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transform4u · 3 months

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Born Proud on the 4th of July-500 Follower Story

Milo Higgins stood tall and broad-shouldered in his backyard, a picture of American pride and muscle. His olive-drab t-shirt strained against his chest, showcasing his rugged physique honed by years of military training. The yard was a sea of American flags fluttering in the summer breeze, interspersed with military memorabilia and a meticulously maintained home gym in one corner.

As the football game blared from the outdoor television, Milo hollered over his shoulder, "Suzie, bring me another beer and some wings!" His voice carried a gruff authority, a remnant of his military command style. He believed in traditional roles, firmly believing women belonged in the kitchen and that his word was law in his domain.

His routine was disciplined and intense. He woke at dawn for his military-style workouts: push-ups, pull-ups, and weights, all executed with a grim determination. His evenings were spent watching football, wrestling, and Fox News, occasionally barking orders to Suzie or grumbling about politics.

Today was special—a Fourth of July party for his military buddies and their families. The guests began to arrive, a mix of fellow servicemen and their children. Among them was Julio, Suzie's best gay friend and Milo's least favorite person on Earth. Julio, always impeccably dressed and effortlessly charming, greeted Suzie with a warm hug.

"Hey Suzie, you look amazing!" Julio said with a wide smile.

"Thanks, Julio! So glad you could make it," Suzie replied warmly. She turned to Milo, gesturing towards Julio. "Milo, this is Julio."

Milo glanced at Julio with thinly veiled disdain before muttering, "Hey," and quickly walking away towards the grill where he flipped a few burgers with unnecessary force.

Julio followed him, undeterred by Milo's cold reception. "Hey, Milo, happy Fourth! Thanks for having me over."

Milo grunted in response, not making eye contact as he adjusted the heat on the grill.

Julio persisted, maintaining his congenial demeanor. "You know, Suzie talks so highly of you. It's great to finally meet you."

Milo turned abruptly, fixing Julio with a steely glare. "Listen, Julio. I don't need you putting ideas in Suzie's head, you hear me? She's my wife, and what she thinks ain't your concern."

Julio raised his hands placatingly. "Hey, man, I'm just here to celebrate, like everyone else. No worries."

Milo's jaw clenched, his dislike for Julio simmering just below the surface. "Just watch yourself," he warned, before turning back to the grill, effectively ending the conversation.

Julio's face fell as Milo launched into a tirade, his words stinging like a slap. "Listen here, you little punk. I don't care what you think about me or my wife. Just keep your filthy mouth shut and stay away from her. You're nothing but a damn faggot, Julio! And your woke politics can go straight to hell. This country was built on traditional values, not your queer ideals. And don't even get me started on how much of a hypocrite you are. You come into our home acting like some kind of saint when really you just want to corrupt my wife with your perverted lifestyle."

He couldn't believe the man was so narrow-minded and hateful. Suzie had always spoken highly of him, but it seemed she was married to someone who couldn't accept the truth about people or their relationships.

As Julio tried to gather his thoughts, he glanced over at Suzie, hoping for some sort of support or understanding from her. But she just looked uncomfortable and embarrassed by her husband's outburst. It hurt Julio to see her like that; he knew how much she loved Milo despite his flaws.

Taking a deep breath, Julio decided it was time for action. He wouldn't let Milo get away with this kind of behavior without consequence—not if it meant hurting Suzie in the process.

Julio sighed inwardly but plastered on a smile as he rejoined Suzie and their friends, determined not to let Milo's hostility ruin the festive atmosphere.

Neither Milo nor Suzie knew that Julio practiced brujería, a tradition steeped in mysticism and rituals. Julio, despite his charming exterior, had a deep knowledge of spells and hexes passed down through generations of his family in Mexico. Among his abilities was the art of cursing objects, infusing them with intentions and consequences.

As the Fourth of July party continued, Julio spotted Milo at the grill, his usual stern expression etched on his face.

Julio, frustrated with Milo's dismissive attitude and simmering hostility towards him, decided to take matters into his own hands. He knew he had the power to influence outcomes through brujería, and with a mix of irritation and determination, he focused his energy on the bottle of beer in his hand. Under his breath, Julio muttered an incantation, his eyes briefly glowing with a faint, otherworldly light:

"Por los poderes de la luna y el fuego, Transformo esta cerveza en un maleficio. Que el odio y el desprecio de este hombre hacia los gays, Se vuelva en su contra como una maldición.

Con cada sorbo de esta bebida, Su masculinidad tóxica se desvanece. Se transformará en lo que más desprecia, Un estereotipo gay que lo abochornará."

With a subtle wave of his hand, Julio completed the enchantment and then approached Milo, offering the beer with an inscrutable smile.

"Hey, Milo," Julio greeted with a disarming smile, holding out the beer. "I brought this from my hometown in Mexico. It's one of the best beers you'll ever taste."

Milo looked at the bottle skeptically. "I don't know, Julio. I'm not really into Mexican beers. Today's about celebrating America, you know?"

Julio's eyes glinted momentarily as he maintained his pleasant demeanor. "Come on, just try it. It's a gesture of peace between us."

Milo hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright, fine. But just this once." He took the bottle from Julio's hand and popped the cap, taking a long swig.

As the cold beer flowed down his throat, Milo felt a strange sensation. He coughed suddenly, suds spilling over his lips and onto his shirt. Julio watched closely, concealing a small smile as he subtly chanted under his breath:

Milo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, unaware of the subtle changes beginning to take place within him. A warmth spread through his chest, and an inexplicable feeling of lightness replaced his usual heaviness.

"What did you put in this beer, Julio?" Milo asked gruffly, his voice sounding slightly different, softer.

Julio chuckled lightly. "Just some magic from my homeland. Enjoy it."

Milo frowned, feeling strangely vulnerable yet oddly at ease. He glanced down at his beer-stained shirt and then back at Julio, who was still smiling warmly. The party continued around them, unaware of the subtle transformation unfolding within Milo Higgins, the patriotic soldier who suddenly found himself questioning the very ideals he had staunchly upheld.

Milo Higgins felt an intense heat surge through his body, as if an internal inferno had been ignited. It was a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced—his muscles, once rippling and defined, now pulsed and trembled. His biceps, which had strained against his olive t-shirt, began to shrink, losing their mass and definition. His abs, once a symbol of his strength, softened and became less pronounced. Even his pecs, once proud and prominent, faded away under his shirt. His legs, accustomed to carrying his imposing frame, lost their bulk and power.

Panic gripped Milo as he felt himself getting weaker and weaker. He looked down at his hands, which seemed smaller and more delicate. He felt a strange sensation of shrinking, inch by inch. At 6'3", he had always towered over others with a commanding presence. Now, as he shrunk, inch by inch, fear washed over him. At 5'4", he looked around in horror at the people around him, who suddenly seemed taller and more imposing.

The beer can slipped from his weakening grip, clattering to the ground. Milo stumbled towards Julio, his voice trembling with fear and confusion. "Wha… what did you do to me, you freak?" His Adam's apple shrank, and his voice emerged with a distinct effeminate lisp, each syllable peppered with uncertainty. "Wha's wrong with my voice?"

Julio met Milo's panicked gaze with a coy, sinister smile. "Oh, nothin' Miley," he replied casually, drawing out Milo's new name with deliberate playfulness. "Just thought you needed a taste of your own medicine."

Milo's hands shook as he touched his softer, smaller features, a mixture of disbelief and horror etched across his face. His mind raced with questions and fears about what had happened to him. The once imposing soldier now stood before Julio, diminished and vulnerable, his identity and masculinity in flux.

Milo screamed, "No, no, no! You have to thtop thith! Where are my muthtcles? What'th happening to me?"

Julio smiled maliciously. "Hush now, little guy. You won't have to worry much longer. The mental changes will soon make you exactly what you hate—exactly what you made fun of in the past. Now, I'm not sure what exactly you'll become. Your own mind will take you down that row. But it seems like you think---or thought, that all gay men are whiny, short effeminate little twinks. How fun" But the time you're doing you'll be---" He leaned in close and whispered menacingly, "The perfect gay."

