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sutorus · 1 year

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THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.

PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader

WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms

A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?

reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:

it is said that those who cannot do, teach.

geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility.

but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do.

to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man.

but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you.

he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—).

when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like.

(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)

it was slowly starting to consume him.

the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year.

god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—

he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it.

everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives.

everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him.

but you damn well managed to.

and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair.

“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”

bullshit.

the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately.

and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class.

it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!

but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there.

however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.

you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours.

his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.

his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed.

under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are.

but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know.

but you knew for a fact that it was personal.

“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”

you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”

he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”

“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance.

“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively.

“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”

megumi lifts an eyebrow.

“you need to get one for each,” he says simply.

you grin. “deal.”

suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class.

it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious.

watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test.

he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you.

the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well.

the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak.

he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class.

when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild.

he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another.

you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages.

you smile, waving at the screen.

“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”

your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.

“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.”

you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying.

“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”

you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had.

“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”

you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip.

“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”

as always, satoru is no help.

“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”

suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”

satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.”

suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you.

“that won’t fix anything.”

satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.

“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”

suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.

at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong.

it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself.

he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again.

it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that.

suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this.

your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest.

the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know.

damn right it’s personal.

you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation.

geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off.

he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?”

your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over.

“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”

the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.

“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“

“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”

“miss—“

“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger.

geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“

“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”

he sits up, straightening his posture.

geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”

you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on.

“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”

there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair.

he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet.

“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you.

you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”

the man hums.

“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”

you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“

“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.”

your mouth goes dry.

before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from.

it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo.

you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction.

you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently.

but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you.

“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest.

he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”

you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom.

you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.

“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue.

“what a shame.”

your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”

he smiles sweetly.

“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now…

now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.

those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun.

you could so easily forget what you came here for.

“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”

he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”

“geto—“

“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”

you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn.

you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“then… push me, professor.”

it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest.

he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together.

it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two.

he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh.

geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief.

you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips.

if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.

but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.

geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan.

his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core.

“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”

he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.

god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin.

“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.

geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside.

you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips.

the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you.

“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”

you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again.

“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”

you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.

not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat.

he looks so good like this, just edible.

you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue.

he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.

geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive.

he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock.

it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds.

“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly.

“tastes better on your tongue, prof.”

geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of.

he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees.

you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper.

“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face.

he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants.

you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved.

you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside.

he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth.

god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would.

you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.

you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones.

“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”

“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”

and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man.

but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo.

so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks.

“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“

and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time.

he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over.

geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.

“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt.

you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.

“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“

“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core.

you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.

it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you.

“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs.

his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else.

geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear.

“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt.

you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn.

you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him.

longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you.

he notices you looking.

“do you need more prep? i can—“

“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk.

he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”

you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip.

“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”

geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him.

“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head.

his spirit is so unbreakable.

here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better.

geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair.

“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized.

“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”

he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers.

“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—

fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this.

he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle.

a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.

you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back.

when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening.

“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts.

he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out.

“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”

you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in.

the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you.

you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade.

“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“

“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go.

he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin.

your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.

he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt.

“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“

he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips.

geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you.

“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“

you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.

“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom.

you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.”

“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”

geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you.

“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”

“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”

“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”

you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts.

“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”

you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you.

you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you.

your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer.

the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release.

geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got.

“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“

it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you.

he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure.

it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you.

geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of.

when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy.

“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows.

“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”

“…is probably going to happen again, right?”

he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.

maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.

you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips.

“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?”

the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession.

so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles.

and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.

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gor3sigil · 1 month

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Trans drag performers deserve better.

Okay so since y'all seem interested, here we go.

[This is about MY experience as a “former” transmasc drag king, in my local scene. This isn't representative of the drag scene as a whole because drag is a wide, huge scene with pretty much any type of people in it. I have never done paid gig. I only performed a couple of times before deciding to stop.]

I discovered drag with RuPaul like a lot of people, and for a long time, I only knew about drag queens. It’s when I learned about an initiation to drag king happening in my town that I decided to try it. I did a bit of research before the event took place and that's how I learned that drag king is widely undocumented, compared to drag queen. A bit disheartening but I was excited to do something new and especially to get back in my local queer community after 2 years or so of “no contact” with it because trauma (see my post about my first T4T relationship to understand why).

First surprise when I got there, I was the only transmasc present as an attendee. The organiser and person who teached us is agender and go by he/him, and his at the time SO is a transmasc enby but appart from them, I was the only trans person. Most of the others were cis lesbian women. Makes sense. The initiation weekend went really well and we ended up performing in an open scene at the end. I can't count the amount of times I got misgendered by other kings during this weekend and I have to say, it pissed me off so fucking bad because I was the only one getting consistantly misgendered. But I brushed it off and had a blast.

My drag persona is more of a dragula king, really goth, and I did a lipsync performance on a Black Dresses song. I loved it and had a blast. A year or so later, we decided with other drag kings to do a little group to perform together.

Once again, I'm the only trans person.

And that's when the shitshow kinda happened. From all the drag kings present, I was also the only one who wasn't already part of a collective. So the group we had was composed of people from 2 collectives who would basically cheer each other out at every show, and it's great !! But I wasn't being integrated into the group, and I felt defeated. One of the main reasons why I didn't go to drag shows was because I was FLAT BROKE. I couldn't attend these events as they were always or in a bar so you have to at least buy a drink, or had a fee, and I couldn't afford that.

We started doing rehearsals and I set up a discord server for us all to use and organize the said rehearsals. It soon became apparent that they weren't really serious about this group, that they were more involved in their own collectives and it was HELL to have at least one rehearsal a month. But we had a show scheduled for september, and half of the kings weren't ready, didn't know their texts nor songs. I knew it was going to be bad. Also we were confirmed that the gig was going to actually happen 3 days only before, because the people who said they were going to do the visuals NEVER DID and we had to fumble something quick so the event was promoted very fucking late and we weren't sure we could even afford to do it, because not many tickets were sold.

During the rehearsals I got singled out for everything. My voice was dropping because of the T (I had started 8 months prior) and I tried to do my best with the singing parts but got told a few times that my low voice would sound “weird” amongst the sopranos. Also, one of the solo part a king was going to perform was on a very upbeat music and he said we could join IF WE WANTED.

I said I'd pass since it wasn't my style at all.

And when we got to the venue, the venue didn't have any backstage and I had my solo part just after that, so I couldn't just stand there on stage and do nothing. The others in my group KNEW IT as they had performed in this venue BEFORE but just told me “oh, too bad, improvise something” when they were the same ones who told me that taking part in the number was not mandatory.

Regarding the other artists, man, I hated everything. I got misgendered constantly IN KING LIKE - I'M A DRAG KING FFS. Even by others in my group.

When I corrected another performer, a cis gay dude, he laughed at my FACE and told me “but you're trans aren't you like, against gender or something ?”. As I was pre op and still early in my transition I was basically outing myself everytime I told my pronouns and I got so many cis performers ask me invasive questions about my sex life, or being like “yeah I have a trans friend who goes by X but I knew them as Y so it's Y to me but it's not in a disrespectful way you see”.

So yeah, I didn't have a great night. :)

The cis kings called me “girl” or “sis” because “I'm one of them” even after telling them time and time again that I wasn't comfortable with that.

And after this quite disastrous experience, the same ones who called me “girl” and me got into an argument because they wanted to change a song about forced toxic masculinity which is an INCREDIBLY POWERFUL AND BEAUTIFUL SONG into lyrics to talk about femininity. I said that we could use another song then, because there's so few cis men singers who sing about being forced into toxic masculinity and virility that I found that a bit disrespectful to take this important message and make it about women and femininity. There's plenty of songs about that that we could use.

And now guess what ? I was a MEAN MAN who wanted women to NOT TALK ABOUT THEIR ISSUES because I was a very MANLY DUDE DISGUSTING MALE.

The same people who couldn't gender me correctly and called me “sis” a WEEK BEFORE.

So yeah, I got the fuck out and gave up.

I really wish I can perform again one day, but it'll be in another scene.

So PSA: book drag kings, because they are so underrepresented it's disheartening, RESPECT trans drag performers, don't but bioessentialism in drag for the LOVE OF GOD IT'S DRAG. Like imagine being transphobic as a DRAG PERFORMER. Learn the history. And fucking do better.

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star-anise · 5 months

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are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

#staranise original #therapisting

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barcaatthemoon · 6 months

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atlas || ingrid engen x mapi leon x reader ||

mapi and ingrid help you relax after a rough week.

minors dni, 18+, smut ahead.

the physical and emotional weight of your workload was dragging you down. mapi was the first to realize it, and once she did, the first person she went to was ingrid. ingrid had a way of relaxing you that mapi knew she couldn't pull off. the woman had a tendency of being a little too energetic for that. however, it seemed that this time, ingrid couldn't really help you either.

they both hated it, but mapi and ingrid had no choice but to wait for all of you to be on a break to bring it up. a lot of things had been happening at barcelona, so you were very busy as social media director. your promotion had seemed like a blessing at first, especially since it meant that you could travel with your girlfriends everywhere that they went. however, all of that travel really cut into the time you had to organize everything else.

"i miss her," mapi sighed as she watched you fast asleep on the couch. it was obvious that you hadn't meant to fall asleep like that with your laptop and several notebooks open. you had been working, despite ingrid and mapi's insistence that you come with them out for the day. they had tried to have a good time, but mapi couldn't knowing that you were still in the apartment.

"it's been hard, especially on her. i mean, look at her," ingrid said as she nodded towards you. mapi let out a little whine as she looked at you. even in your sleep, the stress of your job was evident. they knew that this was temporary, mapi remembered when she first signed to barcelona years ago when you initially had been brought in as an intern. you always had a bit of a struggle starting out, but eventually, you'd find your footing.

"i could cry," mapi muttered quietly. ingrid had just barely heard her. if it was anybody other than you, ingrid would have been deleriously jealous of the way that mapi loved and cared for you. she knew that while mapi had been dating her for longer, you had been in her life longer. you were one of mapi's best friends first, and so, ingrid knew what to expect.

"we can let her sleep, and then do something special for her tonight," ingrid suggested. mapi nodded as she let ingrid pull her away from the living room. you slept the entire day away, waking up only when mapi physically picked you up and carried you into the dining room. you were still very tired as you ate, but the food did a lot to energize you a bit.

"what's the occasion?" you asked, not missing the way that both of your girlfriends were dressed up a bit more. mapi shrugged the question off as she tried to pretend that everything was normal. ingrid, however, was more than happy to give a reason for the little show.

"we are celebrating you, and all of the hard work you've been doing lately," ingrid said softly. she got up to carry your plate into the kitchen for you, kissing the top of your head as well as mapi's as she passed.

"i'm sorry if i haven't been very attentive," you apologized. mapi shook her head as she took your hands in hers. "i've been busy, and i know that you hate being left to your own devices. you need me too, not just the club."

"it's okay, i understand, i do. tonight, don't think about any of that. let ingrid and me take care of you, please bebita." if it wasn't for the way that mapi as looking at you, you might have gone back to your work for the night. "you've been working so hard."

"i'm so tired of it," you admitted. you sounded like you were on the verge of tears, so mapi did what she knew would help you calm down. she dropped your hands to grab your cheeks, pulling you in gently for a kiss. you kissed her back, moaning into it as you felt her deepen it. you sat forward in your seat, like you were prepared to crawl into her lap at any moment. the two of you could have kept going forever like that until ingrid interrupted you.

"come on, let's move this to the bedroom." ingrid guided the two of you away from the table. you broke the kiss with mapi once you were in ingrid's arms, turning your attention to her instead. ingrid picked you up and carried you into the bedroom, walking strong despite the kisses you were pressing to her neck. mapi followed behind ingrid, taking the opportunity to feel her up on the short walk to the bedroom.

ingrid laid you down on the bed gently, and mapi moved around her to get behind you. almost immediately, you could tell how the night would go. it was rare that they both focused solely on you, but you were grateful for the distraction. it wouldn't last forever, but they'd be taking a good amount of the weight of your work off from your shoulders from the night.

mapi's hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently as she peppered the side of your face in kisses. ingrid was laying between your legs, effectively pinning you against mapi's body as the two of them kissed you. it was a lot, but you were more than happy to just go along with whatever they wanted.

you trusted both women with your body completely. they knew the things that you liked, and sometimes, you swore they knew what you needed before you did. on your own, you would have tried to rush things, but they were taking things so slow with you. even mapi, who had a tendency to get a little ahead of herself in these situations.

they took their time undressing you and themselves. the feeling of their skin against yours made it hard for you to think. mapi could tell that you were having a hard time keeping up, so she backed away just enough for you to focus on ingrid. the taller woman kissed you slowly, but it wasn't without an almost overwhelming amount of emotion.

you didn't know how she did it, but ingrid always kissed you with her entire being. from every little peck as she left the apartment to the way she'd completely take your breath away. you swore that you could feel the love and concern ingrid had for you as she kissed you. it was enough for you to get a little lost in the feeling of her lips, but still gentle enough for you to easily slip away if you needed it. ingrid wouldn't judge you, knowing that occasionally you weren't up for this sort of thing when you were stressed.

"you look so pretty kissing ingrid," mapi whispered in your ear. she turned towards ingrid before she spoke up again, "you're taking such good care of our bebita, ingrid."

"i want more, please," you told them. mapi took that as her cue to come back a little more. her hands moved along your sides until you moved them onto your breasts. mapi's fingers teased your nipples as your hips ground against ingrid's thigh. ingrid bit her lip as she felt how wet you already were from just kissing them. it was going to be easy to get you to cum for the first time, and while ingrid wanted to spend all night between your legs, she wouldn't push you any further than what you could handle.

