#i am so sensitive to this shit and i know that

[l4long-winded]

carmy’s gf being a very good dirty talker and carm getting flustered and turned on ❤️‍🔥

okay, first off, i am terribly sorry this took so long for me to answer. i was staring at it for ages just trying to think of a scenario where i could implement it. i'm a perfectionist. i procrastinate and i whine about procrastinating and then i panic if i don't have the right setting. and then i remembered... this is for fan consumption, who gives a fuck?

this concept is special to me because, to me, carmen doesn't have a whole lot of experience. it's why i LOVE the sub!carmen agenda. he gets tongue-tied pretty easily when it comes to voicing his emotions and then considering his stutter growing up, it makes sense to me that he would become bashful in the bedroom setting. especially with someone who knows what they're doing.

walk with me, anon. we have much to discuss... (sorry in advance for the title; i got carried away)

o.s. holland cream filled

summary: carmen is trying to keep it together. your talented tongue does not have the same goal (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

warnings: the title, described anxiety, dirty talk (duh), inexperienced!carmy, pussydrunk!carmy, established relationship, no use of pronouns for reader, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, mentioned handjobs, gold chain mention, praise kink, carmy whimpers, subby!carmy, sort of switch!carmy at the end, implied edging, longwinded descriptions, carmy begs a little, kissing, cursing, carmen's pov, use of "babe" and "baby" (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,018

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

Every sinewy muscle twitches across his back whenever you get to this part, rippling underneath his skin as he pushes forward. He could easily lift his head up and away from where he’s currently got it nestled against your neck, but perhaps this is the masochistic side of him, the same one keeping him in the anxiety hellhole that is the kitchen. His sweaty curls graze your neck, near your jawline, his teeth and lips dragging over your throat. Every sound you make rumbles on him, vocal chords he tries to map out within. He likes to think he’s tasting your moans when he drags the flat of his tongue over your sensitive flesh. Your mouth is so fucking close to his ear right now, and it’s his own damn fault, the consequences of having you like this not unfamiliar. But this is the torture he anticipated and still dove headfirst into.

“You’re stretching me perfectly, Carmy.”

You always say shit like that. It throws off his rhythm, much like it always does, his equilibrium, clumsily attempting to fall back into it after collapsing all of his weight into you for a brief moment. It’s like you’re trying to make him falter on purpose with how you ramble. He doesn’t miss the hiss he ignites from you after accidentally sinking his cock all the way to the hilt from the misfire. His palms create divots in the mattress as he raises himself off you, his gold chain dangling near his chin. He hopes it tempts you enough to bite at it like you did a few nights ago. It would stop you from uttering anything else that’s going to shade his ears rosy and it’d snugly pull him back down chest to chest with you.

“That’s alright, look at me, watch my face,” you reassure him, taunting him without meaning to, directing his focus where he knows is going to both exacerbate and enhance this experience. As his hips continue to hump against you, somehow yanking the blankets and the mattress into handfuls resuming his pace from before, your lips part in ecstasy, desire swimming in your dilated pupils as you stare up at him. “ Good, fucking good, y-your c-cock is so thick,” you blurt, and Carmen’s breathing picks up. The oxygen is depleting quickly from his lungs, speed beginning to build and build.

“There, there, god, fuck me, Carmy, fuck,” you moan, and he maintains where he is. He’s so close, but he wants to ensure you’re feeling good right now, too.

Carmen’s intense blue eyes are latched on yours, his mind racing when you tell him to fuck you. He wants to respond, reply how he is fucking you, but he can’t find his voice. All he can do is grunt and nod his head obediently when you’re like this. As badly as he wants to match your dirty talk, he’s afraid of stuttering, of the vulnerability, of popping his load because every filthy sentence, every pant of his name, threatens to end it all too soon. If he even tries, says anything about your pussy, or your mouth, or your tits, how much he adores your pleasured sounds, that thing you do with your tongue, how you tighten around him and it’s impossible to not to drill his cock harder—

“You wanna cum?” You ask.

Yes, yes, yes, I wanna cum so fucking bad, please, please beg me for it, he thinks, but it doesn’t actually leave from between his lips. He swallows his own spit, instead, nodding his head violently as he breathes short and rapid exhales.

