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"Efficiency" left the Big Three vulnerable to smart UAW tactics
Tomorrow (September 22), I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. Tomorrow night, I'll be in person at LA's Book Soup for the launch of Justin C Key's "The World Wasn’t Ready for You." On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.
It's been 143 days since the WGA went on strike against the Hollywood studios. While early tactical leaks from the studios had studio execs chortling and twirling their mustaches about writers caving once they started losing their homes, the strikers aren't wavering – they're still out there, pounding the picket lines, every weekday:
https://www.cnbc.com/2023/08/09/how-hollywood-writers-make-ends-meet-100-days-into-the-writers-guild-strike.html
The studios obviously need writers. That gleeful, anonymous studio exec who got such an obvious erotic charge at the thought of workers being rendered homeless as punishment for challenging his corporate power completely misread the room, and his comments didn't demoralize the writers. Instead, they inspired the actors to go on strike, too.
But how have the writers stayed out since May Day? How have the actors stayed out for 69 days since their strike started on Bastille Day? We can thank the studios for that! As it turns out, the studios have devoted so much energy to rendering creative workers as precarious as possible, hiring as little as they can getting away with and using punishing overtime as a substitute for adequate staffing that they've eliminated all the workers who can't survive on side-hustles and savings for six or seven months at a time.
But even for those layoff-hardened workers, long strikes are brutal, and of course, all the affiliated trades, from costumers to grips, are feeling the pain. The strike fund only goes so far, and non-striking, affected workers don't even get that. That's why I've been donating regularly to the Entertainment Community Fund, which helps all affected workers out with cash transfers (I just gave them another $500):
https://secure2.convio.net/afa/site/Donation2?df_id=8117&8117.donation=form1&mfc_pref=T
As hot labor summer is revealed as a turning point – not just a season – long strikes will become the norm. Bosses still don't believe in worker power, and until they get their minds right, they're going to keep on trying to starve their workforces back inside. To get a sense of how long workers will have to hold out, just consider the Warrior Met strike, where Alabama coal-miners stayed out for 23 months:
https://www.thenation.com/article/activism/warrior-met-strike-union/
As Kim Kelly explained to Adam Conover in the latest Factually podcast, the Alabama coal strikers didn't get anywhere near the attention that the Hollywood strikers have enjoyed:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvyMHf7Yg0Q
(To learn more about the untold story of worker organizing, from prison unions to the key role that people of color and women played in labor history, check out Kelly's book, "Fight Like Hell," now in paperback:)
https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Fight-Like-Hell/Kim-Kelly/9781982171063
Which brings me to the UAW strike. This is an historic strike, the first time that the UAW has struck all of the Big Three automakers at once. Past autoworkers' strikes have marked turning points for all American workers. The 1945/46 GM strike established employers' duty to cover worker pensions, health care, and cost of living allowances. The GM strike created the American middle-class:
https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-18-uaw-strikes-built-american-middle-class/
The Big Three are fighting for all the marbles here. They are refusing to allow unions to organize EV factories. Given that no more internal combustion cars will be in production in just a few short years, that's tantamount to eliminating auto unions altogether. The automakers are flush with cash, including billions in public subsidies from multiple bailouts, along with billions more from greedflation price-gouging. A long siege is inevitable, as the decimillionaires running these companies earn their pay by starving out their workers:
https://www.businessinsider.com/general-motors-ceo-mary-barra-salary-auto-workers-strike-uaw-2023-9
The UAW knows this, of course, and their new leadership – helmed by the union's radical president Shawn Fain – has a plan. UAW workers are engaged in tactical striking, shutting down key parts of the supply chain on a rolling basis, making the 90-day strike fund stretch much farther:
https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2023-09-18-labors-militant-creativity/
In this project, they are greatly aided by Big Car's own relentless pursuit of profit. The automakers – like every monopolized, financialized sector – have stripped all the buffers and slack out of their operations. Inventory on hand is kept to a bare minimum. Inputs are sourced from the cheapest bidder, and they're brought to the factory by the lowest-cost option. Resiliency – spare parts, backup machinery – is forever at war with profits, and profits have won and won and won, leaving auto production in a brittle, and easily shattered state.
This is especially true for staffing. Automakers are violently allergic to hiring workers, because new workers get benefits and workplace protection. Instead, the car companies routinely offer "voluntary" overtime to their existing workforce. By refusing this overtime, workers can kneecap production, without striking.
Enter "Eight and Skate," a campaign among UAW workers to clock out after their eight hour shift. As Keith Brower Brown writes for Labor Notes, the UAW organizers are telling workers that "It’s crossing an unofficial picket line to work overtime. It’s helping out the company":
https://labornotes.org/2023/09/work-extra-during-strike-auto-workers-say-eight-and-skate
Eight and Skate has already started to work; the Buffalo Ford plant can no longer run its normal weekend shifts because workers are refusing to put in voluntary overtime. Of course, bosses will strike back: the next step will be forced overtime, which will lead to the unsafe conditions that unionized workers are contractually obliged to call paid work-stoppages over, shutting down operations without touching the strike fund.
What's more, car bosses can't just halt safety stoppages or change the rules on overtime; per the UAW's last contract, bosses are required to bargain on changes to overtime rules:
https://uaw.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Working-Without-Contract-FAQ-FINAL-2.pdf
Car bosses have become lazily dependent on overtime. At GM's "highly profitable" SUV factory in Arlington, TX, normal production runs a six-days, 24 hours per day. Workers typically work five eight-hour days and nine hours on Saturdays. That's been the status quo for 11 years, but when bosses circulated the usual overtime signup sheet last week, every worker wrote "a big fat NO" next to their names.
Writing for The American Prospect, David Dayen points out that this overtime addiction puts a new complexion on the much-hyped workerpocalypse that EVs will supposedly bring about. EVs are much simpler to build than conventional cars, the argument goes, so a US transition to EVs will throw many autoworkers out of work:
https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-20-big-threes-labor-shortages-uaw/
But the reality is that most autoworkers are doing one and a half jobs already. Reducing the "workforce" by a third could leave all these workers with their existing jobs, and the 40-hour workweek that their forebears fought for at GM inn 1945/46. Add to that the additional workers needed to make batteries, build and maintain charging infrastructure, and so on, and there's no reason to think that EVs will weaken autoworker power.
And as Dayen points out, this overtime addiction isn't limited to cars. It's also endemic to the entertainment industry, where writers' "mini rooms" and other forms of chronic understaffing are used to keep workforces at a skeleton crew, even when the overtime costs more than hiring new workers.
Bosses call themselves job creators, but they have a relentless drive to destroy jobs. If there's one thing bosses hate, it's paying workers – hence all the hype about AI and automation. The stories about looming AI-driven mass unemployment are fairy tales, but they're tailor made for financiers who get alarming, life-threatening priapism at the though of firing us all and replacing us with shell-scripts:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way
This is why Republican "workerism" rings so hollow. Trump's GOP talks a big game about protecting "workers" (by which they mean anglo men) from immigrants and "woke captialism," but they have nothing to say about protecting workers from bosses and bankers who see every dime a worker gets as misappropriated from their dividend.
Unsurprisingly, conservative message-discipline sucks. As Luke Savage writes in Jacobin, for every mealymouthed Josh Hawley mouthing talking points that "support workers" by blaming China and Joe Biden for the Big Three's greed, there's a Tim Scott, saying the quiet part aloud:
https://jacobin.com/2023/09/republicans-uaw-strike-hawley-trump-scott/
Quoth Senator Scott: "I think Ronald Reagan gave us a great example when federal employees decided they were going to strike. He said, you strike, you’re fired. Simple concept to me. To the extent that we can use that once again, absolutely":
https://twitter.com/American_Bridge/status/1704136706574741988
The GOP's workerism is a tissue-thin fake. They can never and will never support real worker power. That creates an opportunity for Biden and Democrats to seize:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/18/co-determination/#now-make-me-do-it
Reversing two generations of anti-worker politics is a marathon, not a sprint. The strikes are going to run for months, even years. Every worker will be called upon to support their striking siblings, every day. We can do it. Solidarity now. Solidarity forever.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/21/eight-and-skate/#strike-to-rule
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“That’s it! I give up!” Phantom yelled. As though he had said something blasphemous, all fighting stopped as the participants stared in confusion. “You humans think you’re the paragon of all existence, proclaiming that anything different is lesser. Well we aren’t! We’re just as sentient as you are, and we have thoughts and feelings! You just choose to ignore it so you can justify your xenophobic actions!”
Phantom turned to Technus, who had frozen in shock as Phantom went on his tirade. “And you! Tell the other ghosts I’m done saving them, too, because none of you care! You don’t care if property is destroyed, or if humans get hurt, or if other ghosts get hurt! All you care about is your stupid Obsessions! You’re too caught up in your own mind to see what you’re doing to everyone around you!”
“But your Obsession is Protection, is it not? You’ve never stepped down from a fight-“ Technus began. Phantom didn’t let him finish.
“My Obsession is Space! If I had my way, I’d spend my nights stargazing, or maybe even on the moon! Instead I’m stuck cleaning up your messes because you can’t control yourselves!” Phantom growled. He glared at the crowd of people who had gathered, curious as to why all fighting had stopped.
“Humans are cruel and hateful. Ghosts are ignorant and careless. I’m tired of wasting my time protecting both sides from the other and being blamed for it. I quit. If anyone dies, or is captured, it’s no longer my problem.“
Like that, Phantom vanished.
The Fentons celebrated, not even noticing Technus make his own escape. The crowd murmured, worry just as prevalent as confidence. The few phones that were recording the event were put away, and later the footage would be checked. Unfortunately, most recordings were corrupted beyond recognition.
Most, but not all.
——————————————————
Amity Park. Ground Zero for the start of the war between the Living and the Dead. Humanity and Ghosts.
Why it had only recently escalated to this, Batman couldn’t tell. His research found that there had been a portal opened to the Realms years ago, and the laws passed just a year after that. Most of the town was stuck behind an information blackout that the government refused to give access to. Whatever happened, Constantine assured him that it was almost certainly the government’s fault.
After almost three weeks of trying to get beyond the firewalls, he finally figured it out. “Research” that claimed ghosts were nothing but evil. News articles calling “Phantom” a troublemaker. Forums that spoke about how “Phantom” ruined the town while fighting other ghosts.
A video, old and grainy but still clear enough to be used as evidence. A glowing, white-haired boy that told everyone he was done. That he was tired of fixing everything. Of saving everyone. That nobody was good, everyone was bad, and they were on their own.
They used to have a hero, but Phantom left. Without him, both sides tore at each other until there was nothing but an all-out assault. They needed to stop this, but without a mediator they would not make it through to the ghosts.
If they could find Phantom, perhaps they could fix everything before it was too late.
#Quasar AU#danny phantom#dc x dp#dp x dc#danny fenton#justice league#batman#basic summary: Danny gives up and leaves#after he leaves the ghosts grow bolder with nobody to stop them#and the hunters grow meaner#and after a lot of back and forth a ghost child is captured and killed#that makes the entire Realms rally for war#the JL are trying to figure out what made it this bad#the portal’s been open for a long time why now???#finally they see this one video#and all these news articles#and oh no#the one who was preventing the war was run off ages ago#they need to find him#and fast#part 1
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Hello, everyone.
This may be the finest and most important article I've written since the creation of this blog, so kindly read it carefully and pay attention.
And share it so that everyone can see it.
There are many events happening tonight, and I will try to summarize them for you so that you have a complete understanding of what is happening.
Twelve days ago, a gruesome incident occurred, most of you have probably heard of it: the occupation forces shelled the Al-Ma'madani Hospital in Gaza, resulting in the deaths of over a thousand people, including patients, their families, doctors, and young children.
Has the occupation been content with this? The answer is no.
Since that day, they have been threatening another hospital, Al-Quds Hospital, with the promise of bombing it, leaving civilians and patients inside in a state of terror, awaiting death at any moment.
The first time this happened, it spread across social media platforms, especially Twitter, and many people protested, causing the occupation to halt its actions.
Today, twelve days after the Al-Ma'madani Hospital massacre, they have once again sent severe threats to the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS) for the immediate evacuation of Al-Quds Hospital, as it is destined to be bombed.
"🔴 Urgent: We have just received severe threats demanding the immediate evacuation of Al-Quds Hospital as it is set to be bombed.
Since the early hours of the morning, the vicinity of Al-Quds Hospital has been witnessing continuous airstrikes, resulting in the destruction of some buildings within a 50-meter radius.
📢 Please share, save Al-Quds Hospital! 📢
#GazaUnderAttack #GazaUnderSiege #Save_Al-Quds_Hospital
"
The second matter, three days ago, specifically on Friday, the twenty-seventh of this month, the occupation completely isolated Gaza from the world by cutting off the internet, telecommunications, and electricity. They were prepared for a brutal massacre that occurred that night and lasted for two days.
I'm talking about indiscriminate bombardment using all kinds of weapons on all areas of Gaza, whether they were churches, mosques, schools, or homes, regardless of their occupants, be they children, young people, women, or the elderly.
During that period, social media platforms and indeed the entire world were abuzz with the issue.
People from various backgrounds, nationalities, and religions unanimously agreed that it was inhumane to isolate them from the world and deny them the right to have a voice.
They were searching for solutions they could implement.
Some took to the streets, demanding the return of the internet, while others began sharing their plight on social media, primarily on Twitter.
They reached out to activists and officials who had the means to help.
One of the most prominent solutions that everyone turned to was contacting Elon Musk, the former owner of Twitter (X) and the current owner of SpaceX, to enable the people of Gaza to use the internet via Starlink's private satellites.
They hoped that he would hear their plea, as it was their only hope.
He tweeted:
"Starlink will support connectivity to internationally recognized aid organizations in Gaza.
[ComStar]
"
On the same day, five hours after the publication of this tweet, the Israeli Minister of Communications commented on it, saying, in essence, that they would use all available means to prevent the supply of Starlink internet to Gaza because Hamas would utilize it. He also threatened that if this were to occur, he would sever all his office's ties with Starlink.
Now, let's discuss the issue of hostages for a moment because it is of utmost importance to understanding the situation.
On the twenty-fourth of this month, Yasmin Porat, one of the hostages, came forward to talk about her experiences during her captivity.
I will now share some of what she mentioned in the interview:
She stated that Israeli forces eliminated everyone, including hostages, amid heavy crossfire and tank shelling.
She highlighted the contrasting behavior of Palestinian fighters who offered hope for safe passage to Gaza. Israeli forces disrupted this hope with a storm of gunfire.
Palestinian fighters treated the hostages humanely, offering them hope of a safe passage to Gaza, despite the chaos.
This compassionate act stands in stark contrast to the chaos that unfolded.
After the interview was broadcast, it was completely deleted and blocked from all social media platforms and even from Kan's website. Moreover, Yasmin's account mysteriously disappeared from the "Haboker Hazeh" program, raising concerns of censorship.
Below, you will find the interview recording.
During that period, the Al-Qassam Brigades continued their communication with the Israeli government in order to release some prisoners for humanitarian reasons, including their age and health, among them two elderly women, one of whom is named Yohav Levisheitz.
But the Israeli government showed no interest in the matter whatsoever.
As a result, they decided to release the two elderly women.
Before leaving, one of them, Yohav Levisheitz, insisted on shaking hands with one of the resistance fighters who she was their captor, as you can see in the following video.
-Tumblr doesn't allow me to post two videos in a single post, so I will provide the video link on the blog-:
https://www.tumblr.com/storiesfromgaza/732027117370572800/al-qassam-brigades-released-two-of-the-hostages?source=share
After this, she insisted on participating in a press conference to share her experience, saying:
"When we arrived in Gaza, they initially told us that they believed in the Quran and that they wouldn't harm us.
They said they would treat us as they do with those around them.
We were under tight security, and medical professionals arrived to ensure we had the medications we always took.
They showed great concern for our health.
Our place of rest was the mattresses.
We had an accompanying doctor who would visit us every two or three days to check on our well-being.
In addition to a paramedic who looked after us and provided us with our medications.
They took on the responsibility and made sure to provide the necessary medications.
They looked after our hygiene meticulously to safeguard our health so that we wouldn't fall ill.
It was they who took care of cleaning the restrooms, not us.
They provided us with everything we needed, and I acknowledge their help in that.
If equivalent medications weren't available, they offered suitable alternatives.
They were remarkably courteous (kind) and ensured we ate well, sharing the same food they ate (bread, cheese, and cucumbers)
We were treated with kindness, and they paid meticulous attention to every detail.
Women among them understood the importance of feminine hygiene and ensured we had everything we needed.
