#i very much like the reprise

[just-clownin-around]

I watched Tangled last Friday with my family.

It's Monday now and the reprise of Mother Knows Best is still playing in my head.

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 26

someday if i can figure out how the hell people get these things made i would like to do some little destiny & malice acrylic charms. i think those are so fun. and while i mostly want them for Myself i figure that if i DID figure out the process, i should maybe open up the option to anyone else that might want them, soooo...

informal poll: if i figure out how all that works, would any of y'all be into that, and approximately how many of you?

[hammill-goes-fogwalking]

your thoughts on The Quiet Zone/ Pleasure Dome??

it’s easy to tell how important it is for me just by saying there’re 10 songs from it in the latest spotify wrapped & it’s definitely my most listened album this year

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

actually the fact that Heathers is technically a comedy — both in the classical sense, and in the marketed genre as a dark comedy — makes it sadder. because it's played for funnies, for the drama, for the fatalistic ridiculousness and facial expressions and ironically timed theme music. everyone is a caricature, except for Veronica. she's the one human in a cast of Muppets. and she is very, very real. and she is very, very broken. and because it's a comedy, because it's almost a parody, the weight of the plot is largely ignored. there's a tragic shade to it, in opposition to its narrative function, because Veronica is expected to play into that narrative. she's the real one, and the narrative continues to treat her like a cartoon, like a Muppet. but she's the human, and she's not given the weight of that. she's a final girl, the one left to tell the story, but the narrative doesn't allow for her. the narrative insists on standing by its genre, giving a hollow laugh and fading to black with the comical image of a girl lighting a cigarrette off of a suicide bomb. it's intentionally a John Hughes film gone sour, and the upturned ending is a facade. Heathers is a comedy, yes, but there's a tinge of tragedy to it as well, if you just look beyond the surface

[stinkrascal]

this is my most controversial opinion but you couldnt pay me to give lilith vatore those ugly short bangs

[evilroachindustrial]

Complaining about Destiny 2 being free-to-play is very funny since F2P D2 is basically a particularly large demo without a playtime cap.

It's a little sampler platter of content.

[tiixij]

sorry for talking about Percy Jackson and also Disney but I can't believe they casted lmm to play Hermes literally he cannot do it. If they intend to keep Hermes the same in book 5 lmm CANNOT play him he's impossible to take seriously find someone else NOW!!!

[psychotrenny]

I kinda hate it when ostensible leftists throw around meaningless Liberal criticisms. Like you can just condemn a state for the cruel and unjustifiable actions it's committing. Like Israel is an Imperialist Settler Colonist state that's been exploiting, ethnically cleansing and committing the genocide of indigenous Palestinians for it's entire existence with the intensity of this violence increasing in recent months as reprisals for recent acts of Palestinian resistance. It's not a fucking "illegitimate" or "terrorist" state because that's meaningless.

Whether a state is recognised as legitimate or not by under the Imperialist dominated world order means literally nothing about the morality of continued existence. And for what it's worth only 15% of UN member nations do not recognise the Sovereignty of Israel, meaning that by most definitions of the word it is in fact a legitimate nation; to be clear this demonstrates the uselessness of "legitimacy" as a concept rather than the righteousness of Israel's continued existence. Meanwhile the use of the word "Terrorism" has heavy connotation of non-state actors; while at it's broadest people may define it as "use of violence and intimidation to achieve political aims", but if such a broad definition was used in practice the term would be diluted beyond all meaning. The word "terrorism" is rarely used for the actions of states except as an extreme pejorative. The phrase "Terrorist State" is basically only used by Imperialists as a label they use to justify the violence they inflict on oppositional regimes. It's never used in a useful analytical or even descriptive way; it means nothing beyond being a pure insult and call to arms against the target.

Like you can condemn Israel for what it actually is using words that actually mean something; you don't have to keep repeating the same buzzwords that liberals use against states like Cuba and North Korea. You aren't gonna achieve much if you limit yourself to employing the language of Imperialism against it's masters. This rhetoric is rooted in a very specific ideology; it can't simply be pulled out and reversed

[cutesilyo]

the thing i really like about just for once in nerdy prudes must die is that it's best iteration of the musical within a musical trope that has become characteristic of the hatchetfield musicals

like both show-stopping number and deck the halls (of northville high) are catchy songs from in-universe musicals that were very much written to have plots that suck

and show-stopping number was so well-beloved because it is, frankly, a hilarious scene that robert manion put 100% into

but i argue that only just for once is thematically relevant to its musical and fully emblematic of the wants and desires of the character singing it

because what is just for once, as a scene? it's ruth singing a song because she thinks she's got a chance of doing it better. it's ruth singing a song about a character who looks back on the mundane miseries of her lonely life and — at the last second — remembering who she used to be before the pain set in. it's ruth singing her version of cooler than i think i am and reflecting on how she is perceived and wondering what it takes to break away from it. it's ruth singing right after she says, "in my dreams, i'm the star of the show."

of all the losers that max jagerman victimizes, only ruth says who she'd like to become beyond that. where pete can't even admit to liking steph at gunpoint and richie doesn't ever get the chance to verbalize what he wants, ruth gets on the stage in the few minutes of break time and just for once, the spotlight is on her.

and the really crazy thing about just for once is — it has the "i'm not a loser" motif. possibly the most iconic and important motif of the whole musical, it's the motif that starts the opening number. and here it is, in the silly musical within a musical by the silly character who has — until this song — always served as comic relief.

in the climax of the song, just for once is no longer the song of a character from the barbecue monologues. it's ruth's. in those few seconds, it's her lamentation of the life that max jagerman forced on her.

but that's the thing about the "i'm not a loser" motif. the way it functions in the musical is as a harbinger for max's violence. the police at the beginning ask, "what the hell happened here?" and its the motif that answers. pete is the first character that sings the line and is immediately beaten up by max in the next scene. then richie sings it and max kills him in the same song. when ruth has the motif running as the crescendo to just for once, it sounds absolutely incredible... and it should come as no surprise when max appears shortly after.