"do you want my fingers or my mouth, bebita?" ingrid asked you. she was usually adamant about not speaking spanish in the house, but that pet name had always stuck. technically, mapi had been calling you her bebita long before either of you had figured out your feelings for each other. ingrid remembered her hesitation about seeing mapi because of you, and in hindsight, she felt a little ridiculous about it now.

"mouth please," you answered. ingrid gave you one last kiss before she moved down to lay in between your legs. mapi turned your head towards her, pulling you into a gentle kiss as ingrid's hands came up to rest on the insides of your thighs.

unlike ingrid's kisses, mapi's rarely ever managed to stay as gentle as they started. the press of mapi's lips against yours quickly turned into something much firmer, not that you minded. you nipped at mapi's lip a little, which earned you a slightly rougher pinch to your nipple than before.

"mapi," ingrid warned. mapi's cheeks heated up at the warning. you bit your lip as she moved around your body to press a kiss to where she had just pinched you. ingrid watched as your hips bucked forward at the contact. she shot mapi a look, one urging for the tattooed woman to stay there until you pulled her back for more kisses.

"do you want this bebita?" mapi asked you. you could still feel enough of mapi's body behind you to feel safe and comfortable, but that need was quickly being replaced by the feel to feel both of their mouths on your body.

"please," you whined. mapi didn't need to be told twice, and she mvoed back in with her mouth at the same time as ingrid. mapi peppered your breasts with kisses as her fingers teased your nipples. ingrid's tongue was making lazy figure 8 motions in between your legs, just barely grazing along where you wanted her to. the two of them worked together well, almost perfectly in sync despite not having had to talk one another through anything.

"shh," mapi cooed softly as she lifted her head a little. the noises you were making quickly began to jumble together. you were whining and whimpering as you started to move more. ingrid didn't want to grab your hips and pin you down, so mapi took it upon herself to kiss you to calm you down. your nails scratched against the side of her face a little, but mapi didn't let it distract her from swallowing up every moan and whimper that threatened to escape from your lips. "you're doing so good, it's okay. let ingrid do her thing."

"fuck, fuck, fuck," you repeated again and again. mapi felt your body tense on top of hers, and that was when she knew you were gone. as loud as you could be while being fucked, you always went dead silent when you came. ingrid began to back away, stopping only when she heard you and mapi talking to each other. the little confessions of love after sex were secrectly mapi's favorite. if she was ever asked, you knew that she'd say something cocky about the way you looked cumming on her fingers or strap, but truthfully, she loved the way you curled into her as the two of you showered each other in love and adoration.

"rest now," ingrid said as she took the spot next to you on the bed. mapi slipped away to get something to clean you up with as you and ingrid lazily made out on the bed. you were so tired, enough so that you were ready to fall asleep right there in her arms. ingrid kept you awake and distracted enough for mapi to clean you up and pick out some clothes for all of you to wear to bed.

"thank you, i think i needed this," you mumbled against ingrid's chest. this time, ingrid laid in between you and mapi, both of you with your head resting against ingrid's chest. ingrid had one hand on mapi's back and the other in your hair, both of them scratching lightly. "i love you, both of you."

"we love you too," mapi told you. she reached over and twirled a strand of your hair around her finger.

"whenever you need us, don't hesitate to ask," ingrid said. you glanced up at her and smiled. you couldn't help it, there was rarely ever a time you could remember not smiling when you saw ingrid. "we'll always be here to take care of you, in whatever ways you need."

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso smut #mapi leon imagine #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #mapi leon smut #ingrid engen x mapi leon x reader #ingrid engen imagine #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen smut #minors do not interact

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dailyrothko · 1 month

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No, the Popularity of Abstract Art is Not the Result of a CIA PsyOp

If you are unlucky enough to move around the internet these days and talk about art, you’ll find that many “First commenters” will hit you with what they see as some hard truth about your taste in art. Comments usually start with how modern art is “money laundering” always comically misunderstanding what that means. What they are saying is that, of course, rich people use investments as tax shelters and things like expensive antiques and art appraised at high prices to increase their net worth. Oh my god, I’ve been red-pilled. The rich getting richer? I have never heard of such a thing.

What is conveniently left out of this type of comment is that the same valuation and financial shenanigans occur with baseball cards, wine, vacation homes, guitars, and dozens of other things. It does indeed happen with art, but even the kind that the most conservative internet curator can appreciate. After all, Rembrandts are worth money too, you just don’t see many because he’s not making any more of them. The only appropriate response to these people who are, almost inevitably themselves, the worst artists you have ever seen, is silence. It would cruel to ask about their own art because there’s a danger they might actually enjoy such a truly novel experience.

When you are done shaking your head that you just subjected yourself to an argument about the venality of poor artists plotting to make their work valuable after they died, you can certainly then enjoy the accompanying felicity of the revelation they have saved to knock you off your feet: “Abstract art is a CIA PsyOp”

Here one must get ready either to type a lot or to simply say “Except factually” and go along your merry, abstract-art-loving way. But what are the facts? Unsurprisingly with things involving US government covert operations, the facts are not so clear.

Like everything on the internet, you are unlikely to find factual roots to the arguments about government conspiracies and modern art. The mere idea of it is enough to bring blossom for the “I’m not a sheep” crowd, some of whom believe that a gold toilet owning former president is a morally good, honest hard-working man of the people.

The roots of this contention come from a 1973 article in Artforum magazine, where art critic Max Kozloff wrote about post-war American painting in the context of the Cold War, centering around Irving Sandler’s book, The Triumph of American Painting (1970). Kozloff takes on more than just abstract expressionism in his article but condemns the “Self-congratulatory mood”of Sandler’s book and goes on to suggest the rise of abstract expressionism was a “Benevolent form of propaganda”. Kozoloff treads a difficult line here, asserting that abstraction was genuinely important to American art but that its luminaries, “have acquired their present blue-chip status partly through elements in their work that affirm our most recognizable norms and mores.”

While there were rumblings of agreements around Kozloff’s article of broad concerns, it did not give birth to an actual conspiracy theory at the time. The real public apprehension of this idea seems to mostly come from articles written by historian Frances Stonor Saunders in support of her book, “The Cultural Cold War: The CIA and the World of Arts and Letters” (New York, New Press, 2000). (I have not read this 525 page book, only excerpts).

The gist of Ms. Saunders argument is a tantalizing, but mostly unsupported, labyrinthine maze of back door funding and novelistic cloak and dagger deals. According to Saunders, the Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF), an anti-communist cultural organization founded in 1950, was behind the promotion of Abstract art as part of their effort to be opinion makers in the war against communism. In 1966 it was revealed that the CCF was funded by the CIA. Saunders says that the CCF financed a litany of art exhibitions including “The New American Painting” which toured Europe in the late 1950s. Some of this is true, but it’s difficult, if not impossible, to know the specifics.

Noted expert in abstract-expressionism, David Anfam said CIA presence was real. It was “a well-documented fact” that the CIA co-opted Abstract Expressionism in their propaganda war against Russia. “Even The New American Painting [exhibition] had some CIA funding behind it,” he says. But the reasons for this are not quite what the abstract art detractors might be looking for. After all, the CCF also funded the travel expenses for the Boston Symphony Orchestra and promoted Fodor’s travel guides. More than trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes, it was meant to showcase the freedom artists in the US. enjoyed. Or as Anfam goes on to say, “It’s a very shrewd and cynical strategy, because it showed that you could do whatever you liked in America.”

For what it’s worth, Saunders’s book was eviscerated in the Summer 2000 issue of Art Forum at the time of its publication. Robert Simon wrote:

“Saunders draws extensively on primary and secondary sources, focusing on the convoluted money trail as it twists through dummy corporations, front men, anonymous donors, and phony fund-raising events aimed at filling the CCF’s coffers. She makes lengthy forays into such topics as McCarthyism, the formation and operation of the CIA, the propaganda work of the Hollywood film industry, and New York cultural politics—from Partisan Review to MoMA to Abstract Expressionism. Yet what seems strangely absent from Saunders’s panoramic history, as if it were a minor detail or something too obvious to require discussion, is the cultural object itself: The complex specifics of the texts, exhibitions, intellectual gatherings, paintings, and performances of the culture war are largely left out of the story.”

Another problem with the book seems to be that Saunders is an historian but not an art historian. For me, I sensed an overtone of superiority in the tale she’s spinning and most assuredly from those that repeat its conclusion. The thinly veiled message of some is that if it were “Real art” it would not have had be part of this government subterfuge. The reality is very different. For one thing, most of us know it is simply not true that you can make people devoted to a type of art for 100 years that they would sensibly hate otherwise. Another issue is that it’s quite obvious none of the artists actually knew about any government interference if there was any. Pollock, Rothko, Gottlieb and Newmann were all either communists or anarchists. Hardly the group one would recruit the help the US government free the world of communism. Additionally, this narrow cold war timeline ignores a huge amount of abstract art that Jackson Pollock haters also revile and consider part of the same hijacking of high (Frankly, Greek, Roman, or Renaissance) culture. If you look at the highly abstract signature work of Piet Mondrian and observe the dates they were painted, you’ll see 1908, 1914, 1916. This is some of the art denigrated as a CIA PsyOP, 35 years before the CIA even thought about it. Modern art didn’t come from nowhere as many would have you believe to discredit its rise. There was Surrealism, Dada, Bauhaus, Russian futurism and a host of other movements that fueled it.

Generally, people like to argue. On the internet, “I don’t like this” is a weak statement that always must be replaced by “This is garbage” or my favorite, “This is fake.”

It’s hardly surprising that the more conservative factions of our society look for any government involvement in our lives to explain why things are not exactly as they wish them to be, given the (highly ironic) conservative government-blaming that blew up after Reagan. In addition, modern fascists have always had a love affair with the classical fantasy of Greece and Rome. Both Mussolini and Hitler used Greece and Rome as “Distant models” to address their uncertain national identity. The Nazis confiscated more than 5,000 works in German museums, presenting 650 of them in the Entartete Kunst (Degenerate Art, 1937) show to demonstrate the perverted nature of modern art. It featured artists including Marc Chagall, Max Ernst, Wassily Kandinsky, and Paul Klee, among others. The fear of art was real. It was the fear of ideas.

To a lot of people on the internet just the mentioning a “CIA program” is enough to get the cogs turning, but as with many things, the reality of CIA programs and government plots is often less than evidence of well planned coup.

The CIA reportedly spent 20 millions dollars on Operation Acoustic Kitty which intended to use cats to spy on the Kremlin and Soviet embassies. Microphones were planted on cats and plans were set in motion to get the cats to surreptitiously record important conversations. However, the CIA soon discovered that they were cats and not agreeable to any kind of regulation of their behavior.

As part of Operation Mongoose the CIA planned to undermine Castro's public image by putting thallium salts in his shoes, which would cause his beard to fall out, while he was on a trip outside Cuba. He was expected to leave his shoes outside his hotel room to be polished, at which point the salts would be administered. The plan was abandoned because Castro canceled the trip.

Regardless of your feelings on this subject or how much you believe abstract art benefited from government dollars, Saunders herself quotes in her book a CIA officer apparently involved in these “Long leash” influence operations. He says, “We wanted to unite all the people who were writers, who were musicians, who were artists, to demonstrate that the West and the United States was devoted to freedom of expression and to intellectual achievement, without any rigid barriers as to what you must write, and what you must say, and what you must do.” Hardly the Illuminati plot we were promised.

In 2016, Irving Sandler, author of the book that started Kozloff tirading in 1973, told Alastair Sooke of The Daily Telegraph, “There was absolutely no involvement of any government agency. I haven’t seen a single fact that indicates there was this kind of collusion. Surely, by now, something – anything – would have emerged. And isn’t it interesting that the federal government at the time considered Abstract Expressionism a Communist plot to undermine American society?”

This blog post contains information and quotes sourced from The Piper Played to Us All: Orchestrating the Cultural Cold War in the USA, Europe, and Latin America, Russell H. Bartley International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Spring, 2001), pp. 571-619 (49 pages) https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20161004-was-modern-art-a-weapon-of-the-cia https://brill.com/view/journals/fasc/8/2/article-p127_127.xml?language=en https://www.guggenheim-bilbao.eus/en/learn/schools/teachers-guides/the-dark-side-of-classicism https://www.artforum.com/features/american-painting-during-the-cold-war-212902/ https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/modern-art-was-cia-weapon-1578808.html https://www.artforum.com/columns/frances-stonor-saunders-162391/ https://www.artforum.com/features/abstract-expressionism-weapon-of-the-cold-war-214234/ Mark Rothko and the Development of American Modernism 1938-1948 Jonathan Harris, Oxford Art Journal, Vol. 11, No. 1 (1988), pp. 40-50 (11 pages)

#mark rothko #markrothko #rothko #daily rothko #dailyrothko #abstract expressionism #modern art #abstraction #colorfield #ab ex #colorfield painting #mid century #CIA #pysop

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f1byjessie · 8 months

Text

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part four.

“Saw McLaren posted pics of the new car,” Jack says in lieu of a greeting when he sees you after the weekend. He picks up his pace and crosses the distance to meet you where you’re fumbling with the keys to your “office”, and then he takes a few of the many equipment bags you’re attempting to juggle, saying as he does so, “You take any of those or no?”

You laugh, “Ah, no. They actually hire on a whole studio crew that does that. They’ve got lights, green screens, special camera lenses, the whole lot. The post-production on those photos is mad though.” You get the door unlocked and usher him inside, “I got to sit in on it once, and it’s crazy how much work goes into getting just a couple week’s worth of promotional content.”

