#but i do NOT want to take that avenue it’s too messy

[buckets-and-trees]

This look is so intense, so don't-give-a-fuck. It does darker things to me... And the hair is a bit messy. It got my muse spiraling down a bit of a dirty course of thought.

Title: Parking Lot Chem Characters/Pairings: raunchy!Bucky x curvy!female reader Word Count: 6.7k Summary: In a bit of a loser era, divorced, dirty, not giving much of a damn about anything, Bucky works a bit of an unconventional night shift that leaves him with a lot of time to kill.

Content Warnings: modern AU, hook up culture, explicit and rough smut, oral (male receiving)/deep throating, vaginal fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, objectification, naked vs. clothed imbalance, coercion, use of "baby" as a term of endearment, dacryphilia, praise, mild degradation (teasing/mean but not vicious), general dirty talk, slight innocence/ruining kink, implied cockwarming, cum play/marking, sex in a semi-public place

Author Notes: I moved to a new apartment in the spring, and I noticed kind of an interesting thing that happens on weeknights across the street from my place. It got my mind spinning, and months later, I'm finally playing with the concept.

Logistical Notes: My July entry for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky-Bingo using the DEEP THROATING prompt and week 9 of Hot Bucky Summer using the WET AND MESSY prompt.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“Fuck,” he whispers in the dark. Desire and adrenaline rev in his veins at the sight of your headlights parking just where he’d told you to, across the street from the business park complex, in front of the residential apartments.

Bucky’s been working this job for six weeks, and it’s a joke, but it’s a decent-paying joke of a job. From 10pm until 6am, all he has to do is periodically drive a pick up truck around around the large parking lot that services the two business buildings to the north and south of the lot, make sure no one from the apartments across the street to the east or west side park in the lot overnight, and ticket and boot any cars if a resident or visitor is stupid enough to roll the dice and try. Yellow-amber flashing lights affixed to the roof of the truck’s cab, it’s Bucky’s responsibility to deter and keep things clear so that the employees for the companies housed at this business complex can show up and park free of cars, at least one potential hassle eliminated from their corporate working routine.

Eight hours of paid nearly-free time, unbothered by anyone or anything, in the quiet of the night.

He won’t work this job forever, but it sure as shit beats some of the other unappealing options after getting fired from his last job.

He’s read a lot of books sitting in this truck’s cab. He’s played a lot of games on his phone. He’s started putting in a lot of applications for other jobs and even a couple of masters programs. He’s too caught up on news, memes, and social media.

A couple of weeks ago he decided to download a couple of dating apps again, fish and see what’s out there. He’s been divorced for two years now, and Steve and Sam have been dropping hints that he should try and put himself out there again.

Last week he downloaded an app he saw mentioned by a couple of people in chats on the other dating apps - this one known for being a thinly veiled “dating” app full of people who might not be looking for a date so much as a bit of unattached fun.

He started talking to you two nights ago.

There really were plenty of people who were trying to use this particular app for legitimate dating.

But there were subtle signs, particular turns of phrase, avenues of conversation that you could test the waters with to uncover someone else who just wanted to quench some thirst.

And here you were.

Bucky shifts the truck from idle, and drives down the row of parking spaces, turns left to slowly drive down the north side, looking like he’s making one of his routine twice-an-hour laps around the lot, and then takes another left when he gets to the end. He flashes his headlights, and then he smiles as he sees you push open your door and slip out of the car.

“Fuck,” he moans, taking in the first sight of you.

You hastily look both ways - confirming that no one is coming down the road at this godforsaken time of night - then cross the street and step up to the curb just as Bucky pulls up next to you.

He reaches across to push the door open for you - a friendly gesture, certainly not a gentlemanly one, as there is nothing gentlemanly about his intentions toward you tonight.

“Hi,” you say, almost a little breathless. He assumes you must be a little nervous.

That’s cute.

He’s going to ruin you.

If you took any notice of the way he leers at you as you climb up into the cab with him, you would know, and you might hesitate or rethink this poor decision.

But you don’t.

And now the wolf has his prey.

He won’t harm you, but he’s certainly going to have his way with you.

"Hey there," Bucky replies, his voice a low rumble. "Glad you could make it."

You settle into the passenger seat, your eyes darting around the cab nervously. The air feels thick with anticipation. Bucky drinks in the sight of you - flushed cheeks, slightly disheveled hair, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying your excitement.

He puts the truck in drive and cruises slowly through the lot, amber lights still flashing above. "So," he drawls, "first time doing something like this?"

You nod, biting your lip. "Yeah, I've never... I mean, I don't usually..."

Bucky chuckles. You might be lying, but he thinks it’s probably true that you haven’t hooked up on this app before. If you made a habit of it, this probably would’ve happened the first night you started chatting.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. You’re safe with me." His hand leaves the steering wheel, landing on your thigh. You inhale sharply at the contact, but don't pull away. And he’s not lying. You’re safe, but he plans to thoroughly ruin you before sunrise.

He feels your muscles tense under his palm, but you don't push him away. Instead, you ease into his touch ever so slightly. Bucky smirks, knowing he's got you right where he wants you. But he will play this out slowly.

"So," he says, his voice low and husky, "what you're hoping to get out of tonight."

You swallow hard, your eyes fixed on his hand on your thigh. "I… I'm not sure.” Then your eyes flicked back up to his. “I just knew I wanted to meet you."

Bucky's thumb begins to trace small circles on your leg, inching higher with each rotation. "That so? Well, I've got a few ideas of my own, if you're interested."

He feels the tiny shiver roll through your body, and he bites back a groan.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but tell me more about you. What’s a sweet thing like you needing a dating app for?” he asks, steering you into conversational waters. He wants you to get more comfortable with him, relaxed, so he can ultimately have you completely pliant for him.

You laugh nervously, a hint of self-deprecation in your voice. "Oh, you know. Work keeps me busy. I don't really get out much."

Bucky nods, his eyes still on the road as he steers the truck around another corner of the lot. "What kind of work do you do?"

"I'm in marketing," you reply, relaxing a bit as the conversation turns to safer ground. "It's interesting, but the hours can be long. What about you? Do you... always work nights like this?"

Bucky chuckles. "Nah, this is just temporary. Needed something to pay the bills while I figure out my next move."

His hand is still on your thigh, warm and heavy. He can tell you're acutely aware of it, of how his thumb continues its lazy circles, inching higher with each pass. Your breath catches as he reaches a particularly sensitive spot, and he stops with the circles, but leaves his hand there. He loves that you wore leggings. He can feel every movement of your muscles. You’re stupid for not knowing how intimate that is - or for underestimating how it would drive him wild. He continues to drive. He only needs to circle the lot every thirty to forty-five minutes, but he knows this driving is part of easing you further into this.

"So, marketing," Bucky muses, his voice a low rumble. "That must keep you on your toes. Always chasing the next trend, right?"

You give a small nod, your gaze flickering between his hand still resting on your thigh the unchanging view - familiar to him, but unfamiliar to you - as he continues to drive. "Yeah, it can be pretty intense. But I like the challenge."

Bucky hums in agreement, his eyes alternating between you and the road. "I bet you're good at it too. Reading people, figuring out what they want."

You laugh nervously. "I try. But clearly I'm not that good at reading situations, or I wouldn't be here."

Bucky's hand tightens slightly on your thigh. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. I think you read this situation perfectly."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with promise. You swallow hard, your pulse quickening.

"Just two people wanting to spend time together - nothing more complicated than that,” he reassures you. It’s not a lie. And then he leads you down a slew of safe paths of conversation. Your family, your roommates, where you went for college, places you’d like to travel, a bit about your social life. The more he asks, the more you open up. He clocks some of your responses, but he’s far more interested in how you’re feeling with him, the verbal and non-verbal cues he reads as the minutes turn into an hour. Twenty minutes into that hour, he’d been able to park in the middle of the lot, and you hadn’t batted an eye, completely at ease.

Occasionally your fingers fidget in your lap. Both of you have turned to angle your bodies toward the other. There’s no barrier between you - it’s a full bench seat across from driver to passenger side.

He decides to push things a little further.

"So, back to your marketing expertise?" he says, his voice low and smooth.

You playfully roll your eyes. “I’m not an expert. If I were an expert, I’d be driving a much better car already,” you laugh.

"No, no,” Bucky laughs along with you. “But you said you do have a pretty good job in your firm. Must mean you're… let’s say proficient at selling things? At... persuasion?"

You giggle nervously, maybe a little surprised at the turn of tactic. "I guess you could say that. Why do you ask?"

Bucky's hand slides up your thigh, just a fraction higher. "Just wondering what it might take to persuade you to do something a little... risky tonight."

Your breath hitches audibly. "What... what did you have in mind?"

He smirks, loving how eagerly you've taken his bait. "Well, we've got this whole parking lot to ourselves. No one around for hours. Seems a shame to waste such privacy.”

Another soft nervous laugh falls from your lips, and your eyes dart around. “I don’t know how private this is. We’re in the middle of an open parking lot.”

“Trust me, I’m the expert in this area, and no one is going to even come close to the cab of this truck.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his words, a mix of excitement and apprehension flickering across your face. "I... I'm not sure," you stammer, but your body language tells a different story. You've leaned in closer, your breath quickening.

Bucky's hand slides higher up your thigh, his fingers tracing patterns on the inside of your leg. "Come on, sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice low and persuasive. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

You bite your lip, clearly torn between desire and caution.

His other hand moves to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Bucky’s easy smile grows to a smirk. A few more cautious moments, and he knows you’ll be his. His hand slides even higher up your leg, fingertips just barely brushing the junction of your thighs. "How about we start with a kiss and see where things go from there?"

Your breath catches audibly, and for a moment, Bucky thinks you might refuse.

"I don't usually do this kind of thing," you murmur, even as you lean slightly into his touch.

"I know," Bucky says softly, his voice a low rumble. The wolf inside him is clawing at his chest to claim you, to ruin you, but he knows he can’t pounce yet. He needs you to ease completely into his trap.

Then you nod, almost imperceptibly. "Okay," you whisper.

Bucky's eyes darken with desire as he leans in, closing the distance between you. His lips brush against yours softly at first, giving you a final chance to pull away if you change your mind. But you don't. Instead, you press forward, deepening the kiss.

He groans low in his throat, his hand tightening on your thigh as the other slides to the back of your neck, gripping gently. The kiss quickly turns heated, all pretense of hesitation melting away as your lips move against each other hungrily.

Bucky's tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you eagerly grant it. As your tongues tangle, he shifts closer, using his grip at the nape of your neck to tilt your head, allowing him better access.

You whimper softly into his mouth, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. He can feel the heat radiating between you. His hand on your thigh tightens, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. A soft whimper escapes you as his tongue slides against yours, and he can feel the last of your reservations melting away. Your hands, which had been fidgeting in your lap, now reach up to grip his shoulders.

As the kiss intensifies, Bucky's hand on your thigh inches higher, his fingers ghosting over your center through your leggings. You gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pushing forward to chase his touch.

He breaks the kiss, chuckling darkly. "Eager little thing, aren't you?" he teases.

"I... I'm sorry, I just..."

"Shh," Bucky soothes, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "Don't apologize. I like it."

Like is an understatement. He’s feral for it. For you.

He leans in again, this time pressing his lips to your neck. You tilt your head, giving him better access as he trails hot kisses down to your collarbone.

"God, you smell good," he murmurs against your skin, his stubble scratching deliciously as he nips at your pulse point.

You moan softly, your hands sliding into his hair. The sinful sound sends a jolt of desire straight through him. His other hand, still resting high on your thigh, begins to move with more purpose. He traces the seam of your leggings, feeling the heat radiating from your core.

"Bucky," you breathe, shuddering under his bold touch.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," Bucky murmurs against your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His fingers continue their teasing exploration, tracing light patterns over the thin fabric of your leggings.

You whimper, your hips shifting restlessly. "I... I don't know," you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

Bucky chuckles darkly, nipping at your earlobe. "I think you do know. I think you knew exactly what you wanted when you agreed to meet me here. You just need a little... encouragement."

His hand slides higher, cupping you through your leggings. You gasp, your back arching as he applies pressure. "Is this what you want?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

"Yes," you moan, apparently unable to cling to the rest of your hesitation. "Please, Bucky."

He growls low in his throat, loving that he’s got you right where he wants you.

You dart forward, desperate to kiss him again, and he’s happy to provide you that distraction. One hand petting your pussy while you pant eagerly into the eager, open-mouthed kisses, he uses his other hand to unbuckle his jeans, undo the button, and lower the zipper. You’re so drawn in by his mouth and his ministrations on your clothed pussy, that you don’t even notice as he finally frees his raging hard cock.

With your attention fully captured by his skilled fingers and demanding mouth, Bucky takes the opportunity to guide your hand to his now exposed length. You gasp against his lips, pulling back slightly in surprise.

"What's wrong, sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "Isn't this what you came here for?"

Your eyes are wide, darting between his face and where your hand now rests on his cock. "I... I didn't..."

"Shh," Bucky soothes, his free hand cupping your face. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do." But even as he says this, his hips shift slightly, pressing his hardness more firmly into your palm.

You swallow hard, your breath coming in quick pants. For a moment, you hesitate, but then your hand wraps around him, stroking experimentally.

Bucky groans, his hips bucking slightly into your touch. "Right there. Just like that."

He draws your face back to his, and swallows you up in a wet kiss, his tongue fucking in and out of your mouth, stroking his tongue insistently against yours. He’s coaxing, reeling you back in, and he feels the fruits of his efforts as your hand strokes him with more fervor the longer he kisses you.

You’re lonely. He picked up on that, and he’s using it to his advantage. He’ll give you some of you want to get what he wants, as well.

Bucky breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to see you," he growls, his hand sliding up under your shirt. "Take this off for me."

You hesitate for just a moment before nodding, your fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt. Bucky helps you pull it over your head, tossing it aside. His eyes darken as they roam over your newly exposed skin.

“No bra?” he chuckles.

You bite your lip and your eyes dart down, away from his face.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, leaning in to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. His hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Bucky's other hand continues its teasing exploration between your legs, the friction of your leggings adding to the delicious sensation. You're panting now, hips rocking against his.

"I want you to touch me," he says, his voice low and commanding.

You nod, your hand reaching for his cock again, but he catches your wrist, stopping you.

"Not like that," he growls. "I want your mouth on me."

Your eyes widen, darting between his face and his exposed cock.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he says, but the endearment drips off his tongue with cloying condescension, and he knows it, “You came out here at two am to meet up with a strange guy you only started talking to the night before last. You want to be used. Stop pretending like you’re going to resist. You’re going to let me do whatever the fuck I want with this body.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a wounded look in your eyes.

He chuckles and caresses your cheek. “Aw, you want it, too,” he coos. “You didn’t wear a bra, and I know you didn’t wear any panties either. When I peel these leggings off, your pussy is going to be bared and dripping and so eager for me.”

Your eyes flutter closed, but you don’t argue with him, and he guides you, hand on the back of your neck, to lean down into his lap. "Go on, sweet girl," he encourages. "Show me what a slut you want to be for me.”

