paywall so that you may read and share these important pieces and remain alert to the very real consequences of the 2024 election which are already taking shape.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Culture

There are many definitions of culture and it is used in different ways by different people.

Culture - may be defined as patterns of learned and shared behavior that are cumulative and transmitted across generations.

Patterns

There are systematic and predictable ways of behavior or thinking across members of a culture.

Emerge from adapting, sharing, and storing cultural information.

Can be both similar and different across cultures.

Example: In both Canada and India it is considered polite to bring a small gift to a host’s home. In Canada, it is more common to bring a bottle of wine and for the gift to be opened right away. In India, by contrast, it is more common to bring sweets, and often the gift is set aside to be opened later.

Sharing

Culture is the product of people sharing with one another.

Humans cooperate and share knowledge and skills with other members of their networks.

The ways they share, and the content of what they share, helps make up culture.

Example: Older adults remember a time when long-distance friendships were maintained through letters that arrived in the mail every few months. Contemporary youth culture accomplishes the same goal through the use of instant text messages on smartphones.

Learned

Behaviors, values, norms are acquired through a process known as enculturation that begins with parents and caregivers, because they are the primary influence on young children.

Caregivers teach kids, both directly and by example, about how to behave and how the world works.

They encourage children to be polite, reminding them, for instance, to say “Thank you.” They teach kids how to dress in a way that is appropriate for the culture.

Culture teaches us what behaviors and emotions are appropriate or expected in different situations.

Example: In some societies, it is considered appropriate to conceal anger. Instead of expressing their feelings outright, people purse their lips, furrow their brows, and say little. In other cultures, however, it is appropriate to express anger. In these places, people are more likely to bare their teeth, furrow their brows, point or gesture, and yell (Matsumoto, Yoo, & Chung, 2010).

Learned: Rituals

Members of a culture also engage in rituals which are used to teach people what is important.

Example 1: Young people who are interested in becoming Buddhist monks often have to endure rituals that help them shed feelings of specialness or superiority—feelings that run counter to Buddhist doctrine. To do this, they might be required to wash their teacher’s feet, scrub toilets, or perform other menial tasks.

Example 2: Similarly, many Jewish adolescents go through the process of bar and bat mitzvah. This is a ceremonial reading from scripture that requires the study of Hebrew and, when completed, signals that the youth is ready for full participation in public worship.

These examples help to illustrate the concept of enculturation.

Cumulative

Cultural knowledge is information that is “stored” and then the learning grows across generations.

We understand more about the world today than we did 200 years ago, but that doesn’t mean the culture from long ago has been erased.

Example: Members of the Haida culture, a First Nations people in British Columbia, Canada are able to profit from both ancient and modern experiences. They might employ traditional fishing practices and wisdom stories while also using modern technologies and services.

Transmission

Passing of new knowledge and traditions of culture from one generation to the next, as well as across other cultures is cultural transmission.

In everyday life, the most common way cultural norms are transmitted is within each individuals’ home life.

Each family has its own, distinct culture under the big picture of each given society and/or nation.

With every family, there are traditions that are kept alive.

The way each family acts and communicates with others and an overall view of life are passed down.

Parents teach their kids every day how to behave and act by their actions alone.

Outside of the family, culture can be transmitted at various social institutions like places of worship, schools, even shopping centers are places where enculturation happens and is transmitted.

Understanding culture as a learned pattern of thoughts and behaviors is interesting for several reasons:

It highlights the ways groups can come into conflict with one another. Members of different cultures simply learn different ways of behaving. Teenagers today interact with technologies, like a smartphone, using a different set of rules than people who are in their 40s, 50s, or 60s. Older adults might find texting in the middle of a face-to-face conversation rude while younger people often do not. These differences can sometimes become politicized and a source of tension between groups. One example of this is Muslim women who wear a hijab, or headscarf. Non-Muslims do not follow this practice, so occasional misunderstandings arise about the appropriateness of the tradition.

Understanding that culture is learned is important because it means that people can adopt an appreciation of patterns of behavior that are different than their own.

