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ktempestbradford · 3 months

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I have been on a Willy Wonkified journey today and I need y'all to come with me

It started so innocently. Scrolling Google News I come across this article on Ars Technica:

At first glance I thought what happened was parents saw AI-generated images of an event their kids were at and became concerned, then realized it was fake. The reality? Oh so much better.

On Saturday, event organizers shut down a Glasgow-based "Willy's Chocolate Experience" after customers complained that the unofficial Wonka-inspired event, which took place in a sparsely decorated venue, did not match the lush AI-generated images listed on its official website.... According to Sky News, police were called to the event, and "advice was given."

Thing is, the people who paid to go were obviously not expecting exactly this:

But I can see how they'd be a bit pissed upon arriving to this:

It gets worse.

"Tempest, how could it possibly--"

source of this video that also includes this charming description:

Made up a villain called The Unknown — 'an evil chocolate maker who lives in the walls'

There is already a meme.

Oh yes, the Wish.com Oompa Loompa:

Who has already done an interview!

As bad (and hilarious) as this all is, I got curious about the company that put on this event. Did they somehow overreach? Did the actors they hired back out at the last minute? (Or after they saw the script...) Oddly enough, it doesn't seem so!

Given what I found when poking around I'm legit surprised there was an event at all. Cuz this outfit seems to be 100% a scam.

The website for this specific event is here and it has many AI generated images on it, as stated. I don't think anyone who bought tickets looked very closely at these images, otherwise they might have been concerned about how much Catgacating their children would be exposed to.

Yes, Catgacating. You know, CATgacating!

I personally don't think anyone should serve exarserdray flavored lollipops in public spaces given how many people are allergic to it. And the sweet teats might not have been age appropriate.

Though the Twilight Tunnel looks pretty cool:

I'm not sure that Dim Tight Twdrding is safe. I've also been warned that Vivue Sounds are in that weird frequency range that makes you poop your pants upon hearing them.

Yes, Virginia, these folks used an AI image generator for everything on the website and used Chat GPT for some of the text! From the FAQ:

Q: I cannot go on the available days. Will you have more dates in the future? A: Should there be capacity when you arrive, then you will be able to enter without any problems. In the event that this is not the case, we may ask you to wait a bit.

Fear not, for this question is asked again a few lines down and the answer makes more sense.

Curious about the events company behind this disaster, I took myself over to the homepage of House of Illuminati and I was not disappointed.

I would 100% trust these people to plan my wedding.

This abomination of a website is a badly edited WordPress blog filled with AI art and just enough blog posts to make the casual viewer think that it's a legit business for about 0.0004 seconds.

Their attention to detail is stunning, from how they left up the default first post every WP blog gets to how they didn't bother changing the name on several images, thus revealing where they came from. Like this one:

With the lovely and compact filename "DALL·E-2024-01-30-09.50.54-Imagine-a-scene-where-fantasy-and-reality-merge-seamlessly.-In-the-foreground-a-grand-interactive-gala-is-taking-place-filled-with-elegant-guests-i.png"

"Concept.png" came from the same AI generator that gets text almost, but not quiiiiiite right:

There are a suspicious number of .webp images in the uploads, which makes me think they either stole them from other sites where AI "art" was uploaded or they didn't want to pay for the hi-res versions of some and just grabbed the preview image.

The real fun came when I noticed this filename: Before-and-After-Eventologists-Transformation-Edgbaston-Cricket-Ground-1024x1024-1.jpg and decided to do a Google image search. Friends, you will be shocked to hear that the image in question, found on this post touting how they can transform a boring warehouse into a fun event space, was stolen from this actual event planner.

Even better, this weirdly grainy image?

From a post that claims to be about the preparations for a "Willy Wonka" experience (we'll get to this in a minute), is not only NOT an actual image of anyone preparing anything for Illuminati's event, it is stolen from a YouTube thumbnail that's been chopped to remove the name of the company that actually made this. Here's the video.

If you actually read the blog posts they're all copypasta or some AI generated crap. To the point where this seems like not a real business at all. There's very specific business information at the bottom, but nothing else seems real.

As I said, I'm kinda surprised they put on an event at all. This has, "And then they ran off with all our money!" written all over it. I'm perplexed.

And also wondering when the copyright lawyers are gonna start calling, because...

This post explicitly says they're putting together a "Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory Experience" complete with golden tickets.

Somewhere along the line someone must have wised up, because the actual event was called "Willys Chocolate Experience" (note the lack of apostrophe) and the script they handed to the actors about 10 minutes before they were supposed to "perform" was about a "Willy McDuff" and his chocolate factory.

As I was going through this madness with friends in a chat, one pointed out that it took very little prompting to get the free Chat GPT to spit out an event description and such very similar to all this while avoiding copyrighted phrases. But he couldn't figure out where the McDuff came from since it wasn't the type of thing GPT would usually spit out...

Until he altered the prompt to include it would be happening in Glasgow, Scotland.

You cannot make this stuff up.

But truly, honestly, I do not even understand why they didn't take the money and run. Clearly this was all set up to be a scam. A lazy, AI generated scam.

Everything from the website to the event images to the copy to the "script" to the names of things was either stolen or AI generated (aka stolen). Hell, I'd be looking for some poor Japanese visitor wandering the streets of Glasgow, confused, after being jacked for his mascot costume.

HE LIVES IN THE WALLS, Y'ALL.

#long post #Willy Wonka #Wonka #Willy Wonka Experience #Willy Wonka Experience disaster #Willy's Chocolate Experience #Willys Chocolate Experience #THE UNKNOWN #Wish.com Oompa Loompa #House of Illuminati #AI #ai generated

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hotvintagepoll · 4 months

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Propaganda

Cary Grant (The Philadelphia Story, His Girl Friday, Bringing Up Baby, Charade)—just the peak of old-school Hollywood sexuality. The glam, the suits, the gentle wit, the acrobatics, those eyes that always looked like they knew exactly what movie they were in and were laughing at the joke...

Vincent Price (Laura, Leave Her to Heaven, House on Haunted Hill, The Masque of the Red Death)—svelte, stylish, horrifying, beautiful, wickedly funny, camp and gorgeous and evil. he was an art connoisseur who advocated passionately indigenous art, he was an actual literal gourmet cook, he was so liberal he got greylisted during the mccarthy era for being too rad, he's my favorite muppets guest of all time

This is round 4 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Vincent Price propaganda:

Submitted: this fancam

Submitted: this entire Tumblr page

Cary Grant propaganda:

"My Golden Age of Hollywood professor, who was very outwardly gay himself, put it this way: Even though Grant's sexuality was kind of an open secret in Hollywood, the public couldn't know in any real way. But anybody could see that there was a queerness about him, so he was casted for roles where he physically embodies his masculinity in a non-explicit but queer way. Bringing Up Baby is famous for the scene where Grant wears a frilly robe (pictured below, but what people don't always realise is that he plays kind of an awkward nerd in that movie. He's a hot awkward scientist in a grand robe!!! Hot!!! In The Philadelphia Story, one of my famous movies of all time, he plays C. K. Dexter Haven, a rich, sarcastic, supposedly abusive guy. And yet, what we see is this laid back, dandy-ish figure, who absolutely does not feel threatened when a woman he supposedly loves (Katharine Hepburn) starts having feelings for, and hooks up with another guy (James Stewart). He lets a drunk Stewart into his office and helps him get his job back! Obviously that is the script and not the actor, but the whole film, and that scene in particular, shows him having this very queer attitude of openness toward Hepburn and Stewart, which is only amplified by the casting of Grant and his portrayal of the character. Anyway, this is not an essay arguing for The Philadelphia Story to be considered a queer film, all I will say is: he's super hot in it."

The link to the above mentioned frilly robe scene from Bringing Up Baby: "I just went gay all of a sudden!"

last minute cary grant propaganda: the last few paragraphs of that new vanity fair article about him and randolph scott that just came out 2 days ago on cary's birthday where he calls it "gravity collapse" and "love at first sight" and says their souls touched and and and i'm actually sharing this mostly because it makes me emotional but also because a vote for archibald is a vote for love. this is my message. apologies for sounding mildly insane.

#vincent price #cary grant #round 4 #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old man

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macfrog · 1 year

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Good Morning Lovely, I hope you have a great Sunday! I was wondering if you could possibly write boyfriend's dad! Joel x female reader where your boyfriend was caught cheating on you but you go to his dad's house and found comfort in him. 💗

guest of honor

yep yep yep bfd!joel is something i have never written before but i would love to write more. thank u sm for this request!!! i hope you enjoy 🙏

pairing: bfd!joel x fem!reader

summary: mr. miller didn't raise his son to be a cheat. so when he turns out that way, his dad decides to make it up to you.