Your breath catches. Bucky's words have struck a chord, and he can feel the mix of anticipation and nervousness in the air. It’s a heady thing, and he takes a deep breath as if he could inhale it. It makes his blood run hotter through his limbs.

With trembling hands, you lean the rest of the way in, your face hovering over his exposed cock.

"That's it," Bucky murmurs, his hand still firm on the back of your neck. "Open up for me."

You part your lips, and he feels your hot breath hovering at the head of his cock just a moment before you finally take him into your mouth. Bucky groans, his hips bucking slightly as your warm, wet mouth envelops him.

"Fuck," he hisses, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Good girl. Just like that."

You move slowly at first, getting used to the feel of him, mouthing at the head of his cock. But Bucky is impatient, using his hand, he guides you down more, urging you to take him deeper.

Bucky groans, his head falling back against the headrest as you start to work your tongue along his shaft.

"Fuck, that's good," he breathes, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Take more of me."

You comply, and Bucky's hips buck slightly, pushing himself further into your mouth. You gag a little, but quickly adjust, hollowing your cheeks, and he loves the feel of your soft, velvety mouth around his raging erection.

Bucky watches intently as you work your mouth over his cock, your lips stretched wide around his girth. The sight of you, eyes closed in concentration, cheeks hollowed as you suck, sends a jolt of pleasure through him. He can feel the wet heat of your tongue as it slides along the underside of his shaft, tracing the prominent vein there.

The wet heat of your mouth envelops Bucky, drawing a deep groan from his chest. Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock, teasing the sensitive underside before you take him deeper. The tight suction of your lips as you bob your head sends jolts of pleasure through his body.

Bucky's fingers tangle in your hair, guiding your movements. "Yes, baby," he growls. "Take me deeper."

You comply, relaxing your throat to take more of his length. Bucky feels the head of his cock hit the back of your throat and he hisses in pleasure. Your gag reflex kicks in, causing you to sputter and drool. Saliva drips down his shaft, making obscene wet sounds as you continue to work him with your mouth.

"Fuck, you're making such a mess," Bucky groans, watching as your head bobs up and down in his lap. "Such a perfect little cocksucker."

He’s watched a lot of porn since his divorce, and even more these past weeks in the middle of the night in this truck, and this is so much better, but surpassing even his own expectations. Too long since he’d been with a woman.

“Take me deeper." Bucky's grip tightens as he guides you further down his shaft. Your throat constricts around him, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. He can feel every swallow, every twitch of your tongue as you struggle to accommodate his girth.

"That's it, baby," he groans, his hips bucking slightly. "Swallow all of me."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you gag around him, but you don't pull away. Instead, you double your efforts, hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder. Saliva continues to pool at the corners of your mouth, trickling down his length in glistening rivulets.

The sight of you, lips stretched wide and chin slick with spit, is almost too much for Bucky to bear. He watches, transfixed, as your head bobs up and down, your tongue swirling around his tip before diving back in. Your lips stretch wide around his girth, glistening with spit and precum.

Your nose brushes against his pelvis as you swallow around him, throat constricting deliciously. He feels the vibrations of your muffled moan around his shaft and it sends sparks of pleasure up his spine.

"Fuck," he growls. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. That, baby."

The pleasure builds, coiling tighter in Bucky's core with each bob of your head. He's close, so close, but he doesn't want to finish like this. Not when there's so much more he wants to do to you.

With a growl, he tugs your hair, pulling you off his cock. You gasp for air, lips swollen and glistening, a thin strand of saliva still connecting you to him. The sight nearly undoes him.

"Stand up," he commands, his voice rough with desire.

You comply, awkward and shaky on your feet in the confined space of the truck cab. Bucky's hands go to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings.

"These need to come off. Now."

You hesitate for just a moment, but the fire in Bucky's eyes brooks no argument. You shimmy them down with Bucky’s rough help, and true to what he said, you’re now fully naked and exposed to him. His smile is pleased, possessive, predatory as you sit back down on the seat of the cab.

Bucky's eyes rake over your newly exposed form, drinking in every curve and contour. He loves the sight of your pussy, bare, a thatch of curls, waiting and glistening with arousal. He licks his lips, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with lust. "So wet and ready for me already."

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers ghosting over your slick folds. You shiver at his touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Please," you whisper, voice trembling with need.

Bucky chuckles darkly. "Please what, baby?"

You squirm under his intense gaze, cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. "I... I want you to touch me."

"Oh, I'm going to do more than touch you," Bucky growls, suddenly pulling you into his lap. You gasp as you feel his hard cock pressing against your ass. "I'm going to ruin you."

His fingers find your clit, circling it with firm, deliberate strokes. You arch into his touch, a breathy moan escaping your lips. Bucky's other hand comes up to cup your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

"That's it," he growls in your ear. "Let me hear how much you want this."

You whimper, grinding down against his fingers. Your head falls back against his shoulder, exposing the long line of your neck. Bucky takes advantage, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there.

His fingers move lower, teasing your entrance. You're so wet, his digits slide in easily, and you cry out at the sudden intrusion.

"Fuck, you're tight," Bucky groans, pumping his fingers in and out of you. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."

You're panting now, rocking your hips to meet each thrust of his fingers. The cab of the truck is filled with the obscene sounds of your wet pussy and your desperate moans.

Bucky's fingers work you relentlessly, curling and stroking inside you as his thumb circles your clit. You're writhing in his lap, gasping and moaning as pleasure builds.

"Ride my fingers, baby. Show me how bad you want it."

"Bucky," you gasp, "I'm so close..."

He increases the pressure on your clit, rubbing tight circles as his fingers curl inside you.

"Please," you whimper, your head falling back against his shoulder again. "I need more."

Bucky chuckles darkly. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?" Roughly, he pinches your nipple, making you jerk and cry out.

Bucky's skilled fingers continue their relentless assault, pumping in and out of your dripping pussy while his thumb works your clit. Your body trembles, teetering on the edge of release.

"You want more?" he taunts, his hot breath tickling your ear. "I'll give you more."

Suddenly, he adds a third finger, stretching you further. The additional fullness makes you gasp, your back arching as he drives his fingers deeper. His other hand leaves your breast, sliding down to spread your legs wider.

"Look at how wet you are," Bucky murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Your pussy's practically weeping for me."

His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot that makes you see stars. You cry out, your hips bucking wildly against his hand.

"I can feel how close you are,” he growls in your ear. “Your little cunt is clenching around my fingers."

His other hand returns to roughly knead your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple. The dual sensations send sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. You're trembling in his lap, right on the edge of release.

"Bucky, please," you whimper, your hips rocking desperately against his hand.

"Please what?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me what you need."

"I need to come," you gasp. "Please, make me come."

Bucky chuckles darkly. "Oh, I'll make you come alright. I'll make you fucking gush for me."

He increases the pressure on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as his fingers curl inside you, seeking that special spot. When he finds it, you cry out, your back arching. Bucky's fingers continue to work you relentlessly, curling and stroking that spongy spot inside you as his thumb applies insistent pressure to your throbbing clit. He builds and builds his ministrations until you're a trembling, whimpering and writhing mess in his lap.

"Fucking perfect," he praises in your ear, his voice low and gravelly. Your desperate grinding is torturous to his cock, and he could explode just from rutting against you like this.

But Bucky doesn't let up. If anything, he increases the pressure, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a frantic pace.

"Don't stop," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "Keep going. I know you've got more in you."

You're gasping, your hips jerking erratically, and then suddenly the orgasm rolls over you like a tidal wave, and there’s a surge of hunger that spurs him on. Your back arches sharply, pressing your breasts into his rough palms as you cry out, your voice echoing in the confined space of the truck cab.

Bucky only intensifies his efforts, his fingers pumping faster, harder, curling to hit that spot inside you with unerring accuracy. He’s seeking even more, pushing you impossibly higher, your body trembling uncontrollably in his lap.

"Oh god, oh god," you whimper and strain.

And still he works your body.

You try and squirm away, but he’s so much stronger than you, he easily keeps you in his lap. He moves his other hand down to your pussy so his right can focus fully on fucking in and out of your hole to molest your g-spot while his left zeroes in and demands more of your clit.

And then you cry for him from both ends, a sob escaping your mouth as your pussy gushes, spilling wetness over him, soaking his jeans and the seat beneath.

You slump, slack in his arms, but try to lean and move away and off his lap.

Bucky laughs, triumphant, and wraps his arm around your waist to keep you pressed to him. He presses a hot kiss to your neck. His other hand wipes the wetness over your thigh, making more of a mess.

“You’ve never squirted before, have you, baby?” he speaks low, directly into your ear.

“No,” you sniffle.

He nips the lobe of your ear and turns your head to face him. “Aw, did I make you cry?”

You close your eyes, and more tears trickle down your cheeks.

He slowly licks a stripe up your cheek, relishing the salty taste of your tears. It makes his cock twitch.

“I wonder what other firsts we can tick off for you.”

You shiver, and he squeezes around your middle. “It was overwhelming, wasn’t it?” he asks, and you nod, eyes still closed.

He kisses your cheek, and you let out a shuddery breath.

“But it felt good, didn’t it, baby?”

You open your eyes and bite your lip, then a small nod.

“Such a pretty slut for me,” he praises, and then he’s plundering your mouth again, and you turn your torso more to him. He plays more with the wet mess of gush and slick over your thighs.

Bucky sears your lips with his mouth, his tongue delving deep as he tastes you. You whimper into the kiss, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasms. His hands roam your body, kneading your breasts, trailing down your sides, gripping your hips.

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw, down your neck. You tilt your head, giving him better access as he sucks and nips at your pulse point. His stubble scratches deliciously against your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"You taste so sweet," he murmurs against your skin. "I could devour you all night."

His words make you shudder, and his chest rumbles in approval. Bucky's hands continue their exploration, one sliding up to cup your breast, the other dipping between your thighs to tease your still-sensitive folds.

You gasp as his fingers brush your clit, oversensitive and swollen. He chuckles darkly, circling the bundle of nerves with feather-light touches that have you squirming again in his lap.

Bucky's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he maneuvers you in the cramped space of the truck cab. "On your knees," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "I want you on your knees for me."

You comply, your body still trembling from your intense orgasms. The leather seat is cool against your flushed skin as you position yourself on all fours, facing the passenger side door. Bucky's large hands run down your spine, making you shiver. He runs his hands over the curve of your hips, down to your thighs, spreading them wider.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "So eager for my cock."

You whimper in response, pushing your hips back towards him. Bucky chuckles darkly, one hand coming down in a sharp smack on your ass. The sound echoes in the cab, and you gasp.

"Patience, baby," he teases, soothing the flesh he just spanked.

Bucky's hands knead your ass cheeks, spreading them apart to get a better view of your glistening folds.

"Such a pretty little thing," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "And all mine for the night."

He positions himself behind you. His cock, hard and thick, brushes against your inner thigh. You shudder in anticipation. He groans behind you, and then he pushes the blunt head, angry head of his cock against your entrance.

"You ready?" he asks, teasing you with just the tip.

You whimper, pressing back against him. "Please," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky grips your hips, pulling you back slightly. The head of his cock teases your entrance, sliding through your slick folds. You moan, pressing back against him, silently begging for more.

"Eager little slut," he chuckles darkly. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to give you exactly what you need."

Without further warning, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

"Fuck," Bucky groans, his fingers digging into your flesh. "So tight.”

Bucky's hands control your hips, squeezing tightly as he begins to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force of his thrusts rocks you forward, and you have to brace yourself against the passenger door to keep from hitting your head.

"Take my cock like the good little slut you are," he snarls.

Bucky leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he continues to pound into you. One hand snakes around to grope your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. The other slides down to rub circles on your clit.

"You like that, don't you?" he pants in your ear, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Like being used like a cheap whore in the back of a truck?"

You whimper in response, pushing back to meet his thrusts. The angle allows him to hit spots deeper inside you, drawing a groan from his chest. Has he ever been this deep in such a perfect pussy?

"Bucky," you gasp, "oh god, Bucky..."

"That's right, baby," Bucky growls, his hips snapping against yours relentlessly. "Say my name. Let me hear how much you love my cock."

He reaches around to the front of your pussy, fingers work your clit faster, matching the punishing pace of his thrusts. You're trembling beneath him, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations. The truck rocks with the force of his movements, the amber lights still flashing outside, casting an eerie glow over your writhing bodies.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Bucky groans, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight and wet for me. Such a perfect little fuck toy."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and he loves the way his words affect you as much as his actions do.

Bucky's other hand leaves your hip, sliding up to wrap around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, just holds you there, a silent threat that sends your heart racing, and he loves feeling how your pulse jumped at that.

"You gonna come for me again?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "Gonna cream on my cock?”

You nod frantically, evidently unable to form words as he keeps pouring and overwhelming you with pleasure.

"Answer me," he demands, tightening his grip ever so slightly on your throat.

"Yes!" you gasp out. "Yes, I'm gonna come for you!"

"That's it," he growls, tightening his grip on your throat just slightly. "Let go. Come apart on my fat cock."

His words push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you, your inner walls clenching around him as you cry out his name. Bucky groans, his hips stuttering as your pussy milks his cock.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants, his thrusts becoming erratic. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his seed.

You both stay there for a moment, panting heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. Bucky's hand releases your throat, sliding down to rest on your heaving chest. He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, then slowly pulls out, eliciting a whimper from you at the loss.

He brings his hand down to your wet, messy folds, and you twitch at the feel of his fingers, clearly oversensitive. He hums, collecting some of the mixed spend slipping out of you, and he rubs it over your lower back. He doesn’t want you to forget what a dirty girl you’ve been for him.

Bucky helps you sit back up, pulling you onto his lap once more. You're both sticky with sweat and other fluids, the air in the truck cab heavy with the scent of sex. He brushes your hair back from your face, his touch gentle after the roughness of your encounter.

"You did so well, baby," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Such a good girl for me."

You shiver at his praise, nestling closer to his broad chest, your naked form cocooning against him, still fully clothed, only his cock ever coming unsheathed during all of that. He’s edging on a little too warm, but the coolness of the middle of the night helps. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight against him. For a moment, there's just the sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal and the faint hum of the truck's engine.

"We should probably get cleaned up," you say after a while, your voice slightly hoarse.

Bucky chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Probably," he agrees, but makes no move to let you go. Instead, his hand trails down your spine, making you arch into him. "But I'm not done with you yet, baby. The night's still young, and I've got plans for you."

You blink up at him, and he ducks in to peck at your lips.

“Let me just take another round of the lot, and then I’ll kiss you stupid, eat you out, and fuck you again.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he stops you with a quick kiss. He smiles when he pulls away and sees your eyes are falling hazy again. He strokes his hand up and down your spine, “Don’t worry, baby, you can stay right here in my lap while we drive.”

He leaves no room for protest, pulls the truck into gear, and goes for another round, looking forward to the rest of his shift.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!