Understanding that culture is learned can be helpful in developing self-awareness. For instance, people from the United States might not even be aware of the fact that their attitudes about public nudity are influenced by their cultural learning. While women often go topless on beaches in Europe and women living a traditional tribal existence in places like the South Pacific also go topless, it is illegal for women in some of the United States to do so. These cultural norms for modesty that are reflected in government laws and policies also enter the discourse on social issues such as the appropriateness of breastfeeding in public. Understanding that your preferences are, in many cases, the products of cultural learning might empower you to revise them if doing so will lead to a better life for you or others.

Humans use culture to adapt and transform the world they live in and you should think of the word culture as a conceptual tool rather than as a uniform, static definition.

Culture changes through interactions with individuals, media, and technology, just to name a few.

Culture generally changes for one of 2 reasons:

Selective transmission or

to meet changing needs.

This means that when a village or culture is met with new challenges, for example, a loss of a food source, they must change the way they live.

It could also include forced relocation from ancestral domains due to external or internal forces.

Example: In the United States, tens of thousands Native Americans were forced to migrate from their ancestral lands to reservations established by the United States government so it could acquire lands rich with natural resources. The forced migration resulted in death, disease and many cultural changes for the Native Americans as they adjusted to new ecology and way of life.

Source ⚜ More: On Psychology ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[mudshare]

Text Messaging Services for Political Campaigns | Mudshare

Mudshare offers P2P text messaging services for political campaigns, changes your outreach strategy, and connects your wider audience. Our P2P texting software allows politicians to reach out to the voters successfully and efficiently with an excellent 95% open rate track record of boosting revenue. Don't wait to visit the website for more information.

[writeonwhiskey]

Summer in Seoul: Ch 3

word count: 620 [ fic master list ]

You toss and turn all night, thanks to the time difference. When your alarm goes off at 9:00am, it feels like you’ve only taken a short nap. But, having a new task added to your day because of the cracked screen, you decide to get up instead of snoozing it. After getting dressed, you have to use your computer to look up and write down literal turn by turn directions like some stone aged heathen. You drop your phone off at the repair shop, then go to a nearby cafe and watch some Korean language videos on your laptop while you wait. 

It only takes an hour before they email you saying the phone is ready for pickup. You pay the nearly 200,000 won out of pocket, as it will be too much of a hassle to go through your insurance in another country. 

On the walk back to the hotel, you finally take your phone out of airplane mode and you’re inundated with vibrations for missed calls and messages. You had already let your mom and boss know you landed via email, so nothing needs an urgent response. You see a voicemail from an unknown foreign number and a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips—he is a man of his word. You put the phone to your ear and listen as it plays.

“Hey, uh, just checkin’ to see if you got your phone fixed. Straight to voicemail so I guess not, eh?”

And that’s it. That’s the message.

It makes you laugh. He also sent a follow up text an hour later through WhatsApp.

Unknown [10:08am] Still cracked?

You [1:33pm]

Not anymore.

You put your phone in your pocket and continue back to the hotel without thinking too much more of it. 

The rest of the afternoon is filled with preparing for your pitch tomorrow. It isn’t until sometime in the evening that you hear the WhatsApp notification tone. 

Unknown [6:41pm] Good. What do I owe ya? Still cracked?

You [6:43pm]

Nothing It’s my fault for not having a screen protector.

Unknown [6:45pm] That’s true 😊 But still, I feel bad

You [6:47pm]

I’m only here on business, so it’s safe to assume I’ll never see you again You can forget about it.

Unknown [6:50pm] Unfortunately I have a terribly good memory.

Part of you is happy for this break in your train of thought to get work off your mind. You call down to order room service before replying. 

You [6:52pm]

Oh? What color was my phone?

Unknown [6:53pm] I’m not sure...

You [6:54pm]

See? You'll forget about this in no time. 

You stare at the phone for a moment, to see if he starts typing a response but he doesn’t. His status changes to inactive. You sit your phone down and return your attention to work until the room service arrives. 

After eating you call it a night early, still needing to catch up on sleep. While you’re settling into bed, you get another notification.

Unknown [9:23pm] Well, you had a phone case. It was lilac. So I couldn’t see the color of the phone. It’s got a black pop socket with a golden sun 😉

As you hold your phone (with its lilac case and black pop socket), you can only shake your head. You’re genuinely surprised. He seemed to be focused on other things at the time. You start to type out a reply but delete it halfway through. You’re not even sure what to say at this point. There’s a part of you that wants to keep talking to him, but you don’t know if he’s reaching out to be polite or something else entirely.  