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! unprotected p in v sex (wrap before u tap everybody), fingering, dom!joel, praise kink, joel being protective, age gap (reader is early 20s/college age, joel late 40s), cursing, alcohol consumption, cheating

word count: 4k

Three days. It’s been three days.

Three days since you last saw him, arm waving out of the car window as he drove off after dropping you back home. You’d gone to crazy golf. He’d text you that night to say goodnight, and text you first thing the morning after to wish you a good day, and then…nothing.

Radio silence.

Your boyfriend wasn’t the best at communicating, this was true. But three fucking days? Something was weird.

You: Hey, I was gonna swing by later if you’re around?

You: Everything ok?

You: Hello????

You: Getting kinda worried now

When your third call goes straight to voicemail, you decide to head over and see what’s up.

Your car squeaks to a halt outside his house. Both his car and his dad’s truck are parked in the driveway, and you glance in his driver’s window as you pass. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Nobody answers when you ring the doorbell, so you slowly turn the handle and let yourself in, closing the door quietly behind.

You call out his name. Nothing.

Leaning to glance down the hallway, you notice the sliding door in the kitchen open, the silhouette of his dad sat on a lounge chair out back.

You head upstairs slowly; maybe he’s sleeping, or at his desk with his headphones on.

The top stair creaks when you step on it, and you pause, hearing movement on your left. From your boyfriend’s bedroom.

You say his name, and the noise stops dead.

“What the f…” you whisper to yourself, wandering over to the door. “Are you in here…?”

You push the handle and the door slowly swings open. The curtains are closed, it’s dull. You can only just make out the discarded articles of clothing strewn all over the carpet, leading to the foot of the bed, on which…

“Oh, fu–”

Your boyfriend jumps up, stark naked, some girl clutching the bedsheets to her chest. Your breathing falters as he reaches for his underwear.

“What the fuck?” you yell, backing away from the door. He holds a hand out to stop you.

“This isn’t…No, hey, come back!”

Spinning on your heel, you rattle back down the stairs, vision blurring with the tears rapidly bubbling. You reach the bottom of the stairs and steady yourself on the handrail, before making off for the front door.

“Hey, hey.” A strong arm suddenly links around yours as you flurry by, having heard all the commotion. “What’s goin’ on, darlin’?”

Mr. Miller turns you and takes the back of your head in his rough hand, gently tilting your face up to look at him. When he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, his jaw tightens, brows furrowing, and he yells upstairs for your boyfriend.

“Get – the fuck – out here. Now!”

The bedroom door opens, you hear shuffling, and the figure of your boyfriend, still in his underwear, materializes on the landing.

Mr. Miller’s hand hasn’t left yours as he turns to look up at his son, and you cower behind his broad shoulders.

“What the fuck is goin’ on? You got someone else up there?”

“Dad, it’s–”

“Don’t you fuckin’ lie! I heard you come in with someone. You tellin’ me you’re cheatin’ on your girlfriend in my house?”

Your boyfriend’s shoulders drop and he glances back toward his room. “I…It was a mistake.”

“Get her out. Both of y’all. Get!” he roars, thumb pointing over his shoulder.

When his son’s scrawny form wobbles back to his bedroom, Mr. Miller gives you a half glance over his shoulder and his hand squeezes yours. He leads you down the hallway without a word, taking you to the kitchen, where he pulls a barstool out for you to sit on.

“Water?” he asks.

You don’t reply. He understands.

He closes the fridge. “Whiskey.”

As he’s pouring two glasses, the pale face of your boyfriend leans around the doorframe.

“Listen, I…”

“Didn’t I tell you to leave? You, too!” he yells down the hall, and a pair of footsteps scuttle off. “If you ain’t out that door in the next ten seconds, you’re gonna know all about it, son.”

With that, his head and shoulders disappear, and you listen as the front door opens and slams shut again.

Mr. Miller slides your whiskey over the counter to you and downs half of his in one swig.

“Damn boy,” he mutters, licking his lips. “Don’t know what’s gotten into ‘im. He always this much of an asshole?”

You shrug, still staring at your glass.

The truth is he didn’t seem like an asshole when you met him. He was confident, and smart, and funny. He had a crowd of boys around him anywhere he went, and you liked the attention y’all got whenever you were with him. Liked being on his arm. Liked being kissed by him in a bar full of people.

Was there anything there, between you guys? Past what other people saw? Not so much. He liked video games, and football, and cars. You liked watching and waiting for him to quit playing so you could hang out, weren’t so much into football, and liked his car, only when he’d take you out in it.

Sex was…uneventful. Little foreplay, little payday for you. Most times it was five or so minutes of grunting, a pause inside you while he filled the condom, and then a heaving sigh as he tumbled off from on top of you to lie beside you in a sweaty mess and pull out his phone. He liked watching gameplay videos on YouTube once he’d finished.

So, all in all, not an asshole, per se. He was always decent to you, always made sure you got home safe and held your hand in public.

The issue was he wasn’t not an asshole, either. He was perfectly lukewarm. Right in the middle.

Fuckin’ boring.

This is the first real asshole thing he’s done. The first step in either direction of extremity – first leap, really.

Realistically, it’s a bit of relief. Wow, you do have a personality after all. Just sucks that this was what he’d chosen to do with it.

It stings. You feel your cheeks heat as they flush with embarrassment, the memory of you pushing that door open replaying over and over in your head. You need a sedative, something to make you forget what just happened.

“Hey,” Mr. Miller says again, thumb holding your chin. “You okay?”

You lean into his touch. “Not really. It’s…whatever. He can do what he wants.”

He’s quiet. His eyes track your lips as you speak, and when you finish, he looks back up into your eyes.

“He don’t deserve a girl like you,” he whispers.

You smile a little, tilting your head and looking up at him.

“I’m gonna make you feel better. Make it up to ya for raisin’ him. How’s that sound?” Mr. Miller leans back and sets his glass down, clapping his hands. “Want some food?”

You giggle, brows furrowing. “Food?”

“I’m starvin’. Was waitin’ for you comin’ over so we could have dinner. Didn’t know that was goin’ on, but…”

“Food sounds good,” you say, cutting off the end of his sentence. “Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

He shakes his head, brows knitted together, and insists, “Joel, baby. Call me Joel.”

Joel rustles up some burgers, insists that you stay put in your stool and don’t move a muscle as he cooks.

“Guest of honor,” he tells you, “your job is to sit there, look pretty, and let me do all the work.”

You oblige, making polite conversation and accepting when he pours you another glass of whiskey. Y’all talk about plenty, from work, to college, to whose food is best out of Tess’s Steakhouse or the Southwestern Grill.

“I’m tellin’ you,” Joel mutters, tossing a handful of fries in his mouth, “I’d give ‘em both a run for their money.”

“Alright, but you’d be a threat to Southwestern quicker than you would to Tess’s.”

“See, now we gotta go to both to really compare ‘em,” Joel says, and you swear you notice your heart skip a beat.

You hesitate on your answer, watching him carefully. He’s leaning a little toward you, licking the salt from his fingers.

“Maybe we should,” you finally reply, cocking an eyebrow.

Joel smirks and stands up, taking your plate on top of his.

“Let me help with the dishes,” you say, and he shakes his head in response.

“No, darlin’,” he protests, holding a hand out as you follow him to the sink. “I’m hostin’ ya, I’ll get ‘em.”

“C’mon,” you say, lining up beside him, your shoulder meeting the middle of his bicep. “I don’t wanna just sit letting you do all the work all night. Let me help.”

He gives in and hands you a towel, before plunging your plates into the hot soapy water, and handing them to you to dry.

“Just throw ‘em on the rack,” he murmurs, “can put ‘em away later.”’

You can feel the heat radiating off of him just standing next to him. The sleeve of his flannel brushes off of your bare skin as you work, making your shoulders tense. Joel’s rigid too, facing forward at all times, staring out of the window instead of meeting your sneaking glances.

You pile the last plate onto the rack and turn to face him.

“I’m gonna…run upstairs and just grab a few of my things before I go,” you tell Joel, and he nods as you head out of the kitchen.

Your boyfriend’s bedroom is still dark, curtains blowing in the gentle breeze, sporadically letting sunlight in like your unsteady breaths. You open your bag, blindly lifting anything you’ve left here during visits. A lipstick, a hairbrush, a teddy bear you got him from vacation last summer.

When you’ve scanned the whole room, you turn to head out and notice a familiar silhouette in the doorway.

“What a fuckin’ mess,” Joel mutters, and you laugh as you make your way over.

He’s stood in the doorway, so you turn and squeeze by him, back to his chest. His hands come to rest on your hips as you pass, and your breath catches when you feel them squeeze.

Joel shuts the door and shakes his head. “It’s like he’s twelve years old.”