He’s confused when you don’t immediately respond to this thought. Of course, you’re not a mind reader. You’re observant, much like he is. He relies on this skill of yours sometimes because he’s never been good at talking. He seeks comfort in you. While your way with linguistics in this setting sends him reeling, he also needs it, he craves it. He only hates it because he can never last long with it implemented.

Yet, it is nice when you’re whispering your praises into his ear, sliding your spit slick hand up and down his cock, thighs spread over his open legs. You’ve helped him plenty of times during those heavy rushes or while you’re making out on his couch and he’s too tired to give you what you deserve. He likes it close and you know that. That ability of yours is tremendous for instantaneous relief.

You should know to deliver what he needs right at this moment. He’s hanging on by a thread, a thread, where is that stunning talent of yours when he needs it?

“Wanna cum? Wanna f-fill me up ‘til I’m leaking?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck you, what are you doing to him? He’s straining right now, forgetting to breathe as he glances at your features in disbelief, his arms shaking whenever you cup his face into your hands, thumbs occupying the dimples of his cheeks. His hips grind into you in an offbeat fashion, his voice close to whimpering at this point from how he’s holding himself off. Carmen weakly nods again this time, willing his orgasm away by closing his eyes. He can’t lose himself too much in the feeling. In the tantalizing image of his cum spilling out of you when he inevitably pulls out.

“Look at me,” you say, and Carmen’s eyes shut tighter before he pries them open. He really can’t look, but he also can’t stop himself from listening. You’ve got him wrapped up in a trance. He’s doing his best right now to continue, to hear you, to not give into the edge he wants to hurdle over. “You w-wanna cum for me, Carmy?”

It’s the third time now that you’ve asked. Normally, you’re forgiving. You see how frantic he is and you croak about how much you want him to shatter for you, how he deserves it, how he’s earned it. He doesn’t feel like he’s earned it right now, somehow keeping himself at bay, no matter how desperately he needs to release into your cunt. The more he looks at your expectant features, he realizes what it is that you’re waiting for.

He can’t do that. He doesn’t have the sheer willpower for it that you do. He shakes his head slightly, crimson painting his face and neck, a bit of embarrassment coating his perspired skin, recrimination of the damned knitting his eyebrows together. He doesn’t trust himself. The moment the syllables leave his mouth, he’s bound to be floundering around like an idiot, and the only thing in his head right now is how badly he needs to cum. He can’t ruin this moment, and he has a strong feeling that he will.

But those hands of yours stop him from denying it. Your pressure heightens just a touch, just enough to gain his attention back on your face. You level him with an earnest gaze, lashes batting, nose nuzzling up against his in unspoken affection. There’s no doubt in his head that you could continue to talk and help him out here, but you’re waiting on him patiently. He’s got you both of the brink of madness, and you’re withholding on purpose, softly kissing him while his hips fuck into you in a contrasting slick and clapping noise. He knows what you want. He sighs in frustration, resigning himself, because although he could give into the fire, it wouldn’t burn as good without your permission. He lives for how it tempers inside of him.

“Y-yes,” he manages. You’re too cute, the way your face lights up. You swaddle your plush bottom lip between your teeth, eyes flickering with hope and encouragement for him to continue on. Carmen has to inhale first, a gauche tickling traveling up his throat like a spider climbing up a tree, crawling along the lining of his esophagus.

“Yes,” he repeats, “I-... I w-wanna cum.”

Saying it out loud further solidifies it, eroding his self control bit by bit. It’s salient in how the vein in his neck protrudes, and he’s there, he’s about to lose it. He’s going to, feeling his pressure wean the deeper he digs. You’re taking a lot of time looking him over. He wonders if you’re getting off on how needy he is right now, extending this out, when he was good, did exactly what he knows you wanted without having to ask. He’s about to babble and stutter, he’s got it at the tip of his tongue. Your walls tighten suddenly and this time he does fucking whimper.

“... and?”

And? And what? Where are those gratifying admirations of yours for him? He’s done what you want, he’s certain of it, and his balls are heavy right now, thudding into the meat of your ass.