Hi. Still with me? We made it!

I doubt the person who does this across the street from my window five nights a week is anything close to Bucky, but true story, someone's in this truck with the yellow flashing lights, and my mind wants it to be a dirty Bucky that I'd make the unwise decision to jump into a cab with.

[futureplayboibunnie]

lil Mafia Boss! Miguel O’Hara x fem! reader drabble

Warnings: NSFW, depics of violence, blood, some steamy stuff but not too much, sooo much dirtytalk.

You were many things. But you weren't naive.

That wouldn't be an issue if Miguel couldn't talk his way out of hell and right into those pearly gates. His manipulation and sweet talking were just another thing that made you hate him and attracted to him amongst many other things

He was an asshole. He was a powerful Mob Boss. He was your husband and your arch-nemesis. You both loved playing these little games that would send the other down a spiral of paranoia and obsession- it lit a fire under both of your asses. It made you meaner, sharper, stronger

Miguel told his men to take shots at you, haphazardly, making sure they all missed for the sole purpose of scaring you to make you behave and see how valuable his protection was . You weren’t scared, you were pissed and filled with rage. You blew up one of his lackey’s cars, he watched it burn in front of him, if he had gotten into the wrong black beauty of a Lamborghini, he’d be a pile of ashes.

You both poked and prodded, messed and obsessed with every step you made. It was like a Greek tragedy. You outsmarted him some days. He outsmarted you some days.

But after all of it, you were still married, still husband and wife. When he fell for you, he fell hard. You were the daughter of of one of the most renowned gangster in the country, Miguel had to pay his dues to earn his respect- and in the end it payed off. Your father blessed your marriage and that night was a dream above all dreams. The honeymoon was beautiful too, every night was filled with passionate and messy sex and every day he spent with you he fell more and more in love.

But Lord did you test his patience, it was something that you were born to do. He was angry and channelled his rage through many illegal mediums.

Yet you always let him back in.

-

You’ve been doing what you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.

Waiting up for Miguel.

Waiting for him to come home.

He said he had something to take care of and hasn’t shown his face since. And here you were, waiting for him like a Park Avenue trophy wife. Your wine was making you more anxious than tipsy as you glared at the clock, the fireplace in front of you not warming your body from this strange fear of a man you hate and love. It was nearing 1am.

Then you heard it, the door opening and closing and the rustling of expensive shoes hitting the marble of the foyer, then a jarring clank of keys hitting the holder.

Your breath got lost in your throat, eyes widening when you saw Miguel’s figure. His white shirt was bloodied and his fists were bruised and raw. It’s not his blood, but he did have a cut on his eyebrow. You scoffed as you stood up from your seat.

But that didn’t stop you from both charging at each other, wanting to see each other up close.

“I hate you.” You said with a scowl but what was it all for when you both embraced each other seconds after.

“I believe you.” He said coldly but he knew you meant it. Your head rested on his shoulder and he could smell the shampoo you used earlier tonight. A sweet orchard, green apple. Yet your sweet scent didn’t transfer to yout personality. You didn’t like to sit still and play house.

You were an antagonizing bitch.

He was a heartless bastard.

Yet here you were.

Hating each other, yet seeking each other’s company.

“I hate you.” You repeated much firmly this time and Miguel gripped onto your cheeks and pulled your face up so he could glare at you.

“I said I believe you…I haven’t believed anyone in a long time.” He muttered, but his tone was harsh. Unamused eyes searched yours for an answer but instead he found contempt and sadness.

“You left for weeks….I hated you every second of it.” You spat out but your words couldn’t be brutal when you were this sad.

Miguel’s grip on your face softened, the pads of his fingertips tracing on the outline of your chin. “Now that I’m back…do you still hate me?” He was asking with genuine concern for some reason.

“Yes.” You whispered but your legs started to tremble as the word rolled off of your tongue. Miguel frowned indignantly and huffed out, taking his turn to pivot the conversation to him just ordering you around again.

“I don’t want you leaving the penthouse. I don’t want you outside while I deal with these bastards-“

Your choked breath cut him off. “Is that all you’re thinking about right now? I can’t fucking believe you.” You scoffed, his gall was truly outstanding, of course he had to do this right now. You weren’t purposefully trying to fan the flames to Miguel’s anger but he wanted to treat it like you were, he was already annoyed for ruining one of his best shirts with the blood of subspecies and now he has to deal with you bitching and moaning…and not in the way he liked. “You know what Miguel-“ He directly stopped your words by gripping onto your waist and neck and sitting you on the dining table. You struggled against his hold but it all proved to be fruitless.

“You’re gawking at me like an idiot right now.” You insulted but he was way too far gone now, the crimson of his eyes migrated to a deep ring of burgundy- he was already pissed and you just had to play with him the wrong way.

“You’re beautiful that’s why.” He said endearingly, like he was cooing at you but his serious expression really contrasted that.

“You’re flattering me because you wanna fuck?”

“You asked me if you staying here is all I’m thinking about right now and in fact, it’s not.” Miguel placed a palm on your chest and pushed you flat onto the table, hard. Your eyes were half lidded weapons, scrutinising his every move- and dare he think, he loves it, because he always proves you wrong.

You were his wife, his bitch, his cumdump. You both may hate each other but you always needed each other in this way.

No one else could make you cum otherwise, no one else memorised your body like he did. How couldn’t he? He loved you…once.

You like to think these outbursts are impactful and grand displays of independence but no, you’re Miguel’s lover and you’re gonna act like it.

Hmm. You always looked so pretty in this silk robe, but the fact that your nipples were peaking already under the thin fabric told him all he needed to know.

“I was thinking of you today when I was killing my competition’s men, while I got blood on my hands.” Miguel’s calloused palms splayed onto your smooth legs, feeling up and down teasingly, riding up your robe. You arched against the table already.

Shit, you didn’t mean to.

“The others said that my mind was wandering. I could see their mouths open and close but I couldn’t hear a single word come out..” He said huskily, you gasped when he ripped open your robe, revealing your naked and beautiful figure under him. The only thing that could ever get him off. He dipped his head between your legs to were your thin barely there panties were, he ran his nose over the fabric and inhaled softly. “I could smell you.”

You blinked up at him in confusion, you didn’t know what to feel. You were mad but so aroused…and in the weeks he’s been gone you hadn’t been able to pleasure yourself at all. He looked vicious and mean, your husband was ruthless and sometimes….sometimes it was so fucking arousing, you couldn’t help but squirm and struggle underneath him.

“You wanna know what I did? You wanna know who the man you married is really like when he’s not at home?” His head raised up to your ear to mumble hotly, you jolted and struggled when his hand suddenly went to your already sticky folds.

You weren’t sure if you even had a choice, so you stayed silent, your expression akin to that of vacant displeasure….but oh, were you lying. Your face was about to break.

“I shot them in the kneecaps and beat them until they were barely breathing, but would you believe the way they died was by suffocation?” He chuckled lowly, his fingers teasing your already sloppy entrance.

“F-fuck…are you talking about?” You tried to fight back the moans collecting in the back of your throat but you couldn’t help it.

“They drowned in a puddle of their own blood and I put them there.” Miguel rasped firmly in your ear, his tone and body language becoming very intimidating and…scary. “The bastard’s blood got on my fucking shoes.”

Your husband only wanted to protect what was his. His fingers plunged inside of you, feeling up and down, circling around. You whined out.

“One of them I knew, he went to my fucking highschool hermosa. I called him my friend. But the worst thing occured to me, I imagined him on top of you, my wife, the woman that loathes me so. I saw him tasting you in my head and that’s what made me kill him. You. Just because you sit up here in this untouchable palace doesn’t mesn you’re any cleaner than I am. You’re just as depraved as I am.”

His eyes were beating with a scorching red, his lips were curled into a visicious snarl and at this moment, you knew he was right and that made you want him that much more.

You were his lover.

He wanted you to act like it.

Even if that meant being exactly like he was.

Heartless.

-

(I deleted my other mafia Miguel fic because I wasn’t sure if i was gonna make it a bigger fic or not and I felt like if i kept it up it would’ve been confusing or something? I’m playing on the same ideas in this fic dw)

[semischarmed]

Demonizer

Hope you’re not religious…

———

Parker Mills here sure was. The cross, dutifully hanging on his neck in every other post. The obligatory bible passage quoted on the profile. A “#believer” given every other caption. The works. By all accounts, religion had been good for him. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Friendly to all, despite the evangelizing. Virgin too- saving for marriage, of course. His parents on the other hand were vile fucks. The Mills often terrorized our small town’s tiny lgbt community but by some stroke of divine luck, the son of those demons turned out completely normal. Better than normal. Parker was probably the nicest jock in town. Parker also turned me the fuck on. With Parker, I just knew. Just knew that those kind blue eyes and gentle smile adorned that angelic face and ripped body. Knew that with his family’s wealth and that face, he had the makings of the town menace. Knew that despite all this, he was entirely clueless on his appeal and unwilling to share his god-given gifts. Many have tried to corrupt poor Parker, but the man was a saint. He even looked uncomfortable doing anything beyond a quick peck on the lips. I just knew I could make him my own cocky motherfucker.  

There were a handful of options in the dark web. Entirely different avenues ranging from a neurosurgeon offering direct transplant to a ritual for astral projection. It took 1 month just to sift through all the possibilities and options. Each one felt messy or required some form of constant maintenance. They wouldn’t do. I wanted Parker  permanently. All of him-body, mind and soul. At last I had landed on the Demonizer Potion. The effects seemed to vary drastically, though they all seemed to warn of its corruptive properties. In the end, I chose it because it filled the most important niche for these products for me- I could actually afford it. 

Finding a witch to procure this particular potion was… surprisingly easier than expected. In fact, it was downright effortless. Miranda, a witch just a town over, scoffed when I mentioned it to her. “A girl’s gotta pay her bills. Besides, It’s a lot easier and a lot cheaper to hide out here than it is in the big city.”

And that was that. For the “low-low price of $500”, I had the demonizer potion in hand. The drink was pitch-black. Darker than black even. And it seemed to pull all warmth from the room in an otherworldly, sinking feeling. I had no doubt this thing was the real deal. I read the instructions: “Drink with your intent.“ I imagined mine.

- - -

I knew the perfect time to strike. It felt oddly fitting to take him during a service. In the church’s bathroom, I took a quick swig of my future. Just a third of the black substance. I gagged as I felt it stream down my throat. And I winced, expecting a burning sensation. No-not a burning sensation. It was more like a pit of nothingness spreading throughout my body to my fingertips. The burning came after. All at once, the world around me spun as I felt my body leave physical manifestation. I watched as my spectral hands flashed white then black in a pulsating pattern, before finally settling on a grey.

Parker Mills sat, listening attentively. They seemed to be playing some religious music. My only religion sat right in front of me. In devilish glee I began to stream into him. Inch by Inch, I flooded into his thick dick. He made a small grunt at first insertion.

Parker shifted in his seat as the worship choir continued singing. His face grew red as he tried to hide a growing boner. The worship singing droned and I felt a sharp pain in my head. As if empowered, Parker’s own soul began to push me out. 

In the end, I only managed to slip a bit of the grey essence into him. It did not seem to have much effect, aside from giving him an inexplicable need to grab the flask from the bathroom floor. I tried to make a mental note of that.

I sighed, defeated, as I fled into the night. In the darkness, I recuperated as I planned my next visit.

- - -

This time, there would be no fanfare. No choir to welcome our joining and my rebirth. I wasn’t sure how long I could stay in this world without his warm flesh tethering me mortal, so I knew I had to get in him fast. 

I followed the man to his apartment, sitting patiently in a dark corner of his bedroom as he went about his day.

When he was close to sleeping, he turned off the light and sat on his bed in a meditative tone. I watched in anticipation as he closed his eyes and began to pray. “Lord, ple-“

“Mmhhmph!” I struck the man a snake, prying his full lips open and forcing his body to gorge itself with me. 

This time, no music. Just the sounds of a teary-eyed Parker choking on invisible mass. Drool ran down his cheeks as I inched more and more of my form inside. His neck bulged and eyes grew wide and bloodshot as he tried badly to reject the intrusion. Lubricated by Parker’s own saliva, by the taste of Parker, I greedily dug into his insides. 

Parker’s body began to move involuntarily. Deep in violation, it tried in vain to get me out. He smashed his head over and over again across the apartment wall trying to shake me out. I only forced myself inside harder. His head shook as it contorted in odd angles. Biceps started scratching at his own throat, trying to get me out to no avail. Eventually, they were forced splayed open as Parker’s body began to travel up the apartment wall. At first, his legs began to kick, then shake, then they begun to dangle ominously off the ground. In a perverted facsimile of his religion, I strung Parker up his own apartment wall, arms outstretched in a blasphemous pose as if to welcome me. “All are welcome..no, I am welcome,” I thought to myself. I continued my assault.

As Parker screamed, I weaved through each crevice until I could find the core of his soul. It looked pure and white, aside from the small speck of gray in my earlier intrusion. Gingerly, I pried the soul’s own mouth open as I laughed. I wanted Parker to his depths. Parker to his very core. And so I burrowed and coiled. Shackled myself to it. Shackled him to me. Like a trap jaw, his soul’s mouth closed. Forever sealing me in nice and tight as I continued squirm and fill into Parker. His spirit was mine. It bent in odd and unnatural angles, contorting until it tore. Outside, I felt Parker’s thrashing head slow into a twitching. 

I wanted-no needed every part of Parker to myself. So I begun to fill into the tears of his ravaged soul. I then felt the the fibers of those tears heal- with me embedded. Euphoric. Stillness.

Parker’s pale blue eyes shot wide open, dilated. “P-Please,” he whimpered, before they go glassy and a smile began to form on his lips. Parker’s flesh collapsed into a pile on the floor, body, mind, and soul spent. 

- - -

My first breath as Parker felt out of this world. Parker’s body was his temple after all. When I felt his lungs fill for me, and air flow into us for the first time, I felt the power in his drawn breath- Like having an athlete’s lungs chained to my whims. I felt our drawn air circulate inside me, tickling bits of me in drunken pleasure. Granted, I was not that unhealthy in my previous flesh, but this new home was unreal. Merely existing in his flesh felt like an unburdening. Energy brimmed from fingertip to fingertip and my mind raced with a clarity I did not know possible. 

“I can’t believe you just feel like all the time” I teased as I twirled my new perfect hairs. I couldn’t help but giggle in my new perfect voice. Hearing it vibrate into a low moan was music to my ears, as the man’s hand travelled and cupped his own perky ass. “Fuck,” I panted breathlessly as I massaged my new right asscheek. The Jock’s face twitches in vain retaliation. “Fuck you feel so good…” I twisted his nipple. “Thank you for saving yourself for me.” Hearing and feeling this Parker, a Parker the world has never seen- A Parker he himself had never seen, drove me mad with lust. This was a private Parker, my Parker, one bound to me for my personal enjoyment. A moment exclusive to us. This seemed to light a fire in the original Parker and I felt my soul shiver as his encapsulated mine. “g…g-get the fuck out of me!” He spat.