“Nah, that’s unfair. To twelve-year-olds.”

He scoffs. A pause. Then, “You sure you’re alright, baby?”

You lean back against the wall, bag hanging from your crossed arms.

“I’m good. Thank you again for dinner. You really took my mind off of…everything.” Your eyes flit to the door behind him.

Joel takes a step closer to you, hands stuffed in his jean pockets, and your heart quickens.

“Just wanted to make you feel better,” he breathes.

You can feel the blood pumping around your body like tidal waves circulating through you. Your breath falters, chest rising and falling quicker, and you feel something flutter between your legs.

You glance up and down the hallway. Whatever comes over you, the whiskey, or something more, you’re not entirely sure, but it makes you step away from the beige wall and close the space between you both even more.

“One of these doors yours?” You nod up the hallway, and Joel’s gaze instantly clouds over.

His eyebrows flinch, eyes flicker across your body just for a second, and he nods. Slowly.

“At the end.”

“Hm,” you muse, pushing your bottom lip out and wandering down the hall.

You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing, but Joel’s at your heels, following you toward his door. When you nudge it open, you turn, back to the door, and fall in.

His room is painted a dark grey, bed sheets to match. There’s not much in the way of furniture, a dresser over to the left, right by what you assume is the bathroom, and another over on the right under the window. A mirror stands by the open closet door, and a TV hangs from the wall beside the door, over your right shoulder.

Plain. Simple. Classic Joel.

You take a few steps inside, and turn, looking back at Joel, who’s leaning against his doorframe, watching you.

“Never been in here, have you?”

You shake your head. “’s what I expected.”

He laughs. “Is that so?”

“Mhm. Looks like your room.”

Joel’s eyes dance over your face, your neck, along your shoulders, and down to your chest. He looks back up to meet your gaze and your eyebrows lift.

“Just one thing missin’ from it…” he grumbles, slowly walking over to you.

You feel the ache that’s been growing between your legs suddenly intensify. You clench your thighs.

Joel lifts his hand, taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger.

“…you.”

You’re panting now, arms dropped to your side. Your bag falls from your loose grip when he takes hold of your shoulders and runs his hands down to your waist. Rough hands pulling you into him, against him, where you feel the swell in his pants.

“Joel…” you whisper.

“Hm?” he asks, chin lifting.

“Want you to…” Your throat holds onto the rest of the sentence.

He cups your face with his hand, tilting it up toward him. “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me. In here.”

“Yeah?” he asks, starting to walk you backward to the bed. “You want me to take care of you, baby?”

“Mhm.”

He pushes you back onto the mattress, his smell all over the sheets. And then, he leans down, his body all over you.

He takes your wrists and pins them above your head, thigh between your legs.

“Gonna show you what it feels like to be fucked by a real man,” he growls, head dipping to kiss along your neck. “Gonna make you feel real good, pretty girl.”

You buck your hips and he laughs into your skin, teeth grazing against your throat.

“So desperate,” he purrs, shoving you further up the mattress.

He leans back, taking the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your body, exposing your bare chest underneath. You lay back and watch his eyes, heavy with lust as they scan over you, and you feel yourself wetter and wetter against his thigh.

“So pretty for me, sweet girl.”

His fingers find the waistband of your skirt and he hauls it down your legs, discarding it on the floor. You’re in just your panties now, laying sprawled out on your boyfriend’s father’s bed, soaked through, desperate to be fucked.

Joel’s hand cups around your sex, feeling how wet you are for him already. He slides your panties to the side and draws a lazy finger through your folds, coming to rest on your clit, where he circles around your sensitive bud.

Your back lifts, hands coming down to lock around his wrist. Urging him to keep doing it, but begging him to do something more.

His thumb stays on your clit, two middle fingers dipping to your cunt below. Your hands resume position above your head and you bring your knees up either side of you, allowing him access to your core.

Joel inserts his fingers inside you, and you bite back a scream. He curls them, hitting the spongey walls of your cunt, stretching you out good.

You’re breathing his name, chest rising and falling in time with his wrist pumping, before he pulls his hand from your core and you watch as he pushes his fingers between his lips, sucking on you.

He lets them go with a pop. “Sweet as honey, baby,” he coos, and a filthy grin paints across your lips.

“Alright,” Joel murmurs, taking hold of your waist.

He flips you over in one fluid motion, and with both hands on your hips, hoists your ass up in the air. His finger hooks under the band of your panties and pulls, releasing it with a snap back against your waist. You whine, face buried in his sheets.

Joel’s hands trail from the back of your knees upward, toward your aching cunt, where he massages the insides of your thighs, drawing desperate moans from you.

You hear the clink of his belt buckle, the sound of it sliding out of his pants and the thud when it hits the floor at his feet. The undeniable sound of his zipper being tugged down, and the ruffle of denim being shoved halfway down his thighs.

He presses his cotton-covered bulge against your lace-covered pussy, letting your slick rut all over his boxers.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and brings a hand down onto your ass. You jerk forward, moaning.

“Joel,” you whine, “just fucking do it. Fuck me, please.”

His hips pull away from yours only long enough for him to drag his boxers down before they’re right back against you, cock sifting through your soaked folds.

He groans as his length glides along your slit, gathering your slick all over his tip.

“You ready, baby?” he asks in a hoarse voice, breath stammering already.

“Mhm,” you breathe, almost shoving your hips back into his just to feel him.

He eases his thick head in first, and you feel yourself already stretching around him. You gasp, the feeling almost searing, before he pulls all the way out and strokes himself a couple times.

“So fuckin’ wet, darlin’. So good for me.”

When his shaft is coated in your juices, he pushes in again, this time not stopping. He goes slowly, allowing you to adjust to him, your back arching, chest pushing further into the mattress the deeper his cock reaches.

When you feel his balls against your clit, your hips connected once again, you exhale deeply.

“Fuck…” you whisper, and you hear him breathe a laugh. “You’re so…fucking…big.”

“Yeah? Aw, baby girl. You got no clue what you’ve been missing.”

His cock drags out of you, and, despite the intense pressure, you whine when he leaves. His tip still between your folds, he instantly pushes back in, getting faster and rougher with each thrust.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back to steady himself as he reaches a fast, punishing pace, fucking you like it’s all he ever wanted to do. His hips snap against yours, your thighs beginning to burn from the position. You feel a heat dripping from your belly to your cunt, swirling around, coil reeling.

“He ever fuck you like this?”

“N-no,” you whine, fingers gripping Joel’s bedsheets. The pressure between your legs is almost painful, his huge cock fucking into you so hard your mind runs blank, the only thought Joel, the only feeling…Joel.

“No,” he repeats, slamming his hips into your ass harder. “Need a real fuckin’ cock to make you feel good, treat that little pussy how it deserves.”

You’re listening to the words he’s saying, but not really hearing them. Your mind is blank, overcome by the feeling of his length fucking in and out of you; the perfect pain when his tip hits the edge of your cunt, the stretch of his thick cock, his balls slapping against your core when he bottoms out.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, squeezing the sheets until your knuckles whiten. “Wanna cum all over you.”

Joel groans, his head falling back at the sound of your whimpers. “Gonna make you cum, baby, make you cum real good. He ever make you cum?”

You shake your head. “Never.”

“Poor baby,” he tuts. “Never been able to cum for him, have you?”

You can’t answer him a second time. In your silence, you feel his hands on your shoulders, dick still thrusting in and out of you, and he pulls you up to his body, flush against his chest.

His arms snake around you, one around your waist and the other drawing circles around your swollen clit. You lean your head against his shoulder, hooking your left arm around his neck.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Uhuh,” you moan, turning to look at him.

Joel turns to face you and his jaw lowers, lips finding yours in a wet, messy kiss. You moan into his mouth as his fingers drill into your clit.

“Gonna…cum…all over…you,” you whimper, and he nods.

“Let me feel you, darlin’.”

You begin to slip in his grasp, feeling your cunt tightening around his cock and the heat in your stomach scorching. A few more thrusts and the room goes white, stars crowding your vision as you sob out.

You fall forward back onto the bed, limp with the pleasure between your thighs. Joel keeps the pace up, chasing his own high.

“So – fuckin’ – good for m-me, pretty girl,” he mutters, pounding into you.

You’re a soaked, sweaty, fucked-out mess, you know it. And you fucking love it.

When Joel’s thrusts become staggered, you know he’s close. You don’t move, save for your hands finding a hold of his sheets again, bracing yourself through the overstimulating feeling of him rutting into you over and over again.

He lets out a quiet groan and pulls out, pumping himself a couple times before his warm cum spills all over your back. The sound of his moans and the feeling of him emptying all over you are almost enough to wind that coil again.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes when he’s done, hands holding onto your ass. He gently massages you again, and you groan at the feeling.

