#my argument is Marshal

[localcryptic]

if i think too hard about marshal steel i'm gonna end up on the news. he is making me actually insane. dog dad of the year. hated your guts when he met you. a kind and gentle lover. has made unforgivable mistakes. has also made charming stupid jokes. i can't tell if i want him to have a good calm life or if i want his guilt to devour him from the inside out. and on top of it all hes gay. happy pride month 🏳️‍🌈

[teethcritter]

i think itd be funny and cool if she yells at them

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinkinggg about. race in adventure time

[demonsfate]

tek fandom got upset they can no longer say women's faces are expressionless in this game, so they have to reach for something else instead. like i haven't seen nina's face when getting hurt but like i'm sure it's probs different from fucking xiao's. jin is typically an angry person, and xiao's typically a crybaby. it makes sense for xiao, as a character, to appear like she's "crying" when she gets hurt.

the literal continue animation for her and jin as a team in tag 1 is her literally bawling her eyes out while jin either gives her a reaffirmation speech, or is telling her to "pull it together." this is just the characters they are.

and as said, not every female character is like this - nina isn't like this, panda isn't like this, anna isn't like this, zafina isn't like this and so on. you can't make an assumption they're all like this based on one character who is known to be a crybaby.

[trash-sonamy]

Judy 🔥🔥🔥

[trikaranos]

TRIKARANOS CHAPTER I: S·T·T·L

TRIKARANOS is a dramatized narrative based on ancient events following Crassus (and Pompey and Caesar) through the years 87-48 BCE. Intended for an adult audience.

⭐ Trikaranos will always be free to read. In the near future, you’ll have the option to support this comic & my ability to spend time making it (I Am Extremely Fucking Broke And Have Bills To Pay etc etc) through Patreon! currently, I have a tip jar!

⭐ There is no set update schedule (chapters vary in length and will be posted as I finish working on them)

⭐ alternative places to read it (coming soon!)

CREDITS all additional art used are in the public domain, and the specific images used are open access, etc

🍊the first collage panel is combination of: Plate 113: Greeks Battling the Trojans (from Ovid's Metamorphoses), Antonio Tempesta / The Trojans pulling the wooden horse into the city, Giulio Bonasone (after Francesco Primaticcio) / Terracotta hydria displaying Achilles waiting to ambush Triolos and Polyxena 🍊the second collage panel is: The Lictors bringing Brutus the bodies of his Sons, Jacques Louis David / the paint over of Brutus executing is own sons is my own work based on the composition of this relief of Brutus and condemning his sons to death. 🍊I also used my own art: a panel from the Prologue, and my own illustration of Brutus with the bodies of his sons

📖 PREVIOUS CHAPTER | START HERE | ToC (under construction!)

UNDER THE CUT creator’s commentary, ancient citations, whatever else seems relevant. ideally, this is optional! you shouldn’t need the citations for it to make sense as it unfolds since it’s a comic and a story first and foremost, but it’s here if you’re curious about something or want to see where the inspiration is coming from!

I'm so fucking normal about Crassus and his family (<<< this is a lie)

Marcus Crassus was the son of a man who had been censor and had enjoyed a triumph; but he was reared in a small house with two brothers. His brothers were married while their parents were still alive, and all shared the same table, which seems to have been the chief reason why Crassus was temperate and moderate in his manner of life. When one of his brothers died, Crassus took the widow to wife, and had his children by her, and in these relations also he lived as well-ordered a life as any Roman.

Plutarch, Crassus

like, it actively fucks me up that this is something that's survived about him for over 2,000 years. they all ate together at the same table. Jesus Christ.

so! Crassus' dad! Publius Licinius Crassus (consul 97) fought on the side of Cn. Octavius (consul 87) in the Bellum Octavianum, and it didn't go great for him.

Crassus: A Political Biography, B.A. Marshall

also. currently, if you look Publius Licinius Crassus up on wikipedia for an overview, his page lists his son (and also my main character for this comic) with the cognomen Dives, which is in-fucking-correct.

Marcus Crassus and the Late Roman Republic, Allen Mason Ward

and to circle back to houses and meals shared with family, some citations that made me feel some kind of way when I read them

Marcus Crassus and the Late Roman Republic, Allen Mason Ward

finally, there is discourse or whatever on the placement of the sons of Publius Licinius Crassus. Crassus is the baby brother here simply because I'm writing this story and I get to pick the themes, but also because no one has provided a solid enough argument for him being the second eldest son that I'm willing to buy into with enthusiasm, and I'm more inclined towards G. Sampson's conclusion on the matter.

Defeat of Rome: Crassus, Carrhae, and the Invasion of the East, Gareth C. Sampson

and while I'm just kind of talking about stuff that I read that I enjoyed, this article by Martin Stone lives in my head rent free

A Year of One's Own: Dating the Praetorship of Marcus Crassus, Martin Stone

[cevansbrat0007]

Sweet Tooth

Summary: Ari gets inventive when he finds himself in the doghouse with you. Be sure to check out the follow-up drabble, Sweet Tooth Deluxe!

Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Arch Nemesis', Dominant Ari, Aprons, Arguments, Oral Sex (fem rec mentioned), Spanking (mentioned), Pussy spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Cursing, Violent Thoughts, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @honeygngergemini. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari leans back in his chair, one long leg coming to rest atop his knee as he levels a hard look at Officer Milton Foster. He scrubs a tired hand over his face, his mind working overtime to process what the young man had just said.

“But that makes zero fucking sense.” He grumbles, groaning when he sees Milton just shake his head.

“Aye, man.” The dark-haired deputy  throws up his hands. “You asked me where I thought you went wrong and I told you.” He turns in his office chair to spare a quick glance at his computer. “Do not shoot the messenger.”

“No one’s being shot, alright? I just don’t get the logic behind any of the shit you just said.”

Couple that with the fact that you’d been icing him out for the past several days for reasons unbeknownst to him – which had left him in a god awful mood. He missed you. Your laugh, your warmth, your smile. 

All of it.

Not to mention that deliciously curvy body that had been keeping him warm at night. He really missed that. More than than anything he needed a fucking kiss.

But you were ignoring him. And Ari had discovered pretty quickly that he didn’t like any of it. Not one bit.

So, he’d turned to what he felt like was his only ally in this god-forsaken town: the newly minted sheriff’s deputy, Milton Foster.

“So you’re really trying to tell me that the reason my woman is pissed at me is because I ate Charline Marshall’s pecan pie at the town potluck, liked it, and asked for seconds.” Ari smooths an annoyed hand over his bearded face. Trying to understand Bell’s Creek’s local politics could really do a number on a person. 

“And don’t forget that she purposely dropped your lady’s bramble berry pie on the ground.” Milton does a quick spin in his chair. “She tried to pretend it was an accident, but most of us know better. Charline Marshall has eyes for you and I think she might be ready to make it known.”

“I’m pretty sure that I couldn’t even pick that woman out of a lineup.”  

Milton simply shrugs before taking another spin in his desk chair. “You’ve got a lot of admirers, Mr. Bounty Hunter. A man like you blows into town…well, you’re downright exotic. Every single red-blooded woman under 75 wants a taste.”

Ari visibly shudders before crossing his legs at the ankle. He didn’t want anyone else. This particularly surly Bounty Hunter wanted you. He only wanted to eat your food. Enjoy your sweets. Fall to his knees and devour the fuck out of your pretty little pussy.

“Hard pass, buddy.” Your lawman sighs. “I didn’t know shit about the pie incident. I mean, how could I when she was barely talking to me or anyone at that party?”

“Not saying it’s your fault, big guy. Logically, what would you have been able to do if she had told you?”

Ari looks up at him, his piercing blue gaze never once leaving the young deputy’s. “I would’ve taken her back to my place and spent the rest of the night making her feel better. I would’ve done everything in my power to take my girl’s mind off that petty shit.”

“Mmm.” Milton murmurs as understanding suddenly dawns. “I really don’t wanna get too deep in your business, but your lady is like a sister to me.” He leans back in his chair so that he can kick his feet up on his desk. “We used to play on the playground together as kids. And full disclosure, she used to beat my ass.” The deputy chuckles as he begins to recount all the way you used to be a tiny force of nature. 

“I…can see that.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Anyway, I think your original plan was a good one.” 

“Meaning?” Ari leans over to take a sip of his now cold coffee. It tasted like shit anyway, even when it was hot. In fact he longed for you, his BIrd, to make him one of your little caffeine-infused concoctions – preferably while wearing nothing but his shirt. 

So he could also take a bite out of that luscious ass while you refreshed his mug. After all, he was a man who prided himself on his ability to multitask. 

“Meaning, you need to find a way to distract her while making your point.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, you’re a smart fuckin’ guy who set his sights on someone who could easily be the most stubborn woman in the whole damned state.” A smirking Milton offers up a salute with his can of Dr. Pepper. “That’s for you to figure out. All I can do at this point is wish you luck.” 

“Thanks.” Ari grunts, wishing that he had a better idea of what to do with you.

Oh, rest assured that he’d figure it out. You were too important to him not to. He just hoped you’d find it in your heart to take it easy on him for his mistake. 

The Next Day

You wake up to the smell of cooking sausage wafting into your room. It makes you smile as you stretch your arms over your head. Your stomach growls in agreement, subtly reminding you that you’d neglected to make dinner last night. 

Oops. You hadn’t meant to forget, it had just happened. Normally you would end your night with speaking to your Beast of a Bounty Hunter, who always made sure you ate. But lately, you have been both mad at him and embarrassed.   

Because at a recent town potluck, Ari had eaten your rival’s pecan pie. Now, you weren’t children, but this had also been after she’d purposely sabotaged your own dessert by accidentally dropping it on the ground. 

Charline pretended that it had been a mistake. But the way you’d witnessed her laugh after the fact. And then she’d fed your man, reveling in every minute. You’d known her pecan pie was dry, but Ari had seemed to enjoy it. So much so that he’d asked for a second piece. 

Which was fine, except it had hurt your feelings. And you hadn’t been sure how to relay exactly relay that fact either. So you’d clamped down. You’d bottled up. 