He sets your bags down where you direct him to and then offers you a snarky grin, “Still probably would’ve looked cooler if you took ‘em, to be fair.”

It makes you laugh again. Jack seems to be good at that, and it feels nice to get along so well with someone you work with. You’ve found a surprising friend in him. At the end of your conversation on Friday, you’d exchanged numbers and he’d made you promise to reach out if you needed him for anything. You hadn’t, but he’d still sent you an unflatteringly angled picture of Kyle Walker from after their match against Newcastle, followed quickly with━ “use this in the next media drop thx,” and the chatter had gone from there.

You set down your own bags. “Well, thank you. Pretty sure it’s not as fun as this job, though.”

And you mean it. You’ve had opportunities to switch over to studio photography, and though you respect the people who do it and the unique challenges it poses in its own right, there’s nothing like being upfront and personal with all the action, getting to see the athletes in their element and know them on a level that goes beyond an hour or two shoot. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Wait,” you pause, hands stopping just above where you’re ready to start sorting through your equipment, “since when did you keep up with Formula One?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t. But you work for that team, yeah? So I figured I might as well see what they’re all about.”

“Well, if you need something to do during the summer, let me know and I’ll see what I can do,” you tell him, resuming your sorting. “They give me extra tickets for each race but they usually end up going to waste.”

You don’t bring up the falling out you had with your parents at eighteen when you told them you were going to pursue photography or the fact that you haven’t really talked to them in years because of it. You also don’t mention that due to the strenuous, near-constant traveling and the strict schedule of your job, your friendships are limited to the athletes you work with and the other McLaren staff that travel with you━ all of whom have passes of their own, for obvious reasons.

Jack, thankfully, doesn’t ask about it either. Whether he’s made his own assumptions or respects that it’s probably a sore subject, he leaves it alone and the two of you carry on in companionable silence.

You get your equipment unzipped from the bags and organized across the room per your system, guiding your temporary helper with pointed fingers to where it all should go.

The silence is only broken again when he asks you a question. “You got a favorite driver?”

It’s so out of the blue that you nearly jump, startled by the suddenness of it against the quietness of the room. But then you laugh and shake your head. “Officially no, but just between the two of us, me and Lando started at the same time so he’s got a special place in my heart. He’s also my best friend.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” Despite the persona he puts on, you think he secretly loves gossip. “How’d he take the news about you being with Ward, then? ‘Cause I’d have some choice things to say to any friend of mine if they got with a prick like that.”

You purse your lips, divert your gaze to avoid Jack’s eyes, and shrug, fiddling with the neck strap of your camera as you do so. “I don’t know.”

“You ‘don’t know?’”

You shrug again and feign checking over the settings as if your camera’s aperture is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “He hasn’t been picking up my calls,” you start, “or answering my texts since the paps released the pics, so.”

When you glance back up, Jack’s making a face. “So, your best friend finds out you’re dating a total bellend, and instead of asking you about it or at the very least taking the piss, he ignores you?”

When he puts it like that, you feel a bit stupid for being more sad than you are angry.

All you can do is shrug.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by mancity, jackgrealish, and 241,976 others

tagged: jackgrealish

yourusername ladies and gentlemen, jack grealish (i was threatened into posting these, send help pls)

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You decide that if Lando gets to be petty, then so do you.

The thing is, you’d told Lando you wouldn’t replace him with any of the guys from Manchester City, and you’d meant it━ you still mean it, despite your frustrations and annoyances with him telling you otherwise.

But if he’s going to play games, then so are you.

Technically you hadn’t started the relationship with Garrett willingly, but Lando doesn’t know that, and even if you had that doesn’t give him the right to go about ignoring you. You’ve been supportive when he’s gotten girlfriends━ you even ate greasy pizza, drank cheap wine, and cried watching The Notebook together when he ended his long-term relationship back in 2022. He could at least pretend to be supportive, or better yet he could pick up the fucking phone.

As pathetic as it sounds, you’d let him yell at and berate you if it just meant he’d answer your calls. Because having Jack around to gossip with and shoot the shit is nice, and he really does help you not feel so alone at Etihad Campus, but Lando’s your best friend and he has been for years now. There’s nobody that understands you as well as he does, even if he is a twat half the time, and what you need now most of all is that particular Lando brand of annoying to cheer you up.

The door opens, drawing your attention from where you’re scrolling through McLaren’s newest posts. Garrett stands in the opening.

The memory of that night still lingers like a bad taste in your mouth, bitter and unpleasant. You’ve managed to avoid him for the most part in the time since then, ignoring the looks he shoots your way out on the field or in the weight room, and lucky enough that his meetings with the physio team keep him preoccupied so that he can’t seek you out in between training sessions. You’d known it was inevitable that you’d have to face him, but that doesn’t stop the dread from pooling in your stomach when you see him standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as he surveys the makeshift office you’ve done up for yourself.

“They couldn’t find you an actual office?” He comments, looking disdainfully towards your desk and the large Manchester City logo emblazoned across the front.

You shrug, wishing he’d just get to the point. “I’m only here for a few months. Doesn’t matter much to me. What do you want?”

He takes a step farther into the room and closes the door behind him, taking his sweet time to cross the distance toward the seats. When he’s finally lowered down into one, he looks up to you with a nonchalance that fills you immediately with anger.

“I’m making some amendments to our agreement,” he announces.

“Like hell you are.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you seriously expect people to believe we’re a couple if we never actually do anything to give off the impression of being a couple?”

You scowl. Obviously, you hadn’t expected to just skate by on the coattails of pictures from a single night. You’d known from the very beginning that you would eventually need to make another public appearance together at the very least if you wanted to keep the paparazzi fed and encourage the idea to the media that you’re in a committed relationship with one another. You’d just been hoping you would’ve had more time until then.

“I’m not an idiot, Garrett,” you grumble, crossing your arms in your seat. You had been looking through pictures from the day’s morning practice, but now you think having to look at any more of Kevin De Bruyne’s grinning face will make you lose your mind when you feel the furthest thing from happy.

“Obviously,” Garrett scoffs. “But you’re the one who said I get one kiss and nothing more. Newsflash, love━” your scowl deepens, “━couples do more than just kiss one time.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

He pulls his phone from the pocket of his joggers and swipes across the screen for a few moments of anticipatory silence. “Well,” he finally says, “it’s the sixteenth now. We haven’t got a match until the twenty-sixth. Go on a date with me this weekend.”

You can’t say no. There’s no plausible excuse for you to get out of it, and deep down you know the only way you can get rid of Garrett is to just do what he says and hope the media make their conclusions about his change quick enough that you can ditch him before the summer break.

At least during the Formula One season, you can use traveling as a reason to get out of dates. When the Champion’s League starts back up he’ll be traveling around Europe a bit more than he is now, and there’s always a chance you could be in the same country at the same time, but the likelihood of your schedules aligning is slim and that means you’ll be safe from any ventures out into public.

But for the time being, you’re stuck.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agree.

He claps his hands, a deceptively cheerful grin on his face. If you didn’t already think of him as the worst prick you’ve ever met, you might’ve found it charming. It’s the same smile he used to flash at you in your first week when he was trying to cozy up and ease his way into your good graces. The sight of it makes you sick to your stomach, now.

“Great,” he rises from his seat. “We’ll do some shopping, get some lunch━ make a full day out of it.”

At this point, you don’t care what he has planned. You just want him to leave you alone so you can try to at least pretend like you’re gonna finish the rest of the work you need to get around to.

Garrett’s made his way to the door and has his hand reaching for the handle when he turns back around and gives you a smirk. “Might wanna work on your happy face, though, love,” he comments, gesturing towards you with a nod of his head. “‘Cause if you look like that in front of the paps they definitely aren’t gonna be very convinced that you love me.”

Just to spite him, you let your scowl deepen. “I don’t need your advice. I know how to handle myself, Garrett.” You say his name like a curse━ like the very feeling of it on your tongue causes you pain.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment. His face turns thoughtful, but there’s still the smugness painted across his features that makes you so unfathomably annoyed. “You must be pretty familiar with the paps if you’re always around those drivers, yeah?” He knows the answer to his question already, so you’re not sure why he’s even asking.

He stays silent, though, like he’s genuinely expecting an answer, so you shrug your shoulders. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats back to you.

His laughter is all you hear echoing in your ears even once he’s long gone.

Until your phone starts to ring and Lando's name flashes across the screen.

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght

━━ a/n: cliffhanger hehe~ also, i promise we're getting to ACTUAL formula one stuff soon

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 8 months

Text

The Danger Zone (Part 18) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 3.9k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY.

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy; Military Inaccuracies; Medical Inaccuracies; Crying; Angst; Family Drama; Deployments; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: You try to adapt to life without Jake beside you anymore.

Series Master List

Master List

Dear Jake,

You probably haven’t even reached the aircraft carrier yet. You might even still be on the ground in Miramar. But I couldn’t wait. I miss you. You’ve been gone for less than five hours, and I already miss you so much. I'm not saying that to try and make you feel bad, but because it's the only thing on my mind now.

Everyone offered to take me out today to try and distract me, but I declined. I think that I just want some time to myself. I honestly don't even want to get out of bed. Maybe I’ll do some cleaning. Or who knows? Maybe I’m an accomplished knitter who hasn’t discovered her talent yet. Or maybe I’ll bake again. I don’t know.

Also, all of the tee shirts you left behind are now mine. Sorry, it’s just wife rules. You shouldn’t have married me and knocked me up if you didn’t want me to steal your stuff.

I miss you. I love you. And so does our little girl. Come home safe, Lieutenant Commander. That’s an order.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I went back to work today. Everyone tried to talk to me about you and the wedding and everything, but I just wanted to be left alone. Also, my cravings are all over the place now. And half of the stuff seems to make me throw up these days. Luckily, I still have the gum and toothbrush in my desk.

How’s everything? I assumed that you made it to the carrier by now. Or maybe you’re somewhere else entirely.

You know all of those spy movies over romanticize how sexy it is to be waiting at home for your husband to return home from some top secret mission.

It’s not sexy. It’s just annoying.

Here’s a photo of me and my bump. Don’t mind the mess in the background, I’m rearranging the whole apartment. Call it nervous organizing. It'll be cleaned up. Eventually.

She’s been a shy ever since you left. I can still feel her moving around, but even she seems to have realized that you're gone. I think that she just misses you. And I can’t blame her because I miss you too.

I love you, Jake. Come home safely.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I got the package that you bought for me. I hope that you know that if you were here, I would have given you a rerun of that time that we went to that desert concert. The one where you wouldn't remove your hands from my waist for a second. I hope that your big promotion doesn’t change how much you enjoyed it when I tied your hands up back in your truck.

Our daughter’s been moving around like crazy today ever since I played your voice for her. She doesn’t seem to be willing to kick yet, but we’ll get there in time.

I let Emma take me out today. We just took a walk around her neighborhood. Baby girl finally went to bed after that. But knowing her, she’ll wake up just in time for me to go to bed.

Here’s our photo from today. Emma took it. I can’t believe I’m going to get even bigger. You owe me a deep tissue massage on my back when you get home. And I’ll hold you to it.

We love you and miss you, Jake.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I couldn’t take it anymore. I moved in with Mav today. I thought I wanted to be alone, but I was wrong. Being alone with my thoughts just makes me sad and lonely and I don’t want our daughter to bake in that. She needs to inherit your smile and dimples, so I’m making a bigger effort to be happy.

Penny took me to get my nails done today. I got a light pink for our daughter, but now everyone’s assuming that we’re having a girl. I haven’t confirmed it because we didn’t discuss it before you left but don’t be shocked when you come home to a lot of pink.

I also started seriously researching some girl names. I never realized how many people I don’t like until I started trying to name our daughter. And you better speak up if any of the ones that I suggest are ones that have bad meanings to you.

I’m still digging through a whole bunch of lists but there’s such weird ones out there, Jake. And we cannot name our child something that would get us a look from her teachers. Or a stripper name.

I love you. Baby girl is behaving herself, but she misses you.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

To My Beautiful Wife,

I finally got a chance to check my email. We’re settled on the carrier now, but we’ve been doing a lot of drills and long briefings. I'm sorry that I haven't written earlier. Know that the two of you are always on my mind.

I’m glad you got your gift. I tried to record what I could think of for our baby girl. I don’t want her to miss anything. And I don’t want her keeping you up at night. Has she kicked yet? By my count, you’re hitting seven months in a day or two.

Thanks for sending me those photos. I put up one of the two of you from that photo shoot in my plane. Really brightens up the place. But it also reminds me of what I’m missing. Sometimes I have to take it down so I can focus.

I miss you. I miss our little girl. Every day, every hour, every second.

Try to relax. I know that everyone’s probably told you that a thousand times by now, but I don’t want you feeling stressed about me. I’m fine and I'll be home as soon as I can. Please tell me that you didn’t lift anything heavy while you were moving into Mav’s house. Or maybe it's better if you don't tell me.

And you can tell everyone about her. I don’t mind. It’s not like we could keep it a secret for much longer anyways. But make sure to mention that I was right.

And you have to tell me the worst names that you've seen on these lists. I left a list of baby names I liked in my nightstand. I'd research them when I couldn't sleep at night.

I love you and I love our daughter. I’ll try to be home soon.

Your Husband,

Jake

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I had my seven month appointment today. Baby girl is healthy and still measuring a little small. But her heartbeat is strong and I can tell that she’s going to be stubborn coming out. The doctor says that it’s only a matter of time before she starts kicking.

I hope that the ocean isn’t too rough and you can see the stars. I remember when Mav and I spent a month in Hawaii when I was a teenager. We saw the most beautiful stars there. What if we picked a star name for our daughter? Not Stella, though. That was our dog's name growing up and I can't name my daughter after a dog.