(as a quick note: you can also hear the motif after max makes the car crash, then max appears two scenes later. you then hear the motif in the cooler than i think i am reprise and max also appears right after the song. it's like max is instantly summoned by any instance of the losers trying to shake off the role he placed on them — of trying to defy him.)

tl;dr: the inclusion of the "i'm not a loser" motif in just for once makes it the big lipped alligator moment that wasn't. like yeah, it accomplishes its goal in being the funny musical within a musical trope! the character acting makes it a funny song, and its a funny character performing it! but it also furthers our understanding of ruth AND of what the "i'm not a loser" really is: it's the characters trying to develop past being nerdy prudes and max doing everything in his power to prevent that.

and it does all that while being a banging musical tribute to stephen sondheim and, especially, his song the ladies who lunch. which in itself is a massive flex on jeff blim's part. what a brilliant song in a brilliant musical.

[human837]

Why I love the big grey cube

The cube starts very uniform and rather out of place as it seems just I bit odd to the audience.

But as it gets ripped apart it becomes clear to the audience how it is just a collection if blocks that are used by the characters to play pretend.

This shows Marvin's attempt to control everyone by viewing life as a game and trying to get everyone to play along to his delusional view on life.

After Meldal is engaged to Trina, he tries to draw her out of the fictional world Marvin has created by physically moving Marvin's blocks and fighting with him in 'a tight-knit family reprise'

As trina breaks free from Marvin's childish world, more props are introduced on stage to signal her newfound freedom from him. She gets to move into her new life with Meldal, and u see them decorate their house together (which is incredibly sweet).

The second act starts with a set made from the cubes arranged in a dolls House like formation as if Marvin will continue living in him fauls reality.

But Marvin himself tears down the formation just before 'its about time' to show how he's developed and is awhere that he can't live life as if its a game.

In the second act it is clear that all the characters are living in reality instead of playing Marvin's pretend both due to the important topics Charrlotte is trying to fight for and the increased use of props spread out across the stage.

(I love their little house plant collection)

When Whizzer gets ill, the set completely shifts to be highly realistic with no use of the grey blocks at all. This shows how Marvin can't ignore things anymore and has to face Whizzers health.

RLDR: The set is amazing. I love it so much!

[whetstonefires]

Madam Yu is so much of a character in so little space, it's fantastic, and it's funny to me being also in the Scum Villain fandom because. She is very much set up on the same character framework as Shen Jiu. She's that same Kind Of A Guy.

But ofc her trauma foundation is in being a proud woman in a world that does not value womanhood, and without the social skills to get anyone to forgive her for it. So she's less violently fucked up than he is.

But like him, she's all twisted up around the sensation that her suffering is her own fault for being the wrong sort of person. Which is an unutterably fucking corrosive mindset.

And I really think that she doesn't in the least believe that her husband loved or had an affair with Cangse Sanren. She's humiliated that other people believe it, and furious that he's encouraged them to, but she doesn't think it's true.

What she thinks is that Jiang Fengmian liked Cangse Sanren. As a person.

And of course, he doesn't like her. Because who could? Yu Ziyuan is not the sort of person people like.

And then Jiang Cheng, her son who takes after her, is basically just an extension of herself. So obviously, his father doesn't like him, either.

And she says this. Out loud, in front of him. While having honestly a really embarrassing meltdown.

I'm sure one of the things driving it is worry, because as she'd just acknowledged even though she's now blaming her husband about it they have to send either Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli into the hands of the Wen or face reprisals, which she doesn't want to face either, and obviously Jiang Yanli would be toast.

But if your response to worrying about your kid is to make fun of him, yell at him, shame him, and shout that his father doesn't love him in a weird tantrum before storming out and going to your room where he isn't allowed, you are failing as a parent on such a fantastic variety of levels idk where to start.

[woodlandwrites]

i. mind over matter

aphrodite!reader x luke castellan

pre-tlt, characters 18+, mdni, def going to be a pt.2

warnings: cursing, whole lotta impertinence!

2.7k read - unedited

You have been plagued by flocks of doves and Luke Castellan. So Aphrodite decides to meddle a little a lot in your love life. Who needs memories anyway? Unfortunately, the only person you find comfort in - is the very person you hate.

A/N: first fic in a loooong time - stick with me here. there will be more parts and maybeee some spice? anyways hope you enjoy!

You’d like to think that Aphrodite loved the game of making you miserable. In retrospect, you hated your mother. She was a hard act to follow. 

Don’t jump to conclusions - you loved your cabin. Your brothers and sisters were wonderful - not vain like most campers would say. No, that was not an issue. The problem started with one slender, curly haired, crooked smile boy - Luke Castellan. He was the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood and the bane of your existence. 

Luke was an astonishingly aggravating self-centered egotistical bigot. 

“Why do you hate him so much,” Silena asked one day out of the blue. You both sat in the stands watching Luke teach his swordsmanship class. You pondered her question for a while.

“Because. He confuses me - and aggravates me constantly. I have never met anyone so full of themselves in my entire life. He is Narcissus reborn again. It also does not help that he is a complete jerk,” you nodded as you ate another fresh strawberry. Silena pondered on your words.

“Are you sure this has nothing to do with mom and the whole..argument,” she said in a cautionary tone.

Silena was the only one who knew about you and Aphrodite’s - complicated past. To be fair - she didn’t know the entire truth. The prophecy, the impertinence, all the bullshit. However, she did know that your shoulders seemed to tense every time Aphrodite’s name was mentioned. 

“I mean every time I have talked to him at camp counselor meetings he seems like an alright guy.

Silena - forever the optimist. Sometimes when you looked at her through the corner of your eye she resembled your mother. She had this soft tone and locks of hair that seemed to always catch the wind just right. Yeah, no wonder Luke was nice to her. Selina was extremely beautiful - Beckendorf struck gold. 

“Yeah, I can see right through the façade-” you were cut off by a dove landing next to you. He started pecking at your strawberries mindlessly. Silena stifled a small giggle. 

“It is funny when it isn’t happening to you. The bastards have been following me around for days,” you said annoyed.

You tried scaring the bird away - only for more to return. After a couple minutes an estimated 20 doves flocked around you mimicking every move. 