“Baby, please,” he gushes, but you don’t relent. Your walls tighten around him again. His cock twitches in apprehension, almost there, almost letting it go.

It hits him, then. He remembers what you said a while ago. He’s far too gone to think about what this is going to make him look like, his eyes widening with his epiphany. He starts to move faster again, a new flame lit under him.

“And f-fill you up,” he rasps, “f-fill you up, I… I need to f-fill y-you up with my c-cum. Fuck, fuck, fuck, uh, uh, uh.”

Carmen’s fears were correct. He’s a stuttering, whimpering mess, becoming more vocal as he recites your words and then some. He navigates his way back to earth when you kiss him, shutting him up from cursing. He smothers a few more fucks against your mouth, expecting you to let him have it. Only, you don’t. Your half-lidded gaze greets him when you depart, your voice holding tremors on it. You’re close yourself. He has no idea how you can do this to the two of you. Aren’t you as strung out right now as he is?

“Until?”

Carmen almost swallows his tongue with how quickly he inhales, that one word a knife into his abdomen. The muscles there contract and flex, cock throbbing, his fingers close to piercing the mattress. He holds out a little longer, his next exhale opening his mouth, tongue lolling out.

“‘Til… ‘til y’leaking.”

Triumph cascades over him seeing your pleasured grin. He’s unable to hold the dam back any longer when you nod your head. His body molds against yours, a cry leaving his lips whenever he buries himself. He pants against your neck, his arms engulfing you into them. He greedily plucks your body off the mattress, surrounded by him in every aspect. While in his embrace, the stream of his seed goes on and on, expansive pulses before each spurt. You’ve drenched him, arched into a pretty curve, thanked him while you found your own solace, and he thinks he might disappear into thin air from how light he feels.

He doesn’t. He remains sprawled on top of you, the weight of him crushing you from how he refuses to let you go. If you complained, he would roll off, but you don’t. You peck gentle kisses over his shoulder, featherlike.

“Did so good,” you mutter. “You’re perfect. All mine. Please me like no one could. So, so good for me. Such a good b—”

Carmen’s hand covers your mouth, shielding himself from further onslaught. He removes his head from your neck, still out of breath as he looks down at you. The knife through the hand of his tattoo sits sideways, your bright eyes blinking at him. He sees a mix of amusement, desire, mischief, and confusion all rolled up there.

Carmen leans down, kissing his own tattoo. The action might seem insignificant to anyone else, but when he feels your lips purse into his palm as if kissing him back, he knows it’s not insignificant at all.

“Sorry, babe,” he murmurs. He starts to move again. The sinful sound that vibrates against his palm is a muted symphony to him, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

“I wanna last longer this time.”

[mangosimoothie]

Chapter 15: 𝕬 𝕾𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝕺𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖔𝖓 (7/9)

I'm workin' to it, I can't wait for it We all wanna be someone at the end of the day

@mobwhim

start | prev | next

transcript:

COLLIN: (big sigh) Hello again, creepy statue hallway. This place really is a maze...

Why, aren’t you a lost little lamb. 

COLLIN: …Hello?

And no shepherd or flock to protect you. Poor thing. 

COLLIN: Who’s there? What I can’t quite figure out is: why are you here? The other two I can somewhat understand. They have vampiric qualities that make them less pathetic than the average mortal. But you? You know you don’t belong here. All you have is the blood running through your veins. And had my brother not expressly forbade us from treating you like the easy prey you are, you wouldn’t even have that for very much longer. Then again…

ISADORA: I’ve never been a very good listener. 

RYAN: Isadora. Back off. Now.  ISADORA: Relax, I was just playing around. You new blood vampires are so sensitive. RYAN: Stake yourself.  ISADORA: (giggles) Bye bye for now, little lamb. 