I didn’t lift anything. Mav wouldn’t let me. And neither would Bradley. They’re watching me like hawks these days. And no, I didn’t mean that as a bird joke. Also, I can’t name our daughter after a bird. I’m trying to end the family streak of joke names.

Mckeighleigh was the most ridiculous looking name I’ve seen so far. And we’re not naming our daughter Precious either. Or worse, Chastity. I don’t know how those nurses keep a straight face when they hear those names.

And your recording telling her to go to bed has come in handy lately. Though I did warn her that we’ll be discussing the fact that she only seems to listen to you about that when she comes out.

I love you so much Jake. You’ll be home soon, I know it. And we’ll be waiting for you when you do.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I can't fall asleep, so I’m writing to you instead. And no, it wasn’t our baby girl who kept me up. I’ve had the worst heartburn these days. And Tums don’t do shit. They say that means that our daughter will come out with a full head of hair. I say that I'd take a bald baby in exchange for better sleep.

My baby shower is in a few days. Next weekend. Emma and Phoenix said that it was going to be relatively small, and I hope that they stick to it. I’m not really in the mood to see a lot of people anymore.

I yelled at Bradley the other day for making an omelet with three eggs because he left an egg in the carton without a 'friend' because he left an egg alone in its row since there was an odd number of eggs. Apparently, I kept crying about it for a while, but in all honesty, I don’t really remember much of that conversation. I’m pretty sure that Bradley’s keeping his distance now. You probably would have enjoyed seeing his face.

I asked for a little box at my baby shower to put name suggestions in. I’m running out of ideas. I keep worrying that we’re going to name her something stupid.

Baby girl is growing bigger, and I can’t believe that I’m still going to get fatter. I’m struggling to grab things off of the floor now. Maverick got me one of those grabby things that old people use. You would probably find it hilarious.

I love you. I miss you. I’ll write to you tomorrow.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

“Thank you,” you told Emma as she handed you a lemonade.

Emma and Penny took you out for the day to spend some time out of Mav’s house. You were growing increasingly less interested in leaving your 'nest,' as Bradley nicknamed it, and they were trying their best to get you motivated to go out and continue to live your life.

You had done some shopping for a dress to wear to your baby shower and now the three of you were getting a snack before you’d head over to the Hard Deck for the rest of the afternoon. You chatted for a moment before you sighed, slowly got to your feet, and grabbed your purse from your chair.

“Bathroom?” Emma asked you.

“Where else?” you joked, walking off.

A few minutes later, as you were washing your hands at the sink, you looked up when another woman stepped inside the bathroom. You offered her a friendly smile before her familiarity suddenly struck you. Quickly drying your hands, you reached for your bag and turned to leave. But the woman stood directly in your path.

She had stripes of gray cutting through what appeared to be deep auburn hair. She carried herself with a sense of purpose. And an expensive handbag. She reminded you of some of the women you used to see at the country club that you worked at in college. The type who turned a blind eye when their pig husbands made some demeaning comment to the women on staff and were never seen without some kind of drink in their perfectly manicured hands.

“You know who I am?” Georgia Seresin asked softly.

You stared her down, gripping the strap of you bag tightly. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, and you could practically feel the rhythm in your ears. Taking a breath and releasing it, you tilted your chin up and narrowed your eyes at her.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded quietly, looking around the small public bathroom. No one else was in there except for the two of you. “Are you stalking me?”

“I came to California when my son didn’t respond to my letter.”

“I wonder why?” you wondered sarcastically.

“What did he tell you?”

“Everything,” you stated firmly. “Which is why I would appreciate it if you stopped acting like it was just a coincidence that you ran into me here, hundreds of miles from your home, when Jake is conveniently deployed.” You paused for a moment before repeating through gritted teeth, “Why are you here?”

“To talk to you. About my son.”

“What about your son?”

“I know that your child isn’t here yet, but when they’re born, perhaps you can understand how much pain it could cause a mother to miss out on their child’s wedding or the process of them expecting their first child. From a mother to a mother—”

“—I’m going to stop you right there.”

You tried to keep your tears of anger in as you thought about Jake’s expression when he told you about his childhood. When you thought about the pain that you could hear in his tone, that you could feel radiating off of him.

“Because a woman who calls herself a mother would never do the things that you did. You stole him from a poor girl who loved him. You lied to her, promising that you would take care of him and love him. And then you turned around and fed him to the wolves." Nostrils flaring and angry tears threatening to fall, you added, "Did you ever even tell him that you loved him?"

“Of course, we did,” she admonished.

“Did you? Did you tell him that you were proud of him? That you loved him no matter what happened?” you snapped, trying to keep your voice even. “Every night my mom told me that she loved me and that she was proud of me. How many times did you tell Jake that, Georgia? How is a child supposed to just know that if you don’t tell them?” Shaking your head as you let out a shaky breath, you turned back to her. “And just so you know, there won’t be a day where Jake doesn’t tell our child that he loves them. Not one.”

Georgia adjusted her handbag on her shoulder and pursed her lips together. Clearly, she wasn’t used to being spoken to in this manner, but you didn’t give a shit about her feelings.

“Did you come here to convince me to talk Jake into speaking to you again? To buy my baby from me? A combination of the two? Does your husband know that you’re here? Is he waiting outside?”

Georgia took another moment to compose herself from your questions. She glanced down at the rings on your finger before meeting your gaze again.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Jake selected a woman as . . . outspoken as you,” Georgia stated, adjusting her handbag again. “No, my husband does not know that I’m here. And I’m not here to buy my grandchild. I’m here to try and get through to my son and I’ve realized that the best way to do that would be through you. The woman he married and is having a child of his own with.”

Your eyes flashed with annoyance at Georgia's words.

“I have no interest in having a relationship with you because Jake doesn’t have an interest in it.”

“There’s nothing I can do to persuade you to speak with him about me?” Georgia pressed, an edge of desperation in her tone.

“No, there’s not.”

“You would deny your child a set of grandparents?”

“I will protect my child from people who hurt their father.”

Forcing yourself to take a breath, you stared down Georgia for a moment. She looked far more pathetic than you knew she was comfortable with. Apparently, she thought that she would just waltz in, and you would agree with her without any pushback.

But she couldn't have been more wrong.

“You know, when Jake told me about his upbringing, I honestly felt a bit of sympathy for you, Georgia. Maybe you were convinced that being a rich housewife to a pathetic little man was a better life than being loved by a poor man. And I’m sure that your husband hasn’t been kind to you over the years.”

The rage flashed to the surface again as she turned away from you for a moment.

“But how could you look another woman in the eye and convince her to hand over an innocent baby to a man that you knew would be a horrible father? That you knew would hurt that baby?”

After a moment, you walked past Georgia, who did not move to block your path this time. You opened the door and strode out of there and you didn't dare look back. Trying to gather yourself, you looked up to see Emma and Penny a few steps away from you.

“Are you okay? We were getting worried," Emma questioned with clear concern.

“Fine. Let’s get going to the Hard Deck,” you stated, already turning towards the parking lot.

“What happened?” Penny asked, studying your expression. You didn’t reply and just kept marching towards the parking lot until Penny rested a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to slow down. “You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

“Jake’s mom walked into the bathroom,” you explained quietly, looking over your shoulder.

“What?"