“Go away!” you screamed - only for the feathered friends to cock their heads in curiosity. By now, the entire arena seemed to convert their attention to you. 

“Hey! I heard if they shit on your head it’ll bring good luck,” Luke echoed watching amused.

He leaned against his sword in a cocky manner. What an asshole - you hated when he did that. The other campers seemed to laugh along. 

“Up yours, Castellan,” you yelled with a face the color of cherries. 

The doves had now increased their army to a solid 50 - all looking to you for a further instruction. Doves had followed you around your entire life - a gift your mother had bestowed to you. The unfortunate part was that they were pretty much the most non obedient monsters on the entire planet. You never had truly understood why they would appear - most of the time it was a random occurrence. Of course - Luke was always there to revel in your misfortune. You still had not forgotten when the doves caused a complete riot last month at dinner - leaving quite a mess for you to clean up. The younger campers were still traumatized. 

That was the thing about doves - they were just like your mother. At first they are nice to look at, almost sweet. That is until they turn into vicious assailants from Tartarus (Silena says you overreact). They also annoy you - another common attribute with your mother. 

“For Gods sake just leave!,” you yelled again, stomping off, bidding Silena goodbye.

You did not want to continue being entertainment for the rest of the campers. The doves seemed to take the hint - maintaining their place in the stands. You were sure there were some week old snacks stuffed between the seats the rotted things could ravish on. Luke chuckled before turning his attention back to his students. 

The sun was setting and soon it would be dinner - but you still sat in bed thinking about what Silena had mentioned early about your mom. Maybe it was your nerves - but you knew a visit soon would be unavoidable. The doves only confirmed your suspicion. It was rare for gods to visit Camp Half-Blood, at least publically. The closest thing the camp had to godliness was Mr. D - what a joke. However, you knew your mother and her constant desire to meddle with your life. 

Dinner went without a hunch - except for the Stoll twins starting a food fight at the Hermes table. You loved quiet nights like these where the summer breeze feels like a warm hug. Silena nudged you - reading her expression you knew she was inquiring about the events from earlier. A shrug sufficed. You were so caught up in laughing with your siblings you failed to notice the yelling from the other side of the pavilion. 

“One of the Ares girls was flirting with Luke after you left today - Charlie and I could not help but laugh. It was so awkward,” Silena mentioned.

 There were a couple of murmured sounds and gawking from your siblings - which was the usual. If there was one thing they loved it was - well - love. However this subject rubbed you the wrong way - maybe it was just Luke’s name being mentioned.

It felt like a suffocating gut punch and it was most likely your mothers doing. If there was anything she loved more it was demigod love - the trials and tribulations - and of course the unfortunate ends. It quite literally made you sick. But why did Luke have to be roped in it and moreover - why did you care? You smiled and nodded - trying to pay attention and not let the thoughts take over. 

“Get these goddamn things off of me!,” a familiar voice yelled in annoyance.

So wrapped up in thought - you failed to care - assuming it was a practical Hephaestus joke with an Ares kid. Selina quickly nudged you pointing towards the Hermes table - for quite an interesting scene. Luke being attacked by a merciless army of doves. 

“Hey Castellan, let them shit on your head - heard it was good luck!,” the words reflected from just a few hours prior.

You couldn’t help but giggle - it was nice not being the receiver of dove aggravated assault (as Beckendorf had termed it). It was also nice not to be the joke for once - everyone laughing at someone else for a change was different. 

“Call the damn things off,” he struggled - yelling your name in the process.

“Why do you automatically assume I am the one who set them off? They just do what they want!” you retorted.

 Silena looked at you - questioning your motives. He struggled even more as the doves thrashed him around - seemling gaining confidence in their blows. They seemed - deadly - more than before. Silena muttered your name.

“You have to try,” Silena persuaded. Reluctantly you obeyed - knowing she was being more serious than she was putting on. 

“Stop!” you yelled sternly to the winged creatures.

Like usual - they did not obey. Unfortunately, they keep going - tearing Luke’s shirt in the process. He held himself quite well against dove assassins  - a fact you did not want to admit to yourself. 

“παύω!” You spoke - pleading that it would end.

It was all your mothers fault. She wanted you to be miserable. She wanted to ruin your night, humiliate you - and to hurt Luke. You weren’t sure why that last part bothered you so much.

 “Φεύγω!” you screamed once more in an earthshaking tone.

The doves dissipated automatically. Like literally - poof - into dust. Again - the entire camp had its eyes on you - what else was new?

“What is wrong with you,” Luke questioned - still astonished at the sheer power of your voice - that very voice that made doves disintegrate. You slowly looked up at his disheveled appearance - he looked worse.

Beautiful. 

You wish that voice in your head would go suck a dick!

“Shows over, enjoy your dessert,” you said bitterly to the crowd taking a bow.

Silena yelled your name but you had already darted towards the woods. You could hear the muttering of the crowd questioning the evening entertainment. You could not seem to care. 

You took a seat in the sand on the beach overlooking the shore. The moonlight seemed to make the water sparkle like diamonds. You felt almost calm here - no one to distract you from your thoughts. Why did his words strike you like a knife? He might as well plant backbiter into your back, it would hurt less. It all led to the proper question - why? Why would the doves attack him anyway? They had never done anything quite so ruthless before - nevertheless to another sole person. 

Then again - it was always about Luke - ever since you got to the infernal camp. He was probably celebrated for his brave victory in the battle of the doves - hoisted up by other campers. You suppose a feast in his honor was in order. 

“You think such unhappy thoughts,” an angelic voice sang from the sea. 

Your attention turned towards a bundle of sea foam. The foam began to sparkle and mangle to take the shape of a woman the closer it got to shore. Soon after your mother - Aphrodite stood before you - in all her glory.

“I thought seafoam was just whale jizz,” you spoke casually. You chucked at yourself that was a good one!

Of - fucking - course. Your mother was behind the entire dove fiasco - you called it. You should start placing bets at this point. 

“Most would be labeled impertinent with that attitude - especially with a God.” 