Hamas had meticulously planned everything for a long time, providing us with everything we required, even down to shampoo and conditioner.
The inefficiencies of the army and Shabak (Israel Security Agency - ISA) greatly impacted us; we were pawns in the government's game."
After this, Western media outlets, with CNN at the forefront, distorted Yohav's words and published that she said, "I went through hell."
BBC, on the other hand, released two versions of the statement.
They published the original statement by Yohav on their account dedicated to the Arab audience, while on their accounts for Western and Indian audiences, they published a manipulated version of her statement that included the same content as previously published by CNN.
These are the testimonies of two different women captives, both of whom unanimously agree that they were treated with excellent humane treatment, and no one tortured them or attempted to harass or disturb them.
On the other hand, both of them agree that Israel did not care about their safety in any way and, in fact, they would open fire in the presence of the hostages, leaving behind lifeless bodies hit by their deadly bullets.
Now, let's focus for a moment on the point of Israel and the prisoners.
Two days ago, Abu Ubaida, the official spokesman for the Al-Qassam Brigades, made a lengthy recorded speech in which he spoke about the prisoners.
He said:
"There have been numerous contacts in the prisoner file, and there was an opportunity to reach an agreement, but they delayed and did not show real seriousness in releasing the prisoners.
Instead, its barbaric shelling and continuous crimes have led to the killing of nearly fifty of them so far."
Do you understand now that Israel does not care about the prisoners at all, as it claims, and that their use of the prisoner issue is merely to prevent Elon Musk from providing internet access via Starlink in Gaza for its residents?
Remember to follow our Instagram account.
We regularly post a lot of content with fresh designs to reach a larger audience which you can easily share by posting it in your Instagram story, Facebook story, WhatsApp story or sending it to your friends through Direct Messages, we need all the support we can get.
#gaza#palestine#gaza strip#free gaza#free palestine#storiesfromgaza#غزة#فلسطين#genocide#humanitarian crisis
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if katsuki has told you once, he’s told you a thousand times—don’t wait up for me.
you never did understand what all the fuss was about. sure, the fatigue would catch up to you after a few consecutive days of doing so—but it was never anything a little more sleep in the morning couldn’t solve.
still, after seeing how adamant he was about the whole thing, you dropped the habit altogether—or at least, he thought you did.
it’s almost midnight when katsuki arrives home, easing the front door shut with the utmost care. he doesn’t bat an eye upon noticing the dull amber glow emanating from the kitchen—you always leave the little light above the stove on for him. he does however, feel his heart skip a beat when he rounds the corner and sees a figure clad in black sitting at his kitchen island.
he easily recognizes the figure as you—seemingly lost in your own little world as you rest your chin in your palm and stare down at your phone. you click on a news article that catches your eye—one from just two hours ago. dynamight’s big rescue! on the evening of tuesday september 6th, three villains entered a bank around ni—
“the hell are you doin’?” his voice lingers from the doorway, much softer than usual—because he knows you’re unaware of his presence.
it startles you nonetheless, but it could have been much worse—he probably just saved you from a major heart attack. a true hero, even off duty.
“just some light reading,” you turn your head and give him a sheepish smile, simultaneously giving him a once over for any injuries. fortunately, you find none—not that you can see at least.
“meant what’re you doin’ up,” he replies, crossing his strong arms over his chest as he takes a few steps further into the kitchen.
“waiting for you,” you hum, hopping out of your chair and padding over to him. he watches, from the moment those words leave your mouth to the moment you wrap your arms around his neck—and then he turns his head. “kats, i missed you.”
he knew it was coming, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to hear. lately, with this increase in crime, you’ve been seeing him less and less. he hates it, but he knows you—and how quick you’d drop everything for a little more time together. he’s witnessed it, all those late nights and early mornings, they took a toll on you—and you don’t deserve that. so, he put an end to it, made sure you knew how important your health was, and had you sleeping like a baby by ten o’clock most nights. but, here you are.
“go,” he nods towards the stairs and rests a hand on your lower back, ushering you ever so gently. “‘ll be there in fifteen.”
he’ll inhale his dinner, wash up at the speed of light, and slide into bed next to you—just like the old days, right?
“i haven’t eaten yet,” you mumble.
you feel his hand stiffen up, and he’s no longer steering you towards your bedroom. he peers down, scarlet eyes boring into you from right beneath his furrowed brow—because he knows that you know, he’d never let you go to bed on an empty stomach. touché.
“pain in my ass,” he mutters, dropping his hand and letting you shuffle towards the fridge where you’re harbouring two plates of leftovers. he trails his gaze down to your feet, and you swear you hear a little snort slip out of him.
as if drowning yourself in his hoodie and sweats wasn’t enough, you have his slippers on—and they’re a size, or seven too big for your feet. you don’t have enough fingers to count all the times he’s called you ronald, or said that he didn’t know the fuckin’ circus was back in town. he can make all the clown jokes he wants, you’ll never give up that warmth and comfort—him getting a kick out of the whole thing is a side effect you can handle.
“how was patrol?” you ask, sliding one of the plates into the microwave. you more or less know how it went, but you’ll keep that to yourself.
he mumbles a same old shit before giving you a vague rundown of the bank robbery—well, the attempted bank robbery. he’s cut off by the loud beeps that echo throughout the room. you reach for the button that opens the little door, but he beats you to it, nudging you away with his hip. he removes the plate—and it’s blatantly obvious that it’s his—the portion size being a dead giveaway. still, he holds it out for you to take. “eat.”
the look on your face must’ve said it all, because he’s quick to follow up. “‘ll finish what you don’t, baby. sit, eat.”
his gaze lingers on you for just a tad longer than usual before he turns around and heads for the second plate. there’s probably half the amount of food on this one, but he doesn’t seem to mind. so you sit, and eat. he’s not far behind, plopping down next to you just a couple minutes later.
“katsuki?” you side eye him, thinking about how cute he looks with his cheeks all full. it’s been a little while since you’ve sat down and had a meal with him—this is perfect, just what you wanted. still, you can’t help but look ahead as you yearn for a little more. “will you wake me up before you leave tomorrow morning?”
“mmm,” he holds his hand in front of his mouth, rapidly chewing the remainder of his bite so he can answer you. “whatever, but if you swing at me once ‘m leavin’ you there.”
as much as katsuki would love to have a testy six am encounter with the little overtired monster that is you—he won’t, because he’s going to let you sleep until your sweet heart’s content.
you won’t be happy, he knows that—hell, maybe you’ll even swing at him tomorrow evening while fully awake. nah, who’s he kidding? you’d never consciously do that. he almost smiles at the thought though, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent it.
right, you won’t be happy, but you’ll get over it. it’s his job to get up early, come home late, and deal with all the bullshit in between.
because, in all aspects of life—from sleep, right down to the level of warmth and comfort you feel on your feet—katsuki believes you deserve just a little more than him.
#izurou#bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#mha x reader#bakugo x you#bnha x reader#bakugou fluff#bakugo fluff#bakugou katsuki x reader#bnha fluff#bakugou hcs#bakugo hcs#bakugo headcanons#bnha hcs#tw food
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You can lay blame for this second ask at @hoifne 's feet, I saw their comment on the post and had to:
How did folks react to the moon landing?
"You're ready? No Big Regrets?" Renji asks. He always asks. He'd done hundreds of Konso rituals now that he was doing his mandatory tour of duty in the living world, but he never wants them to feel 'routine', so he talks to the ghosts. Hypes them up a bit for the afterlife, tries to keep his heart in it.
Especially when it's a kid.
"Well, it's not really a big deal..." The ghost Suichi considers. He was maybe ten or eleven years old. Thick prescription glasses, face round with puppy fat, very loved. Love won't stop a freak electrical accident though. Young Suichi is handling his sudden departure really well, all things considered, so maybe love does stop despair. "-but its a bit of a shame that if there's no TV in the afterlife, I won't be able to watch the moon landing."
"Yeah, we're a bit behind the times, but I'm sure one of the mad geniuses in the 12th will invent one sooner than late-" Renji grins ruffling the boy's hair before the rest of the sentence registers. "-The What Landing?"
"The Moon Landing!" Suichi lights up with excitement. "They just launched the rocket yesterday! But in just three days, man will walk on the moon!"
"...The Moon?" Renji blinks, bewildered.
"Yeah!"
Renji points up over his shoulder into the sky, gripping the boy's shoulder, eyes wide. "THE MOON IN THE FUCKING SKY?"
---
The lights of the Fifth division offices reflect blankly off of Captain Aizen's glasses as he attempts to process the news. He is entirely still, save for his eyebrows which are writhing like overcaffienated caterpillars, unable to settle on an emotion to convey.
"The Moon?" Lieutenant Ichimaru squints at Renji even harder than usual, pointing up out the window behind him. "The Moon in the fucking sky?"
"Yeah!" Renji spread his hands. "I didn't believe it either but the humans have managed to work out some neat trick with the way the world turns to like, throw the spaceship like a slingshot..?" he tried to explain.
"So, so there's three guys in a boat-" Captain Aizen tried again, reaching up under his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.
"It's really more like a sealed metal tube, but they call it a Space Ship because it does sorta sail through space..." Renji tried to explain, holding up the newspaper from the living world he'd brought back to substantiate his claims and also provide helpful images to explain what was happening.
"So there's three guys in a metal tube and they... threw it into the sky so hard that instead of falling it started flying instead?" Aizen tried. "How do they even throw something that hard without Kido?"
"So the men are up in this little itty bitty bit at the top that looks like a cap on a vaccine needle-" Renji pointed at the image of the Apollo 11 rocket. "-All the rest of this is the uh. enormous amount of extremely coordinated high explosives they used to launch it. The. The whole thing is like... It's a little over three hundred fifty shaku and only 12 shaku of that is where the humans are. The rest is um. Air they smooshed so hard it became liquid and then they set that on fire and look at the picture you can see the kaboom!" Renji tried to explain, pushing the paper across Aizen's desk for his captain to read.
Aizen certainly pointed his face at the image and accompanying article, but 'read' may have been a bit beyond him at the moment.
"Oh, is that all it took?" Ichimaru hummed with interest. "Well fuck, why haven't we done that?"
"Oh yes, how very silly that the humans have beaten us at the trifling matter of FLINGING OURSELVES INTO SPACE, WHAT THE *HELL* ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ICHIMARU??" Aizen objected.
"Well like. Idea's sound. Moon goes around the earth, so a smaller thing should too. And we can absolutely make a sealed metal container and kaboom bigger than that." Gin shrugged, as though this were plainly obvious. "Betchya the clown that runs the twelfth has the stuff laying around- we got a meeting with him later today anyway, why not ask?"
"Oh sure, that's a great Idea!" Aizen beamed. "Why hello Kurotsuchi-taicho, curious news from the human world- do you think you could spare a few parts and several tons of explosives to send some guys for a stroll on the moon?"
There was a moment of silence where Renji and Gin shared an awkward glance (or at least, Renji gave meaningful look to the narrow slits where his lieutenant-commander's eyes theoretically were).
"...he'd agree to that in a heartbeat, if he hasn't started work on his own Spaceboat already." Aizen groaned.
---
"No." Grunted Mayuri.
"No? Why not?" Aizen asked, head cocked to the side like a confused spaniel.
"Look, what the old man doesn't know about budget expenditures won't hurt him!" Gin smiled encouragingly. "Think of all the scientific data you'd get to research!"
"What the old man finds out about budget expenditures after the fact can and will hurt me." Mayuri growled. "It's not cookie money, kitting an expedition to the living world to engineer a spaceship with atomic matter instead of Reishi- No, much more efficient to let the humans do it for us and poach the date from them."
"...Why would we need to go to the Living world?" Aizen blinked, confused. "I can see the moon from the window right here?" Aizen pointed out the window of Kurotsuchi's office.
"What? That moon? You can't go to that moon!" The clownish chemical engineer cackled."
Aizen and Ichimaru stared at him blankly.
"Is. Is the moon here different than the one in the living world?" Aizen asked, bewildered.
"Different? It doesn't exist!" Mayuri laughed, waving his hand at them.
Aizen and Ichimaru stared at him, then leaned back in their seats, looking out the window at the moon, which still looked as physical and present as it ever did.
"...Oh don't tell me you didn't know." Mayuri frowned, pouting. "No, spirit world doesn't have a moon. The thing up in the sky is a Tulpa- there's a "moon" because everyone who comes to spirit world thinks there should be one, and there's so much ambient spiritual energy even weak souls can exert some force on the nature of reality and when millions of them are all certain there should be a moon, a moon manifests. Or at least, a thing that looks like a moon. Doesn't act like one, changes size and skips around it's phases all the time and if it really were a round object in space, that's NOT what a crescent moon would look like."
Aizen and Ichimaru looked back out the window at the "Moon", whose crescent arced a full three quarters of the alleged satellite's circumference.
"Seriously? this is some really basic stuff." Mayuri glared at them in disappointment. "You never noticed that the moon is always visible out any random window at night, no matter what time it is? It doesn't even go east-to-west more than half the time!"
"But. But we have a lunar calendar..?" Aizen muttered, an edge of genuine distress in his voice.
"Oh yeah, the moon *used* to be regular as clockwork- everyone literally set their watches to it." Mayuri shrugged. "Then sometime about eh, two and a half, three thousand years ago? Right around the same time the first captain-class spirits started appearing, the moon started doing this 'Full Moon Thrice A Month If it Feels Like It' and 'Visible At Improbable Angles' nonsense."
Aizen's eyes were wide and Gin's very nearly open with alarm.
"That's uh- that's terrifying?" Aizen sputtered, now outright frightened.
"Yeah, anybody know what coulda caused that?" Gin muttered.
"The going theory is that the precipitation of a new class of spiritually hyperpotent souls like us has caused disproportionate tugs on the desired appearence of the the "Moon", but that's only a theory- my predecessor's predecessor once attempted to send a camera to the 'Moon' for a closer look, but it never actually *got* any closer." Mayuri explained, casually inspecting his fingernails- he seemed to be growing out the middle one for some godforsaken reason. "-Your theoretical starboat would likely far worse."
"...Okay but that's worse. You understand how that's worse, right?" Aizen demanded and Mayuri waved him off.
"No, no hit makes sense-" Gin nodded, and Aizen glared at his lieutenant. "Think about it! There's what, three and a half billion human on earth? Millions die every day, but only a couple hundred ever turn up every day at the intake queue in the 7th, and nearly everyone is from just the one part of Japan. We're one afterlife of many- ugh, could you imagine if the missionaries were sent here?- anyway, our world is nowhere NEAR as big at the Living World, so the moon-moon is just a geographical feature in the living world, and there's only a couple million people living here. We got disproportionate swing, so we pull on the collective conciousness more. It's fine!"
"That's AWFUL!" Aizen shouted, dismayed.
"I mean I think we all understand God is an Asshole, but what are you gonna do about it?" Mayuri shrugged before tapping on the crate beside his desk. "-Anyway, do you want these Polio Vaccines for the rukongai outreach program our not?"
"I- yes. Please." Aizen muttered.
"Good man, sign here." Mayuri tapped the sheet on his desk. As Aizen tried to read over the provisions release paperwork, the small "Electronic Mailer" on Mayuri's desk pinged. "Oh, the word got out- Kyoraku-taicho wants to hold another moon-viewing party for the occasion. Do me a favor and attend so you can explain to him why we can't go to our 'moon' for me? I don't want to go, and I really don't want to explain it to him through a hangover either."
"If you don't wanna go Boss I'll stand in for you. Promises to be a real riot." Gin grinned.
"Yes, you have your young friend, don't you? Miss Matsumoto?" Aizen smiled fondly at his second-in-command.
"Oh, she probably already got her invite- she an' Miss Nan- er, lieutenant Ise are real pals from the academy." Gin laughed. "Nah, I was gonna drag old blind bones along."
"...Captain Tousen?" Aizen asked, befuddled. "Whatever for?"
"Stars ain't exactly braille, y'know?" Gin explained, wiggling his fingers. "He knows even less than we do an' I wanna watch Rangiku and Kyoraku try'n 'splain the whole thing to him." Gin grinned.
"Sounds lovely! Take your shit and get out of my office." Mayuri threatened.
---
Renji exhaled, still bewildered, laying on his back on the grassy hill just outside the 2nd division training grounds, staring up at the moon as it rose opposite the sunset behind him. Or, maybe not? There had been some lecture about how the moon in spirit world wasn't a moon back at the academy that he didn't really remember-
"You sound like you're in the throes of a moral conundrum Red." Shuuhei teased, looking up from the strange contraption he was setting up.
"Huh?" Renji blinked. "Oh, no I'm just- Those guys in the Spaceship gotta be somethin' else, going to die thousands of miles from home."