And as a result, your poor, sweet man was suffering. Which meant you needed to apologize. But you weren’t quite sure how to go about it. As you sit up, you vow to yourself to give him a call today. As soon as you sat down and enjoyed your breakfast.

And then it occurs to you. You weren’t the one cooking. Which meant someone was in your house. 

You spring out of bed and grab your Louisville Slugger that you always kept nearby. Taking a deep breath, you quietly make your way down the stairs, your trusty bat poised to take a swing at whatever moron who’d chosen to take up residence in your kitchen.

Baring your teeth, you crest around the corner on bare feet, ready to make your presence known. 

“You gonna hit me, Bird?” Ari muses as he adds a dash of salt, followed by pepper to whatever it is he’s got cooking in the skillet. Your flippin' skillet. “Is that really how this ends? You take me out while I’m being kind enough to whip us up some breakfast?”

Momentarily flummoxed you find yourself lowering your weapon in favor of taking in the scene before you. This man – your Bounty Hunter – was currently standing in your kitchen clad in nothing but an apron. 

Your apron. And yet somehow it fit him better

“Wh–what are you doing?” You ask him, letting your baseball bat clatter to the floor at your feet. You wouldn’t need it. You were safe with this man, but only to a point. “And how’d you get in?” You hadn’t given him a key yet. 

That was supposed to be a present for later. 

“Eh.” Ari shrugs, flipping a pancake with surprising skill. “Maybe I saw my gift and swiped it after the potluck. Maybe you weren’t listening to me and I couldn’t get a read on you, so I had to be an asshole and make an executive decision.” He turns away from you to drop a finished pancake on a plate, giving you a fantastic view of his perfectly muscled ass.

“You mad?” 

“N-no.” You respond as you feel your thighs clench. God, how you wished that you’d come down here wearing pants. “I was actually planning to reach out to you today. Can I ask what you’re doing?” You shiver as you feel your thighs grow damp, your traitorous pussy working against you. 

You should be mad that your Beast had broken into your house. Instead you were happy to see him with a much deserved apology ready to fall from your lips. 

“Making you breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and sausage.” He adds another delicious pancake to the stack. “I’m gonna feed you, and then I’m gonna fuck you, and make you rethink ever ignoring me again.” He purrs, the intoxicating rumble coming from somewhere deep in his chest. 

Fuck you were so wet it was almost embarrasing. 

“I’ve earned the rights to that tight little pussy, baby. And when I make a mistake like I did with that goddamned Charline, I want you to tell me.” Ari turns off the range, pulling the food off the heat and onto a plate.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, both hating and loving the way your nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirts. Actually, it was one of his. A detail he also seemed to notice. “How can I make it up to you?”

Ari studies you for a moment, his handsome face tilting to the side. And then your eyes stray to the sight of his impressive erection. You watch as one of his big hands reaches down to fist his hard cock, pumping it once. Twice. 

“You can start by going back upstairs. I want you naked, on all fours. I want to come up there and feast my eyes on your soaking wet cunt.” His heated gaze bores into your own, making your already drenched core spasm one more. “And you’d better be wet for me, otherwise I’m gonna spank it. And you.” 

“O-okay.” You find yourself taking a step back, your hand clutching at the wall. 

“I’m gonna eat it baby.” Ari growls, his voice filled with a mix of unbridled lust and determination. “I’m gonna make that pussy fucking cry. And you’re gonna fucking take it. You hear me?”

“Yes.” You whisper, resisting the urge to reach down as you stroke your eager fingers over your throbbing clit. “Yes, Sir.”

He takes a menacing step towards you, his body delighting in the way that you shiver. You’d been bad. Which means it was time to pay the price. And what better man to exact that payment than your own handsome, 6”4 Beast? 

“And then I’m gonna fuck you in front of that brand new mirror I bought you. I’m gonna show you who owns that beautiful body and remind you why it’s important to talk to me when you need me.” Another menacing step. “And then I’m gonna feed those delectable curves after I’ve had my fill.”

“And then…” He tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “You’re gonna let me kiss it all better while I make love to you.”

“Y-yes, please.” Right now you were willing to give this man whatever he wanted. Whatever helped you atone for your supposed sins.

“There’s a good girl.” He intones as he unties the apron, leaving him naked and aroused in your simple kitchen. “Now run.”

END

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[soulc-hilde]

Twiddledee, Twiddledum

Pairing: Eminem x afab!reader

Synopsis: You’ve never been the most sociable person, missing countless of romantic possibilities until an accritically acclaimed rapper decides that you’re the one for him. Of course, the mean girl who lives for theatrics doesn’t agree. 

Based off of this request

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Baby, you’ve been telling me for months about how great of man you’re with, but how come I’ve never seen him before?” Your mother practically whines through the phone call. 

You scoff, shaking your head. Because your other child is a hoe and three quarters. Despite her conscience, you decided to play it safe with your words. “We’ve just been busy, mama. Ya know, if there’s one thing about workaholics, we attract one another.” 

“Child, you may be grown, but I ain’t stupid,” the woman snorts. “Besides, you’re a bad liar. If you’re ashamed of us… I’ll cuss your ass out, but I won’t judge. Your father still believes that wearing socks with his sandals is a practical fashion statement. That’s enough shame to last a lifetime.”

You laugh, nostalgic moments of your family’s arguments over the man’s fashion choices. “That man could bring shame upon a village and he still wouldn’t care,” the two of you laugh. They settle down for a moment. “You do know that we tend to find love that reminds us of home or our loved ones, right? I bet you, that boy you’re with is just like yo’ daddy.”

You freeze for a second, thinking about whether the statement was the slightest bit true. 

“Oh my God,” Hailie gasps, eyes wide as she glares up the stairs. “Dad, no. Absolutely not!”

Stevie and Alaina lean over, trying to see what traumatized their sister. Immediately, their eyes widen, jaws dropping like never before. Their father, goofy as can be yet aggravating as hell, was dressed like the Boy Wonder in a tight costume and a fat blonde wig that contrasted heavily against his dark brown beard.

“What?” He shrugs, gesturing down at the outfit. “You don’t like the look? I was thinkin’ about tryin’ some’ new.” 

Stevie shakes their head, face turning as red as the vest of his costume. “No, you… you can’t. This should be illegal. How did we even get here?!” 

Alaina just laughs, flying back against the couch without a care if she’d smash her head into the frame. Walking around the corner, sipping on a homemade Pepsi slushie, you choke at the sight. Distressed, was the way Hailie described your reaction. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the bullshit that would arise on the once fine Tuesday evening. 

It was only fucking Tuesday. And this motherfucker actually went outside and walked the neighborhood in this shit. Not even your poor Corgi, Parlay, wanted to be caught dead beside this man. 

“Parlay,” he scolds, “come on, man. You gotta take a shit? You better do it now cause you sure as hell ain’t doin’ it in my house.” The dog huffs and whins, tossing and turning on his back, paws covering his eyes. 

You lean out of the living room window, smiling. “Stop stressing him out and maybe he wouldn’t be constipated. Crazy son of a bitch.” 

Oh, good times. Good times. Shit, your mother’s right. He was damn near the mirrored image of your just as comedic father. 

You simply sigh into the receiver, chuckling at the thought. “So, dinner?” Your mother questions, a smile so strong it could be heard through her words. Damn, snake. “Yeah, yeah. I can see about dinner. I’ll ask him first, so we can find a good time and I’ll text you.”

“Yes! I’ll be waiting, now! Kisses,” she hangs up with a quick air kiss to the phone. 

You toss the phone to the other side of the couch, forcing a throw pillow over her face in hopes you’d strangle to death. Marshall walks past, eyes widening at the sight, unsure if you were just being dramatic as per usual or if you needed to talk. 

He takes quick, hesitant steps your way. His strong hand quickly taps the tips of his digits against your neck. You scrunch, catching his fingers in the process, with a yelp. “Ow, Mars,” you wince, “what the hell, man?” 

He removes the pillow, meeting your squinting eyes with a shrug. “Hey, not my fault, you search for death on a regular basis. I still don’t know when you’re serious, sometimes.” 

The man plops beside you, sliding the phone over under your legs. “What’s going on, mama?” He pats your thighs. “My mother wants to meet you, have a nice little family dinner,” you easily open-up.

Between you and Marshall, nothing was complicated. You both found it easy to converse and open to one another, after he felt confident that you weren’t in search of his wealth that is. All of your insecurities, your fears – anything on your minds, was like an encrypted cope that only the two of you could decipher. His kids would constantly compliment your partnership, happy their father has found the beauty in love. 

“Okay, nothin’ wrong with that,” he shrugs. “You don’t avoid talking about your parents, so they can’t be that bad in your eyes.” 

“And they’re not. They’re not the cause behind my worry, it’s my sister,” you nearly growl at the thought of her. 

Growing up, you two were only a few months apart yet you two were polar opposites. While she basked in the praise for everything she did. From the way she talked down to the way she dressed, it was like experiencing Regina George before the Mean Girls movie. Now that you think about it, maybe she inspired the character. 

Outside of her appearance, she began to fraternize with boys a little too much. Sneaking uninvited guests in and out of their house when their parents were gone, knowing her little sister felt incredibly uncomfortable. You could never forget the night she stormed into your room with a boy, invading your privacy as they bounced onto your bed.

“Did you know that she’s a virgin,” your sister laughs, steadily watching your face. “It’s so bad that she gets disgusted by the idea of having sex.” The two laugh, finding humor in the fact that their abrasiveness and ignorance. 

“I don’t get disgusted about sex, idiot,” you hiss, shaking with anger. “I get pissed off when your slutty, disease having ass disrespects my personal space and our parents. So, yeah, I’m gonna get mad.” 

“Aw, poor baby’s gonna cry,” she laughs, hoping to cover the impact of the insult. The boy laughs as well, “maybe she just needs a little action. Really give her something to cry –” 

Irrationally, you swing at his face, smashing the old cd player against his cheek. His body rolls off the bed, shaking the ground on impact. Your sister glares up at you, eyes trembling with fear. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you crazy?”