“Lemme grab a towel,” he says, and his warmth disappears for a few seconds.

He returns from the bathroom and wipes your back with a soft towel, holding you up by the waist until he’s done, when he lets you go and you collapse onto the bed on your stomach.

“Been waitin’ so fuckin’ long to do that,” Joel pants, falling onto the bed beside you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You close your eyes, thinking back over all the times you’ve been here, the nights you’ve stayed over, when Joel’s in the house. Thinking of how he might’ve been looking at you, the thoughts running through his head. Knowing you were in his son’s room, knowing you were doing stuff with him that Joel wanted to be doing to you.

It fills you with equal parts longing and fucking arousal.

You both lay in a panting, sweating state of bliss for a while, eyes tracing down each other’s bodies.

Your hand crosses over to lace through Joel’s on his chest, and he smiles softly at you.

“Good?” he asks quietly.

You nod, eyes closing over in your exhausted state. “Good,” you whisper.

He nods reassuringly and squeezes your hand.

The moment – is it even a moment? – is cut short by the sound of a car pulling into the drive. The door slams shut and footsteps trail to Joel’s front door, which opens with a call of, “Dad?”

He sits up, coolly, almost unbothered, and taps you on the shoulder, before getting off the bed and opening his door.

He wanders out into the hall, to the top of the stairs, and you push yourself off of his bed, legs burning, and start getting changed.

“Yeah?” you hear Joel call.

Your boyfriend asks if you’re still here. “Her car’s in the drive.”

“She’s just grabbin’ her things. Made her dinner, made sure she was alright, since you were a fuckin’ dirtbag.”

You hear your boyfriend sigh as you slip back into your sneakers and leave Joel’s bedroom. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn, but holds a hand out behind his back, and you freeze.

“Do me a favour ‘n put the dishes on the rack back, would ya?” he calls down to his son.

You hear him walk through to the kitchen, and Joel turns to you. He nods once down the stairs, and you sneak past him, his hand on the small of your back.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, your fingers around the handle, you turn back. Your boyfriend’s stood in the kitchen; eyes locked on you.

Slipping out the door, you nod to Joel.

“Thanks again, Mr. Miller.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #bd!joel #bd!joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #boyfriend's dad!joel #boyfriend's dad!joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #bfd!joel #bfd!joel miller #requested

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incorrectbatfam · 6 months

Note

What are the rules in the house? Wrong answers

1) Pants must be worn in the presence of company.

2) If groceries are still alive and moving, e.g. lobsters, it is forbidden to shoot at them while calling them "six-legged marine [insert any expletive]."

3) No falling asleep whilst sharpening batarangs.

4) No throwing pool parties in the master bath.

5) Caffeine shall not be given to Impulse on Manor grounds.

6) A maximum of 4 people may swing from the chandelier simultaneously.

7) No holding yourself for ransom.

8) Street signs must be returned within 24 hours of taking unless otherwise specified.

9) Activated smoke pellets may not be sent in the mail.

10) No overnight guests in the graveyard without prior approval.

11) No gender reveal parties. Gender unreveal parties are acceptable so long as they do not incite a natural disaster or result in more than 2 injuries.

12) Shoes are not a substitute for a litter box.

13) If a dispute cannot be solved through civil conversation or sparring, it shall be turned over to the Wayne Family Court for a trial by jury (see article 3 section 3 of the Wayne Family Constitution for more details).

14) Spaceship valets must be scheduled 8 hours in advance. For information on parking validation, please contact Alfred.

15) Events will be updated daily in the Wayne Family Newsletter. To submit an article, email [email protected].

#alfred pennyworth #tim drake #red robin #jason todd #red hood #batman #batfamily #batfam #batboys #batbros #batkids #batsiblings #batman family #dc comics #headcanon #crack #tw food mention #tw gun mention

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starkwlkr · 3 months

Text

celebrity skin | cillian murphy

barbenheimer series

‘Is Hollywood done with Y/n?’

‘Y/n L/n, the girl failure’

That’s what the articles published on their front page. Recently, Y/n had refused to do a big budget film for a legendary director claiming that she wanted to take a break from the world of acting. Her and Cillian were looking to buy a house in Ireland so she was busy looking at listings and calling multiple real estate agents.

The director ended up calling her a bitch over the phone. He had insulted her over and over, stating that she would regret her decision.

After a source told multiple magazines about the situation only the ‘source’ didn’t tell the full story, the media started calling her annoying, selfish, dumb blonde, and the one that stuck the most, a bitch.

Cillian was not having it. Instead of going to his audition for a new series, he stayed home with her. He didn’t want her to be alone, especially at a time where the media and ‘fans’ were turning their backs on her.

“You don’t have to stay with me.” Y/n sighed as she snuggled up to Cillian. They were currently in London since Cillian had gotten an audition for a BBC series. He called the casting director and canceled, which made Y/n mad. Why wouldn’t she be? He had talked about the audition for months and now he canceled?!

“I want to.” He replied, giving her a kiss to the side of her head. “You haven’t eaten anything. I can make you pancakes, I know how much you love breakfast for dinner.”

“I’ll eat in a bit. I think I want to take a nap.” She said.

Cillian had noticed how she’s been taking naps all week. Sometimes she wouldn’t even come out of her room and all she ate was granola bars and orange juice.

“I want you to know that I’m with you every step of the way. Those articles? They’re wrong. Fuck those articles. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I love you so much.” Cillian admitted.

Y/n could feel a tear roll down her cheek. Sometimes all she wanted to do was run away with Cillian to whatever country and live their lives in a nice house.

“You’re a jerk, you know that. . I wasn’t planning on crying today. But I love you too.” Y/n laughed as Cillian pulled her in for a kiss. “I wish we could leave this place and go to one of those cottage houses in the countryside. That’s always been a dream of mine.”

“That sounds nice. Why don’t you pack your bag and I’ll buy our tickets and we can leave tomorrow.” Cillian said.

“What?” Y/n asked confused.

“I saw you looking at this cottage the other day on your laptop. I bought it two days ago and I payed my mum to buy us some nice furniture and food so by the time we get there it’ll be okay for us to stay there for a while. So go pack and I’ll arrange our flight. You and I are leaving all this behind for the next few days. No work, no fancy dresses or premieres to attend. Just us and our new home.” He explained.

“You’re full of surprises, my love.”

TIME SKIP

OCTOBER

It had been a few months since Y/n and Cillian left their life in London and stayed in their new cottage in the countryside. She loved it there. No paparazzi or pushy fans to bother her or Cillian. It was paradise for her. Eventually the casting director for Peaky Blinders offered the role of Tommy Shelby to Cillian since last time Cillian was going to audition he had called to cancel. The casting director desperately wanted him to portray the protagonist of the new BBC series.

Y/n encouraged Cillian to take the role. She was fine with staying in their cottage after all she had made new friends with the women that lived nearby. So Cillian flew back to London to film and Y/n stayed behind. She had picked up new hobbies, fixed some stuff that needed fixing like the guest room and even started working on her garden.

Soon, Cillian had finished filming and made it back home to Y/n just in time for her birthday. Even though it was her day, Y/n insisted on making dinner herself. She decided to cook a comfort food of hers, chicken alfredo.

Cillian watched as she set a plate full of pasta and chicken in front of him then placed hers on her placemat. “I should be cooking for you.” Cillian said, grabbing his fork and beginning to eat.

“If the birthday girl wants to cook then let her.” Y/n stated then began to eat. “How was filming? I saw some pictures on twitter of you on set and I have mixed feelings about the haircut.”

“You don’t like it? Be honest. I don’t like it.” Cillian admitted.

“Well it took some time to get used to it, but I kind of like it now. I don’t know, you look hot either way.” Y/n smirked.

“Then I guess I’ll have to thank the hair department.”

Soon, both plates of food were forgotten as the two lovers made their way to their bedroom, pieces of clothing scattered around. It had been months and both Cillian and Y/n were counting down the days until they say each other again. Months without a single kiss or the feeling of skin on skin. What a way to end your birthday . . .

TAGLIST

@leclercloml @butterfly-skinnylegend @rockerchick05 @agustdpeach @celesteblack08 @probablypossesedbysatan @kittyrumbl3r @electrobutterfly @knpgituloh @butlersluvbot @captainwans @bellstwd @theekyliepage @marti-su @multifans-things @ceruleanrainblues @litterallnobody @jackierose902109 @sinarainbows @cosniffee @thatgirlthatreadswattpad

#barbenheimer series #cillian murphy series #cillian murphy one shot #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy

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two-white-butterflies · 10 months

Text

invisible string | m33 | part two

Description: You face a career-ending injury, that forces you to give up your childhood dream. 7 years later, you return to the paddocks as a guest - and as the Team Principal of Prema Racing. What happens when feelings are too difficult to hide?