"What? The Astronauts? They'll be fine! -Probably." Shuuhei laughed. "They're definitely insane, getting in that contraption at all, but they still gotta come home with all the rocks and whatever they get from the moon for the lab techs to look at."
"...How the hell are they getting back?" Renji frowned, rolling up onto his elbow to frown at his senpai. "I thought they blew up all the rocket getting off the planet?"
"They got a bitty rocket in the lunar landing craft that will get them between their ship and the lunar surface, and then they will angle the ship a bit and the moon will fling them back to earth the way earth flung them at the moon." Shuuei explained, not looking up from the weird bass-drum looking object he was messing with.
Renji opened his mouth, realized his friend probably understood it way better than he did, closed his mouth, shrugged, and changed topics. "So what is that thing you had me haul up here?"
"It's uhhh... Experimental. Haven't got a name for it yet." Shuuhei muttered, placing a level on top of it and frowning at the bubble before adjusting the legs bolted awkwardly to the side of the drum. "-But with all this excitement about the Lunar Landing, I realized Tousen-Taicho is... I mean he gets left out of a lotta stuff, y'know? But it's not like he can see the stars, or the spirit-moon, and I don't think he really understands orbital mechanics-"
"I sure fuckin' don't." Renji muttered.
"Yeah, because you're the kind of moron who put a ham sandwich in a VCR-" Shuuhei rolled his eyes.
"That was ONE TIME, and Matsumoto Senpai told me it was a Panini Press!" Renji sulked.
"-and then pressed "Fast Forward", but Tousen is actually smart as hell- I'm the one who can't explain it without gestures he can't see." Shuuhei continued. "...but I can use a camera obscura and reiryoku-sensitive film to sort of take an old exposure image of the night sky. I'm hoping that if I treat the exposed film right, that the light and dark parts will turn into different textures for him to read, like a braille sky."
"Oh." Renji muttered. "That's really nice of you actually."
"I mean, we'll see if it works." Shuuhei shugged, examining the level again. "Hand me the allen wrenches- What about your boss?"
"Captain Aizen? Uh- honestly? He seems a little freaked out by all this and I saw him fuckin' slam the newspaper into his wastebasket when he got back from the twelth." Renji winced. "He's weird like that. Sweet as cake most of the time but then there's these weird flashes of anger... and I'm not sure how much longer he's gonna be my boss."
"As in you got ambitions, or you think he's gonna get fired?" Shuuhei asked, staring at the level again.
"As in 'Tetsuzaemon Iba got in another brawl with his mother about him only being fourth seat when she made captain, and Liuetenant Madarame asked me if I'd updated my resume recently." Renji winced.
"Woof. Talk about a lateral promotion." Shuuhei winced. "Still, the pay raise would be nice. You could afford to take your girl Rukia somewhere up to her brother's standards!"
"IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!" Renji snapped, rolling over and jumping to his feet. "-It's -I'm sorry. It's kinda complicated." Renji sighed.
Shuuhei was silent for a minute as Renji sat back down on the grass, face in his hands. After a minute of fine-tuning the drum to keep it level, he spoke up. "You're more than good enough."
"Huh?" Renji jolted. "Oh, yeah- I'd be doing all the eleventh's paperwork but there's no way it's worse than the fucking rice subsidies accounting board-"
"That's not what I meant." Shuuhei glared.
"...I know." Renji groaned. "It's just. It's complicated, okay?"
"If you say so." Shuuhei shrugged. "Alright, hand me the flat box- thanks. It'll be ready for exposure in a minute, and I want to get it done before those clouds roll in." He gestured at the distant thunderheads threatening to bloom into a summer storm on the edge of the city.
The process was quick- the shielded plate went into the gap under the drum, and the light of the night sky was reflected onto it from a pinhole in the top. Once the metal plates were pulled back, it needed a few minutes to pick up enough light, before Shuuhei pushed the metal shutters back in and locked the plate in darkness until it could be developed.
"It's for taking pictures of the stars, right?" Renji asked as Shuuhei started disassembling the camera. "You could call that plate an Astrograph."
"Hah! Futuristic. I like it!" Shuuhei grinned. "C'mon and help me with this thing before the punishment squad turns up to kick my ass for having a camera within a mile of the second."
#AEIWAM#An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy#Bleach#Bleach Fanfic#renji abarai#sosuke aizen#gin ichimaru#mayuri kurotsuchi#shuuhei hisagi#the moon landing#And THAT's why the moon is fucked up in spirit world!#long post
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Writers who use imitative harmony + the movement of their language to evoke meaning are so great to re-read once you’ve learnt this language, if you’ve read them in translation before, it feels like the best reward. I’m reading Annie Proulx in the original for the first time, and so much of her writing style was just not salvageable by French translators (< my condolences), because she intertwines sound with meaning so often, at least in Close Range, and French just doesn’t sound the same! so by translating the meaning you’ll sacrifice a lot of the style... It reminds me of a haunted house book in French that also made me think “haha RIP translators” because it made great use of sound—a lot of “u / eu / ou” to create a sort of sinister howling effect in some sentences, and one sentence about a closed door used “i” and “rr” sounds to give an ominous “creaking open” sensation without actually opening the door in the text...
This kind of thing always makes me reflect despairingly on how many authors I’ll never get to appreciate fully as I can’t read them in the original, but I’m glad to re-discover Annie Proulx at any rate! I mean compare the sound of a phrase like “a hundred dirt road shortcuts” to the French “des centaines de raccourcis, des routes de terre”... First of all the English phrase sounds clippety-cloppy, it sounds like hooves on a dirt road in a way that’s very hard to preserve in a language without syllable stress, but also the French language demands that you turn it into ‘a hundred of shortcurts of roads of dirt’, so it’s best to dilute it into two phrases, and you just lose the clippedness. It sounds less tight, more leisurely.
Same for the phrase “the tawny plain still grooved with pilgrim wagon ruts” vs. “la plaine fauve encore marquée des ornières laissées par les chariots des pèlerins.” That’s a 54% expansion ratio and once again you turn the tight clippedness of ‘grooved with pilgrim wagon ruts’ into ‘grooved with the ruts left by the wagons of the pilgrims.’ You just can’t avoid it, French words have to hold hands in a long procession rather than being stacked like pancakes on top of one another. And sometimes it makes for lovely stylistic effects too (*), but it doesn’t fit the style of a text like this one, which uses rhythm and sound in a very un-French way—rhythmicality in French tends to rely on long flowy phrasings rather than the potholed ruggedness this story demands. (I saw a NY Times article describe it as Annie Proulx “mining the ore of language out of a gritty Wyoming rockscape”)
The rhythm of this whole bit is so neat, you can snap your fingers along with it: “hard orange dawn, the world smoking, snaking dust devils on bare dirt, heat boiling out of the sun until the paint on the truck hood curled, ragged webs of dry rain that never hit the ground, through small-town traffic and stock on the road, band of horses in morning fog...”
The French version is not finger-snapping material but you can tell the translator did her very best to preserve the author’s intention by creating interesting rhythms in French as well. For “hard orange dawn” she could have kept close to the original with, say, “la dureté orange de l’aube” but instead she chose to turn ‘hard’ into a four-syllable adjective (éblouissante / blinding) to end up with a noticeable rhythm—“les aubes orange, éblouissantes,” one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four (and she made ‘dawn’ plural for the same reason.) She wasn’t able to preserve the g/r alliteration of “GRooved with pilGRim waGon Ruts” (although her translated phrase also has a lot of R’s) but she did preserve the ‘sss’ alliteration of “Smoking Snaking duSt” (“pouSSière Serpentant Sur le Sol”). Even with languages as close as French and English, for every stylistic effect you can save you have to sacrifice a few, or replace them with opposite effects which align better with your language’s notions of literary style (like with the orange dawn bit, doubling the length of a tight phrase so it can sound rhythmical).
You can tell all throughout the book that a lot of thought and care went into respecting Annie Proulx’s writing choices and you still end up with sentences that sound and move so differently. You get to see the limit of translation when authors fully lean on their language’s syntax and melody to help convey meaning, like poets do!
(*) Re: English stacking words and French linking them—this reminds me of an essay I read by an English translator of Proust who despaired of this difference in the opposite direction—saying some long, descriptive phrases in Proust with articles & prepositions linking words, and commas linking phrases with regularity, read like telling the beads of a rosary. And the sensation (or a lot of it) had to be sacrificed because English just does not use as many linking words as French, information is conveyed in a more economical way, so a lot of these sentences with a hypnotic rhythm like “the A, of the B, of the C, whereby the D, of the E, on an F” were often not achievable with English syntax or created redundancy (e.g. having to use ‘that’ or ‘which’ 5 times when French used different tool words). But he said he did try to form sentences that had this continuity, and meditative quality.
I don’t have a conclusion to this post other than to say something precious will be lost if human translation is replaced by AI translation, because literary translation involves creativity and ambiguity and aesthetic considerations and a dimension of instinctual feeling for your own language and the original style, and I don’t think any amount of data and processing power and artificial neural networks will yield the flavour of literary quality that emerges from human sensibility and care, from someone reading a sentence and thinking “this feels like hooves clippety-clopping down a dirt road” or “this feels like rolling the beads of a rosary” and starting from there...
#language tag#not sure if imitative harmony has the same meaning as harmonie imitative now that i think about it#in french i was taught that it’s a broader more ‘diluted’ stylistic device than onomatopoeia#as in writing 'bzzz' about an insect flying is onomatopoeia#writing a sentence about an insect with several 'b' and 'zz' sounds here and there is imitative harmony
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How You Play the Game Part 2 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: When Bradley doesn't hear from you after the first game, he thinks that's it. But you got his heart pounding and made him smile, and he wants to see you again. The realization that maybe something that perfect should be left as a one night stand hits him hard, but he wants to know if there could be more.
Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst and smut (18+)
Length: 5600 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader
Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger
Bradley was laying in bed on Saturday morning with the New York times app open on his phone, scrolling to find your article. When his eyes settled on your name below the title, he tapped on it. The app took him to your full biography and a picture of you in front of Wrigley Field.
You even looked beautiful in your stock photo image. He was tempted to save it to his photo gallery, but instead he skimmed your bio. You'd lived all over the country and played every sport imaginable as a child. You had graduated first in your class from Syracuse University, and you were undefeated at sports trivia.
The smile on his lips grew as he read the article that you must have submitted before your deadline last night. Your writing style was fun and entertaining, and you had even mentioned the comment he made about the catcher for the Angels. Bradley groaned and tossed his phone aside. He wanted to see you again.
But as he got out of bed and headed for his bathroom, he reminded himself that last night had one night stand written all over it. You were in California for work. You both said that hooking up like that wasn't something you normally did. He was sure you just did it for a bit of fun. Bradley was an idiot for catching feelings after a few hours with you, but it felt like he already knew you. Talking to you in person felt like reading your articles, because your writing matched your personality so well. Witty, intelligent, funny and charming.
"Chill the fuck out," Bradley told himself in the bathroom mirror. "It's done."
Then he spent the day trying to think about anything that wasn't sports related. He even took a ten mile run up along the beach to kill some time. And when Nat asked him if he was going to the Hard Deck, he decided that would help.
But everyone there was wearing Padres gear and talking about that game one victory. And Bradley swallowed hard when he saw that Shannon was working behind the bar. He hadn't thought about her much recently, and she definitely hadn't crossed his mind at all when he'd been with you. But nevertheless, Bradley smiled when she greeted him.
"Hey, Rooster," she said with that grin that he was so used to. And she poured him a beer before he even asked for one. "You think you'll stick around for last call?"
He watched her hand as she slid the beer across the bartop. "I'll let you know?" he asked, barely able to meet her eyes.
"Sounds good. I'll start a tab for you."
He just nodded and turned to find the other aviators. Sleeping with Shannon tonight might help Bradley get you off his mind. But did he want to? He kind of liked the way warm thoughts of your voice and your smile kept bubbling to the surface. He could hear you asking him if he'd write back to a text from you. Honestly, he had been low key hoping you'd contact him today, and then he could have proven that he'd write back immediately, just like he promised.
But he'd heard nothing. No text. No call. You hadn't done anything with his phone number.
"What's your problem?" Nat asked, pinching his arm until he snapped out of it. "I asked you three times if you wanted to play pool with me."
"I'm not in the mood," he groaned, rubbing his arm as the TV screen caught his attention. They were playing World Series highlights and talking about tomorrow night's game.
"Why are you pouting?"
He rolled his eyes. "Nat, I'm not pouting."
"You are. Is this because Bagman is flirting with Shannon?"
Bradley glanced over his shoulder and saw that Nat was correct. Jake was leaning on the bar, trying his hardest to get Shannon to smile. "Nah. I told you, that's just casual. Doesn't mean anything." He sipped his beer.
"Well whatever is bothering you, either tell me about it or get over it, because I want to beat Javy and Reuben at pool for once."
Bradley closed his eyes and told her, "I met someone at the game last night."
"No!" she gasped. "Tell me everything."
After he hesitated for a beat, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped on your name in the NYT app before handing it to her. He watched Nat as she skimmed the screen and examined your photo.
"Oh! You met her? Oh, shit....you hooked up with her!"
"Yeah," he grunted, glad that his best friend didn't need much help to figure out exactly what was going on with him. She never did.
"You like her! Why can I so easily picture you happily married to a sports writer? You could have six kids, and each one would play a different sport. One would play softball, one would be a kickass hockey player, one would play soccer, you'd probably have a ballerina-"
"Nat," he said, cutting her off with a laugh. "I'm not going to see her again. I gave her my number, but I haven't heard from her." He turned back to the bar to find that Shannon was alone again. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if he stayed until last call.
"Bradley. She's probably covering game two! You could go back to Petco Park tomorrow."
"Yeah," he grunted. "She's definitely covering game two. She told me she was. Right after I gave her my number which she hasn't used. It was just a hookup, Nat."
"I'll buy you a ticket," she said, fishing out her own phone. "An early Christmas present."
"Don't you dare. The resale price is up to almost a thousand bucks for the nosebleed seats."
She sighed and said, "Fine. But you should still think about going."
----------------------------
After you spent most of your weekend in your hotel room doing research and writing, you decided to take a few hours off on Sunday afternoon. And it was during this time, when you went for a walk through Balboa Park, that you let yourself accept the fact that you'd been working like a maniac all weekend to try to keep your mind off of Bradley.
Your hotel room smelled like his cologne or aftershave or maybe his laundry detergent. It was nice. Kind of comforting. You wanted to lay in bed with him until you smelled like it, too. But on Saturday morning, when you had thrown away the rogue condom wrapper, you decided it was better to throw away his phone number, too. You tried to rip that sheet out of your notebook since you no longer needed those stats, but you couldn't do it. Instead it was tucked away with your other work items, and you hoped you wouldn't cave and contact him.
After you took a shower, you grabbed your bag and your media pass and headed out early so you would have time to get some food when you got there. You liked that the ballparks usually served up local treats, and you'd get there in time to actually enjoy some fish tacos or a poke bowl tonight. You even thought about grabbing a local beer and drinking it on the main concourse before heading up to the box. You decided to go up and set down your computer and then find the beer cart.
But when you approached the narrow stairs that would take you up to the press box, you froze.
"Ace."
He was standing there, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, an earnest look on his handsome face.
"Bradley," you gasped as your heart thudded with excitement. "What are you doing here? Did you win another contest?"
"No," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I bought a ticket."
You knew the tickets were reselling at a premium price, and as he pushed away from the wall and dropped his arms to his sides, you asked, "Really? You're that much of a Padres fan?"
He shrugged and kind of shook his head, but your breath caught in your throat when he said, "You never texted me, Ace. I haven't stopped thinking about you for a single second, but you didn't text or call me."
He was close enough now that you could smell him, and you almost whimpered as your eyes fluttered closed. "You really wanted me to use your number?" you asked, meeting his eyes once again.
"Of course. That's why I wrote it down," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Shit, I shouldn't have come here to see you." He was blushing profusely and looking at the floor. "You wanted that to be a one time thing, didn't you?" he asked, glancing up at your eyes with a slight grimace on his face.
Well now you weren't so sure. You thought he had just written his number down as a tactic. It wouldn't have been the first time you had a guy see how far he could get you to go while making you feel like you had some sort of safety net. Making you think he was really into you. But maybe Bradley actually was?
"Bradley, I-"
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "In an effort to not completely ruin the perfection of Friday night in my mind, I'm gonna go."