“I am impertinent.” You shrugged, pulling your knees to your chest. Maybe if you really ignored her she would disappear. 

“I will not disappear yet - we have much to discuss.” 

“Get out of my head.” 

“I heard what occurred tonight at dinner. Shame, doves are very gentle creatures.”

A dove magically appeared in her hands, letting out a soft coo. You cringed. If you saw another dove tonight - you might just roast it and eat it. 

“So that was you?” You asked venomously.

“Well thanks mom! Now the entire camp thinks I tried to kill the golden boy with a league of killer doves. They all think I am absolutely crazy.”

“I did nothing, my child.” You gawked at her - she paused to collect her thoughts.

“However, you might want to look within yourself before you spit accusations that are not true. I merely gave you a gift - how you use it is at your own expense.” She finished. 

“But I don’t control those horrid things - they just show up and do whatever. Why would I even attack Luke with a bunch of wimpy doves?”

That was your mother, having the audacity to say you caused the incident. That it was all your fault. 

“Love, perhaps?” Her eyes seemed to glitter at the thought. 

“No.” Ugh, not this again, you thought.

“Doves are a mere - personification of one’s inner love. That is why I gave you the gift - so your innermost feelings can never be bottled. That does horrid things to one’s complexion.” 

“Well thanks for the shitty gift, mother. Next time maybe a pair of socks will do the trick.” 

“Why do you insist on denying who you are? Denying what you are destined to become? Denying yourself the love of the century?”

“Why love someone if they eventually will die.” It was true. Your father had died when you were young - leaving you an orphan. Your demigod friends you made throughout the years died horrible unspeakable deaths.

“Isn’t that all the more fun?” 

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you? You just love to see me suffer?”

“You’re being rash.” She fired back.

“Rash? Where have you been?” You scoffed at your godly mother.

“Child, I do not write destiny - I only enforce it. I know you more than you would like to admit, sweet dove. And you - are in love with the child of Hermes.”

 Apollo could’ve shot you through the chest - it would have felt better. 

“Mother, you have it mixed up - I do not have any feelings for Luke. You’re just making things up because you are bored and need some excitement. Please go back to Olympus and meddle with someone else’s life,” you stated. You staggered to your feet dusting the sand off. 

Before you could walk away a bolt of pure energy hit you in your spine. You flew to your feet hitting the ground with a hard thud. In a blur your mother was standing proud above your feet - surrounded in a pink aura. 

“Luke Castellan, he will keep you safe - and you will keep him steady.” 

You might have thought to curse at her - but you couldn’t speak - let alone move. She had disappeared from vision leaving only a dove in her wake. The pain - was excruciating - like being electrocuted a million times. Your ears rang terrible tunes as you tried to level yourself - only to fall back down. The world was spinning at an unmeasurable pace. You could hear shrill screaming - or was it yours? You weren’t even sure who you were? Only images of dark curls, broad shoulders, and crooked smiles flashed through your vision. 

A quake of footsteps running towards the shore were felt as you thrashed in the sand. Voices - yelling a name - whose name? You couldn’t recall. All you knew was darkness. 

“Y/N?!” a feminine voice called. You could feel her hands shake your shoulder violently - it felt like knives.

You heard screams - this time knowing it was your shrill cry. You pushed her away with force. You backed away, crawling backwards in desperation. 

Once your vision returned you focused to see a swarm of kids all in orange shirts - staring at you in shock. The girl who touched you - you could only assume was kneeling in the sand in front of you. She seemed to be pleading.

“Stay away, please,” you pleaded with tears streaming from your eyes. You weren’t sure what had happened but you knew you had never felt pain so deeply. 

“Y/N, please you were screaming. We only want to make sure you are okay. We can go to the infirmary and figure it out,” the girl reached out only for you to retreat more. You hyperventilate on your own words. 

“What’s going on?” another voice asked with urgency from beyond the crowd.

Every child seemed to turn their attention to focus on the male figure. Pushing his way through the crowd - he became shocked at the scene before him.

However, you felt as if all the oxygen had left your body - leaving you limp. You felt as if a hand had grabbed your heart and ripped it in two. He was the one - the one you had seen in your visions. 

“Y/N?” he questioned - half concerned, half annoyed. His chocolate eyes seemed to lock ever so easily with yours. He was indeed the most beautiful man you had ever seen - like a carving of marble. Your soul ached. Without a thought - on instinct alone - you ran. He was engulfed in a desperate hug - his shoulder muffled your pitiful cries. 

“Please, you’re the only one who can help.” You could feel the eyes on the two of you - the gasps were hard to ignore. He went stiff in his posture - not sure how to react. Silence fell over the entire shore, only the crashing of waves in the background. 

“Y/N what is going on? Is this some sort of prank?” he asked in disbelief. 

He had never seen you like this - so scared. Some small part of him wanted to scoop you up, hold you tight, and tell you everything would be okay. He wanted to tell you how he would fix all your problems - just so he would never see you cry again. Although these feelings were so suppressed he restrained.

Gods you were beautiful. 

“I- I don’t know who Y/N is. I don’t know anyone. I don’t know me.” 

[fayes-fics]

Reprisal

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Turnabout is fair play. Sequel to Acting Up.

Warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni, exhibitionism, semi-public blowjob, deepthroat, swallowing, brief d/s dynamics, brief mention of window sex.

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's Note: So, I was in the mood to write a filthy blowjob fic, and this has been sitting in my drafts for more than a year. It was inspired by an ask from the lovely @queen-of-the-misfit-toys, so it is dedicated to them. Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3

Your toes tingle from crouching in the same awkward position for what feels like the last… eternity. But revenge is a dish best served not so much cold, as when least expected.

You hear him warmly greet all his guests out in the hallway, then beckon them towards the dining room. He sits at the head of the table, just a few inches in front of you. All is unfolding exactly as you expect so far. 

You are so very grateful no one kicks you as they take their places, the convivial buzz of conversation muffled under the thick drape of tablecloth fabric. You shift slightly to get more comfortable, knowing you must wait patiently a while longer; your window of opportunity will arise after their light two-course supper.

