#i have actually seen some pics of people who made

[nightgoodomens]

Well, the BAFTA’s were not what I expected without Michael there or David winning but wow, I enjoyed him serving looks, laughing freely, being joyous during interviews and having a general good time.

At the same time, that’s the coldest shoulder he’s given to Georgia yet, barely aknowledging her all night and she looked PISSED and awkward the whole time. Very far from the smug looks from previous awards. I’m genuinely thinking they’re done privately, although hardly divorcing soon, but he’s definitely not playing subservient to her anymore. Which suits him amazingly.

Funny too how the haters think they are in on the ‘loser’ joke and laugh at us for being offended on his behalf, when has he demonstrated it is something he enjoys? When has he made a self-deprecating joke about it? Not even when he hosted the event he tried to paint himself as a loser for laughs. And we are the ones with the parasocial relationship thinking we know them personally? We just have eyes.

Love your blog, keep the good content coming 🙌

Thank you my Angel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

I know we all hoped for a win and for Michael, but even without them we got better content than during Oliviers! Which is incredible.

David started the day with posting a fourth(!) pic to celebrate Nye, like a lil Angel under the poster, with the Bi Anthem song, then served another hot look at the awards, gave a cold shoulder to GT, stayed confident and Crowley coded, laughed with people, looked amazing, and did not shut up about Michael; about kissing him and wanting to spend everyday with him.

Just recently, both he and Michael saying how good omens changed their lives, Michael saying they will be connected with the matching bracelets, David talking about spending everyday with him… sigh.

Antis came up with the excuse and assumed that DT loves being called a loser. He never said it. Who the fuck would want to be called a loser anyway? That’s their assumption. They’re treating it as a fact, but that’s all it is - assumption, and they don’t understand that it’s nothing more but their choice to believe in something else than we do and their belief isn’t based on anything but what they want to believe. Even though they have zero proof for it, because everything that we have seen actually speaks against it. They’re so deep in this bullshit that she’d wish the worst to David and they’d giggle too. They need to separate themselves from this relationship to start judging things correctly again instead of screaming every time someone questions anything. But some people simply don’t possess critical thinking skills.

Remember when Michael did the sketch with David and took all the jokes about David not being nominated and not making it in Hollywood… on himself? Remember how Michael talked about David first thing on his interview to say how well he’s done and how good he looked? Michael, the one who never fails to praise David?

… who David can’t stop talking about either? And praise, and show his love for, and how he can’t wait to spend everyday with him…?

Right.

Edit:

Adding this quote from DT:

“You feel sorry for the people who don't win cause you can see them. They feel very alive to you.”

He doesn’t deserve this shit from her.

[emeraldspiral]

Hot Topic should sell a gingerbread house kit of Zim’s house during Xmas.

[bananonbinary]

here's your fucking feedback @staff

list of problems the removal of icons causes:

i cant see my friends

ruins the sense of community

can't tell at a glance who's online right now and what they're interested in

literally cannot tell without scrolling back up who put a post on my dash if it has a single addition attached to it. or like. 2 paragraphs in the op.

i cant click my own icon at the top of the dash to quickly view my own blog

can't tell who someone used to be if they change their username

squashes the margins between the menu and posts, making the whole dash feel more cramped

ruins the quick visual cue of how long each post is and where it ends when you're trying to scroll past ones youve seen before

people put a lot of creativity and individuality into icons, and now i never see them

makes people who primarily reblog instead of make their own posts all but completely disappear

list of problems solved by removing icons:

?????

who the fuck was asking for this

ive never in my life seen a website or app that has profile pics forcibly HIDE them, so i guess you did it you made the dash unique again in the worst way

here's some more feedback: maybe when you run an a/b test you should, idk, actually have a feedback form people can fill out about it somewhere

[yndrgrl]

bullies! kiribaku x reader headcannons <3

headcannons for your azz. fem! reader. soft! yandere, hardcore! fuckers. college! au.

warnings: nsfw, threesome!!, degrading, praise, blackmail, sending pics, possessive, lowkey cnc???

a/n: so i originally had this as a long one shot, but i ended up straying too far away from the actual "bully" trope, so this is just to reel it back & get my thoughts all in one place :) lemme know if i should make this a longer fic !

-

✩ bullies! kiribaku were notorious around campus; if you came across them, know not to look into their eyes, keep your head down, & do whatever they say. those are the rules when you see the duo wandering around.

★ they were shocked when, while bullying one of the pricks that decided to spread rumors about them, you appeared out of nowhere. you shoved bakugo off of the shaking boy & put your body between them & their victim. "what the hell do you think you're doing!?" you shouted at them. you put on your bravest face & puffed out your chest. they've seen you around before, always silently admiring from afar until now.

✩ their first thought was, "how stupid is this chick?" they were -at least- twice your size & could scoop you up with one hand. then they took you in; you were ethereal, like a guardian angel sent from the pearly heaven above. kirishima looked at bakugo, & bakugo glanced at him. kirishima gave him a fang-filled grin. they were nothing more than demons who were feigning for a chance to taint your sweet charm.

★ bakugo, expressionless, responded, "what does it look like? i'm teaching this little asshole a lesson-" you cut him off with your hands clenched in a white-tight fist, "you're pathetic! picking on someone so much smaller than you, have some fuckin' self-respect." god, you were irresistible, they thought.

✩ kirishima, who is nothing but an instigator, snickered & whispered in the blonde's ear, "i think she's the one we have to teach a lesson to, don't you think?"

★ kirishima turned towards you, his grin would've been unnerving given any other circumstance. his sharp teeth were on full display as he teased, "well aren't you a good samaritan? it makes me wonder how far you'll go to stop us."

✩ "i'll do anything! you people make me sick," you shouted at them, & that's when the realization sunk in. shit... you've made a mistake.

★ the guy you were so-desperately trying to defend was just a coward who ran away without looking back. now you were in the hot seat, & your heartbeat was thumping in your ears. it felt like there was a drum in your head. adrenaline was flowing through your veins. you swallowed the lump in your throat. they were just staring at you with their sharp ruby eyes, piercing straight through your facade. "so what now? gonna beat up a girl 'cuz you have nothing better to do?"

✩ everything after that was a blur. you somehow ended up in their shared dorm, your throat fucked by kirishima & your pussy filled with bakugo. tears streamed down your face as you felt a whiplash of emotions all at once. they were such assholes, but, god, you felt so good. while kirishima sang you praises, bakugo gripped you so tightly, spanking your red-flushed ass. "you like that, huh? dumb slut," bakugo growled. he kept thrusting in & out of your dripping hole harshly. you hummed in disagreement, but it only made kirishima fuck your throat more.

★ "aww, bakubro, be nice to her. she's being so good f' us," purred kirishima, it seemed like he was on your side, but the tight grasp he had on your hair told you otherwise.

✩ by hour two, your pussy was still stuffed, this time with kirishima. a mixture of your climax & both mens' cum seeped out of your overstimulated hole. you sat in kirishima's lap, bouncing yourself on his thick cock reverse-cowgirl style. bakugo flooded your mouth with his cum, & he demanded, "don't fuckin' swallow, got it?"

★ he pulled out of your mouth, & you listened. your obedience didn't go unnoticed because, while bakugo went to go fish his phone out of his pants that were on the hardwood floor, kirishima groaned, "so perfect, you know that, don't you? just such a good girl, takin' us so well. you're too pretty for your own good, we're just gonna keep you to ourselves~ you'll be ours, won't you, sweetheart?" you were lost in foggy pleasure, so you nodded your droopy head.

✩ bakugo came back & held your chin. his touch was gentle for the first time. he guided your face to look up at him with your pretty, teary eyes. his phone camera was pointed at you. "open up, angel," he said, stroking your lip with his thumb. he was so soft spoken that it shocked you & kirishima, you felt obligated to listen. he was so sweet all of a sudden. you opened your mouth, his hot, white load dripping onto his wrist. he snapped a picture then told you to swallow & clean him off.

★ "you got him all pussy-whipped, (y/n). can't really blame him though. you're too good~" that night, an arrangement was made. bakugo's gentleness must've run out because, when you went back to your dorm, you received an image from an unknown number, the caption read, "if you know what's good for you, you'll listen to us."

✩ bullies! kiribaku who are so intimidating that they somehow got you, the campus' fire cracker, to not only turn a blind eye to their antics but also do their bidding. what dirt did they have on you, everyone wondered.

★ whatever you did, their other victims were thankful because bullies! kiribaku have left them alone. instead, they now target any man who thinks they can hit on you. a guy at the club is sauntering towards you? kirishima grabs you by the back of the neck, turning your face towards him & captures your pouty lips in a steamy kiss. a man on instagram starts talking dirty to you through dms? all you have to do is tell bakugo, & he sends them a mirror selfie of him sitting on his bed while you're on your knees in front of him.

✩ at some point, everyone knew that you belonged to bullies! kiribaku, but you were just as bad as them. oh? someone's trying to seduce your bullies? not on your watch. they found it so fuckin' sexy the way you'd immediately rush to their side. if a woman tries to feel bakugo's bulging muscles while he's at the gym, you'll be there, marking his neck & glaring at her. kirishima's fan girls are getting too close? you'll sit on his lap & whisper how much you wanna beat them up.

★ "you're not gonna tell anyone about this, right?" kirishima purred, as if everyone was unaware of your guys' relationship. it added to the fun-- sneaking around & pretending like you have no other choice. you were sucking his cock while your skirt was flipped up, your thong down by your ankles. your legs were spread, & bakugo buried his face in your juicy ass. bakugo responded between pants, "'course not, don't be stupid. we got those cute lil pictures of her, she's not gonna do shit."