You watched him turn, and he made it about ten steps before you ran to him, reaching for his bicep. "Bradley, wait." When he stopped, you bumped into him, but he steadied you. You swallowed hard. He was so attractive, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about him all weekend. Inviting him back to your hotel room again had been a fun fantasy you'd indulged in since late Friday night. "Do you want to sit with me again? In the box?"
He looked surprised now. "Yeah."
"Okay." You linked your fingers with his and led him back to the stairs. He still looked a little tentative as you added, "Let's go."
When you used your card to open the door, you made it halfway up the stairs before you paused and turned to look at him. He was one step below you, and your height just about matched up with his. He still looked a little surprised, but there was a soft smile on his lips now, and you wrapped your fingers a little tighter around his.
"To be clear, did you buy a one thousand dollar ticket so you could stand at the bottom of these stairs and try to see me again tonight?"
"Yes," he said clearly and without hesitation. You shook your fingers free from his and wrapped both of your hands around the back of his neck before leaning in to kiss him. Your nose brushed along the side of his as you felt the prickle of his mustache against your skin. And then his hands were on your waist as he welcomed you into his arms. He parted his lips for you as you dragged your fingers up into his hair. Then he broke the kiss long enough to rasp, "I like you, Ace."
You kissed his lips once more before running your lips along his mustache. He squeezed your waist a little tighter as the door opened behind him. When you saw that it was Raya, another sports writer, you took Bradley by the hand again and led him all the way into the box.
"Don't get into any trouble today," you whispered, pushing him down into the same stool he had occupied on Friday night. "I got you in with my pass."
"I'll be so good," he promised, looking up at you with eyes far too innocent for the rest of his smirking face. And somehow you doubted it.
-------------------------
Bradley couldn't keep his hands off you as you worked. He kept finding ways to trace little circles along your back. The pace of game two seemed to be a lot faster as the Angels got into a better groove against the Padres, and you were frantically keeping your stats as you typed away.
"You want something else to eat?" he asked you between innings as you scribbled out some notes that he supposed must have made sense to you.
"Yes, please," you said, turning to smile at him. You watched Bradley stand, and he headed to the table lined with food. You seemed surprised that he had been sincere when he said he wanted you to text him. Yeah, he'd been joking around a little bit when he wrote his number down in your notebook, but he was kind of crushed when he hadn't heard from you.
When Bradley turned to take the food back to that little spot you and he were sharing in the last row, he saw the reporter in front of you turn around and start giving you a hard time.
"You gonna bring your boyfriend to each game, New York?"
Bradley wanted to punch this asshole in the face, because who even made comments like that? But instead he watched you sigh dramatically and say, "At least I can get laid, Quincy. You're such a hater. Now turn around, I'm busy."
But Bradley did shoot Quincy a glare for good measure, and he didn't take his eyes off him until he had turned around. "More food," Bradley told you, setting the plate down where you could reach it without it being in your way. Then he settled onto his stool and draped his arm across the back of yours while you picked at the food.
You kissed his cheek and whispered, "Thanks," just as the Padres hit a home run. Bradley desperately wanted to cheer, but nobody cheered in the press box, apparently. So he sat quietly while you updated your stat sheet and ate a taco.
"Which team do you cheer for, Ace?" he asked, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. "You know, when you're not working and allowed to cheer."
Your lips parted in silence before you pressed them together, and then you said, "I never tell anyone my favorite teams."
Bradley examined your face for a beat. "You want to tell me, don't you?"
"Oh my god," you moaned, head tipped back. "Yeah, I actually do."
As Bradley shook from the laughter he was trying to hold in, you leaned in close to him. "You can tell me," he said, grinning. "I'll keep your secret."
You let your palm come to rest on his abs before sliding it along to his waist as you pressed your lips to his ear. "You can't tell anyone. Ever."
The feel of your lips on him, about to divulge something so important to your career had him pulling you closer. You laughed softly as your lips bumped his ear, and Bradley stifled a moan.
"I won't say a word about it," he promised.
"My favorite team is the Toronto Blue Jays."
That was about to become Bradley's favorite team, too. Maybe he could go to a game with you when you were allowed to cheer.
"Do you know what their mascot is named?" you asked as you eased yourself back into your seat. When he shook his head, you picked up your pencil and wrote in the margin of your stat sheet.
Ace.
Bradley laughed again. You had him smiling or laughing nonstop right now, and he couldn't believe it was already the eighth inning. It was getting late in the game now, but you were still writing.
Do you want to come back to my hotel with me again?
And then he realized that this was the first time he'd thought about fucking you all day.
Bradley leaned in close and kissed your neck a few times before he said, "Only if you save my number in your phone." Because as much as he'd been thinking yesterday about how good it felt to have sex with you, he wanted to hear from you when it wasn't a game day. He wanted to keep talking to you.
During the break at the end of the inning, you pulled your phone out and made a show of flipping to the previous page in your notebook and entering his phone number into your contacts list. Then you turned your phone screen away from him and typed something out, and he just waited to feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. When he did, he looked at his messages and saw that you had sent him a photo of you with the Toronto Blue Jays mascot. And you captioned it with: Be honest, which Ace do you think is cuter?
He typed out to you, I'm not sure if you knew this, but I'm wildly attracted to blue feathers.
When you looked at your phone again, your laughter was loud enough to have Quincy turning around and earning another glare from Bradley. And just as the ninth inning started, you texted Bradley one more time. I hope you replaced your wallet condom, Boy Scout Bradley.
Truthfully, he had not. Getting lucky hadn't been his primary thought when he was just wanting to see you again. He muttered, "We're gonna need more than one, Ace."
And as your hand came to rest on his thigh, you tapped your lips with your pencil eraser. "I saw them for sale in the hotel lobby."
---------------------------
You couldn't remember feeling this way ever before. At least not with someone you barely knew. Bradley had your bag on his shoulder and he was practically carrying you across the parking lot as you laughed. You liked him a lot. He came back to see you again today. He was so funny and sweet, and you should have texted him on Saturday.
"You seem very eager," you whispered against his cheek as you kissed him at the crosswalk. You were running your hands all over his shoulders and dipping your hands inside his Padres jersey.
He picked you up to carry you across the street with the crowd of other pedestrians. "I'm hoping you'll show me your blue feathers tonight," he rasped, making you laugh even more.
"I knew you liked the other Ace better!"
He kissed your neck, and once he had you inside the hotel lobby, he said, "No, you're my favorite."
"Condoms," you whispered, pointing toward the small convenience shop next to the front desk. Bradley set you down and grabbed up all ten double packs of condoms and dumped them in front of the young guy who was working at the front desk.
"Is that all you needed, sir?"
Bradley pulled out his credit card and handed it to him, looking at you while he said, "Well no, that's not all I need." His gaze was openly needy as he looked at your face, lingering on your lips. You felt warm all over, and when Bradley had all twenty condoms in his hands again, you hooked your fingers though the belt loop of his jeans and pulled him toward the elevators.
"Let's go, Boy Scout."
Bradley groaned as the elevator door opened and you pulled him inside. He stood before you with your computer bag, so many packs of condoms and an erection that you could plainly see behind his zipper. You giggled and ran your thumbnail up and down his zipper as you said, "You're adorable."
He swallowed hard as you led him out on the top floor and down the corridor toward your room. "Ace? Baby?"
"Yeah?" you asked, unlocking the door as he stood behind you and let you feel him pressed to your lower back.
"Maybe you should finish writing your article first? I don't want you to get too close to your deadline again."
You opened the door and backed into the room, pulling him in with you. "No," you whispered before you kissed him hard. "I want you right now."
You grabbed one of the double packs of condoms from his hands, and he let the rest of them fall to the floor. The smile that you and he shared had your tummy doing somersaults as he gently set down your computer bag. You continued to back up slowly to the bed as he followed you. When you toed off your shoes, you watched him pause to pull his off as well. And then you were holding up the condoms and walking backwards across the bed on your knees until you reached the middle.
Bradley was frozen, just staring at you with a crooked smile on his face and his hands on his zipper. "I'm waiting," you whispered. And then you weren't waiting anymore at all, because Bradley was on top of you, wrapping his arms around you as his weight pushed you down into the bedding.
You moaned into his kisses as you ran your fingers through his hair. He already felt, smelled and sounded familiar to you. He tugged on your shirt until he was kissing you through your bra.
"You don't taste like beer today," he murmured against your skin, teasing you with his mustache.
"No, you managed not to spill," you replied, pulling your own shirt off as he unhooked your bra. His mouth was all over your breasts once he tossed your bra on the floor, and you were arching your back up against him. "You feel good."
He groaned into your skin while you felt him grind against your core through way too much fabric. "Ace." His hands were cupping your breasts as he let his lips drift down your belly until he was kissing along the top of your jeans. You unbuttoned and unzipped your pants and let him pull them down your legs. And then he was still fully clothed, giving you head just like two nights ago.
He was good at it, too. But when you started to touch your own breasts, he got distracted, lips grazing your clit as he watched you. When he lazily brought the pad of his thumb up along your slit and started teasing you, the sounds you made were so needy. You thought he could probably get you off like this if you wanted him to.
But you sat up and made quick work of his jersey buttons while he slipped his index finger inside you. "Bradley," you moaned softly as he kissed your neck and finger fucked you. He just seemed to want to make you feel good, and your hands stalled as you pushed his jersey down off both of his shoulders. Your palms came to rest on his warm biceps, and you could feel his arm muscles working as he fingered you.
"Tell me what you want, Ace," he grunted, stroking your clit with his thumb. He'd said that on Friday as well.
"I want you naked and inside me."
He let you undress him then, and you took his cock in both of your hands. You watched him roll onto his back as you teased him with your fingers, running your nails down along his thighs. The veins in his neck were strained, and his cheeks were flushed as his eyes darted from your face down to your hands and back up. He was glorious. Huge everywhere. Tan and muscular and perfect. So hard and eager to please.
When you straddled his hips and planted your hands on his shoulders, he pulled you to him, kissing your lips until you were laying flat on him. His length was gliding through your soaked pussy, and you moaned at the feel of him rubbing slowly against your clit. You mumbled his name, but he just kissed your lips harder, wrapping those big hands around your hips.
With each little movement of your hips grinding against him, you were closer to fucking him, so you gasped, "Condom."
"Mmhmm," he hummed, one big hand at the middle of your back while he reached blindly around the bedding in search of the small package. His lips were still soft and perfect on yours, unhurried as he handed you the condoms. You pressed your forehead to his as you fumbled trying to open one of them, and then you were sitting up between his legs, rolling it down his length, ready to go.
You guided yourself down around his cock, and he felt incredible, just like before. "Oh god," you whined softly, taking every inch of him while he grasped your thighs hard.
"So pretty," he whispered, watching you fucking him. Soon you were riding him fast and rough, bracing your hands on his abs. You couldn't even talk or formulate words as you whimpered, because he was hitting that sweet spot inside you. With every movement you were getting closer, and Bradley looked like he was struggling to keep it together.
You took his right hand, and brought it up to your mouth, sucking on his index and middle fingers to get them wet. "Baby, it feels too good," he groaned, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Then you guided his hand down to your clit, and you started cumming almost instantly. You held onto his wrist, rubbing your clit against his fingers with each stroke of your pussy along his cock.
Loud, incoherent noises filled the room as you came, riding him without finesse, head tipped back. And then Bradley was sitting up, right arm wrapped around your waist while he braced himself with his left palm on the bed. He whispered praise against your skin, pausing to kiss you as he thrust his hips up to fuck you as you came down from your high. "You're so hot. So good."
He sucked on your neck before his movements became jerky, and then he was chanting Ace! as he came too. He collapsed back against the bed with you held tightly to his chest, and you ran your fingers along his sweaty neck and up to stroke his jaw.
---------------------------------------
Bradley had nearly fallen asleep with your warm body draped over his and his soft cock still buried inside you. And then your phone alarm went off, and you were instantly scrambling to find your jeans amongst the pile of clothing on the floor.
"Shit," you muttered, glancing at him as you silenced your phone and checked the time. "I need to finish writing and submit my piece."
Bradley nodded and rolled onto his side and reached for a tissue to take care of the used condom. The last thing he wanted to do was go home now, but you had work to do, and he needed to be on base in the morning. He stood as you scooped his jersey up off the floor, but instead of handing it to him, you slipped it on. It fit you like a cute, little dress.
"My article is almost done," you murmured, retrieving your bag from near the door where he had set it down earlier. He smiled as you stepped around all the other packs of condoms. "I just need to add in my stats and proofread everything."
"Okay," he whispered, unwilling to break the spell that he felt like he was under when he was in your presence. "I can head out." He started to reach for his undershirt and boxer briefs, figuring you could just keep his jersey if you wanted to wear it.
But Bradley found himself wanting to ask if he could see you again. You saved his phone number this time, and while you were going up to Los Angeles for game three, he was hoping you'd be back in San Diego again. He was almost pissed now that the Padres were up two games to none in the World Series, because the more games that these two teams played, the longer you'd be in California. And LA was a hell of a lot closer to San Diego than New York City was.
As he held his clothes in his hand, you bit your lip and looked at him while your computer booted up. "You can stay. If you want?"
He froze, trying to process what you meant. "Stay?"
"Yeah," you whispered, taking him by the hand. "While I write."
He instantly dropped everything back to the floor as you pulled him to the desk chair. He sat down and then you sat on his naked thigh, entering your impressively long password and pulling up your mostly completed article. You flipped through your notebook to your stats sheet, and Bradley let his hand come to rest on your leg.
"You wanna help me?" you asked, typing away. "Tell me when Soto was on third."
Bradley skimmed the sheet and found the information. "Bottom of the sixth inning. Right before Grisham hit a double." He leaned in and kissed your neck as you murmured thanks.
"And when did Hill replace Darvish?"
Bradley read your sloppy notes and smiled. "Halfway through the seventh inning."
"Perfect," you whispered, and Bradley held you quietly as you scrolled to the top of your article and read it out loud. Your voice was captivating, and you somehow made the game he had seen in person even more interesting. He chuckled at the part where you mentioned how the Angels' coach had tripped coming out of the bullpen, and you smiled at him over your shoulder before you finished reading.
"Damn, Ace," he muttered as you saved it one last time and logged in to submit the article. "That was brilliant." Bradley was getting hard again. Some sort of combination of what you said and how you said it turned him on.
You closed your computer and laughed softly, nudging his erection with your knee as you turned in his arms. You glanced down at his cock, standing at attention for you, and Bradley could feel himself blushing. "Oh," you gasped, running your fingernails along his length as you grinned. "Eager again."
Bradley groaned and let his head tip back as you kissed his neck. "I think I'm always going to be eager for you. Talking about sports and wearing my Padres jersey are certainly helping."
Your laughter was his undoing as your lips met his warm cheek, and then Bradley watched your face as your pussy cradled his cock so that he was gently throbbing against your clit. "How many more condoms do we have?" you asked, fingers in his chest hair.
"Nineteen," he replied, voice deep and raspy with need.
"I'll be right back," you promised, kissing his lips before you stood and grabbed the unused condom from the bed. His jersey was open, offering him a peek here and there of your tits and belly as you moved. Then you were rolling this condom into place and straddling his hips on the chair.
Bradley pulled the jersey open wider so he could watch you sink around his cock. You felt like perfection, and the way your body looked as you took him was making him dizzy.
"You know," you sighed as he bottomed out inside you, "if the Angels start a different pitcher for game three, it could really throw off the Padres plans."
"Yeah?" he asked, stroking the soft skin of your waist as you rolled your hips. "Tell me more."
"Mmm, well, they've been following the same plan the whole season, right?" you asked, your lips grazing his as you spoke.
"Yeah, they have," Bradley agreed, already ridiculously close as you fed him this brand of dirty talk.
"I think they should try something new and start Hermans instead," you whined, kissing him hard as you rode him.
"Are you trying to turn me on right now, Ace?"
"Yeah," you gasped as you fucked him harder. "Is it working?"
"You know it is, Baby," he groaned, grinding his hips up to meet yours. "Fuck, you already know how to make me wild."
Then you were gasping out pitching stats, your voice breaking as you rode him so well. Bradley was barely keeping it together, and then your fingers were in his hair, tugging at the roots. He knew what to do now; he licked his fingers and brought them to your tight clit, and your eyes went wide.
"Yes!" you gasped, seemingly surprised that he had you cumming almost instantly. And the sight of your tits bouncing in his face was the last thing he saw before he sucked on your nipples and came hard.
His face was buried in the crook of your neck as his breathing evened out. He was trying to focus on your words, because they sounded very important. "If the Padres sweep the Angels, then I won't be back in San Diego. But if they go to a game six scenario, maybe we can see each other again?"