RYAN: Hey. You good?  COLLIN: Chef…what if she’s right? What if I don’t belong here? RYAN: Then you wouldn’t still be here.  COLLIN: But–  RYAN: Stop. I get it. I can scary thought spiral like you wouldn’t fucking believe and Isadora is very good at reading other people’s insecurities and becoming their inner monologues. She feeds off scaring you with your own thoughts. But when a moment where you have to act comes along, you’re not gonna have time to be afraid. That won’t help you here. The shitty little voice will only get in the way. So tell it to fuck off. Let it go. Then, she won’t be able to tap into it.  COLLIN: I’ll try. I’m sorry for being so in my head.  RYAN: Don’t apologize; the Winthorpes are terrifying. I’m STILL scared to shit of Atticus’s parents and my first encounter with Isadora didn’t go any better than yours. You’re doing a good job.  COLLIN: Huh. Yeah, I guess I am.

[ghostkennedy]

In God You Trust

~mutant! Chris Redfield x undercover! Reader~

What if instead of Lady Dimitrescu, it was a 10 foot tall Chris Redfield. And you were pretending to be a nun to investigate the weird village? (This one is based on a request from @hipsterteller ! Thanks for requesting!)

Word count: 2466

Content warnings: dub-con, basically kidnapped by chris, degrading, mean chris, spanking with belt, reader praying (during sex as well), fingering, massive cock, p in v sex, rough sex, multiple orgasms, reader crying n sobbing

!!!!!!THIS BLOG IS 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI!!!!!!

“What are you running from?” His gravelly voice has you shaking more than the cold air on your nude body. 

You lay on the freezing stone floor in nothing but knee high socks, underwear, and your rosary. Your habit is nowhere to be found. 

You bring your knees in as closely as you can manage to your chest, wrapping your arms around them tightly. It does nothing to preserve any body warmth you have left, but at least it helps cover the sensitive skin of your chest and tummy.

His footsteps come even closer. “Or,” he stops right in front of you, nudging you with his dirty boot, “What are you running to? What are you looking for, little girl?”

He tsks as you still refuse to speak to him, or even look at him. He has to be nearly ten feet tall, there’s no way he’s human. There’s no fucking way he isn’t involved in the very shit you were sent to this small village to investigate. But you can’t let him catch on to you; can’t let him fish out your true identity. All he can perceive of you is that you’re some sweet nun who chose to come out here to spread the word to the less than fortunate people of this village.

Definitely not here to investigate all the weird disappearances and cult shit going on. No. You know nothing about that. Nothing at all.

He squats down, grabbing both of your heels in one of his massive hands. He pulls your knees out from your chest, causing you to gasp as the cold air once again hits your exposed skin. 

“Answer me. And do it quickly, I’m running out of patience with you.” 

You crane your neck to meet his eyes, “I don’t know. I just wanna spread the word of Jesus Christ-”

“Bullshit!” He cuts you off. He grabs your upper arms and pulls you to your feet with little effort. You thought he’d stop there, but then your feet leave the ground and he’s storming off with you, nothing but a ragdoll in his hands. 

You try to reach up, try to grab his hands that are painfully gripping your arms, but it’s no use. He’s so unreasonably strong and part of you is scared–terrified. But another part of you, maybe an even larger part, is so proud that you found what you were looking for. 

That’s the thing about being in the eye of the storm, right inside the dragon's mouth. You can see it all so clearly and the surrealism surrounds you, the all encompassing wonder. You’ve found everything you've been looking for. You’ve found the source of it all. But it’s also the most dangerous part and very few ever make it out of these places alive. 

You’re thrown on the biggest bed you’ve ever seen. You guess it makes sense, a massive man needs a massive bed to lay in. Big pillows to rest his big head. 

“Did you go to Catholic school?”

You scrunch your eyebrows, thrown off by his question. “Uh-well, yes. Of course.”

He chuckles at your tone. You know how obvious your lies are coming out, but what can a girl do? You’re not fucking confessing. 

“Then you know how they punish little liars–what they do to bad girls.”

“You’re gonna punish me?” Your eyes are wide and all you can do is stare up at him. 

He fiddles with the belt in his pants loops. “Lying is a sin. And you’re lying to me. Am I supposed to let your sins go unpunished? Are you above all that? Above redemption?”

“Of course not, but-”

He rips his belt from the loops, folding it in half and quickly snapping it. The sound of the snapping leather has you jumping. 

“What are you going to do with that?”

He rolls his neck, shaking his shoulders before looking down at you again. “I think you know exactly what I’m going to do.”