Just two weeks ago, your husband had mercilessly made you orgasm silently in front of his entire family as he fingered you to oblivion at dinner. It is now his turn. 

As Smith serves the men dessert, you place a firm hand on Benedict’sknee when you hear him complete a sentence, and his whole leg jolts. It’s the only forewarning you give him before running both hands heavily up over his muscular thighs and grabbing for his resting cock. You feel both his legs jerk, and a hand grabs your wrist forcefully. Next to you, a spoon clatters loudly to the floor, smattering a streak of blackcurrant across the pristine oak floor.

“Butterfingers!” He jests. 

Suddenly, his face appears under the drape of cloth and morphs into one of surprise as he sees you. With a raised eyebrow, you shove a little note into his hand, you came prepared.

Do not give anything away. Now we shall see how well you play this game, my love.

You watch him quickly scan the note, and then his eyes cut back to you, trepidation, challenge, and adoration—a beguiling cocktail. Realising if he stays under too long, his guests will suspect something; he straightens but not before a loving touch to your chin.

“Could not find the blasted thing,” he jokes in explanation. “Smith, please, could you bring me a new spoon?”

As soon as the conversation begins again, you reach to squeeze him again, and he helpfully pushes forward in his chair and splays his legs wider. 

Well played, darling.

You can feel a burgeoning swelling there, and you reach for the buttons at his hip, wanting to dive right in. As soon as you peel open the front of his trousers, his cock springs free, already half-erect. The fact he never seems to wear underwear makes you smirk—your wonderful bohemian whore of a husband. 

You wrap a hand around him, and you can tell from the way his hips surge how much he appreciates it. Slowly, teasingly, you strengthen your grip. He probably suspects you will just use your hands, as he did to you. You cannot wait to see how he will react when you use your mouth on him. You intend to suck him deep and hard, not wanting to be bettered in this game of one-upmanship. 

You shuffle forward, and a hand reaches under the table to pat your shoulder affectionately. 

Without preamble, you suckle his tip into your mouth and feel his whole body tense in surprise, his thigh muscles tensing, and his fingers dig into your shoulder reflexively. Smirking to yourself, you swirl your tongue around his head as his hand travels along the top of your shoulder to cup the side of your neck, his thumb swiping a few tender strokes just under your ear. 

You feel the vibration through his body as he talks, calling upon his friend to regale everyone with tales from his recent travels. “Spare no details!” he appends with an accommodating chuckle, relaxing into his chair and pushing his hips towards you, sliding deeper into your mouth as he does. 

You appreciate his smarts for that decision - he can appear to be listening intently as a gracious host but not having to lead any conversation. 

Taking a deep breath, you sink, taking half of his cock into your mouth, revelling in the contours as they pass through your lips and the twitch of his fingers in the hair behind your ear, his warm palm cupping your jaw. So you push a little lower, as far as you can, without fear of making a noise - you do not want to give anything away by choking yourself on him, as you love to do—that will have to wait for another time, in private. This is more of a challenge for him than anything.

You still, to let him feel the heat of your mouth, enticingly dabbing your tongue over his length, before pulling up and concentrating on his sensitive head, sucking on his frenulum and letting his foreskin roll between your lips, a slight twisting action to your movements that you know he loves. He coughs, causing his cock to jerk into the roof of your mouth, his fingers sliding tentatively around the back of your head as if planning to direct your movements.

No, no, I decide what happens here, dearest.

You grab his hand away and hold it on his thigh instead, lacing your fingers with his as you lower again, his fingertips curling between your knuckles, telling you exactly how much he is enjoying this, even as he remains mostly silent and still, his friend still holding court around the table above.

“I did miss my wife, though,” the man ripostes as his story ends. “Her womanly delights were a wonderful homecoming.” 

There is a bawdy round of laughter at that.

“And what of you, Bridgerton?’ you hear one ask as you change your motion, his tip glancing the back of your mouth with each deep pull.

“What of me?” his voice a touch rough.

“You are not long married. How is that sweet, innocent, young thing?” the same man continues.

You have to tamp the urge to giggle at the irony of being called innocent while kneeling between your husband's splayed legs, mere inches from his unsuspecting friends, sucking his cock so thoroughly that your jaw aches deliciously.

If only they knew…

“She is a wonder, and I love her more than life itself,” Benedict praises after clearing his throat. A warmth blooms behind your ribs as his sweet words, such a contradiction to the utter debauchery of your actions at this very moment.

“Spoken like a true poet,” another man mocks affably. “Come now, we speak of earthier matters tonight, Bridgerton. There are no such delicate ears to overhear after all.”

You want to roll your eyes at their prurient line of talk. Even as you slide up and down on Benedict’s cock, moving faster now, wanting to truly put him to the test, as he did you, something in the way he tilts his hips fractionally tells you all your need to know.

“As I said, my wife is a wonder,” he repeats with finality, gritting his teeth. 

To his friends, it likely seems he is attempting to arrest the topic out of decorum, not the fact he is struggling with composure, which you can detect from the tinge of desperation, the twitch in his legs, the harsh grip of his hand on yours. 

As talk moves on to gambling around the table, the volume increases as the men splinter into side conversations, an opportune moment for you to be a touch daring. Sinking to his root, allowing his solid, hot tip to plug your throat, emitting a tiny moan as you do, buzzing into his pelvis. Benedict’s entire body stiffens, and you feel a crest of victory as he fights not to make a noise; his body at war, wanting to thrust, to grab, to do anything but sit still and take it.

Tougher than it looks, is it not, darling husband?

You want to chuckle, but your mouth is too full of him, a salty bead of precum trickling down your throat as you ease off to allow him a moment of reprieve and yourself a deep, calming breath. Tilting your head sideways and running suckling kisses over the underside of his cock, all the way to his sac that you lap as your other hand wraps around his tip and gives soft teasing squeezes.

His hand untangles from yours on his leg and wraps around your other hand, attempting to halt your motions, silently asking for clemency which you ignore, batting him away. He gave you no such accommodation in front of his own mother, no less.