Milo tried desperately to resist but couldn't shake the feeling that his own mind was taking him down a path he never wanted to go on. The changes were becoming more apparent, he realized that Julio had been right all along—he was becoming everything he had once despised.

As Milo Higgins stood there, his mind began to undergo an even more profound change. It was as if a bright light bulb in his head, not that it was ever very bright to begin with, was gradually dimming. The thoughts and memories that once defined him—anger, resentment, and a rigid adherence to stereotypes—started to shift and rearrange themselves.

Milo's face contorted in confusion and fear as Julio spoke. "Twinks? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know, Milo. The young, slender gay men who act very feminine and are often seen as objects of desire by older men." Julio grinned maliciously. "It seems like your own mind is going to turn you into the very thing you despise most."

Milo stared at Julio in horror, his body trembling with fear and uncertainty. He couldn't believe what was happening to him—or that he was even considering becoming something he had always despised so much.

Gone were the memories of military service, where he had prided himself on his strength and loyalty to his country. The camaraderie of college football days faded into the background, replaced by new memories and experiences that began to flood his consciousness.

Instead, Milo found himself recalling moments of activism and protest, standing up against unjust wars and marching alongside women and LGBTQ+ communities for their rights. He remembered the exhilaration of going to school for art, where creativity and expression took precedence over conformity. Acting in community theater brought him a sense of fulfillment he had never felt before, a stage where he could explore different identities and emotions.

Singing show tunes with his bestie Suzie and Julio replaced nights out with his former buddies, where they would rate women and boast about conquests. Drag race, musical theatre,

As Milo's mind rewired itself, he began to feel a newfound openness and acceptance. The rigid boundaries of his previous beliefs dissolved, replaced by a curiosity and empathy for others. He felt a stirring of attraction towards Julio, mixed with admiration for the confidence and courage it took to confront him.

Milo's head spun as he noticed all the men around him—their muscles straining against their shirts, sweat glistening off their hot bodies. His straight self seemed to dissolve before his eyes; women suddenly seemed icky and gross compared to these strong, virile men. A lust built up within him as an emptiness crept throughout his big bubble butt—he needed to be filled by one of these sexy straight men!

The straight men around them began teasing Milo playfully now that they realized how turned on he was by them. They called him names like "sissy" and "faggot," laughing with Julio as they watched Milo blush in embarrassment. But the embarrassment only seemed to turn Milo on further; his dick started to get hard, leaking precum as he watched the muscular military men flirt with him shamelessly.

Julio quickly grabbed Milo's hand. Julio's touch on Milo's hand was electric, sending a jolt through Milo's body as he blinked in confusion. Suddenly, they were no longer in Milo's familiar Patriotic Pad of the Patriarchy. The surroundings shifted around them, and Milo's eyes widened in disbelief as American flags morphed into rainbow flags that fluttered proudly in the air.

They found themselves in the midst of a bustling gay nightclub, pulsating with vibrant music and colorful lights. Milo stood there, momentarily stunned, as the atmosphere enveloped him. The air was alive with laughter, dancing bodies, and an undeniable sense of freedom.

For a moment, Milo's thoughts flickered to Suzie, his blonde wife, and the plans they had for the Fourth of July party. But those thoughts quickly dissolved amidst the energy of the nightclub. He felt a surge of excitement and liberation that he had never experienced before.

As Milo looked around, he noticed people of all shapes, sizes, and genders embracing who they were without fear or shame. He saw barely dressed twunks with their abs on display; cute twinks flirting shamelessly with muscle bears; daddies in leather trying to score with hot muscular men in jockstraps. A lust burned within him—a horniness that couldn't be contained any longer. He always thought gay men were just horny sexual deviants looking for sex at every turn...and that's exactly what he was becoming.

He started to move with the music, his body swaying instinctively to the beat. A smile tugged at his lips as he let go of inhibitions he never knew he had. His movements became fluid, graceful, and filled with a newfound confidence.

Milo's demeanor shifted dramatically. He felt a surge of expressiveness and flamboyance bubbling up from within. His voice, once gruff and commanding, softened into a melodious lilt as he engaged in conversations filled with laughter and camaraderie.

Gone was the rigid masculinity and narrow-mindedness. In its place, Milo embraced his love for theatre and the arts with an enthusiasm that surprised even himself. He found joy in discussing plays, musicals, and the latest performances in town. His gestures became animated, his laughter infectious as he connected with others who shared his passions.

Milo's eyes sparkled with a mixture of wonder and excitement as he realized he was becoming the very stereotype he once dismissed—a cute, bubbly, theatre-loving, liberal twink. As Milo looked down at himself, he gasped in disbelief. His attire had transformed into cute booty shorts that accentuated his toned legs and a colorful tank top that hugged his newly slender frame. His face seemed to lose any hint of sharpness, aging backwards in time. The years dissolved before his eyes, smoothing out wrinkles and refining features into something more youthful and boyishly charming. His hair darkened and grew unruly, framing his face in a way that accentuated its newfound softness. His once rugged face seemed to soften before his eyes, losing any harsh edges as if time itself was rewinding.

His blonde hair darkened to a rich brown and grew unruly, framing his face in tousled curls that added to his youthful appearance. Milo's features became smoother, his jawline more delicate, and a deep brown tan spread across his skin, giving him a radiant glow.

In this moment of transformation, Milo's old name seemed to evaporate into the air, replaced by a new name that echoed through his consciousness—Ishaq. A deep, bronzed tan spread across Milo's skin, giving him a healthy glow that seemed to radiate from within. Memories flooded Ishaq's mind—days of arriving in America as an immigrant, navigating a new culture with broken English and a charming lisp.

Ishaq was proud of his Middle Eastern heritage, and his newfound identity as a cute, bubbly, theatre-loving, liberal twink felt both exhilarating and liberating. He embraced his sexuality and his cultural roots with equal fervor, a proud expression of who he was meant to be.

Beside him, Julio danced with infectious energy, their movements synchronized in perfect harmony. Ishaq wore a cute and flashy outfit that shimmered under the nightclub lights—a sequined jacket adorned with colorful patterns, fitted jeans that hugged his curves, and stylish sneakers that completed his ensemble.

In the midst of the music and laughter, Ishaq reveled in the freedom to express himself authentically. He twirled and spun with Julio, their laughter ringing out like a chorus of acceptance and love. For Ishaq, this moment was not just about embracing his new identity—it was about celebrating life, love, and the beauty of being true to oneself.

The nightclub throbbed with pulsing lights and a bass-heavy beat as Julio and Ishaq moved gracefully across the dance floor. Ishaq's outfit, adorned with sequins that caught the strobe lights, shimmered with every step he took. His Middle Eastern accent and gentle lisp were evident as he spoke passionately to Julio.

Ishaq leaned in close over the music, his eyes bright with excitement. "Oh, Julio, darling, do you thee how fabulouth thith night ith? The vibe, the freedom... it'th all tho ex-hil-arating!"

Julio grinned, matching Ishaq's enthusiasm. "You're right, Ishaq! You always bring such energy to the club. By the way, who's your ultimate drag queen from Drag Race?"

Ishaq's face lit up, his hands gesturing animatedly. "Oh, hon-they, it hath to be Sasha Velour! Thhe's tho creative and revolutionary, and her lip thyncheth are pure art!"

As they danced, the DJ seamlessly transitioned into a playlist of pop hits. Suddenly, the familiar beats of Beyoncé's "Single Ladies" filled the air. Ishaq gasped in excitement and turned to Julio, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Oh my God, Julio, thith ith my jam!"

Ishaq pulled Julio closer, their bodies moving effortlessly together to the infectious rhythm. In the midst of the pulsating music and swirling lights, Ishaq gazed deeply into Julio's eyes. "Julio, you know what? I can't help but thay it... you're the cuteth thing I've ever theen."