“No, I-”

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Your jaw drops, going slack at the command. “What? No! I’m not-”

“Fucking bend over!” He yells at you, grabbing the hair on the back of your head, pulling it harshly. You have no choice but to follow the way he leads you. Either way, he’s going to get you into the position he wants and you’d rather not be completely rolled over by your hair.

“There we go, just like that. God would want you to attest for your sins, hm? Pray to him while you take your punishment.”

Before you even have the chance to protest, the belt cracks down harshly against your ass and you’re screaming out in pain. You can’t even get your scream fully out before it connects with your ass again.

Your hands grip the cotton sheets beneath you. You flinch as you feel something connect with your ass, but it’s much gentler and softer this time. This time, it’s not his belt, but his hand caressing your ass in comforting circles.

“Go on, little one. Pray to him. Let him know you accept his punishment.” 

You take a deep breath before forcing out the words, “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions. Wash away all of my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.”

His belt snaps against you again. The skin feels fiery hot and stings deep into your flesh. Tears already slowly start to fall from your eyes. You bite your lip to keep from sobbing out.

“Why’d you stop? Keep going. If you want forgiveness, you must ask for it.” His voice is almost comforting; a complete contradiction to his actions. 

“For I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me.”

Another slap of his belt has your brain going foggy. You can barely hold yourself up on your hands and knees. 

“That’s it. Keep going for me.”

You clear your throat, somehow trying to convince it to hold back the sob that’s desperately trying to break free. 

“Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight;” Crack. “So you are right in your verdict and justified in your judgment.” Crack. “Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me. Yet-” Crack. “Yet you desired faithfulness even in the womb; you taught me wisdom in that secret place.”

You focus on the prayer you remember from your short time in the small church in the village. You can’t let your mind focus on the excruciating pain on your ass. 

“Baby,” he calls out to you with the pet name and it has your immediate attention. “Pause for a second. Do you feel that?” He wiggles his fingers that you hadn’t even realized were inside of you. “Feel how wet you are? You always get wet like this when spanked?”

Your face heats up. You weren’t paying attention to him at all, and he somehow managed to get your panties down to your knees and two massive fingers inside of you.

“You like that, huh? I felt this cunt clench around my fingers.” He starts to slowly move his fingers in and out of you, accompanied by a loud squelching noise that you can’t believe is coming from you. It has you whimpering. “Finish your prayer. Unless you think you require more punishment because I am more than happy to provide that for you-”

You cut him off with your continued prayer. “Cleanse me, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than sn-ow.” Your last word ends on a moan as he continues fingering you. “And- fuck, And let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones you have crushed re-fuck, rejoice. Mm. Hide your–your face from my s-sins and, and blot out my iniquity. Cre-eate in me a–a pure, oh fuck, a pure heart. Oh my god.”

You completely lose sight of your prayer as he slowly pushes his dick into your wet hole. Your pussy squeezes tight around him as he stretches you out further than you’ve ever been before. All you can do is let out breathless whimpers and whines as you try to take it.

“Already struggling? Baby I’m just now getting past the tip.”

Your head whips around, looking back behind you at where he’s connecting the two of you. “Holy fucking shit, that’s not going to fit in-” you can’t finish your sentence. Your jaw goes slack as he forces more of himself inside of you.

Big man, big muscles, big bed, big cock. It’s unreasonable. You’re as scared as you are wet, which is a fucking lot. 

“Finish your prayer.” You’re so blissed out you don’t process his words. Until he’s smacking your sore ass with his hand and you hiss out at the pain. “I said, finish your fucking prayer.”

“Fuck! Okay, um, fuck. Uh, Do not cast m-me from your presence or ta-ake your Holy, shit, Ho-oly Spirit from me. Restore to me… Restore, restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me, uh, grant me a willing spirit to, fucking shit, to sustain me. Fuck!” 

You struggle through your prayer as he slowly stuffs more and more of himself in you. It’s so much that it’s painful. It’s so much that it’s so fucking good. His cock touches every last centimeter inside of you, the head feeling like it’s all the way up in your stomach. And he can’t even fit the whole thing inside of you. How could he ever fit his cock inside of anybody?

