#poor white woman and her white tears

[maxs-left-eye]

Q: after spending most of the premerge without food, has outburst at tribal council over not being in control.

Q: has to constantly be on the apology bus

Liz: after spending the merge without food, has outburst over not being picked for a reward she didn't win and over Q blowing up her game (in a game where the purpose is to beat everyone else).

fandom: awwww poor bby, have sympathy for her problems!!

[sillimancer]

idk man the imane khelif/angela carini situation has got me so fucked up because carini is being painted as this transphobic villain when she was actually just like. grieving and a sore loser (which she apologized for).

--

*Editing to add since I'm getting an unprecedented amount of notes here (4 lmao) that if any terf shows up on my blog thinking they can use this post as some kind of fuel for their cause I need you to look me in the eyes and understand 1) no 2) fuck you 3) I am literally trans

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 11:52 A.M 」

based on this and this video :)) this is fluff supply before remarried empress au part 2 is posted~

a part of gojo's love entries

satoru had always thought... you were the perfect mother to his child.

“ma...!”

your baby boy, with his white hair and blue eyes full of innocence, was crawling towards you with all his might, and you were on the other side of the bed with open arms, ready to accept him.

“yes, baby, you can do it!” you cheered, a permanent smile on your face, completely adoring satoru’s mini-him as he tried to reach you.

you really are. after all, you were the girl of his dreams first and foremost, who then became the woman he had sworn to protect forever.

“just a little bit more! aww, my baby is so cute!”

...but hey, since you were his wife above all, weren't you supposed to take care of him too? these days, you seemed to spend all your love on your son… and spared him unamused looks whenever he tried to bed you!

satoru observed as his little baby made his way towards you with visible excitement, totally capturing your attention fully. narrowing his eyes in analysis, he devised a plan.

and so, right before his kid could reach you, he immediately went over to your side, scooped up the baby and pecked you in the lips.

“oh—! satoru!”

“don’t i deserve mama’s attention too...?” he asked, eyes pleading sadly. “hmm?”

“—? waah!” but before you could react to his sneak attack, your baby son was so startled that his eyes filled up with tears. in that moment, he wrenched away from his father's grasp and hurriedly crawled towards you, seeking comfort in your arms, and you hugged him.

“there, there...” you almost laughed at this exchange as you patted his little back, sending a wink at satoru. “poor baby, what has papa done to you, huh?”

satoru pursed his lips in response, directing a slight glare on his baby, who was suddenly calm and smiley as he was smushed against your bosom, looking at him with those wide eyes—as if flaunting his victory.

the little fiend, he thought. i’ll show him!

“listen you...”

and half an hour later, he cornered the boy against the wall, trying to assert his position.

“we need to share mama. you're taking all. her. time.” satoru emphasized, eyeing his baby with narrowed eyes. the boy looked back at him with clear disinterest, merely blinking.

satoru huffed righteously. “you gave her severe tummy ache when you were still inside that i had to stay up to soothe you, and now when you're out... you monopolize her love! how is this fair? what am i left with?!”

baby blinked, leaning inquisitively towards him.

“do you understand me? i need my wife bac— gyaaah!”

you literally ran out of the kitchen when you heard satoru’s sudden yell, thinking something had happened. “satoru! what’s wrong—”

only to arrive at the scene of the most amusing sight imaginable. your husband was on the brink of panic as your baby, with a vengeful expression, chomping down on his nose.

“he ate my nose! help! HEEELP!”

[princesschimchim1325]

Sing for us, darling~

Dan Feng and Yingxing want to hear the noises their wife makes as they pleasure her, to let it be known to the whole Xianzhou Luofu that she belongs to them.

(Or you get sandwiched between your horny husbands)

Warnings: 3rd POV, fem & afab reader, reader is an adult, reader got bomb pussy game, overstimulation, groping, double penetration in the same hole, creampie, vaginal fingering, Dan Feng has two cocks and a voyeur kink, Yingxing is 41 (reader wants to fuck those old men so bad), Dan Feng is a menace, Yingxing is a charming old man, they are both possessive and horny as hell, a surprise at the end. (Fūrén - wife, bǎobèi - treasure)

Word count : 1,904 words

This can be read in the same universe as my dragoness reader idea but can be read as a standalone.

This could also be read in the same universe as my mutual's @philistiniphagottini's "god-ish" smut fic.

Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcome!

DO NOT REPOST, OR FEED TO AI 🚫🚫🚫

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Under the pale moon, the wind made the trees rustle and flowers sway. The cold breeze would make any passerby shiver, enough to make their teeth chatter.  Everyone had worn thicker coats and lit up their fireplaces to stay warm.

Everyone except for the lovers in the High Elder's residence. Said High Elder was lounging on an armchair, his face propped up by his fist and an ankle atop his knee, an air of haughtiness befitting of man his caliber and position. Dan Feng was facing the master’s bed, calculating ocean green eyes swept over the attractive forms of his spouses.

His husband, Yingxing, was sitting on the edge of the large bed, completely bare. His long silver hair lay loose and flowing behind his muscled back. Sitting on his lap, was a jewel far more precious than any stone found in the Luofu, their beloved wife. 

And what a sight she was.

Her back was pressed against Yingxing’s broad chest, her front facing Dan Feng. Her lovely face was scrunched in frustration, sighing as Yingxing kissed and lavished her shoulders with love bites and hickeys, his large and calloused hands groped her breasts. And what was one of the most erotic sights he has ever seen in his centuries of living, her greedy pussy swallowing Yingxing’s length and if he looked hard enough, he could see a bulge on her stomach as Yingxing stuffed her full. 

Their shared bedchamber was filled with the loud wet sounds of Yingxing open mouthed kisses and their wife’s lovely moans, or as he and Yingxing liked to call them, song. His own hard cocks were pressing painfully against his trousers but he paid it no mind. The erotic sight in front of him was far more important. 

“Enjoying the show, A-Feng?” His Yingxing inquired, a smirk on his handsome face. His large hands slid from her breasts, trailing down until they slipped under her thighs, only to suddenly spread them wider, jostling the woman on his lap and causing her to throw her head back and sobbed. 

“Indeed. Dare I say, your little ‘show’ is the most enjoyable production I ever had the pleasure of witnessing.” 

He rose from his seat as he answered, taking off his white blazer as he did. Perhaps their little game went on long enough, they started at nightfall and now the moon was already high in the sky. Their poor wife must be so pent up, being cockwarmed and teased by Yingxing, but being told she wasn’t allowed to cum.

As he neared his two beloveds, their wife gazed at him with glassy eyes, cheeks wet from tears of frustration. She shakily reached out to him with her left hand and he caught her midway, holding her smaller hand and leaning down to place a kiss on her palm. 

“A-Feng…A-Xing has been so mean to me..” she whined as Dan Feng kissed her neck, trailing up to her ear, just below her earlobe. 

“Hmm, is that so?” He hummed, smirking as she yelped when he bit down on a particularly sensitive patch of skin and licked it as a form of apology.

“Oh, fūrén, this was our dearest High Elder’s idea. I am merely doing my part in his script~” Yingxing laughed, placing an unapologetic kiss on her hair. 

The High Elder pulled away to take his long gloves and the rest of his imperial garbs off, piece by piece revealing a lean yet powerful build, with broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips. 

“...You scoundrels. How could you be so mean to your wife?” she complained, writhing on top of the Furnace master’s lap, unconsciously tightening in the process and causing the man to groan. 

“Desperate now, are we?” Yingxing hissed, hands gripping her thighs in a bruising hold to stop her from squirming. 

Dan Feng, finally bare, had taken his place between his wife’s spread legs and replaced Yingxing’s hands gripping her thighs with his own. His cocks standing proudly against his toned stomach. 

Yingxing’s left hand returned to groping her breast and tweaking her hardened nipple with his fingers, while his right hand trailed up to her smooth neck, caressing it before gently gripping her throat. 