You think about asking him to meet up, bargaining that he could treat you to a meal instead of paying for the repair. You don’t know if it’s too forward, though…or what exactly you would want to come out of seeing him again. It has been a couple months since your last Tinder tryst, so getting some kind of flirtatious or physical action would be nice while you’re here.

Alas, you think better of it and push the thoughts aside. You don’t need to be focusing on anything other than tomorrow’s meeting right now.

a/n: he's so cuuuute! [ read chapter four here ]

[otp-after-dark]

The more distance I get from the THT show, the clearer it becomes: The show had gold in its hands and chose to water it down with moral lessons, muddled messaging, and motherhood melodrama.

The more I sit with Atwood’s original text — the more glaring it becomes: the writers (and most of the cast, not including Max Minghella) never truly understood what this story was about. Season 1 got it. After that, they got scared of it. They chose a political message over the truth.

Nick was never meant to be some ambiguous red flag. He was a double cop. A man surviving within the system to help dismantle it. Loyal to a fault? Maybe. But always aligned with the right side. Not a Commander. Not a cautionary tale for women. The show’s later seasons twisted his character into something unrecognizable — all in service of delivering a warped “feminist” message about distrusting disillusioned men. And in doing so, they erased the central truth: he was redeemed and transformed through love. Period.

I read a few fan fics over the weekend set in the post-4x10 world, and my favorites all remembered what the show forgot. They lean into the heart of it — Nick and June as partners in revolution. Equals. Still messy and complicated, but fully seen. They let June be brave and fearless again — not perfect, but raw and real. Someone who fights not just against the world, but for something: love, connection, freedom. It reminded me of who she used to be. Who Offred was. It’s a shame the writers let that version of her slip away.

But the betrayal goes even deeper than that. Around Season 2, they started to shift the focus from womanhood to motherhood. And no, they’re not the same as I've continued to yell. Suddenly, June’s every choice was framed through the lens of being a mother. Hannah became the motivator, the obsession, to the point where June’s identity outside of that role was flattened. It wasn't about sexual awakening anymore. Or desire. Or resistance through love. It was about sacrifice, obligation, and pain.

Characters like Eden and Rose didn’t exist to explore anything meaningful — they were plot devices designed to create friction, to keep June and Nick apart, to dilute the love story because God forbid a woman be driven by passion instead of duty. The message became clear: being a mother was noble, being a lover was selfish. And that’s a complete betrayal of Atwood’s thesis. I resent it completely.

Even when the show was compelling (and yes, I still think Season 2 had brilliance in it), it was already drifting. The boldness of Offred was being replaced by the martyrdom of June. The sensuality, the rebellion, the humanity — traded out for pain and politics.

Because ultimately, that’s what they cared about: delivering a political message. Not telling a story. Not honoring the raw, intimate, dangerously beautiful thing Atwood actually wrote. No — they wanted a thesis about fascism, about warning signs, about women’s pain as spectacle. And in doing so, they flattened everything that made the original narrative alive. They stopped trusting the audience to sit in complexity and chose instead to preach.

The love story? Too inconvenient. The desire? Too messy. The moral ambiguity? Too risky. So they sanitized it. Made June a symbol. Made Nick a question mark. Made the whole story about lessons instead of people.

This was never just a story about fascism or women's rights. I couldn't disagree more with anti folks saying that. Yes, those things are present — undeniably and importantly. Gilead is a dystopia built on patriarchal control. There’s no denying the show wanted to scream this could happen and pay attention. But reducing The Handmaid’s Tale to just a cautionary tale about political extremism completely misses the deeper current running through it. It wasn’t written as a warning manual. It was a character study. A psychological exploration. A meditation on intimacy, survival, and the war between outer control and inner freedom. To center only the politics is to strip the story of its emotional soul.

It was a story about desire. Love as resistance. Sex as survival. Not just romantic desire — though that, too — but the kind of hunger that lives in your skin. The longing for touch, for freedom, for selfhood. For danger. For someone who sees you when the whole world erases you. It was about love as rebellion. About how passion can crack open even the most totalitarian systems. About how claiming your own body — and your own heart — is the most radical act of all. That’s what Offred understood. That’s what Nick represented. That’s what made their story more than a romance — it made it the point. The engine. The core.