He slowly, painfully, slides his cock from you before thrusting it back inside of you. The prior stretch does little to nothing to aid in his first thrust. He may as well have not even put the thing in before.

“Oh my god! Fuck, it hurts. Fuck, it hurts. God, fuck.”

His free hand snakes up your chest and wraps around your throat, pulling your head back to him. Bringing you close enough so he can speak directly into your ear. 

“You have such a filthy mouth, don’t you? And I’m supposed to believe this is the mouth of a sweet, innocent, holy woman of God? A chaste little nun? Please.” His voice is condescending, but you can’t even protest. Can’t even think with his inhuman cock buried so deeply inside of you.

“Squeezing me so tight. Squeezing me even tighter when I talk to you,” he chuckles at you. “See? Fuck, you get so tight whenever I speak to you. This pussy gets so fucking wet, just like a fucking virgin. But the way you take my big cock? You’re no fucking virgin. No inexperienced nun could take me like this.”

He reaches around you, bringing his fingers to your swollen clit. He lightly runs his big fingers over it with no effort. He’s big enough to reach every last inch of you with no strain. 

You whimper out at the pleasure, but it doesn’t last long. He starts slapping your sensitive little clit and it has you continuously whining and shaking beneath him.

“Of course you like that. You’re nothing but a slut, aren’t you? A naughty fucking whore who just loves to be fucked. And there it is again. The more I talk to you, the tighter this pussy gets. Tell me. Tell me how good it feels. Tell me how much you like when I degrade you.”

“I-I,” you can’t speak as your eyes roll into the back of your head. You can’t think of words. You couldn’t tell him if you wanted to.

“Come on. You can do it. Say Your cock feels so good in my slutty pussy. I love being called a worthless little whore. I take your big cock like a professional, sir.”

He returns to rubbing little circles on your hot, throbbing clit and that’s all it takes. Your cunt milks his cock as you cum around him. You can feel the wetness slipping down your thighs. 

Before you can come down for your high, his hand leaves your neck and grips your jaw, smashing your cheeks together and forcing your mouth open.

“Did I fucking say you could cum, you dumb girl. I told you to tell me how good it feels. Tell me!” His voice booms. His last words take on a supernatural deep tone. It has your mind clearing and fear taking control. 

“It feels so good! Your cock feels so good! I didn’t mean to cum; it just felt so good. I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t hurt me.”

He laughs loudly at your words before releasing your face, pushing your chest down into the sheets. He forces his cock impossibly deep into you. You’re screaming as he rams into you over and over and over.

“Don’t act all innocent now. I know you can take it, you dirty fucking whore.” His voice is loud as he talks over your screams. You’re not sure if they’re screams of pleasure or pain; probably both.

He brings his fingers to your clit again and you try to push them away. Try everything in your weak body’s power to get him away from the sensitive nerves, but you’re useless against him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can cum again.”

And you’re not  sure how you’re even able to, but you do. You’re screaming as you cream his cock; your knees giving out beneath you. You lay flat on your stomach and it doesn’t stop him–doesn’t even deter him for a minute as he continues his hard thrusts. 

You swear you’re going to blackout. You feel your vision start to black out around the corners before he finally stops. 

You lay in his sheets a trembling, crying mess. You’re sobbing deeply, wreaking havoc throughout your entire body. 

Your sobs slowly turn to sniffles and you finally open your eyes and look around. You’re still on your stomach and the man is still straddling your hips. 

“S-sir?”

“You can call me Chris, baby.”

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I get up?”

“Can you answer a question for me first?” You hum in compliance to his question. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

You’re once again scrunching your eyes in confusion; an almost constant state for you. “I don’t understand.”

“You should be proud of yourself. You found me, baby.” He licks the side of your neck. You try to turn and face him, but his hand covers your mouth and yanks your head back. Baring your neck completely for him.

You scream into his hand as he bites harshly into your neck, drawing blood. Almost like he’s drinking your blood. Is he drinking your blood?

~masterlist~

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[wewontbesleeping]

one of my biggest pet peeves is the people who will comment things like "leftover wine??? what's that????" on videos. girl we're not all alcoholics.