“She knew where you were?” Penny asked urgently, looking around with a protective stare. Wrapping her arm around your shoulders, she encouraged you forward again. “Come on, let’s get going.”

~~~~~

Maverick’s face darkened after you finished with your explanation about what happened at the mall. Grabbing his phone, he got up from the table with a serious expression.

“I’m going to make a call,” he stated firmly. “They can’t stalk you and your child. I don’t care who the hell that they think they are in Texas. That’s not going to fly out here. That’s not going to continue.”

“Who are you calling?” you asked as Maverick walked off.

“An old contact. I’ll be right back.”

Penny told you to just let Mav make the call as the remaining four of you remained seated at the table. You twisted your engagement ring around your finger nervously, sharing a look with Emma and Bradley, who sat across from you.

“She didn’t try to hurt me—”

“—Doesn’t matter,” Bradley interjected quickly. “It’s creepy and it’s over the line and it’s going to stop. Now. Just let Mav make his call. He'll handle it.”

“I know,” you sighed, holding your head in your hands. “Jake is going to freak out when I tell him.”

“You’re going to tell him right away?”

“I can’t hide it from him. It might take me some time to find the words, but I have to tell him.”

Penny hugged you to her side and rubbed your back with her hand, giving you the maternal support that you really needed in that moment. You sighed and leaned against her, desperately wishing that Jake would be home soon.

“Everything will be alright. We’re going to figure this out.”

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I hope that everything is running smoothly where you are. And that you read this email sooner rather than later.

Penny and Emma took me to the shops yesterday and when I was trying to leave the bathroom, I ran into your mother. She came up from Texas and she told me that she wanted to talk to me about you. Said something about using me to convince you to talk to her again. I told her that I wasn’t interested in that because you weren’t interested in that. She let me leave after that.

I don’t want to stress you out or make you feel like you have to do anything when you’re so far away, but I wanted to be honest with you. Mav’s made a few calls and he seems to think that he has a solution. Don’t stress about us, just focus on your mission and coming home safely in one piece.

We love you, Jake. And we’re safe, we’re fine. And we miss you.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

Folding some fresh laundry in Maverick's house a few days later, you looked up when you heard your phone buzz. An unknown number was calling you and despite your hesitation, you answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Honey.”

“Jake?” you whispered out shakily, holding a hand to your mouth. Moving to sit, you tried to calm yourself down and not just simply sob. “How are you calling me?”

“I have my ways,” Jake replied teasingly. Growing more serious, he asked, “Are you alright?”

“We’re fine, Jake.”

“I’m so sorry, Honey. She never should have been anywhere near the two of you.”

“We’re fine,” you repeated softly. “She didn’t threaten us. If anyone was threatening anyone, it was me.”

“That’s my wife,” Jake praised, causing you to smile bashfully. “But my father wasn’t there, right? It was just my mother?”

“Yeah. She said that he didn’t know that she was there, and I didn’t see him around.”

“Good. I’ll deal with them when I get home.”

“Okay.” After a moment you asked, “How much longer do you have?”

“Less than a minute. I’m sorry, Honey, I just needed to know that the two of you were okay. They thought that I was having some kind of stroke when I read your email and I managed to convince them to let me call you.”

“At least one good thing came out of the whole shitshow,” you sighed, resting a hand on your bump. “I love—”

You froze when you felt your daughter press her foot against your hand. Jake felt his heart leap into his throat when you cut yourself off and stop talking without a clear reason.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“She’s kicking,” you whispered softly.

“What?”

“Jake, she’s kicking. Our daughter is kicking!”

“She’s kicking?”

“Yes, she’s kicking,” you laughed, before your joy dimmed and tears pooled in your eyelids. Sniffling, you croaked out, “I love you so much, Jake. We love you so much.”

“I love you too. And I miss you so fucking much, Honey. And I’m so sorry that I’m not there.”

“Hangman, time’s up,” Jake heard from behind him, causing him to look over his shoulder.

“I’ve got to go, Honey,” he replied, grinding his jaw to try and stave off the tears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. Bye, Jake.”

The line went dead, and you slowly placed your phone down. Holding your hand to your mouth, you finally let out your sobs. And about a thousand emotions that you'd tried keeping in ever since Jake was forced to leave you.

Your daughter was finally kicking, but her father wasn’t here to feel her. And the thought only made you sob harder.

Back on the carrier, Jake rubbed the tears that leaked from his eyes.

He missed it. He fucking missed it. He missed his daughter kicking for the first time. He wasn’t there when his mother showed up out of nowhere and accosted you in a public bathroom. He wasn’t going to be there for your baby shower.

Jake had anticipated that deploying while you were heavily pregnant was going to be difficult. But he didn’t realize that it was going to be impossible, killing him slowly from the inside out.

“Hangman?”

“I’m coming,” Jake called back, clearing his throat. “I’m coming.”

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cepheustarot · 9 months

Text

What awaits you in January?

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1: The first half of the month will be wonderful for you, in general you will have a good mood and no sudden mood swings, this month you will have a good opportunity to start something new, change something in your life, change of scenery. It is also very likely that you will receive an expensive gift from someone, you can get a bonus at work or you will improve your academic performance and you will pass all important tests for good grades, in general success will be waiting for you. Further, in the middle of the month you will be invited to some event, it may be a wedding or someone’s birthday (maybe yours) or any other holiday. This event will be very good for you, you will get many positive emotions and pleasant memories, it will be a very fun event. At the end of the month you will feel a breakdown, maybe the whole month you will have a busy event and it will wear you out, you will get tired, so it will be very important at the end of the month to give yourself a rest and clear your head. You may also have unforeseen circumstances that you were not prepared for, so be careful!

Pile 2: At the beginning of the month you will be successful in career/studies, you can be promoted or transferred to a larger firm, in general there will be positive changes. As for study, you will learn a lot and try, because your work will pay off and you will have good grades. Also at the beginning of the month there will be the possibility to engage in self-development or something creative, maybe you will also teach and train someone, will be in the role of a mentor. At the beginning of the month you will also have good unexpected news! In the middle of the month you will continue to maintain your energy and productivity, there will be events that are not related to work or school: you may have many meetings with people, friends or you will receive invitations to the party, Take part in organizing activities and etc. You can also do dance or any other sport, any other active activity. The end of the month will be stable for you, but here it will be best to pay attention to your budget, you should start saving money to feel safe in unforeseen situations.

Pile 3: The beginning of the month will be busy, you will feel like a real workaholic, the days will be productive for you. It is important to keep in mind that success depends on you and how much you put in to achieve it. In addition, for you here will be a topical painstaking activity, requiring increased attention to detail. In the middle of the month you will be successful, you will come much closer to achieving your goals and plans, you can also go on a trip in mid-January or start traveling. In general, everything will be related to movement, maybe you buy a new transport or get a driver’s license. So the end of the month will be energetic for you and you will be in good spirits, maybe you will often go to parties, dates, meet people and spend time with them, or maybe you will try yourself as a host or participate, try acting, maybe take acting classes. Here in any case you will be in the center of attention, you will develop your charisma.

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 🖤

#tarot #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a pile reading #pac

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whereserpentswalk · 8 months

Text

You know a girl whose going to be uploaded into a computer soon. It's pretty common nowadays, like not so common most people know someone whose had it happen to them, but common enough so that everyone knows about it.

She says she has to do it for her job. Like, it's not required, but every aspect of her job is 100% online so it's just more convenient for her employers that way, making her a lot more enjoyable. Plus not having things like sleep or food to worry about would cut costs a lot. And she might eventually be able to get a new body once she gets promoted a few times.

You feel really sad for her. You know a lot of people who've had to become cyborgs or even full robots for both work and personal reasons. But being fully uploaded into a computer with no way of accessing the offline world is way to drastic a move for most people to go to, even out of desperation. But while she's still here, you try to get to know her, since you won't have her for long.

She seems really nice. Graduated from a top business school, but she seems to actually be pretty class conscious. Mabye she though gaining power in the system would help her help the world, she wanted to work for an eco friendly company but that didn't pan out well.

She's trying to spend her last weeks with a body as best she can. Sometimes that just means hanging out around the city, you try to take her around to places she might enjoy. You grew up here and she didn't so of course you know a lot of really cool places to see. You took her to neighborhoods you love walking around, to little corners you can only see in person, and little shops that can't be replaced by websites. You take her to a meusum, and spend so much time looking at things that hit diffrent when you see them up close, massive radiant paintings, and glistening gems, and alien fossils, all of them soon to be gone to her, when everything is equally far away.

You spend time doing things with her body that she won't be able to soon. She tells you not to feel sad, that she chose this, though she seems a bit sad herself. She savors the sensation of sleep while she still has it. She trys all kinds of food that she won't ever taste soon, she's laughs a bit that there's no use in dieting now. She asks you to cuddle, and you cuddle her, because you know she needs that human touch while she can have it. She asks to have sex, you had to get neutered for your last job so it doesn't normally interest you anymore, but you'll do it for her. She doesn't want to leave this body having never known how it feels and you understand. When she falls asleep in your arms you call her pretty, and hearing that about her face makes her cry.

Eventually it's time for her to go. You give her one last hug, hoping she can carry it as the last thing she feels. You take the train with her to the uploading station. She seems to have regrets, seems to not want to go through with this, but she's committed to it now. You tell her she can still back out, and find another way to live, that it's not to late as long as she's in her body. She tells you to stay strong for her when she's gone.

When she uploads herself she leaves the first pick of parts from her body to you. It was a healthy one, really nice for her age. You take her reproductive organs so you can finally be unnutered again, and take her eyes to cure nearsightedness, and a few muscles to undo chronic pain. It hurts to know you're taking her apart like that, but somebody was going to, and it's not her anymore. At least you'll carry a bit of her now.

Now that she's uploaded you talk to her a lot through social media. She seems like she misses a lot of the world. You try and show her what you can through photos, and talk to her as much as possible. She misses hugs more then anything, and tells you how boring life is without sleep. You wish you could have done more. She wishes she had listened.

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pdriesta · 24 days

Text

CHAPTER ONE

“i want something that i know is real”

pairing — judexblack!girl

genres — fluff, slow burn, workplace romance (she’s a pt)

warnings — sexual themes (minors dni)

word count — 6k

summary — y/n, a rising physiotherapist, has just been promoted to work with real madrid's men's team. after a difficult breakup, she's determined to keep things professional. but when jude bellingham, the club's charming new star, sets his sights on her, maintaining boundaries becomes harder than ever. can she resist the pull, or will she risk everything for a love she swore she’d never fall for again?

an — i am so sorry for the delay! here’s chapter one (for the second time LOL) . i found the taglist thankfully through a reblog so let me know if any of you have reblogged the previous chapters it would save me so much time <3

masterlist

the sun was setting over valdebebas, casting long shadows across the training pitches as the players finished up a particularly grueling session. jude bellingham was among the last to leave the field, sweat dripping from his brow as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. his muscles ached, the intensity of the training pushing him to his limits, but he relished the challenge.

as he made his way to the physio room, his thoughts were already on y/n. he’d been looking for an excuse to talk to her again, and after today’s session, he had a perfect reason.

when jude entered the physio room, it was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. y/n was there, as he’d hoped, focused on organizing some equipment. she looked up as he walked in, her expression shifting from concentration to a warm, professional smile.

“hey, y/n,” jude greeted, his voice slightly breathless from the workout. “i think i might need some of that magic you worked on me the other day. today’s session was brutal.”

y/n nodded, her eyes scanning him with a practiced eye. “you look like you’ve been through it,” she remarked, a hint of concern in her tone. “come on, take a seat, and let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

jude followed her instructions, lowering himself onto the treatment table with a wince. “you’re telling me. i don’t think i’ve ever run that much in one session.”

y/n smiled softly as she gathered her supplies. “that’s madrid for you. they push you hard because they expect the best.”

“yeah, well,” jude leaned back on his elbows, letting out a dramatic sigh, “i guess that means i’ll be seeing a lot of you, then.”

there it was—the flirty edge to his voice that had become a bit of a trademark in their interactions. y/n, ever the professional, chose to ignore the bait, focusing instead on her work.

“you should be careful what you wish for,” she replied evenly, adjusting the height of the treatment table. “if you’re here too often, it means you’re not taking care of yourself.”

“trust me, i’ll do my best to stay out of trouble,” jude said, flashing her a charming grin. “but i wouldn’t mind having you around more often. makes the pain a little more bearable.”

y/n rolled her eyes playfully, but she didn’t comment, keeping her focus on his treatment. “let’s take a look at those legs,” she instructed, patting the space between his knees. “you can sit up for this.”

jude complied, sitting up straight as y/n moved to stand between his legs, her hands expertly probing the muscles in his thighs. the closeness of their positions was not lost on either of them. jude could feel the warmth of her body, the subtle brush of her arm against his as she worked, and he found himself leaning in just a little, his eyes tracing the curve of her jaw, the softness of her lips.

but it was y/n who felt the shift the most. as she focused on the treatment, her fingers gently kneading the tense muscles in jude’s legs, she couldn’t help but take in his presence. up close, she noticed details she hadn’t before—the way his skin glistened slightly from the workout, the sharpness of his jawline, the deep brown of his eyes that held a certain intensity. it was no wonder social media was obsessed with him; he was undeniably handsome, and his charisma only added to the allure.

jude watched her intently as she worked, noting every small detail—the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the slight purse of her lips as she focused on the task at hand. each movement she made was precise, her hands skilled and confident, yet there was a certain grace in the way she touched his sore muscles, almost like she was pouring care into every motion. it was hard not to be captivated by her; she seemed so immersed in what she was doing, completely in her element, and there was something about that quiet confidence that drew him in even more.

as her fingers pressed and kneaded the tension from his muscles, jude couldn't help but feel his body start to relax under her touch. it was as if every knot of stress was being expertly unraveled, leaving behind nothing but a soothing warmth. his muscles softened, giving in to the gentle pressure she applied, and he could feel the lines between professional care and something more personal start to blur.

on her end, y/n was trying to stay focused, reminding herself to keep it strictly professional, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. as her hands moved over the hard planes of his back and shoulders, she couldn't help but notice just how solid he was—all muscle, lean and strong beneath her fingers. she could feel an unexpected attraction building within her, a warmth spreading through her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

the tension between them was palpable, an almost electric charge in the air that neither of them could ignore. jude felt it too, a stirring of something deeper that went beyond just the relief of having his muscles worked on. as her hands continued to glide over his skin, he had to stifle a groan, the sensation of her touch sending a wave of unexpected pleasure through him. it took everything in him to keep it together, not wanting to make the situation more complicated than it already felt.

“you’re pretty good at this, you know,” jude finally said, his voice low and smooth, trying to bring some levity to the situation while still testing the waters.

y/n glanced up at him, caught off guard by the softness in his tone. “thanks. i’ve had a lot of practice,” she replied, keeping her tone light despite the flutter in her chest.