Let’s be honest — I got none of my Season 6 wishes. But the one thing I wanted more than anything was just one moment of emotional honesty from June. A full circle moment where she finally said the real reason she fell in love with Nick. Not out of convenience. Not survival. But because he saw her when she couldn’t see herself. When she thought she was dead inside, he awakened something in her that no man before her ever had or will. He made her feel alive and free to be her true self. He made her his #1, always. And she loved him for it. All I wanted, just once, was for her to own that. To say it out loud. To give him the gift of being seen, chosen, loved back — fully, clearly, with no agenda. Something I do believe the real Offred would have done. The one from the book. The one who knew how dangerous and beautiful it was to want in a world built to destroy you for it. And yeah maybe 6x03 and 6x06 hinted at it but she chickened out in the end when she saw the full cost of it.

Instead of leaning into that — the complexity, the fearlessness, the beauty in the mess — the show backed away. It chose martyrdom over passion. Message over humanity. And in doing so, it lost its pulse. Every great story I’ve ever known — the ones that stick to your bones — has love at the core. This one did too. Until it didn’t.

In the end, I’m left with the feeling that June was the cautionary tale, not Nick — not a character to admire, but one to pity. Not someone whose strength you aspire to, but someone you’re warned not to become. And that breaks my heart. Because she was bold once. Daring. Fearless in her desire and relentless in her love. She was complicated and alive and real. A woman worth aspiring to, not warning against.

And now? She’s a symbol. A warning. They traded her fire for a disillusioned feminist lesson — and called it empowerment.

[streamdotpng]

Art Commissions! Old commission sheet here.

Note: Prices can change and vary depending on what is being commissioned! I'm generally flexible when it comes to prices and budget.

+10-15 usd per person

+5-10 usd depending on the background

Note: There can be additional charges due to paypal fees

If more examples are needed, you can go through commission work, rendered, my art or ask for more in DM's!

Can Draw!

Fanart

oc’s/humanoids

pngtuber models

character sheets

horror, gore (not excessive)

Chibi

NSfW

Yes I can do full-body aswell

Might Draw (We’ll need to talk about these requests)

full on furries (not so experienced)

excessive gore/horror (same excuse as above)

comics

honestly, if it isn’t in the Can Draw, let’s talk about it.

Will not:

hate art

anything political

if it crosses my boundaries

Terms and Service! (this is a long one)

The client may ask for progress updates every 2-4 days, if not longer, should the commissionee not be in contact.

The art may take longer than the estimated time the artist gives. Should that be an issue or concern, the client must tell the artist.

In commissioning the artist, the client acknowledges that the artist is a student and that this is not the artist’s full time job, and the client should not expect the artist to be able to treat it as such.

IMAGE RIGHTS

The client may not, in any way shape or form, use the art in a commission product for NFTs, no matter how much they offer to pay the artist. Should NFTs be made of the art without consent, the client gives full consent for the artist to take legal action against them.

The client may make minor edits to the completed commission (e.g. cropping, adding text/borders, changing brightness/contrast/hue/saturation…

The client may use/reupload the commission for personal/non-commercial use, but only if proper credit to the artist and a linkback to any of the artist’s social media is provided.

If the commission includes characters that do not belong the client, additional credit to the owner(s)/creator(s) of said characters must be provided when using/reuploading for personal/non-commercial use.

The client may not use the commission for any commercial use unless discussed with the artist beforehand.

^ Should the client use the art for commercial use, provided the artist’s consent, the artist will receive an agreed-upon percentage of the sales profits.

The client MUST credit the artist for any usage of the art on any platform.

The client MUST ask the artist if they want to use their art as a reference, and proceed to credit each time the reference is used.

REVISION POLICIES

Once the coloring stage begins, the only major revisions permitted are details that the artist may have missed and was specified by the client in the order while the commission was still in the sketching/lineart stage (e.g. a missing tattoo that’s essential to the character’s design).

If the client is unsatisfied with the commission, the artist is willing to discuss and make minor edits as stated prior (e.g. adjusting colors). However, the artist will not redraw the piece and expects full payment, as the client should have specified in the sketch stage changes they wanted to be made.

The client may not hire another artist to adjust the image without the commissionee’s consent.