Dan Feng rubbed both of his cocks against her puffy clit, using her and Yingxing’s combined wetness as lube before taking one of his hardness and lining it up her hole that was still stretched around Yingxing’s cock. 

Slowly, he filled her up, one cock rubbing against Yingxing’s and her spongy walls, his other cock was sliding between her puffy folds and clit. Dan Feng pulled his husband into a searing kiss over their wife’s shoulder, making a show of their tongues dancing. He could feel her tighten up at the sight of their display. 

Inch by inch, he slid into her wet heat, until he pressed up against her cervix alongside Yingxing. He pulled away from his husband only to kiss his wife next, equally as passionate. 

Their beloved wife was panting when he pulled away, a thin strand of saliva connecting their lips before it snapped. 

A few moments of silence before sounds of debauchery filled their shared bedroom. Each sensual roll of their hips had their darling wife keening, throwing her head back and bumping against Yingxing’s collarbone, tears of pleasure streaming down her lovely face. 

“Mmmph! A-Xing, ah! A-Feng! Too deep! Please, too deep!” She sobbed. How cute, yet she clung to them like they’re her lifelines. 

Their hips moved in sync, when one thrusts in, one pulls out and vice versa, making sure their wife is in the precipice of pleasure and overstimulation. Their cocks were alternating in slamming against her cervix, causing her to moan even louder. 

In her desperation to keep herself grounded, her hands found themselves digging into different parts of her husbands. One hand reached behind her to grasp and pull at Yingxing’s long silver locks, making him groan. The other reached behind Dan Feng to rake her sharp nails down his back, leaving thin scratches that are deep enough to bleed. Dan Feng threw his head back, moaning at the pleasure before hissing from the stinging pain.

Yingxing, never one to let his spouses one up him, let the hand groping her breast trail down her soft stomach before suddenly pressing down on the bulge caused by their cocks. 

“Ah! Yingxing, please!” How adorable, she was starting to slur her words a bit. 

Yingxing couldn’t help but chuckle, “Close, love?” 

Their poor darling, already so close while being lovingly fucked, their cocks overcrowding her poor cunt while their hands groped her breasts, the pudge of her hips, or pressing down on the bulge of her stomach in a dazed fascination of how well she’s taking both of their cocks. 

Their normally stoic and quiet wife reduced to an incoherent mess, moaning only their names. 

Both husbands groaned at the same time when they felt her tighten, impossibly tight. Dan Feng reached down to draw circles on her engorged clit, making her cry out even louder to the point he might get complaints in the morning even though his estate is built farther away from other citizens. 

“Mmph! Ah! A-Feng, A-Xing! Please, I’m going to–ah!” Before their darling wife could even finish her sentence, she came, or rather, she squirted right at Dan Feng’s abdomen. 

Her sudden orgasm triggered Yingxing’s own orgasm and she could feel herself being filled to the brim with the copious amount of his warm and thick cum. Dan Feng followed not too long after him. 

She hiccuped in pleasure as she’s filled again, this time by Dan Feng’s cum, warm and thick, and just as abundant as Yingxing’s. 

Once the cloud of pleasure had dissipated, she watched in mortification how her cum that splashed her husband, dripped down the planes of muscles his blessed body has. 

He didn’t even look mad, if anything, he looked downright pleased by the turn of events with his telling smile and the mirth present in his eyes. Behind her, she could feel the rumble of Yingxing’s barking laugh. 

“Oh, you did so well, darling. Look, you even made his other cock cum.” Yingxing cooed, nuzzling into her hair. 

She looked down and saw that Yingxing was right, Dan Feng’s neglected cock had cum as well, his spent dripping from her chest to her stomach. 

“Hmm, you took both of us well. How are you feeling, băobèi? Are you hurt?” Dan Feng kissed her forehead while checking her for any signs of harm. She could only shake her head in fondness. 

Dan Feng was the first to pull out, Yingxing following soon after him. She whimpered at the feeling of their cocks rubbing against her sensitive walls. 

Dan Feng watched in fascination how his and Yingxing’s combined cum dripped from their wife’s slightly gaping pussy, staining the bed and dripping onto the floor. 

Before anymore could drip out from her lewd hole, Dan Feng scooped the excess cum and fingered it back inside her, causing her to jolt and gasp

“Let’s not waste, shall we? It would be such a shame, no, fūrén?” He looked at her with such an infuriating look on his handsome face while his fingers played with his and Yingxing’s mixed cum inside her sore cunt. 

Yingxing’s large hands found their way to her breasts again, playing and groping her soft tits. All he gave her was a not-so apologetic kiss on the top of her hair.

“Ah! You-you scoundrels! Give this body of mine a break, won’t you?” their wife scowled but it broke into a pleasured moan when Dan Feng once again bit the sensitive part of her neck.

“Well, we did say we want you to sing, didn’t we, bǎobèi?”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Dan Heng shot out of his mattress, panting. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he tried to regulate his breathing, his heart beating so hard, it almost felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. 

He pressed his hand against his chest, his heart finally calming down. As he calmed down, he realized he had another problem, the hard on between his legs. Dan Heng groaned.

‘What the hell was that dream? No, that was too vivid to be something my mind conjured up. Was it a memory? If so, why the hell did I have a wet dream of Dan Feng and his spouses?’

He looked beside him, the woman sleeping next to him thankfully lay unaware of his dilemma. Her appearance had a striking resemblance to the woman in his dreams. He shook his head

He reached down to brush away the hair against her face, fingers slightly caressing her feathers. 

Well, whatever it was, he’ll deal with it tomorrow. 

••••••••••

Ren’s eyes opened, trying to adjust in the darkness of his room. He sat up before placing a hand on his face.

There was a moment of silence before the sounds of his hysterical laughter filled the room. 

“Of all the times, the memories of Yingxing decide to resurface now?” 

Ren laid in his bed again, facing the ceiling while his large and scarred hand dragged against his face, a smirk on his face. 

“Hah, I guess there is no escape for either of you. My bǎobèi, it won't be long until we're reunited...... And there is no place for you to hide, Yǐnyuè-jūn.”

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[imaginespazzi]

I just need to rant about the whole boxing situation for a hot second because it's genuinely making my stomach curl. As someone who comes from a culture where if my queerness was ever found out, most of my community would shun me and if I still lived there, would potentially kill me, the way Imane Khelif is being treated terrifies me. I don't think these western world conservatives understand the absolute dire consequences this could have if this rumor travels back to Algeria and gains traction where transitioning is literally illegal. AND SHE'S NOT EVEN TRANS.

The weaponization of a white woman's tears (because she lost) and rampant transphobia have led us to a moment where this poor woman, who did nothing but WIN, but excel at her sport, is being crucified online, having her gender/gender identity questioned and quite frankly is being put in danger. And this is what the trans community has warned us would happen, that transphobia would be used to eventually harm all women.

This world disappoints me every day. Humanity disappoints me every day.

[maidragoste]

The Portrait

Princess Rhaenyra's naming day was approaching, so King Viserys and Queen Aemma asked her beloved daughter what she wanted as a gift this year. The king expected the princess to ask for something like a new horse or new fabrics so that her maids could make her new dresses, but Rhaenyra surprised him by asking him to hire a painter because she wanted to have a portrait with you, her dearest friend. The king soon granted the princess's wish and a few weeks later you and Rhaenyra found themselves in her chambers dressed in white with a painter.

The painter had to make many drafts because you and Rhaenyra first tried to make serious poses like the both had seen in the portraits of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, but the two of you always ended up laughing when your eyes met each other. In the end, you ended up posing sitting looking at the princess while she was standing behind you resting her hand on your shoulder while you caressed her hand. The poor painter had to improvise a little since neither the princess nor you could stop talking but anyway, he ended up painting them both with a smile and Rhaenyra with a blush on her cheeks.