“Like a fucking patient,” you holler back, snatching her hair, pulling her off the bed. “Let me go, you crazy bitch!” She screams as you drag her down the stairs, silently hoping you’d cause even greater damage.

Since then, things have been different. Well, for one, word got out that you were a crazy, temperamental bitch so no one really got in your way which meant that your sister couldn’t mention bringing a boy home without him pissing his pants. And two, the girl stopped fucking with you. 

Once you graduated high school and went about your adult lives, you simply told your parents one thing. One rule: ‘I never want to hear a single update about that woman.’ Of course, they had their questions and opposals, but after a while, they began to understand that something happened and it was up to you two to figure it out. Which you never will. 

“What about her?” He asks. “That bitch is the reason why I look at sex with disgust, why I felt so uncomfortable with the idea of letting anyone so close and personal,” you huff. 

“She’s even went out of her way in the past to publicly humiliate me because I’d rather pick up a book than wonder who I can fuck for how ever much time.” Marshall’s eyebrows raise, “and that’s a problem, why?” You deadpan, receiving a shrug. “Just askin’, ya know, I used to act similarly in the past.”

You nod, “true, but I can bet that you’ve never gone so far that you’d humiliate and force it onto someone who’s just not comfortable with it.” He nods, “hell no. I couldn’t imagine doing that to anybody.” 

“Well, she had no problem doing that to her little sister. Bitch, had the damn nerve to act offended when I started lashing out.” Marshall snorts, “you do have an insane temper, babe. I thought I was bad, but you take the cake, boo.”

You lightly kick him in the side, rolling your eyes, amused. “Shut up.” He nods, “my bad. My bad. So, the dinner. Do you wanna go, take the risk of your sister being there? Or do you wanna just stay home?”

“We can go,” you shrug. “It’s not right that I got to meet all of your loved ones, but you’re just a stranger to mine.” He nods, “well then, we have a dinner to attend. I’m free this Friday night, okay.” You simply nod, turning your attention to the television. 

– Friday Night – 

The plans for dinner weren’t too fancy, instead it was just a casual steakhouse they were attending. Reaching the restaurant, you two step inside, eyes searching for the booth your mother described to you. 

‘Big and in the far corner,’ she texted. So descriptive mother, she could be a writer with those words. Finally, your eyes fall onto hers. The woman waves, enthusiastically causing her husband to turn around quickly, nearly giving himself whiplash.

“Let’s get this shit started,” you sigh, stepping forward. Marshall pecks you on the head, holding your hand in a gentle caress. 

The two of you reach the table as your parents stand, waiting to introduce themselves. “Mom, dad,” you smile, “this is Marshall. My boyfriend.” He steps forward, shaking your father’s hand before pulling your mother in for a quick hug. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Your mother nearly squeals, “oh, you’re so handsome! I’m so happy to finally meet you.” Your father nods, “our baby kept you hidden real good, but she’s told us somethings.” Marshall chuckles, “hopefully, all good things.”

“Of course,” your father leans forward, “it’s good to know that a man with humor has captured her little heart. We were afraid some average pain in the ass was gonna weave his way in.” 

“Dad,” you groan, slipping into one side of the booth when you feel a lump brush against your hip. You look down to see a fake snake skin purse. 

Your face scrunches with disgust, looking at your parents, “please tell me you didn’t get me a gift? Besides, you guys know I hate purses. Especially poorly designed ones.” You grimace, raising the bag by its strap. 

“Uh, about that, lovey,” your mother stutters when a shrill voice cuts in. “Oh my God, no way!” They scream, rushing for the table. You look up, eyes widening at the sight of the monster from under your bed hugging your boyfriend, legs wrapping around his waist.

Marshall coughs on his saliva, eyes widening at the invasion of space. “Get the hell off your sister’s boyfriend, what the hell is wrong with you?” Your mother scolds. 

“Yeah, sure. Eminem is that bastard’s boyfriend, anywhosers.” She drops down, coming to a stop at the dark look that overcame your features. It’s been years since the two of you have talked, much less stand in the same space. It’s obvious time took its toll on the both of you. 

She struggled to keep up with the trending makeup looks and fashion of the decade while you confidently dressed in your casual yet chic black wardrobe of button-ups, jeans, and boots – the sole color you owned being the accessories that fit your mood and simple makeup that worked with your features rather than fight against them. Not to forget the well sculpted figure that filled out said clothes. 

“I see you’ve gotten quite… big,” she scoffs. You smirk, “I see you like the drunkie aesthetic. You do realize the whole concealer for lipstick and clumpy mascara is an old trend of the past, right?” She huffs, “well, it’s back.”

You nod, “yeah. For drunkies.” She rolls her eyes. Quickly, your mother steps in, a gentle hand on Marshall’s shoulder. “This is your sister’s boyfriend, Marshall, she’s been telling us about. You’ll act –” 

“How much is she paying you?” Your sister leans in, “I know it’s not in sex, but it’s gotta be something appealing.” 

“Accordingly as if you were raised with manners and some damn sense or do I gotta knock it into you?” The older woman finishes, a scowl dressing her naturally sweet demeanor. 

Marshall clears his throat, shuffling to your side. “She’s not paying me anything. We started dating like 7 months ago and enjoy being together.” Your father gently guides your mother back to her side of the booth, sliding in beside her. 

“Let’s just continue our dinner,” he glares at his eldest, “respectfully.” You nod, sliding further in so Marshall could get beside you. “Of course, pops,” you snatch the woman’s purse and swing it onto the empty table behind you. “Unfortunately, this table is at capacity, you can sit in the back like a good dog.”

“Bitch,” she grumbles, snatching the bag off the floor. Your eyebrows raise, “I literally just called you that. Don’t tell me your hearing’s going out?” The older man sighs, pinching his nose bridge, “girls, please!” 

He opens his eyes, slowly, focusing on Marshall. “Marshall, please, tell us about yourself. We’d like to know the man who warmed our little girl’s heart.” The rapper nods, “yes, sir.”

As Marshall began talking, trying his hardest not to ramble on about your first meeting, your sister slides in beside him. Ignoring your glare, she set her purse between her hip and his, taking that as her moment to squeeze his thigh. Jolting, he side-eyes her, a flare of irritation taking in her actions like a fuel to his flame. 

He was already irritated that your sister had a history of putting you in such bad positions, but to be here in public and continue to try and humiliate you in your grown ages was infuriating. As begins to hype up your parents for the way they raised you, she goes for another squeeze a bit closer to his groin when he finally snaps.

“Genuinely, what the fuck is wrong with you?” He glares, body completely turned to face her. “You lack that much respect for yourself and your family that you just can’t keep your hands to yourself?” 

Your eyebrows raise, looking over his shoulder at the now flustered woman. “Wha– What? I didn’t do shit to you. You’re the one over here pathetically gushing over her when you’re copping a feel on me. I knew you were a pervert Eminem, but for fuck’s sake man, I thought being sober changed you.” 

You glare at your mother, her own matching yours like a mirror. In your family, your mother was known as the ultimate crashout. Granted, she’s gotten a bit softer in her older age, but that was fit and appeared physically younger than her mental. If needed, she can and is always ready to throw down. 

She slams her palm down onto the wooden table, the glasses clinking with the quake as your face silently stares upwards, lips mouthing a silent prayer. “Girl, when I tell you,” she snarls, pointing a manicured finger your sister’s way. “You need to tighten up, I mean that shit.”

“What– Mama,” she gawks.Your mother’s lips curl in anger, “tighten the fuck up. In your grown ass age, acting like some gahtdamn hussie. Now, I told you, when we do this dinner, it’s about your sister and her man. I ain’t about you, ain’t shit about you.”

“Now, I’m here to tell you,” she leans forward, “either you tighten up, sit in silence, and act like you got some damn sense, take your ass home, or you can go toe-to-toe with me or your sister. Choose wisely.” Both Marshall and your sister turn stiff, eyes widening with fear.

Apple really doesn’t fall too far from the tree, huh? He holds back his amusement, watching your sister stumble over her thoughts. She glances your way only to be met with a familiar glare that brings on memories she tried to forget. 

“I’ll fuck you up,” your accent comes out thick as your mother’s, emphasizing the ‘fuck’ slowly yet strong enough for her to get your point across.  

She nods, sliding out the booth. “I’m, uh, I’m actually getting kind of tired. I’ll talk to you guys later, yeah? It was nice meeting you, Mr. Mathers.” Holding her purse to her chest, she speed walks out down the aisle for the front entrance. 

Seconds after, your waitress set down your plates. Your father cuts into his rib-eye, enjoying the juicy fat that explodes with flavor on his tongue. He looks up, meeting Marshall’s shocked gaze. Bouncing his knife between you and your mother, cheerfully speaking about something completely different as if y’all didn’t just threaten your sister. 

“Twiddledee, Twiddledumb,” he simply says before going back to his food. Marshall laughs, shaking his head as he cuts into his sirloin. What the hell did he get himself into?

Sorry for the tardiness, I got off work and my legs felt so fucking swollen for some reason, it hurts. I was debating if I wanna sleep first, but I knew that if I did, I was not gonna wake up again.

If I haven't got to your request yet, I'm most likely at work. So, if you guys want to, you can request through someone else if I don't respond some time after 8pm EDT. I'm really sorry, but my legs sting so bad.

Anyways, enjoy!! 💚

Eminem Taglist: @evasmlp

[therealcocoshady]

"Because I fucking love you !"

Author's Note : Here is the argument OS we talked about ! I hope you liked it. I think that's the more smut I have ever written (save for one that was deleted when my phone was stolen...). It's not really filthy or hardcore but I did my best. Let me know what you think ❤️

TW : Smut

You were leaning against the wall, arms crossed, while your boyfriend of four months was standing in on your doorstep, nervously scratching his beard. You were absolutely dying to hear the excuse he would come up with, to try and explain why you waited for two fucking hours at a restaurant, for a man who never showed up. He had let you down in the past, cancelled plans at the last minute but this humiliation was new. And this time, you had enough. 