✩ bullies! kiribaku who will throw you into the nearest janitor's closet & fuck you so hard. their fingers in your mouth to act as a makeshift gag.

★ bullies! kiribaku who are never hesitant to treat you to whatever you want, but they're always so awkward about it. after all, they're not used to having such a graceful angel by their side.

✩ in the end, bullies! kiribaku corrupted you, not that you cared. you loved their nasty teasing, the manhandling, & the secret touching moments shared between all of you.

[hansolsfearofbugs]

Skz- Before he Confesses

little things they do while they have a crush on you, sfw

maknae line edition- Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

hyung line

Han Jisung

tries extra hard to be funny when he's around you

always cracking jokes hoping it'll make you laugh

a little corny at times but still cute

overthinks every joke he made after he left

thinks you'll find him cringey and lowkey gets mad at himself over jokes he thinks were stupid

seeing you laugh makes it so worth it tho

the first time he ever made you laugh he was so happy

that was the moment he completely fell for you

spent the next few weeks daydreaming about having you all to himself so he could make you laugh like that all the time

always stealing glances at his phone when he shouldn't be (during practice, while recording, in meetings, etc) hoping to see a message from you

smiles like an idiot whenever he does get a notif from you

has a photo album of pics of you that he really likes

some of them are candids that he took and some are stolen from your social media

gets lost in your eyes a lot

will literally zone out just admiring you while you're talking

this gets him caught by the members becasue you're the only person they've ever seem him look at like that

Felix

tries to impress you by acting tough and showing off

pulls out the extra deep voice around you

fails at acting tough and it's adorable

like one time when you were watching the members play some sports game he went full try hard mode and all the members were really confused

does the thing where he'll wipe his sweat with the bottom of his t-shirt, purposefully showing off his abs in front of you

always sits near you in group settings

gets sleepy around you because he feels safe when he's with you

when he gets tired he forgets he's supposed to be acting tough to impress you

ends up just being really cute and clingy

falls asleep on your shoulder a lot on drives and when his social battery is drained at group events

always bringing you things he's baked

won't let the members touch the batches he makes just for you

brings you back little things from all the places he travels

befriends your mom with his baking

is so so so happy when your mom says she wants you to marry "a guy like him"

Kim Seungmin

i feel like a lot of people say he would tease you a lot if he likes you

but i actually think he'd be exceptionally nice to you

like you're literally the only one he's not an absolute menace to

gets caught so quick by the members because no one has ever seen him be so sweet to someone

lowkey protective over you

you fell asleep in a common area once and he guarded you like his life depended on it

would not let anyone speak or make noise

gave anyone who waked past the nastiest side eye

won't let you walk on the inside of the road

puts his hand over you when the car stops suddenly

pretended to be your boyfriend when a creepy guy wouldn't leave you alone

remembers everything you've ever said to him

you complimented his smile once and he couldn't stop thinking about it

always scheming to "accidentally" create situations where you're hanging out just the two of you

shares his food with you

you are the only one that gets that privilege

Yang Jeongin

gets jealous when he sees you having fun with other members but doesn't do anything about it cuz he doesn't think you'd ever choose him

lowkey has hella rizz but doesn't realize it

does little things to try subtly show you that he'd be a good boyfriend

like he'llfind a flower and tuck it behind your ear

"beautiful, just like you"

or he'll cook your favorite meals to show you that he's boyfriend material

saw you playing with some little kids and his heart absolutely melted

always asks to share your airpods so he can listen to your music

gets really shy and nervous if he sees you looking at him

always looking to make sure you're safe and having fun in group settings

finds excuses to touch you by fixing your jewery or moving your hair out of your face

plays with your claw clips all the time

something about claw clips are just absolutely mesmerizing to this man

tries extra hard with the vocals when he knows you're in the audience

he's singing his heart out just for you :)

a/n: if you enjoyed this check out the hyung line version!

[solaireverie]

1633 | king of my heart

summary: [ lestappen — social media au ] in which the crown prince of monaco falls in love with a formula 1 driver

warnings: language, implied/referenced homophobia

author’s note: i made a shitpost this morning and here i am now. never let it be said that i don't give the people what they want.

45,299 likes

monacoupdates Crown Prince Charles is present today at the #MonacoGP on behalf of the royal family! The self-professed avid motorsport fan will be spending time in the Ferrari, Alpine, and Red Bull garages.

view comments

user charles is always serving damn

↪ user monaco how does it feel to have won in the crown prince lottery???

↪ user très bien, thanks for asking 😌

liked by pierregasly, f1, hshcrownprincecharles, and 512,920 others

tagged: hshcrownprincecharles, pierregasly

alpinef1team A very special visit from hshcrownprincecharles! #MonacoGP

view comments

user charles at every opportunity: i'm not french! 😠 also charles:

↪ user lmao tbf he's known pierre for a while

↪ user bro how???

↪ user idk f1 drivers hang around monaco a lot and they both speak french

↪ user it's not even just pierre charles is also pretty close with the monaco-based drivers like max and lando

user 10 seconds penalty to ocon for not greeting charles 😂

↪ user poor estie bestie 😭

↪ alpinef1team Esteban did talk with Crown Prince Charles 😉 Just a pity that His Serene Highness had to rush off before we could get pictures...

hshcrownprincecharles has added to their story

seen by maxverstappen1, pierregasly, hshprincelorenzo and 1,293,201 others

liked by carlossainz55, f1, hshcrownprincecharles and 892,103 others

tagged: carlossainz55, hshcrownprincecharles

scuderiaferrari Please welcome hshcrownprincecharles to the #Tifosi for the #MonacoGP 🥳

view comments

hshcrownprincecharles Grazie mille for the opportunity to try the racing driver life!

↪ scuderiaferrari Our pleasure 🥰 hshprincelorenzo and hshprincesspascale can we keep him, s'il vous plait?

↪ hshdukearthur I don't think Lorenzo and Maman would be the only ones against Charles becoming a Ferrari driver 😂

user you don't understand how emotional this makes me 🥹 charles always said that if he could pick any job he'd be a f1 driver and to see him get to experience his dream!! even if for only a day!!!

carlossainz55 Personally I think Charles would be slower than me

↪ hshcrownprincecharles This is lèse-majesté and I will have you thrown into the dungeons for your disrespect to the throne 😤

↪ carlossainz55 pretty sure your brother is the one who can do that...

↪ user does monaco even have dungeons?

redbullracing has added to their story

seen by maxverstappen1, christianhorner, schecoperez and 182,974 others

77,592 likes

mv01updates max post-monaco gp with the crown prince of monaco, his serene highness charles leclerc 😍

view comments

user for some reason these pictures make me feel like i'm 5 years old again and watching my parents be romantic. like i want to scream "get a room" 😂

↪ user not a single unique experience 💀

user ayo 🤨 the helmet pics...

↪ user i stg i've seen pictures of drivers with their actual wives that had less tension

user just kiss already 😩😩😩

liked by hshcrownprincecharles, maxverstappen1, hshprincesspascale, and 8,491,293 others

tagged: hshcrownprincecharles, maxverstappen1

palaisprincierdemonaco La Famille Princière est heureuse d'annoncer les fiançailles du Prince Héréditaire Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc et Max Emilian Verstappen, avec l'accord de S.A.S. le Prince Lorenzo.

The Princely Family is happy to announce the engagement of Crown Prince Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc and Max Emilian Verstappen, with the approval of HSH Prince Lorenzo.

view comments

user i??? what??? what happened to hello??? how are you??? my name is???

↪ user fr i didn't even know max was dating someone lmao

user damn at least we know why they were so touchy at the grand prix now 😂

hshprincelorenzo Félicitations!

user the hAND ON THE THIGH. THE SMILE ON THEIR FACES. I AM UNWELL.

↪ user ALL OF US ARE UNWELL

landonorris does this mean that max gets a title? if so, not fair 😒

↪ pierregasly yeah hshcrownprincecharles, can you knight me or something?

↪ maxverstappen1 go find your own royalty to marry 🙄

↪ landonorris does lewis count? like if i marry him will i become sir lando norris 🤔

↪ sebastianvettel i've asked, and no it does not work like that unfortunately

liked by victoriaverstappen, redbullracing, maxverstappen1 and 912,392 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

gq Presenting our July cover star, Max Verstappen.

The Formula 1 driver, best known for dominating his sport and more recently his engagement with Monaco's beloved Crown Prince Charles, sits down with GQ to discuss what exactly goes on in a two-time world champion's mind.

Verstappen offers insight into the ongoing season, the surprising way the sport helped bring him and his fiancé together, and the pressures of marrying into royalty, especially as part of a same-sex couple.

Read the July cover story at the link in bio.

liked by maxverstappen1, hshprincesspascale, hshdukearthur and 4,283,120 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

hshcrownprincecharles There are many words that can be used to describe love, but you will always be my truest definition 🤍

view comments

hshcrownprincecharles p.s. thank you hshdukearthur for catching the moments just before i proposed on camera 😘

maxverstappen1 Charlie, I can tell you I love you in four languages, and it will never encompass everything I feel for you. Je t'aime, ik houd van je, ich liebe dich, I love you. Thank you for making me the happiest man in the world ❤️

user crying screaming throwing up #relationshipgoals

hshprincesspascale Je suis très contente pour toi, mon cœur. maxverstappen1, bienvenue à la famille! [ i'm so happy for you, my heart. max, welcome to the family! ]

user so if i learn how to drive cars very fast does that mean that i get to marry a prince as well??? if so sign me up 👀

↪ landonorris you also need to be one lucky bastard, otherwise i'd also be on the cover of gq right now

↪ gq maybe next year?