he flashed a smile, leaning into her touch a little more. “ever thought about switching careers? maybe you could be a magician—making all my pain disappear like this.”

y/n felt her cheeks heat up at his playful remark, a shy smile tugging at her lips as she shook her head. “i think i’ll stick to what i know. besides, i’m not sure magic is really my thing.”

jude chuckled, the sound deep and rich, and for a moment, they just held each other's gaze, the air between them thick with unspoken thoughts. she quickly looked away, focusing back on her work, but the moment lingered, neither of them quite ready to break the connection that had formed between them.

y/n felt a flutter in her chest, but she quickly pushed it aside, reminding herself of the line she needed to maintain. “well, if you want to keep feeling this good, you’ll need to follow my advice,” she said, her tone returning to its usual professional demeanor. “stretching, rest, and hydration. don’t forget it.”

“anything for you,” jude quipped, though there was a sincerity in his tone that made y/n pause.

she shook her head, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “i’m serious, jude. if you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll be back here before you know it.”

“i hear you, y/n,” jude said, his voice softer now, the playful edge giving way to something more genuine. “and for what it’s worth, i do appreciate you looking out for me.”

y/n nodded, her heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his eyes. “it’s my job,” she replied, though the words felt a bit heavier than usual. “and besides, we can’t have one of our star players sidelined, can we?”

“no, we can’t,” jude agreed, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he looked at her. “but i think it’s more than just that.”

the air between them felt charged, a quiet intensity lingering as they held each other’s gaze. y/n could feel her resolve wavering slightly, the closeness of their positions making it harder to keep the professional distance she’d tried so hard to maintain.

as y/n finished working on jude’s leg, she hesitated for a moment, her usual professionalism wavering. she could sense there was something more on his mind, something that went beyond the aches and pains of training. after a brief pause, she decided to break the unspoken barrier she’d been carefully maintaining.

“hey, jude,” she began, her voice softer than before, “how are you feeling about the first game? it’s coming up pretty soon.”

jude looked at her, surprised by the shift in her tone. he hadn’t expected her to ask, but something in the way she did made him feel like he could open up. he let out a small sigh, leaning back on his hands as he considered his words.

“honestly?” jude started, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “i’m nervous. it’s a huge club, and there’s so much expectation. i’ve been dreaming about this for years, but now that it’s here, it’s kind of overwhelming. i just keep thinking—what if i don’t live up to it? what if the fans don’t love me the way they did back in dortmund?”

y/n paused in her work, her eyes meeting his with a gentle, understanding gaze. she could see the vulnerability in him, the weight of the pressure he was carrying. setting aside her role for a moment, she spoke from the heart.

“jude, it’s completely normal to feel that way,” y/n said, her voice warm and reassuring. “real madrid is one of the biggest clubs in the world, and with that comes a lot of pressure. but you were signed because they saw something special in you. the fans are going to see that too.”

jude listened intently, his eyes never leaving hers. there was something in the way she spoke—steady, confident, and genuine—that calmed the storm inside him.

“you’ve worked hard to get here,” y/n continued, “and that work isn’t going to go unnoticed. the fans, they’re passionate, yes, but they also appreciate hard work, dedication, and talent. you’ve got all of that. just be yourself out there, play the way you know how, and they’ll love you for it.”

jude let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. “thanks, y/n,” he said quietly, his voice sincere. “that actually helps a lot. i’ve been so caught up in my head, worrying about everything that could go wrong.”

y/n smiled, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “it’s going to be okay, jude. you’ve got this. and remember, you’re not alone—you’ve got a whole team behind you, and now, you’ve got me looking out for you too.”

a small smile tugged at the corners of jude’s lips, and he felt a warmth spreading through him at her words. “i appreciate that, y/n. really. it means a lot.”

they shared a quiet moment, the air between them shifting from the playful banter they’d grown accustomed to, to something more meaningful. y/n could feel the connection deepening, a mutual understanding that went beyond their professional roles.

“just promise me one thing,” y/n said, her voice lightening as she stepped back, returning to her professional demeanor. “when you’re out there on the pitch, remember to enjoy it. this is what you’ve worked for. let yourself have fun.”

jude nodded, his smile widening. “i promise. and i’ll make sure to give you a good reason to keep me in top shape.”

y/n laughed softly, shaking her head. “i’ll hold you to that, bellingham. now, go get some rest. you’ve earned it.”

as jude left the room, he felt lighter, more at ease with the challenges ahead. y/n’s words echoed in his mind, a steady reminder that he was more than capable of handling.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the real madrid facility, y/n found herself alone in the corridors, the hum of the fluorescent lights the only sound breaking the quiet. she was one of the last to leave, her habit of staying late a comforting ritual, a way to unwind from the day's relentless pace and ensure everything was in order. tonight, however, her mind was preoccupied with a different kind of noise.

earlier, she’d run into laura, one of her old colleagues from the women’s team, who had dropped by to visit. laura’s eyes had lit up when she saw y/n, the excitement in her voice unmistakable.

“i can’t believe it, y/n!” laura had exclaimed, her enthusiasm palpable. “jude bellingham—he’s here! i’ve seen all the photos and videos, and he’s just as attractive in person. what’s he like? have you met him?”

y/n had nodded, a faint, polite smile on her lips. “yes, i’ve met him. he’s… charming.”

“charming?” laura had raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting more. “come on, give me the details. is he as good-looking up close? i bet the girls must be falling over themselves.”

y/n’s thoughts had drifted back to their brief interactions. jude was undeniably attractive—his striking features, the way his eyes held a mixture of intensity and vulnerability. she’d noticed it all, yet she had no intention of letting her guard down. her role was professional, and she had no room for distractions, especially not of this kind.

“he’s very focused,” y/n had replied, trying to keep her tone neutral. “and yes, he’s as handsome as you’d expect. but I’m his physio, so my focus is on his recovery and performance, not his looks.”

“oh, I get it,” laura had said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “but don’t you ever think about... well, what it’d be like if things were different? I mean, if you weren’t working with him?”

y/n had felt a twinge of discomfort at the question. she had not allowed herself to entertain such thoughts, not after everything she’d been through. she’d always been one of the last to leave the facility, a habit that allowed her to keep her distance from the personal drama that could easily complicate her life. her thoughts had drifted to her past with javier, her toxic ex who had belittled her in every way imaginable.

javier had been her childhood friend, someone she thought she knew inside out. but once they started dating, his true colors had shown. his comments had ranged from derogatory remarks about her looks to nasty jabs about her work and sexuality. the once familiar face had become a source of disdain, his words leaving scars that she was still working to heal.

the thought of entering another complicated relationship, especially with someone as high-profile as jude, made her anxious. her job was her sanctuary, a place where she felt in control, where she could escape the memories of javier’s cruelty. the idea of mixing personal feelings with her professional life was a risk she was not willing to take.

as y/n had watched laura walk away, her heart heavy with unspoken fears, she had felt a mix of longing and resolve. she admired jude’s charisma and attractiveness, but her past experiences had taught her the importance of keeping a clear boundary between her personal and professional lives. there was too much at stake, and she was determined not to repeat past mistakes.

the empty facility seemed to echo her thoughts as she continued her evening routine, methodically checking each detail. jude’s presence was a reminder of the world outside her carefully maintained boundaries, a world that, while tempting, was fraught with risks she wasn’t ready to face. she remained focused, her resolve strengthened by the quiet solitude of the facility, knowing that while she might appreciate jude’s attractiveness, she would not let it disrupt the professional distance she had fought so hard to maintain.

as the final whistle blew, the stadium erupted in a roar of jubilation. y/n stood on the sidelines, her heart racing as she watched jude bellingham weave through defenders with a fluidity and grace that made the game look effortless. the staff around her were just as engrossed, their eyes fixed on the field, their murmurs of approval punctuating the air.

y/n’s gaze was locked on jude, her admiration growing with each precise pass and each calculated move. she had seen him in training, had felt the intensity of his drive, but seeing him perform in a live match was something entirely different. the way he commanded the ball, the confidence in every stride—it was a testament to why he was considered one of the brightest talents in football.

and then, it happened. jude received a perfectly timed pass, his body shifting into position with the grace of a seasoned player. in a swift, decisive moment, he struck the ball with precision, sending it soaring into the back of the net. the stadium exploded into cheers, and y/n felt a surge of pride and excitement that she hadn’t anticipated. jude’s first game, and he’d already made such an impact.

as the players celebrated, y/n watched jude with a mixture of awe and joy. his face was alight with exhilaration, a broad grin spreading across his features as his teammates surrounded him. she could see the sheer relief in his eyes, a weight lifted off his shoulders as he soaked in the adulation from the fans.

when the final whistle blew and the players began their exit, y/n remained on the sidelines, a quiet smile on her face. she felt a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing she’d played a part in helping him reach this moment. as jude made his way toward the tunnel, still riding the high of victory, he glanced around, his gaze searching for someone.

to y/n’s surprise, jude’s eyes locked onto hers. with a burst of energy fueled by adrenaline, he jogged over, his smile widening. “y/n!” he called out, his voice filled with unrestrained joy.

y/n’s heart skipped a beat as jude approached, her mind racing. she had expected a handshake, maybe a polite acknowledgment, but this was different. as he reached her, he extended his hand for a handshake, but before she could react, he pulled her into a hug.

the contact was electric, a rush of warmth and energy that left y/n momentarily frozen. jude’s embrace was firm and enthusiastic, and she could feel the thudding of his heart, the exhilaration that pulsed through him. her arms remained stiff at her sides for a moment, her cheeks flushing with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body—it was overwhelming. she could sense the bewildered looks from some of the staff nearby, their curiosity piqued by the unexpected display.

“jude,” she managed to say, her voice barely more than a whisper. “this is… unexpected.”

jude pulled back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on her shoulders. his eyes sparkled with mischief and a hint of flirtation. “i couldn’t help it,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “i wanted to thank you, and i’m just so... thrilled right now. i didn’t think i’d score on my first game. i was nervous, but you gave me the confidence i needed.”

y/n’s heart fluttered at his words. she was touched by his sincerity, though her professional demeanor was struggling to keep up with the personal breach. “i’m glad you felt that way,” she said, forcing a smile as she tried to regain her composure. “congratulations on the goal, jude. you played amazingly.”

“thanks, y/n,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone, his gaze lingering on her. “you know, I’m already looking forward to tomorrow’s session. can’t wait to see you again.”

y/n felt her cheeks heat up further at his words. she was already flustered from the hug, and his flirtatious remark only added to her embarrassment. she struggled to find her voice, her usual professional distance feeling even more crucial now. “i’ll be here,” she managed to say, her voice a touch shy. “see you then.”

jude chuckled, his eyes twinkling with playful intent. “i’ll make sure to keep my muscles in top shape just for you. and who knows, maybe I’ll bring some of that winning energy to our session.”

y/n felt her face warm at his flirtatious comment. she fumbled with her words, trying to maintain her professional composure. “um, that sounds... good. just, um, don’t overdo it out there.”

jude’s smile widened, his gaze lingering on her with a mix of admiration and affection. “promise I’ll do my best,” he said, his voice softening. “and I’ll make sure to give you a reason to keep me in top shape.”

as he turned to head toward the locker room, y/n watched him go, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. the brief embrace and his flirtatious remark had been a jolt, a reminder of how complicated emotions could become when you least expected it. she sighed softly, the reality of her role settling back into place as she prepared to head home.

when she left the facility, her thoughts were still with jude. she admired his talent and charisma, but she was acutely aware of the need to maintain her distance. the unexpected hug and his flirtatious comment had been a reminder of the fine line she was walking—between personal feelings and professional boundaries.

the lunchroom at the facility was bustling with activity as staff and players refueled after a demanding morning. y/n sat at a corner table, her usual spot, with a book in one hand and her lunch in the other. she preferred to keep to herself during these moments, finding solace in her own company amidst the chaos.

as she was about to take a bite of her sandwich, the familiar sound of footsteps drew closer. she looked up to see jude bellingham approaching, his smile as bright as ever. her heart skipped a beat, a mixture of surprise and apprehension swirling inside her. jude had already made quite an impression, and now, here he was, interrupting her solitary lunch.

“hey, y/n,” jude greeted, his voice warm and casual. “mind if i join you?”

y/n blinked, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. she glanced around the room, noting the curious glances from some of the staff members. she was about to protest, but jude was already pulling out a chair and sitting down across from her.

“uh, sure,” y/n replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “but, uh, why are you here? i mean, it’s lunchtime.”

jude chuckled, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “why not? i figured i’d keep you company. besides, i didn’t get a chance to really chat with you after the game.”

y/n felt a rush of warmth at his words, but she tried to maintain her composure. “you didn’t have to,” she said, her tone a mix of curiosity and caution. “i’m just doing my job, you know.”

“right,” jude said, leaning in slightly. “but i enjoy talking with you. and, well, it’s not every day i get to sit with someone who knows what’s really going on behind the scenes.”

y/n felt a knot of nervousness in her stomach. she had been trying to keep things professional, but jude’s relaxed demeanor and his easy smile were slowly eroding her defenses. “you’re not playing games with me, are you?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “what’s your intention here?”

jude’s expression softened, and he leaned back, a thoughtful look on his face. “games? no. i’m just trying to get to know you better. you’ve been really supportive, and i appreciate that. i guess i just want to be friends—or more if that’s where things lead.”

y/n was taken aback by his openness. her mind raced, struggling to process his words. she had always been careful with her emotions, especially after her past experiences. the idea of letting someone in, even in a friendly capacity, was daunting.

“friends,” she repeated, more to herself than to him. “but why me? you have plenty of people to talk to.”

jude’s smile remained steady, but there was a hint of sincerity in his eyes. “you seem different. you’re grounded and real. it’s refreshing. plus, i feel like i can be myself around you. i don’t get that feeling with everyone.”

y/n felt her cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and surprise. she was used to being the reserved one, keeping her emotions in check. but jude’s words were slowly breaking down her walls.

“so, uh, what do you want to talk about?” y/n asked, her voice a bit shy. “i mean, if we’re going to be friends.”

jude’s eyes lit up, and he leaned in slightly. “let’s start with something simple. tell me more about you. what’s your story? i’d love to hear about it.”

as they continued to talk, y/n found herself opening up more than she had intended. she spoke about her background, her move from spain, and her work at the facility. jude listened intently, asking questions and sharing stories of his own. with each passing minute, y/n felt a growing sense of comfort, though it was tinged with fear.

inside, y/n was wrestling with her emotions. she was scared of how easily she was letting her guard down, and how much she was enjoying jude’s company. the fear of becoming too attached, of losing control over her carefully maintained boundaries, was a constant undercurrent.

despite her internal struggle, she couldn’t deny that jude’s presence was comforting. he was genuine, and the way he looked at her with such attention made her feel valued in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

as their conversation continued, y/n found herself smiling and laughing more freely. the lunchroom seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of them and their growing connection.the lunchroom was slowly emptying out, but jude and y/n wouldn’t part even as they said their good re still deep in conversation. jude leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he listened intently. y/n, though still somewhat guarded, found herself drawn to the ease of their dialogue.