Pairing: max verstappen/racer!reader

part one | part three

(2022, PARTY AT THE HORNER YACHT.)

"L/N is such an overrated driver, she had one of the most successful engines - anyone could've piloted that thing." Christian chuckled while pouring his guests another round of wine. Max absentmindedly laughed at the joke - he didn't really hear the joke but he figured that it must've been hilarious for all the people around the table to laugh.

Kimi Raikkonen's eyes narrowed - searching the boat for drivers who didn't agree with Horner's statement. "It takes a hundred female pilots to be one man." Horner shrugged and the table erupted into another chorus of laughed. This time, Max wasn't laughing.

itsmee_yn: If suddenly you forget me, do not look for me - for I shall have already forgotten about you. (Pablo Neruda)

912 comments 321,238 likes

oleole: this is totally about max's new interview 😭 - whispersme9: WHERE? - oleole: the one w/ daniel in the redbull yt

ynworld: Some people deserve to be in the past, mother. - itsmee_yn: totally !

selenagomez: ❤️

nicorosberg: Let's talk about it over coffee? - itsmee_yn: you only talk to me when there's tea :(( - - nicorosberg: You know me so well haha

maxverstappen1: What's going on?

192 comments 126,283 likes

ynandmaxuniverse: the hoes are fighting 😭

danielricciardo: I DID NOT START THIS. 🤲🏼 itsmee_yn liked this comment.

formulaonegirlie: ya'll imma need a full article on what the fuck is happening 😢 ALSO QUOTING TAYLOR SWIFT? WHEN SHE'S Y/N'S FAVORITE ARTIST AND FRIEND.

itsmee_yn: Had so much fun with this family ❤️ I'm legally changing my last name to Raikkonen.

912 comments 238,212 likes

kimimatiasraikkonen: 👍🏻 - itsmee_yn: that means so much to me king 👑

nicorosberg: and you didn't invite me? - itsmee_yn: WHO R U? - - nicorosberg: You're new best-friend since the last one got evicted. 🤯 - - - itsmee_yn: NAH

sebastianvettel: Let's catch up soon! - itsmee_yn: u r automatically invited to my house sir

nicorosberg's story

caption: sometimes i wonder if she really hates the man, or if she really hates how she loves him. 🤦🏼‍♂️

replies

itsmee_yn: UR A 37 YEAR OLD BULLY 💀 itsmee_yn: U SHOULD LITERALLY GET OFF SOCIAL MEDIA nicorosberg: Why is your message blank? itsmee_yn: I'M TELLING KIMI THAT YOU'RE PUBLICALLY BULLYING HIS 1ST BORN DAUGHTER nicorosberg: publicly* itsmee_yn: GRAMMAR POLICE

itsmee_yn: 3 days before the Hungarian GP ✨

394 comments 458,238 likes

danielricciardo: You coming? - itsmee_yn: I have free tickets 😍

landonorris: OMG QUEEN WE HAVE TO MEET UP - itsmee_yn: ❤️

maxandynlover: Is the war over? CUZ... 😁

maxverstappen1: looking forward to it 😱

sabrinacarpenter: I was rooting for you sis 🙁 - ynprivateaccount: He has me weak on my knees 😭 - - sabrinaprivateaccount: old habits die hard 😢

(2022, HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX)

"So, are you going to explain?" you placed both of your hands on your hips, staring at him with a glare that told him he wasn't going home scot free. "I talked to Kimi," he mumbled sheepishly. "I know that this isn't an explaination, but I want you to understand that I never meant to disrespect you in that way." he explained.

"Kimi told me what Christian said about you, and it wasn't funny. I shouldn't have laughed, I'm sorry." he apologized, taking another step closer to wrap you in an embrace - but you step away. All your life, you've been told that a woman didn't have room in Formula One - and to hear your best friend laugh at those jokes? It was worse than losing your career.

"Am I supposed to believe you?" you frowned, unable to comprehend that he was telling the truth. "You don't have to - but I'm sorry." he breathed with sincerity in his tone. You wanted to believe him, but you needed more convincing.

danielricciardo's story

caption: who u talking to? @itsmee_yn

replies itsmee_yn: secret no clue danielricciardo: 🤣

taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 @eternalharry @milaeth @msliz @lifesuckslife @ellamae021 @1-800-simpingcowbaby @trashcanrat @ccallistata @shouq @fdl305 @iloveyou3000morgan @georgeparisole @allenajade-ite @eternalharry @messwithtess21 @benbarneslut @withyoutilltheendofthismess @omgsuperstarg @stillbreathin @mishaandthebrits @lemonsinpanic @styles-sunflower @cassiesworldsworld @1655-1485 @hachrinnen @luanasrta @fdl305 @reidsworld @sarahedwards16 @peargasleeeee @imsorare @sinofwriting

COMMENT TO GET TAGGED

#max verstappen #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x female reader #f1 fics #f1 #f1 imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 smut #f1 fanfic

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piratefishmama · 1 year

Text

Pt1

It continues, also with Robin. She leaves Steve on that floor, pathetically cycling through this random metalheads video game music repertoire, sending a silent apology for her fallen friend to the lady in the apartment below them, sure she got to hear Steve practicing his songs every now and then which was a blessing, but she also now had to deal with his pathetic puppy crush as well.

Sorry two (definitely not house-trained) poodle owning lady, Robin sent her condolences for her hearing. But only a little condolence, one of those dogs had left a steamer in the elevator and it was a tall-ass apartment block. Karma really, sweet sweet karma.

It continued because Robin had a mild gift for hunting people down on the internet, it was a skill she’d developed and honed purely to hunt down the assholes who occasionally popped up on Steve’s insta with threatening messages and dumb as shit behaviours that a best friend refused to abide by. Steve had never allowed her to do anything with the knowledge, but one day, one day, the dogs of war would be released, and she would rain fury down upon them for making him make the sad puppy eyes.

He was just a dude, sure he grew up with wealthy parents, sure he had connections since birth to help him get to where he wanted to be, but… that didn’t make him any less of a soft-ass with a genuine love of sports, and sweaters, and listening to audio books in reading nooks with mugs of coffee like some kind of pinterest mood board model.

That didn’t make him any less of an actual mother hen to several child actors and young musicians ensuring they got fair treatment, ensuring they were never taken advantage of by the industry or the people around them.

It continued because within an hour of sleuthing, Robin poked her head back around from Steve’s guest room (read: Robin’s second home), and proudly announced “Found him!” As loud as she could to get over the cover of the final boss battle from Banjo and Kazooie that Steve absolutely did not recognise but was clearly vibing to.

“Found who?”

“Your mystery hater! He’s a—”

“Robin!! You can’t dox people!!”

“I’m not doxing him, I’m telling you exactly where he is so you can go confront him.”

“That is exactly what doxing is. How did you even find him?!”

“Dumbass posted a pic of a newspaper article that his friend wrote, which, uhm, that’s pretty cool I guess, but it had her name on it! All I had to do was search LinkedIn for her and boom, I gottem.”

“…Okay so he’s basically asking to be found is what you’re saying right now.”

“EXACTLY, can we go? Can we? I wanna see him squirm like a little bitch baby when you turn up to confront him.”

“All you’ll see is my pathetic attempts to flirt with him because I don’t know how I’d be anything but pathetic around him I mean have you seen his hands? Do you remember the Hemsworth incident? Do you remember the Hemsworth incident, Robin?” The incident in question involving a low doorway and a concussion that left him delirious in the fantastic arms of the God of Thunder.

“Do I remember you acting like a drunk school girl with her first crush around a guy with biceps bigger than your head? Yes. Yes I do. It was hilarious and you gained a handsome Aussie as a life-long friend out of that pathetic display—"

“I was concussed.”

“Drunk school girl. That doesn’t mean you can’t manage to charm a little bitch from Indiana, we’re from Indiana, we have common ground, you can bond with him!”

“Oh, because being born within the same state makes for such a conversation starter… should we really go?” Would that be stupid? Would that be crossing a line? Would that be absolutely batshit insane?

“For true love—" and champagne in First-Class "I think we should.”

“…Fine.”

Part 3

#Steddie #PirateWrites #ficlet #I DONT EVEN HAVE A NAME FOR THIS ONE #but it's in demand apparently so here #take it #Stranger Things AU

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geovanag · 4 months

Text

🪐 Astrology Observations 5 🪐

Capricorn Moon signs start to look more attractive to other people when they reach middle age (after 40).

You may know that the Moon is at its lowest position in Capricorn. So how did I make such an observation despite this position? By middle age, many turning points in a person's life are completed. The moon is one of them. Now the mature (Capricorn) emotions (moon) begin to show themselves.