Yes, your words were very, very important. He wanted you to come back to San Diego, but he was determined to see you even if you didn't. "I could come up to LA. Get a ticket for game three. If you want."
You pulled away from him, and then Bradley was looking up into your surprised eyes. "Yeah?" you asked softly.
"Sure, Ace," he mumbled, running his knuckles along the soft valley between your breasts. "I'd love to. But it's up to you."
Your voice was soft. "Okay."
Then Bradley kissed your lips and said what was on his mind. "We should keep doing this. Me and you. Until the World Series ends. Until you have to leave California."
He could feel your pussy squeeze his soft cock as you started kissing him and running your fingers through his hair. And a few minutes later, he had you in your hotel room bed, snuggling up with your back pressed to the front of his body as you both fell asleep.
--------------------------
Bradley is out there dropping a cool grand just to try to verify if that was actually a one night stand or not. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32
PART 3
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Can I request a poly Piarles x reader where there relationship was secret but they get exposed by the paparazzi?
A/N: Rat bastards
Giggling you let Pierre pull you between him and Charles. It was a romantic getaway to Madeira. The boys wanted to go somewhere private and where no one would think to find them there.
"Hmm I'm thinking nude beach." Charles slaps the back of Pierre's head but smirks at the idea. "Pear don't be dirty." You smile lacing your fingers with Charles hand, pulling his arm over your shoulder. Unable to help yourself you kiss the rings. "Stop teasing." Charles whispers kissing you deeply.
"Hey, save some for me." Pierre whines, pulling away from Charles you kiss Pierre. The three of you pull away as you all giggle and walk around the town.
It was unknown to you three, but someone had tipped the paparazzi off to your location. You didn't try to hide your relationship, but you let the rumor mill turn. Except they caught the 3 of you trading kisses in the town square.
Waking the next morning to a phone vibrating loudly on the nightstand. "Shut it up." Charles groans, rolling over into Pierre's chest falling back asleep. Grabbing your phone, you get shocked awake by all the new articles and screenshots that have been sent to you.
"OH GOD!" Both boys sit up fast, looking around the room thinking someone, or something was in here. "What? What's wrong?" Pierre looks around, seeing your horror look he snatches the phone. "Jesus, Charles. They know." Charles takes the phone and stares at it, squinting.
"I'm going to sleep." Tossing the phone Charles drags you down, nuzzling into your neck. "They know." Charles grunts, blowing out hot air. "So, what, they know we're together and fucking? I love you two. Big deal. Can we please sleep now?" Pierre smirks watching Charles puff out his cheeks, back to sleep.
"Well, if the prince of F1 isn't worried, we shouldn't be either." Pierre tugs you two close, none of you leaving the room the entire day.
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could you do a drabble on bratty sub!jonathan crane? literally on my knees begging you to!!
ALL YOURS ───
jonathan crane ✧
ೃ⁀➷ “…I wanted it to leave a mark: that’s how I knew I loved you. Because I wanted to be burned, stamped…” — ’Marathon’, Louise Glück.
pairing. sub!jonathan crane x reader
summary. jonathan’s been a brat all night. looks like you’ve got some taming to do…
warnings. swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, sextoys/use of dildo (m), oral sex (m), edgeplay, blindfold kink, brat-taming, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
word count. 3.3k
a/n. anon this idea is genius i love it!!! also this was js supposed to be a blurb & now it’s got 3.3k words😭i apologize LMAO
Entering your shared condo, you pushed Jonathan down to his knees, smack-dab on the wood in the middle of your living room. “What the fuck was that?” you questioned, yanking him by his silk tie to look up at you.
“What was what?” he retorted, pretending to be clueless despite the impish grin that snuck its way onto his plush lips.
You slapped him, lacy black gloves scratching at his thin skin. “I’ve had enough of your bratty fucking behaviour tonight.”
“Then do something about it,” he challenged, piercing his baby blues into you through batted, thick lashes.
“Oh,” you hummed, roughly undoing the silk tie from his neck, tugging his thin glasses off and wrapping the fabric around his eyeline, “I have every intention of doing so.”
Just an hour ago, you and Jonathan had been attending a GothamU charity gala. It was a nice night— save for the fact he spent all of it pushing your buttons, speaking over you, and brushing off your existence to the guests there. “My date?” he’d purr to them, “she’s just my teaching assistant.”
You’d send him your tell-tale warning glares, and he’d stare blankly back at you, respond in his pettiest tone, and continue reducing you to his measly teaching assistant — which, publicly, was who you were to him, but behind closed doors, it was him, pleading on his knees to touch you, to at least catch a whiff of your addicting scent. The man would probably thank-you if you stepped on him and you adored every bit of it.
He was acting out. Some sort of naughty pseudo-revenge on you, making you seem so much smaller than everyone else; making people think he was the big bad wolf and you were his little lamb.
Boy, would they be utterly fucking wrong.
You pulled Jonathan up by the lapel, then shirked numerous clothing articles from his three-piece suit, leaving him in his dress pants. You did the same — not that he could tell — peeling off your lacy gala gloves and throwing them onto your wood credenza, sliding your panties off and decorating your couch with them carelessly. When your hands brushed past the fabric of his crotch, you heard his breath hitch, unable to tell what you were going to do to him with the makeshift blindfold on.
Honestly, with the attitude he had that night? You intended to torture him ‘till there were heavy tears streaming down his face, the only words on his tongue being ones begging for release.
You sunk to your knees, unzipping his thin pants and licking a stripe up his cock — still within his boxers, of course. You heard Jonathan choke, and, looking up at him, you could see him clench his jaw, lips bitten, hands trembling.
But, y’know, the torture bit and all that. So you pressed your wet mouth to his clothed cock, hot tongue dragging across his length; everywhere he needed it most, but with him still shuddering pitifully beneath his boxers. The contact felt good, fuck, your tongue always made him feel good, but he needed more.
You heard Jonathan moan; a whiny, drawn out barely-intelligible plea, because your mouth had soaked the fabric, making it stick to his needy cock. “Fuck, please,” he pleaded, hands fumbling around your shoulders before finding the crown of your head. You wrapped your mouth along his clothed erection, humming in delight at his begging, until: “just fucking suck me off already, please.”
Your mouth stopped their ministrations at once, and all that was left was your hot breath on his twitching dick. “Come again?” you drawled, affronted beyond belief at his audacity.
Jonathan didn’t respond; he knew he’d taken it too far. You got back up, and squeezed his face with your hand. “I didn’t think so,” you growled at him. “Speak like that again and so help me god, I will fuck you ‘till you’re so dumb you’ll be thrown into Arkham.”
He whimpered at the threat — how humiliating it would be to be trapped in the place he was chief of — while squirming under your touch; but you still felt his hard-on roar to life even needier than before, aching near your inner thigh.
“Fuckin’ brat,” you whispered, thumb brushing over his pink bottom lip. His mouth opened immediately, and your finger dipped onto his tongue, trailing deeper until he gagged.
You grinned at his appearance: long gone was the respectable, genius Dr. Crane- now, he was a flushed mess, lips parted as he panted hot, needy breaths, spit leaking down his chin onto his bare chest. Fuck, did he ever look good so undone for you.
Even his tie had slipped slightly off his eyes, and you could see him blink blearily, sweet lashes kissing his high cheekbones and leaving small, teary drops. You tugged the fabric back in place, then dipped your hand into his wet boxers, gripping his thick length tightly and pulling out.
“Why should I make you feel good? Why waste my effort, when you’ll just forget everything, like the stupid little whore you are, huh?”
He keened, holding back his hips from bucking into your hand. “I’m sorry,” he panted raggedly, disrespectful demeanor slipping away in favor of being your little pet, “I’m sorry for tonight—“
“It’s too late to say sorry.” you scolded darkly, other hand coming up to his hair to tug it back and reveal his sensitive adam’s apple. You licked at the spot, then traveled your tongue to just under his jaw, suckling at his pulse.
You drew out a pathetic squeak from him at the action, and you chuckled against his warm skin. “I’ll be good for you,” he promised quickly, “I - I’ll be good for the rest of my life. So… so please,”
“‘Please’ what?”
“Please use me,” he replied shamefully, tone warbling halfway at the vulgarity of the request.
You smirked, then began slowly pumping his long length. Your hand was so tight against him it was like a suction, and he let out several choked moans at the slow friction. Your other hand left his hair, making his head fall limply on his chest, and you fondled his balls, teasing him at first with mere grazes of your fingertips on the flesh, before squeezing them roughly.
“You gonna come?” you asked in a hum when his knees started buckling. “You gonna come just like that, just with my hand?”
“Yes, m’gonna come - gonna come,” he groaned, bucking quickly into your hand as you stroked him faster.
“So pathetic,” you sneered suddenly, dropping his needy cock and watching it bounce on his thigh before springing up against his abdomen again, “didn’t ask for permission. Looks like you’re forgetting your fucking manners.”
At your harsh words and denial of release, Jonathan’s bottom lip trembled, small sniffling sounds coming from him, and you rolled your eyes— the needy bastard was fucking crying.
“M’sorry,” he cried out weakly, “‘m’sorry… just felt so good…”
You watched his tears drip from under the tie down his neck, his shoulders shaking, and you sighed, sinking down to your knees. He was crying, because he fucking knew what it did to you; that his helpless whines made all the right pulses pang in both your chest and your core; that you would give in.
So, you took him in your mouth, hand stroking the bottom of his shaft while your tongue teased and touched the rest; sticky mouth wrapped moistly around him. Unbeknownst to Jonathan, however, is that while you adored his cries, the desire to have him begging was stronger. Thus, your tongue was barely doing anything, just tentatively licking him, too short for him to lose himself, too fast for him not to get overstimulated.
You felt him try to thrust into your mouth, but your free hand gripped his bare thigh tightly. “Don’t move a muscle,” you grunted, and continued by angrily smacking the back of his thigh with your open palm.
Jonathan whimpered helplessly, planting himself firmly in place. With that, you’d set the stage: you left his cock for a moment, quickly sauntering to your bedroom, and pulling something out from a velvet drawstring pouch you kept in your nightstand…
You heard Jonathan cry out for you, devastated like he thought you were gonna leave him teased and needy like this all night — which, you couldn’t blame him, because you had done that before — but no, you weren’t, because you wanted to ruin Jonathan tonight; put him back in his place; remind him who exactly fucking owns him.
When you returned to the living room, he was still standing in the exact same place, but his hands were gripping his thighs with deadly strength, more lustful tears streaming down his face.
“So obedient for me,” you murmured in amusement, getting back on your knees and slipping his weeping cock into your mouth. He gasped, pathetic delight filling his groans at your reappearance as you suckled softly on him.
Jonathan was halfway through a “thank you” before you brought your thick dildo to the seam of his ass. The sudden touch made him flinch, hips bucking up and shoving his cock harshly into your throat.
You choked momentarily, and he panicked: “Oh god, m’sorry, m’so sorry,” he sobbed, mind going fuzzy and blank with your skillful tongue pleasuring him, the tip of your dildo teasing his back entrance.
You laughed around his length, not saying anything and merely sucking him off faster, now pressing the wet dildo tip into his puckered hole. The thought of it entering him made your cunt pulse — you’d turned it on back in the bedroom, intent on getting it wet with your spit so you didn’t torture Jonathan too much, but instead couldn’t resist filling yourself. You’d bounced on the fat thing for a few moments, till it was completely soaked in your wetness, your back arching, cunt itching for release.
Jonathan cried out from the sharp stretch in his hole, and you soothed him with a low hush, slowing your onslaught of pleasure on his cock so he could breathe. Once you heard a strained moan leave his lips, one that was much more desperate, much more raspy, you continued in sucking him off, wedging the rest of the dildo’s length into his tight hole.
“If you come before I let you,” you warned when you felt Jonathan’s thighs clench, his breath catching in his throat and his moans going pitchy, “I won’t fuck you for a month.”
“A month?!” Jonathan questioned with a yelp, which dissolved into a moan when his hole clenched around the dildo’s silicone. “Fuck, hnngh, please, I can’t -- I needa come, but… a month?”
“A month. So be a good little whore, and don’t let go ‘till I tell you to.”
Jonathan whined, but his signs of release faded away, and you rubbed his hip approvingly. You pulled away for a final time, and dragged him by the arm to your couch.
He almost tripped, legs trembling at the pleasure the dildo was sending up his body as it filled him, and it got worse from there: you slipped off his blindfold, and pushed him to sit on the cushy furniture. The dildo pushed that much deeper into his hole, brushing against his prostate and making him choke, before you climbed onto his lap and lined up his leaking head to your entrance.
Jonathan couldn’t help the amalgamation of an overstimulated cry and loud moan that tore out of him: how could he, with the dildo’s fat cockhead flush against his prostate, your plush folds teasing his thoroughly-edged cock, and the withstanding rule not to come.
You gazed softly into his watery blue eyes, which were red-rimmed and lined with pitiful tears. They were silently begging you to let him release, every fiber of his being wanting nothing more but to feel that familiar current run through him at last.
His cheeks were flushed pink, lips bitten between the teeth; expression utterly wrecked, utterly desperate, utterly yours. He knew, just as well as you did, how much he fucking belonged to you: he would let you put a goddamn leash and collar around his neck if you just asked.
Then, you pushed yourself up by the knees and hovered over his cock. You watched his face the whole time you sank down: his face screwed together when his tip peeked into your hole, his eyes rolled to the back of his skull when your took him halfway, his mouth opened and his spit-slicked tongue hung out of it when you bottomed out.
“You’re so - tight,” he observed gingerly with a whimper. His gaze was glassy, heated mewls leaving his lips; the only thing on Jonathan’s mind was pleasure, every coherent or intelligent thought leaving him in favor of the primal need to orgasm.
You bit down your moan, your hands resting on both of Jonathan’s bare shoulders, kneading them softly. “Tight for you, baby. All tight for your good fucking cock.” you cursed huskily, and you felt Jonathan’s cock swell at your praise.
His hands snaked up to your waist, hesitantly holding you, but when you didn’t protest nor scold him and instead lifted yourself up again to bounce down on his erect cock, Jonathan touched you feverishly, like he would never get enough of your skin on his.
“Can - can I…” Jonathan started quietly, getting cut off by his own effeminate whine when you grinded down on him. “Can I -- ah -- touch your tits? Please?”
You smiled, finally content with his politeness (as well as the sweet sounds of his moans), “Go ahead, baby. Play with m’fucking tits.”
Jonathan smiled too, but it was so fucking happy he looked pathetic, eyes dilated like a kid on christmas just because you conceded one of his requests. His hands pulled your dress off your head, and you shuddered in the cold - as well as how easy it was for your legs to widen with the fabric gone, your body splitting on instinct to greedily pull in more of his length.
He then groped your perky chest, tweaking your nipples every so often, practically salivating over the fat flesh of your breasts. He was so encapsulated with touching every inch of you that constant groans were leaving your mouth, sliding his cock in and out of your leaking hole faster.
“So soft,” he groaned, amazement dripping off his every word. “Feels s’good, so sweet.”
“Yeah,” you panted, rolling your hips into his own and making his back arch, “you love m’tits so much, huh?”
“Love you,” he whimpered, obviously too fucked out to comprehend the connotations of his words, but you couldn’t resist pressing an adoring kiss to his lips anyways.
Then you could clearly feel the pleasure in your insides building now, like rope twisting around your lower body, especially with the way Jonathan’s curved cock deliciously rubbed the entrance of your cervix with each bob.
Then, you pried one of Jonathan’s needy hands away from your tender breasts, making him whine momentarily before he saw where you were leading his long fingers: right to your puffy clit.
“Touch me, my sweet pet, and I’ll make you come.” You promised, pressing him roughly against you.
Jonathan nodded eagerly, and his skillful fingers began artfully playing with your clit, pinching the flesh lightly and furiously rubbing your wetness over the button. Your sounds of pleasure were affecting him, too: you felt his cock throb when his fingers touched you just right and made a breathless mewl leave you. You pressed your forehead against Jonathan’s own, reveling in how focused he was on making you feel good, and you let go.
Your orgasm flowed over you, making your body twitch and jerk into Jonathan’s relentless touch, the pleasure taking you over completely and making you scream his name. “Oh, fuck, Jon, so good, good boy, you’re my good fucking boy…”
“M’all yours,” he agreed, obviously getting extremely close to the edge as your throbbing cunt clenched around his length. “Yours.”
You breathed haggardly as your high slipped away, your eyes blinking slowly and watching Jonathan helplessly try to get himself off without overstimulating and upsetting you. He wasn’t made to take control, you knew that, and his clueless, pitfiful attempts to do so while still trying to keep your favor made you frown, and slide up off him.