Years later, when the celebration of your wedding with Harwin ends, the first thing Rhaenyra does, when she returns to her chambers, is look for that portrait and while her eyes fill with tears she can't help but think that she liked that white dress you wore better with her than the one you wore at your wedding. If she were just a man, then nothing would stop her from taking you as her wife and reigning over the Seven Kingdoms together. She would give you everything, her heart, her soul, her power and she would make you the happiest woman in the kingdom. But she can never have you because she is a woman and you chose Harwin.

[emchant3d]

part 2 of runaway bride stevie! modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington pt 1

Eddie Munson is not having a good day.

His phone died last night so his alarm didn’t go off, his bassist is sick so their gig tonight has to be canceled, and his last three Uber rides have stiffed him on a tip.

He accepts a request from some dude named Scott with a terrible comb-over in his profile picture and gives himself two seconds to bang his forehead into his steering wheel in frustration with a closed-mouth scream. Then he dials it back so he doesn’t seem absolutely fucking insane. He can see the suit he’s about to escort to some fucking meeting even though he’d rather be doing any-fucking-thing else, and he pastes a fake smile on to greet him. He’s gearing up to fall into the usual routine of this godforsaken job, but then it all goes a little sideways.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and then a blur of a body is slamming into poor Scott from behind, shoulder checking him and almost sending him careening onto the sidewalk. The dude pinwheels his arms like a cartoon character, suit jacket puffing up around his shoulders awkwardly, expression so baffled it makes Eddie snort despite himself.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, and he’s reaching for his seatbelt to see if the guy needs any help - he looks like he might break a hip if he hits the ground - but then a whirlwind of white fabric swoops into his backseat and a loud, desperate voice yells "DRIVE!" in his ear, and he sort of just thinks 'sure, why the fuck not,' and slams his foot on the gas.

The car fishtails a bit and the tires squeal as he swerves into traffic, horns honking after him, and he picks a direction at random, going way too fast for this area of town.

His heart is pounding in his chest, worst case scenarios running through his head. He’s going to get car jacked. He’s going to go to jail for being an unwitting getaway driver. But there isn’t any more yelling from the back seat, just heavy, panicked breathing, and he settles into traffic and slows down to a more normal speed before he cuts his eyes up to the rearview mirror.

Time stops.

It’s Stevie.

He can’t believe he didn’t recognize her the second he saw her, but in his defense, it's not like he was expecting to see his ex-girlfriend in a goddamn wedding dress running like she stole something today.

Pure panic wraps tight around his throat as he takes her in - is she hurt? In danger? Nothing good could have had her sprinting away from her own wedding, but it seems like she’s just shaken up.

His heart calms a bit once her tears dry and they get properly on the road.

And shit, it’s so unfair, because she's just as breathtaking as she was the day they split. She looks just as sad, too, which is certainly not how a woman like Stevie Harrington should look on her wedding day. But seeing her in a gown like that - Jesus Christ. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest. It’s like something out of a fantasy, seeing her in the exact kind of dress she used to whisper to him about wanting, the kind of dress he’d once promised to marry her in. Of course, they fell apart before he could even get a ring on her finger, but it still sends his stomach swooping to see the future they’d spoken about come to life.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he can’t help but ask, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah,” she says, voice high and a little squeaky. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just in my ex-boyfriend's car after I left my fiance at the altar, it’s all fine, it’s chill.”

“Okay,” he says haltingly, delicately, because Stevie Harrington is not the kind of person who says it’s chill, “it’s just that, you know, all of that sounds decidedly not chill.”

“This is so chill. It’s the chillest I’ve ever been, actually - hold on–” she says, and next thing he knows a swirl of silk is blocking his view and he sputters a bit as the train of her dress smacks him in the face, but she’s clambering gracelessly from the back seat and over the console to plop down on the passenger side with a loud huff and a cloud of perfume.

It’s different from what she used to wear. She used to smell spicy and warm, with notes of amber and cinnamon. He’d kiss the little spots in her wrists where she’d spritz it on, trace the veins beneath the tan skin with his nose to keep the scent of her with him.

Now she smells like vanilla and something floral, airy and light. Like he stepped into a bakery. It’s not bad, of course it’s not bad, but it’s…different. Not her.

Or not his version of her, anyway.

This is someone else’s Stevie now, and she smells like fucking cookies instead of home.

Instead of commenting on it, he just tells her to put on her seat belt, and she looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“And wrinkle this dress?” she says, her nose curling a little, and God she’s such a bitch and he’s missed it so much.

“I hate to break it to you,” he tells her, “but some wrinkles are not the worst damage that thing has seen today.” There are small grey splotches on the bodice where her makeup dripped as she cried earlier, and the hemline has some muddy staining from her mad dash on the sidewalk. It’s not ruined, but it’ll have to be cleaned, and a couple of wrinkles will be the easiest thing to get out of the formerly pristine fabric.

He glances over at her in time to see her run her hands over the skirt of the dress, smoothing it out over her thighs. It shifts, the leg slit parting to show her skin, teasing at the hint of a crease where her thigh and stomach meet, and Eddie rips his gaze away to stare at the road instead.

“Probably for the best, anyway,” he says, and he feels her eyes latch onto his profile.

“And why’s that?” she asks, and he smirks.

“Well, pure white? C’mon, Stevie, we both know that’s a lie.” He flashes her a wicked grin and she makes an outraged sound, but a small smile is teasing at her mouth even as her cheeks flush.

She kicks off her heels - red bottoms, because of fucking course they are - and slouches in the seat. She pushes herself up, adjusting in the pile of silk and corsetry she’s been strapped into, and he sees the absolute mountain of a rock on her hand, and manages to bite his tongue about it being the gaudiest thing he’s ever seen.

"So who was the lucky guy?" Eddie asks before he can stop himself, and the glare Stevie gives him could cut glass. “Or lucky woman. Person? Far be it from me to deny you your bisexual rights.”

He probably sounds like a jealous asshole, but he can't help it. He's the getaway driver for his one that got away on her fucking wedding day, and he feels like he deserves to ask a few questions.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel as the silence lingers, but eventually, Stevie just groans, letting her head fall back against the headrest dramatically.

"Don't laugh," she demands, and Eddie shakes his head.

"Scout's honor," he promises, and he swears a wry little grin teases at her lips.

“You were never a scout. You would have been kicked out for inciting a riot.”

“Hey, I just ensured we all earned our arson badges, okay? I did every one of those kids a favor.” Stevie scoffs, and it almost sounds fond.

Then she says, “Tommy,” and he almost swerves into oncoming traffic.

"HAGAN?" he says, louder than he means to, and her hand flies up to grab the oh-shit bar.

“Eddie, Jesus!” she says, glaring at him, and he shakes his head, focusing back on the road.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but fucking - really? “Really?” He can’t help himself. “Tommy Hagan?”

“Yes, really, Tommy Hagan,” she says hotly, like she’s defensive, like she didn’t just leave the schmuck at the fucking altar.

“Well that explains the ring, at least.” She reaches over, smacking at his arm, which, thanks to the aforementioned ring, is probably going to bruise. “Hey, ow!” He glares at her, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his bicep. “Watch it, that thing’s a weapon.”

“Then stop sassing me about it,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms and her face falls into that adorable bitchy little pout he’s always fucking loved, and he looks away again.

He can’t help but glance back over at her left hand. The ring is…certainly something. Giant, square, one big diamond surrounded by other, smaller diamonds, with even more diamonds on the band. It looks heavy and cumbersome and like she’s going to smack it into every wall and door and get it caught in her hair and seriously, he’s pretty sure he’s already got a knot forming on his arm where the thing hit him.

It looks like Tommy walked into the priciest jewelry store he could find and asked for the most expensive ring they had.

It looks like a status symbol.