↪ alex_albon he wishes 😂

↪ hshcrownprincecharles first figure out how to flirt, lando norizz 😜

↪ landonorris if max can do it so can i

↪ maxverstappen1 please 🙄 i’ve been watching you make a fool of yourself in front of carlos for five years now

↪ landonorris i hate all of you 😃

↪ hshcrownprincecharles one less place to pay for at the wedding 🤷‍♂️

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

masterlist

[fuckmyskywalker]

professor!anakin? or maybe dilf!anakin

— CW: Age gap! (Anakin is 40, reader is 23.), Modern!AU, Divorced!Anakin, Love/Touch/AttentionDeprived!Anakin, he overthinks! Kissie! 🤍.

— a/n: You got me at Dilf!Anakin. (Leia and Luke are around 15-16 in this AU!) I think this is gonna be a series! I would love to start a Dilf!Anakin series so send more asks on this one ;).

He knows this is rather idiotic.

But then again... name one time he has done something he doesn't regret.

He could spend hours just rethinking his life…

But— when he sees you sitting at the other side of the table, smiling and glowing like the sun itself, he no longer feels like a pathetic, father of two, divorced 40 year old, but more of a hormonal teenage boy who is having his first date.

"Tell me about them, they sound charming" You say with the most pretty smile Anakin has even seen in his life.

And he was married once.

"Well… Leia is more of an extrovert, she is running for class president and there's no doubt she will win" He replies. He is actually impressed you look so interested in his life. "Luke is a bit more introverted, he's more into art and music… but as long as it makes him happy, guess I'm okay with it"

When he downloaded that confusing dating app at 3 am during one of those nights when he couldn't sleep, he never imaged he would encounter such a lovely young lady as you. Right away he understood people only tried to hook up, and he felt ridiculous for looking something more of a "long–term" thing in a damn app.

After ignoring some desperate texts asking for more pics, for a place to meet, and even for his Snapchat (he has no idea how to use that either), he then found you.

And he was so glad he did.

"I would love to meet them one day" You reply, bringing him back to reality. "I mean— if you want to meet up again, that is" You quickly add, blushing slightly at your straightforward comment.

«I want to see you every goddamned day» Anakin thinks.

You're almost 17 years younger than him, and he should be worried about that, but somehow the idea thrills him.

"That would be nice" He replies, giving you a little smile.

He learns about you, as much as he possible can during the two hours you spend on the restaurant. He sees you smile, and frown, and laugh, his heart racing at the joyous sound of your laughter. You are so beautiful. You are so full of life.

Anakin is so dull, or at least that's what he sees every day in the mirror.

It's been years since he has been on a date. Whatever experience he may have it probably faded with the years.

"I had fun" You speak, holding his arm when you two walk out of the restaurant. Anakin is relieved to know at least you enjoyed spending time with his old ass. "Thank you, and you didn't had to pay for everything, you know?"

"I know" He chuckles. "But I wanted to"

"I should get going. It's getting kinda late and I don't wanna bother you" You start, pulling out your phone from your purse and opening the uber app. Anakin just stares at you, frowning. "What?" You ask quizzically, giving him a curious look.

"I can give you a ride"

"Oh— it's okay! I don't want to bother—"

"It's not a bother, at all"

And he says it with the most sincere tone, his ceruleans irises staring deeply into yours... that you just can't refuse.

"Fine" You give in, squeezing your hand on his arm. Your smile is everything.

He opens the door for you, a gesture that you shouldn't find sweet but you do.

The city lights eclipse the stars, but not the moon. The full, yellow moon shines brightly on top of the tall buildings. For the first few minutes the car ride is silent, as you continue to stare to the moon.

"When Luke was a child he thought the moon was made out of cheese" Anakin says out of the blue, his eyes locked on the road. "And when Leia told him it wasn't, he cried for almost an hour"

Anakin glances at you from his peripheral, smirking when you laugh. He would do anything just to hear you laugh again.

The conversation blooms after that, and he's so sad the ride to your place isn't an hour long instead of 15 minutes.

The goodbye has him feeling awkward. Anakin doesn't know what to do. Should he kiss you? Would that be too much? A hug? That feels too clumsy inside the car. Just a wave feels too little...

His mind races a hundred kilometers per minute.

"Hey" Your voice drags him out of this trance. "I'm so glad we met" You place a hand on top of his, smiling fondly.

He eyes your makeup, did you really did that for him?

He finds himself admiring the color of your eyes, how your eyeshadow matches your skin tone perfectly, the pretty mole on your left cheek, and your lips, plump and soft and glistening with gloss.

"Me too" Anakin replies, mirroring your smile. "Whenever you want to go out again, just text me"

"I will" You nod, tilting your head to the side. "Good night, text me when you get home"

He doesn't want to go.

"I will, sleep well" Anakin feels like he should do something else, but his mind is blank.

Then, you lean closer.

Closer.

Closer.

His lips welcome yours almost instantly. The kiss is soft, a gentle touch he had no idea he was craving. Your lips taste like cherry, and when you close your eyes to kiss him he can't, he looks at your pretty expression and his heart jolts. His left hand cradles your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheek.

When you pull away, Anakin has the urge to lean forward, to kiss you again, and never let go.

"Good night" You say one last time before walking down his car and walking towards your house.

Later that night, after he texts letting you know he got home safe, Anakin lays on his empty bed, staring at the ceiling, shirtless, with a storm of thoughts.

Of all the things Anakin Skywalker regrets from his life.

This isn't one.

And he can't wait to see you again.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 English isn't my first language, sorry for any mistakes!

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Deborah Kerr (Bonjour Tristesse, An Affair to Remember, The King and I)— For several decades she held the record for most Oscar nominations without a win (6 in total), and she was a prolific leading lady throughout the 40s and 50s. She's best known today for the romance An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant, and as the governess in The King and I. Many people have this erroneous perception of her as extremely prim, proper, and virginal, but this could not be further from the truth. When she first came to Hollywood under MGM she was typecast into boring decorative roles, but broke sexual boundaries for herself and Hollywood generally in From Here to Eternity, when she made out (horizontally!) with Burt Lancaster (on top of him!) in the famous Beach Scene. She went on to play many sexually conflicted women, a character type that would define most of her post- Eternity work. She continued to break Hays Code boundaries with Tea and Sympathy, which addresses homosexuality/homophobia head-on, and even did a topless scene in The Gypsy Moths 1969!! One of the only classic stars to do so. She deserves a more nuanced and frankly a hotter legacy than she currently has!!!

Ethel Merman (Anything Goes, Call Me Madam)— Possessed of a bold, brash voice, and an even bolder and brasher presence, Ethel Merman might be more well known for her stage roles, but she made several movies, and was bold and brash in them as well. Also I think if I don't submit her, she's going to come back and haunt me.

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Ethel Merman:

You've gotta love any woman who got typecast as lead-MILF

Deborah Kerr:

I think she was one of my first crushes before I realised I was bi in The King and I when I watched it as a kid honestly. The kissing scene in From Here to Eternity is iconic for a reason. Actually tried to learn the accents for the characters she was playing if they weren't English which is more than pretty much anyone else was doing then. Played very restrained characters who frequently seemed to be desperate not to be so restrained. Did horror movies without venturing into hagsploitation tropes. Gave Marni Nixon the credit she deserved for her share of the singing in The King and I.

Anne Larsen is a peak late 1950s bisexual with big MILF energy. Have you seen the behind the scenes pics of her wearing a suit?? Have you????? Vote Deb as Anne Larsen.

Nominated for an Oscar six (6) times and never won, but besides her having actual talent (hot), and besides her looking Like That (very hot, also beautiful), she was always playing women who are, like, crazy repressed. Which makes it fun and easy for me to read these characters as queer. Icon!!!! You know what's hot? Playing ambiguously gay in vintage Hollywood.

Her face and talent and body, yes, ofc, duh. But also!!! Her HANDS!!!! I may be but a simple lesbian, but she is the best hactor (hand actor) that ever lived and that's HOT! For propriety's sake I feel I must redact a large portion of my commentary on this subject. Anyway. She's hot in her most famous roles (mentioned above), and also some of her sexiest hacting is on display in An Affair to Remember (her hand on the bannister when Cary Grant kisses her off-screen??? HELLO???), Tea and Sympathy (when she's trying to persuade Tom not to go out and she keeps flexing her hands like she wants to reach out to him but can't??? ALLY BEHAVIOR! WE STAN!), and The Innocents (which opens and closes with extended shots of her hands bc director Jack Clayton was also an ally and he did that for ME). Much of her appeal also lies in the fact that she often played deeply repressed characters and you know what's hot? When those uptight characters finally unravel. It's sexy. It's cathartic. It's erotic. Plus, she's beautiful to look at in both black & white and technicolor, and the more of her films you see, the more you can't help but fall in love!

Literally is in thee most famously sexy scene of all time (or maybe just during the hays code era which is what we're talking about HELLO), which is the beach scene with Burt Lancaster in from here to eternity. To quote a tumblr post of a screen capture of a tweet of a video of joy behar on the view: "y'know, there used to be movies where they were kissing on the beach... From Here to Eternity. They're kissing-- Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr are Kissing on the Beach and then the WAVES crash!! You know exactly what they did!"