“Lay face down, knees tucked in, baby,” you grunted through a wince, his too-thick cockhead reminding you of the stinging stretch that had long faded away and been replaced with pleasure.
Jonathan didn’t waste a second obeying your commands, his weeping cock resting on his inner thigh. Your fingers brushed past the base of the dildo still within him, its long length disappearing into his puffy, bloated hole, making him buck forward on his knees.
“Can you come on this fake cock, pet? You’re a good little slut, aren’t you?” Your said from above him, hand splaying on his left ass cheek and slightly tugging at the flesh to see how full he really was. Spoiler alert: you couldn’t take that whole length in your cunt, much less your tight ass.
“I’ll come if you tell me to,” Jonathan mewled back, wriggling his ass flirtatiously beneath your hands in some desperate attempt to get you to fuck him and make him release at last.
You got down on your knees, eyeline direct to his hole, and you snickered mockingly at his eagerness. After pressing a harsh bite on his ass and branding him as yours, you began to fuck him with the fake cock, thrusting it’s length in and out of his ever-tightening asshole and spitting on it to moisten his walls.
Jonatgan let out several quavering moans, feeling every inch of the dildo within him because of the position, and he drooled a handful of spit onto the couch at the pure pleasure being inflicted on him. It was slightly embarrassing to come because of this silicone object rather than your soaking wet cunt, but as you pounded the dildo into his hole and made it roughly kiss his prostate, Jonathan decided he didn’t care.
“Come for me,” you demanded gruffly, plowing the dildo in and out of Jonathan’s aching ass, “come undone, baby, all for me.”
At your words, Jonathan -- having been thoroughly tamed at this point -- came, spurting his rich seed onto the couch and his chest, a few drops making their way to his face. He felt you continue to press the length of the dildo in his hole as he rode out his high, and it made for the sickest, bordering-on-painful stimulation.
It still felt heavenly, though: being allowed to come was the highest privilege for him, because it meant you thought he was worthy. Also, because it satisfied the aching monster within him, the one that wanted so desperately to be roughly fucked and toyed with.
At last, you slid the dildo out of his hole, admiring how stretched out and wide it made him, before getting up from your place on the floor and sliding onto the couch. You helped Jonathan sit upright and lay his back on the cushy object, your warm hand clasping his cheek gently.
“All obedient for me now, are you?” you whispered lowly, tickling the bottom of his chin to meet your gaze.
Jonathan licked his plump lips, “You own me… mistress.” The title sounded right at home on his lips— on both your lips, and you smirked.
“I like the sound of that,” you purred, a renewed vigor entering your body. Your arms clasped around Jonathan’s bicep, and you pulled him forward while laying down, making him press his tired weight on top of you. “M’gonna use you however I fuckin’ want,” you said in his flushed ear, before lifting your legs up to wrap around your waist.
His eyes widened, “What are you—“
“Shh,” you cut him off softly, hand coming down to squeeze one of his balls tightly, “just listen to Mistress. This night’s far from over, pet.”
Jonathan groaned, eyes squeezIng shut and feeling his cock spring up once more. Fuck, he thought, and damn this horny cock of his; damn your insatiable appetite; damn how fucking good it felt to be yours.
All yours.
#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy#burnyouwithacigarettelighter#cillian murphy smut#jonathan crane#jonathan crane x reader#jonathan crane smut#sub!jonathan crane#sub!jonathan crane x reader
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Of parsnips and parsnip soup
So the question of parsnips, and particularly parsnip soup, came up secondary to this quote from an interview with Terry Pratchett. (Thanks to @captainfantasticalright for the transcription.)
Terry: “You can usually bet, and I’m sure Neil Gaiman would say the same thing, that, uh, if I go into a bookstore to do a signing and someone presents me with three books, the chances are that one of them is going to be a very battered copy of Good Omens; and it will smell as if it’s been dropped in parsnip soup or something in and it’s gone fluffy and crinkly around the edges and they’ll admit that it’s the fourth copy they’ve bought”.
And when @petermorwood saw this, he immediately reblogged it and added four recipes for parsnip soup.
These kind of surprised some folks, as not everybody knew that parsnips were an actual thing: or if they were, what they looked like or were useful for.
The vegetable may well be better known on this side of the Atlantic. (And I have to confess that as a New Yorker and Manhattanite, with access to both great outdoor food markets and some of the best grocery stores in the world, I don't think that parsnips ever came up on my personal radar while I was living there.) So I thought I'd take a moment to lay out some basics for those who'd like to get to know the vegetable better.
The parsnip's Linnaean/botanical name is Pastinaca sativa, and in the culinary mode it's been around for a long time. It's native to Eurasia, and is a relative to parsley and carrots (with which it's frequently paired in the UK and Ireland). The Romans cultivated it, and it spread all over the place from there. Travelers who passed through our own neck of the woods before the introduction of the potato noted that "the Irish do feed much upon parsnips", and in the local diet it filled a lot of the niches that the potato now occupies.
You can do all kinds of things with parsnips. The Wikipedia article says, correctly, that they can be "baked, boiled, pureed, roasted, fried, grilled, or steamed". But probably the commonest food form in which parsnips turn up around here is steamed or simmered with carrots and then mashed with them: so that you can buy carrot-and-parsnip mash, ready-made, in most of our local grocery chains.
It also has to be mentioned that most Irish kids have had this stuff foisted on them at one point or another, and a lot of them hate it. (@petermorwood would be one.) I find it hard to blame anybody for this opinion, as one of the parsnip's great selling points—its spicy, almost peppery quality—gets almost completely wiped out by the carrot's more dominant flavor and sweetness.
Roasting parsnips, though, is another matter entirely. They roast really well. And parsnip soups are another story entirely, as it's possible to build a soup that will emphasize the parsnip's virtues.
So, to add to Peter's collection, here's one I made earlier—like yesterday afternoon, stopping the cooking sort of halfway and finishing it up today.
I was thinking in a vague medioregnic-food way about a soup with roasted bacon in it, but not with potatoes (as those have been disallowed from the Middle Kingdoms for reasons discussed elsewhere. Tl;dr: it's Sean Astin's fault). And finally I thought, "Okay, if we're going to roast some pork belly or back bacon, then why not save some energy and roast some parsnips too? The browned skins'll help keep them from going to mush in the soup."
So: first find your parsnips. I used four of them. You peel them with a potato peeler...
...sort of roughly quarter them, the long way...
...then chop them in half the short way, toss them in a bowl with some oil—olive oil, in this case—spread them on a baking sheet, and season them with pepper, coarse salt, and some chile flakes. (I used ancho and bird's-eye chile flakes here.)
These then went into the oven for about half an hour, and came out like this.
While that was going on, I got a block of ready-cooked Polish snack bacon out of the freezer.
On its home turf, this is the kind of thing that turns up (among other ways) sliced very thin on afternoon-snack plates, with cheeses and breads. But we like to score it and roast it to sweat some of the fat out, and then use it in soups and stews and so forth.
So I scored this chunk on most of its sides, browned it in a skillet, then shoved the skillet into the oven for twenty minutes or so. Here's the bacon after it was done.
While it was cooking, I made about a liter of soup stock from a couple of stock cubes. If you can get pork stock cubes, they'd be best for this, but beef works fine.
This then went into the pot and was brought up to just-boiling while the bacon and the parsnips were chopped into more or less bite-sized chunks. After that, the meat and veg were added to the pot and the whole business was left to simmer for a couple of hours while I went off to do some line editing.
Finally I turned it off and left it on the stove overnight (our kitchen is quite cool, it was in no bacteriological danger from being left out this way) and then finished its simmering time around lunchtime today.
And here it is. (...Or was. It was very nice.)
...Anyway, this is only one of potentially thousands of takes on parsnip soup. Recipes for more robust versions—based on mashed parsnips and more vegetables, or different meats—are all over the place.
Meanwhile, as regards how much damage this soup could do to your copy of Good Omens if you dropped yours in it, I'd rate this at about 5 damage points out of 10. ...Call it 5.5 if you factor in the chiles. Soups along the boiled-and-mashed-parsnip spectrum would probably inflict damage more in the 7.50-8.0 range. But your results may vary: so I'll leave you all to your own experimentation.
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Body Worship - Seo Changbin
Masterlist
Pairing: Changbin x reader (afab)
wc: ~2.7k
Type: Angst, smut, established relationship
Warnings: Insecurities (body image issues), cursing, mention of online bullying & death threats, crying, tons of kissing, love bites/ marking, sensory play (reader is blindfolded), unprotected piv, use of sex toys, prone bone, aftercare. Let me know if I missed any!
a/n: I don’t care who you are, but every single one of you is beautiful! You better believe it or I’ll send Changbin after you, myself! 😤
Enjoy lovelies!
It had been weeks since you showed your face to the public or been out of the house for that matter. All you wanted to do was stay home in your cozy bed and sleep. To say you were insecure was an understatement. Your boyfriend, Changbin, hadn’t really minded your increasing tendencies to stay in bed. He figured you were just catching up on some much needed rest. However, when it was creeping up on the third week of you turning down his date ideas he started to get worried.
“Bunny, you doing okay today?”
“I’m fine, Binnie.” You sighed from underneath the pile of blankets.
Changbin let out a frustrated groan. He knew you weren’t fine, but he couldn’t figure out why. He finally had vacation time and all he wanted to do was spend it with you. Take you out to all your favorite places and maybe make some new adventures.
You, on the other hand, despised the thought of it. Not because you didn’t want to spend quality time with your beloved boyfriend, but because of what his fans and media might think. You and Changbin had started dating a little over two years ago. At first the relationship was kept a secret with only his group members, close friends, and family knowing of your status. But once you both had felt comfortable you guys decided to make your relationship public. For the most part, it went over well with Stays accepting your presence and news outlets making headlines about you dating the K-pop idol.
Even though the majority of fans and media welcomed you, there were still toxic fans and tabloids that tried to tear you down. Normally, you wouldn’t let the hate get to you, but some of the things you read in news articles or comments fans made chipped away at your confidence bit by bit. It started off with an unflattering photo caught by paparazzi when you and Changbin were headed to the airport, then the comments began rolling in.
‘Her face looks so uneven’
‘She dresses like a toddler’
‘Changbin could do so much better’
You wanted to ignore it all. Push all the hate aside and continue with the happiness you found in Changbin. But just when you were getting used to the mild negativity, the death threats came. Some crazy fans had found your personal accounts, threatening you to stay away from their Changbin. There had even been a trending tag on Twitter reading ‘Save Binnie from his scrooge girlfriend.’
That was your final straw, the final push that had sent you into recluse mode almost three weeks ago. You started nitpicking your looks and facial features. You became hyper aware of every scar and stretch mark on your body. You would stand in the mirror pinching the chub of your stomach or thighs. Everything made you feel disgusted with yourself and the only way to feel any kind of comfort was to hide away.
“Come on, you have to talk to me eventually.” Changbin wouldn’t leave you alone.
“Talk about what? There’s nothing wrong…” you lied through your teeth.
Changbin pulled the duvet from your curled form. You whined trying to grab it back from him.
“Binnieeee, please just leave me be right now.”
“Not until you’re honest with me,” he retorted.
You simply laid there feeling defeated, covering your face with your hands as tears welled at your lash line. He could hear the faint sniffles you were trying to keep quiet. Changbin became increasingly concerned and grabbed your wrists to move them away from your face.
“Hey, hey baby, why are you crying? Please talk to me. I am begging you.” He was pleading with you.
“Why are you still with me…?” You averted your eyes, not able to look your boyfriend in the face.
“What are you talking about? I’m with you because I love you and you make me the happiest man on earth.”
“But I’m nothing more than an ugly fucking scrooge!” You had snapped, tears full on running down your cheeks as you completely turned your face away.
Bin placed his hands on either side of your cheeks making you look at him.
“Why are you saying this? Please don’t talk down about yourself, it breaks my heart to see you hurting.”
“Social media and some of your fans have been saying rude things. But now I see that it’s all true.” You mumbled, halfway hoping he wouldn’t hear you, but he did.
“None of it is true. You have to stop paying attention to those haters.” He said softly as he rubbed your cheeks with the pad of his thumbs.
“You’re only saying that..” you tried to pull out of his hold but he kept you close.
“Baby, you are the most gorgeous thing to have ever walked this universe. People are always graced by your beauty when you walk into a room. I am beyond lucky to call you mine and I’ll personally fight anyone who thinks otherwise.” He declared to you.
“So you don’t think I look like the scrooge?” You sniffled.
He chuckled while shaking his head, “course not. You are my beautiful babes.”
“I- I don’t believe it. I’m sorry.. I just feel so ugly and unworthy of you.” You sobbed again.
Changbin pulled you in close placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before getting off the bed. “Guess I’ll just have to prove it to you. Make you believe it.” He simply stated while walking around the shared bedroom gathering a few items and even lighting a couple of candles.
For a minute you were confused. How was he going to achieve a seemingly impossible task? You had your mind made up and there was no changing it. Your insecurities were set in stone.
After Bin had gathered what he was looking for he kneeled on the bed in front of where you were now sat up.
“Close your eyes f’ me.” He said calmly.
“Bin, I don’t think-“ you tried to resist.
“That wasn’t a request, bunny.”
You shut your mouth and followed his command, closing your eyes. You could feel some kind of thick silk being wrapped around your head, making sure you couldn’t see anything.
“What are you doing?” You inquired.
“Shhh, I’m going to be the one asking questions. Understand?”
“…yes,” you whispered.
“That’s my girl,” he praised. Changbin ran his fingers through your hair, landing his palm on the crown of your head massaging just the way you liked it. You began to relax, your previous sobbing and sniffles coming to a stop. He then gripped onto the roots of your hair and maneuvered your head to the side so he had easy access to your neck.
“Can’t believe you’d talk about yourself - my girl - in such a way. You have a wonderful mind and a beautiful body and I intend to worship all of it. Show you exactly what I see.” He placed a kiss on your neck, sucking and biting the flesh which will surely leave a mark.
“You’re so pretty, so damn pretty.” He murmured with his lips still pressed under your jaw, moving to another spot to mark. Your breath hitched when you felt his tongue lick up the column of your neck.
Needless to say, you and Bin hadn’t been the most intimate the last few weeks. So every kiss and every touch he gave you made you feel more sensitive. The way his hands caressed down your waist until he reached the hem of your shirt set your skin on fire. He pulled the clothing over your head and tossed it on the floor. You covered your chest with your arms out of reflex, but he stopped you.
“Don’t hide this gorgeous body from me, sweetheart. I need to see you. I crave you.” He said in an almost animalistic tone. It sent shivers down your spine. Bin placed his hand between your breasts and lightly pushed you down to lay flat on your back. He then slid his hand to the side to cup and squeeze your right breast. “Such beautiful tits you have,” he leaned down to suck on the left. “So squishy and perfect,” he’d say between sucks and licks to your nipples.
You started letting out airy moans at his ministrations on your chest. Changbin came up to place another kiss on your lips before kissing down your sternum and down your stomach. The motions made you tense as you especially hated your abdomen. He sensed the change in your body language and rubbed your sides spending extra time there. His fingertips hooking into the hem of your sweatpants, pulling them down along with your panties.
“Binnie.. don’t look please.” You started shaking from anxiety.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s just me. Binnie’s got you, bunny.” He reassured you as he continued his kissing assault on your middle.
“I especially love your soft tummy. One of my favorite parts of you and the best place to lay my head when we cuddle.” Changbin affirmed. You whined at his declaration, then you felt him go even lower, spreading your legs apart. You wanted to close them so badly but you know he’d just pull them open again. You couldn’t deny that you were dripping with arousal at this point. He landed a kiss on your wet core making you shudder. Then you heard him shuffling for something next to you. You kind of hated not being able to see anything but in a way it made you calmer.
A few more seconds passed before you felt your boyfriend shift and a cold object was placed directly in your clit. Changbin clicked the device making it come to life. It was your vibrator. The sudden feeling making your body jolt and a whimper escape your lips. You couldn’t see it, but you could practically feel the smirk Bin would most certainly be sporting right now.
“Now, you don’t get to cum until you admit how beautiful you are. Got it?” He established a rule that he wanted to make sure you understood.
“Nng I- I can’t!” The vibrations were already drawing you close.
“Oh you will, bunny.” He said matter of factly.
Changbin kept the little toy in place on your clit as his other hand along with his lips explored every other inch of your body. He chanted how beautiful, gorgeous, and stunning you were like a mantra. You tried to hold your orgasm back as long as you could but he knew you were on the edge by the way your hips bucked.
“C’mon, say it. Lemme hear ya, honey.”