It doesn’t look like her.

“Apologies, highness,” he says, shaking himself free of his thoughts. It’s not fair to hold her to those standards. He hasn’t spoken to her in years. He can’t know what kind of person she is now.

But there’s still a bone-deep knowing that overtakes him at the feeling of the woman next to him. A sense of deja vu so strong it threatens to knock him over.

A different car, a different time, a different circumstance, but the same person. The same love.

He’d picked a direction at random, but as the streets become more familiar, he realizes he’s heading towards his place. It’s as good as any, he figures, and he shifts lanes, reaching to tap on his phone and shutting down his Uber account.

“You know, I almost expected you’d still be driving that beat up old van,” Stevie says suddenly, and he crows a laugh.

“Ah, Van Halen, you served me well until you almost blew up on the highway,” he says fondly. “Lost her about a year ago. It was tragic. I held a funeral.” She laughs again, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, turning that pretty smile his way, and his heart does a somersault.

“That was a very impressive move back there, by the way,” he tells her, “that shoulder check of that old defenseless businessman?” He whistles. “Haven’t seen anybody move that quick to steal an old man’s ride before, really, it should have been documented.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” she says, but there’s a laugh in her voice, and she brings up her hands to press to her pink cheeks. He can’t help but keep digging.

“No, seriously! And sprinting like that in heels? And in that dress? What’s that thing weigh, like twenty pounds?”

“It’s a dress, not a suit of armor,” she tells him, but her smile is growing, making her eyes crinkle.

“Just saying, it was pretty metal,” he shrugs, and she snorts.

“Well, you would know,” she says, and he ignores the way his face flushes in response. She gives a little sigh, wiping below her eye and frowning at the smear of black on her fingers.

“Here,” he says, reaching across her. His arm brushes her leg as he opens the glove box and he’s so fucking normal about it. He pulls out a few fast food napkins, holding them out to her. “No makeup wipes in here, but that’ll help with the worst of it.”

“Thanks,” she says, and she flips the visor down, tapping a napkin to her tongue to wet it before wiping at the mascara tracks running down her face. “God,” she groans, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear, “I look like a raccoon.”

“A very cute raccoon,” he says before he can stop himself. Jesus, Munson, dial it back. “Like the raccoon that’s about to get the best trash in the bin, she doesn’t even have to ask for it.” Stop talking. “The other raccoons are just gonna give it to her, on account of how cute she is.” He’s gonna throw himself into traffic.

“Did you just call me a raccoon on my wedding day,” she asks. Fine, commit to the bit.

“You called yourself a raccoon on your wedding day. I was just agreeing with you,” he replies, keeping his eyes fixed to the road.

Her eyes are on him - he can feel her stare burning into the side of his face, and his cheeks are going pink and blotchy and God, he’s an idiot–

And then she laughs. Not her polite little contained laugh, either, no, this is that loud, wide mouthed laugh that she hates, that makes her shoulders shake and her head fall back. It’s squeaky and hearty and a little obnoxious and he’s always been so obsessed with getting her to let it out, and he can’t help the smug beaming little smile he gives at the sound.

“You’re such an ass,” she says through her laugh, and Eddie can’t help but laugh with her even if it’s at his own expense, because at least she doesn’t look so goddamn sad anymore.

When they finally reach his apartment complex she’s a little more subdued, but the look on her face isn’t totally heartbreaking, and he’ll take what he can get. He comes around to the passenger side to open her door for her and helps her gather the dramatic skirt of her dress to keep it off the pavement as they head towards the stairs, and he knows he looks like an insane person as he carts a bride down the hall, but he just smiles at his nosy neighbors and lets this cement his reputation as the weird as fuck off-putting metalhead he knows they all think of him as.

He feels a little self conscious as he opens the apartment door for her, sweeping an arm dramatically to allow her to enter first. For the first time since she swept into his car, he wonders if this is a good idea. But it’s too late now – Stevie’s giving him a little smile and stepping into his home, and part of him knows this was inevitable. She may not have called him, but he was always going to come if she needed him.

He follows her inside and tries to calm the pounding of his heart, watching her take in his space, struck all over again by her beauty and the impossibility of her standing here, and silently prays he isn’t going to fuck it up all over again.

this was almost even longer, but I figure 2.5k is enough for a part 2! no tag lists, sorry, but part 3 will be here at some point. thank you to everyone who's had a kind word to say about this au these two are very near and dear to me 💕

[sonnyaavce]

DP x DC prompt # 6

There’s a kid crying, a blue skinned white headed kid that was just sitting there crying his eyes out in a panic as he was covered in a very large and dark cloak that was dwarfing him… that was cute to see but, the thing wouldn’t be an issue if there weren’t for the clusterfuck of dead cultist surrounding a green ominous portal under him while the poor kiddo shed luminescent tears nonstop.

“Why is there a kid?” ‘dumb question to ask Captain but sure let’s go with that yeah?’ scoffed annoyed Constantine after eyeing the magic champion while some of the members of the Justice League finished some of the goons that were still alive and resisting, Constantine just watched in dumbfounded stupor the crying baby eldritch abomination still wailing over there.

“I’ll go check on him first” said Wonder Woman, being the first to react after finishing her part, slowly walking forward with gentle steps and humming tunes to make the small baby calm down a bit and refocus on her. Dianna never went too closer to grab the small kid, but she slowly crouched in front of him, palms out and leveling her face in a calm expression, so the kid wouldn’t freak out while she still hummed songs and cooed calming words.

The poor kid wails gradually subsided and ‘oh my god, why are those eyes way too green!’ His eyes were completely black except his irises being a bright neon green shine, his small body trembled when only small hiccups stayed, in his small crying fit the lad had ended up sucking his thumb in a desperate attempt to calm down while looking for any non-frightening competent adult and after only seeing Dianna in front of him he tried to raise his small arms towards her but immediately cried as his arms wouldn’t move at all.

“I think the little boy is injured…” said Wonder Woman, breaking the silence once all suspects were aprehended and tied down “explain what you can see Wonder Woman” chastised Batman as he tried to walk towards her to check on the small boy only to be stopped by Superman, who had his eyes shinning red as he looked at the kid “For what I can see, the small child seems to have some broken bones and some internal bleeding… also there’s seems to be a sphere in the middle of his chest?”

“The demon baby is hurt?” Constantine blurted out incredulous, Zatanna wacked him furiously for that comment “if you haven’t heard what Superman said, he said he saw a sphere so it’s not a demon John! it’s a tuttelagé you idiot!”

“How the fuck would you know that isn’t a démonos, Z?!” cussed the magician as he moved a bit back while Zatanna then moved towards Wonder Woman, with spells already healing the poor baby body “tuttelagés are known to be protective spirits of kids that died wishing to protect their loved ones, their wish is then concentrated in their chest as a sphere so to see a young one hurt like this…” Wonder Woman looks grimm at the implications while Zatanna finish healing the young spirit and allows Dianna to pick him up once he’s done healing and calmed down bit.

“Someone must have hurt his protegué so bad that his body is getting affected by it” sentenced Batman as he glared with concern at the small baby who now is now resting his head in Wonder Woman arms and falling asleep.

MEANWHILE

Danny is soo scared and hurt all around his tiny body, the wounds he had while being subjected to the examine table makes him tear up in pain while also making his chest feels funny once the weird forced summoning spell stops pulling his being into existing; green stops flooding his vision only to be meet by a dark and open space full of dead people dressed in weird costumes, so the only answer he has to this is to wail.

Because thats all he can do now, cry. He cries and cries after all what had occurred to him; he cries for his parents betrayal and rejection of his being, he cries for the cruelty they subjected him into, the torture he had to endure and almost making his core break, he cries for his friends deaths when they tried to free him from all his pain but failed.