[imthursdaysyme]

While I love Steve having a kid that's a nerd, my favorite is if his kid is just like him. He's popular even at 7, he's extroverted, funny, and charming albeit a little strange. He loves sports and struggles in math and doesn't really get english and gets scolded when he laughs in history—sue him he thought it was funny—and has a tendency to get detention but also is somehow a teachers pet all at once.

He has a tendency for feminine things, makes it his own with earrings and the occasional pink flower print shirt.

He begs steve to not work on the car until he gets home from school, cause even at 5, he would rather climb over the fence and run home by himself then learn his dad worked on the cool car without him.

He loves driving and cooking and dancing and loves swimming—aunt Robbie calls him a variety of aquatic animals instead of his name; minnow, fish, stingray, tigershark. Anything went.

They look alike and act alike to the point robin laughs and claims Steve just cloned himself, Eddie says that the kid is actually just Steve brought to the future through time travel. Steve laughs, he loves it ofc but he's never pushed or forced it, it just happened that way.

But there's also times, where Steve sees his son, so like him with big tears in his eyes trying to be tough. Or when all he wants is to sleep in the bed with Steve when he has a nightmare, wants his dad to kiss everything better, when he so easily seeks affection or struggles with school to the point he's getting stress migraines at 9, sees him try so hard to do his best and do what he does well. Sees him fail.

And when Steve sees this, he wonders if maybe he wasn't a bad kid. Didn't need to be tougher, manlier, smarter—better—to deserve love.

Just. Like. Steve seeing that he didn't need to be anything other than what he was. That he has no idea how his parents didn't love him bc how could he ever not love his kid? Just like its okay for him to be how he is and have a kid that a like him as well bc he's pretty great

And like. Its just that idea that Steve could only “heal his inner child” with a kid that's different then him or a girl is kind of sad that it's only that what if him and his son go to every game and constantly have grease on them what then.

[biillys]

billiestevies: the question was “why does billy hate lucas so much?” - i think that really probably answers your question in more of a back-story sense, of why was he the way he was. because - his dad.

dacre @ stranger con, chicago (9th oct 22) bonus:

[ganondoodle]

serious question, are there ANY (wired) headsets made today anymore that have seperated plugs for audio and microphone??

usb ones always cause trouble and the only other ones i can find are those with combined audio+mic into one plug, which i dont have the ports on my PC for.............

i tried looking through adapters but the only ones i can find are those that combine seperate ones, id need the reverse (if thats even possible)

(visualization bc i feel like i am losing my sanity trying to explain what i mean, am i stupid? did i halluzinate the two jack/plug thing???? do only cheap garbage ones have this??? is that one of the gaming chair things??? like oh you want a GAMING headset- that means either combined or usb haHA???)

[nattousan]

when

whe you, when You were just trying to put i n some extra effort to try adn improve yoursel f and it got misinterpreted as malicious n u get yell ed at

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

It is most likely already done but Hnoc au where Galahad is still Lancelot's son (like in the Arthurian legends) and during Hellfire Lancelot is like, "Son, please we have talked about this."

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

So I was reading articles about John Hurt (as I do when I procrastinate on life in general lol) and I saw a still shot of a movie I’ve never seen still shots of before; so I looked it up. It’s a play. I was worried I wouldn’t find it in full online; but I did, so here it is in all its glory:

He’s just… ugh I want to gently hold his face in my hands he’s just so sad and lonely with his weepy voice and eye bags. I couldn’t process half of what he said but I think this is a warning about always speed-running through life to get to the next good thing. We should appreciate the moment; because in the end, we’ll have nothing at all but our memories. If we rush through life, we won’t have any memories to keep us warm at night when the chill of death creeps up on us in our old age.

Also, spool, spooooooooooollll…….

spoooooooooooooooooooooolllllll [cackles in mentally unstable]

@kaleidoscopr @theindo @possessedbydevils @randomtwospirit

[5w6]

i actually do feel like ive been doing slightly better at this lately though.. like replying to peoples posts and trying to initiate conversations and dms and stuff... so i am winning a bit

[saintfaulkners]

one of my housemates is so fucking sensitive it turns me into a person I do not like

[boyywithluv]

.