The artist is willing to edit the image post commission for the commissioner, but may charge a small fee depending on what is being asked of them.

Upon commissioning the artist, the client automatically agrees to the terms of service provided, as it is assumed they have read them.

-

…and that’s about it? Just don’t expect me to be obligated to draw something and we'll figure something out. Not to mention that depending on how much commissions i’m getting and how busy i am, the art will take atleast a few days to a week!

If you got references, provide them! It’ll help alot. You can also ask for progress updates, just don’t mind me accidentally not seeing the message bc this is tumblr and I don’t get notifs for some reason.

as of rn, I do comms in Vgen but I can also accept payment through ko-fi and PayPal invoices!

But ye! That’s about it, thanks for seeing this yall. If you want to see more examples, simply look at the tags below in my account!

[kernsing]

Because the AO3 author’s notes character limit hates me, I am posting this to Tumblr. Please enjoy me rambling on about fictional fathers, ft. HSR Jing Yuan & TWST Lilia Vanrouge (I refer to TWST chapter 7 dynamics below but without detailed spoilers).

I love it when a narrative is like, “Woe. Unconditional love of a child be upon thee,” to a depressed fictional man. Gotta be one of my favorite dynamics for real.

Jing Yuan reminds me a lot of Lilia Vanrouge from Twisted Wonderland. Like yeah the long-life species army general single parent things are the obvious connections but also I think they both share the same parenting flaws (physical and/or emotional distance out of not wanting to burden their child(ren) with their own pain; discounting their child(ren)’s love for them because they see themselves as fundamentally unloveable—which is more of a headcanon on JY’s part, but it’s real to me; letting their underage child be in the military and/or giving them intensive military training). Also Yanqing’s dynamic re Jing Yuan is like a mashup of both Malleus (weird political/formal distance in an obviously parental relationship) & Silver’s (wanting to repay an adoptive parent for their love, through military service even, when the parent doesn’t see a need for it; secret past his dad told him nothing about) dynamics re Lilia. Oh god, this is why I think Jing Yuan sucks at cooking; it’s the Lilia associations (plus Jing Yuan giving Yanqing money for food/eating takeout in “Taking It Easy”: there’s no way this man can cook). Also no wonder why I like Diasomnia so much. Sometimes a family dorm can be a single father, his two children, and their screaming pet crocodile. If you know you know.

Disclaimer I’m not saying I think Lilia or Jing Yuan are necessarily “bad dads,” in fact I have said and will say again Lilia Vanrouge is literally the father of the millennium (if you know you know) & I don’t really like categorizing people as “bad” or “good” (vs. action/intent/consequence). Every parent has their flaws, some are better and some are worse (in action/intent/consequence), re Jing Yuan and Lilia their kids love/respect them and want to be around them so they’re on the better side of things in my book.

Plus, I do think Yanqing picking up the sword was something he wanted to do himself at the very beginning, c.f. Jingliu’s Myriad Celestia Trailer where he talks about his reasons for doing so—and attributes his original desire to Jing Yuan telling him stories about Jingliu, before saying anything about expectations (and where he talks about repaying Jing Yuan’s teachings at the same time, so presumably after he’s started learning). So I do see a difference in parenting quality between Jing Yuan and say, Crepus from Genshin Impact, whose expectations for Diluc seem more heavy-handed/originating from Crepus himself. Yanqing’s pressures I think actually stem a lot from political/societal circumstances external to the Jing household, although Jing Yuan’s reticence does contribute to them.

There is that line in the kitty text message conversation about how in Yanqing’s earliest memories, he’s already being taught something by Jing Yuan. I think you can interpret that something as anything from reading to (if the previous paragraph is unconvincing) swordplay, but in my heart of hearts it is playing the flute.

Jing Yuan and Crepus both get failing grades in the “don’t let your kids be child soldiers” action/consequence column though. Lilia is on thin ice because it seems like Silver is only Malleus’s retainer/bodyguard and not like, on active combat duty or whatever, but there was still the childhood intensive training era until Lilia chilled out. I still have to catch up on TWST chapter 7 though.