She might have a reputation of being chaste and virginal or whatever, but we all know it's the quiet ones who are certifiable FREAKS

[asuyaka]

Eyyy it's been a while since I've requested anything, and since I'm back to my JJK brain rot how about a good old request for my favorite dead divorced gay couple?(how are we copin', manga readers?)

So idk if you've ever seen or heard of the "Missing Halloween" animation on YouTube, BUT--

What if satosugu found out that Reader(who they were very close with) was actually the spirit of an past special grade student that died in a mission by the hands of curse users (maybe they raided the school or something, idk it's like- 1AM in here my brain will not remember all the shit that happens in the JJK lore to make a coherent plot point) and now just roams around near the school, and that explains why everyone just seemingly ignored Reader's presence completely and gave the three weird looks whenever they hung out together. Also I like to think that these two idiots found out about reader's situation after fooling around during detention and accidentally tripping on some dusty old boxes that had some old stuff in it, finding one of those group school year pics from when Yaba was the boys' age and Reader was also in the pic from when they were still alive.

In much simpler words, Satosugu x ghost!reader that they didn't knew was a ghost until they found a picture of Reader's academic years.

-🌈, Anon.

★ - JJK brainrot 's so real f' me too !! (Satosugu once 'm get m grubby lil hands on you... >:(( )

☆ - Satosugu x Ghost! Reader !!

♡ - 's nice ta see you again, 🌈 nony !! ヾ(^▽^*))) hope you're doin' well <33 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ | 'm have seen Missing Halloween! made me s'sad (◞‸◟；) but s sooo bittersweet! m nota huuugee animation fan, but Missing Halloween 's one of m favs! (๑≧▽≦)

Being a ghost is interesting, to put it simply.

You get to see things you never got the chance to when you were alive, like the top of Mount Fuji and the vast streets of Shibuya. Sure, you missed what it was like to eat your favorite food or speak to people, but it's the price you have to pay for your naivety.

You thought you'd be alone, wandering the hallways of Jujutsu High forever until they came.

Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru.

The strongest sorcerers in the modern era.

Shock is an emotion you haven't felt since your death, but you feel it again when you notice that those two can not only see but touch you.

It's an odd feeling. Having someone touch your skin after years (it's only been two) of being dead. Weird, but nice.

"Suguru, back me up here!" Satoru whines, holding his friend by his shoulders and shaking him back and forth.

You and Satoru were arguing about which ice cream flavor was the best. Granted, you haven't had ice cream —or any food for that matter— in a long time, but there was no way you would let Satoru get away with saying Birthday Cake.

"This is your argument, and I like Vanilla." Suguru shrugs and the betrayed look on Satoru's face causes you to giggle.

Satoru turns to face you, chest out and voice boisterous. "Well, [Name], since we can't agree, I guess that means we'll have to go to an ice cream store to find out!

Suguru's face turns blank. "Where in that argument did going to an ice cream place happen?"

"Right now, duh." You huff, rolling your eyes dramatically.

"No, guys, I don't have money, and I'm not taking you dumbasses to an ice cream place at this hour." Suguru's voice is stern; like there's no room for back-and-forth bickering.

You three were now at a small ice cream shop a few minutes away from Jujutsu High.

You tried not to talk to Suguru and Satoru much, so to bystanders it wouldn't look like they were talking to literal air, but they didn't get the hint and kept talking to you anyway.

Sometimes you wonder if they even know you're a ghost.

The way Satoru uses you as a headrest (you're putting spiders in his bed tonight) and how Suguru tends to maintain eye contact when he talks to you (earning a couple of odd stares from some in the store), you’re 99.9% sure they think you’re a real person.

Which you are, obviously, but you’re only technically real to them. Why that is, you aren’t exactly sure yourself.

Before you three get to the counter, you make up a fake excuse of having to use the bathroom. You tell them the flavor you want, make sure Satoru doesn’t do anything weird, and order the flavor with the most sugar (you aren’t 100% sure if you can even eat but it’s worth trying) before you excuse yourself. 

You make your way to the roof, sitting on the edge and looking out into the city. It’s calming. 

You’ve always enjoyed how relaxing it was to be able to see people going about their lives, the soft breeze sounding through your ears accompanied by the smell of ice cream and bread from nearby stores.

It’s nice. 

From the corner of your eye, you spot Suguru and Satoru sitting at an outside table. They were talking amongst each other as they presumably waited for you, an empty spot only held by a cup of ice cream filled with your favorite flavor.

You drop down at the back of the store, brushing the dust off your body and making your way to where Suguru and Satoru are sitting.

“Jeez! Took you long enough.” Satoru rolls his eyes and immediately starts eating his ice cream. 

Suguru rolls his eyes. His posture is the same as always, a man spread and his arms crossed only breaking whenever he needs to eat his ice cream as well. 

Huffing, you kick Satoru underneath the table. Blowing a raspberry before taking a bite of the ice cream.

Good news, you can eat.

Bad news, you don’t taste a single thing.

Well… they don’t need to know that. They’re having fun, your inability to taste shouldn’t spoil that for them.

“Satoru, Yaga’s going to kill us if he finds us, you know?” Suguru huffs, keeping watch as Satoru looks through the yearbook of past students in Jujutsu High.

“Oh, hush!” Satoru kicks him in the knee, gasping when he finds a book tucked away behind several (thankfully sleeping) cursed corpses.

Satoru grins. “Found one.”

Suguru takes one final glance at the hallway before turning to see what Satoru dragged him here for in the dead of night (or early in the morning depending on the way you look at it).

They flip through the yearbook, snickering when they see what Yaga looked like two years ago. His buzz is shorter — if that’s even possible — but he still has his stone-cold resting face.

They make it to the back of the book, where there’s a special section dedicated to students who died before the year is over.

Really, Satoru was looking for what [Name] looked like when he was younger. He’s suspected you were older than the two of them since he never sees you during school.

“Satoru… is– is that…?” Suguru’s voice is weary as his finger points at a photo of some dude he recognizes.

A boy he recognizes.

It’s your picture, you look the same as you do now. “What’s he doing here? We see him all the time– right Suguru?” 

Suguru pales. “Is that why Shoko calls us crazy? [Name] isn’t alive—”

“Yes, he is!” Satoru almost yells. The book drops from his hands with a thump! small colors of blue peeking out from the bottom of his sunglasses.

“We can touch him, we can see him!” Satoru stomps his foot. “How is that possible if he’s dead, huh?!”

“He might be a cursed sp—”

“Then the curse alarm would’ve sounded!” Satoru’s voice sounds like it’s tethering over an edge. He’s confused– he’s known [Name] for as long as his first year, you, him, and Suguru are inseparable so why can Suguru accept the fact that you’re (supposedly) dead?!

“Let’s ask him then, is that okay?” Suguru puts his hand directly on Satoru’s shoulder, moving his thumb slightly for comfort. 

The albino takes a deep breath to calm himself. He shouldn’t be mad at Suguru, he loves Suguru.

So, he does what Suguru says. He lets Suguru lead the way to where they found you the first time. Close to the artifact warehouse but closer to the forest that surrounds Jujutsu High.

You’re there. Sitting on the grass as you stare longingly at a bird.

The sound of rocks crunching under their feet must give them away because in a second you lock eyes with Suguru, a soft smile on your face.

“Suguru!” Your voice is warm– comforting even. “What are you guys doing here? Aren’t you guys breaking curfew?”

“Are you dead?”

Satoru’s blunt question causes your body to freeze. He sounds angry. Maybe it’s because you didn’t tell them that you were a ghost, and they somehow found out themselves.

You weren’t all that popular when you were alive. You were an adequate sorcerer with mediocre abilities. Nothing that puts you out there– not like the two in front of you anyway.

“Y-Yeah?” You avert your eyes sheepishly. “I mean, I died a few years ago so—”

“Why didn’t you tell us anything?” Satoru cuts you off, the hand still holding Suguru’s tightens slightly.

Why didn’t you tell them? Because they’d stop hanging out with you? Were you scared you’d lose the only people who know you’re still technically here?

Because you’re bound to this school and have only ever left because your attachment somehow shifted to Satoru and Suguru.

Ah, that’s why.

You were scared to be left alone. That’s why every time you could, you’d rush over to where they were. Engage in conversation with them, and do mildly illegal things with them because they make you feel wanted.

“I guess… I was scared you two would stop hanging out with me..?” You let out a laugh even though nothing is funny. “You two are the only people who know I still exist, so I thought if you figured out I was a ghost…”

“— that we’d stop talking to you altogether?” Suguru finishes for you and you can’t help but nod.

“That’s stupid! We fight curses, why do you think being a ghost is going to stop anything?!” Satoru grabs you by the shoulder. You’re sure his grip hurts, but you can’t exactly feel pain anymore.

“Yeah, I know…” Your hand touches Satoru’s forearm. “Now that you know… it doesn’t change anything between us… right?”

The longer the silence stretches the more anxiety swallows you whole. If they stop talking to you or start avoiding you, you aren’t sure what you’ll be bound to.

Maybe that spot by the artifact warehouse. You’ll be forced to stay there– alone, with no one to talk to, no one to make you feel alive.

“Of course, not.” Suguru’s voice is warm, it makes something well up in your eyes.

“Sure, it might be weird since sorcerers can’t see you, but you’re our friend. You just have to promise not to keep life-altering secrets from us. Right, Satoru?”

Satoru huffs, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. “You owe me, stupid ghost boy!”

A smile stretches across your face and you’re unaware of the warmth rolling down your cheeks. “I’m glad.”