He cries and cries until the pain into his core is unbearable because he just lost his fright, his connection to the living, his reason of being here. He’s still crying when his senses tenses the moment something changed in his surroundings, he hears fighting and grunting and something falling down and he cries harder; because he’s scared and tired and he just wants Jazz to carry him and…

There’s someone humming, nice humming, calm humming, steps coming closer and then he looks up, scared and hurt and just tired only to find a beautiful black headed and blue eyes woman dressed in a nice outfit crouching in front of him, she’s humming something to him and just looking at him with calm and such gentleness that it makes him croon at her because he feels his core sing ‘she’s nice and pretty and safeSAFEsafeSAFE’ he tries to reach out to her but his arms fell numb and ouchie and he looks up to her, in a silent plea for her so she would carry him but she’s not moving, just looking at him gently.

Until he sees another woman coming closer to them and he tenses up again, afraid and cautious, still a bit frightened by her aura but her hands are starting to glow and he immediately feels his body swaying and feeling a lot better, so he relaxes his body and let’s the pretty woman carry him so he can rest his head and nuzzle asleep.

His core sings pleased ‘I’m safe… she’s nice and safeSAFEsafeSAFE’

-TBC-

masterpost

[serqphites]

thinking so hard abt overstim w victoria, being in her lap on ur sofa n js losing ur mind bouncing up and down on her strap thats js a lil toooo big

18+, mdni, overstim obvs, swearing, crying during sex, strap referred to as cock + dick, not proofread!

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

victoria couldn’t pull her eyes off of you, those big brown eyes you love gazing up at you with such awe, a look of pure adoration evident in her expression. her view was immaculate. there you are sat in her lap just where you belong, mouth agape as long whines are drawn out from the back of your throat, your cheeks reddening (not the only cheeks reddening either) as she watches you try your best to push yourself further than you ever have before. and it’s all for her? how did she ever get so lucky.

“vic- s’too much” poor thing, you’d tried so hard to be good for her. tried so hard to keep your complaints to yourself as your gummy walls stretched and stretched further than you thought was humanly possible.

she tuts and shakes her head, one of her hands that had previously been glued to your hip now coming up to stroke the side of your neck, her hand resting just below your jaw as she brushes her thumb across the warm skin of your cheek. “you’re doing so good, c’mon be good for me just like you promised” god her words are so fucking gentle, it’s such a star contrast to what her dick is doing to you, practically touching your cervix.

you try your best to disagree with her. try so hard to tell her you don’t think you can do it. but the words crumble as they leave your throat, fading into a whimper that escalates into a cry. of pleasure? pain? victoria can’t tell. hell, you can’t tell.

tears begin to fall from your now open eyes as you look straight up, head rolling back with another elongated whine. “hey-” victoria’s grip on your neck tightens, her hand tugging your face down so she can look at her girl. it’s a sight for sore eyes, mascara staining your fucked out face. “i can stop, just say the word” her hips slow down, her strap thrusting into you at a much slower place. she’d be lying if she said you hadn’t spooked her a little. sure she knows you’d use your safe word if you really needed to, but she also knows that after an excruciatingly long day of listening to white men speak down on her, all you’re going to want to do is make your woman feel good.

letting out a shaky breath, you shake your head and lean forward into vicky, panting into her neck as you nuzzle close. she lets you go at your own pace, rolling your hips onto her girth and picking up your pace before you’re back to bouncing on her like your life depended on it.

“feel s’good vic- fillin’ me up with your- nnghhh” the claps of your ass against her bare thighs are enough to have victoria moaning your name by accident, it’s so quiet you actually miss it. but that’s probably just down to being so humiliatingly cock drunk on her.

pathetic noises fall from your lips as a placeholder for proper words, thank god your vicky always know exactly what you need. she nods wordlessly, her hands trailing down your body until she reaches your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before she’s pulling you down even deeper onto her with each bounce.

that does it for you, a loud cry of pleasure leaving your mouth through pants as you come undone for her, coating her strap with your cum. “gooood” her praises are stretched out (like you), her hands remaining on your ass while she helps you to roll your hips and ride out your high.

the aftercare you received after that was so good, you just couldn’t help from returning the favour by eating her out like a wild animal.

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

anyways look how beautiful she is i’m acc soaked

[flrlgreen]

pure (toji fushiguro x virgin reader)

a/n; the toji thirst is never-ending

cw; fem reader, toji is in his early 40s, reader is a virgin, reader is in college, inexperienced reader, reader is in her early 20s (no older than 21), loss of virginity, baby trapping if you squint, reader has a vagina.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that decides to sign up for one of those sketchy meet and fuck websites that pop up in troves on those nasty porn sites.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that was a little apprehensive about meeting up with people from the site, but he was a man with needs after all. it’s been forever since he’s had a good fuck.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that lucks out when he meets you. a cute early 20s virgin girl that found herself on the nasty website desperate to lose her virginity to fit in with all of her friends.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that wastes no time messaging you and to his surprise you were legit and willing to meet up. and even better, you were just a few miles away.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that is surprised he hit it off with a woman almost 20 years his junior. and was even more surprised at just how sweet you were to him.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that invites you over to his place after you finish your evening classes to hook up.

“ah! fuck!” you cry out when the hot tip of toji’s cock kisses your cervix over and over again.

the way he has your legs damn near behind your ears allows him to go even deeper. his sharp thrusts make you babble and drool all over yourself. he was good and knew what he was doing. his thrusts had intent behind them and he knew the exact spots he needed to hit to make a woman feel good, especially a virgin.

toji seemed to be enjoying himself letting out a few breathy moans when your gummy walls squeeze and spasm around his thick cock.

“fuck mama. you’re so fuckin’ tight. tightest pussy i’ve ever had-” he groans, pulling almost completely out and slamming back into your warm heat.

the compliment goes straight to your core and you involuntarily clench around him once again. the fact that such an experienced older man would say such a thing made you feel warm inside.

“tojiiii~ feels so good- i feel weird- ah! in my tummy!” the pitch of your voice heightens towards the end of your sentence. the feeling in your stomach is something you can’t explain and have never felt before, but it felt good in a way you couldn’t quite describe to him without feeling embarrassed “yeah? feels weird?” toji says in a teasing tone, speeding up his thrusts. “that’s called an orgasm mama. am i making you feel that good?” he chuckles and kisses your cheek that’s now dampened with tears.

your doe eyes look into his emerald green ones while his cock pistons in and out of you. “t-toji! can’t hold back anymore-!” you whine arching your back and biting your lower lip. ‘don’t hold back mama. cum for me.” he hisses thrusting harder and deeper into your tight core.

he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

the way your poor abused cunt was milking his cock dry made him inch closer to the orgasm he desperately chased after. “tojiiii-” you sob while curling your toes when the knot in your stomach becomes too much to bare. your first ever orgasm washed over your body. the mere sight was too much and toji couldn’t last any longer.

“god- i’m cumming-” he lets out a loud groan and thrusts one last time into your cunt before emptying himself in your sensitive hole.

“‘m sorry baby, i came inside.” he sighs while pulling out his softening cock while a stream of white liquid flows out of your cunt. your legs finally rest for the first time that night when he places them on either side of him before leaning in to give you a kiss on the forehead. “i-it’s fine I don’t mind.” you smile knowing there was a possibility you could become pregnant with his child. <3

i didn’t know how to end this LMAO

[ragingbookdragon]

Veils of Gold

Royal AU! Knight!Simon Ghost Riley x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Knight Simon being completely down to his knees for his Queen is something I hold dear in my heart

**********************************************************************

It was piss poor luck on his part that the archer had spectacularly good aim and got to him before John or Kyle could. The arrow hit the soft part of his armor in the back of his knee, sinking through and out the side, hitting against the inside of his steel armor. Instantly, he felt the coursing of some type of poison as he went to his good knee, cursing and reaching back for his bad knee. He watched through the corner of his visor as John’s claymore bit into the archer’s shoulder and cleaved halfway through his torso before he dropped.