With newfound agency, the original Parker ran to his desk and managed just one action before I could wrestle back control.

I gulped. My shaking hand dropped the empty flask as I felt his intent hung around me like a death sentence. “Cast this demon out of me”.

Control over my perfect meat-suit went dark. Like a barrier emanating from within, I felt myself squeezed out of my home. Then falling. Falling for an unbelievable amount of time. I blacked out.

- - -

I awoke with the smell of sulfur in the air, the sky was dark and glowed a faint orange. I stood as I surveyed my surroundings, horrified. I saw a sea of bodies writhing and groaning. 

“Is this..?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. I closed my eyes as I thought of the potion and the life I gave all to come to this. I didn’t even have a chance to play with my new body. A sensation stopped my racing mind abruptly.

It was a hand. 

One of the bodies on the floor moaned as it spoke in velvet. “Are you joining or what?” I shook it off me as the realization slowly dawned on me. It wasn’t groaning… it was moaning. They were not damned. At least, they were certainly not upset about it. 

Then I felt something else stir inside me. Hope? No- At least, not my hope. I grinned as I realized what had occurred. I took note of my spirit- a spirit that was a part of Parker’s. Partially superimposed. Partially one. We were bonded together, even as souls. When his sleeping soul came to, I felt that hope of his immediately vanish. He grabbed our merged face in horror, before looking around. 

“B-but, I never did anything… I was perfect…” Parker trailed. I felt a blackness pour out of me. That’s it? Is that all there was to being a demon? These people were not suffering in the slightest. If anything, this was something to look forward to. This time, I felt no resistance from Parker as our shared soul began to fondle itself. Our face, however, was stone cold. Parker was in control.

Feeling all that he had to look forward to, something shattered in him. I felt as much- Rage. Betrayal. Then, Liberation. He looked up into the sky with a sneer and hands outstretched. “This what you wanted, asshole? I do everything right and you still put me here? How much time did I waste in those stupid lectures? How many people did we turn down?” I immediately felt the pieces of this new Parker worm into my psyche. “Fine”. He said with a broken satisfaction.

Like a root, he spread throughout me. Bonding each of us tighter and tighter. This time, I felt a natural cockiness exude from Parker, and by extension me. It felt wrong, coming from Parker. At the same time, a part of me felt like this truly was Parker. This time, the disillusioned man continued fondling himself on his own volition. He brought me into the fold, guiding my movements. “Bro…” . I felt mind mind dull in euphoria. “Bro….”. It rolled off our tongue lazily. Something about it just felt natural. “Parker, if you don’t stop… we’ll”. His mouth opened in a wide smile as he gave both pecs a squeeze. “I know. Enjoy the ride bro”. All at once the pieces of Parker rooted into brimmed with energy. “Fuck it, right? You should be thanking me for this… My body is my temple… and I’m letting you live in it. Thanking me is the least you could do.” Searing pain hit us both. Despite all this, he retained a crazed expression as he kept defiling his own soul. Bit after bit, I felt him kneed soul into mine. Though terrified, I couldn’t help but soften. This was truly a side of Parker I had never seen. Here he was, tainting himself- tainting us both- locking us to eternal damnation. Into one being. And he laughed while doing it. I could feel it in his depths. A raw aggression. A depraved, sexual hunger in him. One that swallowed me infinitesimally. One that strung me up inside him, fed me pieces of himself. Fed me too much of himself. Fed me to him. My head was spinning as the lines between us blurred even further. This new Parker coursed through me as he guided me to finish the job. Let’s sin in this temple together. The last, innocent piece of the original Parker spurted out of our soul in a torrent of spectral cum. We could see the weightlessness of it. We watched as it floated up to the dark sky. This remnant of the original Parker-the original me, would be mine. I drew the land into me, felt empowered by the flames as I jetted up. In unbelievable pace we ascended back to the living world. 

- - -

Final bits of soul continued to ascend but with a swift, dark grip, we grabbed it and jammed it into our body’s chest. I watched my meat shudder at the feeling. It breathed into life, but remained unconscious. Our soul now brimming black, I caressed my perfected form in satisfaction. We were Parker. And we needed every bit of ourselves to be whole. On that note, I jammed our dick right into the Parker Meat body’s chest and watched as it shuddered. Caressing the face now wholly mine, I jammed our dick in again and again, reveling in the body’s shaking. I watched it claw into the floor, legs kicking and flaying in some automatic attempt to keep its own soul out. I only continued with faster and faster pace, grunting in his manly tone until finally-release. The invisible barrier around flesh punctured and I willed my spirit to pump bit after bit of myself into the small orifice. The Parker body only made gurgling noises as I streamed inside. Once all of me was finally home, I felt my flesh begin to enclose me and laughed as I felt the barrier reforge- only with me inside it this time. I made quick work of the last piece of the original Parker’s soul. Staining it black and integrating it into myself.

Tears now flowed freely down Parker’s flush cheeks. His hands caressed his thick biceps in gratification. We were finally complete.  

I moaned as I felt myself overcome a familiar sensation that my old body often experienced. However, this sensation was entirely foreign to this Parker-flavored bod. Electricity coursed inside me, and moans turned into screams as shook back and forth in a downright religious experience. My back arched in violent delight and I felt the lights go out from my new pale, blue eyes. Parker’s first cum- our first cum together- absolute pleasure. My jaw slacked and drool began to escape as I was still reeling from the sensation.

Mess. I sat there panting for a second, chest and stomach soaked and coated in our liberation. I scooped a bit of the white and stared at it in my hand, watching this body’s own seed violently shudder and contort unnaturally before phasing into a dark mist. In demented glee, I felt the mist like an extension of myself and began feeding it into the rest of the untouched cum still outlining my abs. I licked my lips in savage pleasure as I watched as the rest of it slowly turn dark and soon felt it also under my control. Exquisite. I sent the small package of myself into the air, flying towards one of my teammates. Just a small piece to convince him to submit himself to Parker’s temple.

I couldn’t wait to show the town our new self. We are Parker. And all are welcome to worship at this temple. “Let us pray”.

- - -

Now, have you accepted Parker as your personal lord and savior?

[reikunrei]

feeling incredibly averse to posting this but i'm just gonna drop my kofi link here in case anyone wants to help me get out of my increasingly shitty situation living with my parents

more info below ig

after having given my parents nearly $100k over the last four years, i'd love to be able to actually leave. my future job situation is still up in the air (i've submitted for about a dozen positions and the only one i've heard back from and interviewed for hasn't gotten back to me yet), and i haven't been able to build up any savings because, again, i was (and still am) helping my family afford rent and bills, and probably the taxes my parents are behind on, but if i think about that, i'll get too angry. no joke, i've given my family, at the bare minimum, 85% of my income over the last 4 years. the rest of it has gone toward medical stuff and, now, my car

at this point, with the combo of my mom refusing to lower her standards and my dad's seeming refusal to hunt for a new full time job, i don't see how they won't continue to bleed me dry. my dad even has a bad habit of taking money out of my old savings account that he's a joint owner on or whatever from when i got it set up when i was 16, even when i stopped actively putting money in it, so now any time it gets its automated $1 transfer from my checking account, he'll just take that $1 without consulting me. i'm not exaggerating, even if it has $1-2 in it, it'll be gone within a week

i've even put off starting on testosterone because of this. i wanted to start it like 3 years ago, but kept putting it off because of money issues and wanting to save as much as possible. i got really close to actually starting it this year, but because of how messy everything is, i put it off again bc having one more thing on my plate, especially when my parents are already weird about me being trans, was not something i wanted to deal with

not to mention, we're still currently not living under a lease in our house that we're, as far as i'm aware, still tens of thousands of dollars behind in rent on (again, my dad refuses to disclose our financial position honestly with any of us) and it's developed many, many issues bc the landlord, even before we were behind on rent, is shit and refuses to actually fix anything. and my dad loves to just ignore things unless we beg him to do something

i'd love to be on my own (in the, much more affordable, midwest) by the end of summer. i by no means want to rely on donations and i have other avenues i'm working with to make money (i still have my current full time job, but i'm going through my old belongings and selling a lot online), but i'll take any help i can get atp because i'm truly at my wits end. i'd start doing art commissions again if i could, but doing that from 2020-2022, partially on top of my full time job, absolutely wrecked my right hand and i'm still in enough pain that i can't make it a regular activity

idk how much else there is to say. there's more i could say but... i don't really wanna air all my dirty laundry here. i'm miserable in so many ways and it's just become increasingly clear that my dad expects me to constantly cover his ass. my younger brother gives money too, but he manages to go on big cross-country and overseas trips with friends, so i think i've been stuck with the burden of giving the most money. there's so many more things going on in the world rn and everyone is stretched thin so i don't expect much, or anything, but. idk. might as well throw it out there, right?

i’ve also since taken down the gfm i set up last year when we got our first eviction notice bc, while we still need the money, i don’t feel right keeping it up for multiple reasons, including “i don’t want to give any of that money to my family” and it feels too… serious to keep it up when i could just throw out my kofi instead

i just want to make sure i have some sort of safety net to catch me if i move before anything job-wise is finalized. i need to be able to afford a place to live for at least a month so i can job-search while physically being in the area i wanna move to, which would ultimately make it easier for me to find a job at all. i'm working on being more firm with giving less money so i can actually have the means to move and be safe and comfortable, but... that never lasts long in this house

anyway. that's it, i guess. thanks for reading

[elsaellaelys]

Ice cream and daydreams

summary: Ice cream date on the beach. Inspire by Melting, Kali Uchis.

pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!reader

WARNINGS: Too fluff.

1.563 words

a/n: I had to write this! Is probably my favorite now. If you want to write with another music theme, just let me know.

--★--

You are my church, you are my place of worship.

Y/N is sure she can't find one person she admires more than JJ. And it's not just about his blonde messy hair, his lost sea eyes, his skin, his body or the way he touch her, but how he managed to get through everything he went and still be the sweetest guy she've ever knew, how he loved her and how she could love him back, how he let her in. People always told her she shouldn't trust people so blindly, be so devoted and she knows is dangerous thing to do, but can she help it? She wouldn't mind anything he can do at all, as long as he's still beside her, still loving her just like she loves him.

I heard you're the plug, can I be the circuit?

She'd give anything to be with him all the time, is even bad to admit, but she would like steal him from everybody else cause she's so hooked, so in love, and the connection that sets between them feels like will never end and she can't take the risk of letting people ruin it.

The first time they had sex is her main memory everyday, she never felt so complete, so satisfied, since that day, nothing can bring her down from the clouds, she knows that, when the day is bad, she can come back to him, he'll hold her and tell her everything is okay and she'll believe.

When I got court, I hope that you're the verdict.

With all her heart she wishes they are really meant to be together, till the end. Spending day after day waking up next to him, coming back to fall asleep holding each other, forever together. He already told her that, she's cursed to handle him forever, he's not letting go and she couldn't be more glad, it's not a curse though, it's her wish coming truth.

When you're around, my insides turn inverted.

He always comes behind her to put his harsh hands delicately above her eyes. Her heart beats fastly against her chest.

"Who is it?" she asks, even though she knows the answer, she feels him smiling in her neck, peppering kisses in her skin.

"I can tell you know, I see the goosebumps in your neck." he whispered, blowing air in the back of her ear.

The pogues are all making vomit sounds, but JJ just shove them away. "Stay here princess, I'm gonna get you Jack&Coke, just the way you like it." he crossed the bar to get the drink, leaving her eyeing him, looking so hot with his sunglasses between his blonde hair, combat boots crossed as he leans in the balcony, and she's yearning for the moment he'll come back, put his arm around her shoulder and she'll pretend she's not thinking about what he gonna do when they get home, when he get her in the bed just in her underwear.

So she lean her head in his shoulder, both hands holding the glass cup to not cringe into his side like a cat in his owner's lap.

My blood starts to rush when I see your doorman I know you're nearby and I know your purpose Take one look at you, you're heaven's incarnate What is this spell, baby? Please show some mercy

He told her to wait at home, he'd pick her up to the beach avenue, but she couldn't wait, heading to the Chateau, in the sundress she knows he loves, pink with little blue flowers, a silk bown in the back, so short that she made sure to wear pink lace panties. She saw John B. and Pope outside in the porch, suddenly a little shy of how dressed up she was. "Hi." she spoke, trying to sound the more normal possible.

John B. looked up, eyes wide. "Hello there." he answered wining a slap in the head from Pope. "Ouch!"

"Hi Y/N, JJ is inside." Pope says.

"He's showering, it's really nice that you can make him shower... Ouch! What the fuck you're all up to?" John B. stroked the back of his head, JJ just showed up in the door and slapped his friend's head.

"I do shower, dumbass."

"Yeah, every Sunday."

"Shut up." "Wait a minute, princess, I lost my keys." She followed him inside the Chateau, he was leaving a trail of his Cremo cologne that he probably got from the Walmart, she leaned in the door frame observing her boyfriend lifting pillows, dragging the sofa front and backwards, opening drawers, Y/N was hypnotized by his sight, navy blue shirt, khaki pants and boots, the way he furrowed his eyebrows looking around. Wishing the time could stop, just to look at him till she got sick, like she could ever get enough of him, of his precious face and smile, and this perfume, vanilla spice affecting her brain. God! What did he do to me?!

She shook her head "Isn't that on the kitchen counter?" she asked.

He looked up, going to find the keys in the place she pointed. "What I'd do without you, uhm?" She laughed when he spinned her around, headed out holding her hand, said goodbye to the boys still holding her hand, not letting go to help her get on his motorcycle, putting her arms around his torso, he rode like they were on a bubble, heading to the sky.

Melting like an ice cream when you smile Melting, you're a daydream, stay a while

Now he's here, paying for her white chocolate ice cream that she made sure to cover with a lot of strawberry sauce. JJ got a vanilla one, they sitted on the beach sand, under the shade of a tree that leaned over the beach side, his boots sinked a little in the sand beside her strap sandals, the sea was a bit far, but its smell and sound was clear, they could see the waves crashing in the rocks from time to time.

"This is nice, isn't? Beach, ice cream..." JJ spoke, eyes coming to Y/N.

"You." she added "My favorite things."

He smiled wildly. "Am I your favorite?"

"Yes!" She smiled back. Oh look at his dimples, makes he looks so sweet and... Oh he just reached to pull my hair off of my face, thought he was going to kiss me. Oh, he's leaning again, is he gonna kiss me? With those pretty lips...

"Your ice cream." he pointed.

"Uh?" she asked confused.

"Is melting, love."

I pray that I can learn to be funny I'm watching every stand-up comedy Just hoping that it'll rub off on me So you'll smile at everything I say

She took a mouthful of ice cream, trying to take off the not so iced part, hands starting to get sticky, she just rubbed on her dress, not really caring about it.

"Eating ice cream is a thing that nobody can't look tough doing." JJ said, Y/N laughed.

"What?"