Two hours, Marshall. I waited for you for two hours, you reminded him. 

I know, I’m sorry, he said sheepishly. 

Well, two hours is only the time I spent waiting for you in the restaurant, you corrected. Because it took you two more hours to call me after I went home. So, really, that’s four. 

I can do the math, Y/N, he sighed. I don’t suck that much with numbers. 

Speaking of which… You sure seemed to have lost my number, you pointed out. 

I wasn’t getting any service, he replied. 

Whatever, you said. That’ll teach me. 

Teach you what ? 

Not to waste my time on men who clearly don’t care about me. 

The both of you stayed silent for a couple of seconds. It was time to address the elephant in the room : he clearly wasn’t that into you. The past four months had been great, overall, and Marshall was a great guy, but you were tired of cancelled plans, of going days on end without so much as a text… and waiting, all dolled up, in a crowded restaurant with waiters feeling sorry for you was the last straw. Plus, it was always you making efforts to accommodate his busy schedule, never the other way around. You liked him, a lot - hell, you were in love with the man - but you knew you had to do yourself a favor and put an end to it. You had been there, done that, spending time on people who wouldn’t do the same for you and you weren’t about to make the same mistakes. It was a shame, though, because if you put aside Marshall’s shitty schedule and time management, he was one of the greatest men you had ever dated. Funny, kind, compassionate, thoughtful. He even gave you his undivided attention. If only said attention wasn’t so hard to get… 

You think I don’t care about you ? Marshall asked with a confused look on his face. 

You clearly don’t, you scoffed. 

Really ? I clearly don’t ?! he asked as he crossed his arms in a defensive stance. 

In the past two weeks, you have cancelled one date, bailed on me for a second one and barely texted me, Marshall, you sighed. 

Because I’m busy ! He exclaimed. I am fucking drowning in work ! Do you have an idea what my fucking schedule looks like ?! I have meetings, trips, studio sessions… I’m busy trying to finish my album !

And you don’t think I’m busy ? You asked with a raised eyebrow. I work too ! I have a busy schedule and, yet, I have never bailed on you, have I ? And I respond to your texts ! So you don’t get to play the « I’m busy » card. I don’t have time for your shitty excuses ! 

Look, I’m sorry I bailed on you, but-

No but ! You almost shouted. I’m sick of excuses. I don’t deserve this. I’m sick of waiting for you to call me whenever you want to hook up or whatever it is you’re even capable of ! 

You think that’s all I want ?! To hook up with you ?! He yelled. If I wanted a hook up, I have a thousand groupies to choose from, I wouldn’t waste my time trying to apologize at 1AM on your doorstep ! 

Why don’t you go and pick a groupie for the night then ?! 

Because you’re the one I want ! He almost screamed. 

Because I’m probably the only one who’s dumb enough to put up with you, you scoffed. 

Because I fucking love you, Y/N, he shouted. 

You were ready to enter a shouting match with him but this impromptu declaration stopped you in your tracks. You looked at him, flabbergasted. He was red in the face, almost panting from the yelling. 

Y-you… what ? You asked. 

I… fuck. I wasn’t planning on telling you like this, he groaned. 

But… you do ? 

Of course I do, he nearly scoffed. 

Say it again, you asked. 

He chuckled and took a step closer towards you. You were still mad at him but hearing those three magic words did a great job softening you, and so did standing in his presence. Whenever he was close to you, it seemed like you couldn’t think straight. You weren’t too sure if it was his stature, his piercing blue gaze or his heavenly smell, but there was something about him that drove you crazy. It had been so since you first met, the chemistry being undeniable on both parts. He cupped your face and smiled at you. 

I love you, Y/N, he said softly. 

I love you too… Dumbass. 

You were trying really hard not to smile. After all, you were still livid that you had to wait for him. In your opinion, it was humiliating. But Marshall’s grin was almost contagious and, from the look on his face, you could tell that he knew it. 

Are you going to let me in ? He asked calmly, still smiling. 

Do you think you deserve it ? You asked as you failed to contain a smile. 

Probably not, he admitted. But you know you want to. 

I’m still mad, you warned. 

I’ll make it up to you, he assured you. I told you I love you. How about I show you how much ? 

His voice was seductive and there was absolutely no doubt as to how he wanted to show you the depth of his affection. And, deep down, you were all for it. You caved in and grabbed his arm, pulling him in for a deep kiss. You could feel him smile against your mouth as he kissed you back, one of his hands on your waist, the other cupping your face. With his foot, he slammed the door shut behind him and, one second later, he was carrying you to your bedroom as your legs wrapped around his waist. One he entered your room, he gently let you down on the bed before taking a good look at you. You had abandoned the pretty dress you had worn to dinner for silk pajamas : tiny shorts that hugged you ass and a camisole that did not cover much of your chest. Your boyfriend arbored a smirk and a lustful look in his eyes that left no doubt as to what his intentions were. You smiled and pulled him closer to you, kissing him fervently. He kept on kissing you as he removed his jacket and kicked his shoes before laying on top of you. His kisses were passionate and hungry but his moves were painfully slow. He was running his hands up your bare legs, feeling how silky smooth they were, his caresses almost tickling you. His hands continued their exploration of your body, that he knew like the back of his hand already. They roamed underneath your camisole, tracing circles on your back and sending shivers down your spine. His ability to electrify you with just one touch always amazed you. Whenever the two of your touched, you could swear there were sparks all over the room and fireworks in your chest. He had always told you how much he loved your soft skin and how he could spend hours just stroking it. But you were yearning for more, you were absolutely hungry for him. You wanted his touch all over your body, on every inch of your skin, and especially in some places. Places that did not include your back. You tried to grab his hands to redirect them in the right spots but he simply chuckled at how eager you were. 

We have all night, baby, he whispered. And you have me for the whole weekend. Just be patient, alright ? 

You let out a small displeased whine. You wanted him and you wanted him right now. And after keeping you waiting all night, the least he could do was to oblige, right ? You were about to remind him when he pressed his index to your lips and buried his face in your neck, kissing your sweet spot before sucking on it. His teeth grazed your skin and you couldn’t help but let out a small moan. He pressed his finger to your lips again and you did not resist the temptation to tease him by sucking on it. You could feel a grin form on his lips, still against your neck, as you ran your hands underneath his tee-shirt, which you desperately wanted him to remove. Under your fingers, you could feel every muscle in his back. He hummed at your touch and, as you tugged on the fabric of his shirt, he seemed to get the message. He sat up, straddling you for a second to remove it, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his perfect, muscular chest. It was no secret that you were absolutely fond of his pecs, nearly obsessed with them. So, as he undressed, you were virtually unable to resist the temptation to ran a hand over them, playfully squeezing as a grin formed on your lips. He chortled and grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing each one of your fingers and knuckles with infinite softness and tenderness, before moving on to your wrist and the rest of your arm. God, you didn’t know arm kisses could ever be so sensual but there you were, turning into a puddle under his soft lips. Your eyes were shining with adoration for this man, your brain solely focused on him, who was giving your body his undivided attention. He helped you sit up and made you remove your camisole. Now it was his turn to admire your chest and your tits, which were already perking up thanks to your state of arousal, causing him to smirk. He had you lay back down on the bed as he took one of your nipples in your mouth while he pinched the other. You let out a soft whimper, relishing in the stimulation. The sensation of him sucking on you was absolutely heavenly and sending you into overdrive. You could feel your own wetness and your clit swelling by the second. You were squirming under him, so much so that he had to press his body harder on yours in an attempt to prevent you from moving too much. You were mellow under him, at his mercy. Not that you’d have it any other way, mind you. You enjoyed the sensation way to much. Your breath was heavy and, as seconds went by, you were starting to think he would make you come this way, just by teasing your nipples. Right when you thought you were about to climax, he let go of your breasts and went back to kissing you. 

Marshall, you pleaded. 

Yes, love ? He asked innocently. 

I want you. 

You were almost begging. The self-assured woman who was yelling at him on the doorstep moments earlier was nowhere to be found. You were nothing but a puddle, a moaning mess, his to enjoy, tease and torture. He looked at you as he ran his fingers from your cheek to your shoulder to your hip. The trace of his touch was almost leaving a burning sensation. You were craving for more but, at the same time, you relished the softness of it. Your usual lovemaking sessions had always been passionate but this was something else. It was torrid but equally gentle. He was not claiming your body like he usually did. He was enjoying it like one relishes something they know for a fact is theirs. He slowly removed your silk shorts, leaving you bare while he was still wearing his half-dressed. He smiled at the view of your naked body, devouring you with his eyes. You could see the sheer adoration o his face, showing you how he really meant it when he said you were the only one he wanted. For a split second, you locked eyes, his piercing blue gaze staring into your soul. He kissed your lips, your neck, the valley between your breasts, your stomach and your soaking wet pussy. It was wet and glistening, and there was no doubt that he could see. He chuckled and his warm breath against this area sent more shivers down your spine. Unable to control yourself, you let out one more whine and he took it as his cue to start teasing you with his mouth. His expert tongue was flicking against your clit and you let out a guttural moan as you mindlessly ran your hand through his hair, maintaining him in place. He kept on sucking on your bud as he easily slid two fingers inside of you and immediately hit your g-spot, causing you to gasp at how incredible it felt. You tried sitting up but his free hand went straight to your chest to maintain you in a laying position. His movements accelerated and you were soon bucking your hips, curling your toes, your release being imminent. But, much to your dismay, he stopped just as you were about to reach your climax. You were almost on the verge of tears, the denial being too much for you to handle. 

Please, you begged. I-I need…

I want to be inside of you, babe, he said softly. 