John ran to him, dropping his sword down as he knelt. “How bad is it?” he asked, prodding the wound and watching as crimson stained through the brown leather of his glove.

“Bad,” Simon said. “Poisoned.”

“Shite. Captain!”

Jonathan sprinted over, sheathing his own sword as he lifted two fingers to his mouth and whistled for his horse. “John, help him onto the horse and lead him back to the castle. Kyle, you and I will continue to scout out the rest of the enemies.”

“Yes sir,” he replied, pulling another arrow, and nocking it.

“I can still fight,” Simon griped, pushing himself up to his feet; he reached behind and yanked the arrow out, only letting out a very nasty grunt of pain. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine and you’ll do as I command,” Jonathan replied, pointing to the horse. “You’re in no condition to fight. You’ll either get yourself or all of us killed.”

“Cap—”

“That’s an order, Knight Lieutenant.”

Jonathan voice booked no room for an argument and Simon acquiesced as he hobbled over to the horse, though he knocked John’s hands away as he pulled himself up on the horse.

“I’ll scout ahead,” John muttered, pulling out his bow. “Will you be okay until we—”

“I’ll be fine,” Simon griped, pulling the reins of the horse. “Let’s go.”

***

Effectively, the last thing Simon remembered was crossing the bridge into town, panting like a dog before he toppled sideways into the freezing water below. All he could think was how nice it felt seeping under his armor and flooding over his heated skin.

***

Dripping echoed in his ears, a throbbing settled between them as pain pulsed through his skull and shot down to his leg. He grimaced, cracking an eye open, expecting to see the wooden ceiling of the Knight’s lodging but instead was greeted with a gilded golden mosaic encrusted with gemstones and marble. It took him a moment before he realized where and whose room he was in—the Queen’s.

Another drip sounded and he turned his head along the silk pillow, watching as a veiled figure dipped their hands into the water basin in the corner of the room; a woman, by the shape of their figure and it was only until they turned with a wet rag that he realized it was her.

She wore a white and gold, sleeveless gown that dipped lower in the front than he liked it too, but she looked the portrait of heraldry, especially with the golden veil that circled her hair like a halo and down her back. Slits in the side of her white dress showed her legs as she walked, and he watched her gold sandal, adorned feet with each step until she sat down on the bed beside him. Gently, she laid the rag on his forehead and touched his cheek.

“Your servants will talk,” he whispered, practically delirious and unable to tear his eyes from the sight of the gold sewn into the bodice of her dress and up where it collared by her neck and shoulders. “They will know.”

Her hum was heaven’s music as she pulled the sheet away from his leg and gently went about cleaning his wound again.

His stomach dropped when he saw crimson on her hands and his shot out, grasping her wrists. “Stop. Stop touching me.”

“Simon?” she appeared shocked, not that he had grabbed her so tightly but that his voice seemed on the verge of hysterics.

“My blood,” he breathed. “I am not worthy enough to have bled onto your clean hands.”

“Then you are also not worthy to have my white gown wipe away the sweat and grime too,” she said, all the while, rubbing the end of her dress along his knee, slicking it with dirt, sweat, and blood.

“My Queen,” he begged. “Please, I am unclean. I am too stained for your purity. I—”

“You will lie as your Queen commands and be healed under her hands,” she interrupted, giving him a stare that would have withered a lesser man.

Simon swallowed his words, a tightness in his chest as he watched her dip her dress into the jug of water next to the nightstand and begin anew, wiping his wound.

“I am unworthy of such pure grace,” he whispered, and she smiled, her eyes soft and gentle.

“You are a foolish man,” she murmured, pouring a thick looking greenish liquid into the wound before she wrapped it. “A man I admire greatly, but a foolish one all the same.”

He felt his breathing stutter in his lungs when her hands drifted up his wrapped knee to the inside of his thigh, then to his hip, where she caressed the sharp bone beneath his skin before she bent down and kissed it. “My Queen,” he groaned, feeling her lips turn upwards against his pale skin; he felt his chest flush with a pale redness at the intimacy. If anyone saw—“Please, have mercy upon me…” he pleaded. “Should anyone see you in such a compromised position…”

“You are such a worrier,” she sighed, sitting up; her hand rested upon his cheek before it gently threaded into the hair at the side of his head. “The door to my quarters is locked. No one can come in.”

Simon gazed at her, lovesick and feverish. “I do not wish for your reputation to be tainted as mine has been. You are too good for it.”

She ignored him and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. “You are loved by the most powerful woman this side of the land. You hold more power over me and my resolve than any law ever will.”

He whimpered into her and reached up, touching the veil she wore. “I yet still believe that one touch from your hallowed form will free me from all I have done.”

“Should it not, you know I would walk beside you in hell until we have.”

“I am not worthy,” he murmured, and she quieted him.

“Hush, you are the most.”

[dramatic-dolphin]

hey just wanted to rant too cuz this shit makes me ashamed of being italian. I'm used to hating this country for a multitude of valid reason but Carini was so fucking dumb and stupid I wasn't prepared for this.

Like Bitch your fucking job is being punched in the face. you could've picked any other sport but you were like you know what. I want to get punched in the face. I will dedicate my life to Getting Punched In The Face. Like with what kind of integrity do you go up on the stadium of Get Publically Punched in the Face and curl up crying. You are pathetic. I've broken bones in sports cause it Just Comes With The Territory but nahhh were gonna weaponise the patronising feelings people have about us to start a witch hunt on someone who isn't even trans. Can you believe that you can be fucking defined as Too Strong to be a woman? Like oh I'm sorry. I wasn't aware that the female Olympics section was a kindergarten playtime to let those poor weak women think they can achieve physical feats too. I hate her so much.

One last time. HOW CAN YOU CRY. ABOUT BEING PUNCHED IN THE FACE. WHEN YOU'RE. A FUCKING. BOXER.

Can you guys imagine if it was a dude that pulled this shit??? No one would take him seriously cause bitch. getting concussions for our entertainment is your FUCKING . JOB. Sigh .

tbf it wouldn't even be a problem in itself if everyone just handled it like normal fucking people. she got hit too hard for her to handle - comes with the territory, i suppose being a boxer does not make you immune to pain. everyone has bad days.

it's just that EVERYONE is rallying to protect this poor innocent fragile woman - who is an OLYMPIC BOXER - because she got punched too hard - IN AN OLYMPIC BOXING MATCH. BY ANOTHER BOXER. just. this is so mind-numbingly stupid. do people see white woman tears and lose all their rational thinking? poor fragile little woman crying, must protect? THIS IS AN OLYMPIC BOXER BEING HIT BY ANOTHER OLYMPIC BOXER IN HER WEIGHT CLASS. this italian woman could probably lay you out in one punch, even if she sucks, because she is, as i keep repeating, An Olympic Boxer. she is not fragile 😭😭

and just. "she hit me too hard, i immediately yielded" like hello???? what you are saying is she was too good at her job. at the sport both of you are there for? what you are saying is "she was so good, i immediately knew i didn't have a chance" and this is HER fault? for being too good?

i get you fully btw. imane khelif's next match is against a woman from my country (hungary). you can imagine the kind of shit people are saying. i just saw an article saying that our athlete shouldn't be her "next victim". VICTIM OF WHAT? BEING PUNCHED IN THE FACE AT THE 'GETTING PUNCHED IN THE FACE' SPORT????? are swimmers the victims of water now? am i victimized by someone running faster than me? IT'S A SPORT WHERE PEOPLE PUNCH EACH OTHER. i need to burn down the internet fr.

[shapard]

Albino Snake🐍

Lucifer x Human!fem!reader

Alastor kinda reminds me of Dr. Facilier

A/n: I want to cry. I accidentally posted this🥲

You found a cute little albino snake. You named him Apple.