“so, tell me,” jude said, his tone light and curious, “what got you into physiotherapy? it seems like such a demanding field.”

y/n took a sip of her water, considering her response. “it’s kind of a long story,” she began, her voice tentative but steady. “i’ve always been interested in how the body works, how it heals. it started with me playing sports in school and getting injured a lot. i wanted to understand how to recover faster and help others do the same.”

jude’s eyes lit up with interest. “that’s actually really cool. it’s amazing how personal experiences can shape our career paths. i had a similar thing with football. after a few serious injuries, i became fascinated with how the body responds to training and recovery.”

y/n raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “so, you’ve had your fair share of injuries too?”

jude nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “yeah, a few. nothing too serious, but enough to make me appreciate the work that goes into staying fit and healthy. and, of course, having good physiotherapists like you.”

y/n blushed slightly at the compliment but tried to keep her demeanor professional. “well, it’s all part of the job. making sure players like you stay in top shape.

“and you’re doing a great job at it,” jude said earnestly. “i’ve noticed the difference already.”

y/n’s heart fluttered at his words, but she quickly pushed the feeling aside. “thanks. it’s good to hear that my work is making a difference.”

“absolutely,” jude agreed. “so, what do you do for fun when you’re not working? any hobbies or interests outside of physiotherapy?”

y/n hesitated for a moment, her mind racing. she wasn’t used to sharing much about herself, especially not with someone she didn’t know well. “i like reading,” she finally admitted. “and, um, cooking. it’s a nice break from the routine.”

“really? that’s awesome,” jude said, his enthusiasm genuine. “i’ve been trying to cook more. maybe you can give me some tips. i’m still learning.”

y/n laughed softly, feeling a bit more relaxed. “sure, i can do that. just don’t expect gourmet meals right away.”

“hey, i’ll take any advice i can get,” jude said, grinning. “what’s your favorite dish to cook?”

“hmm,” y/n pondered, a smile touching her lips. “i’d have to say paella. it’s a bit of a project, but it’s worth it.”

jude’s eyes widened in interest. “paella? that sounds amazing. i’ve heard it’s quite the experience to make.”

“yeah, it can be,” y/n said, feeling a bit more animated. “it’s all about getting the right balance of flavors. it’s a bit like... well, like a football team. everyone has to play their part.”

“nice analogy,” jude said, nodding in appreciation. “so, do you have any other hidden talents or interests i should know about?”

y/n chuckled, shaking her head. “i don’t think there’s anything particularly hidden. i’m pretty straightforward, i guess.”

“straightforward can be a good thing,” jude said with a wink. “i think it’s refreshing. but don’t be surprised if i keep asking you questions to learn more.”

y/n felt a flush rise to her cheeks again. “i suppose that’s fair. but don’t expect me to reveal everything at once.”

“deal,” jude said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “i’ll take it slow. so, tell me about something you’re passionate about, something that makes you excited.”

y/n looked down, her thoughts drifting. “i guess... i’m passionate about helping people. seeing someone come in with an injury and then watching them recover and get back to doing what they love—there’s something really rewarding about that.”

jude’s gaze softened, and he nodded thoughtfully. “that sounds incredible. it must be really fulfilling to see the progress firsthand.”

“it is,” y/n agreed, her voice growing warmer. “it’s what keeps me motivated, even on the tough days.”

jude’s eyes met hers, and there was a moment of quiet understanding between them. “you’re really dedicated to your work. i can tell it’s more than just a job for you.”

y/n smiled, though her heart was racing. “yeah, it is. and you’re pretty dedicated to football, from what i’ve seen.”

jude laughed, a genuine, easy sound. “i guess we both have our passions. it’s nice to find someone who understands that drive.”

y/n nodded, feeling a mix of warmth and apprehension. “it is. and i appreciate you being open with me. it’s not always easy to find common ground.”

“i’m glad we did,” jude said, his smile bright and sincere. “so, what’s one thing you’d like to do that you haven’t had the chance to yet?”

y/n thought for a moment, her eyes drifting to the window. “i’d love to travel more. there are so many places i’d like to see.”

“traveling is great,” jude agreed. ��maybe one day you’ll get the chance. and hey, if you ever need a travel buddy, let me know.”

y/n’s heart skipped a beat at his casual invitation. she laughed softly, a bit shy. “we’ll see about that.”

jeventually, the lunch break drew to a close, and y/n realized she had been talking with jude for a lot longer than she had intended. she looked at him, her expression a mix of relief and apprehension.

“i should get going,” she said, her voice tinged with shyness. “but, um, it was nice talking with you, jude.”

jude’s smile was warm and encouraging. “same here, y/n. i’m looking forward to more of these chats. and who knows, maybe we’ll find some common interests.”

y/n nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “yeah, maybe.”

as she gathered her things and prepared to leave, y/n’s mind was still buzzing from their conversation. she was more comfortable around jude than she had planned to be, and that scared her. but she couldn’t deny the small, hopeful part of her that was looking forward to their next interaction.

as jude walked away, y/n watched him, her mind buzzing with the unexpected connection they’d formed. she was starting to let her guard down, and it scared her. she didn’t want to complicate things, especially with her past and her professional boundaries. but a part of her couldn’t deny the small thrill of getting to know someone who seemed to understand her so well.

as the day went on, y/n found herself replaying their conversation, trying to make sense of her feelings. she was still unsure about what the future held, but for now, she couldn’t help but look forward to their next interaction, even as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

as the final echoes of the day’s activity faded, y/n found herself alone in the physio room, the quiet a stark contrast to the lively bustle of earlier. the fading daylight cast a soft glow through the windows, illuminating the room in a gentle amber hue. she methodically tidied up the space, her movements automatic as her mind replayed the day’s events. the room, now peaceful and still, was the perfect setting for her thoughts to unravel.

the memory of jude's playful banter, his genuine interest, and the unexpected hug replayed in her mind. she tried to focus on the task at hand, but her thoughts kept drifting back to their conversation. it was easy to get lost in the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel like her thoughts and feelings mattered.

with a sigh, y/n leaned against the counter, her thoughts swirling. she was acutely aware of the delicate balance she was trying to maintain. her past with javier had left scars that were not easily forgotten, and the professional boundaries she’d set for herself were there for a reason. yet, jude’s presence was a constant, tantalizing distraction, pulling her into uncharted territory.

she glanced at the clock on the wall, noting how late it had gotten. she was often one of the last to leave, finding solace in the quiet after the bustling activity of the day. it gave her time to think, to process, and to escape from the complexities of her interactions with others. tonight was no different, except that her thoughts were unusually tangled.

as she packed up the last of the supplies, her phone buzzed with a message from laura. y/n glanced at the screen and read the text, but her mind was still occupied with thoughts of jude. she wondered if he truly understood the potential impact of his actions on her. did he know how much she wanted to keep her distance, or was he simply oblivious to the emotional turmoil he was causing?

y/n shook her head, trying to clear the haze of confusion. she reminded herself of her priorities—her work, her self-preservation, and her commitment to keeping things professional. it was essential to remain focused, despite the fluttering feelings that jude’s attention had stirred up.

as she finally finished tidying the room, y/n took a deep breath and headed for the exit. the evening air was cool against her skin, a refreshing contrast to the heat of her internal conflict. she walked to her car with a sense of resolve, determined to sort through her feelings and not let them cloud her judgment.

she knew that the next time she saw jude, things might be different. their interactions had the potential to deepen, and she would need to be ready to navigate the complexities that came with it. but for now, as she drove away from the facility, she focused on the road ahead, both literally and figuratively.

her thoughts were a tangled web of excitement and apprehension, but as she glanced at the empty passenger seat, she reminded herself that she was in control of her own path. whatever happened next, she would face it with the same dedication and professionalism that had guided her this far.

taglist — @sinners-98-world @stephiii29 @kcharlyy @landosgirlxoxo @judesthighveins @ilovelifes-world @cinderellawithashoe @imnyt @miniemonie2001 @lunamelona @treble-snot

#pdriesta writes #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagines #football blurb #football imagine #football x reader #football smut #real madrid #football fanfic #jb5 #jb5 x reader #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham imagine #bellingham x reader #jude bellingham fanfic

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sgiandubh · 4 months

Text

Last minute Swifties

Contrary to what many thought and some posted, I do think the OL cast's Taylor Swift experience was a last minute promo idea, very much monitored by *** and Tall Ships. I was wrong about minder/security guy (still, eerie...) and I never have a problem publicly admitting it. But quite unlikely I am wrong about this one. And sorry for the length, but you know how I am when I am looking for something, right?

Let's unpack: cast thanked the 'organizers' (and minders, really) in very specific terms, leaving NO much doubt:

Louisa McCulloch. Remember this name, we shall meet her in one hot minute. So thank you Louisa and Maril for organizing this: ask yourselves why did Maril, who (as far as I know) is based in the US, have to come to Edinburgh just for the gig. Damage control, perhaps?

And Sophie S., with a remarkable choice of words:

'Thank you ***, TS and her team for making it happen'. In my book, this means a strong, common effort to secure the box last minute. Because 'making it happen' means exactly that: 'need to do everything you can to facilitate it'.

Clearly Skelton, who is a Swiftie in her own right, was particularly appreciative of the efforts it took to ensure everyone could attend the concert. If that were a long planned event, her enthusiasm would have been more temperate, I think. 'Adding more Swifties to the clan' - LOL, Sophie, you mean S and C had no idea of the lyrics and were unable to sing along with you, John Bell, Izzy and Co (I keep forgetting their names and I like them a lot, in the show)? People of my generation are already too damn old for Taylor S. And this different sort of music might be more of S's real preference: otherwise why post it in his stories, as if to say ' TS is a different thing altogether'?

James. A Manchester rock band, formed in 1982, popular in the Nineties. I see no lies: he was clear 'JAMMF is a Swiftie'. And we are, after all, Children of the Nineties, not TS's crowd. And yes, I knew S was into the same kind of music as I was, in the Nineties (he seems to have stayed put, right there, unlike me, LOL):

Anyways, back to the mysterious woman up and front on three pictures in a row, that got many speculating. Nope, that was not Wendy, the MUA and S's bestie:

Once...

... Twice...

... Three times a lady:

Her name is Louisa McCulloch, née Radcliffe and she is the one S thanked, along with Maril (see above). It was a bit hard finding her, because her IG account is private. But I found her alright on Facebook, and then LinkedIn (of course):

Based in Lockerbie, Scotland. 20 years experience as a media publicist:

Worked with *** and Tall Ships since Season 3, after a short stint as Head of Publicity at the Paramount Pictures London Office. Got promoted from Unit Publicist to Publicist during COVID, for Season 6. So yes, she is the one who made it happen, locally, on what I think was a quite short notice.

Attention successfully diverted. Impeccable timing and giving a younger crowd what it wants. Trying to capitalize on TS's huge Instagram fan base: 283 million followers (wow! I had no fucking idea she was so huge). A win-win situation for just about everyone and an elegant way out from sordid waters:

And it worked. Lost among the hundred of thousands of likes and comments, look who's jumping on the bandwagon:

Sharon Stone. With a Blue Check and her 3.9 million Instagram fanbase. A Nineties deity, need I remind you (this blogger spotted her during the Berlinale 2007, while I was going out for drinks, blissfully unaware we were all staying at The Adlon, LOL)?

They mutually follow each other on Insta, by the way. I wonder why *urv did not pounce on that one. I feel robbed, for once, of a wonderful fanfic.

[Later edit] Several comments take on this person without a proper justification. I am editing this post to remind you she is only responsible for the implementation (in Scotland) of decisions taken elsewhere (in the United States of America). She is NOT a decision maker and as Publicist, was probably responsible for the local implementation of a hasty decision to attend an event (secure VIP box at Murrayfield, sell content to the local press). The direct contact with TS's team was, very likely, Maril and upwards, in the hierarchy. In all fairness, she has nothing to do with a billboard spotted in Los Angeles, USA - nothing of the sort in Europe. I am all for taxing, but let's tax people who are really RESPONSIBLE: she is just a very well paid underling. Thank you all, I am sure you understand fairness can only add to our credibility as a group.

#fandom #shitshow #TS Edinburgh 2024

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pikahlua · 2 months

Note

I don’t agree with everything said here but: [link removed]

For context, someone sent me a link to a post about elements of fascism and copaganda they feel are present in MHA. I've removed the link for anonymity purposes.

I have no interest in responding to this essay point-by-point. As a brief, BRIEF, BRIEF summary, the linked post makes claims such as:

MHA is pro-authoritarian

MHA is pro-cop

MHA doesn't have these elements promoting fascism on purpose but the elements are there regardless

MHA's ending endorses philosophies it previously criticized

MHA readers who don't pick up on these things lack critical thinking

MHA's hero system is comparable to the fascistic element described in Umberto Eco's "Ur-Fascism" that "everybody is educated to become a hero"

Nothing in MHA's hero society changes

They say a lot of stuff I really don't see as relevant at all, a lot of nonspecific platitudes and philosophical nothings. They frame the story in MHA as if it says a lot of stuff or does a lot of things that I personally don't see or agree that it does. It also goes on to talk about elements in the story it fails to explore like themes of child soldiers and punishment before crime.

I appreciate that the post acknowledges they see these elements in MHA as unintentional. That makes it easier for me to consider their POV and understand where they're coming from.

That said, my response can only be: it's not that deep.

If I want to, I can read elements of ANYTHING into any story. It's very easy to do. There are whole arms of literature study basically dedicated to reading certain philosophical angles into stories that they know are not intended elements in said stories. But there needs to be some self-awareness here before we take anything that far. Equating heroism in MHA to Humberto Eco's concept of a cult of heroism that equals a cult of death is just another version of the same take I've debunked before. I don't agree with the essay's interpretation of this theme at all. My impression is THEY had a certain reading on MHA in its earlier arcs that conflicts with later arcs, but I have a reading that reads the arcs as harmonious. We are at too many odds here.

But because I acknowledge that the major difference between me and this essayist is that we have VERY different readings of MHA in the first place, I don't really wanna take the time to answer all of their points. They all clearly come from a logical place based on their own interpretation, and I don't see anything wrong with that. If that's their reading, they are welcome to it. It's a little obnoxious to claim the rest of us lack critical thinking just because we don't point out these elements they see as fascistic. To me, the stuff they identify that fuels their branching criticisms is stuff hopefully everyone has to acknowledge before they even start reading the shounen genre. I have to suspend my disbelief in the first place when I'm reading about superheroes as a social system. I have to suspend my disbelief in a shounen action manga where the fate of the world is at stake. These are things we all have to understand going in. Not every story aimed at young teenage boys is going to have the space to explore the nuance in all these social systems. It's just not that deep.

So is MHA copaganda? Setting aside the dissonance of comparing western forms of copaganda to Japanese shounen manga forms, sure, fine--so far as the story depicts an organization, particularly one with law enforcement powers, as not wholly incompetent or corrupt goes. But like, the story itself does pose the question of whether the existence of this organization (the heroes) is necessary, which is posing the fundamental question of anti-copaganda at the narrative too. The question is, what answer to this question do we get from the ending? You can read the ending as, "Everyone needs to be heroes (cops)," or you can read it as, "Everyone needs to be good to each other and then the hero system becomes unnecessary," but no matter what, the ending still says, "The hero institution as it is is not the answer." This is what I mean about gradualism and collectivism easily being co-opted by fascism or by socialism. MHA does basically say, "The current system sucks, so we have to change it," and then changes it. It's just not a satisfying change for anyone who wanted a radical revolution. Gradualism is a position that has MANY critics for this exact reason.

But even on the topic of gradualism, I think it would be a mistake to say that MHA teaches us, "Only incremental change is possible." The way I read its themes are that it's saying "Trying is important; even when all you can achieve turns out to be incremental, it's still worth trying."