He quickly removed his jeans, socks and boxers and you stared shamelessly at his naked body. He was fully erect and you were almost foaming at the mouth. His perfect chest, his abs, his dick… All of him seemed carved in marble. Seeing your expression put a smirk on his face. He knew full well the effect he had on you and he enjoyed it. He stood there for a couple of seconds while the two of you admired each other’s nakedness. The sheer admiration in his gaze made you forget about everything that ever made you feel self-conscious : the scar on your knee - inherited from a scooter fall, your stomach that wasn’t as flat as you wanted it to be, the stretch marks on the size of your breasts… In his eyes, they disappeared and you felt like a goddess. Fitting, seeing as he was your own personal deity, with a body you’d worship day and night if you had the opportunity. Still staring at you, he opened the drawer in your nightstand and grabbed a condom. You spread your legs a little more and he laid on top of you, kissing you as he positioned himself at your entrance, after putting the rubber on. The two of you had done it countless times but the sensation of him entering you never failed to make you gasp. It wasn’t pain or surprise, more so a form of relief. You let out a small moan as he moved further inside of you, the position allowing you to take a good look at him. His eyes were half-closed and you could tell he was focusing on the sensation of how you felt around him. He stood still for a second before starting to thrust in you, slowly yet precisely. You put a hand behind his neck, pulling his face closer to yours. Your mouths crashed on each other and you kissed him violently, hungrily. You couldn’t wait any longer : you needed him. All of him. You wanted him to claim you, possess you, mark you as his… As if he could read your mind, he immediately picked up the face, keeping on kissing you. He was pounding into you and you put up a fight with yourself not to scream his name. You took it out on his back instead, scratching violently - not thinking about the marks that would undoubtedly be there the next day. He loved the sensation, you knew it, and the whimper he let out was further proof. There was nothing you enjoyed more than his sounds of pleasure, he who was often so quiet compared to you. Your mouth traveled to his, to his neck, where you started sucking. His movements started to become a bit sloppy and you could tell he was close. You gently grazed his shoulder with your teeth, happy to be the one who got him lost in his own pleasure. 

Y/N, he warned. 

Come for me, you said softly. 

You first, he said firmly. 

He caught you by surprise and, in the matter of one second and two movements, you were on top, straddling him. You would almost be mad at the ease with which he managed to flip you around if it didn’t feel so good. He knew this position was, by far, your favorite, as it allowed you to feel all of him. You let your head fall back as you enjoyed the sensation of him pistoning into you. Just because you were on top didn’t mean he was intent on giving you any control. The only sounds you could hear were your moans (yours being much louder than his) and your ski slapping against his. Lost in your haze, you weren’t too sure, but it seemed like you babbled something along the lines of « If you stop, I’ll die ». And you could swear it was about to happen and your heart was going to explode when he played with your clit with his thumb, while still pounding into you.

I-Oh… My-G-god…, you whimpered. 

He wrapped his remaining arm around you and brought you closer to his chest, placing a kiss on the corner of your lips. It was almost too chaste for the moment, but it felt good, soft and intimate. Your eyes caught his and a smile formed on his lips. 

I love you, he said. 

Three words. That’s all it took for you to come undone and reach your apex. Next thing you knew, you were collapsing on top of him as he kept on thrusting, chasing his own high. You weren’t too sure if it lasted seconds, minutes or hours. You were in your own pleasure zone, focused on Marshall’s heartbeat against your chest, the sensation of his fingers digging in your skin, the scent of his sweat mixed with yours… When you came back to your senses, you were under the sheets, wrapped in his arms, him kissing your temples, lavishing you wish praises. 

Hey, you said almost sleepily. 

Hi princess, he chuckled. You alright ? 

Mmmmh mmmh, you nodded as you closed your eyes. 

Am I forgiven, yet ? 

Forgiven ? For what ? You asked, confused and all fucked-out. 

Nevermind, he chuckled. Let’s sleep. I love you. 

In the moment, you had no idea what you were supposed to forgive him for. In truth, you had forgotten all about the argument. The only thing that echoed in your mind were those three sacred words. 

I love you too, you mumbled as you drifted off to sleep, a smile on your lips.

[yaeggravate]

could capitano be anfortas alberich?

it's more likely than you think 👍🏽✨️

arguments in favor of anfortas = capitano:

capitano's potential constellation could be the three nails which is a reference to jesus' crucifixion. i honestly can't picture this constellation belonging to any other harbinger unless sandrone's ruin guard is carrying some heavy bagage.

anfortas is named after the fisher/sinner king from arthurian legend, he is usually portrayed as a jesus-like figure in more modern adaptations, due to his never-ending suffering. he was also stabbed with the holy spear in the same side as jesus during his crucifixion.

in the poem the waste land by t.s. eliot, he associates the fisher king with the tarot card the three staves. in some tarot decks (most notably thoth which is pictured below), the three staves are positioned exactly like the three nails

anfortas' fate is currently unknown, as he is khaenri'ahn it's not unreasonable to assume he could've survived for 500 years

his relative kaeya was conveniently present when varka's letter about capitano was being read in an event about lost family members

according to varka, capitano hides his face so no one can know his identity and origins. anfortas was part of the schwanenritter which is a reference to the swan knight legend, where the knight had to conceal his identity, name and origins

varka says capitano is an ordinary mortal with the courage to go up against gods which is basically khaenri'ah's motto

capitano's helmet has a makeshift 8-pointed star on it which is usually associated with khaenri'ah (tbf 8-pointed stars can also be found in other places, such as the adventurer's guild, the hexenzirkel and now natlan.)

capitano has blue eyes and so far every khaenri'ahn character we've met has blue-ish eyes with the exception of arlecchino who is descended from the crimson moon clan

anfortas and capitano are both commanders: anfortas was the knight marshal of the schwanenritter (and temporarily became regent of khaenri'ah), capitano is thee captain, the highest ranked harbinger

anfortas' personality is unclear so we can't really compare it to capitano's. BUT what we do know is that he temporarily filled in as regent when irmin was unavailable. he also executed his own comrade after they committed treason by sabotaging a machine yet he still gave them a proper knight's funeral. this could allign with the absolute righteousness and honor capitano is known for

capitano is highly praised and respected within the fatui and the same can be said for anfortas who was close enough to the king that he could petition him and whose subordinates believed in him until the end

An Abandoned Letter... I often think lately about how future generations will tell my story. Will I be a sinner? Or a hero... The situation here is dire, but I believe that our Marshal will find a way. I believe...

the author of this letter wondering if they'll be seen as sinners or heroes and believing anfortas will save them fits pretty well with the three nails constellation, a symbol of salvation and redemption

(there's some interesting irony in anfortas' name meaning infirmity (weakness/illness), which is the opposite of capitano being a strong man. capitano's commedia dell'arte counterpart was a braggart who only boasted about his strength.)

capitano is now in natlan. for some reason, kaeya's hidden strife letters are filled with fire imagery. kaeya's dad says the alberich clan "should lead lives as those who blaze like fire rather than those who wallow in the embers", which is reminiscent of the "secret" the pyro archon shares/will share with the traveler according to the travail trailer: "the rules of war are woven in the womb: the victors shall burn bright, while the losers must turn to ash."

*update: natlan is right next to one of anfortas' ruin golems and in a new world quest we find out there were two khaenri'ahn knights in natlan who were ordered by someone highly respected to stop the abyss from spreading. based on context clues their superior is likely anfortas. perhaps anfortas also ended up in natlan and something happened to him there

**update: the schwanenritter were most likely part of the black serpent knights, khaenri'ah's royal guard, since one of the schwanenritter used the same model as a black serpent windcutter. isn't it convenient then that capitano is dressed as a black serpent with those black scales and visor in the triangular shape of a snake's head?

arguments against the theory:

anfortas lost his left eye, while capitano is said to have dark blue eyes plural. however, it's unclear if anfortas literally lost his left eye or was merely blinded. he could have also grown back the eye cause idk khaenri'ah genes/abyss goo/bald

three harbingers from khaenri'ah seems a bit overkill. (though you could argue we already have three harbingers from snezhnaya: childe, pulcinella and pantalone.) we don't have any harbingers from natlan (or liyue), and currently capitano seems like the most likely option. however, knowing hyv's colorism, it could be columbina instead. according to the harbinger wheel columbina should be arriving after arlecchino, although we haven't seen her in any of the trailers yet. (all hope for brown-skinned capitano is not lost if he's related to kaeya though!)

since anfortas is the "fisher" king and ended up with one eye, he could be kaeya's "pirate" grandpa or even his dad and i'm not too confident hyv is gonna imply capitano had a lover with kids unless he gets signora'd lol. on the other hand, arthurian anfortas was famously saved by his nephew, which could mean our anfortas is kaeya's uncle.

***update: capitano can use nightsoul which is exclusive to people from natlan. however, the traveler can also use phlogiston (though no word on nightsoul yet) and mavuika senses an "unusual presence" inside cap which could explain his powers

[changenameno]

Wild Ride PART 1

(Complete, link to the second part, ⬇️ down below)

Summary:
Having to share a car with your friends Sy and August, you and Walter make do. They won’t catch on, to what you’re doing in the backseat, right?

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Fem. Reader (Sy and August)

Warnings: 18+, cursing, unsafe driving, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, finger-fucking, dirty talk, MDNI (most of the Smut in the second part)

Word count: 1.2 K

A/N: Apparently I’m not able to fit a smutty fic in one chapter, so here we go with two parts, again. But at least it’s complete. Though it’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/reblogs are much appreciated…Thank you, hope you enjoy!❤️✨



! Neither Nomis, nor Walter Marshall, Syverson or August Walker are my creation!

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PART 1


You weren’t really excited about this wedding. Not that you weren’t happy for the couple. You were.


But you hadn’t had a free weekend alone with Walter in forever, and just missed being close to him. Also very importantly: not having had sex with him, in so, so long either. Ergo being a bit sulky at the fact that you didn’t even get alone-time in the car.

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Walter had surprised you yesterday with the news: “ So you know how August has bought that new car?”

Not liking where this was going, you slowly turned to your boyfriend, who was sitting next to you on the couch, “Yes, why?”

“Well we were talking earlier. And came to the conclusion that it would make more sense to car share, as we, him and Sy have to go to the wedding…,” drawing out the end as he caught on to your irritated facial expression. “Erm, that’s alright, is it not?” he added unsure.