"Yeah! Like, can you imagine Mike Tyson eating ice cream before a fight? Nobody's gonna take him serious. He gonna look like a 10 year old kid, I'd even give him braces."

She laughed loudly, he started to act licking the ice cream trying to seem fussy. Her laugh being the prettiest thing he've ever heard, he would do anything to hear it everyday.

JJ remember the first time he saw her crying, she lost in the beach the necklace her grandma gave her, she hugged him so tight, silently crying, he only knew because of the tears running down his chest, he felt powerless for not be able to help, when Kiara came to them taking the necklace out of the net she used to collect trash off the beach, she smiled wildly, tear still watering her lashes, he still felt bad for not being the one to save her. So he would do anything to take a laugh out, see that sweet grin in that pretty lips.

You got some soft lips and some pearly whites I wanna touch them in the dead of night Your smile ignites just like a candlelight

Fuck, that pretty lips, she licked it and now is shiny, just ready to be kissed, like he does everyday, when wake up beside her, when one of them have to leave, when they see each other in the middle of the day; like he does every night, when he's droping her at her house, when they're going to sleep, when he has her pressed between him and the sheets.

Passing his finger in the cream, he spread it in the tip of her nose, leaning to kiss the place, then he put some ice cream in his lips, she's all smiles and giggles, warming his heart.

Then somehow, I know everything's alright.

He had a bad day start, waking up to no breakfast, no washed clothes, his dad passed out in the living room, then he had to clean a kook's pool, cut their grass, listening annoying commentaries from rich ass fuckers.

But she called... "I've thinking about you nonstop." "It doesn't matter, just want to see you, Jay." He almost lost his knees strength just listening to her voice, she made him feel like he was the one begging to see her. He needed her, her voice - not only through the phone - her face, her body, her touch, her love. Cause when they're together nothing else matters, everything is okay.

Melting like an ice cream when you smile

The ice cream were longer forgot, their hands were all dirty and sticky, but does it matter? Lips are now connected, vanilla and white chocolate flavors in both their mouths, her breath is hitting his face. The cone is slipping from his hand, he didn't notice though, too caught up in how her soft lips felt between his, so easy to slick his tongue in, until he feels the lack of what he was holding. Looking down to see his ice cream mixing with sand. "Fuck."

She laughed "It's okay we can share mine."

Melting, you're a daydream, stay a while.

Of course the day is going to end, but JJ probably will be sleeping in her bed anyway. Right now, they'll stay like that for a while.

[yzafre]

it could've been so good - a possible interpretation and extrapolation of 2012 April O'Neil

So, 2012 makes me want to take every character apart and put them back together like a jigsaw puzzle.  The characterization drives me crazy because like.  It’s messy but not entirely incoherent.  It’s like... someone was making a bracelet and picked out a bunch of matching or complementary beads, but then just left them scattered on the table instead of finishing stringing them up.

Similarly, 2012 puts a lot of fascinating character moments on the table but then doesn’t really... do anything with them, or thread them together with any kind of intent, and it makes me insane. 

So this is me, frantically putting my own strings between them like a conspiracy board.  I’ll probably end up meandering through most of the main cast but we are STARTING with April because I’ve already alluded to my thoughts on her in a couple posts. 

And I know, I know, it’s always easy to talk shit and say “they should have done this” in hindsight - and it very much seems like the writers just.  Didn’t know what to do with her for a long time? 

But if you look at the scenes/episodes she’s given, you have the skeleton of an interesting character arc focusing on the desire for agency and control over your life, chasing strength/power, and the difference between the two.

Starting point

Okay, we’re going to start with two key themes I’ve found and go from there: April’s desire to become a ninja, and her whole family-kraang situation.

When it comes to April and fighting, one of the first things I noticed was this exchange between April and Splinter, when he offers to train her:

“If I do this… does that mean I can kick everybody’s butt?”

And then, when Splinter is against it: “Oh yeah, me neither… but I could, right?”

That is the attitude of someone who wants to fight – and not only fight, but to win.  To beat others.  That was… interesting.

We also see, as time goes by, that – when the writers remember to include her – she wants to be involved.  To a reckless degree.

Metalhead: she set up her own research avenue, gathering information on Krang sightings.  Then she immediately goes to sneak in, even though the turtles can’t go out yet – and has her own mini-adventure!

Panic in the Sewers: she approaches the Purple Dragons with the pizza plan of her own accord.  She volunteers to spy on the meeting with the Shredder the moment the turtles look to be giving up – even when they are very against it – and keeps going when her first plan doesn’t work.

In the next season, after she’s been training for a while, you have the Kraang Conspiracy (incidentally, where she gets a big lore dump about her family’s connection to the kraang): she’s trying to get involved in their training/missions, upset about not being able to keep up -  she refused to be left behind to wait “like some stupid sidekick”.

“I want in on the action, too.”

She’s not theatrically bombastic about it as Casey is, but… She wants to be in the game so bad.  She is consistently frustrated when left behind, when reminded of ways she can’t keep up.  She volunteers herself to get involved, even against the turtle’s recommendations at times.  Insists on it.

This continues even as she improves, as she’s more often on the team – look at City at War in season 4.  April is so thrilled to finally be a “full fledged ninja”, but frustrated when Raph points out how much further she has to go, and does not deal well with being defeated by Shinigami so easily.  First it’s simply self-doubt, yes, but when she sees Shinigami again there is impulsiveness and anger. (yes there is some influence by the Aeon crystal here, BUT).

((Also sidenote, it was also Raph who specifically brought up time spent training with Splinter, and what it takes, back in the Kraang Conspiracy.))

((Also also, don’t love the cattiness/pitting girls against each other way this episode is written.  But for the observation section we use what we’ve got.  Sigh.))

All of this put together: they are giving April a very active, driven personality, who is interested in being able to fight, being involved with taking on the bad guys, and being a main player in confronting the world around her.

HOWEVER – she's often only middling-levels of successful, when she’s not side-lined.  It’s a show about the turtles, so they have to save the day, right? ....right? no

Now, the other half of her we’ve got to talk about is her, the kraang, and all the effects that has on her family.

When we start the show, her mom’s already gone, and it’s just her and her dad – thus why she ends up staying with an Aunt.  We don’t know it yet, but that’s important.

So, she loses her father in the pilot – it's how she meets the turtles, why she continues to interact with them (and at this point from the writing it’s not entirely convincing she would stay in touch otherwise – to me Mikey's “You have to like us” comment feels very real, early on).

She gets her dad back, but he’s compromised, leading to events in the Season 1 finale.

((Not her family, but the one “normal” friend we see her with turns out to be a Kraang in disguise, so like.  That’s also interference in her life.))

Season 2 opener, she loses him again – this time to mutation.  Her hallucination in the fear mushrooms episode was about bats/her father, remember, so the state of her father is front and center for her – and with only one parent, why wouldn’t it be?

When they cure that, it’s not long until the invasion.  And he gets mutated again, left behind with the rest of New York.

We found out her family line – her mother specifically – was part of a project by the Kraang.  April is the end result of this genetic manipulation, a tool to finish their goals.

These are all things that are done to her, which she has no control over.

So, we get an (ostensibly, when April isn’t being put on the shelf by the narrative) active personality, contrasted against plot developments in which things keep happening to her.

These are the two rocks I’m banging together to create the lens I’ll be interpreting her character through.

What do you do when your fate is never in your hands?

So, let’s go back to the beginning, and let me show you the context I’m looking at:

You are a smart, promising, self-motivated girl, who despite the loss of a parent has a generally good life.

And then you get attacked, and though you are rescued your father is not, and despite your best efforts, there’s nothing you can do about it.  You’re helpless, largely having to depend on these strangers to save your future.

But then you get the offer for martial arts training – you can learn to fight back.  Where you have been made powerless, you can reclaim power.

As you go deeper in the rabbit hole, you learn more truths – you have a strange power, the enemy is somehow connected to your lost mother, your very DNA has bene tampered with, your fate altered for someone else’s benefit before you could even walk.

You get your father back – he's mutated again.  You cure him – he's lost to an invasion.

You can’t do anything about it.

You find out the real truth of how the Kraang stole your mother from you.  More ways you never had control of your life, your fate – how everything about you was manufactured, out of your control.

You keep trying to get stronger.

And yet, despite your best efforts, you keep getting left behind.  This entire situation has to deal with you: your life, your father, your history – but they keep saying: you can’t keep up.  Your best is not enough

Even when you finally graduate, you’re met with reminders of how much further there’s left to go.  You’re met with enemies who are better than you, who you can’t defeat.

You keep trying to get stronger but it’s never enough.

…hey, The Power Inside Her is making more sense now, isn’t it?

((Aren’t you tired of being nice?  Don’t you want to go ape shit?))

Even the trope that she occasionally touches on – which generally annoys me – of “character who is clearly unqualified tries to force their way into the mission” gets a different view to it, because it’s not about a generic “want to be included” or “but I am good” (you are not).  It’s... it’s this tension of “my agency keeps getting stolen from me, so I’m resisting when people tell me no to something that will let me get it back”.

Now, to be clear, I don’t think this connection was well executed – and I’m extremely skeptical whether it was even intentional, but you can make the connections if you want to, and isn’t it interesting?

Where could we go with this?

This is the extrapolating section, and is admittedly just a fun thought experiment for me to indulge myself with – but if the story were to take this direction more explicitly, what could you do with it?

First off, to make anything work, you need to let the POV sit with April and her grief occasionally.  Show her away from the turtles, how she’s handling the change in her living situation, and also how losing her Mom young affected her/is currently impacting her.

To adapt the story we already have, I think you could lean into her not being personally invested in the turtles early on – her focus is on getting her father and her life back.  It’s not that she dislikes them, it’s just her headspace isn’t in the “make friends” mindset – they're co-workers or team-mates, not real friends.

(Of course, that’s not going to hold up, long-term.  Genuine affection for them starts slipping in when she’s not looking – but it’s always competing with her focus on her dad, and will frequently lose to it.)

I think you could – probably mostly in season 1 – make some interesting tension between her acting with a sort of professional distance, versus the turtles (maybe minus Raph?  He was always the most skeptical of humans) wanting to make a friend for the first time.  You’d have to actually dedicate time in the episodes for relationship writing rather than just the plot, but it could be done!

Then, the period where she splits from the turtles at the beginning of season two could be a really make-or-break moment of clarity.  Her (mostly subconscious!) view of “turtles as tool to regain what she cares about” vs the honest affection for them that snuck up on her.  Grappling with the way her anger is complex and misplaced – she's angry this keeps happening, that she’s involved with this at all – angry because – even if she can’t put this into words – the turtles were supposed to be the thing that makes this better and now they made it worse.

Again, you need the camera to be on April more for this to pan out in any kind of sympathetic way!  Show the empty spaces where her Dad should be once more, show her thinking about/instinctively reaching out for the turtles for little social things, but then stumbling over it.  You gotta show how she’s feeling about the separation and not make it all about Donnie.

So when she comes back it’s a firm choice on her part to move past (a part of) her issues – and yes, you can still have Casey Jones be the one to hit her over the head with this emotional revelation, I liked their interactions in that episode.

Jumping tracks, this interpretation is also a big part of why I think she should have been positioned as closer to Leo, rather than Donnie (apart from just giving her some space from the love triangle).

Of the turtles, Leo is the most invested in The Plot – and April is obviously personally invested in the Kraang side of it.

Beyond that, April shows investment in getting better as a fighter.  Who else values improving their martial arts?  That’s right, Leo.  And April’s quitter than Casey, enough that I think she’d be interested in discussing some of the more philosophical parts of it that Leo likes, you know?  What it means to be a ninja, or whatever.

Under this paradigm, I think they both would exhibit a.... a demeanor of responsibility?  Feeling the weight of importance of dedicating yourself to getting better?  But their underlying reasons are a bit different.

Leo has the burden of being a leader – and the tension he feels with the weight of it, wanting to be able to let loose, to do something just for him. ((Not to mention living up to Splinter’s expectations.))

April is desperate to get her agency her father back.  In this circumstance it would have this feeling of... if she’s just strong enough, she can fix it all.  She can prevent it from happening again.  She can control her life.  Even when she moves past the subconscious “the turtles are supposed to fix it”, it instead could move on to an equally subconscious, “if I’m strong enough it will fix this”.

And – okay go with me here – I think this has April showing vaguely Leo-esque behavior, with a vaguely Raph-esque reason.  And that tension/dynamic could be fascinating.

I haven’t really seen a lot of talk about April being angry – other than I think I’ve seen some bashing takes of her being “bitchy” in the worst sense – but.. she kind of is, isn’t she?  Just a bit?  And with this interpretation you take it and let it run deep underneath it all.

She is angry and doesn’t realize the depths of it.  She is hanging all her hopes on martial arts giving her control back over her life and doesn’t realize how desperate she is for it.

With that, you could do some really interesting things of having her be close with Leo, have him think he understands her... but as she begins to crack, and everything she’s been repressing starts spilling out, have Raph start recognizing parts of himself in her, gaining understanding of her while Leo is still floundering.

I think it would add some texture and push growth for all three characters!

...and, -sigh-, if we’re going to talk about the love triangle.  You could look at the mess with “the boys fighting over her and making moves in uncomfortable ways” (she can’t control them, its confining, she needs the turtles to like her early on) for some thematic relevance – perhaps with a hint of “trying to gain back control, she begins to try and manipulate/control their reactions/affections”?  Not particularly healthy, mind you, but it could be done to make it more of a clusterfuck all around.

But honestly if it has to be here, I would prefer for it to just affect Donnie’s development and be more of a background thing to April while she focuses on all the above aspects.  Her biggest actions would be just trying to dodge it all, until she shuts it down for good, given she seems generally uninterested.

So, there’s my emotional conspiracy board on April O’Niel.  Obviously with this level of interpretation (and blatant re-writing) it’s a subjective, YMMV type thing, but I think the groundwork is there. 

And it could have been so good.

[cutiecorner]

Boats

Ficlet • Regressor! Bruce, caregiver! Alfred

@todayimfour said: "This is probably more of a doodle promt than writing but I feel like Bruce would have a blast with those lil bath toys that are the stacking boats"

In LOVE with this prompt!!! It can be a doodle AND a fic :3c enjoy!

“Bruce, poppet, don’t you think it’s time for a bath?”

Bruce stewed in his chair in front of the bat-computer. There was no doubt about it, he was kind of filthy. After a long mission in Gotham’s sewers to look for Killer Croc’s latest hide out, he went directly for the computer to catalog his findings. Not the best plan, but the one he decided to pursue in the moment. That moment was four hours ago, and he still hadn’t showered. Alfred had exhausted all of his avenues to get Bruce up and clean, but none had pulled him away from the computer. Except his last resort. Bruce was well aware that Alfred doesn’t call him pet names for just any reason. ‘Master Bruce’ was enough affection for the both of them, direct sweetness was a little much for daily happenings. Things had gotten particularly serious, Bruce thought, for Alfred to “poppet” him. He considered the possibility of going along with it, but he simply had too much work to do. He grunted to communicate as much. Alfred frowned, but was quickly hit with an idea. 