But you take pity and decide not to string it out for much longer, his friends loud now the wine bottles are empty, one beginning to sing tunelessly, and another joining in a few bars later. Using both of your hands wound around his lower shaft, constricting in a wave motion, and your mouth sucking forcefully on his head. Encourage him to break, to come, wanting that taste to flood your mouth, a heavy throbbing sensation between your legs that is your arousal. You will need him to fuck you ruthlessly once his entertaining duties are over. Perhaps facedown right over this very table or, preferably, in your bedroom window, your nipples pebbled against the cool glass as he takes you roughly from behind, kneeling on the bench seat… the exhibitionist streak that he provokes in you flaring.

The images tumbling through your mind have you feral, sucking ferociously, pushing his thighs out wider to allow yourself greater access, crowding into him, knowing that with the level of noise in the room now, you can make some sound yourself. The back of your head glancing the underside of the table as you bob rapidly, moaning lightly, drooling on the length of his cock, your saliva pooling into his trousers as you mercilessly rise and sink, breathing heavily through your nose. You sense the tension in his legs, his vice-like grip on the table edge, every cell of his being in pure ecstasy and the agony of not being able to show it. He is usually so very vocal and lavish in his praise when you do this. 

“Come for me, my love, give it to me.” you gargle around him, his legs dancing now in a staccato quake.

Even if he cannot decipher your words, he can feel the echo over his velvet skin, and suddenly, both of his hands dive under the table and grip around your ears, finger grasping your scalp. Pushing you deep onto his cock, his whole being seeming to curl around you, his knees lifting high near your shoulders as you feel his sac tighten against your chin, a strong ripple between your lips and then a salty wave in your mouth as he comes hard.

“Are you alright, Bridgerton?” a concerned voice rings out as you swallow victoriously, then slackening your mouth to allow him to slip out, moving to lick him clean as he quivers under your tender ministrations.

“Sorry, gentleman,” his voice is ragged, harsh. “I felt a wave of nausea; perhaps a lunch of venison and oysters was not advisable. But do not fear, I'm sure it was a fleeting moment of discomfort,” he lies to cover his actions, holding one hand up in a reassuring gesture as his other hand strokes your cheek, your face resting upon his clothed thigh, leaning into his doting fingers, akin to a cat. “However, perhaps it is time we sojourned to the parlour,” he announces as you carefully rebutton his trousers. “‘Tis where I keep my best liquors, after all!!” 

You hear a rousing call of agreement, all around the sound of chairs scraping as they stand and drift towards the exit.

“I will be there, anon, gentlemen; I must speak to my valet first,” Benedict fibs, shifting in his seat but not standing.

As the chorus of voices fades, he pushes out his chair and holds up the tablecloth, staring at you slack-jawed.

“At a loss for words, husband?” you smirk, raising a coquettish eyebrow as he assists you in crawling out from under the table.

“The most delightful revenge, darling wife…” he responds, his eyes glittering. “But the use of your mouth is an escalation. I rather think a declaration of war, not a mere battle.” The very beguiling threat of more challenges to come makes your stomach flip in anticipation.

‘“Promises promises…Sir,” you goad with a wink, dusting off your dress and standing up, hoping the invocation of his play title will spark something in him.

A warm hand clamps firmly around the nape of your neck, making you gasp excitedly.

“Insolence does not go unpunished, little one,” he warns lowly. 

There it is.

“Yes, Sir,” your stance instantly submissive, swaying into him. “Perhaps, you could fuck me against our bedroom window later? So the world can see to whom I belong?”

He growls softly, and his nostrils flare as he crowds into you. “That can certainly be arranged.”

“I look forward to it, Sir.” you smile, always enjoying when he behaves domineering. 

However, with a wink, his grip releases, his mien turning gentler, nuzzling your cheek.

“I am quite the luckiest man alive. I love you, darling,” he breathes.

“And I you, husband. Now, go entertain your guests. I will see you later,” you offer, kissing his jaw as you drift towards the door, wrapped in each other's arms.

“I’d rather retire to our bedchamber with you,” he sighs wistfully into your temple.

“I shall be there waiting for you,” you vow. “Naked, except for the jewels you have given me. Thinking of you. Touching myself…” you paint a vivid picture to tempt and tease him.

You squeal as he suddenly picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, striding purposefully into the hallway, the sounds of the men in the room across the hall unmistakable.

“Smith,” Benedict addresses the man standing dutifully by the front door. “Please tell my guests they are welcome to stay but that I was, in fact, mistaken. I have taken indeed ill with a dreaded stomach bug and must retire from their company immediately,” he pronounces. 

You laugh at his lie, and he slaps your bottom for good measure.

“Will that be all, sir?” His trusty valet replies, tone world-weary.

“Please escort them out the rear entrance when they are done carousing and arrange for their carriages to pick them up in the mews. I do not wish the neighbours to witness their drunken behaviour,” he rejoinders as he begins to climb the stairs with you still dangling over his shoulder. 

Giggling, you wave to Smith as you go, who merely raises three fingers dryly in recognition—he has walked in upon you fucking you in every room of the house since your marriage; this is decidedly mundane.

And as Benedict fulfils your request sometime later - pounding into you so hard that the window rattles in its frame, you clinging to the wooden sash as you stare out across the treetops of the handsome square - you cannot help but wonder if the request to send his friends home another way was not entirely for your benefit.

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[darkcircles4lyfe]

it's a story about hands (reprise)

Yeah, okay, today's the day.

I gave my blog that title for a reason, you know, and it has loomed over me for years because the hand motif is absolutely everywhere and you could go on about it forever.

Maybe that's something I'll never actually attempt to do, but this chapter, we reached a breaking point.

Before I continue, I need to give a big, big disclaimer: I do not have a physical disability, so I'm not able to speak about that from the standpoint of representation as a first-hand perspective. I have at least listened to enough disabled people to know that fictional characters who become amputees only to miraculously gain their limbs back is, um, a trope. Disabled people in general being "healed" is a conception we would really prefer to avoid here. Not to call people out, but I don't think we're giving enough space to acknowledge that.