You sighed deeply, technically speaking it was a perfect solution. But you really wanted to have some fun with Walter. Knowing it’d take some time getting there, you’d hoped for at least a quicky, in some abandoned parking lot or something. Seeing as you couldn’t do anything now, because Faye had a friend over for the weekend.

“Well yeah, of course that’s alright,” straining to keep your disappointment out of your voice and failing miserably. Walter knew you to well, raising his brow sceptically,” Mhhm yeah riiight, and I’m Cinderella waiting for her first kiss.”

Making your sour face, light up instantly at the mental imagery that statement had created. He smiled softly at you in return, patiently waiting for your explanation. Giggling you admitted,” Okay fine, I’d kinda hoped you and I could have a little time to ourselves….you know?”

It was his turn to sigh, cursing,” Damn. If I’d known you’d be up for that, I wouldn’t have agreed to car share.”

“Oooh, but Mister Marshall, by now you should know with you, I’m always …up…for…that,” you winked teasingly at him.

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August had picked up Sy first, because his house lay on the way to yours. When he drove up the driveway, your face fell, as you saw the car. More specifically the completely loaded up car. He rolled down the window greeting you both. ”Morning you two, jump right in.” Sy grinned at you from the passenger seat, waving briefly.

Still gaping at the car, you shook your head, “You’ve got to be kidding, what is that?!” Walter didn’t look too keen either, as August supplied you with; “Ah yeah a friend of mine moved and I hadn’t had time to remove all the boxes yet.”

Irritated, Walter remarked, “All the boxes? August, the whole damn car is packed to the roof! You do realise that there’s only one seat not occupied?”

August smiled slyly then nodded; “Well yeah, but I thought you two love birds could share the seat.” And as if that ended the argument, he just rolled his window up again.

Annoyed you glared at your boyfriend; “I’m not getting into that car! We have to drive at least four hours!” Walter signed, shrugging his shoulders, “I know, but I believe we don’t have much of a choice here.”

Nearly growling you answered,” Oh, I’m so gonna kill him.” The detective simply opened the car door, getting in behind the driver’s seat, waiting for you. Seething you made your way over and into the car. Settling down between Walters thick thighs, as best as you could. If there was a moment to curse your boyfriend’s muscled physique, it was definitely now.

Quite literally feeling completely boxed in, you somehow managed to put a seatbelt on. August gleaming blue eyes landed on yours as he pulled out of the driveway. Looking you up and down, taking in your dark blue dress with small white flowers on it. “You look quite stunning, love.”

You on the other hand, were having none of that, “Oooh, don’t push it.”

Sy ever the gentle intermediary, “I have to agree though, you look stunnin’, sugar.”

You huffed in response, but had to admit that all three men looked dashing themselves in their dark blue tuxedos.

Walter snaked an arm around your waist and rested his other hand on his thigh. Not wanting to argue any further you remained silent, resigning yourself to your fate, being squeezed in for the next four hours.

By now you had sat in idle silence for at least half an hour, while the guys had talked about this and that.

Until Sy turned back, beaming at you,” And what’s that grumpy face all ‘bout? Can’t only be the seating.” Damn, you thought no one would notice, that you’d been grumpy since before they’d picked you up. But of course, Sy being your best friend for god knows how long, would notice.

Trying to lighten up, your lips curled into a soft smile, nonetheless lying through your teeth as you answered,” Nothing really. Just tired I guess.” He didn’t look convinced, but knew better than to push, simply turning back to the front.

Suddenly the arm around your midsection, pulled you even closer. Walter leaned down, lips touching your ear, whispering against it,” You know, you can be quite the brat, when you don’t get what you want.” Lightly shivering due to the lewdness of his comment. Heat spread through your body, breathing back just as softly,” Mmmh, well and whose fault is that?”

The resounding growl he let out, travelled all the way down to your panty-covered cunt, which immediately began quivering with want.

Felling his hot breath when he answered, “Looks like someone needs reminding, of who is in charge.” The hand that had been on his own thigh, slowly slid over to yours, inching up from your knee and under the hem of your dress. Already turned on but at the same time alarmed, you took hold of his hand, before it could travel up any further.

“Wait, wait, what if they see,” you gestured towards the front of the car, where Sy and August still chatted. At that Walter pulled back slightly, straitening up. Disappointment settled deep in your stomach. No, why would he stop?

But Walter had no intention of stopping, he just came up with a plan to distracted his two friends best he could. Mentioning the latest game. He knew that would have them quarrel for hours on end at times. And as always they started arguing right away.

Smiling up at your boyfriend you purred; “That worked like a charm.”

“Yeah. And now, where were we?”, his pupils blown wide, as he knew exactly what would follow.

 

 

PART 2

🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻

 

 

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[coochiequeens]

‘100% feminist’: how Eleanor Rathbone invented child benefit – and changed women’s lives for ever

She was an MP and author with a formidable reputation, fighting for the rights of women and refugees, and opposing the appeasement of Hitler. Why isn’t she better known today?

Ladies please reblog to give her the recognition she deserves

By Susanna Rustin Thu 4 Jul 2024

My used copy of the first edition of The Disinherited Family arrives in the post from a secondhand bookseller in Lancashire. A dark blue hardback inscribed with the name of its first owner, Miss M Marshall, and the year of publication, 1924, it cost just £12.99. I am not a collector of old tomes but am thrilled to have this one. It has a case to be considered among the most important feminist economics books ever written.

Its centenary has so far received little, if any, attention. Yet the arguments it sets out are the reason nearly all mothers in the UK receive child benefit from the government. Its author, Eleanor Rathbone, was one of the most influential women in politics in the first half of the 20th century. She led the National Union of Societies for Equal Citizenship (Nusec, the main suffragist organisation, also formerly known as the National Union of Women Suffrage Societies) from 1919, when Millicent Fawcett stood down, until the roughly five million women who were not enfranchised in 1918 gained the vote 10 years later. In 1929, aged 57, she became an MP, and remained in parliament until her death in 1946. While there, she built up a formidable reputation based on her advocacy for women’s rights, welfare reform and the rights of refugees, and her opposition to the appeasement of Hitler.

It would not be true to say that Eleanor Rathbone has been forgotten. Her portrait by James Gunn hangs in the National Portrait Gallery. Twenty years ago she was the subject of a fine biography and she is remembered at Somerville college, Oxford – where she studied in the 1890s and ran a society called the Associated Prigs. (While the name was a joke, Rathbone did have a priggish side – as well as being an original thinker, tremendous campaigner, and stubborn, sensitive personality.) She also features in Rachel Reeves’s book The Women Who Made Modern Economics, although Reeves – who hopes shortly to become the UK’s first female chancellor – pays more attention to her contemporary, Beatrice Webb.

A thrilling tome … The Disinherited Family by Eleanor Rathbone. Photograph: Alicia Canter/The Guardian

But Rathbone, who came from a wealthy dynasty of nonconformist merchants, does not have anything like the name-recognition of the Pankhursts or Millicent Fawcett, or of pioneering politicians including Nancy Astor and Ellen Wilkinson. Nor does she enjoy the cachet of writers such as Virginia Woolf, whose polemic about women’s opportunities, A Room of One’s Own, was published five years after Rathbone’s magnum opus.

There are many reasons for Rathbone’s relative obscurity. One is that she was the first woman elected to parliament as an independent (and one of a handful of men at the time). Thus there is no political party with an interest in turning her into an icon. Having spent the past three years writing a book about the British women’s movement, I am embarrassed to admit that when I started, I didn’t know who she was.

Rathbone was not the first person to propose state benefits paid to mothers. The endowment of motherhood or family allowances, as the policy was known, was written about by the Swedish feminist Ellen Key, and tried out as a project of the Fabian Women’s Group, who published their findings in a pamphlet in 1912. But Rathbone pushed the idea to the forefront. A first attempt to get Nusec to adopt it was knocked back in 1921, and she then spent three years conducting research. The title she gave the book she produced, The Disinherited Family, reflected her view that women and children were being deprived of their rightful share of the country’s wealth.

The problem, as she saw it, was one of distribution. While the wage system in industrialised countries treated all workers on a given pay grade the same, some households needed more money than others. While unions argued for higher wages across the board, Rathbone believed the state should supplement the incomes of larger families. She opened the book with an archly phrased rhetorical question: “Whether there is any subject in the world of equal importance that has received so little consideration as the economic status of the family?” She went on to accuse economists of behaving as if they were “self-propagating bachelors” – so little did the lives of mothers appear to interest them.

Rathbone’s twin aims were to end wives’ dependence on husbands and reward their domestic labour. Family allowances paid directly to them could either be spent on housekeeping or childcare, enabling them to go out to work. Ellen Wilkinson, the radical Labour MP for Middlesbrough (and future minister for education), was among early supporters. William Beveridge read the book when he was director of the London School of Economics, declared himself a convert and introduced one of the first schemes of family-linked payments for his staff.

But others were strongly opposed. Conservative objections to such a radical expansion of the state were predictable. But they were echoed by liberal feminists including Millicent Fawcett, who called the plan “a step in the direction of practical socialism”. Trade unions preferred to push for a living wage, while some male MPs thought the policy undermined the role of men as breadwinners. Labour and the Trades Union Congress (TUC) finally swung behind family allowances in 1942. As the war drew to a close, Rathbone led a backbench rebellion against ministers who wanted to pay the benefit to fathers instead.

Rathbone celebrates the Silver Jubilee of the Women’s Vote in London, 20 February 1943. Photograph: Picture Post/Getty Images

It is for this signature policy that she is most often remembered today. At a time when hundreds of thousands of children have been pushed into poverty by the two-child limit on benefit payments, Rathbone’s advocacy on behalf of larger families could hardly be more relevant. The limit, devised by George Osborne, applies to universal and child tax credits – and not child benefit itself. But Rishi Sunak’s government announced changes to the latter in this year’s budget. From 2026, eligibility will be assessed on a household rather than individual basis. This is intended to limit payments to better-off, dual-income families. But the UK Women’s Budget Group and others have objected on grounds that child benefit should retain its original purpose of directly remunerating primary carers (the vast majority of them mothers) for the work of rearing children. It remains to be seen whether this plan will be carried through by the next government.