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to save my special surprise for another night then.”

Bruce was being baited, he could tell, but… a surprise was kind of like a mystery. Bruce loved mysteries. He just couldn’t resist. 

“... what kind of surprise?”

Alfred smiled, “I guess you’ll have to come with me to find out.”

Bruce let out a long sigh, hating to be pulled from his work, but he had to admit - he kind of wanted to get clean.  Not to mention, a pleasant surprise never hurt anyone. Once he was up from the chair, he pulled down his cowl to release his messy hair. Alfred reached for his hand, taking it to Bruce’s shock. This was serious business. 

Alfred led Bruce to the bathroom, and Bruce quickly took off his dirty suit to deposit in the laundry basket. He was starting to realize that he really did feel icky. Icky? He thought, surprised at his internal choice of words. Was he…

“I’ll start the water, dear, you go potty”

Bruce pouted. He did not go potty, he was far too big for potty. He ruminated on his big-ness as he did what Alfred told him anyway. After all, he would never outgrow taking orders from Alfred. Alfie knew everything.

“All done?” Alfred asked.

Bruce nodded in response, taking a seat in the bathtub. Alfred ran the showerhead over him to get the worst of the grime off, then started to fill the tub. Bruce always felt awkward waiting for the water to fill up, but was soon distracted by the bubbles forming. Alfie put some bubble bath in, it smelled nice too. He took a deep breath, taking in the lavender scent. He felt relaxed, fuzzy…

“I suppose it’s time for your surprise, hm?”

A bath surprise? Strange… Bruce wondered. What could be a surprise for the bath?

Before he could ponder, Bruce was presented with a pack of brightly colored boat toys.

“A bath toy? Don’t you think I’m a little old?” Bruce whined. 

“Oh, never.”

Alfred set a few of the boats in the now-full tub.

“Look, they can float, and you can fill them up with water, they even stack,” Alfred grinned.

Hrn, Bruce responded, not wanting to give in to a baby toy. He scrubbed at his hair as he tried to ignore the floaties… but they were so pretty. He bet they could go pretty fast if he pushed them. He thought about the splashy water and the ripples… No! He thought, Don’t get distracted. One of the boats floated over to him. He flicked it away. It did go pretty far! He found himself smiling. He grabbed another boat, skipping it across the water. Now he was laughing. Soon, he was playing. He filled the boats up with water till they sank, he raced them, he sorted them. 

“Alfie, look how many boats! They’re all stacked up and they still go!”

“Oh wow,” Alfred chuckled.

Bruce continued to play as Alfred finished washing him.

“Alright, pumpkin, you’re all done.”

“No!” Bruce cried, “my boats…”

Alfred smiled.

“I promise you can play with your boats tomorrow, love.”

“You promise?”

“I swear,” Alfred smiled. 

[theladyofdeath]

Lady Death's Lover {8}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: I am so sorry it has taken me so long to update. Life has been messy. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy and cannot wait to hear what you think! Thank you for reading. x

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Dear Sir or Madam,

You are cordially invited to a masquerade ball at the Mandray Manor on Starlight Avenue on the twentieth of April. Wear your finest mask and arrive before midnight to dance the night away.

>.<.> Nesta >.<.>

“The ball is in nine days. We are meant to create a United front, show the ton that we are happy. Yet, you will miss it, leaving me to play host alone.”

I think it’s the most words I have spoken at once to Tomas, especially in such a tone, but once I’ve begun I can’t seem to stop. “Can you truly not return a few days early?”

I try my best to ignore the fire in his eyes and the way it makes my back stiffen. I would not be afraid of this man. I cannot be afraid to stand my ground.

At least that’s what I tell myself as he takes a step toward me. “Wife.” That one word that should be full of nothing but love is flung at me with hostility. “My wife, with your lavish homes and beautiful gowns. You can have whatever you want, whenever you want it, and do you know why that is?”

I may be headstrong, but I’m not foolish enough to answer a question of his that he doesn’t intend to have answered. 

“You have your life because of me,” he says, tilting up my chin with his knuckle. He’s not gentle. “You are not allowed to complain. You are not allowed to be unhappy. You are, however, allowed to shut that pretty little mouth of yours and do as you're told. I have told you when I will return. Until then, you will make sure that the ton believes my absence from this ghastly affair is a complete necessity. Is that understood?”

I stare at him.

He drops his hand and takes a step back, clearly pleased with himself. “Ensure it’s a success.”

With that, he turns toward the door and my tongue has a mind of its own. “You are a poor excuse for a husband.” 

He stops, just short of the threshold, and his body grows taut. I instantly regret my words, but I shouldn’t. I should not be afraid to speak my mind. I should not have to fear the power of my words. I should be able to voice my opinions, and in a loving, healthy marriage, I would be able to.

Of course, in a loving, healthy marriage, I would not have to voice these opinions. I would not have these opinions at all.

When Tomas turns to me, I fight the urge to run. With all the strength I can muster, I lift my chin and stand my ground. 

“Apologies,” he says, sauntering back towards me. “I am afraid that I misheard you.”

This was the moment. I could either lie and apologize and hope he shows mercy, considering he heard my statement clearly. Or, I could continue to stand my ground.

This is when I think of him.

I think of him always being there around every corner with that stupid little grin of his as he towers above me. I think of his kind words and the way I shared my macarons with him when we shared my coach. I think of the heat between us as we stand so close, too close for a married woman to be standing by a gentleman. I think of him, his beauty, his kindness, the temptation. 

“I am a woman,” I say, trying my best to make my voice remain still. “I am a human being who deserves to be treated with respect. You are cruel. You want a wife to flaunt around like a trophy, a woman to have on your arm for the sake of image, someone to order around and control.” I swallow, my hands turning into fists at my side. “But I am not a woman to be controlled. I am tired of playing this role. I am tired of being at your beck and call. I am sick of being a slave to this marriage when you do not take it seriously, take me seriously. Our marriage vows do not mean a damn thing to you, and I am the one who suffers because of it.” 

He’s close to me now. The air has grown thick. We are in the midst of battle and, if I am being honest, I cannot tell who has the upper ground. 

He opens his mouth, and I think he’s about to say something, to demean me, to threaten me, but then he moves.

My cheek burns as his palm makes contact with my skin.

Immediately, my eyes blur but I beg myself not to cry. It’s a natural reaction for one’s eyes to water when getting slapped, but I fear my hurt comes from somewhere deeper. 

It’s not because I love him.

Of that I am sure.

Perhaps it’s because the life that I lost, the life that could have been, a joy that will never be reached but will always be wondered about. 

Tomas grabs me by the back of my neck and pulls me close to him. I cry out, but he doesn’t seem to care. Or, maybe he doesn’t even notice. 

“I don’t know who you think you are,” he hisses. “Without me, you’d be nothing but a whore in a little town that no one has ever heard of. You should be bowing down to me, worshiping at my feet.” His grip tightens and I bite my tongue to keep from whimpering. “You’d better learn your place before you come to regret it. I can ruin you as quickly as I’ve made you.” 

The urge to spit in his face is overwhelming but I ignore it as I always do. 

“Now, be a good little wife and tend to your list of duties for the ball while I prepare for my leave,” he says, finally letting me go. 

He doesn’t look back at me as he leaves the room, not even acknowledging the fact that he just tore me to pieces and left me alone to put myself back together. Except I don’t. I remain shattered but I straighten my back anyways. I lift my chin and take a deep breath before following my husband’s instructions. 

The staff doesn’t look at me all afternoon.

That way, it’s easier to ignore the blooming red splotch on my cheek. 

~.~.~

>.<.>Cassian>.<.>

After going back and forth with myself (and my brothers) for days, I find myself stepping out of my coach and falling into the line of people walking into the Mandray residence. I had a new jacket made just for this occasion, and I have no idea why I care so much. Even if it seems Nesta and I cannot keep away from one another, and there is clearly a pull between us, she made herself clear with me. She is true to her husband.

Even if she cannot stand him. 

I hardly notice the house and its occupants as I enter the manor. Music has already begun to play and there are people dancing, which makes me think I am one of the last to arrive. 

I see Nesta nowhere.

Nor do I see Tomas. 

After securing my mask, I grab a champagne flute off a tray being carried by a passing server. I sip it once and instantly wish it was bourbon. I drink it nonetheless.

For all the utter shit they had given me, I don’t see Azriel or Rhysand. Although, the latter does like to be late to make a dramatic entrance. Not Azriel. He prefers to blend into the shadows. 

“Lord Cassian.”

I spin around only to frown at the man in front of me. Lord Tarquin and I had never truly been friends, but there was a time that he didn’t hate me as much as he does now.

I set his library on fire once and the bastard never forgave me.

“Lord Tarquin,” I begin, clearing my throat. I give him a cocky grin that makes his eyes narrow. “A pleasure. I haven’t seen you in years. Back in Velaris?”

“Only for the season,” he says, nodding towards a young woman who is dancing with a gentleman. “I’m serving as my cousin, Cresseida’s, chaperone now that she is of age.” 

I remember Cresseida, although she’s nearly a decade younger than me. She was nothing but a child when poor Tarquin’s collection of war novels went up in flames.

“I’m certain she will find a husband quickly.” As the words escape me, she sweeps into the room. She’s wearing a dress of midnight blue and a gold, lace trimmed mask that covers the upper half of her face, but I know it’s her. “She’s lovely.” 

“Indeed,” Tarquin says, and I completely forgot he was by me. “But, apologies, I must deny her anyone who has ever set a portion of my home on fire.”

My eyes snap from Nesta to Tarquin, who is watching me with a raised brow. I clear my throat. “Oh, I…wasn’t showing interest. Cheers.”

I walk away before he can say anything else, although I’m sure he hates me more now than he did five minutes ago, which is saying something.

Not that I give a damn.

I try to cross the room to Nesta but she’s fluttering about, making her rounds as hostess. I follow her around the room nonetheless until she exits out the doors to the patio. Once I make it there and the cool night air hits my skin, she’s nowhere to be found. 

I frown.

A couple of partygoers are scattered about, laughing and sipping champagne. I don’t give any of them a second glance as I walk across the patio and down the stone steps, into the garden. She couldn’t have gone far, one would think, but as I scan the deserted garden before me, I second guess myself.

Maybe she had seen me and is attempting to flee from me. In that case, I’m nothing but a creep and a scoundrel. 

I freeze, halfway between two lines of tall shrubbery, and contemplate my thoughts before starting to turn around.

“Cassian?”

I stop. Stop walking, stop breathing.

Her golden mask is nearly all I can see in the moonlight but it’s enough to make my mouth go dry. I ignore the need to rush to her, to where she stands in perfect view after rounding the corner.

Neither of us says a word, but the air between us is thick. 

“I was not sure if you would come,” she says, her voice quiet but I hear every word with perfect clarity.

“I couldn’t stay away,” I say, the words escaping me before I can think better of them. “I know I should, but I cannot seem to.”

“Is that why you’re out here?” she asks, as my eyes drift to the quick rise and fall of her bosom. “Because you cannot stay away? Or, is it just a happy coincidence that we have once again run into one another in the garden?”

“Would you believe me if I told you it was a coincidence?” I ask, taking a step towards her. She does not move.

She almost smiles as she says, “No.”

“Good, because that would be a lie,” I confess, continuing to make small strides to where she stands between the bushes. “You have put on a lovely party, my lady.”

“My lady?” she asks, humored. 

“You always seem to get angry with me when I am inappropriate, so I thought it wise to use your title,” I say, although I cannot stop my widening grin. I take a sip of the gods-awful champagne. “May I ask, my lady, while you are wandering the grounds alone during your own ball?”

The humor in her eyes dims as she says, “Tomas is the one that the ton likes. It is hard playing hostess all alone for a crowd who dislikes me. I just needed a break, so I thought it best to come out here to clear my head.”

“Alone?” I ask.

She nods. “You don’t know? Tomas is out of town on business.” 

I swallow. “I see. When is he supposed to return?”

“He was supposed to come back Tuesday, but a letter arrived this morning saying that he is currently unsure of his return date. I suppose we shall see.”

“And he left you here to do this alone?” I ask, a sudden burst of anger flooding my body.

She shrugs, and the unladylike gesture captures my attention in the most satisfying of ways. “I must confess that I prefer his absence.” Her mouth snaps shut as if she knows she just admitted something that she should not have. “Forgive me.”

“For what?” I breathe. I am standing so close to her now that she has to look up to meet my gaze. Yet, she still has not moved. 

“For speaking freely,” she says, quietly. 

“I wish you would speak freely,” I say, wanting to reach towards her but refraining. “It would allow me to not have to constantly be wondering what’s going through your mind.” 

“Is that something you are constantly worrying about, my lord?” she asks, that humor returning to the depths of her eyes. “What is on my mind?”

If I am what’s on your mind, yes. “I must admit I’m curious.”

I don’t miss the way her eyes dart to my lips. In fact, I track the movement very carefully, track the way her mood shifts, track how her cheeks flush and her breathing grows ragged.

“Is that so?” she asks. “And why is that, my lord?”

“Cassian,” I say, and our fingers brush between us. “Call me Cassian, please.”

“Cassian.” The way she says my name is barely audible but it sets me on fire. “I must admit that I’m curious, as well. Will you share what it is on your mind?”

“You do not wish to know what’s on my mind,” I say, and our fingers brush again.

That gentle sensation will be the death of me. 

“Why not?” 

“If you feel our being together in close proximity has been inappropriate, I assure you that what is on my mind is far from innocent.”

Her lips part and her lashes flit. I’m tempted to remove the mask from her face so I can see her clearly in all her beauty, but I don’t want to ruin this moment. Whatever is happening between us is fragile, delicate, and I don’t want it to disappear too quickly. 

“Don’t let that stop you,” she says, and I nearly curse as our hands brush once more. “I’m having a horrendous night, please grant me some reprieve.” 

I swallow the words on the tip of my tongue. This time, when the back of my hand meets her satin glove, it’s intentional. “I am thinking that, under different circumstances, I would ask you to dance. And I would scare off any other man that tries to get in my way.”

“No one likes jealousy.”

“Your tone suggests otherwise,” I say, and reach up to brush my finger softly up her glove, letting it linger where it meets her skin. She sucks in a breath and lets her eyes close. My finger continues dancing across her skin. She’s warm beneath my touch. I stop at the hem of her sleeve and let my hand fall back down to my side. The second my touch leaves her, her eyes snap open and lock on mine. 

“Pardon me, my lord—”

“Cassian.”

“Cassian,” she continues, “I’m feeling unwell.”

“How so?” I ask, unable to help myself. I am not a dumb man, I know what is happening here. But I have to hear her say it. 

“I should get back to my guests,” she replies, simply, breathlessly. 

“You do not want to get back to your guests,” I say, knowing it's the truth. 

She doesn’t deny it. 

“You’re trying to avoid me,” I continue, “because it is what you should do.”

She doesn’t deny it.

“But you don’t want to,” I finish. “Do you?”