As for the themes of collectivism in MHA, collectivism can easily read like paternalism to a western (white) audience, which is a whole other issue. This is why there's so much debate about whether or not people are coming from a place of good faith when their criticisms don't seem to acknowledge the eastern philosophies at play in MHA. In truth, I would be hard-pressed to name an anime that doesn't have an ending that feels weird to me. Every single anime ending I know has an element I find confusing or disquieting or off, and my conclusion has been to acknowledge that anime isn't made with me in mind as its audience. Oftentimes, stuff happens in anime that just doesn't jive with my upbringing, but I recognize it is coming from a different worldview that my upbringing has often caricatured as evil and oppressive and wrong without any nuance. It highlights for me how the media from my general worldview must also look ridiculous at times to others not in the know. So while I think it's perfectly acceptable to point out elements that do seem fascistic in any media and to stay vigilant about them, I do also take care to be open-minded about learning what other things may be going into these stories that could provide a completely different perspective.

As @siflshonen would say, sometimes all I can do is say, "I'm too western for this," and move on.

#anon ask #ask pika #my hero academia manga spoilers #epilogue arc spoilers #meta

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warping-realities · 30 days

Text

Commitment - Final

After eating a wonderful meal prepared by the house's cook and playing some online games, Pete found himself on the edge of the mansion's luxurious pool, dozing while sunbathing, enjoying the best that life had to offer. Until he was suddenly woken up when someone knocked him into the pool.

"Motherfucker!" He said after recovering and getting up irritated in the pool. And be greeted by Dan's smiling face.

"You piece of shit, you almost scared me to death. I’ll break you all apart!"

"You can try bro, but you need to be a lot bigger if you want to hit me."

"Big enough, bro!" He responded showing his big sculpted body.

"You can't resist a little show, can you? That way you'll make the girls go crazy!" Dan replied in turn, with a malicious expression on his face.

Girls? What girls?"

"Hi Pete!" Said a beautiful young woman while another as beautiful as her giggled next to her.

"Their shift at the gym is over so I invited them to come along. Don't worry about Julia, they'll behave, right girls?"

"Yes Dan, we won't do anything Pete doesn't want." Emily replied with a smile.

"You pay me for this you Asshole" Pete whispered to his friend.

"Hey, aren't you the faithful guy? Just stay that way, brother." Dan replied, his mischievous smile widening.

Somehow Pete managed to hold on, despite the advances from the women. When the situation became too difficult to control, he left the pool and went to Think of a way to send them away before Julia arrived. While he was swinging his long, thick cock, he was surprised by Emily who pushed him, still naked, against the wall and gave him a professional-level blowjob. So professional that he found himself unable to protest and after all it was just a blowjob, it's not like it was a terrible betrayal.

He was already looking for justifications for the fact that that blowjob had ended with him fucking the woman right there in the bathroom, when he heard his cell phone vibrate and received a message on his cell phone from Julia saying that she was already at the front gate of

the house. He quickly freed himself from Emily and instructed Dan to hide with the two women in one of the guest rooms. While he himself ran to his suite to take a quick shower and wash the smell of sex off his body.

When Julia arrived at his room she found him naked on the bed waiting for her smiling at her.

"Hey babe, how about that blowjob?" He asked with a smile, as if nothing had happened.

Pete woke up the next day after a strange dream in which he was a wimp living with the slut he had slept with the night before, without the courage to admit that he was being exploited by the gold digger. As if it were possible. Yet before opening his eyes he felt his bulging muscles and his face feeling that everything was the way it should be. It was terribly early by his standards. But it was his own fault for havingaccepted that partnership with Dan and now having to work helping to organize the new Dan's Gym units around the city. Just having to think that they would still have to find a new name for the franchise almost made him want to not get out of bed. But he still forced himself to get up.

As he passed the living room on the way to the kitchen he He received a message from the social manager of the gym chain with the next promotional video for Instagram. Dominating the screen were him and Dan, looking more like two real brothers than best friends, laughing and flexing their muscles after an intense workout that had pushed them to the limit.

A momentary thought of doubt crossed Peter's mind, how was it possible for two people to exist as physically similar as they were and with the same habits, tastes and thoughts? But soon this fleeting doubt dissipated, never to return, as he was interrupted by the voice Pete had expected to hear, making him look up.

"I personally thought the final result of the project is excellent."

"I agree. And I see you're quite comfortable as a guest." He replied with an mocking expression.

"Brother, I've been going to this house for years, your parents consider me a second son, I'm much more than a guest."

A smiling Dan replied, wearing only underwear spread comfortably on the couch.

"What's more than I can say about that woman you brought home last night, really scandalous in bed. Who was the diva?"

"You don't know, a girl I picked up at college, we met again recently and I decided to give her a revival, but it turns out she expected a lot more from me than I had to offer. She wasn't very happy when I told her I had called a car for take her home."

"You know, for someone so rich, you lacks class, bro!"

"Look who's talking, I heard very well what you did to that girls in the guest room."

"But I'm not the senator's son."

"It was my fault. I should have ignored her advances and stuck to my policy of no repeat women. I don't want any commitment."

"Good thing this doesn't extend to work."

"Dan, if there's a relationship that I'm fully committed to, it's ours, both at work and in friendship."

"I know that brother, and I'm grateful for that, my life wouldn't be the same without you!"

#male tf #mind change #reality change #jockification #corruption #mental transformation

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pedroshotwifey · 7 months

Text

To The Flame chapter nine

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark Javier Peña x Fem!reader

Chapter word count: 2.1k

Chapter tags/warnings: fluff, angst, manipulation, anxiety

Chapter summary: Making this move is going to be tougher than you thought...

A/N: Hey babes! Sorry for the short chapter, but I'm super excited because after this, things are going to get real dark real quick. We can really see some of the first big bits of manipulation here. I already have so many deliciously dark scenes written, and I can't wait to share!

****

The next couple of days are chaotic, full of making arrangements for flights, organizing through all of your possessions, and figuring out what bills need to be discontinued. It’s a lot to handle, but Javi takes it in stride, making sure you don’t have too much to worry about.

He handles most of the interactions and arrangements when he’s not working, leaving you to get the little things done. Even though you’re not tasked with much, it’s still extra stressful to deal with after just having moved a few weeks prior.

You barely have any time together since Javi’s running around trying to get everything done in time, so you savor the moments when your schedules actually align. It’s mostly at night, after he gets home, and the two of you will eat dinner together and then do whatever you have the energy for.

Today’s the first day he’s been given off since he found out about the promotion, and if everything goes according to plan, he should be off until the move. The two of you have gotten everything you’d needed to do today knocked off the list, and decided that you deserve a bit to relax instead of more packing.

You both sat and watched TV for the better half of the day, all the fans on and the windows open in an attempt to cool off. The house is fucking sweltering thanks to having to cancel the A/C. It’s one of the hottest days you’ve had all year, because that figures.

Both you and Javi have peeled off your shirts, leaving you in your bra and shorts, and him in his usual jeans. Despite the lingering looks thrown each other’s way, you both know it’s too hot to engage in celebratory activities right now.

Javi’s on the phone in the living room while you prep some sandwiches for lunch to use the rest of what you have in the fridge. It’s likely that the next few days will be filled with an ungodly amount of fast food and diners.

You finish putting the sandwiches together and slip back into the living room with two plates, handing one to Javi as he hangs it back up on the reciever.

“Here you go baby.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Javi smiles at you.

You take a seat next to him on the couch and the two of you eat in silence, too tired to have much to say. You’re both off in your own worlds, you thinking about what you have left on your checklist; sort through clothes, pack pictures, get the dishes organized, call your sister.

You stop on that one, resisting the urge to cringe. You haven’t called her since you moved, and she has no way of getting to you. You feel like a coward but you almost don’t want to face her. You’ve done nothing wrong, and yet you almost feel like you’d abandoned her and moved on.

You know she wouldn’t think that, but it’s still a nagging concern in the back of your mind. What would you even say? Just tell her that you’re moving? You don’t know your address for Columbia yet, but the least you could do is let her know what’s going on.

You finish your sandwich and sigh, making Javi glance your way.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, just tired,” you tell him after a second, deciding you don’t really want to explain the way your entire thought process just went.

“I’m sorry, baby. We could take a nap if you want?”

You smile at him. “ I Might have to take you up on that in a minute.”

You gesture for his empty plate and he hands it to you, offering to do the dishes instead. You, of course, shoot him down. It doesn’t take you long, but you’re able to convince yourself to bite the bullet as you’re sticking the plates in the drying rack.

You walk into the hall with the phone, drying your hands on your shorts as you go. Javi’s brows furrow as he watches you pick it up.

“What are you doing?”

You pause on dialing and look up at him to where he’s still sat on the couch.

“I’m going to try to get a hold of my sister to tell her we’re moving.”

Javi sits up a bit, suddenly more energetic than he has been all day. “You can do that later, can’t you? Come see me.” He flips his palm up and reaches for you the tiniest bit. You smile warmly at him.

“Just give me one second, it’ll be quick,” you tell him. He frowns.

“I’ll be quick too. Just a kiss?” He smiles hopefully up at you and you melt a bit before giving in.

“Alright, just a kiss, no more, you bad man,” you laugh at him as his smile widens the closer you get.

You lean down to meet his lips, and then you’re being pulled forward, giggling as you land in his lap. His mouth immediately finds yours as he pulls you into him, trapping your body against his.

“Baby,” you laugh, trying to pull away. “I’ve got to call her!”

Javi hums to signify that he heard you, but doesn’t let up from the sloppy kisses he’s planting on your neck and chest. You can’t help the small moan that slips as he sucks on a particularly sensitive spot.

“M, Javi, I’m being serious honey,” you try again. “I need to get in touch with her before they cut off our service.” You try to push yourself up, but his arms tangle more tightly around you.

“Javi, quit,” you’re not joking around anymore. You’re a little concerned that the service is going to be cut off sometime today, since it was the day you were supposed to pay for it. You’ve already put off calling your sister for too long just out of nerves, and now you don’t want to miss your chance.

You push against him, trying to pry his arms away, and this, combined with the seriousness ebbing into your tone, finally catches his attention. He looks up at you, a slight pout on his full lips.

“I just need to let her know,” you say, waiting for him to loosen his grip, but he only sighs.

“Honestly, I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart,” he admits, looking at you with genuine concern.

You frown, a bit taken aback.

“What do you mean?”

He sighs again and looks down past you, almost like he’s getting ready to explain something to a small child. You don’t like the way it makes you feel like such. You’ve noticed recently that he has a tendency to make you feel like a kid, though you don’t think it’s intentional. The age gap definitely doesn’t help either. It makes you worry sometimes that you’re too immature for him, even though you know you’re not in the slightest.

“I don’t think you should tell anyone you’re leaving,” he explains.

“What? Why? She’s my sister, she deserves to know.” You have no idea where this is coming from. You’ve told him about your relationship with your sister, how it’s nothing like your connection with your parents.

“Can you really trust her not to tell your parents though? Or them to not listen in? They don’t need to know your address.”

You shift uncomfortably in his lap, getting agitated with his protests.

“Javi, I’ll literally be in a different country, I don’t think it matters even if they do.”

His lips press into a thin line and breathes deeply through his nose. He unwraps his arms from around you to place his hands on your hips, holding you steady as he looks back into your eyes.

“Honestly, sweetheart, it’s my job. My superiors want me to limit who knows our address, especially if it’s not someone we can completely trust.”

Your stomach sinks at this. It makes sense, and you don’t want to do anything that could jeopardize his position, but leaving your sister with no explanation? She’s done nothing to deserve that.

“But I–”

He cuts you off with a pointed stare, his jaw ticking slightly.

“I’m not asking for much here. It’s just one thing. You really can’t do that?”

Your ears heat with shame as you swallow down bile rising into your mouth. You cast your gaze down so you don’t have to look at him with your embarrassment. You’re being selfish again, and you both know it.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” you apologize quietly through the lump in your throat.

Javi’s hand comes to your chin, raising your eyes back to his and seeing the sheen in them. He tuts sympathetically and cradles your head to his chest, petting your hair in a soothing motion.

“I know it’s hard, honey. I’m sorry it has to be like this.”

You nod into his shirt, a tear slipping down your cheek despite your efforts to keep them in. You feel extremely overwhelmed all of a sudden.

He hushes you and lets you cry silently into his chest, whispering encouragement as he rocks you gently.

“You’ll be okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And you know you will be, it just doesn’t seem like it right now.

*****

You have pretty much everything else packed within the next few days. It was honestly miserable having to put everything away after you’d just put it out, both in a physical and emotional sense. You don’t know how many times you had to remind yourself that you were doing this for Javi, that he deserved it.

That fact definitely softened the blow, but not enough so that the sadness was completely snuffed. And now knowing that you’ll have to pretty much cut contact with your sister, who is also your only friend, it’s been a hard pill to swallow. It’s going to be hard leaving everything behind, but you’re willing to do it for your husband. Hell, he’s the one that got you here in the first place—it’s the least you could do.

You leave for Columbia tomorrow, most of your stuff already in the process of being moved to the apartment Javi was assigned to. Well, most of the stuff you were able to move anyway. You’ve had to pick and choose what you want to bring with you, and what needs to stay at the old house for storage. The apartment isn’t very large, so there’s no way to take everything. Another thing that saddens you.

You’d picked through all of your clothes and decided to put all your dresses into a box for storage and take everything else. There’s no sense in bringing them since you’ll likely not have a need for them. There’s only a couple that you stuffed in with everything else, just in case. You’re also bringing your books, some photos, and some sentimental things from your childhood.

Javi’s bringing about the same. Just his everyday clothes, a suit or two, and some of his personal items. It all got loaded onto a little trailer, and Javi took it either to the old house or to the airport.

You’re left now with just the bare minimum in the house. A few kitchen items, the couch that you won’t be able to move, and the mattress that you’ll be taking tomorrow. You’re both laying on that now, you with a book in your hand, and Javi reading through some paperwork.

He received his assignments a couple of days ago, and he’s been looking through to memorize most of the important stuff. It sounds like there’s going to be a lot less office work in his future.

You put your book down, huffing a dramatic sigh.

“Javi?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’m bored.”

He puts his paperwork down, rubs his eyes, and purses his lips at you.

You smile at him, and he can’t resist the way his lips tug up as well. You crawl over to him, situating yourself into his side, and hand your book to him.

“Read to me.”

He sighs at you but takes the book.

“I’m probably going to be slow.”

“That’s okay.”

“Alright, fine. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You smile wider, snuggling further into his body as he clears his throat and picks up from the page you left off on. Your eyes close as you listen to the sound of his gravelly voice somehow smoothing out as he gets into the groove of the love story.

Before long, your eyes start to get heavy and you have to actively resist the urge to fall asleep. He’s not even a chapter in when you’re lulled to sleep by his voice and the ceiling fan running in the background.

**** Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It wasn't my favorite but some of these next ones are, so stay tuned 😈

Series taglist: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @callachloe @missladym1981 @sofiparallel @koshkaj-blog @sheepdogchick3 @movievillainess721 @jessie8605 @casa-boiardi @justlulu @iamsherlocked-1998 @hjzghi-blog

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #angst #fluff #javier pena x you #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena smut #narcos fanfiction #javier pena angst #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fandom

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