[the-fo0l]

Micheal Scofield dating hcs

notes: it's criminal crazy kooky insane how little content there is for this show

warnings: gn reader, s1 lore, super soft fluff!!!! also idc if u think its out of charater let me be delulu

he's so babygirl

a very devoted boyfriend (im pretty sure i say that in all my hcs but its true!!)

just so soft and polite and gentle with you aaaaa

doesn't notice just how hard he's fallen for you until he has to be apart from you a long while

such a gentleman, his intentions towards you are always respectful

before you we're offical he had quite the crush on you

sometimes you could notice that cool, calm, witty demeanor of his becoming more bashful and jittery around you

daydreamed a lot about you and your potential future together. what it'd be like to live with you, to start the day by your side, how you'd show affection, how you'd express diffrent emotions, what you'd talk about, your niche interests and quirks— etc

slightly creepy but he did do a bit of research on you to make sure he hit it off with you as best as he could

always says good night and good morning, over text if not in person

just imagine waking up, still cuddling, but with a little distance so he can properly take in your sleepy morning face

him just gazing at you so lovingly, his gentle smile growing a little bigger seeing you open your eyes, then moving one hand from your waist to caress your cheek and murmur "good morning" with his sultry morning voice

GOOD LORDDD

he developed a new-found love for his job when you two started dating cause thanks to it he can properly provide for you

and provide he does

doesn't think you should have to work a day in your life (unless you wanted to)

he'd hate for you to stay at a job you're miserable at

super proud of you for all your accomplishments

when you have to seperate while walking to avoid something in the street, be immediately reaches back to interwine your fingers again

expresses all love languages in some way but 'acts of service' is his main one

amazing at gift giving and romantic gestures

just when you think he can't possibly out-do last year's anniversary/birthday gift he suprises you with something super elaborate and meaningful

absent-mindedly makes origami flowers for you at work. you'll also find them all over your apartment, some hidden, some in plain sight

at some point he started writing messages on them. some with the most loving praise you've ever heard and some w cheesy pickup lines

p.s. he grins ear to ear when he finds out you've got a special box for them all instead of throwing them away

when you're both still a little tired in the morning, or when either of you comes home after a long day, he peppers delicate kisses all over your face, ending with a deeper kiss to your lips

your touch just makes all the headaches of his day-to-day melt away

also takes both your hands and kisses your knuckles while looking at you with all the love and admiration in the world god lord

okay enough with the kissing!

always opens doors for you

compliments you often, and always uses words like stunning or beautiful instead of "hot

loves making you flustered with praise

he's an amazing listener, and he looooves listening to you talk

also, he's quite intense with the eye-contact

he thinks you're the most gorgeos person in the world what can i say

it might seem like he's not paying attention sometimes cause of how lost-in-your-eyes he seems but i assure you he remembers every little thing you say

nods along and hums a little to let you know he's listening

"i remember you said you liked this, so i got it for you" typa guy

you're happy = he's happy

will often sometimes call you to talk about nothing really important, more just for the sake of hearing your voice

and if you're not much of a talker that's fine too, the silent moments you share are never awkward

he's canonically super observant, so if you changed anything about your apperance or if you were in a bad mood he'd notice right away, even if you tried to hide it

great at comfort too, that silky-smooth voice of his knows exactly what to say

he's a very handsome guy (i mean cmon just look at him) so he tends to get hit-on quite a bit

he'd always brushed it off before but ever since he set his sights on you he's been very adamant on very clearly and quickly rejecting others' attempts

when he was making plans to break linc out of prison, a huge amount of his focus went to making sure you were kept safe during the whole process

having you be there from him after news broke and after linc got the death sentence already meant so much to him

so when he trusted you the broad strokes of his plan, and you supported him??? ohmygod this man fell in love with you all over again

yes, he was worried, but he had to tell you, spending days obsessing over prison schematics and getting full body tattoos is rather hard to hide from the love of your life after all

granted, he could have broken up with you and tried to rekindle after he'd escaped, but be fr he could never bring himself to dump you

you never know what may go wrong, and his love for you wasn't exactly a secret, so he took every precaution he could (as in like if someone wanted to harm you cause of your association with him)

he was still super anxious to let go of you

gave you the most passionate and desperate kiss before he went to prison

gets really really homesick for you

calls you whenever he can

would sometimes get teary-eyed from how hard he misses you before falling asleep in his bunk

would lose his mind if something didn't go according to his carefully constructed plan and put you at risk, cause there's not much he can do to control what happens outside foxriver. if t-bag ever found out about you he'd. freak. out.