[hella1975]

basically threw away £20 on my nails today so was already getting weird bc i apparently cannot be normal about money and then my paycheck came through just for my manager to have knocked off 11 hours worth of pay. so naturally i am crying in a dark room about it

[constantvariations]

I remember someone saying "there's no such thing as a good racism allegory" and it's been bouncing around in my head for a while. I'm someone who typically thinks anything can work if given the right circumstances, but then I really started thinking about it and I believe they're right

Because if you want to talk about racism, you should just talk about racism

(This is unpolished and ramble-y, so strap yourselves in)

Racism is deeply ingrained into our society, no matter where you live. Imperialism and colonialism has ensured that no corner of Earth has been left untouched. Choices from hundreds of years ago are still being felt today. There's practically no end to the discussion of its effects on the world and its people

So, why should anyone feel the need to dress it up in cat ears?

I've consumed a lot of media where writers have consciously echoed in part some aspect of racism in their fantasy story: Bright 2017, Dragon Age, RWBY, the MCU, Harry Potter, Detroit: Become Human, etc. The biggest thing they have in common is that the narrative is told to side with the victims, but it somehow always ends up against them

It always sides with the status quo

It's confusing, maddening even, because the narrative oft goes out of its way to show how horrible the system is and how these folk don't deserve their treatment, so why are we going back to normal as if it's a good thing? Why are the people actively working to improve the system decried as annoying at best and monstrous at worst?

Then you look at the people who write these storylines. The beliefs they hold, the people they vote for, which charities and organizations they give to, and it all makes sense. Centrists (at best) trying to look progressive are the ones who need to dress racism up in cat ears and rainbow freckles. They set aside the long, brutal histories and crushing systemic realities to play pretend that racism is Not That Bad and is only done by Those Bad Individuals

That's why Velvet's ears are tugged instead of culled. That's why the Mantle drunkards say mean things to Blake instead of attempting to assault her. That's why everything surrounding the SDC's labor practices is so vague as to be useless while the biggest evidence of their malice is hand-waved away by a writer who says the victim "had it coming" as if someone can deserve being branded by being too much of a brat

These stories aren't meant to make the audience question why our society works off the bloodied backs of the exploited or demands we take good, hard looks at ourselves and how we've been duped into believing so much garbage about entire swathes of people. They're meant to satisfy the people who only feel bad that these things are happening because they (white folk) look like the bad guys. It's a self-congratulatory wank about how "I'm not like THOSE guys, therefore I'm a good person!"

And then there's the characters meant to convey this story in the first place: always inoffensive, mostly aimless, "not like the other girl" types that pander to that delicate palate. Blake - a conventionally attractive, pale skinned girl in fashionable clothes - used to be passionate about equality but only in the right way, and demonizes anyone who does not conform to this mindset despite having no reasoning to back it up while never once demanding better of the privileged people around her even when they do racially insensitive things

The biggest downfall of these racial allegories, be they about cat girls or orcs or elves or robots, is that they do something that marginalized folk have been forced to endure since the dawn of time: literal dehumanization. There are tangible differences between humans and whatever the allegory is, which undermines the very fundamental fact that black/asian/queer/neurodivergent/disabled/whatever folk are unapologetically, undeniably, exceedingly human. By dressing up their plights in cat ears or spottled blue skin, you're creating theater not for the people who actually live through these struggles as a means of connecting with them and providing them a safe outlet for their feelings, but giving the people who benefit from passively allowing the system to enforce said struggles a pat on the head for not being the grand wizard

I don't really know where I'm going or how to end this, so I'll just sign off with if you're going to talk about racism, just talk about racism

[fieldsofbone]

one of my advisors emotionally eviscerated me in my dissertation meeting this morning and made me cry in front of him and my school dad (my other advisor). i know that some people have the “you doubted me and i’m going to prove you wrong so you can eat your words” instinct when they receive criticism but instead i was cursed with the the “internalize it until i feel worthless and the last five years of my life in which i’ve been studying toward this goal i deserve but have had many undeserved obstacles to feel pointless” reflex