Your brain went fuzzy and you just wanted to cum so bad. “M’ pretty! Fuck, s’ pretty!” You called out.
“Good girl, that’s right baby. Good job,” he praised.
You were panting, trying to catch your breath as he let you calm down from your high. Changbin removed the vibrator from your soaked pussy, tossing it aside.
Once your boyfriend felt you were ready he maneuvered you so you were laying on your front, facing your body to the foot end of the bed. He then placed a pillow under your lower tummy to make sure you were comfortable. You could feel him situate himself between your legs behind you, his weight slowly pressing onto your back. You felt a light tug to the silk ribbon he had tied around your eyes some time ago. It fell away, allowing you to see again. You blinked a few times to adjust to the lighting. When your eyes focused you could see he had moved you so you could see yourself in the mirror that was placed at the opposite side of the room. You immediately hid your face in the mattress, not wanting to bear witness to the reflection in front of you.
“Don’t look away, bun. Wan’ you to see how absolutely ethereal you look when we fuck.” He nipped at your ear before reaching a hand around to the front of you to grab under your jaw and lift your head. In your haste to hideaway you hadn’t noticed that Changbin was naked on top of you. You wondered how you could feel his cock throbbing so clearly on your thigh.
“Don’t wanna look,” you whined while locking eyes with him through the mirror.
“But you just have to see what I see when you cum. You look so pretty when you cum, baby.” You knew there was no protesting, so you simply nodded.
Changbin lifted his hips slightly so he could line his cock up with your entrance that was currently clenching around nothing. He sank into you slowly, allowing you to adjust. Bin’s cock was thick and the stretch always burned deliciously when he first entered. You let out a breathy moan as he started to grind his hips into your core. The sound of skin smacking as he bounced off your ass.
He could see your eyes glaze over with lust as pleasure overtook you. You kept your gaze on the mirror as your boyfriend fucked into you mercilessly from behind. “Yeah, that’s it, babe. So fucking gorgeous, my girl- ah,” he landed a harsh slap to your rear making the skin ripple. You let out a squeak between the string of moans falling from your lips.
Binnie leaned down placing kisses on your back and shoulders, occasionally biting to leave his mark. He’d look up every few thrusts to make sure you were still watching yourself and at one point he saw the position of your eyes shift. You had siren eyes and your moans became more throaty, indicating to him that you were definitely into it. Into checking yourself out which is exactly what he wanted.
Suddenly, Changbin reached around to grip your neck and pull you up against his chest. Making you both kneel while his other arm wrapped across your waist. His cock reached deeper this way and hit that spot that drove you wild. The knot in your core threatened to snap with every harsh pump of his dick.
“M’ gonna cum! B-bin please!” You screamed while looking up at the ceiling, your vision becoming blurry.
Changbin redirected your gaze to the mirror again as he felt your body spasming from your release.
“Mm fuck look how gorgeous y’ look cummin’ on my cock like that,” he said between grunts as his own high washed over him. His seed spurting into you in waves.
“So.. gorgeous,” you repeated as your orgasm finished wracking your body. You couldn’t help but watch how your body glowed after your second release of the night. A thin sheen of sweat adorning your body, almost looking like you were sparkling. You looked positively hot, maybe you could see in yourself what your boyfriend saw.
You both stayed like that for a while, connected and calming down from the mind blowing sex. Changbin pulled out after a few more minutes then went to the bathroom to run a hot bath for the both of you. You laid on the bed feeling uncomfortably sticky from the sweat drying. Before you knew it your boyfriend had returned and picked you up bridal style in his strong arms and carried you to the bath. You giggled and kicked your feet at his display of strength.
“Binnie! I can walk by myself ya know?”
“I just fucked you senseless and you think you’d be able to walk straight?” He chuckled.
You huffed in response as he gently lowered you into the water. The warmth encapsulating your body. Changbin stepped in to sit behind you and pulled you back so you were laying on his broad chest. He kissed the side of your head and whispered sweet nothings in your ear while lightly tracing the love bites that were bruising on your skin.
Somehow the marks made you feel even more confident. They were symbols of your loving boyfriend and that in itself was beautiful to you.
Likes, comments, and reblogs are always very much appreciated!
Taglist: @doitforbangchan / @jehhskz
#stray kids#skz#mdni#skz imagines#stray kids fanfic#changbin#seo changbin#changbin smut#changbin x reader#changbin x you#18+ mdni#stray kids angst#stray kids smut#changbin angst#changbin fic
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When Finland’s Käärijä took the stage at this year’s Eurovision, a star was instantly, explosively born. With an outrageous energy, infectious presence and that oh-so-catchy hook, the Vantaa-based rapper may not have won the contest but he certainly snatched the hearts of those in his home country and beyond. We ask Käärijä the million dollar question: what next?
[full article under the cut]
Last May, a peculiar frenzy engulfed Finland. Virtually all green foods – cucumbers, especially – were sold out from stores. Buildings across the land were bathed in vivid green lights. Social media brimmed with green-themed parties, while data obtained by Swedish fintech company Klarna showed a 570 per cent increase in the online sales of neon green shirts.
This phenomenon was all thanks to Käärijä, the rapper who represented Finland in the 2023 Eurovision Song Contest. His now-infamous, blazing green puff sleeve bolero – dreamt up by Finnish broadcasting company Yle’s costume design team and which he dons when performing the smash hit track ‘Cha Cha Cha’ – had taken on a life of its own, the lush hue uniting the entire nation amid the competition. “It was incredible to see it happen and so cool being part of it,” Käärijä says. “It wasn’t planned at all – it was the people who created the commotion. I’ll definitely never forget it.”
When we speak over Zoom, Käärijä, whose real name is Jere Pöyhönen, is lounging in his minimal apartment in Vantaa, a city just outside Helsinki. He appears on my screen shirtless, a chunky gold chain dangling on his neck. On his head sits a pastel turquoise cap adorned with little cat ears. As he gestures with his hands, I spot flashes of poison green nail varnish. Pöyhönen’s chosen attire, or lack thereof, is extremely fitting – he typically performs bare-chested (“It gets so hot during my gigs”) and his Instagram handle is @paidatonriehuja, or ‘shirtless rascal’.
Hot off a performance in western Finland, the 29-year-old is enjoying his first days off in a while. It’s been a sweltering summer of non-stop touring, with fans flocking to festivals and concerts nationwide to see his explosive live show. Things are not winding down either, with Käärijä heading off on his first-ever European tour this month. Some of these shows sold out in mere minutes, an indication of his immense international following. “It’s so exciting; I’m definitely jumping into a new territory with that tour,” Pöyhönen says. “But I don’t have any expectations – I’m just going to let everything happen organically rather than stressing about it.”
Although he created one of this year’s buzziest songs, the guy on my screen is humble and, save for his look, almost un assuming. I remark on the stark contrast to his fiery and flamboyant stage presence. “Through Käärijä, I get to channel all the craziness, quirkiness and hyperactivity I’ve had since I was a child,” Pöyhönen says, describing himself offstage as “just this ordinary dude”. Without delving into further details, he tells me that the name Käärijä (translating roughly to moneymaker) stems from a history with gambling. Despite the darkness of its origin, he notes that the moniker is to be taken with a grain of salt.
While it might seem like Käärijä exploded into the public consciousness from obscurity, Pöyhönen has a long journey in music behind him. Born in Helsinki but having spent most of his youth in Vantaa, he started dabbling in the medium at just three years old. Coming from a musical family (“My dad and big brother both play the guitar”), jamming sessions were commonplace in the Pöyhönen household, his instrument of choice being the drums. “I was playing with pots and spoons before I got a set of those plastic kids’ drums,” he says. “When we moved to a bigger house, we built a band room downstairs where me and my brother spent a lot of time practising.”
At that time, rap music hadn’t yet entered Pöyhönen’s life; he was strictly a self-described “metal guy”. His older brother had instilled in him a love for the genre, particularly metal icons Rammstein. Upon starting high school, his musical taste broadened and he began listening to Eminem and popular Finnish rap groups Fintelligens and JVG. “Me and my friends were filming our own music videos to old rap songs, learning the words by heart,” Pöyhönen says. “It [making rap music] pretty much started as this humour thing I did with my mates.”
Encouraged by his loved ones, Pöyhönen began writing his own songs, still playing it for laughs. Turned out he had a knack for it. “Since I was little, I’ve been an avid storyteller – my imagination ran a little wilder than the rest of the kids’ at my school,” he says. “So when I started making music, I didn’t even need inspiration; I was able to whip up the lyrics from my head.”
But then, at 15, an unexpected turning point came by way of a severe sudden illness. Rushed to the hospital with ulcerative colitis, a chronic inflammatory bowel disease, Pöyhönen underwent emergency surgery to remove his colon. Had he not been treated immediately, the complications could have been fatal. “I was writing songs in the hospital – music became a source of strength for me,” he says. “I decided that if I make it through this, I’m going to give my all to music and be serious about it.”
After over a decade of hard work and countless hours in the studio, Käärijä released his first album, Fantastista (Fantastic), in 2020, but it would take three years for him to become a household name in Finland. After snapping up the top prize in Uuden Musiikin Kilpailu (the Finnish contest for new music) with his party anthem ‘Cha Cha Cha’, a song dedicated to a hedonistic night out fusing rap, electronic music and metal, he secured the coveted spot as his country’s entrant for the 2023 Eurovision, held in Liverpool. One of Pöyhönen’s craziest dreams had come true.
For Pöyhönen, Eurovision was “an amazing but immensely tough experience”. The event’s intense schedule and the little time carved out for practising surprised the artist. There was no room for errors or retakes once it was time for rehearsals. “They didn’t give much mercy,” he says. On the bright side, the long days filled with “lots of press conferences and waiting around” gave Pöyhönen a chance to get to know the other artists. “The group we had there was wonderful – there wasn’t a competitive atmosphere at all,” he says. One of the contestants he became especially close with was Sweden’s Loreen, with whom he exchanged numbers and promised to “meet up and talk about everything else but music”.
By the time the grand finale came, Käärijä’s explosive performance and infectious song had made him one of the favourites to win. Ultimately he came second, while Loreen nabbed first place. How did Pöyhönen handle the letdown? “It was a huge disappointment, but in the end, the feeling didn’t last long,” he says. “When I thought about how far I’d gotten, the incredible journey it was and all the new friends I made, I realised that these things are far more meaningful than winning.” Plus, he still achieved something major: ‘Cha Cha Cha’ made history as the first ever Finnish song to reach Spotify’s global most-listened charts. The track’s reach proved to Pöyhönen that language doesn’t matter; it’s all about creating a singular, infectious sound: “The mouth is just as much of an instrument as the piano or the guitar is,” he says.
Having made history, I ask Pöyhönen if he felt any pressure after the Eurovision bubble had burst. “Of course there are the thoughts of ‘what now?’ and ‘is this going to be it, will anyone be interested anymore next year?’ – I’m aware that the hype won’t last forever,” he says. “But I’m onto creating the next thing, trying not to feel any pressure for future releases. I haven’t done that before, so why would I do that now?”
Pöyhönen hints at a new album dropping sometime next year, but in the meantime, he’s enjoying the attention – including his Vogue Scandinavia debut. Shot at the extraordinary home of the late interior architect Antti Nurmesniemi and his wife, textile artist Vuokko Nurmesniemi, we find the space where Pöyhönen and Käärijä meet, the quiet confidence mingling with that more-is-more persona.
And while Käärijä might develop as a character (“I want to show that he’s more than just a bolero chap”), he’s adamant that he will stay true to his music and keep singing in Finnish, despite the sudden international attention. “In the end, I’m doing this for myself,” he says. “Also, why change something that works?”
Photographer: Karoliina Bärlund
Stylist: Sanna Silander
Talent: Käärijä
Hair Stylist and Makeup Artist: Neea Kuurne
Photographer Assistant: Milja Laakso
Stylist Assistant: Nelli Korhonen
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Just the tip
Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Bug (+ Brother’s best friend Bucky, plus sized fem reader)
CW: Smut, just the tip but not for lack of trying on Bug’s part, no condom (be smarter than them), pussy job, dirty talk, pet names, light choking, spitting, light spanking, not proofread
AN: Gaps in the timeline of Bucky and Bug’s relationship will eventually be filled in, but posts on The Worm Hole are in chronological order. This comes sometime after Fifth Date and Bucky “loving” your thighs.
Calloused fingers skim up the curve of your belly, pausing to roughly paw and squeeze at your heaving breasts, pushing them together as Bucky salivates over them. His spit is warm and sticky, gathering on your peaked nipples; a translucent trail connects them, illustrating the path that his mouth continues to travel. Back and forth, over and over. If he could he’d have both in his mouth at once, as it were he settles for suckling at one while the other is rewarded with pinches and twists. A nip of his teeth has your lower half jutting off the bed, bumping your bare cunt into the thin material of his tight boxer briefs, your slick mixing with his precum to further dampen the dark material.
His name is but a desperate plea on your lips as you begin slowly grinding against him, movement measured as if frightened you’ll move too quick and scare him away. As close as you’ve gotten Bucky still hasn’t fucked you the way you want, hasn’t carved out and claimed that spot deep inside that’s been saved just for him, for the kiss of his cock. Maybe, you think, maybe it could be today.
Your thighs quiver from their spread wide position, feet hooked just under his ass, and it’s this leverage you use to pull him further onto you, not stopping until his body weight has dropped completely between your legs and his cock is resting between the lips of your pussy. He’s panting your name hotly into your neck, groaning when you reach between your bodies to start tugging on the last article of clothing separating you, your hips continuously rocking into his as you do. And, despite huffing out something that sounds suspiciously like “Patience, Bug,” he helps get them off.
You waste no time in fisting the angry red tip of his exposed cock, spreading pearly droplets of precum down as much of the shaft as you can reach. Fuck he’s thick. He begins humping your fist, driving himself in and out before he answers your plea for more, grabbing the offending hand and pinning it to the bed as he begins to slide himself between the lips of your cunt. It’s a familiar position, one you’ve both come to crave since that first night he fucked your thighs, came messy between your drenched lips. But it’s not enough. Sweaty strands of hair fall over Bucky’s forehead, dog tags dangling from his neck and into your face as he picks up speed. Back and forth they sway with the rhythm of his cock, them or it hypnotizing you, distracting you, driving you closer towards-
“Bucky, more, I need more!”
The pupils of his eyes are blown wide, the grin on his lips salacious, “Y-yeah?” He rasps out, “My greedy girl needs more?”
His hand finds your neck, four fingers on one side, thumb on the other, squeezing lightly. “That enough?” You manage to shake your head, panting, pleading, “N-no. Cock, I need your cock, please, m‘so empty- so-”
He let’s out a low, growly fuck as he releases your neck, dropping the hand between your bodies instead, impaling you swifty on three fingers. The burn is delicious, as is the steady bump of the spongy head of him against your clit but it’s not what you want, what you need. “Th-there you go, Doll,” he conjoles, “so fucking tight.”
Despite the heady rush of pleasure taking over your senses you manage again to shake your head, protest. “Cock, ple-e-ease!” Bucky’s eyes pinch shut as if in pain, forehead dropping to your shoulder; “Bug, Baby” he says, barely above a whisper “You can’t do this to me.”
He can feel you pulsating around his fingers, drenching his hand in slick, he’s never felt you this hot or wet. Without conscious effort he begins to slowly scissor his fingers, preparing you for a larger intrusion, his actions spurred on by your writhing and moaning. It’s a particularly loud call of his name that snaps some sense back into his desire-addled brain, meeting your lips in a filthy open-mouthed kiss, licking into you before pulling back with a soft “Bug.”
Through the fog of your own lust you know what that means, he’s not going to do it, not going to fuck you, why won’t he just fuck you? You’re not too dignified to beg, voicing your protests with whimpers and moans, appealing to him with the sweet sound of his own name falling off your lips followed by please. Finally, when nothing else seems to be working you twist your fingers around his still dangling dog tags, tugging until he’s forced to meet your gaze; “Ju-ust the tip. Please, Bucky, please just give me that.”
He blanches, knows it's not a good idea, but you’re so fucking wet, and hot, and he can feel you pulsing around his fingers. His will caves under his affection for you, using his slick covered fingers to pinch your chin between them, tilting your head further back so he can suck a deep bruise into your neck before- “Just the tip? Fuck, baby, okay. Just the tip.”