As the night progresses, Julio and Ishaq's flirtation escalates into something more. They begin to make out passionately, their tongues dancing in each other's mouths. Ishaq whimpers and begs Julio to take him, his eyes filled with desire. Julio smirks, knowing he has complete control over the situation.

Without hesitation, they rush towards the bathroom where they lock themselves inside. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoes through the walls as they lose themselves in their lustful desires. Ishaq moans loudly as Julio takes him from behind, pounding into his tight hole with unbridled force. He screams out "Yassss daddy!" begging for more of this rough treatment from his new lover.

When they finally reach climax together it's like an explosion - both men crying out in ecstasy at being so deeply connected physically and emotionally at this moment in time . After coming down off their high, Julio tosses a wad of cash at an exhausted looking but satisfied Ishaq saying "You were worth every penny boy ,I'll be sure tell my friends about your services." With that said, Ishaq forgets about being friends with Julio anymore .He was just another gay whore now who happened to have given him pleasure earlier tonight .

#transformation #male tf #dumber #straight to gay #straight to gay tf #jock to twink #jock to twink tf #race change

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 3 months

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happy fourth of july to my fellow americans... in celebration i give you this as a daily thought!!

Mean Mommy Wanda tying you up and forcing you to bed over your bed on your stomach, your hands tied behind you and ankles tied together. She'd caught Agatha talking with you at the neighborhood barbecue, and that just wouldn't do. Not when her nosy neighbor obviously wanted you for herself, with her lingering stares and hands itching to touch you.

Wanda blindfolding and gagging you, so you aren't able to move or complain, not matter how hard you try. God, she loves the pathetic little sounds you make for her, struggling against your restraints. She reminds herself that Agatha will never be allowed to see you like this, only she is. Your hers, and only hers.

Clicking a vibrator onto the lowest setting, she adjusts it until it presses between your throbbing clit and the mattress. Her green eyes take in the way you thrust feebly against it, unable to get the friction you need to cum.

Its intoxicating, and incredibly arousing... Wanda can't help but touch herself as she watches. Your sensitive ears pick up the sounds of her soft moans and fingers as she roughly fingers herself to the sight of you struggling and edging yourself.

You hold back your orgasm, knowing that Wanda would over overstimulate you for hours if you came too early. But God, it was so hard to not tip over the edge when you heard her fingers quickly pumping in and out of her... you wished you could watch.

Just... Mommy Wanda edging you until she finally releases the gag and lets you plead and beg for forgiveness, telling her that your hers and only hers in between pleas to let you cum.

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devildomwriter · 3 months

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Why They’re in the Hospital on The Fourth of July Headcanons

Happy Independence Day my fellow Americans!

Lucifer

• He’s not hurt. But his stupid brothers and friends are so he’s there supervising them and filling out paperwork.

Mammon

• Went to check why the firework wouldn’t launch as soon as it launched

Leviathan

• Tripped and broke something while laughing to death about Mammon getting blasted with a firework

Satan

• Aimed a rocket at Lucifer but it ended up going towards Luke. Luke avoided it but Satan did not avoid the spear Raphael threw at him in retaliation.

Asmodeus

• Accidentally burned himself with a sparkler while trying to pose with it. Definitely didn’t need to go to the hospital but he’s being dramatic

Beelzebub

• Ate too many fireworks and a lit sparkler.

Belphegor

• Mammon thought it would be funny to launch a firework off of him while he slept.

Solomon

• An experimental magic fireworks display backfired on him when Diavolo accidentally knocked it over laughing.

Thirteen

• Tried hitting Solomon with a rocket but it ricocheted and hit her instead

Simeon

• He’s just there to check on everyone that got hurt

Luke

• He’s brining cookies to everyone at the hospital

Raphael

• He’s there to supervise everyone with Lucifer and make sure they don’t make anymore ruckus

Mephistopheles

• Interviewing MC about the Fourth of July as they’re there to check on everyone

Barbatos

• Is there to scold everyone about their indirect involvement with Diavolo’s injury.

Diavolo

• Burst a blood vessel laughing at everyone and is there to apologize to Solomon for accidentally causing his accident.

• Is trying to keep everyone calm as they watch fireworks on the hospital tv and Mephistopheles pesters them for an interview on Independence Day

#obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me simeon #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me raphael #obey me thirteen #obey me mephistopheles

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mariacallous · 10 months

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The great fault of the global left is not that it supports Hamas. For how could Western left-wing movements or left-inclining charities or academic bodies truly support Hamas if they were serious about their politics?

No one outside the most reactionary quarters of Islam shares Hamas’s aim of forcing the peoples of the world to accept “the sovereignty of Islam” or face “carnage, displacement and terror” if they refuse. You cannot be a progressive and campaign for a state that executes gay men. An American left, which includes in its ranks the Queers for Palestine campaign group, cannot seriously endorse lethal homophobia in its own country. They will turn a blind eye in Palestine, as we shall see, but not in New York or Chicago.

Finally, no left organisation proudly honours the Protocols of the Elders of Zion and the fascist tradition that Hamas embraces with such sinister gusto, although in a sign of a decay that has been building on the left for more than a generation, many will promulgate left-wing conspiracy theories which are as insane as their fascist counterparts.

No, the problem with the global left is that it is not serious about politics. It “fellow travels” with radical Islam rather than supports it. The concept of “fellow travelling,” with its suggestions of tourism, dilettantism, and privilege, is well worth reviving. The phrase comes from the Bolsheviks. After the Russian Revolution of 1917 they looked with appreciation on Westerners who supported them without ever endorsing communism. Artists, writers, and academics who were disgusted with the West, often for good reason, I should add, were quite happy to justify Soviet communism and cover up its crimes without ever becoming communists themselves.

Leon Trotsky put it best when he said of fellow travellers that the question was always “how far would they go”? As long as they did not have live under the control of communists in the 1920s or the control of Islamists in the 2020s, the answer appears to be: a very long way indeed

W.H. Auden said, as he looked back with some contempt on his fellow travelling past, if Britain or the United States or any country he and his friends knew were taken over by a “successful communist revolution with the same phenomena of terror, purges, censorship etc., we would have screamed our heads off”. But as communism happened in backward Russia “a semi-barbarous country which had experienced neither the Renaissance nor the Enlightenment”, they could ignore its crimes in the interests of seeing the capitalist enemy defeated.

You see the same pattern of lies and indulgence in the case of Hamas. Journalists have produced a multitude of examples of fellow travelling since 7 October but let one meeting of the Oakland City Council in the Bay area of San Francisco speak for them all.

A council member wanted the council to pass a motion that condemned the killings and hostage-taking by Hamas, who, in case we forget, prompted the war that has devastated Gaza, by massacring Israeli civilians. The motion got nowhere

According to one speaker Hamas did not massacre anyone, a modern variant of Holocaust denial that is becoming endemic. “There have not been beheadings of babies and rapings,” a woman said at the meeting. “Israel murdered their own people on October 7.” Another woman said that calling Hamas a terrorist organization is “ridiculous, racist and plays into the genocidal propaganda that is flooding our media.” Hamas was the “armed wing of the unified Palestinian resistance” , said a third who clearly had no knowledge of the civil war between Hamas and Fatah.

“To condemn Hamas was very anti-Arab racist” cried a fourth. The meeting returned to modern Holocaust denial as a new speaker said the Israeli Defence Forces had murdered their own people and it was “bald propaganda” to suggest otherwise. A man intervened to shout that “to hear them complain about Hamas violence is like listening to a wifebeater complain when his wife finally stands up and fights back”.

Anyone who contradicted him was a “white supremacist.”

Of course they were.

Now if theocrats were to establish an Islamist tyranny in the Bay area, I am sure every single speaker would scream their heads off, as Auden predicted. They can turn into fellow travellers as there is no more of a prospect of theocracy threatening them than there was of communism threatening readers of the left-wing press in the UK and US in the 1930s.