Then these people, who maximize their emotional maturity, improve the problems in their relationships with their mothers and sometimes succeed in camouflaging their feelings and sometimes in sharing their feelings with people they feel close to.

(This was the position I observed in men).

I think the Sun Ascendant square aspect is really challenging for a man. He has a problem with the authority figure, the father from an early age. It may not be completely confrontational (unless Mars, saturn, uranus and pluto are in hard influence)

Being in the same environment together can make them feel like they are being restricted. Maybe they feel that something is wrong. But is it really what they think it is? Yes. With the other person, (the Sun) it is very difficult for them to forget everything and get back together with them. (Orb should be maximum 6)

Although they say that Juno is only a marriage indicator and other asteroids can show ceremonies like weddings, I don't go into that much detail. I think even Juno can show the wedding process. For example; I had a friend with Juno in Virgo. Maybe she didn't scrutinize the person she was going to marry down to the most meticulous detail, but the wedding process was exactly like that. She had prepared details down to what the guests would wear. Ugh I think it is very tiring, even though I have Virgo juno, lol

Juno in Virgo may have met the man she will marry at work.

Chiron - Moon square aspect, this aspect allows you to feel the healing and wounded spirit of Chiron deep down. Let's not discuss whether it's good or bad, but it's certainly very palpable. Your emotions are shaped by "compassion". For example, you see a homeless man and a little child a little further away. You feel infinite compassion for these two people and a desire to give them a home. You take into account the situation and circumstances and just think that they are in need of help. Independently of this, I find it interesting that people with this aspect do not get enough support from the women around them. Maybe this is how the "lacking" aspect of chiron works. I would like to write a more detailed article about Chiron.

Having a Venus-Neptune-Jupiter T-square. The signs and houses where the planets are located will play a serious role. I know someone who has this T-square in 2nd-4th-10th houses. I realized that he is not where he is supposed to be because of his family's pressures. He doesn't want to talk about it but I can observe it. Sometimes his mother and sometimes his father try to shape his future position, how he will earn money without asking him. This will hurt him a lot but he has a very strong character and he will get what he wants at the end of this path.

Having Pluto aspects in synastry is known to be quite difficult. But you should know that it is difficult for the planetary person. Because they are both deeply attracted to Pluto's mysterious aura and very annoyed by it. Both of these feelings are exhausting for them. I am not saying that Pluto benefits from this, but things are much simpler for Pluto. It's the other one who gets exhausted.

In the next post I will write about the ascendants in the Composite chart. New post will be coming very soon, please get in touch if you have any observations you would like to share.

TAKE CARE,,, 🌬

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psychwxrdd · 3 months

Text

Chapter I

The Collector (1965)

Summary: Rafe Cameron is obsessed with y/n. Unable to make any normal contact, he decides to add her to his "collection" of pretty, preserved objects, in the hope that if he keeps her captive long enough, she will grow to love him.

🎀 - this is a personal adaptation of the classic The Collector, i love the book and the movie as well and i haven't changed practically anything except for the characters. all copyright to John Fowles, i don't own any of the credits or characters, this is just a fanfic on tumblr for my obx girlies!!

also, rafe is non canon, it's just his looks and name to be honest, cause everything else is just loyal to freddie clegg. lmk what yall think about it!

Rafe Cameron's POV.

Whenever she was home on vacation from boarding school, i used to see her almost everyday, as she lived right in front of the Figure 8. I often saw her leaving and entering the house with her sister and, sometimes, with her friends, who i didn't cared about. I was used, when i freed myself for a moment from the files and statistics, to stand at the window, and, through the frost-fogged glass, i observed the street. Then watching her pass by.

It was the best part of my day: Admiring her beauty. My heart always felt waves of love at her sight, i could phisically feel it. At night, at home, i recorded the incident in my journal, initially with an X and, later, when i discovered her name, her initials. I also met her, several times, on the street. One of the times she went to the door of the Public Library, when i stood behind her in a queue. She didn't even looked at me, but I saw her head and her very beautiful hair clearly. I could feel her scent, her sweet, heavenly scent. Only once, just once, before having her as a guest here, i had the privilege of seeing her hair completely down; It was so beautiful, like a mermaid, i had to take a deep breath. She looked just like an angel, what could i do?

I mean... I'm me. Rafe. I'm the bad guy, the most hated person of Outer Banks. Not even my family likes me, what chances did i stood with such a pure creature like her?

I didn't knew it was possible for an angel like her to exist in a filthy earth like ours.

Another time, on a saturday morning, when i didn't had to work and i went to Country Club. She was there. I immediately saw her sitting three seats in front of me, facing me, and so i was allowed to observe her for thirty-five minutes. Seeing her always made me feel as if i were capturing a true rarity, as if she was carefully bringing me closer, silently, to a butterfly with very beautiful, diffuse colors. I always thought of it as something indefinable and rare, as well as refined — not in other words, even the most beautiful ones. Words from an authentic connoisseur. I knew nothing about her when she was still at boarding school, except that her father was a doctor and that, as i heard, her mother drank a lot. I saw her mother once in a store: she had a high-pitched voice and it was obvious that, in fact, she was trouble. Cursing at other customers for a bottle of whine.

I later read in the local newspaper that she had won a scholarship, that she was very brilliant, and that she had a name as beautiful as herself: Y/n. I then learned that she was studying art. That newspaper article was immensely important to me, it was as if we had become acquainted, as if we had suddenly become intimate, even though, of course, we still didn't even knew each other. She didn't knew me. But, from the very first time i saw her i knew that she was the only one for me. I never saw anything so dreamy, so gorgeous before. And i'm not crazy, of course, since I knew it was just a dream, which it would always have been if it weren't for the money. I used to daydream about her, making up stories about me meeting her, admiring her, marrying her, and so on. She painted pictures, and I took care of my collection (in my dreams). She liked me as much as she liked my collection, whose pieces she drew and painted; We worked together in a big, beautiful modern house, in a huge room, with a huge glass wall.

We had local group meetings, where instead of saying nothing, for fear of making a mistake, we were the very popular host and hostess. Y/n was always the most beautiful of them all, and the other men never got tired of admiring her... She was mine. It didn't mattered who wanted her. Y/n was my girl, she would always be.

The only times i didn't have pleasant dreams about her was when I saw her with a certain young, pretentious, noisy man. Blond, a bit smaller than me, from The Cut, probably. I met him once, while waiting to deposit some money, and heard him say: “Give me everything in five notes." The check was only for ten, and the guy thought it was funny. He thought he was cool shit. Well, i saw her get into his van several times and, on those days, she was always very unpleasant towards my colleagues in the office. I then refused to mark her initials in my journal of entomological observations. It was on those days that I allowed myself to have nightmares. She would then cry or kneel before me. Once, I even let myself dream that i punished her for betraying me like that. Maybe that was when it all started...

In one of the sunday newspapers, i saw a large advertisement for a house on the properties for sale page. I hadn't looked for that section, but the ad caught my attention when I turned the page. The title was: "AWAY FROM THE CRAZY CROWD?” Just that. I then read what the advertisement said: Country house, old, privileged, charming situation, large garden, one hour from Kildare, by car, two miles from the nearest village. And so much more. The next morning i got in the car and went to see it by myself. I called the agent and arranged to meet his representative. That's what money gives us. It makes everything easier for us... there are never obstacles. I had expected to find an old house, dilapidated and in a terrible state of repair. There was no doubt that it was old. The exterior was black and white beams and stone slabs. The seller was already there when i arrived. I thought he might be a rude old man, but it turned out he was an well-educated type, making all kinds of not very witty jokes, as if it were not worthy to sell anything - and there was some difference between selling items in a store and selling houses. He immediately displeased me because he was very curious. I think I can still say that i didn't go there just to see if the house was in a suitable location for me, but to have a guest without anyone knowing. What we do next always makes us forget what we did before. The guy wanted to know if the house was just for me. I told him it was for my stepmom. We were already going downstairs, i thought that we had seen everything. I was getting ready to tell him that the house wasn't quite what i wanted, that it was too small, to make him feel even worse when he told me that we had already seen everything except the cellar and the basement. So, there was a basement?

We had to go through the back, where there was a door next to the kitchen door. We went down some very dark stairs. The lights were off, of course, but he had a flashlight. The basement was very cold and damp, being so far from the sun. The walls had been whitewashed a long time ago, and the lime had begun to fall off, giving way to mold that accumulated in the dampest places. The cellar continued throughout the house, as he told me, and there was another cellar, a few steps below, to which I was led through a small door. It was even bigger than the previous one having a lower, arched ceiling, like the basements that sometimes exist under churches. “The ideal place for orgies,” he said.