She hesitates, and just when I’m afraid she won’t say anything, she says, “What I want does not matter.” 

“You must stop telling yourself such lies,” I say, and I cannot keep the passion out of my voice any longer. Her eyes are locked on mine, her chest is flushed, her breathing is shallow. I can see every thought running clearly across her face but she refuses to voice them. “You deserve to feel joy. Wanted. Pleasure.” 

Her eyes roll back, her lashes flutter, and I am so undeniably hard that it’s growing painful. I reach up to touch her once more, my palm resting idly against her cheek, and she leans into me. We don’t move. I allow her to revel in the simplicity of gentle human contact even though it’s testing my restraint. 

“You mustn’t encourage this,” she says, eyes still closed, her tone betraying her. “I do not deserve—”

My thumb brushes along her jaw and her words fade away as her eyes snap open and meet mine. I’ve come closer without even realizing it. Our bodies, perfectly aligned, are nearly pressed up against one another. Our breaths mingle together in the mere inches that separate us. Her eyes fall to my mouth then back up to my own. The need in her gaze is overwhelming.

Our noses brush, but just when I can nearly taste her, a high-pitched fit of laughter breaks the silence. 

Suddenly, Nesta looks both poised and pissed as she pushes me away and hurries off, completely out of sight before I can even collect my thoughts. A duo of ladies comes around the corner and smile as they see me, the man standing along among the shrubbery with the outline of his cock perfectly on display for all to see. They whisper something to one another and giggle as they pass.

I wait until I’m completely alone before walking the path back to the party, but I don’t come across Nesta once. Instead, I call for my coach and shut myself inside before finding release on my own. 

Again. 

[al-the-remix]

Years pass but people still remain gross about WAGs. And now they dress it up with “intellectual” terms like industrial complex and post-colonial supremacist whatchamacallit. Give me the messy puck bunny blogs at least they’re open about hating WAGs.

Yeah, I can't say I have many complex things to say on the topic, except that that dialogue has been in this fandom forever (all fandoms forever; tumblr, the birthplace of the 'not-like-other-girls-girl') but it's especially bad in rpf and I'm exhausted of reading the same tired iterations on "well, I could NEVER understand how another woman could live like that--" STOP. Just stop it, it's not your life, and it's likely never going to be your life, for all the aforementioned unfair reasons. You don't have to compare yourselves to them constantly. It doesn't make you lesser or them better for being (presumably) born into a more privileged circumstance and it doesn't make them lesser and you better for achieving some enlightened pearl of knowledge.

The puck bunny blogs irk me just as much, and if you find one better than the other I guess it's more a question of what rolls your stomach more: spite or smugness. But in my opinion, calling Kathy an ageing escort that Sid pitty dates is just as nauseating as talking down your nose about her like she's some ignorant waif that cant make her own decisions about her life or her relationship.

Yes, the NHL is an intrinsically racist, misogynistic, homophobic, capitalist, fatphobic--and all the other bad terrible things--nightmare creature whose ailment runs all the way up to the giant sucking malignancy attached to its heart that is Garry Bettman and Bill Dayley, and further, to the executives that they shill for, and even further back to the time period, tenets, and culture that the sport was founded on. Remember, this is the same organization whose administrative and players (retired and current) repeatedly spit in the face of their teammates who've suffered chronic and debilitating injuries, and continue to mock journalists and veterans who try to bring those issues to the forefront, stating that the injury is worth it to win -- (or that the possibility of injury is worth it, considering these comments so often come from players that are still relatively hale).

Hmmm, sounds incredibly familiar to the position the NHL takes on another rampant issue in the sport: sexual assault.

There's a reason why the NHL is falling behind in popularity (and in value) compared to other sports organisations and it's because they cling to their archaic values and methods and flat-out refuse to let them go -- and thus attract players and administrative and fans who find all that entails appealing. It's not everyone in the sport obviously but it's a large enough faction to keep things stagnant -- just go take a look at Ian Kenedy's twitter page and start scrolling through the replies to his tweets if you want a taste of what we're up against here.

If you want to do anything, ANYTHING AT ALL to help improve the hockey culture, there are multiple avenues to explore that might actually make a difference --first of all getting involved in your community not just the internet community-- in chipping away at who this game attracts, how they see themselves, how they see others, how they see hockey players, and how those hockey players see themselves and others. Those avenues do not include dunking on wags. I get it, they all look the same, haha. it's weird, their children and husbands can't tell them apart, hahaha. There, I said it too and now I never have to hear that fucking joke again. Move ON.

I understand that the lines between reality and fiction can blur easily when it comes to rpf, but making actually, completely serious judgements on other people's private emotional lives and relationships is completely out of the realm of reality. You can't know, you can never know completely. It can be difficult enough to identify these things when it comes to a friend or a family member how are you possibly going to make a pronouncement that someone's relationship is stale or without intimacy or connection when literally have no idea who they really are? I've been stalked and I've had people write fanfiction about me and I can 100% say that what they gleamed of who I was and what my life was like from the outside did not run true.

Analyzing those aspects and their intersexuality is worthwhile -- if anyone has an actual interest in these topics I suggest reading: Wille O'ree's biography, Bern Saunder's biography, Fred Sasakamoose's Call Me Indian, Black Ice: The Lost History of the Colored Hockey League of the Maritimes by Darril and George Frosy, On Account of Darkness by Ian Kennedy, Why I didn't say anything by Sheldon Kennedy, Crossing The Line by Laura Robinson, Major Misconduct by Jeremy Allingham, Finding Murph by Rick Westhead -- There are more than that if you're willing to dig for them ... but especially after the back to back Kyle Beach and Hockey Cannada lawsuits I've just had it to up to here with the takes about the ~uwu poor hockey men~~ and their repressed homosexual longings and lack of overall male intimacy and companionship --- who do you think is doing said repressing?? THE HORRIBLE UWU MEN. (Said in exaggeration and jest but also not fucking really.) They are victims unto themselves. 99% refuse to speak up or do anything about the inequality, harassment, and overall intrinsic issues in the sport, the ones who bravely do are shunned by the others who refuse to help themselves or others. They don't see themselves as emotionally underdeveloped manchildren stranded on the frigid island of masculine solitude and arrested development. They like their lives, they don't care about what kind of impact that lifestyle has on other people (or on the environment or on the economy). They like their cookie-cutter world, conservative sandbox and comfortable wealthy liberalism... and most of all they like their hot blond skinny wives and they don't care what sort of social constructs have led to them pursuing a very specific type of woman. The vast majority of them have zero interest in having their eyes opened to a more complex and diverse worldview and it's not the fault of anyone but themselves, least of all the women who get pulled along in their wake.

[sercophe-sinderwidth]

If My Life Was Ending...

I would be more honest. I would tell my family and my church what I like and dislike and if they disagree fundamentally, I wouldn't carry it with me like a weighted vest. I'd laugh and smile and know their opinions aren't law and they love me regardless. They do. I do.

I would flirt like an actress in a spy movie. A romcom. A dramedy. I'd visit my hometown in a sundress with basketball shorts underneath. I'd swing on the set owned by my old elementary school. I'd approach every old avenue like some new path in a fantasy video game. I would.

I would quit my job - not because I hate it, but because I don't love it. Because once you stop hoarding resources you see them for what they really are, tools to get you to something/somewhere/someone else. I would eat new foods, fancy foods, messy foods, sweet or tangy foods.

I would share. So much more. Money, advice, warmth, friendship, space, time...I have so much to give that I do not give. Please, take some — it's for you! I won't run out of love.

I would cry if the movie were sad. Bawl my eyes out. Why do we do that thing where it's too embarrassing to be affected? No! It worked! I care! I care that the robot died for a second, I care that they became birds upon reincarnation, I care that she found her place in the world. Like Beyonce said, I care-

I would look at the quietest person in the room like I want to learn them. I want them to feel seen. I want them to smile. Selfishly, I want to be the one to remind them that they have galaxies in their mind and contain multitudes. I want to light that spark and watch it burn every fear away. I want.

I want to live like I knew I only had a little bit of time left. Just enough to get my feet wet. Just enough to stand up to the bullies for the little guy. Just enough to change someone's world. Just enough to remind someone that I have galaxies too.

I want the world not to burn around me while I look on.

I want people to be safe in their countries and travel for fun, not for survival.

I want Hell to be empty. Unbelievably empty.

I want redemption after cancellation.

I want people to live while they're alive. Live. While you're still here. Live.

I want because I would.

And I would...if I were close to the end.

[dirty-bosmer]

~Writerly Thumbprint Challenge~

Rules: look back on your work, both past and present, finished and unfinished. what are five (or more!) narrative elements, themes, topics or tropes that continuously pop up in your work?

Thanks to @thana-topsy for the tag! I was admittedly a bit intimidated by this one, but it was so illuminating. It's been a long time since I've taken a step back to evaluate my stories through a critical lens, and sometimes I forget what I've written 😅 I know a lot of people have already been tagged, so I'm tagging: @wispstalk @atypicalacademic @thequeenofthewinter @chennnington @rainpebble3 @justafoxhound @dumpsterhipster @skyrim-forever @sylvienerevarine @gilgamish @burningsilence

I'm a baby writer. Only two fics, both TES. Here is what I came up with:

1. An Inner Darkness, A Downward Spiral — Most of my OCs have a secret (sometimes not-so-secret) viscousness that's always simmering under the surface, threatening to ooze free. They're not necessarily mean, but they're not good people. They may not be evil, but they all do very bad things. Why? Because 1) thieving and necromancing and murder for hire are kinda fun in-game, and if our Hero is doing all of that while saving the world, it needs to be explained with something other than whimsy lol, and 2) I like the challenge of writing morally grey characters who are flawed and fucked up and unforgivable while simultaneously asking readers to root for them. I've found it quite difficult to make them likable and deserving of sympathy while not overlooking their wrongdoings or writing them inconsistently, but it makes for such interesting conflict.

2. The Pursuit of Knowledge — My protagonists and their close friends are mage-nerds because I am a nerd, and perhaps this is a case of it's easier to write what's close to home?? I love University settings and the looseness of the elder scrolls magic system. There is so much great lore to work with but in many cases it's not so rigid that you can't also twist it and grow it and shape it to your own desire. Knowledge is power as the Telvanni say. Most of my protagonists are not physically strong and rely on cunning and/or magic for defense. In that way, knowledge is the primary avenue by which they assert control over the world around them, which facilitates a lot of conversations surrounding the ethics of magical use cause well... given the way my OCs use it, it deserves to be questioned.

3. Identity — How does a character perceive themselves? How does this compare to what is perceived by those around them? I love exploring the discrepancies between these two and often write arcs that involve a character breaking through the facades they've constructed to conform to what is expected of them and/or shield themselves from the discomfort they feel in their own skin.

4. Loneliness, A Desperate Need for Love — I write characters who have been placed or place themselves on the fringes of society, yet long for acceptance and a place to belong. This leads to a lot of unhealthy and messy relationships, both familial, platonic, and romantic. Often times they hurt people they care about. They let others hurt them too, but it's okay as long as they're not alone, right? It's angst all the way to the top baby.

5. Romance is not the End Goal — Yeah, my work features ships. I'd say it's actually a huge part of the stories, but mostly because the relationships my characters are involved in "fail." People break up or they die tragically. They become incompatible and move on (sometimes lol). Maybe they endure, but romantic love is not the only kind nor the highest valued, and most importantly, I want to write characters whose self-worth is not tied up in whether they're loved by someone else.

Bonus is Awkard Bisexual Losers because all my OCs are cringe-fail and have no game.

This was such an informative exercise! I encourage everyone to take a stab at it. Please tag me if you do. I'm so excited to see what you come up with :))

[dearestxiao]

PLEASE do.

I'm just thinking... overprotective yandere who already had a few screws loose when it came to you, who was always intensely concerned about your safety and doing everything in his power to keep you away from harms way, and that was just before the apocalypse even started.

that nature only magnifies by tenfold once the dead start walking. he can't help it. the world was already such a dangerous place, and that was before those... things started knawing their teeth into any living they got their fingers on. he knows what the world is like now—how you could easily lose your life at every avenue you take. how every person still alive was affected with the disease of selfishness. and how weak and vulnerable you are in a place like this.

he locks you in any room he can find while he goes out scavenging for necessities. never, ever let's you travel anywhere by yourself. avoids other survival groups like they're the real plague (both out of the intense jealousy he feels at the thought of you getting close to anyone other than him, and out of fear for your safety. he knows how messy things can get with other survivors). always meticulously plans out the next course of action, as if any little mistake or thing left unaccountable will lead to you being turned into... he really doesn't want to think about that. if you two started off alongside other friends, know that they'll be gone soon enough.

the horrifying part about zombie apocalypse is that there's no laws to be governed under anymore. take that as you will.

for this yandere I like to think of him as someone who, before the dead rose, was considered your best friend. I think of him as the more stoic type, always a little grumpy looking and always deadpans, but you've warmed your way into his heart. he was overbearing, sure, but it wasn't too bad, atleast not at first.

as soon as the news broke out of the outbreak, he did everything he could do to find you and take you, practically hunting you down to make sure you're safe. maybe at the sheer frenzy of the start he'll let you keep your little friends, but he soon realizes that their more of a threat to your safety than anything else, and takes action accordingly.

and then it just... continued to go downhill from there.

[ninthhousedyke]

Chaotic Academia for Broke Academics (AKA me)

As someone who wholeheartedly loves chaotic academia and its acceptance of messiness and peculiarity, but is sadly too broke to afford the style and too busy to do many of the things / extracurriculars I enjoy, I have accumulated a list of ways to enjoy the little subculture that has become academia without breaking your brain or bank :)

Look The Part / Decorations:

Collect pens, pencils, sharpies, and other school supplies from just about anywhere. Stack them in your desk drawers, inside little pots on your desk, or piled randomly in your backpack and pockets. If the pens and sharpies are all various colors that helps too. Annotate shit in pretty pink ink if you want!

Put pins on whatever bag you use for school. Loop cute keychains on it too if possible. Hot Topic, Spencers, and Etsy are good places for cheap-ish pins with witty sayings or dark humor. Put stickers on your computer / tablet / phone case. Same idea: dark, funny, witty, maybe puns.

Write and doodle on yourself. Put notes on your wrist, stars on your fingers, pretty words on your knee. This also helps if you can’t afford tattoos yet!

Stick stupid things to your walls. I have a mobile order receipt on my dorm wall from when my order number was 666. I used to cut off my name from Starbucks cups when the barista put a smiley face or a doodle and tape those to my wall.

Collect strange things and put them where you’ll see them. I collect Monster cans and Soda cans and stack them everywhere on my desk!

Get a simple ring, a simple chain necklace, or a simple bracelet. Wear it with everything. Rub it for comfort or when fidgeting so it shows wear and love.

Invest in a cute reusable water bottle, temperature controlled. Put stickers on it. Keep coffee, soda, juice, tea, or even water in it. Carry it everywhere. You look environmentally friendly and you can hit people with it if they give you trouble.