A serious left would have plenty to complain about. Consider the Israeli position after the breakdown of the ceasefire. The Israeli state is led by Benjamin Netanyahu, a catastrophe of a prime minister, who left his people exposed to the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. His war aims are contradictory: you cannot both wipe out Hamas and free the hostages.

Worst of all, the Israeli defence forces are to move to the southern Gaza strip where two million Palestinians are crammed. Just war doctrine holds that a military action must have a reasonable chance of success if the suffering is to be permitted. How, reasonably, can the Israeli army expect to find guerilla fighters hiding in a terrified population? According to leaks in the Israeli media, Anthony Blinken, the US Secretary of state, was warning the Israeli government that, “You can’t operate in southern Gaza in the way you did in the north. There are two million Palestinians there.” But he was ignored. A radical movement worth having would surely be putting pressure on the Biden administration to force Israel to listen to its concerns.

The radical movement we have will not engage in practical politics because compromise is anathema to it. Any honest account of the war would have to admit that Israel has the right to defend itself against attack. It is just that the military position it finds itself in now may well make its war aims impossible and therefore immoral.

You can see why practical politics has no appeal. Where is the violent satisfaction in sober analysis, the drama in compromise? Where is the Manichean distinction between the absolute good of the Palestinians and the pure evil of Israel?

Meanwhile, ever since the Israeli victory in the Six Day War of 1967, you have been able to say that Jewish settler sites on the West Bank were placed there deliberately to make a peace settlement impossible, and ensure that Israel controlled all the territory from “the river to the sea” forever.

A serious left might try to revive a two-state solution by building an international consensus that the settlements must go. Once again, however, that is too tame an aim. For the fellow traveller watching Palestine from a safe distance, satisfaction comes only by embracing Hamas’s call for the destruction of Israel. Some progressives try to dress up the urge to destroy by pretending that Jews and Palestinians will go on to live together in some happy-clappy, multi-ethnic and multi-confessional state. But most must know they are advocating a war to the death. What makes their position so disreputable is that, if they thought about it calmly, they would know it would be a war that only Israel could win. It is the Israelis who have the nuclear weapons, after all.

The worst of the global left is dilettantish. It advocates a maximalist position which has a minimal chance of success - just for the thrill of it. David Caute, a historian of fellow travelling with Stalin and communism said that the endorsement of communism by fellow travelling intellectuals in the West “deepened the despair” of Soviet intellectuals. “In their darkest hours they heard themselves condemned by their own kind”.

The 2020s are not the 1930s. I am sure that, if I were a Palestinian in Gaza, my sole concern would be the removal of Israeli forces that threatened me and my family. I would either not care about demonstrations in the West or I would receive some comfort from the knowledge that people all over the world were protesting on my behalf.

Nevertheless, a kind of betrayal is still at work. By inflaming and amplifying the worst elements in Palestine the global left is giving comfort to the worst elements in Israel, which are equally determined to make a compromise impossible.

The New Statesman made that point well when it ran a piece by Celeste Marcus. She came from the Zionist far right, and was taught doctrines that dehumanised Palestinians. She grew up and grew away from the prejudices of her childhood and became a liberal. But after she moved into her new world, she “recognised immediately that progressive leftists feel about Israelis the way radical Zionists feel about Palestinians: these are not real people.”

The result is that for all its power on the streets and in academia the global left is almost an irrelevance.

“To influence Israel,” she writes, “one must be willing to recognise it. Since leftist leaders cannot bother to do this, they cannot be of real use to Palestinians. This is a betrayal of their own cause.”

The dilettantism of fellow travelling always ends in betrayal and denial for the reason Auden gave: terror is always more tolerable when it happens far, far away.

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12woso12 · 3 months

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Dorothy lands in North London - Part 5

Part 4

When you finally made it back to Emily's apartment block, it was a quarter to seven in the morning. It was obvious that neither you or Kyra were time conscious which you could see being quite a problem for the two of you in the future. Quietly, you slipped inside the block and began to ascend the stairs to the fourth floor, eyes aching from the lack of sleep. Your joggers clung to the bottom of your legs, soaked from hours spent rolling around on wet grass. You must have looked as though you'd been dragged backwards through a hedge.

As you unlocked Emily's apartment door you found the older woman waiting for you at the kitchen counter, stoney expression on her face.

'Decided to return have you?' she mused, aggressively taking a bite of toast. 'How's Kyra?'

You flinch nervously at her tone. 'Sorry Em, I should've messaged you'

'Yeah you should've! If i hadn't of seen that dumb instagram story, which the club aren't going to be happy about by the way, then i wouldn't have known where you were!'

'I'm not a kid, Em' You retaliated 'I was with Kyra, we had a kick about at the park'

'At 3 in the morning? God help us all deal with you and Kyra being friends' She rolled her shoulders and began to ease up slightly. 'Want any breakfast? I've got cereal under the counter'

You gratefully find a box of something called Cookie Crunch and begin to nibble at a few pieces from the box. 'Wow, the Brits sure made this tasty didn't they?'

Emily snatched the box from your hands and took a bowl from the sink. 'Don't stick your hands in there! Look how muddy you are, you're going to need to take a shower before you get picked up for the Emirates'

You ate in silence, casting an occasional glance in Emily's direction in an attempt to see if her mood had changed. When after ten minutes the line in her brow still hadn't shifted, guilt coursed through your veins and tied your stomach in knots. Your fellow American had taken you in and this was what you repaid her in - sneaking out and mud caked shoes.

'I am sorry.' You said 'I couldn't sleep and Kyra was messaging me...I was exited to meet someone new and so i didn't really give much thought to the consequences'

'Thank you for apologising' Emily smiled for the first time that morning and then: 'Why couldn't you sleep?'

'Jetlag' you lied, Emily didn't need to know about your nightmares. You hadn't told anyone before. Of course, people knew the basics about your life, or at least what they'd read in the press. But you didn't think they needed to know how your father's abuse still haunted you or how you could still see the blood splatters from your mum's head.

'I'm getting picked up at 8:30 right?' You glance at your phone.

'Yeah. Know what you're wearing?'

You shrugged. 'Haven't even touched my suitcases yet.'

Emily stared at you in disbelief. 'Then how did you brush your teeth last night?'

'Gum?' you said matter of factly. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy feeling fresh before bed but it had been a long day and figured it could all wait until the following morning. What you hadn't counted on however was having little to no time in the morning due to your impromptu meeting with Kyra.

'Bloody hell' Emily murmured

'God you're so British now aren't you' You teased Emily

'Just you wait' Emily grumbled 'The Brits will get to you too'

'Never!'

The journey to the Emirates took a long hour of fighting traffic through the streets of London. You'd been picked up in a black and shiny SUV driven by an elderly man named Michael who you weren't exactly sure should have a license after you witnessed him reversing backwards over pavement.

But who were you to judge? You couldn't exactly drive either.

When you finally built up the courage to tackle your suitcases you had picked out a pair of loose blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a tweed blazer to fit over the top. You decided that smart casual was the way to go, not wanting to seem too eager but also excited to sign such a professional contract.

You were nervous as you approached the stadium. Your stomach was fluttering and your jaw clenched tightly as every second passed by. You weren't too sure what to expect, you knew Jonas Eidevall would be there to greet you at some point and you knew you'd be meeting the player liaison who would be helping to settle you in, but that was it. Everything else was the complete unknown.

As the SUV churned to a halt and you bid goodbye to Michael, the door swung open and you were met by a short woman who introduced herself as Jennifer.

'Sorry about all this secrecy' she said gesturing around her at the emirate's parking garage that you had been brought to. 'We try and keep all our signings under wraps until announcement day'

You sniggered slightly knowing that Arsenal could never keep a secret 'When will i be announced?'