You won’t be alone.

You’ll be able to talk to them, now that they know your biggest secret.

You’ll have Satoru and Suguru, and they’ll have you.

Maybe being dead– or being a ghost isn’t so bad after all.

[anna-hawk]

Dexterity

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: You're having some quality time on your own when Frank pays you an unexpected visit.

Explicit 🔞 • WC: 4,1k

Tags and warnings: masturbation, finger fucking, teasing, praise kink, hand & finger kink, dirty talk

Always time for Coffee series

⚠️ If you follow me on AO3, this is NOT a new fic! ⚠️

A/N: This month will mark five years since I posted my very first Frank x Reader fic. I made a small post for the series a few years back, but never a dedicated one for the first ever fic. After the news and pics of getting Frank back today, even if it's only for a small role, I was thinking back to the time I got first inspired to write and actually post something for once. It's been quite the journey since then and this series has now 16 parts, but most importantly, this fic played a big part in me joining the beautiful fandom that I've been a part of these past 4 years and getting me to meet incredible people. So I figured, let's be nostalgic and officially post it on here too.

Ever since meeting Frank Castle, you’ve been obsessed with his hands.

You know they have killed numerous people and could do cruel things to the ones deserving it, but you also know how kind and gentle they can be. When he would come to your shop as Pete, you’d seen how he would talk to one of your employees' kid, the boy having always had a short fuse, and manage to calm the boy down by simply putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The couple of times when he’d handled the fragile elements of your ice cream maker while repairing it with those deft hands had also shown how gentle they could be. 

Yeah, you really have a thing for his hands and the guy himself.

The first time you'd met him, you'd met Pete Castiglione the construction worker, who’d been visiting your Café for the first time. You had followed the whole Punisher debacle on TV and had been very intrigued by the man’s story. Yet even though you'd thought that Pete looked familiar, it had taken you a few weeks of him coming in every other day and helping you out with an electrical problem, to realize who had actually been hiding under all this wild hair and beard. That had been the first time you had come into contact with his hands, too. He had taken off his baseball cap, looked at you to ask where the problem was while standing really close to you, and something in his expression had finally made it click inside you. You'd breathed out, “Frank Castle,” in stunned realization a moment later. In the next second, he'd had you by your throat and against the opposite wall, asking who’d sent you. You had been so startled that you’d just started laughing at the absurdity of you being able to hurt him. Okay, so maybe not really laughed as much as choked, since he’d had his fingers squeezing rather hard around your windpipe. But you'd managed to wheeze out your thoughts, and he'd released you enough for you to tell him why and how you had recognized him. He’d deemed you trustworthy enough, apparently, because he'd let go of you and apologized for overreacting.

You had promised him that you would never tell anyone about him that same evening.

As weeks passed, and he’d still come by your Café, you'd managed to build a rather close friendship. After a while, though, you'd noticed that he was coming by less and less until he stopped coming altogether, making you worried. Finally, after the day everyone had found out that Frank Castle was still alive through live TV, he'd come to your shop when you were closing. You had been even more scared for him since the news and beyond relieved to see him unscathed. You had been touched to learn that he’d wanted to make sure that no one had found out that you knew about him and come to hurt you to get to him. He'd also told you that he would have to lie low for a while. You'd suggested that he should come to your place and hide there. He had declined, too worried about what could happen to you. Still, as you'd accepted his concern, you'd told him that he could come to yours whenever he needed to, no matter the time of the day or the night. You had never been more glad about giving him your address because weeks later, he had come to hide for the night and had done so several nights until the whole thing with Billy Russo had been over.

Nowadays, he still shows up every now and again. Mostly nights because he has some business to take care of, or just to say hi. You both grab a drink (mostly coffee) and chat. You enjoy his company a lot. Okay, more than a lot. You’ve had a thing for the Punisher even before meeting Frank, but since knowing the man himself, you couldn’t help being attracted to Frank and his beautiful large hands and agile fingers. Among other things. You don't know where he stands with romantic or even only physical relationships considering his past, but you do kind of flirt with one another. You know that Frank likes you a lot; otherwise he wouldn’t come to see you regularly. But even if you want him, badly, you feel that it’s more like bantering to him and nothing more.

That doesn’t stop you from dreaming or fantasizing about him and the filthy things that you’d love him to do to you or you to him, though. And that's actually exactly what you’re doing right now. You’re lying on your bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, one hand inside your sleeping shorts while your breaths come harder and faster. You’ve been teasing yourself for what feels like an hour, fingers alternating between circling your clit languidly and pushing three deep into you to mimic the size of two of his, getting yourself closer and closer to one spectacular orgasm. You’ve got your eyes closed, face flushed, bottom lip between your teeth, while your middle finger is rubbing faster and faster over your slippery clit. Harsh breaths leave you as you picture Frank spreading you wide with his fingers and whispering dirty nothings into your ear. You’re right there, on the brink, ready to fall, when there’s a resounding knock at your door.

You yelp in surprise and flinch so hard that you nearly hit yourself in the face with how fast you remove your hand from between your legs. You’re trying to get your bearings back, your body still trembling from being strung high for so long and not getting what it wants, when there is another knock. You groan in frustration and get up on wobbly legs to go check on who wants to see you so badly at that time of night. You look through the peephole and gasp when you see Frank’s face. He'd been here only last week, and he usually shows up only once a month at best, so you’re completely thrown when you open your door to the smirking man.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he greets in his signature gruff and deep voice, upper body pressed lazily against the door jamb.

He’s looking calm and carrying no signs of a recent fight. Meaning that this isn’t an emergency call. Good. He’s wearing dark jeans and a charcoal Henley with his usual combat boots, three days worth of stubble on his face. He looks mouthwatering, and you valiantly try not to let anything show on your face.

“Was in the neighborhood visitin' Curtis and thought I could come check on you too. Sorry it’s so late,” he continues, confirming your earlier thoughts on there being no immediate danger.

“You’ve come by way later, Frank,” you remind him with a snort and motion for him to follow you inside.

You notice that your voice came out a bit strained, and hope that he doesn’t see how your knees are still shaking after the near orgasm and the effect his unexpected presence has on you. Well, turns out that you’re out of luck. 

“You okay there?” He asks, as he follows you into the kitchen.

You groan inside, of course he noticed. You still try to play it off.

“What? Of course, I’m okay.” You hate how your laugh sounds off. You’re usually better at faking stuff like that.

“Yeah?” he says, coming to stand right before you to give you a once over. “'cause you’re all flushed and breathin' kinda hard.” He even lifts one hand to feel your temperature, but you dodge it and turn to the sink, reaching over it to get two coffee mugs out of a cupboard. Anything to avoid him see you blush even more.

“I’m fine, Frank, don’t worry… Coffee?” You desperately hope that he’s going to let it go. You need to put yourself back together and slow your breathing.

“Can never refuse your coffee.”

You breathe a small sigh of relief when he seems to accept your answer and smile at how fond he sounds of your coffee making skills. You’re about to reach for the coffee beans when he says, “Seriously, though, am I makin' you this nervous or what's goin' on?”

You put your hands back down and groan in defeat, hanging your head.

“Could you just let it go, Frank? Please?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and you don’t turn around to look at him while you wait.

“Did I interrupt somethin'?” He finally says, amusement clear in his voice. Damn him and his perceptiveness.

You hide your face in your hands and whimper in embarrassment.

“Oh God, just shut up, Frank!” Your voice is muffled by your hands. He barks out a laugh, making you lower your hands again. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Hey, hey, `s okay Sweetheart, there’s nothin' to be embarrassed about,” he tells you gently, though you can tell that he’s still grinning, the bastard.

“Yes well…” You still refuse to turn around, even though you can hear him move closer behind you.

“'could always show me, y'know,” he says, and even though the words hit you to the core because the thought alone sends a new wave of deep arousal through you, you can’t place his tone. 

That's why you do the only thing that comes to mind and gasp, turning around to backhand him in the chest and play into the joke.

“Oh, fuck you, asshole.”

You meet his eyes and see that there’s something there, lying just under the teasing glint. You suck in a breath, holding it in, while your heart beats a nervous tattoo against your rib cage.

“Or… I could help 'course,” he finally says, voice low, after what feels like minutes and not seconds, his piercing eyes never leaving yours.

You stare at him, still barely daring to breathe. The idea of him helping you out nearly sends you to your knees. Eventually, you exhale in a snort because come on, he doesn’t mean it, and go back to facing the counter, taking the coffee beans out of the cupboard.

“Yeah, right… Let’s get back to that coffee, yeah?” Bonus points for sounding offhand.

You hear him taking another step and then see his hands coming to rest on the counter, one on each side of you, effectively caging you in. His voice is a rough whisper against your left ear, making you gasp.

“Is that a no?”

Your hands, now inches apart from Frank’s, are gripping the marble beneath them, hard. You close your eyes and swallow.

“Don’t play games with me, Frank.” Your voice goes deeper and colder in warning. You might not expect anything romantic-wise from him, but you won’t be made a fool of.

“‘m not playin', Baby.”

To confirm his words, he glides his nose along your nape and bites you lightly on the juncture between neck and shoulder.

You moan, all need. That nickname. He's never used it before, but it does something to you. Babe you’ve never liked. But Baby? The way Frank says it, just gets to you. You incline your head to the side, a silent surrender, and feel him grin against your skin. Your eyes are closed so that you don’t see his right hand leave the counter, but feel it settle on your hip and slowly glide down your thigh to the hem of your shorts. To your dismay, his mouth leaves your neck.