Rathbone once told the House of Commons she was “100% feminist”, and few MPs have been as single-minded in their commitment to women’s causes. As president of Nusec (the law-abiding wing of the suffrage campaign), she played a vital role in finishing the job of winning votes for women.

The last few years have seen a resurgence of interest in women’s suffrage, partly due to the centenary of the first women’s suffrage act. Thanks to a brilliant campaign by Caroline Criado Perez, a statue of Millicent Fawcett, the nonmilitant suffragist leader, now stands in Westminster, a few minutes walk from the bronze memorial of Emmeline Pankhurst erected in 1930. Suffragette direct action has long been a source of fascination. What is less well known is that militants played little part in the movement after 1918. It was law-abiding constitutionalists – suffragists rather than suffragettes – who pushed through the 1920s to win votes for the younger and poorer women who did not yet have them. Rathbone helped lead this final phase of the campaign, along with Conservative MP Nancy Astor and others.

Rathbone was highly critical of the militants, and once claimed that they “came within an inch of wrecking the suffrage movement, perhaps for a generation”. Today, with climate groups including Just Stop Oil copying the suffragette tactic of vandalising paintings, it is worth remembering that many women’s suffrage campaigners opposed such methods.

Schismatic though it was, the suffrage movement at least had a shared goal. An even greater challenge for feminists in the 1920s was agreeing on future priorities. Equal pay, parental rights and an end to the sexual double standard were among demands that had broad support. After the arrival in the House of Commons of the first female MPs, legislative successes included the removal of the bar on women’s entry to the professions, new rights for mothers and widows’ pensions. But there were also fierce disagreements.

Tensions between class and sexual politics were longstanding, with some on the left regarding feminism as a distraction. The Labour MP Marion Phillips, for example, thought membership of single-sex groups placed women “in danger of getting their political opinions muddled”. There was also renewed conflict over protective legislation – the name given to employment laws that differentiated between men and women. While such measures included maternity leave and safety rules for pregnant women, many feminists believed their true purpose was to keep jobs for men – and prevent female workers from competing.

Underlying such arguments was the question of whether women, once enfranchised, should strive for equal treatment, or push for measures designed to address their specific needs. As the debate grew more heated, partisans on either side gave themselves the labels of “old” and “new” feminists. While the former, also called equalitarians, wanted to focus on the obstacles that prevented women from participating in public life on the same terms as men, the new feminists led by Rathbone sought to pioneer an innovative, woman-centred politics. Since this brought to the fore issues such as reproductive health and mothers’ poverty, it is known as “maternalist feminism”.

Rathbone and other Liverpool suffragettes campaigning in 1910. Photograph: Shawshots/Alamy

The faultline extended beyond Britain. But Rathbone and her foes had some of the angriest clashes. At one international convention, Lady Rhondda, a wealthy former suffragette, used a speech to deride rivals who chose to “putter away” at welfare work, instead of the issues she considered important.

The specific policy points at issue have, of course, changed over the past century. But arguments about how much emphasis feminists should place on biological differences between men and women carry on.

Eleanor Rathbone did not live long enough to see the welfare state, including child benefit paid to mothers, take root in postwar Britain. Her election to parliament coincided with the Depression, and the lengthening shadows of fascism and nazism meant that she, like her colleagues, became preoccupied with foreign affairs. In the general election of 1935, the number of female MPs fell from 15 to nine, meaning Rathbone’s was one of just a handful of women’s voices. She used hers to oppose the policy of appeasement, and support the rights of refugees, including those escaping Franco’s Spain. During the war she helped run an extra-parliamentary “woman-power committee”, which advocated for female workers.

She also became a supporter of Indian women’s rights, though her liberal imperialism led to tensions with Indian feminists. During the war she angered India’s most eminent writer, Rabindranath Tagore, and its future prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, when she attacked the Congress party’s policy of noncooperation with Britain’s war effort. Tagore criticised what he called the “sheer insolent self-complacency” of her demand that the anti-colonial struggle should be set aside while Britain fought Germany.

Rathbone turned down a damehood. After their first shared house in Westminster was bombed, she and her life partner, the Scottish social worker Elizabeth Macadam, moved around the corner to a flat on Tufton Street (Macadam destroyed their letters, meaning that Rathbone’s intimate life remains obscure, but historians believe the relationship was platonic). From there they moved to a larger, quieter house in Highgate. On 2 January 1946, Rathbone suddenly died.

Rathbone’s blue plaque at Tufton Court. Photograph: PjrPlaques/Alamy

A blue plaque on Tufton Street commemorates her as the “pioneer of family allowances” – providing an alternative claim on posterity for an address more commonly associated with the Brexit campaign, since a house a few doors down became its headquarters. She is remembered, too, in Liverpool, where her experience of dispersing welfare to desperately poor soldiers’ wives in the first world war changed the course of her life, and where one of her former homes is being restored by the university.

I don’t believe in ghosts. But walking in Westminster recently, I imagined her hastening across St James’s Park to one of her meetings at Nancy Astor’s house near the London Library. Today, suffragettes are celebrated for their innovative direct action. But Rathbone blazed a trail, too, with her dedication as a campaigner, writer, lobbyist and “100% feminist” parliamentarian.

 Sexed: A History of British Feminism by Susanna Rustin is published by Polity Press (£20). To support the Guardian order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply

[jonathan-samuel-smith]

Jon is playing animal crossing on the TV, with Damian resting his head against his thigh while using his phone on his back. Damian looks over and squints at the TV, where Jon's character is talking to a villager also named Damian. Damian squints at the TV and scrunches up his nose. "Why do you have a villager with my name on your island?"

Jon smiles and shrugs as he begins shaking trees looking for wasps. "He reminds me of you."

Damian sputters. "That-- that's insulting. I am nothing like him!"

"Yeah but you share the name and it makes me smile." He starts chopping wood absent-mindedly, beginning to pay more attention to Damian than the game. Damian's phone is now facing screen down on his chest.

"Can't you get someone who shares more in common with me than my name?"

Jon smirks and whips out his phone, taking a second to do the same in the game for "immersion". He pulls up a picture of the squirrel villager Marshall. "Like this?"

Damian turns over and stands up on his knees on the couch to whack Jon in the head. Jon is laughing hysterically. "I am not that short you asshole!"

"You are compared to me!"

"Shut up! I'm not done scolding you!"

"It's funny, D. Oh look you're even making the same pissed off expression."

Damian takes the remote and turns the TV off. "Nooo! My animals! My crossings!" Jon says, in a silly mood despite the raising volume of their argument. "Too far, Dames."

"You're lucky I didn't bury pitfalls all around your house. Yet."

"What do you mean *yet*?"

[holylulusworld]

Between a rock and a hard place (1)

Summary: You are in big trouble and in need of money. Two wolves are more than willing to help you. For a price…

Pairing: Mobster!Walter Marshall x fem!Reader x Mobster!August Walker

Warnings: angst, language, power imbalance, debts, scared reader, extortion, mentions of character's death, mentions of a cheating husband, degrading, groping, implied mentions of prostitution

Between a rock and a hard place masterlist

They look like kings sitting on their plush chairs as you tremble in front of them.

In reality, they are wolves, with sharp teeth and claws ready to rip you apart.

One of them with thick and luscious curls and a thick beard, and the other one shares the same features with neatly styled hair and a mustache.

Walter Marshall and August Walker.

Both are equally pretty and deadly at the same time. Gods amongst mere humans. 

Their blue eyes sparkle as you try to find your voice. 

You’re a pitiful sight to them. A broke woman, with no hope, or money left.

All thanks to your useless and unfaithful husband. 

He recently passed away and left more than a hole in your heart. Six digits of debt are now yours to pay.

“I-“You drop your gaze and swallow thickly. You wring your hands, wincing as you miss your wedding band and engagement ring. “I sold my rings and all the jewelry I own.”

“How much do you have for us, mouse?” One of the wolves gets up to stand in front of you. He roughly wraps his large hand around your throat, thumb brushing over your windpipe. “I could easily break you.” He smirks, as your eyes widen in fear. “Maybe I will.”

“August,” the other wolf slowly gets up to place his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We talked about impulse control, brother.”

“Ha! Do you want to tell me something about impulse control? Brother, you are the incarnation of impatience and easily loose control.”

You shrink into yourself. Crowded by both of them you feel even smaller and vulnerable. Your legs are about to give in, and you wince anytime their eyes land on you.

“I sold the car and his golf clubs,” you whisper, not daring to speak louder. “The house…I couldn’t sell it. The bank will take it.”

“You will learn that I hate repeating myself,” August flashes you a devilish grin. “So, how much do you have for us?”

“Eight thousand and fifty dollars,” you sniff. “I know it’s not much, but I’ll pay every buck he owes you back.” Your fingers tremble when you get the envelope with the money out of your pocket.

“Aw, look at her,” Walter coos to mock you. “She’s already trembling for me, brother.” He lifts your chin with his index finger. “Look at me, lamb.” He leaves no room for arguments when he intensely stares at you. “Good girl.” Walter praises when you hold his gaze for a few seconds.

“I wonder what else she has to offer.” While Walter cups your chin to tilt your head, August circles you like prey. “Tell me, mouse.” He whispers in your ear. “Is this cunt tight?”

“What?” You splutter, while tears well up to your eyes. You struggle to breathe. These men treat you like a piece of meat, not a person. All they have in mind is getting their money back. And they don’t care how you pay them back.

“We have a club,” August slaps your ass hard enough to bring more tears to your eyes. “Maybe you can work a dick to pay us back our money.”

“Brother, I don’t think this pussy is worth five-hundred thousand bucks,” Walter tuts, but his eyes drop to your chest. “Maybe she can ride my dick and I give her fifty bucks every time she swallows me.”

“Mouse, what do you say?” August places his hand on your shoulder. “I let you ride dick at my club, and you pay me back my money this way. Or do you want to ride his dick for the rest of your pitiful life?”

“No…” You shake your head. “You can kill me, but I won’t work at your club.” You have a little self-respect left. Even if these beautiful monsters hold your life in their hands, you won’t stoop even lower and sell your body to random men. 