'Day after tomorrow, if all goes to plan'

You eyebrows shot up 'That's quicker than i thought it would be'

'We were aiming for next week but it seems as though you and your new Australian friend decided to throw a wrench into our schedule' Jennifer made reference to your instagram post 'You've created a lot of buzz and we want to make sure to utilise it, so within 48 hours you'll be officially announced'

You decided not to defend yourself, the last thing you needed was your own player liaison to take a disliking to you. Instead, you followed her silently through a set of double doors and into the halls of the mighty Emirates stadium.

'This is David, he's our media specialist' Jennifer pointed to a man who was dressed head to toe in Arsenal gear. He held a phone in hand, video clearly on and pointing directly at you. 'He'll be following you around today, getting some content for the fans and that type of thing'

'Well as long as he doesn't follow me into the restroom' You deadpanned attempting to hold in laughter as Jennifer's eyes widened and David turned a deep shade of red.

'Have Kim and Leah been warned about you?' Jennifer half-joked. You shrugged and shot an apologetic glance towards David who instantly averted his eyes. 'This way, we need to get you into some red'

Jennifer led you and David down a maze of hallways and through a dozen doors until you finally came to a rest outside the player changing rooms. 'There's a kit waiting for you inside, once you're changed we can head up to the offices. I think Jonas has arrived so you can get to signing the contract. After that, we've got a welcome video to make'

You nod and hesitantly turn into the changing rooms. You were overcome with an overwhelming nausea suddenly and as you entered the Arsenal changing rooms for the very first time, the transfer became scarily real. The first thing you noticed about the room were the lights, they were harsh, almost too harsh for your tired eyes to take in. The Arsenal cress was printed onto the floor in the middle of the cubbyholes, it glistened with history and somehow sent a wave of pride into your bones despite having yet to wear its colours.

In the centre cubby hung your new kit. Usually you played with the number 13 on your back but since that had already been taken, you'd opted to swap the numbers around for 31. You made quick work of changing into the kit and ran a quick hand through your hair to add some volume. You paused in one of the mirrors to study your appearance and were happy to discover that the red kit suited you.

It wasn't too often that you worried about how you looked. You had the fortunate gene of appearing skinny and gorgeous, at least that's what your mum used to tell you.

You kept your own trainers on and folded the rest of your clothes to sit neatly in the cubby as you readied yourself to step back into the hallway where David would most definitely be waiting, camera in hand.

'Not bad this kit, is it?' you re-enter the hallway and smile at Jennifer who nodded at you impressed.

'Suits you' She said 'Come on then, up to the offices we go'

As you trudged up several flights of stairs, your hands grew sweater and you began to worry whether you'd be able to grip the pen tight enough. You tried to shake off the stupid thought and happily found yourself distracted when you finally came face to face with your new manager.

'Y/n!' Jonas exclaimed as Jennifer led you into a media room. 'It is great to meet you, we are all so excited to have you here' The Swedish man thrust a hand towards you which you took enthusiastically, meeting his wide smile and firm shake.

'Good to meet you' You replied as he gestured for you to take a seat at a table in the centre of the room. You sat down in front of a maroon wall, the Arsenal cress above your head. On the table lay a pen and paper, ready and waiting for your signature.

'I really hope we're able to build something here together' Jonas told you as he picked up the pen and handed it to you. The snap of David's phone capturing the moment was difficult to ignore.

'Me too, i'm excited to get started' You lower the pen to paper. Your life was about to change, for the worse or better, you didn't know. The pen moved fluidly as you drew out your signature and Jonas clasped you on the back in celebration.

You'd done it. You were officially an Arsenal player.

'Well, now that's out the way we're about to do something a lot more exciting' Jennifer smiled.

'The video?' You questioned

'Yep. And we've got a special guest'

#arsenal #football #leah williamson #woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #alessia russo #kyra cooney cross

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corroded-hellfire · 1 year

Text

Just a Spark - Eddie Munson x Reader

A Collaboration with my beloved kindred spirit @munson-blurbs🤍

Summary: Eddie takes his sons to watch fireworks at Lover's Lake for the Fourth of July. But when he notices you there with some friends, including some male friends, he can't help but be jealous.

Note: Thank you to my dearest @joejoequinnquinn for loving jealous!eddie as much as I do and for coming up with this lovely idea! I still find it funny that it's a Fourth of July fic and you do not live in the US, lol. I hope you all enjoy and happy 4th of July to my fellow Americans 💙

Warnings: older!eddie, dad!eddie, babysitter!reader, eddie being jealous hehe

Words: 3.9k

[As You Wish masterlist]

It wasn’t often that Hawkins held activities that appealed to the whole town. The haunted houses around Halloween only appealed to the teenagers, the winter wonderlands at Christmas only mattered to young children, and the Thanksgiving Parade was something that everyone swears they got dragged along to against their will. Fourth of July in Hawkins was the one day a year that could be counted on to bring people of all ages out to Lover’s Lake for sunshine in the afternoon and fireworks at night.

Kids would splash and swim together in the shallow area of the lake while their parents watched from picnic blankets spread out not too far away. Teens and college students would come with their friends, the college kids drinking beer out in the open while the teenagers had to hide sips behind a tree or behind a friend’s back.

It was a tradition in the Munson household to grill up some hamburgers and bring them down to eat at the lake while they watched the fireworks. This particular year things seem to be off-track, though. Brittany had left the house early in the afternoon to run a few errands and pick up some charcoal for the grill so that Eddie could cook the hamburgers. After being gone far too long for just saying she was heading to a few stores, the phone rings and Brittany gives Eddie some sob story about how she ran into her sister who’s having a crisis and she needs to stay with her for a while. Eddie just sighed as he hung up, thinking to himself that at least Brittany wasn’t dumb enough to say it had something to do with work when banks are closed because it’s a national holiday. The only problem—because going out with his boys without his wife was certainly not a problem—he ran into now was that he didn’t have time to run out and get charcoal and make the burgers before they were going to leave for the lake.

Improvising, Eddie swings through a Burger King drive-through on the way, making sure the three of them would still keep their tradition intact as much as possible. The boys don’t seem to mind the differences between this year and last, maybe just glad to have a chance to hang out with their dad while they did something as cool as watch fireworks.

Eddie pulls his truck into the already-crowded parking lot and grabs the bag of fast food. As he and the boys get out, people walk by carrying coolers, picnic baskets, and a few types of inner tubes to use in the water. There are tons of people there—which Eddie expected. He takes Luke’s hand into his own and instructs Ryan to grab onto Luke’s other so they don’t lose anyone.

“Eddie!” A familiar voice calls out and has Eddie whipping around to spot its owner. He quickly sees the Sinclairs; Lucas is waving with his left hand to get Eddie’s attention, with Tiffany on his right hip.

Eddie nudges the boys. “Look who’s here!” Their eyes widen when they notice Uncle Lucas—who Eddie swears is his younger son’s namesake and certainly isn’t Luke Skywalker—along with Aunt Max and their baby. They practically pull Eddie across the lot to them.

Clapping Lucas’s hand and pulling him in for a modified bro-hug so he doesn’t crash into Tiffany, Eddie offers his long-time friend a grin. “How have you guys been?” he asks as he gives Max a hug.

“Good. Tired.” Max says with a laugh. “Tiffany slept through the night for about three days before she started teething.”

“Aww, poor thing,” Eddie coos, chuckling when Tiffany proves her mother’s point by grabbing Eddie’s finger and gnawing on it. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t last as long as it seems,” he reassures the new parents.

“We’re just headed out,” Lucas explains, kissing his daughter’s cheek. “It’s this little lady’s bedtime, and we’ve gotta get home before the fireworks start.”

“We have no idea how she’ll react to them, and we’re not about to conduct that experiment in public,” Max chimes in, making Eddie laugh again. “But we’ll see you at Ryan’s birthday party next week!”

The Munsons and Sinclairs part with goodbyes and more hugs before Eddie and the boys head towards the lake.

“I wanna sit near the water!” Luke insists, and Eddie winces at his high-pitched whine.

“Think we might get a better view of the fireworks if we sit up a little higher.” It’s the truth; plus, he won’t have to worry about Luke flinging himself into the cesspool that Hawkins calls a lake.