Soft Lucifer

Part 1 > Part 2

You love your home New Orleans.

The streets are filled with jazz and Happy people dancing around. It brought a smile up of your face.

It’s been so long when the streets were this filled. A big number of murders started to rise in New Orleans. Everybody stayed at home, especially you. 

News spread quickly that the Series Killer got killed by a hunter. The Hunter thought he was a deer and gave him a shot right in the middle of his skull.

The days that were cold and dull started to gain color again. And your live just became more stressful. 

Back to two jobs and a small apartment.

You worked in two Restaurants only to fulfill your dream. You want to live that dream you and you father talked about from morning to dawn. Sadly, he’ll not be able to see you reach this dream.

You’re almost there, just a couple more shifts. Just a few weeks of hard work.

You groaned when your alarm clock started ringing in your ear. Exhausted you pressed your hand onto the alarm.

You yawned and stretched your body; a small cracking sound emits from your bone, and you sigh in relief. 

“Next shift here I come!” 

As usual people side eyed you when you past them with a tray of food. Working in gastronomy is hard.

Terrible chef, terrible co-workers and even worse the customers. Your chief always tormented you that you'll never reach that dream. That it was useless. You are born poor and you stay poor, especially for a woman.

But that never lets you down. Then you'll be the first woman who'll reach the top without marrying off to a rich man.

The ring bell tuned, and your rich friend Charlotte and her father walked happily into the small business.

Charlotte smiled brightly at you when she saw you. “Y/n! There you are! I have an important question to ask you.” You laughed softly at her antics. she always was always so outgoing and a bright soul. 

“Of course.” Charlotte squealed and was quick to grab her father's purse. “Do you think you can make some beignets? You’ll get paid off, of course.” Without even waiting for your answer, she pushed couple hundred dollars into your chest and ran out of the store without even touching the beignets. 

Charlotte already paid and it wasn't rare that this happens. All your attention was now on the money in your hand. 

With this money it’s more than enough to buy the restaurant you and your father always dreamed about.

Soft tears pearled down on your face and your boss mouth was wide open in shock. “Huh… Wait… WHAT?!” 

When you shift was done you were quick to make a visit to the former sugar farmhouse.

The house was pretty worn down but that didn’t hold you back. You swung around the house humming a soft tune as you imagined how the place will look in the future.

"I'm almost there~..."

A soft clink echoed through the hollow place, bringing you back to reality. Scared you looked around you. Maybe a mouse?

Following the clinking sound, you saw a small snake hurt in a water cup. The snake looked up to you with soft red eyes. The white scales reminded you of pure untouched snow.

The snake was probably an albino. 

You spread out your hand and took the little injured creator in your hand. Your heart swelled when the little snake slithered up to your wrist embracing it softly.

Its red eyes never left yours and you patted his head slightly. 

The Snake watches as you walked stressed out up and down through your little room. A small bandage adorned its little tummy and a small bow tie was around his head. 

To say he was embarrassed was an understatement. But the way how happy you applied the little bowtie on his head was giving him pure joy. So, he didn't protest.

When you finally looked at the small clock that was on your room wall you gasp at the time. You grabbed your little purse and the beignets for the little costume party.

Theme: Kingdom.

The snake you named apple slithered up to your neck. It looked like a designer necklace, and you loved it. 

You stood unmoving in one of the stands from the party. The landlord of the place where you found him was informing you that someone pays way more than you do.

Your whole body feels like it's going to crumble. You were so close to that dream. You were so close to making your father proud.

All those years for nothing?

Apple looked up to you and he saw the face of pure despair and sadness. His heart broke when you ran towards the landlord in despair. Tears were pouring down your face as you shouted the landlord’s name. 

You were close to a panic attack. Apple rested softly on your neck like a scarf. He tried to comfort you in any way.

A woman with a wine glass in her hand accidentally pours the wine onto your dress and Apple hissed at the sudden wetness.

When you turned to look for the landlord he was nowhere to be found. And for the first time you really felt defeated.

Your legs under you gave up and everything around you started to mix in one black hole.

Charlotte hugged you from behind when she saw your broken state. Charlotte dragged you along with her when she looked at the damage on your dress. 

She gave you a new dress your mother had designed for her.

A gorgeous flowing dress that beats every physics. A little Tiana was on your head and the color matched perfect with your skin color. 

Apple watched with an immense blush on his scales.

You look so pretty in this dress. 

You plumped softly onto the bed where apple was laying. He laid under your chin cuddling into your heat. "Oh Apple. I don't know what to do." You whined as soon as those words left you.

“I can help.” As soon as you heard Apple talk you shot up, falling with full force onto the hard floor. 

Red mist covered the whole room and in front of you stood a man with white skin, red eyes and royalty looking clothes.

His smirk was large, and he held an apple cane in one of his hand. “Do you trust me princess?”

A/n: I'm obsessed with Tyla's new album.

💫

@i-have-no-life-charlie @sirenetheblogger @concentratedconcrete

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[yzzart]

Could you do a piece where snow forced reader to dress more conservatively and change her hair (cut and style) compared to her normal look and clothing?

"𝐀𝐧 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞."

pairing: president!Coriolanus Snow x f!reader.

summary: Coriolanus didn't just change him but he also changed you.

warnings: mentions of unhappiness, explicit words + take a look at the masterlist!

word count: 1.024!

notes: here it is, anon! and i think it was too long 😖 but i'm satisfied with this work, enjoy it and i hope you like it!

The one in the mirror, truly you?

That question, a confused inquiry, had compromised itself in your mind; with no intention of simply disappearing and leaving you alone. — A lump of embarrassment and imposition formed in your throat.

The image of a woman wearing cautious, at one point even intimidating, and, extremely, expensive clothes was trapped in the huge mirror. — The fabric of the white pigmented dress was very well prepared and dedicated, accompanied by some divine pearls; it would be cruel to touch them. — Jewels around her neck, giving her an air of purity and elegance.

Her posture was honorable, drawing attention from discreet and daring glances; a lucky woman who everyone wanted to get their hands on. — Being the reason for fights and threats between compromised souls.

That wasn't you, but at the same time it was. — That conservative, intimidating style would never be used by you on a casual day or for your good will; your chest would never feel comfortable in such a garment. — You would never feel comfortable with that whole situation.

However, your loved one admired that change in you. — Such a drastic, sudden and radical change that Coriolanus brought to his life; which he dedicated with love and care.

Coriolanus changed everything in his chest, and perhaps even in his soul, throwing that poor, rotten carcass somewhere no one would find it. — And when he saw the chance to change you, you sweet, naive girl, Snow wouldn't let it fall through his fingers.

All the best articles of clothing in the Capital were in your hands, gifted by Coriolanus. — It didn't matter the price, if countless hands were spent producing that fabric, he wanted to see you using it; independent of all. — And you made a point of making him satisfied, happy.

Even though you hated with all your strength, which was so fragile and delicate, that image that was beginning to be built in you; thinking deeply about your old image, about how you really were. — Your chest was tearing, burning and wanting to destroy every bit of that glass that witnessed his current reflection.

But, Coriolanus loved you that way. — He was so pleased.

"Here you are!" — Upon being mentioned, mentally, Coriolanus's voice echoed through the modest and cold room; coincidentally, like him. — Making your thoughts disappear, as if they never existed and didn't bother you.

Wanting to see him, you directed your head towards the door and came across those deep, vigorous eyes, which were once dreamy, staring at you. — The expression of pride formed on Coriolanus's fascinating face; a face that you are sure was carved by blessed souls.

Coriolanus admired you, agreeing how that dress, personally chosen by him, hugged your body in an exquisite way; you were perfect. — If he had the opportunity, even though he has and could snub her, Coriolanus would keep you for his eyes only.

And that spark of thought, an idea began to sink into the head of the boy, or rather, the man Snow every day, minute and second.