“Spread your legs for me, Sweetheart,” he rumbles into your ear.

You oblige instantly, parting your legs and leaning slightly forward to accommodate him. Frank hums in approval. You can feel his fingers on your skin now, just beneath the hem of your shorts, slowly making their way under your right butt cheek and to your center, the touch light and measured. How is it that he's barely touching you and making your breathing speed up again? You try to relax your hands because you’re still gripping the hard kitchen surface like crazy; anything to anchor you. But Frank chooses that moment to push the short’s to the side, hooking it between your ass cheeks and the left side of your outer lips, to grant him easier access. One large finger slides through your still wet folds. One lazy pass through your slit and up to your clit, and your hands lock into place again, a harsh gasp leaving your mouth.

“Shit, already so fuckin’ wet, huh? Guess I did interrupt somethin' good.”

You say nothing, you can’t right now.

Frank keeps up his slow and torturous pace, sometimes staying over your clit and circling it with a featherlight touch that has you nearly screaming in frustration. You try to get a bit more pressure by pushing down on his finger every time he does this, but he just goes back to teasing your slit. Your arms are trembling from the strain, and you murmur a nearly silent plea for more. He seems to hear you though because he chuckles kindly and applies enough pressure for you to moan in satisfaction for a few seconds, before he stops again, too soon. When you fantasize about him, you usually picture him as the teasing kind of lover, but your imagination could never have reached this level.

“Tell me… What you been thinkin' about earlier?”

You’re kind of put out to hear that his voice is still steady, so you decide on the truth. In for a penny and all that.

“You,” you breathe softly.

His movements stop, and you’re satisfied with his reaction, when you realize that you might have overshared. His hand is moving again a moment later, and he growls deep in his throat. He presses his chest to your back, left hand coming up from the counter to grab your jaw and pull it to the side to press biting kisses into your neck and shoulder, making you keen.

“Me, huh? Fuck, now I really want ya to show me sometime…,” he pants roughly into your neck, index finger rubbing tighter and harder over you. “And what was I doin’?”

You have to concentrate to answer him, the pressure on your clit so delicious now. Your voice ends up breaking on each word.

“Something… like… that…”

“Something?”

“Finger-fucking… me.”

He inhales sharply, and you feel him adjust his position behind you, his clothed erection brushing against your ass for a second.

“Something like that?”

Two of his large fingers plunge deep into you, filling you to the brim. You cry out in bliss and go up on your tiptoes for a second as your body rises. Your back bows backward, resulting in your head coming to rest on his shoulder, while your eyes close, and you catch your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Fuck, you feel so good for me, Baby,” he groans into your temple. He withdraws slightly before pushing back all the way in, setting a steady rhythm as the way his name keeps falling from your lips keeps him going.

The hand on your jaw slackens after a while and travels down your neck, over your collarbone and a covered nipple. He’s stroking down your belly and to the junction of your thighs before he finally stops directly over your clit. He rolls it between index and thumb with just the right amount of too much and not enough pressure, or flicks quickly over it repeatedly to keep you on your toes and not know what to expect next. The rhythm of his two hands are completely different. Where his left hand is teasing you slowly but mercilessly, his right hand still has two fingers fucking you fast and deep, making you whimper brokenly. His fingers feel absolutely incredible, yet you know that it’s to keep you on the edge of release. You love and hate it at the same time. The dual sensation has you removing your head from his shoulder to take your weight with your hands on the counter again, leaning forward a bit more to push your ass out and give him even better access.

Frank grunts his approval and keeps up the pace. You feel him resting his forehead on the nape of your neck.

“Holy shit, girl, look at ya takin' my fingers so perfectly,” he says gruffly. You squeeze down on said fingers at the praise, resulting in a groan of appreciation from him.

Eventually, no matter how long he’d intended to keep you on the brink, you’ve been strung so high for so long, that your orgasm is building inexorably, your body ready to crash back down again. His continuous praise is speeding it up as well. Your legs start to shake and a light sheen of sweat is covering your skin. Your harsh breaths are intermingled with moans and gasps of please mores and yesyesyes.

“Frank, please,” you beg one last time. “Please!”

“I gotcha, Sweetheart,” Frank answers finally and starts upping his pace on your clit.

“Yes!” you hiss, elated.

But Frank is apparently not completely done with you because he removes his two fingers from inside you, only to push back but with a third one, this time. You can only cry out in surprise and deep pleasure as he gives you half a second to adjust, before he starts an intense rhythm again. You’ve never felt this full with only fingers, and you can now feel as your release starts curling hotter and tighter in your belly.

“F-f-f-frank, I’m so, so close,” you manage to breathe out.

Frank keeps a litany of words spilling out of his mouth against your neck, “So fuckin' perfect for me” and, “Takin' me so beautifully”.

Suddenly, you're right there again, just like before, ready to take the leap. You feel the shivers running through your whole body and centering where Frank is rubbing tighter and tighter circles. Frank lifts his head from yours and growls deeply into your ear. “Now come for me, Baby. Come on my fingers.”

“Oh fuck, Frank!” You mewl, high-pitched, and that’s it. Everything in you snaps at his words. The intensity of this so long to come orgasm hits you like a freight train driven by Frank Castle. Your body curves back against his, your head back on his shoulder, facing his neck. Your hold on the kitchen worktop becomes deadly again after having slackened somewhat, and you cry out in pure, unadulterated bliss. You dimly feel Frank stopping the fingers inside you and taking them out to circle your waist and push you even more back against him. His focus is on his left hand, index finger still stroking your bud with intense precision, prolonging your release.

As you’re slowly coming down, your body begins to tremble and Frank tightens his hold on you to prevent your knees from giving out on you. You finally release the worktop, fingers a bit stiff, and put them over Frank’s arm to hold on to. His finger hasn’t stop working you, though, and while it’s sending you nice aftershocks, which have you jerking and gasping against him, you finally reach down with one hand to grab his wrist to stop his movements and rest it against your waist with the other.

“Too much,” you mumble into his throat.

You stand like that for a while, both not saying anything while you try to get your breathing back under control. As the seconds trickle by, and you process the last fifteen minutes, you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up and escapes your lips.

“What?” Frank asks, and you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“That was so not what I was expecting from your visit… Not that I mind, of course,” you grin, all relaxed limbs and all.

Frank chuckles, “‘m a man full of surprises.”

You reach down to tug at your shorts and make yourself presentable again, and snicker.

“That you are,” you say and turn around in his arms to look at him, your hands coming to rest on his strong chest.

Your heart misses a beat when you see his face. He’s a bit flushed, and he’s still breathing rather deeply, but it’s his eyes that capture your full attention. They are still dark with arousal, the gaze intense and fixed on yours. Frank’s lips break out in a smirk as he catches you staring. You swallow and clear your throat as you finally take in the hard outline of his dick against your body. You’re about to open your mouth to inquire about it, but he beats you to it.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it, Sweetheart.”

“But-”

“‘m good,” he cuts in again, kissing your temple to take the sting out of his rebuttal before letting go of you.

You stay quiet and lean back against the counter as you nod vaguely. Frank takes a few steps backwards away from you, one hand coming up to rake through his hair and down his neck in a nervous gesture. He doesn’t look at you, so you decide to break the silence. You’re still floating on your high a bit and don’t want things to get uncomfortable between you two.

“So… coffee?”

You see him take a small breath and look back at you with a smile. His eyes are kind but unreadable, like they so often are when he’s thinking about something.

“Yeah, I’d like that, thanks.”

You smile and get back to grab the things you need, Frank going to sit on the couch. The silence is only broken by the coffee grinder for a small while. Your apartment is one large space with an open kitchen that gives on a big living area. A comfortable couch and a coffee table, that are framed by two armchairs, face a flat screen TV and huge floor to ceiling windows. Your bedroom with en suite bathroom is on the opposite side from the kitchen. You adore this place. From where you’re preparing the two mugs, you only have to turn your head to the left to see Frank sitting on the couch, arms thrown over the back of it, legs spread wide. He stares unblinkingly at the darkness and buildings outside your windows. You bite your lip and sigh softly. Once you’re done, one mug with strong dark coffee for Frank in one hand and in the other one with decaf because you definitely don’t need any more excitement tonight, you make your way over to him.

You walk around the back of the couch to sit at the opposite end, your back resting against the armrest. You extend your hand with Frank’s mug toward him. He blinks down at it for a second before taking the mug. He turns his upper body to face you, and you relax a little more at the half smile, half smirk that he usually wears and that he gives you now.

“Thanks,” he says gratefully and hums in pleasure when he takes his first sip.

“Anytime,” you chuckle warmly. You had been proud to find out that Frank had initially come to your Café because he had heard people talking about the quality of your coffee.

You sit there without saying anything, but this time it’s a comfortable silence, both savoring your drinks.

“So how’s Curtis?” You inquire after several long minutes.

It’s an honest question, but you also want to show Frank that you can still talk like you used to. You’ve never met Curtis, but you’ve heard a lot about him and how he has always been there for Frank. That alone means a lot in your book. You end up talking for a small amount of time, conversation becoming easier, before Frank decides to bid you goodnight. You walk him back to the door, and he envelops you in a hug that you hadn’t been expecting at this point. He kisses you on a temple like he often does, making you smile into his neck fondly before returning the kiss but on one cheek instead.

“Take care,” he rasps into your ear, before letting go of you and opening the door.

“Be careful,” you counter with raised eyebrows and a meaningful look.