I don’t feel comfortable making the judgement call about what should happen. I’m leaving that open. I also don't want to downplay people's emotional reactions. Honestly, I don't know if I can accurately define the line between acknowledging real pain vs. ableist pity. But I’d like to talk about the possibilities of what could happen. Other characters have definitely gotten permanent disabilities as a result of their hero work, or even just the side effects of their quirk. But, for better or worse, I don't think this case is really about representation. Not that Horikoshi won't do that justice. He might. What I'm saying is that's not his purpose for having Izuku lose his arms. It's meant to be symbolic, so we can explore what it means. The other thing I’m keeping in mind here is that Horikoshi is notorious for playing with our expectations, like, alllllll the time. I mean, just take a few chapters ago for a classic example. Eri appeared at the end, and we all assumed she was about to take some sort of action to save someone with her quirk. Then, immediately following, we were given an explanation for why that wouldn’t be happening. And now it’s clear he wanted to do that “fake out” not just as a silly cliffhanger prank, but specifically so we would know not to suspect that Eri could be the miraculous solution to Izuku’s loss of his arms. Rest assured, there is no easy way out of this.

The expectation at play in this particular instance is an old one. It’s very understated, but its subtext has burned so brightly, you’d be a fool not to notice it. It sits with anticipation like one half of a call and response. Man, I was so certain. Lots of people still are. I was really looking forward to printing the panel where it happened onto a t shirt and wearing it proudly. All the hand motifs in this story radiate thematically from a single moment, the one that started it all for Izuku.

It raises all kinds of questions about the act of saving, who needs saving, why, what does it mean, what are the dynamics of power, politics, honesty, exploitation, compassion, pity, disdain, sacrifice. Katsuki has dealt with many of these since he first rejected Izuku’s hand. While Izuku was the one who was convinced Katsuki would keep on rejecting him…

…Katsuki was the one who kept that moment in his mind all these years and eventually came to regret it.

Katsuki is the one yearning for that hand-hold, the one who has imbued it with so much more weight than it ever originally had. Izuku, in contrast, does not allow himself to dwell on what he wants. To illustrate this difference, we need to look at another piece of foreshadowing:

Ugh, do y'all remember when lots of folks were complaining about how there never seemed to be actual consequences for Izuku's destructive treatment of his own body? I don't blame them, I was concerned and confused about it too. There were several "fixes" along the way. Recovery Girl healed him, but left a physical reminder. Then he started training to fight with his legs… sometimes. Then he got support items. All of these were unsatisfying non-conclusions because they didn't present Izuku with a lasting enough impression to change in a meaningful way. They didn't address his core, his origin.

Of course, that all changed this chapter. Now it looks like our frustration was inflicted intentionally. With the current context in mind, all of these moments look more sinister, like this day was always gonna come because they kept putting bandaids on a deep emotional and psychological wound. The problem is pretty much spelled out for us here:

As Katsuki put it, he just doesn’t take himself into account, ya know? He doesn’t care what happens to him. And he lies about it, to keep others from worrying, to keep them safe. To keep them from returning the favor and putting themselves in harm’s way for his sake. His motivations are noble,

…but what about the little boy inside Izuku? Who saves him?

This is all about Izuku giving himself up to the point that he literally has no more to give. The thing is, I bet he saw this coming. He knew his limits and decided to keep going anyway, because his personal safety and wellbeing are not important. Now that way of thinking has come back to bite him because the fight isn’t over yet, and he’s already made his sacrifice. So now we know who will be more distraught over this. Not Izuku—Katsuki.

It’s not about Izuku becoming disabled, it’s about how Katsuki wanted to use the intertwining of their fingers to communicate that he would never let go. Never stop valuing him most. Never let himself make the mistake of rejecting him again. Never let Izuku be so reckless with his life. To say: “we are in this together.”…if only Katsuki believed he deserved to be able to say such things. To reach out his hand would have been the ultimate way to simply imply them and let Izuku be the one to decide. Then, to feel their hands clasped together would be more than either of them dared hope for, but so beautiful, so right. A moment they’ve waited their whole lives for.

Yeah. That’s what we were expecting. We’ve been so comfortable. Horikoshi gave us all the signs. He tempted and teased us over and over. BUT. You know he does this thing were he gives us a desirable, completely plausible and simple thing to look forward to, and then he snatches it away. And THEN he replaces it with something much better, something we were not expecting at all because it seemed too good to be true. That’s exactly what happened when Himiko snatched Izuku away, and we were robbed of the chance to see him and Katsuki fight together. In hindsight, though, I’m glad things went a different way because now there’s so much more depth and angst on display. Likewise, in the present moment, we may consider how, as one door closes, another opens.

As wonderfully meaningful as the hand-hold would have been, perhaps it is still too simple a resolution for Izuku, for his and Katsuki’s relationship. Tbh, it could have been done like 100 chapter ago. At this point, there’s so much more potential. There are a couple of ways it could go. If Izuku stays armless, Katsuki will be forced to use other methods to get his point across. He’ll have to do something else, or say what he means, or both. Yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about. If I say it, I just might jinx it (lol), but I mean it. I’m being serious. Either way, if Izuku did get his arms back in the end, I’m sure that it wouldn’t be an easy fix. It would be hard-won against Izuku’s self-destructive mindset, and/or by Katsuki’s conviction. Again, I say this knowing it is not meant so much as a representation of disability, but as a representation of Izuku’s greatest character flaw taken to the extreme. I know this might sound harsh, like, hasn’t he been through enough? I get that, but… I’ve said it before and I say it again: Izuku is stubborn as hell.

I wish I had a resounding final note to end this on, but I kinda don’t. I’m not sure what’s best. Now we just have to wait and see what Horikoshi has in mind.

[stinkrascal]

ive said this before but i swear to god if i had known who jordan peterson was almost four years ago when i began my journey of vladislaus straud thirst posting i would have just made a new sim his name would be vladislav petrova he would look exactly the same as my vladislaus straud does now and he would act exactly the same as my vladislaus straud does but he wouldnt have ties to ea vladislaus straud who looks like jordan fucking peterson and nobody would ever be able to tell me shit about how my rendition of the pixel man looks nothing like the original rendition of him cuz he’d just be my own sim. end rant

[apomaro-mellow]

5 times eddie singled out steve during a concert and the one time steve did it back

Corroded Coffin fans were no strangers to the deep love shared between frontman Eddie and his boyfriend Steve. To the point where magazines barely cared to feature any candid pics of them unless Eddie was flipping off the camera. "Two Very in Love People Share a Kiss at Cafe Date" didn't really sell much when it was the 50th story like that.