They find a shady spot right under a tree, and Eddie lays out three beach towels so they won’t have to sit in the dirt. He passes out the parchment-wrapped burgers and little bags of fries and sits back with a sigh. This is what he’d always wanted—family traditions with his boys. If only…

“Has anyone seen my sunscreen?”

Eddie freezes mid-bite, only remembering that he has a burger in his hand when his arm starts to ache from being in one position too long. He chews and swallows as though nothing happened, but his mind is racing.

It can’t be, he thinks. He’s almost certain that this is all in his imagination—God knows he can’t get you out of his head—until he hears someone say your name.

Just one look, Eddie convinces himself. A quick peek so I can see that it’s not actually her; just someone who sounds like her and has the same name…

His stomach flip-flops when he glances over and sees you in a low-cut red tank top and cutoff denim shorts. Oh, shit, it’s her. And she looks really, really good. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his scrambled thoughts. He wishes he had a six-pack; a cold beer can always calm his jangled nerves. Okay, I can’t let the boys see. Once that happens, she’ll come over here and—

Eddie’s anxious thought is disrupted by the sight of one of the three guys you’re with applying sunscreen to the back of your neck. He’s got long, light brown hair—though not as long or luscious as his own, Eddie notes wryly.

Long Hair spends far too much time massaging the lotion into your skin. Calm down, Buffalo Bill. She doesn’t need that much sun protection.

The only other girl there plucks the lotion bottle from Long Hair’s hands, much to Eddie’s relief, and Eddie turns his attention back to his boys. “You guys ready for the fireworks?” He tries to keep the enthusiasm in his voice. “Sun’s setting, so they’ll be starting soon.”

Ryan nods, chewing on a fry. “I wonder what colors they’ll have,” he muses.

“Well, I wonder what would happen if I sat on a firework!” Luke pipes up with a mouthful of burger. “Like, would I fly into the sky? Or would it blow up in my butt?”

Eddie laughs loudly. “My money’s on the second one, little man.”

Your laughter floats over to Eddie on the breeze blowing off of the lake. He mentally berates himself, thinking of how he should be enjoying this family tradition with his boys and not be wondering if any of those guys you’re with are your boyfriend or if you’re sleeping with any of them or if…

“Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” Eddie looks up at Ryan’s worried face and frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Your lip,” Ryan says, pointing at the bottom half of his father’s face. “You were chewing on it, and it started bleeding.”

“Silly me,” Eddie says with a forced chuckle. He grabs one of the napkins from the Burger King bag and dabs at his lower lip. Luke has shifted to watch a game of volleyball happening on a court that someone set up and it gives Eddie the opportunity to scoot closer between his boys, so his back is to you and your friends. Maybe now he’ll be able to focus.

It works for a while. The three of them finish their burgers and Luke is immediately complaining that he’s still hungry. Eddie tells the five-year-old he has to wait and tries to play a game with them to distract his youngest son from his rumbling tummy before the fireworks start.

“Simon says put your hands on your head. Simon says give your brother a high five,” Eddie instructs as the boys eagerly await the next command. “Simon says stand up. Sit back down. Ah! I didn’t say ‘Simon says!’”

“I win!” Ryan cheers as Luke sprawls out on his beach towel with a groan. The familiar twinkling tune of an ice cream truck approaching has him bolting up, though.

“Ice cream?” Luke stands up and balances on his tippy toes to get a better view at the parking lot. When his suspicions are confirmed, he hops up and down. “Ice cream! Daddy, can we get some? Pleeeeease?”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says as if it’s a hardship for him to indulge his boys when in reality he’d already planned on getting ice cream for them at some point tonight. “Get me some too, okay?”

“Cookies and cream?” Ryan asks, citing his dad’s favorite flavor.

“Atta boy,” Eddie says, handing him a ten-dollar bill. Luke starts to walk away and towards the truck, but Eddie stops him with an, “ah-ah-ah. It’s crowded here. I don’t want you to lose each other so hold your brother’s hand.” When Luke opens his mouth to respond, a frown creasing his forehead and his nose wrinkling up, Eddie halts the whining before it even happens. “Hold your brother’s hand.”

“Fine,” Luke huffs and offers his hand to Ryan in the most limp, unenthusiastic manner possible.

The two walk off and Eddie adjusts his position so he can keep an eye on his sons as they snake their way through the crowd and over to the ice cream truck that already has a line of a few kids in front of it. But from this new angle, Eddie can also see you out of the corner of his eye. A breath rushes out of him as if he’d been holding it since his eyes were last on you. Seeing you makes Eddie calmer and more tense at the same time. As always, your presence brings him comfort and happiness. But you’re with a bunch of guys your own age and the jealousy monster is rearing its ugly head like nobody’s business. Eddie looks down at his lap and his eye catches on his wedding ring, glinting in the fading sun.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, Munson,” Eddie mumbles to himself.

Unable to not look in your direction—I swear to God she’s got something magnetic about her, he thinks—Eddie sees you gazing out over the lake. You raise your hand above your eyes to shield them from the bright, falling sun and look around the whole area where people have settled in to have fun. Eddie’s just about to look away, not wanting to risk being caught staring at you if you spot him, when he sees one of your guy friends walking over to you. It’s not Long Hair from before. This guy is shorter and as muscly as the other guy was scrawny. Eddie can hear him calling your name, but you must be too caught up in your thoughts to hear him. Muscles reaches out and touches your arm to get your attention. As if seeing him just touching you isn’t bad enough, Eddie watches as you turn around to face Muscles, but the guy still doesn’t take his hand off of you. The tanned, muscular hand is slowly moving down your arm and a knot grows in Eddie’s stomach. If this asshole takes your hand, Eddie feels like he might throw up the burger he’s barely started digesting.

Luckily, you move to walk back towards your group of friends before Muscles’s hand could reach yours. Eddie feels twenty pounds lighter. He turns back to look towards the parking lot and sees his sons approaching, Ryan holding an ice cream in each hand, and Luke holding one and holding onto the back of Ryan’s red t-shirt with the other hand. By the way his youngest son is rolling his eyes as they approach, Eddie realizes it was Ryan’s idea that Luke holds on to him.

Ryan hands Eddie his scoop of cookies and cream, plopping back down to enjoy the mint chip cone he’d bought for himself.

“DAD! OH MY GOD, DAD!!” Luke shouts, and Eddie nearly drops his cone.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Luke points down towards the left. “Look at that doggy! He’s so cute!” Sure enough, a middle-aged couple is walking a golden retriever along the lake. Both boys sit up a bit straighter and watch as the owners toss a tennis ball into the water and the dog eagerly paddles after it.

As Eddie’s heart rate steadies to a normal pace—seriously, he’s going to have to talk with Luke about using his “emergency voice” when it is not an emergency—he finds his gaze drifting back to you. He’s just in time to see Long Hair take the baseball cap from his own head and put it on top of yours. Eddie silently wills you to take it off, chuck it into the lake, set it on fire…but he’s utterly disappointed when you adjust it to your head and wear it proudly.

Would she wear something of mine if I gave it to her? He silently wonders. He’s so engrossed in whatever flirtatious games you’re playing that he barely hears his older son trying to get his attention.

“Daddy, your ice cream is leaking over the cone. Daddy! It’s getting runny and gonna drip! Daddy?”

“And whaddya keep looking that way for? The lake is that way!” Luke chimes in, face covered in cotton candy ice cream.

“Y-Yeah, sorry, guys,” Eddie mumbles, but he keeps his gaze locked on you. A blonde guy wearing a puka shell necklace like he’s on Hawaii Five-0 points to a beach volleyball net that’s just been vacated, and you and your friends follow him.

It’s two versus two; Muscles is serving as a referee for this game. You and Puka Shell are on a team, and Long Hair and the only other girl in your group stand on the other side of the net. You serve, the girl returns it, Puka Shell lobbies it to you, and you spike it back, surprising yourself.