"My beautiful girl." — Coriolanus directed his steps towards you, causing some noises on the floor coming from his shiny and expensive shoes; shoes worth half the lives of the Panem. — "So beautiful…"

"Thank you, Coryo." — A thank you in such a fragile voice, almost coming out as a whisper; deep down, you didn't want to thank him for that compliment because you felt like it wasn't really meant for you.

Now the presence of Coriolanus was behind you and joining the mirror; the difference in height drew so much attention, giving you butterflies in your stomach. — You couldn't justify whether it was the excitement of seeing him or the intimidating feeling he showed, but you didn't deny the happiness that grew in your chest. — He was there with you.

Well, a different reflection of the Coriolanus you knew but he was there.

Without saying anything or even sighing, Coriolanus passed his arms covered by the long-sleeved white t-shirt, which was very reminiscent of his dear father's, around your waist; his hands passed over the slightly rough but comfortable fabric of the dress. — There was nothing comfortable about that dress for you. — Distributing a simple squeeze, a sign of wanting your attention, in the region.

For a second, you held your breath, not knowing the reason for this action, and your eyes focused on the mirror. — Coriolanus' head resting on your shoulder, his lips forming a convinced and enchanted smile before you; equal to a man when building a work with perfection and a lot of dedication.

"That dress looks perfect on you." — His dangerous and arrogant lips left long kisses on your neck and areas close to your shoulder; it tickled, it didn't bother you, and it let silent grunts escape your mouth. — "Don't you agree, my dear?" — Coriolanus wanted to elicit a specifically positive and obedient response from you.

At that very moment, and for the first time that morning, Snow didn't get what he wanted. — No words came out of your mouth, just a miserable sigh; still feeling his kisses on your sensitive part of your body.

"Answer me." — He interrupted the sealing session with his authoritative voice, a tone of voice that he began to present in recent times; Coriolanus listened and watched you swallow hard. — "Or are you not satisfied with everything i have done and given you?" — He was bitter and so cruel at the same time with those words.

and God, that's not what you were thinking.

"No, Coryo!" — Was it a scream? You didn't even realize that you had let out a very loud tone of voice. — "No, no." — Shaking your head quickly and disagreeing with the fallacies your lover uttered, you tried to calm the situation. — "That dress was great, i loved it."

Now, a nervous and distressed smile formed on your beautiful and stubborn lips against Coriolanus' venomous and superb smile. — He had you in his cold, rich hands, he had you in the cage like a little bird crying for freedom. — He had you.

"You don't know how happy i'm about this, my love."

[vaaaaaiolet]

You accidentally throw a monkey wrench into supermodel Leon's Calvin Klein photoshoot, but you can't sweet-talk your way out of this one. Kennedy's got your tongue and your panties in a bunch.

Better hope you've got a fix up your sleeve.

f / m, slight nsfw, you just thirst over leon + you're REALLY awkward, fluff + romance, stupid one-liner attempts at humor + hunnigan mention!! I GIVE MYSELF THE ICK.

word count: 913 // read on ao3

a/n: @chesue00 made this GODLY ART. and i RAN INTO PEOPLE in PUBLIC looking at it because it got me so dizzy. i don't know what to DO WITH MYSELF 😭

find more drabbles in my collection: sketches for my sweetheart the drunk!

You’d passed all your English classes in college, but right now? It’d be a hell of a lot more useful to have taken a few in sign language.

“What’s wrong with her?” 

The camera crew’s never been able to perfect the art of the whisper. 

“Did she lose her voice or something?”

You fumble with the reflectors for the millionth time, bright material projecting your flushed face to high heaven on all three of the cameras’ viewfinders. 

There’s a really unfunny joke that starts like this: a photography intern walks into a bar.

Said bar happens to be supermodel Leon S. Kennedy’s back because you weren’t watching where you were going on the biggest day of your career, a Kennedy x Klein collab shoot starring the man you’d only been crushing on for, what, ever since you picked up your first fashion magazine? You’d left a sizeable smear of makeup on the pristine white of his T-shirt as a parting gift, and after that, you’d lost your ability to form words in shame. Mortifying, paralyzing shame.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

And as if in agreement, Leon’s agent bristles on the break couch behind you. 

He’s still in that stained shirt, by the way. Sipping thoughtfully from a bottle of water while his agent sounds off beside him, but the only thing on your mind is what you’d give to be on his drink’s business end. Condensation drips onto the coffee table when Leon sets it down, drop by tantalizing drop sliding down his fingers, ice melting in his palm that’s just big enough to grab a plush handful of your- 

His agent tears through your daydream, madder than a wet hen. ”There’s no time to order an exact replacement!”

“It’s just a shirt,” Leon chuckles, and you hear rolling thunder on the horizon. You’ve got it bad.

“It very clearly states in the Kennedy x Klein contract that we need a picture of you in a white T-shirt.”

“A tiny bit of lip gloss-” 

“An obvious stain!” the spectacled woman squawks. 

“Stain, whatever – just stop freaking that poor girl out, yeah?” 

Your ears perk up rabbit-style.

“Look at her, Ingrid,” Leon continues, and every cell of your body lights on fire because he has to be training his gunmetal eyes on right on you. “Poor thing hasn’t said a word since you started going off about that tiny mark. Turn around, sweetheart, just a moment.”

Who put your feet on a turntable? 

“See? Eyes bigger than the goddamn moon.”

And you just might faint, too. But you’ve got to fix this before you do. 

“Uhm, we…we could…” he nods when you stutter, patient as a saint, he’d talk you through it for sure, “take…the shirt…off?” 

A tilt of his handsome head. “Come again?”

You need to put your money where your mouth is. Even if the latter’s on strike right now. Pointing your chin back towards the set, you jerk your head for him to follow. Leon’s agent pinches the bridge of her nose, mumbling something about leaps of faith from chandeliers and not again, but the man in the stained shirt couldn’t seem to care less. His eyes gleam.

“Hands-on, then.” Leon cracks a grin, rising to his feet. “I’m all yours.” 

Leon is desire painted monochrome.

You nearly throw yourself over the table at the back of the shoot the minute Leon pops up on your monitor. The printer spits out picture after picture that couldn’t be safe for work in your wildest dreams, but here you are, getting paid to take softcore of Calvin Klein’s newest poster boy, and your jaw is about to make friends with the floor.  

You didn’t know eyes could talk before Leon Kennedy. 

In one shot, he’s gazing at you from the glossed page, bedroom blues sizing you up. He’s daring you. Drag your eyes down the page. Go on.

And oh, if the the journey doesn’t reveal the ridged muscles lining Leon’s stomach as he reaches to shuck the shirt off his shoulders. The stain is a forgotten memory replaced by a new one burned into your brain for the rest of eternity, and you’re not the talking about the cologne. You’re staring at the patterned Calvin Klein waistband of his boxers. Slung dangerously low over his hips, begging to be relieved of their duty, so close you could pull them off with your teeth. 

“Any closer and you’re gonna lick the page, doll.” 

And mess up his pretty face? You wouldn’t dream of it.

Leon laughs when you go ramrod straight. “Seriously. You did amazing with that shirt-pulling save,” he says. “I know it’s a little intimidating to work with Ingrid and my team, but you handled it like a champ.” 

He tugs the photo out from under your fingers, uncapping a nearby pen to scribble something onto its backside. His tongue pokes out when he writes. He’s the cutest Adonis you’ve ever seen when he hands it back. “I knew you could,” he adds.

And then all too soon, just as your own tongue regains feeling, Leon leaves amidst the flurry of post-production. Leaves is the polite way to put it; his agent practically hauls him out by the collar by the time you muster up the courage to wave goodbye. 

Really? After everything’s all done? 

Well, almost. You flip the photo to read his note.

Pretty eyes, pretty mouth too. Put that second one to use next time? :)

They do say practice makes perfect.

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