So when Eddie slowed things down in the middle of the concert, getting that very familiar 'heart eyes' look.

"I know my baby's in the audience. Even though he has a very comfortable room backstage. Show me where you are beautiful." Eddie's voice was slightly rough from the first half of songs.

His eyes scanned the audience until he heard a bunch of screaming from his right. The crowd was vibrating and he knew someone had spotted Steve.

"There you are." Eddie bit his lip, grin threatening to split his face. "This next one's for you."

The crowd was a mix of screams and awws as the beginning melody of It's Always Been You was heard.

2. Another day, another venue. This time, the afternoon crowd at a music festival. It was one of Eddie's favorite kind of scenes. People of all types, letting the music take them in broad daylight. A good mix of diehard fans, casuals, and people who had never heard them play before.

Eddie knew for a fact that Steve was sitting in a little foldable chair, with some drink from one of the booths. He always looked so unassuming with his soft hair and even softer clothes. But Eddie could never let him forget his inner badass. Nor did he let anyone else forget.

"Lil pop quiz for my fans", Eddie started. "One of our fan favorites The Knight's Arrival is inspired by someone very special in my life. Can we get a chant going for the man who has always been my knight in shining armor?"

A very enthusiastic chant for Steve started and Eddie thought his heart might burst. It was like a triumphant reprisal of those times the school would cheer on the ex-king on game night.

3. Sometimes the band put an age restriction on a concert. Now Eddie was of the mind that children didn't need to be coddled or have things censored for them. But also, he didn't need to lay it all out when there was a kid in the audience.

It was these kinds of shows that Eddie let it all hang out. More than one song was inspired by his nights with Steve. His angel's voice even featured on one track, letting out husky moans as Eddie brought him to the brink in the recording booth.

And tonight Eddie was hot. Hot enough to have already taken his shirt off and throw it to the audience. Hot enough that when he went backstage and saw Steve, he was only thinking of one thing. Eddie kissed him deep, tongue licking at the roof of his mouth before a word could leave his lips.

Crash was keeping the audience going with a drum performance. One that started with a simple beat that slowly intensified.

"I want them to hear you", Eddie said against Steve's mouth.

Steve's hair was already tangled in his hair. "You wanna dangle me in front of them?", he smirked.

"Show them you're mine", Eddie started nibbling at his jaw. "Show 'em how good I love you down."

Eddie got the headset mic rigged onto Steve. His sweet boy was already hard, just as turned on from seeing Eddie in his element as he ever was. Eddie slid down to his knees and unzipped his boyfriend's pants.

It started quiet. Not even audible as Crash really got going on the drums and got close to the climax. The room erupted as he reached the end. And it was in the calming of their cheers that they finally began to hear it.

"Eddie, mmmfuck."

They stirred in unison. Steve's voice rang loud and clear as he received a pleasure the rest of them could only speculate on.

"Fuck, sso good. Don't stop. Don't stop-ahh."

For a moment all they heard was Steve's quickening breaths before he called out Eddie's name, dragging it out like he was falling down a well.

Eddie came out moments later, licking something off his lips to cacophonous cheers. The bassline to Take a Bite began. He wished he could've told his high school self that one day he'd get a standing ovation for blowing a guy.

4. "Before we get started tonight I gotta make an announcement!", Eddie came out, already on 100. "First, where's my angel baby. Help me find him."

As usual, a particular part of the audience went wild and moved in a way that could only mean Steve was there.

"Can I get a parting of the Red Sea?", Eddie asked, moving his hands apart and getting that part of the mob to split like Moses. Steve stood there in the middle.

"Get used to that gorgeous. My fellow rockers, scholars, and mischief makers - I am officially a kept man." He flashed the ring on his finger to a din of screams. "Wedding's next fall and we're registered at every corner liquor store! 5-6-7-8!"

5. Eddie felt like he was home. In the middle of a set, shredding in a way that made him feel alive. The current song made it even better. One of the best collaborative efforts of the band. All of their fingerprints were on this track.

The crowd was just as amped up, giving back everything they got. There truly was no place he'd rather be.

Then he caught sight of his Steve, standing just off stage in the wings. And he was overcome. None of this would be possible without him. And even if Eddie and his boys somehow made it to stardom, it all meant nothing without his sweetheart.

Eddie casually walked over, fingers still moving as he got closer to Steve. He only took his hands off his guitar to grab his fiance and dip him as they kissed. Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck. This wasn't his first time being kissed on stage.

And just as other times, the crowd went wild, while Jeff, Gareth, and Crash rolled their eyes through the playing.

6. Steve watched, absolutely lovestruck as Eddie sat on the couch, eating cereal. Dustin's baby, little Deana was propped up on cushions next to him, clearly satisfied as she sat there content. They were uncles babysitting for the weekend.

Steve walked over and grabbed the remote from off the coffee table, holding it like a mic. "All the babes out there, are you ready to rock?", he pointed to Deana.

Her new eyes got large at the movement and sound and her little fists waved in the air.

"But before I go on, I gotta give special love to someone tonight", Steve turned his gaze to Eddie. "To the greatest thing since sliced bread, I could watch you eat Coco Puffs all day."

"You're such a cornball", Eddie beamed, cheeks turning pink. "Can't believe you're doin it in front of a baby."

"Oh, don't tell me the god of rock is getting bashful? So when I wanna shout you out in front of our niece, it's cheesy. But when you call me out in front of thousands-"

"Shut up and kiss me." Eddie put the half finished bowl on the floor and grabbed Steve by the wrist, pulling him right into his lap.

Steve let out a little breath between kisses. "Dustin's gonna have a fit if he finds out we made out in front of his baby."

"What he don't know won't hurt him."