Go thrifting / antiquing. Look for clothes you like, obviously, but finding things with wear on them already gives a nice “messily put-together” look. Blacks, browns, beige, off-white, dark greens, and dark blues are all nice! Look for leather jackets, trench coats, hoodies, knitted sweaters, and cargo pants—all things that would probably be more expensive elsewhere. (I bought my trench coat for $5 at a yard sale and it turned out to be from Sach’s Fifth Avenue!)

Black jeans are your friend!

Black fingerless gloves are good for winter and just compliment most outfits.

Wear hoodies! Chaotic academia is about the messy side of academics, so look the part in a comfy hoodie! Pair with a chain necklace if you need something more put-together.

Paint your nails whatever color you want, but let it chip, let it be smeared. Get the polish on your hands.

Act The Part:

Keep detailed schedules that aren’t necessarily neat. Mix glitter pens with sharpie, write your assignments in multiple colors that have no reason. If you work best with neat schedules, then have colorfully coordinated lists with matching stickers. Keep a main schedule for classes and assignments, a second schedule for day-to-day micromanaging, and as many more as you need to remind you when to eat, drink, or exercise.

Have a workout routine at least once a week. Whether it’s going to the gym to walk on the treadmill while reading, taking a stroll around campus to jump in leaf piles or snow banks, walking up and down a stairwell while memorizing psychology / astronomy terms, or doing at home workouts in your room, just find something that you like to do to get yourself moving. Join a dance class or outdoor group if your school offers one for free too!

Watch crime shows / listen to crime podcasts. Old lawyer shows are also super fun!

Join some clubs related to the supernatural, film, Shakespeare, literature, or chess.

Watch psychological thriller movies then go watch videos on YouTube analyzing those movies.

Watch documentaries about space, disgusting history, fun conspiracy theories, the apocalypse, natural disasters, and literary theorists.

Read weird shit. Quote it often.

Listen to a wide variety of music! Listen to remixes!

Pirate everything.

Have a dedicated coffee order. Get it when you can. Savor it.

If you can study with music in the background then find classical music playlists, dark cello music, epic orchestral covers of songs, or soundtracks to movies and tv shows you like.

Doodle in your books and textbooks (if possible)

Write down random things you hear and see throughout the day. Save it all and use those things to write a poem or a story when you need inspiration.

Write blackout poetry from gothic novels, cosmic horror stories, textbook pages, classic literature, and mystery novels.

Write dictionary poetry.

Put a quote from a story / poem you love in your email sign-off.

[raevenlyreads]

Choosing the right spread

Folks in my discord are giving me amazing feedback for what to include in my upcoming workbook. One thing they all asked was "How do I know which spread is right for me?" So I wrote up the pros and cons of various spreads I tend to favor. Whether you're picking out a commission from me, or branching out with reading new spreads for yourself, here's the quick and dirty on my favorite spreads.

Above/Below

It’s strength is also its weakness. A/B is simple and straightforward, only dealing with one key card at a time, and only having two cards to interpret. This makes it ideal for actionable advice type readings, but less suited to revealing loads of information. It does one thing and it does that one thing very well. An excellent spread for beginners, and for keeping yourself from over complicating your interpretations.

Revealing Prism

More dynamic than the Above/Below, the Revealing Prism is great for when you want to look at a thing from multiple angles. It offers binary interpretation like Above/Below, but also has space to reveal things you wouldn’t know to ask about, and leaves you grounded with a core truth to anchor all this new information on. Another good spread for beginners looking to branch out a little. It can also be adapted to read a key card – just place your chosen key card in the center and read how the other three reflect back on it.

3 x 3 Grid

The sweet spot of not too complex, but more layered than the two before it. With the 3 x 3, you have room to customize your rows and columns to look at the interplay between two categories. Most common is making your three columns time-- past, preset, and future-- but truly the possibilities are endless. That can be its downfall; it can be daunting to try to come up with three things that feel like they “fit”. But I really love the 3 x 3 because it brings in the ability to look at the interplay between lots and lots of factors. It’s a great intermediate spread because there’s so many points to read along, but you only ever look a 2-3 cards along any one train of thought.

The Full Deck Spread

The wonderful thing that the Full Deck Spread brings to the table is chaos. The scope and messiness of the spread means there’s many, many avenues for information to present itself, so its great for a general overview of a topic, while also offering in roads for exploring in more depth and detail. However, spreading out your entire deck takes a lot of space, especially if you’ll have to shuffle layers out of the way to get to the cards you’re looking for. This spread is also very time and energy intensive, too. It can be easy to get lost in the sheer bulk of potential information, so save this one for topics you want to spend a lot of time with. It’s great for when your query is sort of nebulous, but less useful for direct, targeted answers. It can also feel a little intimidating, since it’s free form doesn’t offer clear, obvious reading lines. But with a little practice, reading the full deck like this can be very meditative, and offer a wealth of insight.

Liked this post? Check out my ko-fi for more, and for information on how to commission me for a tarot reading

[elmundodeflor]

The breeze carried the sweet perfume of warm summer evenings. Sunshine framed Marley into a picturesque scene, as if brought to life from unreachable dreams of the future. It was a nice city, overall; narrow streets tangling into eachother, markets busy and blooming with energetic buzz.

Hanji walked behind him; their gaze wide and curious, shining with the illusion of that who tastes the world for the first time. And he, ever relegated to contemplate from afar, had to look over his shoulder from time to time to make sure they wouldn't abstent-mindedly wander off path.

"C'mon, Levi!", they called, cheerful. Their voice rang bright and filled with child-like enthusiasm; an adrenaline rush that almost mixed in with the daily melodies of the sidewalk. "They're giving out free candy!"

He rolled his eyes and turned around to face them fully. They were wearing a muted-beige suit and a smile of blinding white, brighter than the marleyan sun soaring through the skies.

"Should have called bullshit on this whole in-disguise thing.", he muttered in complaint, loosening up the tie around his collar. "At this rate, we'll get to Hizuru's by midnight. And that is assuming you or none of the kids suffer from food poisoning first."

Hanji laughed, with the carefree sound of the coast winds.

"Well, hurry up, then!", they exclaimed, extending a hand out for him to take. "We still have a lot to see!"

Levi sighed, hopeless, and let them guide him across the crowded avenues; there where the food stalls sparkled of vibrant color and the air smelt of sugar. Maybe, it wasn't that bad of a thing, after all, he thought: to forget about the world's fury raining ablaze upon them, if only for a moment. To pretend they were just two people that had travelled overseas for a small piece of sweet adventure.

He looked over at them once more, and his heart raced unexpected; loud as the cars strolling down in messy routine. Hanji was smiling at the sun and summer stroked down their hair and their eyes glinted with a long-lost joy, buried deep somewhere along with the Paradis titans.

"Oh, I almost forgot about the ice cream!", they insisted, pointing to where Sasha and Jean held cones of white frozen candy; their attention like a butterfly's wings, fluttering from one spot to another. "I wanna try that too!"

How long had it been since they had last spoken in blissful excitement?

Levi smiled at the scene, fondly and tender, and his skin tingled warm with the chanting breeze: a shy laugh almost creeping up his throat, threatening to escape past his lips.

Because Hanji was still holding his hand, despite it all; fingers laced with his. And he was sure, then, as clear as the oceans roaring besides them: he never wanted to let them go.

•

•

The candy had been a fiasco, as he'd expected in the first place. Partly, because they were handing it out for kids only. Mostly, however, because the clown giving it away had mistaken him for one. And, truth be told, he wasn't particularly fond of being called out on his height, or better lack thereof.

Hanji had teased him about it for what seemed like the past two hours, and now, still walking along Marleyan shores, all he could do was hope for them to finally leave the whole incident behind them, if only for once.

"Please, don't be like that, Levi!", they chirped, in jolly sing-song voice; the lollipop of red and green spirals swinging high in the sugary air. "It was for free, after all!"

He rolled his eyes for what seemed the twentieth time that afternoon.

"Oh, shut up.", he scoffed. And Hanji laughed, loud and unhinged as ever. "That creep thought I was a fucking ten-year old."

"So what?", they shrugged.

Levi sighed in response. A while back, the clown had approached him upfront; all lively costume and non-so-friendly smiles. They had been waiting in line before the ice cream stall, and he had willingly taken the candy from him, just to give it to Hanji afterwards, scared as he was. He had told them he wasn't really fond of sweets, and that he wanted to get rid of the man as soon as possible, but he wasn't sure they had fallen for it completely.

"Hurry up.", he grunted: head tilted, gesturing towards himself. "We still have to get to Hizuru's."

Hanji hummed, and made the lollipop dance skillful between their fingers, oblivious of the world. It was nice to attest to their happiness, however; raw and reckless and childlike. There was something nostalgic about it, even, he thought: to see their eyes light up with the same fiery curiosity that had once burnt inside them, back when the war was still asleep, deep in its slumber. To savour their smile over again, sweet and sour, like sugar candy melting on the mouth.

“This is all because of that clown that’s following us, right...?”, they guessed, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me:”, they added; a sudden pause, followed by a quirk upturn of the lips: “You’re shitting your pants right now, aren’t you?”

Levi huffed. Hanji had taken their time to conquer the scraps of him he usually kept from the light; thorough and relentlessly, like they had long before studied the powers of the Eldian Titans. He knew, sure enough, there wasn’t much point in trying to hide away from their eyes, after all. He should have known better, too.

“I’m not.”, he lied. And it was Hanji’s turn to roll their eyes, now. The clown was not too far behind them; a bouquet of lollipops swirling colorful in one hand. Why couldn’t he simply leave them alone? His insistence made him shake uncomfortable. “I just don’t want him to catch us up, though.”

Hanji nodded. A small chuckle soared through their oh so cheerful expression.

"Well... I thought...", their gaze met his as they spoke. And there was the curse of a shadow hidden behind their joy, crossing deep across the frames of their glasses. "I thought you'd maybe want one of these...?", they pointed up towards their lollipop, doubtful. "Since we don't know when we'll be coming back here and all..."

Levi held his breath. Each of their fabricated fantasies of playing tourist in a foreign land had been wiped away in the blink of a moment, slipping like water running between his fingers. What if Paradis followed to explode, crumpled under the fires of war? What if they could never taste sweet life again, carefree as they were now? Hanji was usually never one to lie to him, he was certain. After all, he could read them like an open book; almost as expertly as they would flip through his very own pages.

And this, he could recall, was probably the first time in existence he wanted them to be wrong, though. The first time he wished for them to lie, plain and fearlessly, with every ounce of his desperate soul.

"Nonesense.", he paused, almost as if trying to convince himself badly, stubborn in his own blinding denial. He had stopped walking, as had Hanji; both now facing towards the blue in the ever-rolling seas. The clown, a bundle of vivid color, was still following after them, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was sure, then, he'd take every lollipop from him if it meant keeping Hanji's soul scratch-safe from misery. "We'll be coming back, together... once all of this is over."

They sighed, and stared back at him; wide-eyed and hopeful.

"You promise...?", they murmured; a low hush that camuflaged under the beeping of cars and rippling footsetps. Their lips twitched in what seemed a half-smile; uncomvincing, but enough to put Levi's pulse at ease, at last.

He lifted up a hand towards their face, and took out his pocket-cravat to clean up the traces of tinted sugar painting the corners of their mouth: red and green. Green and red.

"I promise, four eyes.", he concluded, as he cupped their cheek. His fingers caressed over tender, sticky skin; soft and slow and feather-light, so delicate it made their smile grow warmer, more genuine against his hand.

"Thank you, little one.", they teased; a swift peck kissed over the callouses the fabric left exposed. Then, another one. "For the candy and... for everything."

He stood still, frozen in place. And damn him, because all he could do was cowardly stare, ever relegated to contemplate from afar: his muscles numb, his cheeks aching bright red.

He didn't want to let them go. Ever again.

"Hanji, I...", he said. But they were already waking away, escaping him like the ever-flowing breeze, ahead towards were Onyankopon sheltered the kids road up.

They did have to get to Hizuru's, after all.

"Thank you for everything, too."

[blackacre13]

Can you do a fic where Lou and Debbie are out doing whatever and they see Claude (or someone who looks like Claude assuming this is post canon and he’s already in jail) and Debbie panics and holds on tight to Lou while she goes into protective mode?

The white edges. Messy rows. Line after line of photos. Polaroids. Candids. Silly. Strung up. Simple. Home. Good art.

Paint strokes. Smooth curves. Abstract. You could barely tell it was the curve of a breast and a few beats down a hip. But Debbie knew. And Lou knew. Because Debbie had posed for it. And Lou had painted it. Gold frame. Crisp canvas. Comforting art.

And anything on display at the Met? Fucking brilliant. Because…well, you know.

But that damn gallery. That damn prick. She’d had to physically hold Lou back from trying to throw things at the entirely glass walls and tell her that it wasn’t classy or wise for a fifty year old to egg the windows of a business. Even if it’s owner was in prison.

While Lou would tense up, looking ready to throw hands whenever they came close to the building, Debbie would shrivel as if she could fall inside herself. All it did was bring her pain. Remind her of her mistakes. What she’d lost. Who she’d lost. What she’d had to do to claw her way back into her career and her life and her family.

Lou did her best to steer them away. Take different blocks and streets and avenues. Distract Debbie. But every so often, it slipped through the cracks. No one’s fault. He was everywhere. Haunting her. Reminding her. She couldn’t get rid of him. Not by sending him to prison. Not by breaking up with him. He’d always have a hold on her.

And then one day it happened. Half a block away from the gallery. They wouldn’t have walked this way, but Constance and Nine had told Lou about some hole-in-the-wall restaurant they just had to try. And Lou loved any excuse to take Debbie to a restaurant and then reprimand her for talking with her mouth.

It was happening before Lou could stop it. And Debbie couldn’t even tell what was happening. Didn’t know it was happening. Or happened, rather.

She was sitting on the sidewalk with her head cradled in her knees and Lou fanning her face with a flyer for a DJ night, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re okay, Debs. You’re okay. You with me, honey? It’s not him. I promise it’s not him. Debbie, you’re safe. He can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt us anymore.”

It was coming back in bits and pieces. Her vision blurry. Head fuzzy.

Her knees had buckled. She’d started sweating.

Mumbling. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Crisp collar. Too rigid blazer. Prickly stubble. Too strong cologne. Too much—too close—

“He can’t hurt us,” Debbie repeated. “He can’t hurt me.”

“It wasn’t him,” Lou whispered, kneeling on the concrete. All Debbie could think about was the crease in the leather boots the crouch would make. The gravel against crushed velvet pants. But Lou didn’t notice. Didn’t care. She only had eyes and worry for Debbie. “Let’s get you out of here. Can you stand?”

Debbie stared up at her as blue eyes flashed between Debbie’s own and the Rolex on the blonde’s wrist, Debbie barely registering the two fingertips against her neck, checking her pulse.

“Yeah,” Debbie finally managed, wanting to do anything to wipe the concern from Lou’s face. “Yeah, let’s go home. Take me home, baby.”