"What is this cellar for?" I asked him, ignoring the fucking stupid comment. He replied that it was thought to be because the house was so far from everything and because in the past it was necessary to store large quantities of food and other reserves. It was even possible that it had been a secret chapel of the Catholic Church. Well, we return to the surface and go out into the garden. When he closed the door, it was as if that basement had ceased to exist. It was as if there were two worlds. And that's what it has been. There are certain days when I wake up in the morning thinking it was all a dream, until i return to the basement.

The salesman looked at his watch.

"I'm interested," — I told him, — "very interested."

I was so nervous that he looked at me with a surprised expression. The man said that he had to go get another client who was also interested in the house, and i told him that i would stay there in the garden and think for a while, to be able to make the final decision. It was a very pleasant garden, with the back part covered in lucernes. Ideal plant to attract butterflies. The field behind the house extends to a hill. To the east, on both sides of the road, the woods extend almost to the town. To the west, more fields. The nearest house is a mile away, over the hill. On the south side it was very beautiful. Despite being somewhat hidden by the trees in the garden and the fence that surrounds it. The garage is excellent.

I quickly got into the habit of closing the garden gate. It was, in reality, nothing more than a little door, but it had a lock. Although i still saw some people peeking through the fence, the local people soon realized that it was better to leave me alone. I was finally alone, and only then was i able to dedicate myself to work.

I used to do a certain number of housework, which my dad had taught me. So, i was able to decorate the basement room very nicely, although saying so seems vain on my part. After adding several layers of felt, i covered in white, which went very well with the pink walls. I furnished it with a bed and a chest of drawers, a table, chairs, etc. The small bathroom that had already been installed by the firefighters was separated from the bedroom by a partition, the entrance to which was covered by a beautiful screen. I also made shelves myself and filled them with lots of art, porcelain dolls, books and novels, to try to give that underground room a princess, Y/n look, which I finally achieved. I didn't risk putting pictures on the walls, as i thought her taste must be very advanced. What was her favorite movie? Her favorite band? I was dying to know. I wanted to know every single thing about her, i wanted her to tell me. To cry in front of me and confess her deepest fears, to laugh in her purest way.

One of the biggest problems was, of course, the issue of doors and noise insulation. I therefore had to make a heavy oak door to separate the two sections of the cellar. I must say this was my hardest work. The first one I made didn't work, and I had to make another one, this one much better. No man could broke into that door, let alone a small, fragile girl like her. It was two inches thick, completely lined with metal on the inside, so she couldn't try to pierce the wood, and it was no joke getting it on the hinges. On the outside, I adapted an open closet with shelves, where i placed some tools, so that, if someone entered the first cellar, the door would be disguised, and no one would even notice that there was another room lower down. Everything was quite perfect and, for greater peace of mind, i installed a small electrical alarm system, in case someone wanted to enter the first cellar during the night.

And despite those preparations, i had never thought all this time that the thing was serious. I used to say, talking to myself, that I would never carry out that project: that it was all a simulation. And i would never have had that idea if it weren't for all the time and money i had. In my opinion, many people who may seem normal now would also have done what i did, or similar things, if they had been given the time and money to do so. I mean, doing the things they want to do, even though they know they shouldn't do them. An old teacher of mine always said that power corrupts man. And money is power.

Another thing i did: I bought a lot of clothes for her. Colors that I had always seen Y/n wear. Makeup, everything i knew she would love. I mean, i thought so. I just wanted my darling to have everything. I took every precaution possible and imaginable.

I got used to going and sitting in Y/n's room, trying to figure out if she could escape from there. I had to make sure she would never leave, i had created the perfect dollhouse for her. Did she liked butterflies? I hope so.

tags: @h34rtsformilli 💕

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #obx fic #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader

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gulnarsultan · 11 months

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Hey Hey how are you? I wanted you to do what it would have been like if Lucius Malfoy hadn't had all the path the movie and the book took him to. What if Lucius hadn't married Narcissa? What if he was an infiltrator, just like Snape? What if he had married someone his family calls a "blood traitor"? What if he went against his family and stayed with her? what their relationship would be like. A Yandere! Lucius Malfoy who loves to see the woman, who is the love of his life, pregnant and dotes on each of her children. SORRY FOR THE LONG REQUEST, love you and your stories 🩷

I am happy to hear that you like my articles. I hope you will like it. The reader takes Narcissa's place. So Lucius never married Narcissa. This man has an obsession with procreation.

Lucius and the reader meet while at Hogwarts. The reader is a pureblood and Ravenclaw house witch. However, the reader belongs to a family called blood traitors among Purebloods. Lucius does not want to admit his feelings at first. However, he can't control himself more in a short time. Their relationship remains secret until after school. The year the school ends, Lucius proposes to the reader. The reader accepts the offer willingly or because she has to. Since Lucius is the sole heir, I don't think his family can delete him. At least his mother will secretly support Lucius. Lucius has a mansion prepared in a place where no one will disturb or find them. They get married in a beautiful marriage ceremony. They are probably visiting another country for a while. After marriage, there are rules that the reader must follow. It is forbidden for the reader to leave the house. He cannot leave the mansion without Lucius. Before letters are sent and guests are summoned, she must ask permission from Lucius. Lucius spoils his reader financially and morally. It is protective and possessive towards the reader. They would have at least five children. Most likely, the Lucius kid will beat the Weasleys in numbers. Lucius is a good husband to his wife and a good father to his children. Lucius is obsessed with seeing his wife pregnant. While the reader is pregnant, Lucius takes great care of her.

#yandere harry potter characters x reader #yandere harry potter characters #yandere harry potter #yandere lucius malfoy #lucius malfoy x you #lucius malfoy x reader #yandere lucius malfoy x reader #lucius malfoy #yandere character #yandere male

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sturniozo · 5 months

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Savage Love Part Thirteen

Matt Sturniolo x Reader Mafia AU

Masterlist

Emma was adamant on releasing the article. After the phone call got hung up I began panicking. I can’t tell Matt or else he could do something drastic about this.

I lay down for a moment to catch my breath and think about what to do. But I’ve got nothing.

I’ll have to tell Matt, but he’s busy tonight. He told me he wouldn’t be able to answer any calls tonight at all and the story publishes tomorrow morning. I shake my head and sit up. I need a drink.

I get to my small kitchen and open my cabinet to grab a glass and pour myself some wine. I’ve only just turned 20, and my older friend, Steph, brought it to my apartment a few weeks before I met Matt.

Steph works on the paper too, as a photographer. She knows every big club and party, much like Emma, but Steph has access to the guest lists. She’s how Emma knew Matt was going to be there in the first place.

I take a sip of the wine. It’s not for my taste, but it’s something. I just need to take my mind off of this and rest. I’ll tell Matt first thing in the morning before the paper comes out.

I couldn’t sleep the whole night. At around five in the morning I found myself getting out of bed and getting in my car, which is how I’m now on my way to Matt’s house.

I don’t even know the address, just the path to get there. He’s had me driven from my place to his and back so many times now, I’ve gotten used to the path.

I take the last turn that leads up the driveway to Matt’s house. I park in his driveway behind all of his cars, and I walk to the door. The door is locked so I knock. I answer.

I bite my lip and turn around. His car isn’t gone. I ring the doorbell but no answer once again.

I sigh and sit down on the step in front of his door. I lean my head against the railing of the steps. The darkness is just starting to fade away as the sun rises. I close my eyes for a moment, tired from the lack of sleep.

I must have fallen asleep because I wake up to the sound of a car pulling up and the sun has risen a good bit. Matt steps out of the car and has a scowl on his face.

“Matt!” I jump up and run quickly to him. I go to hug him and he pushes me away.

“Matt? What’s wrong?” I ask. He glares at me

“Go home.” He says in a low voice.

“No, I have something to tell you.” I step closer to him and he walks off. “Matt!” I yell to him.

Matt turns around and angerly walks back to me. “I fucking trusted you.” He spits at me.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Matt goes to his car and pulls out a newspaper, throwing it in my face. “Fired, really? Cos that article is under your name.”

I open the paper and see it. The article Emma wrote but published under my pseudonym. “No, Matt, that’s what I came here to tell you.”

“That you betrayed me?”

“No!”

“Did you do this just to get your job back?”

“No, Matt I-“

“Or were you even fucking fired in the first place?”

“I was Matt!” Tears form in my eyes.

“Get the fuck out of here!”

“Matt, please!” I sob

“Y/n.”

I look down as tears stream down my cheeks. “Matt, I wouldn’t do this to you.”

“I don’t believe that, look at it! It’s your pseudonym!”

“It wasn’t me, it was Emma!”

“And how would she have known any of that shit, huh? You told her that shit.”

"No, I didn’t mean to- it isn’t like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

“I called her when I saw what was in that room, I was just scared.”

“And you told her to run the article about me? The one you quit. The one that got you fired?”

“How did you know about that?” I ask.