Frank chuckles and nods. “I'll see what I can do.”

He walks off to the elevator, which opens for him immediately when he pushes the call button, and steps inside. He lifts a hand in a wave as the doors slide closed in front of him, and then he’s gone.

You close your door and lean against it, heaving a heavy sigh. You don’t really know what to feel right now. You’ve just had one of the most memorable orgasms of your life, but still don’t know where you stand with Frank. If you go back to how things were before tonight, that’s fine with you. You’re kind of afraid that you might have scared him off, but the way he behaved before leaving makes you feel confident enough that you haven’t. The ball is definitely in Frank’s court now. You would have to wait and see.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested. 

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights. 

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly. 

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort. 

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly. 

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it. 

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty. 

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside. 

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him. 

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant. 

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?” 

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm. 

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time. 

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :) 

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet. 

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :) 

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email. 

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :) 

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection. 

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out. 

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely. 

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner. 

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table. 

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair. 

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you. 

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve. 

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up. 

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction. 

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning. 

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?” 

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk. 

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully. 

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily. 

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where. 

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly. 

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly. 

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious. 

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root. 

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you. 

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine. 

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it. 

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing. 

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement. 

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly. 

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you. 

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.” 

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you. 

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh. 

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod. 

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest. 

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response. 

“Yes.” 

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right. 

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.” 

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch. 

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

 “You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly. 

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him. 

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you. 

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so. 

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another. 

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

[ivys-garden]

I, like many of yall, have noticed a vocal minority of people showing there support for Wilbursoot, going as far as to attack shubble and her supporters. In this post I'll go through the main points I've seen them argue with and explain why I believe that they are all wrong.

“Shubble was the real abuser” - No. If she was, William would have spoken up. There is no evidence for this, well, that isn't faked or saying one thing is another (like the guy saying a pic of will crying was because of shubble or the guy trying to pass a stream of a completely different girl of as shubble abusing will… live. On stream. Yah, think we would have heard of that before now.)

“She has no proof” - genuinely fuck of. In domestic abuse cases there won't always be hard proof, that's one of the reasons the police struggle to do anything about it. If a wife is struck by a husband and it leaves no mark that doesn't mean it didn't happen “why didn't she show the bruises” have you guys ever been bruised? Bruises heal quickly, and she doesn't have any to show since the allegations came out after their break up, all the bruises would have healed. “Why didn't she take photos at the time?” Look at it this way, if I punch you across the face you will have a lot of thoughts, none of them will be “I should take a photo of this so people belive me what I say it happened”

(Also don't pretend that people wouldn't just say the evidence was fake if she did have pictures)

Oh and she does have evidence, the fact William admitted to it.

“She just did it for attention” - bitch, shubble doesn't need attention she was doing great. Just because you never heard of her didn't mean she was some underground indie youtuber, she didn't need to lie to get attention. Also lying about domestic abuse is not a good way to do this since it's really easy to disprove. The other party would come out instantly to tell everyone the truth. William didn't do that because shubble WAS telling the truth.

“Her story changed” - no. It didn't. Even the idea that she changed whether or not wilbur bruised with the bites or made her bled (both of which are still bad, btw) is made up, she never said that, as was clarified by shubble herself

“She encouraged death threats” - She openly decouraged death threats. Saying she was like: “everyone go and tell people to kill themselves” is literally putting words in her mouth

Also, this by no means goes for everyone, but arguing about death threats while, wilbur hasn't told his supports not to send death threats and that wilburs supporters have been saiding threats to shubble and her fans while condemning the few shubble fans who sent death threats, is kinda stupid

(Also this is by no means the main point but I have seen people who support wilbur literally begging for death threats, soooooooo)

(Oh aslo I was mistaken in the early version where I said shubble had implied that she didn't belive wilbur could change, that was another misconception and I'm sorry for spreading it. Shubble does belive that people can change IF they put in the work to do so)

Also remember, William has not been shown to actually change yet. He still hasn't even given shubble an apology that takes proper accountability, when he does that, apologies to everyone else he's wronged, and puts in the effort to actually be better moving forward, then we can forgive him. But at the moment he has not shown that.

So until then: support shubble. Belive victims. Raise awareness for these issues in the gaming space (this has been going on for a long time). And don't engage with people who make up evidence to support there parasocial relationships, don't send death threats (obviously, because that's wrong) but also don't engage in any other way. This will be my last post on this subject. Move on from William and the support for him will die down when they realise there's no one to disagree with, and then William, Shubble and all of us can move past this and into the future as a (hopefully) better space

[ladymischievous]

A Few Thoughts on Alastor in Ep 5

-o-o-o-As a warning, spoilers ahead.-o-o-o-

Something I noticed, and it really hit home here in Episode 5, but is it just me, or is Alastor more tolerant/kinder to women over men? It's very clear and detailed throughout the episode and a bit prior to the series' official release.

Alastor has problems with Lucifer right off the bat and becomes outright antagonistic. We know that Lucifer has problems and that there's strain in his relationship with Charlie. She explains part of it to the rest of the cast, except Alastor isn't there to hear it. In fact, he noticeably comes into things a little bit later, as the cast is prepping for Lucifer's visit.

Now, one could easily say that he's possible gleeful at the thought of stirring up trouble, but I don't think that's the case at all. In the latter pic Alastor looks more agitated. His smile is more of a sneer, with that slight curl to his lips and the narrowing gaze. This agitation is even more apparent when Lucifer arrives.

It's a very different look from his usual smile, and afterwards the back and forth and Alastor finally saying 'Fuck you.' to Lucifer's face is said in such a tone of disdain, Alastor has a problem with Lucifer.

Now in their duet, Alastor is clearly trying to get under Lucifer's skin. He can see that there's cracks and strains in their relationship and prods at them to get at Lucifer. He's cozying up to Charlie and hitting where it hurts. But events afterwards brings up the question of whether or not there might be a part of him that might care on some level. Maybe not in a typical way, but it might still be there.

It's after Mimzy's arrival that we start to see different sides to Alastor. With the way he speaks and behaves with Mimsy, it feels like he has a friendship with her. She even refers to how Alastor likes to take care of her. It's a side of Alastor that we really haven't seen so far, there's a genuine feel in how he interacts with Mimzy. And even when he asks her to leave. He makes the point about her bringing danger and him protecting the hotel. Mimzy calls him out about how he can't possibly actually care. Up to this point, Alastor has made references to his own agenda and being their solely for his own amusement and enjoying to watch people fail. But that wasn't said here, to Mimzy who knows him on a more personal level. It's not something he'd really have to hide from her because she seems to know what he's about. But he makes no reference to anything like that this time. Alastor even mentions to Mimzy that if she's actually looking to try for redemption she'd be allowed to stay but knowing that's not 'her style', he insists she leaves.

After Alastor's prior interaction with Husker, we're reminded that Alastor can be vicious when he feels insulted. Mimzy then insults him to his face. She's very comfortable around him, even after him displaying how dangerous he actually is against the Loan Sharks.

As of writing this when episodes 5 and 6 were released, this appears to be a pattern. It's especially more noticeable when you have characters like Adam, especially with him appearing in episode 6. Alastor seems to at least have more patience or (for lack of a better word) care with women most of the time.

I remember a comic called 'A Day in the Afterlife' where this was also a noticeable detail.

I know there's a theory that Alastor has a connection with Lilith, and I support it as well. I am looking forward to seeing more and just what that connection is.

There is something very strange going on with Lilth. We already know what she looks like:

There's no attempts to hide these old family photos. But in the second musical number, Lilith is shown like this:

If Alastor has connections with Lilith specifically, it could explain some of his immediate issues towards Lucifer. Especially if he considers Lucifer as the one at fault in their split.

Another little detail about Alastor and Lilith potentially having a connection with each other, is her talent for singing.

Music and Radio are very important to each other after all.

Anyway, those were just my thoughts. I hope you enjoyed.

[wildpeachfarm]

have you seen cate’s priv tweets? if not i can send screenshots she’s beefing with twitter stan’s calling out her hypocrisy and it’s……

ok my mini ranting is going to be under the cut because all the pics make it long

This girl has such an inability to face criticism it's fascinating like I think the point went right over her head. Like do i think some of the wording in the post was harsh and probably unnecessary? Sure.

but no one said people had to exclusively 'publicly defend' george?? But maybe don't bullshit with "oh you don't know them behind the scenes" when you were actively hanging out with them prior and then continued to hang out with a few of them afterwards... it makes you look performative right longside everyone else who made giant, exaggerative claims about the situation and then was a hypocrite about other stuff.

She never once called george a "friend" during this whole thing or said she was "disappointed"- it was all venom from her so idk where she thinks she conveyed any of that.

also this is so interesting because she is always shoving her nose into shit that doesn't involve her and making these big statements about stuff so like...yeah obviously that it giving people room to critique you, that's just how the internet works.

and this is just another example of her just going "nuh uh" and not actually taking ANYTHING they said into consideration or providing literally anything to refute it in terms of things she has said, etc. so like...this isn't a good explanation. I just wish she would actually think about some of this and the core of the message people are trying to convey instead of getting mad at the mere thought of criticism for your actions in a sensitive situation and how that looks to other people.