he's willing to go to great lengths for the people he cares about (it's like the whole plot of the show), so you'd better not play w his beloved

on the rare occasions he has down-time in prison his thoughts always go to you and what you might be up to

he's surrounded by murderers daily and has the gall to be worried about you

sucre would pester him about his love-life a lot. insisting that he recognized yearning in michael's distant expression and saying that no single man could've helped him woo maricruz with that letter (michael writes love letters for you too)

sucre does eventually pull it out of michael and becomes just the biggest supporter of your relationship

this was kinda messy huh

[utilitycaster]

different anon, but the "theist DNI" ask was hilarious to me because I am still reeling from the post and especially OP going "the gods aren't really gods (because they're not omnipotent but just really powerful)" in it and then in the replies doubling down on the standpoint of "gods aren't real" - apparently just over the bank, basically conflating real world and Exandria in one fell swoop with this Universal Truth(tm) - because of course they can't produce any analysis of worth. they refuse to engage with basic tenets of the setting that do not fit their particular worldview. it really time and again comes back to people being unable to engage with religious concepts beyond a very superficial and milque-toast "Christianity evil, actually"

Yeah, this is true for like...a lot of the people claiming Campaign 3 is Great and we are all Not Leftist nor Intellectual Enough nor Capable of Parsing Black and White Morality; they say that and then they make and reblog posts with messages like "well you see the Good Brown People who were Colonized will Always be radicalized solely in the name of their own liberation haha don't look at any historical events from the last century", and in the end I do think it is all mostly in the name of trying to support the conclusion that killing the gods is definitely the right answer, and trying to work backwards from there to make the text fit.

I really didn't address the point that their arguments about the gods not being "real gods" were absolutely nonsensical (pro-tip: in a media analysis you can't just reference other works of fiction nor, if any of these ignoramuses did, literary and/or political theory, without actually analyzing them and drawing comparisons in the service of a thesis; "gods in this work are different than the gods in Exandria" is not actually a meaningful statement given that it's like yes Runescape and Exandria are two entirely different settings, things are different) but as always, follow the thread and the implications and you'll find the problems: so if the problem is that the gods are powerful but not all powerful, or don't admit they're not all powerful...does that mean they're ok? If they had given Ashton and Imogen what they wanted, would that mean that killing the titans and Aeor was totally fine? Is your argument that the gods are a colonizing force because they are from outside of Exandria and because they (with the people of Exandria) killed the titans (but the people of Exandria are ok for doing this for reasons of [crickets]) or is your argument that they are a colonizing force bc they didn't kiss your blorbo so sweetly on the head and tell them everything they were doing was good and correct? Because this really is leaning towards the latter. It is, again, an individual grievance falsely claimed to be a system of oppression.

And that's really the key. We are looking at a party with a lot of valid personal traumas, but virtually nothing in the way of in-world systemic oppression, and I do not think it is a coincidence that this party has a unique appeal for a group of people who are overwhelmingly white, overwhelmingly from financially stable upbringings, overwhelmingly from wealthy Western countries, and overwhelmingly people who were raised Christian, left the religion, became some kind of dullard nihilist who labors under the misapprehension that this makes them leftist, and really, really fucking hate being reminded that they are not, in fact, remotely close to being Christianity's greatest victims. It has a unique appeal for people who are obsessed with painting themselves as powerless to enact change - who, as I said in earlier tags and also like a billion posts dating back to at least early 2023, fetishize and glorify a lack of agency - because then haha you can't blame them! they can't do anything! I think they're REALLY mad, actually, that one of the most prominent critiques of Campaign 3 has become "this indecision and inaction and endless waffling is actually insufferable" because that drives a spike through the idea that you can evade judgment through doing nothing, despite this being like, one of the most basic ethical concepts. And again just as I don't think the CR cast is doing THAT message on purpose any more so than a (horrendously flawed to the point of failure) anticolonialism message, I just think that the mismatch of plot and character and the multitude of issues in the execution have unintentionally presented themselves in this manner.

Anyway yeah this inability to consider the idea that maybe Bells Hells have a wildly limited viewpoint and so do you is superficial, it's self-obsessed, and it's so goddamn banal.