“I know everything.”

“Matt, please listen to me.”

“No you listen to me!” He yells as he steps closer to me. “Get the fuck away from me now.” He spits.

Tears stream down my face. “Matt, please.”

“Go. I don’t want to see you.”

“Matt, I love you.”

Matt just stares at me. I bite my lip and sniffle lightly. “Go.” He says again.

“Please.” I beg in a whisper as the tears pour out of my eyes.

“Just go.” He whispers to me before turning around and walking away.

I swallow the saliva building in my mouth and look down, sniffling. I get back to my car and lean my head against the steering wheel. More tears flow out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

I take a deep breath and start my car, pulling out of his driveway and leaving. I start driving through New York City until I reach the highway that leads back to my home.

Tears blur my eyes and I wasn’t focused enough to see the car that’s been following me since I left Matt’s house. I wipe my tears away, and as I do the car behind me speeds up and crashes against my bumper. I yelp and look into my rear view mirror to see the car ram against my car again.

I’m pushed forward and my head hits the wheel. The week turn and I’m run off the road and crash in the ditch. The airbag goes off and smacks me in the face, forcing my head backwards harshly against the head of my seat.

I catch my breath and groggily move the airbag out of my way, going to undo my seatbelt and open the car door.

But the door opens before I can do it myself, and someone tanks me out of my car. I yelp again and scream, trying to get away.

“I’ve been waiting for something that Sturniolo cares about to come along.” The man says.

“Let me go!” I scream.

“Not until I get what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Matt Sturniolos brains scattered on the floor.”

The room is dark and cold. The floor is damp and the chair I’m tied to is right in a puddle. I struggle against the binds and let out screams muffled by the gag in my mouth. The man who took me stood in the corner, on the phone with someone.

He walks up to me, the phone to his ear. “Is this Matt Sturniolo?” He asks. After a reply he smiles and puts the phone on speaker.

“I said what do you want?” Matt’s voice says through the phone call.

“I’ve got something of yours, someone, say hello.” The man pulls the gag from my mouth and I gasp for air.

“Matt don’t listen to him, he’ll kill you, don’t do whatever he mmph!” The man shoves the gag back in my mouth.

“Let her go.” Matt demands.

“No, no no no. You will come here and get her.” The man says.

“I’m warning you-“

“No I’m warning you. Come get her, be here in three hours or she’s dead.”

“And where exactly is here?” Matt asks.

“The same place you had my brother killed.”

“Who are you?”

“Sean Cassidy.”

TAGS: @stargirlsturniololover @sturniolobessed @eyelessdemon00 @sturnioloenthusiast @sturniolopookie @urmommysbathroom @qwertytit @whatever1021 @chrisfavoritepepsi @stramboli4life @sturniolosreads @timmyscomputer @iloveneilperry @chrisloyalgf @xxsadlovexx @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @nickmillersn1gf @ilovechrissturniolo1 @matthewsturnioloswifey @chrislapdog @stuniolobbg

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alice-after-dark · 15 days

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Another RadioStatic AU Because I Can't Be Stopped

(I need to hurry the fuck up and actually turn one of these into a fucking fic...)

So this may have been inspired by the song "Alastor's Game" by the Living Tombstone and a horror movie called "Late Night with the Devil." Definitely recommend giving it a watch. It's a fun ride. Spoilers for the movie will be under the cut.

TW for murder, violence, and other canon-typical triggers.

Very brief rundown of the movie: a late night TV host in 1977 makes a deal with the devil to gain success and fame. Shit goes sideways when it's time to pay up.

RadioStatic Time!

Imagine Vox, still human and still Vincent, is a struggling late night TV host. He's got the cards stacked against him in every way possible. He doesn't come from a wealthy or celebrity background, he's given the worst program slot, he's got the bare minimum crew, and zero budget for guests or any other extras. And when he tries to argue for more, he keeps getting reminded that he's "fucking lucky" that he even has this chance at all. And still somehow he is managing mediocre results with next to nothing. Imagine what he could do with a proper budget and team, he tells them. No one listens. And then, one day, he's told that if he can't double his ratings by the end of the month, his show will be canceled.

Deep in depression, Vincent (either accidentally or on purpose) summons the Radio Demon (Alastor does not give him his actual name right away), who promises the young TV host 10 years of success in exchange for Vincent doing any favor that Alastor requests of him for the span of those 10 years (with the caveat that the favors are limited to once per day and must not interfere with Vincent's success). Alastor, in all his ulterior-motive glory, is using this deal to get himself access to the Living World and...finish some business (the use of his powers in the Living World are exclusively limited to fulfilling his end of the deal). Vincent, blinded by his own desperation, agrees, never once imagining those favors of Alastor's would involve murder. But if he refuses even a single favor, Alastor gets his soul. So he does what he's told.

At first the favors start small, with Alastor easing Vincent into taking commands from him, getting him used to fulfilling Alastor's requests. An authentic 1930s Philco Cathedral Radio here, an Ella Fitzgerald record there, nothing too big, nothing too fancy. Yet. Then, with Vincent's fame on the rise, he is asked to be a guest host for a show in New Orleans (which is certainly interesting because the show in question has never had a guest host before so Vincent suspects this is Alastor's doing somehow). And suddenly Alastor ups the ante. He needs Vincent to find someone, you see. A local hunter. Kind of a strange request, but okay. He's not all that hard to find either. Under the guise of doing some research on the local area to better understand his audience, Vincent finds an old article from 1933 about a hunter who shot a popular radio host in the bayou after mistaking him for a deer. The death was ruled an accident and the hunter was never charged with a crime. Some further digging reveals that he still lives in the bayou outside the city. Now comes Alastor's next favor: kill him.

Vincent is horrified. He tries to argue that this breaks their deal of interfering with his success, but Alastor insists that as long as Vincent follows his instructions to the letter, he will be just fine...unless he feels like handing over his soul? So Vincent does as he's told. One late night, with Alastor whispering in his ear, he stalks the man, knocks him out, and brings him to the basement of this old rotting house in the bayou (it looks as though it's been abandoned for at least a decade). And, after some nudging from the Radio Demon, Alastor takes it from there. After all, what's a little possession between friends?

Over the next 10 years, Vincent's fame grows and so does his relationship with Alastor. He begins enjoying the demon's presence and quirks and even their back and forth as to the superior form of media. He is beyond stunned when he discovers that Alastor is the very same radio host that he idolized growing up (and the very same radio host who was killed by the hunter). He's even more stunned when he finds he doesn't mind the torture and murder as much as he thought he would, even eventually asking to be a conscious participant. He's watched the Radio Demon so many times before plus he's always been a fast learner and Alastor guides him effortlessly and his powers make cleaning up the mess easy (though he still finds the void in which they dispose of the bodies eerie and unsettling; he swears there's something in there watching him whenever they travel through and Alastor has made it abundantly clear that under no circumstances is Vincent to let go of him while they do so).

When their 10 years comes to a close, there's an unspoken disappointment that hangs in the air. He doesn't understand the rules of Hell, but apparently Alastor's frequent trips to the Living World are gaining some suspicion and he can't risk extending their deal, so this is goodbye. Vincent realizes with reluctance that he's going to miss the Radio Demon. He wonders if Alastor will miss him too. He doesn't ask. And on the nights when he misses Alastor the most...well, the Radio Demon is nothing if not an exceptional teacher (even without the assistance of the creepy void magic).

It's hardly a year later when Vincent dies, shot in the head on live television by a crazed fan of the actress Vincent has recently begun dating (for the fucking publicity, no less).

---

Alastor knows the second Vincent arrives in Hell. Sooner than he expected, but he is delighted to be reunited with his friend/pet/protege nonetheless. He finds it rather hilarious that his head has taken on the form of that ridiculous picture box he was so enamored with. What a delicious form of irony! Hell truly never fails to amuse hi-

"If you're gonna fucking make fun of me, at least introduce yourself, asshole!"

Pardon?

Well...he was certainly right about Hell having a particular brand of irony.

But no, his noisy picture box does not remember him. He remembers all their deeds and the favors (and he continued killing after they parted, how splendid!), but Alastor's presence in them has been scrubbed clean, replaced and painted over by others. It doesn't make him sad of course! Perish the thought! Why would something so trivial make him feel something as mundane as sadness?! No, no, it's simply...an inconvenience. But not one he can't handle. He'll just have to start from scratch. After all, his memories are just fine, so he already has the advantage and it takes little convincing to get the newly fallen Sinner to accompany him as he continues about his day (he has some hunting that just can't wait).

New beginnings and all that jazz.

---

(My personal fav look for human!Vox if anyone cares)

#late night with the radio demon au #this got out of control real fast #hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin alastor #radiostatic #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #human vox #alastor the radio demon #vox the tv demon

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