[johnslittlespoon]

curtbuckbucky nightclub au .* :☆ﾟ. ☽

open for drabble/more pics! <3

alright, i've never done a proper 'intro' post for a fic/au i have in mind, but this one has been rotting in my brain for ages and i know there's no way i'm not gonna write something for it eventually so here goes, bear with me <3 made a lil edit (took me fucking hours to collect enough stock footage lmfao) to go along with it too >:)

a modern au where college student curt is a regular at a new–ish queer nightclub, showing up every friday night without fail to dance his heart out, his way of de–stressing at the end of every week and getting his pent up energy out. he's the prettiest little thing, dresses up so fun– some nights he throws on dresses or crop tops with skirts or short shorts when he's feeling it, other nights he goes for more of a relaxed baggy pants and flowy linen button up type of vibe– always with the same pair of scuffed up sneakers on for ease of dancing.

the bartenders and other regulars adore their bubbly little club bunny, always looking out for him, doting on him with free drinks and food. and even if some of them eye curt like he's dinner when he's out on the floor swaying his hips, eyes closed to fully lose himself in the music, the glitter on his eyelids and cheekbones catching the lights just right, curt's not there for any of that. he dances with people occasionally, he's confident and carefree and likes the attention and it makes him giggle when he catches newcomers staring, doesn't mind a wandering hand here and there, but he never goes home with anyone. the same routine, every friday, dancing until his dark waves are curling damp with sweat against his temples and his black eyeshadow is smudged and he leaves to make the walk back to the flat he shares with a few roomies.

enter john and gale, longterm boyfriends who sometimes like to go out clubbing and find someone pretty to bring home for a fun time, only an open relationship in that sense– they have no interest in actually dating other people, both adamant that it's no strings attached, too head over heels for each other to have eyes for anyone else anyway.

they decide to check out a club they haven't been to yet, usually sticking to the tried and true ones, but a couple of their friends recommend it, so they give it a go one friday night. they've barely sat down at the bar with their drinks when they see a boy who, john comments to gale, looks like the 'energizer bunny' (gets a snort out of curt when he tells him so in the future.) even once they're buzzed enough to head out onto the dance floor together, neither of them can take their eyes off of the bundle of energy, mesmerized.

they both know the other is equally enamoured with the boy, drinking up all the glitter and bouncy curls and blissed out smiles, already knowing they just have to have him– the prettiest thing they've ever seen. curt's confused when they approach him, because he's noticed them too, has been admiring from afar, but he's also noticed their hands and lips all over each other, dancing much too close and comfortably to not be a couple. but john purrs out "we just like to have a little fun every now and then sweetheart, don't you?"

and no, not really, he doesn't. usually a night of exhausting himself dancing is his idea of fun, not ever looking for anything else, not finding most guys worth his time. but john and gale sweet talk him just right, spend time actually getting to know him when he agrees to let them buy him a drink at the bar, and fuck, they're both the hottest things he's seen walk into the club in a long time, and they're giving him all their attention? he decides that maybe he'll be brave and flirt back. despite his confidence and lack of caring what other people think about him, he's so shy and easily flustered when someone he's actually into makes the moves on him, doesn't even know what to do with himself when he realizes he's blushing at their compliments and the combination of their heavy gazes on him.

obviously they all get each other worked up as the night goes on, and curt goes home with them and gets his world rocked, spoiled and pillow princess–ed and showered in praise, not at all what he expects hook–ups to be like after having only been with people he's been dating. he expects to walk back home after since they all live in the same vicinity of downtown, tries to ignore his wobbly legs when he finally crawls out of bed, gets dragged back down by gale for one last messy breathless makeout while john gets him an uber before curt can protest or offer to pay.

normally john and gale don't get the numbers of their one night stands, but they want to make sure he gets home safe, and they can both gauge how the other is feeling and they know they'll want to see him again if they're lucky enough for curt to say yes, so john puts his number into curt's phone and tells him "text when you're home safe, yeah? or, y'know, text whenever you want." and curt isn't sure if this is john saying they both want to see him again, because he's dense and shy and they made it clear beforehand that they're in a closed relationship, but next friday he texts to let them know he'll be at the club again, and john and gale tell him they'll be there, the three of them going home together for a second time that night, and they fall into a routine from then on.

curt gets giddy every friday, dolling himself up extra pretty for the two men, flushed at their attention every time and so thrilled to dress up for someone other than himself for once. he can already feel himself going all heart–eyes for them after the second or third time they hook up, but he knows where he stands, and he's having fun experimenting for the first time and having two experienced, sweet guys show him a good time every week, so he doesn't want to jeopardize that by getting his feelings involved.

little does he know that john and gale are falling head over heels too for this sweet energetic boy, loving how much he spices up their lives, both in the bedroom and out, realizing their flat feels so quiet now on the nights where they don't take curt home with them. so that leads to some serious conversations to see if they're on the same page about getting to know curt better, both of them learning how to navigate this new territory because neither of them expected to want to bring someone else into their world like this. they agree they'd like to take curt out on a cute date, during the daytime for once, to properly test the waters and see how curt feels– of course he slots into their lives perfectly, as if he's been there all along. <3

but along the way: lots of slow burn, miscommunication, endless filthy smut, curt trying to balance college and work and friends with his newfound feelings for john and gale, john and gale getting dragged to raves and festivals by their always adventurous bf, city night–life juxtaposed by early morning domesticity, etc etc.

this has been floating around in my head for a couple weeks since i got this vision of 2012–stalker–era barry with eyeshadow and glitter stuck in my brain and thus a whole universe/plot spawned from it. honestly would mostly be pwp, but would love to write a proper fic for it anyway eventually, each chapter littered with filth, obviously LOL. i have so many thoughts and so many little scenarios planned out in my head already... these three have me in a chokehold.

i need to make proper intro/drabble posts like these for my other aus too aghhh it just takes so longggg because i get carried away with the drabble and then i have to find the perfect clips for edits and the perfect pics to tie it all together and suddenly i've spent half a day on one post but. someday <3 leaving!bikeriders au next surely! thx for reading hope u enjoy this version of the boys and hopefully i'll have time to write it soon!

all posts about this au will be under #curtbuckbucky nightclub au :-)

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Deborah Kerr (Bonjour Tristesse, An Affair to Remember, The King and I)— For several decades she held the record for most Oscar nominations without a win (6 in total), and she was a prolific leading lady throughout the 40s and 50s. She's best known today for the romance An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant, and as the governess in The King and I. Many people have this erroneous perception of her as extremely prim, proper, and virginal, but this could not be further from the truth. When she first came to Hollywood under MGM she was typecast into boring decorative roles, but broke sexual boundaries for herself and Hollywood generally in From Here to Eternity, when she made out (horizontally!) with Burt Lancaster (on top of him!) in the famous Beach Scene. She went on to play many sexually conflicted women, a character type that would define most of her post- Eternity work. She continued to break Hays Code boundaries with Tea and Sympathy, which addresses homosexuality/homophobia head-on, and even did a topless scene in The Gypsy Moths 1969!! One of the only classic stars to do so. She deserves a more nuanced and frankly a hotter legacy than she currently has!!!

Hend Rostom (Cairo Station, Eshaat Hob)— Egyptian movie star called the "Marilyn Monroe of the East", need anyone say more

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Hend Rostrom:

Deborah Kerr:

I think she was one of my first crushes before I realised I was bi in The King and I when I watched it as a kid honestly. The kissing scene in From Here to Eternity is iconic for a reason. Actually tried to learn the accents for the characters she was playing if they weren't English which is more than pretty much anyone else was doing then. Played very restrained characters who frequently seemed to be desperate not to be so restrained. Did horror movies without venturing into hagsploitation tropes. Gave Marni Nixon the credit she deserved for her share of the singing in The King and I.

Anne Larsen is a peak late 1950s bisexual with big MILF energy. Have you seen the behind the scenes pics of her wearing a suit?? Have you????? Vote Deb as Anne Larsen.

Nominated for an Oscar six (6) times and never won, but besides her having actual talent (hot), and besides her looking Like That (very hot, also beautiful), she was always playing women who are, like, crazy repressed. Which makes it fun and easy for me to read these characters as queer. Icon!!!! You know what's hot? Playing ambiguously gay in vintage Hollywood.

Her face and talent and body, yes, ofc, duh. But also!!! Her HANDS!!!! I may be but a simple lesbian, but she is the best hactor (hand actor) that ever lived and that's HOT! For propriety's sake I feel I must redact a large portion of my commentary on this subject. Anyway. She's hot in her most famous roles (mentioned above), and also some of her sexiest hacting is on display in An Affair to Remember (her hand on the bannister when Cary Grant kisses her off-screen??? HELLO???), Tea and Sympathy (when she's trying to persuade Tom not to go out and she keeps flexing her hands like she wants to reach out to him but can't??? ALLY BEHAVIOR! WE STAN!), and The Innocents (which opens and closes with extended shots of her hands bc director Jack Clayton was also an ally and he did that for ME). Much of her appeal also lies in the fact that she often played deeply repressed characters and you know what's hot? When those uptight characters finally unravel. It's sexy. It's cathartic. It's erotic. Plus, she's beautiful to look at in both black & white and technicolor, and the more of her films you see, the more you can't help but fall in love!

Literally is in thee most famously sexy scene of all time (or maybe just during the hays code era which is what we're talking about HELLO), which is the beach scene with Burt Lancaster in from here to eternity. To quote a tumblr post of a screen capture of a tweet of a video of joy behar on the view: "y'know, there used to be movies where they were kissing on the beach... From Here to Eternity. They're kissing-- Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr are Kissing on the Beach and then the WAVES crash!! You know exactly what they did!"

She might have a reputation of being chaste and virginal or whatever, but we all know it's the quiet ones who are certifiable FREAKS