Eddie clenches his fist until he feels the ice cream cone begin to break when your teammate wraps his arms around you in a hug. Jesus H. Christ, whatever happened to high-fives? But he knows that he’d envy any little touch these guys got from you.

He tries to distract himself, asking Ryan if he’s excited for his birthday, but he’s only half-listening.

“What do you want for a gift?” he asks, raising his eyebrows when his sons look at him curiously. “What?”

“I just said I wanted a new Lego set,” Ryan says. He’s not annoyed, just confused. “Are you feeling okay, Daddy?”

“Maybe he has scurvy,” Luke suggests, “like the pirates in that movie we watched.”

“‘M fine,” Eddie reassures them. It takes a second for him to register what Luke’s suggested. “Did you just say I had scurvy?”

There’s no time for Luke to elaborate—not that Eddie necessarily wants him to—before your joyous squeal filters through the air. It seems as though you and Puka Shell won the game, because he’s twirling you around triumphantly.

Does she want him picking her up? Touching her? Eddie’s inner monologue runs wild. Okay, she’s laughing and smiling, so that’s good. She’s fine with it; yeah, so that’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’re all fine here. She’s with her friends, I’m a married man here with my kids, and that’s all there is to it.

The whistle and boom of the first firework lighting the sky is a welcome distraction. Ryan lets out a gasp as he stares in awe of the red shooting through the dark sky. Luke scoots backwards and plops himself in Eddie’s lap. He leans against Eddie’s chest and lays his head back on his shoulder as he becomes engrossed in the spectacle. It’s been a while since Luke’s sat in his lap like this, so it brings a smile to Eddie’s face.

Mixtures of red, white, and blue fireworks crackle through the air, occasionally making shapes other than the usual spherical pattern that shimmies down. Eddie looks over at Ryan, who has a bright grin on his face. The red firework currently popping off leaves a scarlet shadow behind on his older son’s face. Beyond Ryan, Eddie glimpses a view of you watching the fireworks. You’re still with your friends, but you’re sitting a little bit in front of them with your legs crossed and your elbows resting on your knees. There’s a peaceful joy on your face and it makes Eddie’s heart give a few thumps harder than usual. Your friends behind you are talking but you couldn’t seem to care less about what they’re saying. You’re solely focused on the show in the sky. Eddie looks back at his kids and sees them just as mesmerized by the bursting colors. Luke snuggles back against his chest and Eddie is filled with warmth. He wraps his arms loosely around Luke and rests his head against his son’s smaller one as he looks up and joins in watching the celebration.

By the time the fireworks are done, Eddie’s pretty sure his hearing is damaged. Didn’t I used to play in a metal band? Jesus, I’m getting old. Luke springs up from his dad’s lap and Ryan stands up and stretches his arms out over his head, releasing a long yawn.

“How was that?” Eddie asks as he collects the beach towels they had been sitting on.

“So cool!” Luke says, jumping as if to emphasize his point.

“I like the ones that make the fizzy noises as they go out,” Ryan says as he picks up the empty Burger King bag and balls it up in his hands.

“My favorite are the ones that go pheeeeew,” Luke attempts to mimic the whistle, “then BANG!”

“What about you, Daddy?” Ryan asks.

“Hmm,” Eddie hums as he considers the question. “The ones that were shaped like circles. They looked pretty cool. Okay, now come on and take my hands, guys. It’s gonna be like a stampede getting out of here.” Eddie tucks the towels under one arm and offers a hand to each son.

They only make it about five steps before Luke is groaning. “It’s going to take forever to—hey! Look!”

Both Eddie and Ryan turn their heads to look in the direction that Luke is pointing. Eddie’s heart stalls in his chest. Luke’s grinning from ear to ear as he notices you walking with your friends. Ryan gives a gasp of delight when his eyes land on you as well.

“I’m gonna go say hi!” Luke exclaims, and he’s already halfway to you before Eddie can even open his mouth.

“Luke, I—ugh, shit.” Eddie mumbles the last part under his breath as he leads Ryan by the hand over to you and your friends. Luke is already in your arms by the time they get there.

“And then the red one went higher than all the others! And I think it had the loudest boom, too,” Luke is saying. You look up and the brightest smile lights up your face as you see Eddie and Ryan standing there.

“Hey, strangers,” you greet and Ryan dives in for a hug. You chuckle and wrap your arms around him too.

Long Hair is standing to the side, slightly closer to Eddie than he is to you, and the rest of your friends are behind you. He gives a small chuckle at the intensity of the hugs the kids give you before turning to Eddie and saying, “You want a hug, too?”

You jab Long Hair in the ribs with your elbow, but that only makes him chuckle more and wrap an arm around you to pull you back against him. This time, Eddie notices, you don’t have the same enthusiastic grin that you had earlier in the evening. It takes everything in his power not to pry you from his arms.

“I’ll see you guys on Monday, yeah?” you ask the Munson men, desperate to fill the silence.

“Usual time and place,” Eddie says. The words would usually be accompanied by a wink or a smirk, but something about being around these college guys is grating on his nerves and it’s the closest he’s felt to being intimidated since he was a senior in high school—the first time.

“Bye!” both boys call and wave at you before walking away with their dad. You wave in return, but it looks pitiful compared to their enthusiastic ones.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, you pull out of your friend's arm and spin around to face him. “Peter, do you ever shut up?”

“Calm down,” Peter says, exhaling a sound that’s a mixture of a laugh and a scoff. “This guy’s old enough to be your dad.”

Tony smirks and rests a muscled arm on Paul’s shoulder. “Maybe she’s into the whole ‘daddy’ thing.”

The eye roll you give them is involuntary. “You guys are assholes!”

Turning on your flip flop heel, you spin in the other direction and jog a bit until you catch up with Eddie and the boys.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Paul asks.

A soft, gentle hand lands on Eddie’s shoulder and he looks back to see you offering him an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry if my friends were weird…and I’m sorry if I’m making this weirder.”

Eddie’s entire demeanor changes; despite having to watch you flirt with those douchebags—and then being mocked by them—he can’t help but soften towards you. “Nah, Sweetheart, you’re good. Be safe tonight, okay?” Be safe? Seriously, Munson? What are you, her grandpa?

You don’t seem to notice the way he bites his tongue, trying to quell the surge of embarrassment. “I always am,” you say reassuringly. “See you Monday?”

Eddie nods as you turn around to head back to your friends, utterly oblivious to the way your natural beauty outshines the brightest firework tonight. You’re everything he could ever want, but you’re young and gorgeous with a million better prospects than an old married man.

He takes one last look at you before he brings the boys to the car. The passenger seat is empty, and he wears a sad smile when he thinks about you sitting there, excitedly chatting with him and the kids about the evening. Eddie would rest his hand on your thigh while he drives back home, and once Ryan and Luke are sound asleep, you and Eddie could make some fireworks of your own.

Shaking his head, Eddie pulls out from the parking spot and braces himself for the holiday traffic. He grumbles some swear words under his breath, flicking on the radio to the first station that doesn’t have commercials.

“…say I’m not so tough, just because I’m in love with an uptown girl.”

He leans back in his seat and taps out the rhythm on the steering wheel. Funny, he’s never really been a Billy Joel fan, but something about this song reminds him of—

“Dad! Luke’s looking at me!”

“He looked at me first!”

“Both of you close your eyes,” Eddie orders. He can’t see whether or not they listened, but the squabbling stopped, so he’ll consider it a victory.

“Uptown girl, she’s my uptown girl…”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #AYW #AYWs

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lovelybunn · 3 months

Text

conditioning .ㅤ- feat. soldier

warning(s): smut (under the cut), reader is afab, rough/hardcore, slight(?) degrading

author's note: happy fourth of july to my fellow americans! 🇺🇸🦅

The soldier's words pierce through the silence, echoing throughout the room. “Get your ass up, maggot! I know you can try harder than this!” You can feel his breath on the back of your neck as the timer in his hand continues to tick. You fucked up getting the intel, so now he's punishing you for causing “the whole teams’ loss.” (Everyone was doing poorly that day, you specifically weren't the only one to blame.) Right now the man has got you down in a plank position, making you sit there for 2 minutes straight. Your abs and knees have failed you, so inevitably, you collapsed, which is why the soldier is currently screaming at you at the moment.