“She’s got some fight left, August,” Walter smirks darkly at your predicament. You try to put a brave face on, but he can see the fear in your eyes. “So, lamb. How do you wanna pay us back our money if you don’t work his customers dicks?”

“I don’t know,” you sniff. “I’ll find a way. Even if it’s not my fault you lend money to my deceased husband. I didn’t know about any of this. He never told me about his problems or that he ate some other bitch’s pussy.”

“Walter, I think we got a cocky mouse,” August wraps his hand around your throat from behind to tilt your head. He forces you to look at him, making you wince in pain. “If I tell you to ride dick, you ask which hole my customer wants to fill.”

“August,” Walter tuts. “I think she’s too mousy for your club.” You hear August sigh deeply behind you. “I like me some shy mouse. They are best at sucking dick.”

“She owes us both, not only you.”

“If she works at the club we will never get it back!” Walter grunts. “If you give her to me, I’ll have a nice kitten to play with.” His features darken and he wraps his hand around his brother’s wrist. “We both know she’ll never be able to pay us back.”

“I’ll pay back every buck,” you croak. “Please…” You start to cry. “It’s not my fault he died and left me nothing but trouble and debts. I would’ve sold the house to give you the money.”

August huffs. He’s not in the mood to waste more time on you. “Have her for tonight. I want her at the club tomorrow!”

Walter glances at your quivering lips. He’s mesmerized by the sight of your fear. In his line of business, people mostly fear him. But he never was enchanted by one of the faceless people he tormented in the past. “No.”

“No?” August cracks his neck and gets ready for another fight with his brother. “Please enlighten me, Walter. How do you intend on getting the money back if you keep her?”

“I was looking for someone to share my lonely nights with,” Walter grins down at you. “She’s not too bad to look at and knows how to shut her mouth. I don’t like the mouthy bitches you wanted to share lately. All they have in mind are clothes, social media, and money.”

“Oh,” August drops his hand from your neck. He pinches your ass, making you jump. “You want to share the mouse?”

“I bet, she will look pretty stuffed with two big cocks,” Walter dips his head to glance at his brother. “Do you remember the cute little thing in Dublin? The one we found at the pub?”

“She squeaked like a mouse when we punched her pussy with our cocks,” August groans deeply. “She was tight but lacked endurance. I bet this one won’t pass out on us when we use her all night long.”

“Right, lamb?” Walter cups your chin again, “You will be a good girl for us. Did you ever cum on two cocks at the same time?”

Your eyes widen, and you feel an icy shiver run down your spine. These men see nothing but a body they can use in you.

You are trapped with them in their territory and scared shitless. Still, your panties dampen at the thought of them using you to their liking.

“She just pressed her legs together.” Walter drops his hand from your chin and steps away. He admires your trembling form for a moment, drinking every micro-expression in. “I bet she’s a little brainless slut.”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[quitealotofsodapop]

So the Macaque episode does still happen, only instead of trying to steal MK's powers, Macaque does a sudden change in plans and instead tries to get close to MK, acting as a very much unauthorized mentor and babysitter while Wukong is off searching for his cub... again. Just an entire afternoon of Macaque bonding with MK

Prev.

I think Macaque in canon ultimately wanted Wukong to Hurt more than anything, since c'mon, he *knows* his bestie is immortal-immortal. He mostly wanted Wukong to know what it feels like to be on the recieving end of his powers.

So when he realises that Wukong in the Marble Egg au has a cub; Macaque realises that the better revenge is becoming MK's favorite parent instead >:3

Irl macaque monkeys do in fact kidnap babies, both to babysit, and to make the mom hang out with them.

Wukong: (*worried sick from running all over town trying to find his son*) Macaque & MK: (*having a wholesome father-son training montage*)

The Noodle gang and The Stalwarts get involved in the search party, and the furious troop eventually track down where Macaque and MK are. Completely safe inside a theatre-dojo?

Macaque, grooming MK's fur: "Hey peaches." Wukong: "Don't you Hey peaches me! Give me back my son!" Macaque: "Okay he's yours." MK, runs into Wukong's arms: "Baba! Mr Liu'er is super cool! He's been helping me control my powers!" Wukong, suspicious: "He has?" (*looks over at Macaque*) Macaque, sly shrug: "Little guy needs a teacher. He's whacked himself with the Staff like six times today." MK, delighted: "I broke Mr Liu'er's wall of swords!" Wukong, checking over MK: "What?! Are you ok?!" Macaque: "He's alive isn't he?" Wukong: "Thats not the point! Do you know how many injuries can hide beneath the skin?! This is why I always hesitated to put you on babysitting duty back home!" Macaque: "And yet, the baby monkeys love me." Wukong: "That's because you can't say No to them!" Wukong & Macaque continue arguing like this as the gang watches Pigsy: "I'm a little confused. The Macaque guy just... wanted to babysit?" The Stalwarts, unanimous: "Yeah." Marshal Ma: "Macaque babysat the cubs for the longest time back home when we were younger." General Beng: "It's where he harnessed his power of storytelling." General Ba: "And his dramatics." Marshal Liu: "My question is whether this cub-napping was merely to fulfil an instinctual duty, or to force Wukong to talk to him?" Marshal Ma: "Oh definitely the latter. These two are about as stubborn as a pile of rocks." The Stalwarts: (*all murmur in agreement*)

Eventually after a lot of hissing (mostly from Wukong), the monkeys part without much violence. Strangely, Wukong doesn't tell Macaque to stay away or to never talk to his baby again...

As it turns out, having a baby monkey to care for acts as a buffer for monkey-arguments.

The Stalwarts do warn Macaque to at least tell one of them before he goes caring for MK in future or else they'll tear him apart like a banana for making their King worry. Macaque smiles and agrees to their terms.

Basically Wukong and Macaque have this sort of vibe in training/raising MK;

[anthonys237thfreckle]

I've been NEEDING some Javi & Scott angst, like the first night when Javi and Kate didn't set up the panel? (feel free to do romantic or platonic 🙏🙏)

I WROTE THIS BUT I DIDNT SAVE THE DRAFT

anyways here it is! i dont really write for scott but after a lot of research, i finally did! i rly hope this is okay lmao. Not the best at character x character, but theres a first time for everything!

i’m pretty inspired so i’ll write some javi x reader angst after this lol (i have sm free time until august 12th guys KEEP EM COMING)

please read the plot modification below, enjoy!

I love you, it’s ruining my life - Javier ‘Javi’ Rivera x Scott

prompt: Javi and Scott get into a heated argument

plot modification: Javi and Scott are still dating here!

TW: argument, mention of PTSD, getting shamed for PSTD, an explicit hand gesture, swearing

On the way to meeting Marshall Riggs, Javi and Scott’s investor, the tension in the car was thicker than the humid air in Oklahoma this summer. Neither said a word, Javi had his jaw clenched as he gripped the steering wheel, tight as a vice, his veins on his forearms showing. Scott looked out the window, chewing on his bottom lip, fiddling with the sunglasses in his hand, trying not to snap them out of pure impulse.

Scott’s mood was as sour as the unripe blueberries he’d grow to resent at the supermarket, chiding Javi for not being able to pick out produce; it was these little things that made him toxic - Javi was growing irritated.

Though, he was no saint either. Often biting back in arguments on how Scott grew to despise homosexual couples who lived perfect, happy lives with accepting parents in an accepting environment, how he can ‘never truly be happy for people who deserve it’.

Their relationship was hanging by a thread, and it was being teased by a razor.

Kate Carter.

“I still think we should head to El Reno” Javi said, shattering the silence “You know, Kate and I were talking-”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up about her?” Scott snapped, turning his head sharply to meet his even sharper gaze. Javi looked at him with bewilderment, and Scott rolled his eyes

“You really trust her word after she lost that picture perfect storm, Javi?” Scott said bitterly

“It wasn’t her fault” Javi said firmly, turning to meet Scotts gaze with his own equally sharp one.

“She got super overwhelmed, that storm brought out some bad memories for her” Javi explained for what felt like the hundredth time for him. He was tired of having to defend his best friend from his boyfriend, and Scott had been getting on his nerves more than he cared to admit. Just as he thought Scott was done being a prick, he only proved he wasn’t.

“Well, someone should keep their emotions in check” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Javi looked at him, a storm in his eyes.

“Okay, Scott, what the fuck.” Javi said, having enough of him. The anger and hurt was coursing through his veins, slipping into his tone.

“She has no goddamn ‘instincts’” Scott said with air quotes “She used a god damned dandelion to track our first storm.” He said, Kate’s more traditional ways clearly being judged by his more scientific ones.

“She grew up here, she knows what she’s doing” Javi defended “You know, Scott, you’re being a dick to her” Javi said, unimpressed. he turned his attention back to the road.

“We were real close in college. I know Kate, she has a god awful lot of potential” Javi said in a low tone, his message almost a threat.

“You should just date her at this point” Scott replied coldly. Javi was hot with rage. “Why is it whenever some straight, pretty girl comes along in my life you get so goddamn jealous?!” Javi snapped “She’s my best friend for god’s sake. We’ve been through some serious shit together” “So you think she’s pretty?!” Scott said, equally mad now.

“You know what?” Javi yelled, in a dangerous fury “Fuck you, Scott. I’m done. With you, with Storm Par, with exploiting innocent lives and being unethical.” He slammed on the breaks, unbuckled his seatbelt and left the car, not sparing a glance at Scott, who was surprised, but didn’t fight it. The relationship wasn’t worth fighting anymore.

It was ruining their lives

“Yeah, go run off to your girlfriend!” Scott yelled back at Javi, who winced. He wanted to say that his relationship with Kate was purely platonic, but he didn’t want to give Scott the satisfaction of pissing him off with his remark. But then again, by yelling back, he’d get the satisfaction of making Javi defensive.

So without looking back, Javi raised his fist, lifted his middle finger, and held it out for Scott, walking away on the dirt road in the opposite direction. He didn’t know where, he didn’t know for how long, he just knew he needed the air.