"Don't you think this is a bit excessive?" you mutter weakly, your voice strained from the exertion. Every time you give out, he stops his timer. The soldier's response was immediate and unwavering. "Don't you dare question my discipline technique, private! This is nothing compared to what I could make you do.” This was enough to get you back on track since you had no interest in finding out whatever was worse than this in the soldier's book. You grit your teeth, your body trembling with fatigue as you get up to continue to hold the plank.

The soldier doesn't seem to care about your torment, however, and continues to yell at you and humiliate you in front of the rest of the team. “This isn't yoga class, cupcake! Get your ass out the air!” You wonder if this is some sort of power trip or if he just wants you to break down and beg for mercy. Either way, even from the corner of your eye, you can see that shit-eating sadistic smirk on the man's face.

The demoman lets out a loud, audible burp. His words are slurred as he speaks, “Ach, don't be so hard on the lad, they're fresh, Solly!” A loud crash is heard next as he stumbles off the bench, the medic and heavy swiftly catching him and carrying him off to his room. “Heavy thinks you shouldn't be so hard on alcohol, but we all know that won't happen.” All three men let out a hearty laugh as they exit the room, their shoulders slumped from the weight of their drunkard friend.

The scout saunters over next to the soldier in front of you, his sneering face looking down at you as he bends over to tilt your head up with his bat. The scout can't contain his laughter at your suffering, having been dominated at least three times less than you during the game, making it where he doesn't have to go through this. You scowl up at him, your body aching from the intense workout. The scout laughs, "Sucks to be a loser, huh? Wonder why Pauling even got you on this team—" His snarky remark is interrupted by the engineer, who yanks him by the ear and grumbles an agitated warning. "Get your ass on and mind your own business, boy. Come on," The engineer drags the scout out of the room, the younger man whining and yelling out retorts as they leave. The others have already left, leaving you and the soldier alone in the locker room.

Your head falls down to focus on the ground, silently hoping that you're at least halfway done. The soldier's piercing, silver-blue eyes look down at you, silently observing as he slowly circles around you. You can hear the rhythmic echo of his feet against the cool tile floor of the locker room. After a few moments, he finally speaks up, grunting out, "Twenty-five seconds." He comes to a stop and stands right in front of you, his eyes still fixed on your trembling, sweaty body.

You grunt out in relief, "Thank goodness!" You close your eyes and count down the remaining seconds in your head, feeling the burn in your muscles becoming more intense by the second. You force your spine to stay straight, your body begging for the torture to end. The soldier's voice thunders loudly in your ears:

"6...5...4...3...2...Time!”

You grunt out in triumph as you fall flat on the cold tile, its surface a stark contrast to the burning heat of your skin. Yet, the feeling of relief is quickly replaced by shock and discomfort when the soldier kicks you and forces you to get back up.

“Rise and shine, soldier! Stand tall and proud like the true powerful American you are!” he cries out, his voice filled with pride and patriotism. You groan and struggle to your feet, feeling exhausted and mildly irritated. You try to protest when he suddenly grabs you by the waist with a sudden burst of force, his hot lips pressing against yours in a passionate kiss. You gasp and freeze in place, struggling to understand what's happening. With your lips parted, he dominates your mouth with his tongue, tasting you with intense demand. After a few moments, he pulls away from you, grinning at your confused expression. “I like you. You're my favorite out of all these other maggots.” His smile widens into a smirk, sending a chill down your spine. “You've got a great body and strong grit. I like that.” Before you can even muster up a response, he turns you over to where your back is to him. He feels your skin flush pink, and he chuckles, the sound rough and rugged. “I wanna show you how much I like you, in one of the best ways I know how.”

Your body quivered as the soldier's rough hands knead and grope your form, moving and sliding lower with each passing moment until he reaches your aching core. His laugh is dark and seductive as his fingers slide underneath the hem of your underwear. Without warning, the soldier shoves two thick digits into your hot, tight little hole. “You're so fucking wet for me, private. You've always wanted to be my little slut, haven't you?” He growls against your ear. His other hand grabs a fistful of your breast, teasing your hardened nipple between his index finger and thumb.

You let out a startled yelp as the soldier's digits dig deeper inside you. Your walls can't help but to squeeze around him, his fingers curling inside you to pump in and halfway out as his thumb kneads at your clit roughly. You let out little squeaks and sighs of pleasure, unable to really form coherent words. The soldier growls low against your ear, “You're gonna cum already, huh?” His fingers pump harder, his thumb pressing firm against your clit. “Ya gotta toughen up, buttercup.” Your moans grow needier as your hips buck into his hand, begging for release. But, alas, just as quick as he came in, he pulls out, shoving his fingers into your mouth to force you to taste yourself. You whine in annoyance, but complying and reluctantly lapping up your own slick from his fingers. “Ah, just look at you,” He remarks, slowly pulling out his fingers from your mouth, saliva stretchy on them. “You're less of a fuck up when you do what I say.” The soldier smacks your ass, the hard sensation startling you.

“But I'm willing to bet I've already told you that.” You hear the shuffling of his belt coming undone and his pants falling to the floor from behind. The soldier's dick rests erect on your back, and you can tell that he's quite big. You swallow nervously. “You feel that, cupcake? That's what a true patriot feels like.” He coos, positioning himself between your legs.

The soldier bends you over against the lockers, watching as your slick streams down your trembling thighs. He laughs, slapping his hard cock against your backside. The soldier teases you, rubbing circles across your silt with the tip of his cock. “You fucking ready for this great American cock, princess?” He growls, his voice drenched with burning desire. You peer behind him, your eyes clouded with lust. “Yes,” you mew. With that, the soldier yanks a chunk of your hair back, not acknowledging your pained squeal as his cock hammers into your tight little cunt, “Fuck!” He roars.

The sound of your desperate cries mixed with the slap of skin against skin reverberates throughout the room, his hard thrusts leaving your ass red from his balls hitting at it. He abuses your cervix, pounding against your g-spot with ease and precision while his own grunts and curses flow out like a vulgar sea of pleasure.

He grips your torso with his arm, the joint flexing to keep you close to him as his hips snap rhythmically into your aching hole with vigor. You felt like you were on fire, dizzy from the rapture taking over your every sense. All you can do is cry out for more, your release nearing very close.

The soldier prys your jaw open with his free hand, forcing you to let out your shrill cry of pleasure, “Cum for your general, maggot!” Due to his order, shock waves wash over you as you squirt all over his length, your entire body twitching in ecstacy. He lets out one last battle cry as he hauls out his cock with an audible pop, “For The United States of America!” He hollers with all his might, his cum spewing all over your back and asscheeks in heavy loads.

With a bark of laughter, he quickly removes his white tank top, using it to wipe away the cum that drips down your heated skin. The cool fabric brushes against your lower half, and you shutter. Your knees buckle, and your hands scramble to hold onto the lockers for stability. Your entire body quivers with exhaustion, as he lifts you up off the ground, effortlessly carrying you bridal style in his arms. Through his bucket hat, you can see the glint in his eyes, filled with happiness, as his huge, toothy grin stretches across his face.

“You did good, kid. Real good.”

“You need to work on your stamina, though. Let's hit the shower, so we can do another rep of good ol’ fuckin’!” he says as he leads you out of the locker room, both of you almost fully undressed, your bodies red-hot from the ‘exercise.’ He walks with confidence, his head held high, towards his own shower, the smell of sex wafting off both of you.

#tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #tf2 soldier #tf2 soldier x reader #jane doe tf2 #tf2 solly #tf2 smut #smut #hardcore smut #degredation kink #kinda rushed #:(((#first try #team fortress 2 #team fortress two #soldier x reader

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