He maneuvers you onto all fours, kneeling between your open legs, grasping and spreading your ass cheeks to get a better look at your weeping hole. He resists the urge to lean down and suck the slick directly from you, but just barely, as he warns “Just the tip.” You jerk your head in the semblance of a nod, every nerve feeling like a live wire as you practically vibrate in anticipation. His vibranium hand stays on your ass, keeping you spread as he spits onto your opening, right hand guiding the blunt tip of his cock to where you’re desperate to welcome him in. Your eyes roll back into your head when he finally presses in, ring of muscles stretched wide and burning at the intrusion.
It takes everything in him to not finish pressing in, to just take told of your hips and yank you back onto his aching cock, to impale you and fuck you until you can’t walk for a week. But he manages. Barely. Instead he drops his left hand to your clit, rubbing tight circles, appreciating the way you squeeze down on the tip of him.
Despite your promise you can’t help but sink your hips back, a desperate bid to take him further in, but Bucky is quicker than you, jerking away from you and wrenching the tip of his cock free from your fluttering opening. The slap of his palm against your ass is harsh, three quick reprimanding blows before he’s using that same hand to push you flat to the bed, trapping your hands underneath you, belly down. “Bad girl, you take what I give.”
You wiggle your hips pathetically, trying to entice him back in with a shake of your ass; “Buck, please- I’ll be good, I’ll-” He can tell how fucked out you are by the lilt of your voice, but then again he isn’t much better off. He keeps your hips pressed into the mattress with a heavy hand on your lower back, pressing just the tip back in, working it in and out in slow, steady thrusts.
He stops only when you’ve clenched down on him so tight it’s hard to move, pausing with just the tip of his cock in you; he allows you just enough space to work one hand down between your legs; “Rub your clit, baby, make yourself cum. Cum on my cock.”
You can’t help but whine, you’re not cumming on his cock, not really, not in the way you want, but you can’t deny that it feels good, so fucking good. You allow your fingers to dance across the spot where you’re joined, where he has you stretched open, before zeroing in your clit. The orgasm breaks your body into pieces, pleasure fueled oblivion consuming you. Bucky is close behind, dropping the full weight of his body onto your back, laying over you, pinning you down. “Where-” he manages to grunt out “Where do you want it?”
“Inside, Bucky, please!”
He whimpers out something that sounds like a mix between your name, jesus christ, and fucking hell, before he let’s go. He may not be all the way in, but that doesn’t stop him from painting your insides white with his cum.
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01/15/2024 Crew Recap
Hey all, today has been a very very very long day. I’m typing this with my eyeballs glazed over and half open. However, so much has happened in such a little amount of time I wanted share a few things before I pass out I know a lot of you are in different timezones, are busy with life, and taking a break, so maybe this will help with parsing through some of the crazy stuff the crew has been up to.
The petition hit 50K, and is at 52.5K at the moment
Fundraisers: I didn’t even realize there were two different fundraisers for Palestine/Gaza going on but we blew both out of the water. (Note: the second picture is from a November campaign but I think its just as important to highlight— ty for the correction anon!)
The Emmys hashtag turn out was great tonight. There was some pretty amazing and creative stuff going on across all the platforms. Some can be seen on IG, but if you wanna see the majority of it, check out twitter #SaveOFMD #75thEmmys
---We have new ways of protesting and advocating for our show, see here for the thread on tumblr (from twitter):---
And to support that @saltpepperbeard was kind enough to put together a wonderful guide on how to Call It Through as a Crew: Alleviating Some Phone Anxiety which as someone who is socially anxious and sometimes verbally vomits on people when on the phone, is AMAZING and thank you so much for doing that to help.
-- > There is also this new thread on some new places to call into. Don't quote me on that being an official thing we should do, I'm sure @renewasacrew and others will have more in the AM, I just wanted to share it so people could follow if they wanted to.
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New Articles!
Our Flag Means Death: Here’s why season three deserves to be aired
Petition to save BBC show with rare Rotten Tomatoes score gets 50,000 signatures
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There's so much more that's happened today-- but I can't write it all down because my brain is couscous.
<---So instead, I'm going to use this last part to gush over you all and your amazing contributions in all your unique ways. The community support the last few days has been SO INCREDIBLY UPLIFTING.-->
I saw (and experienced) people reblogging asks where random followers, anons, and mutuals just reached out and sent love because they could tell people were struggling.
I've seen comments all over the place on Tumblr, IG, Twitter, and Facebook where each and every person is encouraging each other to speak their mind, or complimenting their artwork, encouraging them if they were feeling uncomfortable with things outside their comfort zones, coming up with new and exciting ways to fight back, people reaching out to the cast/crew just to say hi and remind them we love them.
I've seen Self-Care checkpoints all over, reminding people to drink water, take a break, block your notifications for a while, not engaging in negative behavior.
I've seen people being so nice on instagram posts that the people who were being dicks about all our comments turned around and decided to watch OFMD!
I saw so many people doing new analysis of scenes and characters, and having really deep and friendly discussions that make everyone think in new ways.
I saw people digging through old tumblrs to bring life back to old posts and artwork.
I saw so much NEW artwork, new FICS! New GIFS! So much new art and love!
I could literally go on and on, but I've just...I had to dump this out of my brain otherwise I'd explode. I've just seen so much today that continues to make me so proud of our little safe space ship and so happy to be apart of this community.
You all continue to be the best of the best of humans, and I am so very grateful to get to witness and be apart of it. Rest up lovelies and have a good day / night, wherever you may be. May you dream of sexy middle-aged gay men kissing, or hugging, or whatever else you want them to be getting into.
#ofmd#our flag means death#stede bonnet#gentlebeard#edward teach#renew as a crew#rhys darby#blackbonnet#save our flag means death#save ofmd#ofmd s3#renew our flag means death#renew ofmd#ofmd daily recap
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Spiderman's biggest Fan | Jaime Reyes
summary: Jaime Reyes is the biggest spiderman fan. His girlfriend on the other hand is Spiderman's biggest hater.
pairings: Jaime Reyes x Fem! Reader
a/n: I’ve been wanting to do this for a while but as I was walking towards my literature class I saw a big ass spider so that inspired me to write this. This will probably have a second part if you guys want.
warning: English isn’t my main language
[MASTERLIST]
part two. part three. part four part five
Superheroes wasn’t a new term for the citizens of Palmera City. They were aware of the crimes that the cities around them would face like Metropolis or Gotham City. But Palmera city wasn’t a goldmine for a lot of villains to show up but there were a few constant ones like Doctor Octopus, Electro, the Rhino and occasionally some more. Before Blue Beetle had come around there had been a few super heroes that would patrol from time to time. Superheroes from the Justice League would pass by which added to people's curiosity, and by people mainly Milagro and Jaime. They loved the entertainment that it brought to Palmera. It made Palmera City more interesting. People had mixed reactions to superheroes, even though they were supposed to keep “humans” safe, some people had love-hate relationships with them, but some people were like the Reyes family.
Before the whole Khaji-Da situation, Milagro and Jaime would obsess over heroes. Collecting comics, occasionally buying merchandise, collecting news articles with their favorite heroes and other things Milagro and Jaime would be ashamed of even mentioning. Superheroes was something Jaime and Milagro bonded over. Even when Jaime left for his pre-law degree in Gotham City, he made sure he would snap pictures of the titans or batman when he got a glimpse of them. He even snuck a few pics of Red Hood beating the shit out of the joker. The pictures would end up in the group chat he had with his sister and his girlfriend, Y/n. Milagro loved seeing all the heroes, gushing over the titans from time to time while Y/n would just leave the text message on read. Milagro would reciprocate the messages by sending him pictures of their all time favorite superhero, Spiderman.
Spiderman was the shit in Palmera city, everyone went crazy about that man. Spiderman had been spiderman for a long time now. Keeping crime to a minimum in Palmera, he kept Palmera safe. Spiderman was Palmeras Batman or Superman. He was deeply loved by the people. Excluding the media and Kord enterprises. Depending on which news was your go to, you would see John Jameson bashing Spiderman or other news outlets talking wonders about him. But the city of Palmera hated both Kord and John Jameson so Spiderman didn’t have to worry that much.
Even though Spiderman was a national treasure no one had a clue of who he was and it intrigued Jaime. The fact that there was a possibility that he had seen spiderman around in his normal attire. Jaime and Milagro would see him from afar fighting crime and that would be the start of the gushing train. They only had one interaction with the man. Nana, Milagro and Jaime had gone to get groceries and before they could even process what was going on someone was robbing the store. It didn’t take long for Spiderman to show up and save the day. Both of them stared in awe from afar not wanting to disturb him. That day was one of the top days in their life.
Y/n, Jaime’s girlfriend of seven years, on the other hand didn’t understand their infatuation with superheroes. She had known the siblings ever since diapers and they usually would have a lot of things in common. Knowing each other for years made them click with a lot of things but it was weird for her to click with them on that specific topic. She was on the other side of the spectrum. She could care less about the heroes, it’s not like it affected her directly. At least that’s what her boyfriend thought.
From Jaimes perspective Y/n hated Spiderman. She didn’t stand him, every time Milagro or him would mention Spiderman she would tense up and roll her eyes, clearly annoyed. She didn’t like the subject. Y/n would walk away groaning when Spiderman would show up on the news while Jaime and Milagro would gush about him. At some point Jaime thought it was mere jealousy but he quickly pushed that thought away when he brought it up. Y/n mentioned that she just didn't understand what was all the fuss about. That to her these superheroes was just some bullshit that she didn’t want to deal with. That maybe Jameson was right, the world could live without Spiderman,the world could live without heroes.
“Heroes just make us “normal people” a charity case and you are eating that bullshit up” Y/n defended herself as looked at her boyfriend's shirt. I love spiderman written in the same font as those New York tourist shirts, spiderman being in the heart . Jaime looked at her with puppy dog eyes pouting as he hugged himself.
“So that’s a no on being spidermen for halloween?” He asked softly as she groaned leaving him alone
So when the whole Khaji-Da situation came creeping into Jaime’s life he hid it from his longtime girlfriend. He didn’t know how such a beautiful person like Y/n would stay with him in a relationship for so long. He couldn’t risk fucking things up, he didn’t choose to have Khaji-Da. He made his family swear that they wouldn’t say a word to her. Which they hesitantly agreed, respecting Jaime’s decision. He hated hiding things from the love of his life, but from the back of his head he would imagine what you would think about him now that he had “powers” and you were using them for good. It didn’t mean he was a superhero, right?
Jaime saw a future with Y/n and being Blue Beetle wasn’t going to change that in the slightest. They were going to finish grad school, get married and have a family. So even if he did feel guilty about hiding such a big secret he would have to keep it a secret to save their relationship. In Y/n eyes Jaime found a job at Kord industries and he worked nights, which wasn’t a complete lie. So that made him feel a little less guilty. Y/n was one of the most important things in his life and he wasn’t going to lose her, never in a million years.
But after the Reyes household burned down, Y/n had offered the Reyes family to stay with her and her aunt Marisol until everything was settled, which they agreed. So there they were the Reyes and the L/N living together. Which made Jaimes secret a little more harder to hide, being under the same for months was going to make things slip. He couldn’t sneak up in his girlfriend's room wearing his suit. So before anything could happen he took a break, he didn’t want to risk her finding out. He needed to take advantage of living with his girlfriend, seeing what it’s like to actually live with her, getting a preview of what’s to come.
That’s when Jaime started to pick up on Y/n’s weird behavior. How she would leave on random moments of the day or how she would avoid him at night. She was hiding something and he knew it. After all these years he could pick up on the little things she did and to him it was pretty obvious that she was hiding something. Something that fucked him over was the fact that he didn’t want to pry because he also knew that he was keeping things from her. But in his defense it was also for their safety and their relationship. So maybe he should let her have this secret, it wasn’t like she was cheating or something. Y/n wasn’t like that.
That was until she slipped into the kitchen spotting Jaime and Milagro eating some cereal while reading the news assuming that was Spider Man's new little stunt. She rolled her eyes walking towards them. She took a sip of Jaimes drink, placing it back down quickly.
“Buenos dias, nena” Jaime replied, smiling at her in awe making Milagro start her puking noises.
“Buenos dias! How did you guys sleep?” She said as she gave Milagro a little squeeze on the shoulder and a peck on Jaimes cheek. Milagro spined the stool to face her while narrowing her eyes at the couple.
“I slept well, how about you Jaime? How did you sleep” Milagro replied, taking a sip of her drink while looking at Jaime to make him talk. MIlagro wasn’t dumb, she was noticing that the couple wasn’t in synch as usual and she wasn’t going to let her brother fuck it up.
“Oh, um. I kinda couldn’t sleep. I miss you all night” He replied looking at his girlfriend not knowing what words to use. He didn’t want to sound like an obsessive boyfriend.
No offense but since Jaime isn’t going to say it I will. You look like you haven’t slept in years and we all know you are not sleeping here” She exclaimed straddling Y/n.
“Sorry! I’ve just been taking school seriously and since I'm doing that I am studying more than usual. I don’t want to have you guys staying all night up because I am doing my work. I just go to the library, that’s all. Don’t worry after midterms I’ll be all yours. Now are you guys still focused on the last spiderman fight? Come on! Shouldn’t you guys be doing something productive with your lives?” Y/n asked sarcastically, changing the subject as she fixed the hair leaning against Jaimes touch picking up looking towards the newspaper that was on the counter she pushed the hair to the side.
That’s when Jaime’s heart stopped. His eyes scanned the bruises in Y/n neck and he could feel his heart drop, sickness overcoming his body. He tried to look away from the barely covered hickeys, not wanting to cause a scene in front of Milagro. He couldn’t believe it, studying in the library my ass. He knew he hadn’t left hickeys on her neck, they hadn’t been intimate in a while because of all of her disappearances. The only interaction they were having was the occasional kiss on the cheek but that was about it. Jaime missed her, her kisses and her touch but he also respected her space so he didn’t bother her. But now the thought of her being with someone else scared him. She was keeping things from him and this was the confirmation.
“Ay mija, para mi que Spiderman es novio tuyo. Because why are you always up his ass? You know what they say, if you can’t beat them join them. It is about time you stop that hate train. I bet he’s really hot. Don’t you think, Jaime?” Milagro replied, closing the newspaper and turning to the couple. Jaime nodded completely out of it, his head in a different world.
“No seas estúpida. I just can’t believe you waste your time on that. That’s all” Y/n shrugged, pulling away from Jaime as she felt her phone vibrating. She pulled it out of her pocket reading the text message and for the first time in forever Jaime tried to peak over her shoulder. He needed to know.
Jaime, please give Y/n her privacy. Respect is important in a relationship
Khaji-Da words made Jaime sit straight once again. Y/n turned to Jaime pecking his lips quickly, fixing her hair.
“I have to go but I will see you guys at night. We are still up for movie night, right? Twilight marathon” Y/n asked the siblings as she looked between them. Milagro nodded and Y/n smiled at her. Y/n took that as a sign, speed walking towards the door but Jaime followed her suspecting that something was going to happen if he let her go. He holds Y/n arm softly standing on her front porch stopping her dead in her tracks.
“Are you hiding something from me?” Jaime asked slowly, letting his words sink into her. Y/n looked at him confused.
“What are you on about? Jaime, I’m an open book with you. I’m not hiding anything” she replied calmly making Jaime tense even more. Was she really lying to him?
“Y/n I can see. I can see the hickeys on your neck” Jaime replied harshly leaving Y/n wide eyed. She swallows hard thinking on how to talk to her but before a word could slip out of her mouth her phone vibrates again.
“I really need to go. Can we please talk about this when I get back?” She replied waiting for Jaime to answer but he stayed quiet trying to fight the anger he was bottling up. When she noticed he wasn’t going to reply Y/n headed her way leaving Jaime on the porch with his emotions.
She hated herself for leaving her boyfriend after he accused her of cheating. Things weren’t looking good for her. All the sneaking around, all the little lies and the sleepless nights. She was hiding things but it wasn’t the fact that she was cheating. It all had one thing in common.
Spiderman.
Y/n knew spiderman a little more than Jaime and MIlagro thought. They had a deeper connection than they could ever imagine.
When she was fifteen she found herself walking home after a long day of school when she had stumbled upon a spider that not shortly after decided to bite her. But to her dismay she didn’t get deadly poisoned because of the bite instead she got inhuman powers. A radioactive spider gave her superhuman strength ,superhuman speed, superhuman reflexes, superhuman durability, spider-senses and other inexplicable superhuman things. That’s the day spiderman was born.
She didn’t hate superheroes. She in fact loved them. Shewould feel so accomplished when Jaime fangirled about spiderman but Y/n didn’t want to raise suspicions she acted like she hated everything to do with superheroes. No one in her family knew about her little powers and she intended to keep it that way. After losing her parents and her uncle she didn’t want her aunt to worry about her, she already had too much things on her plate. She wanted to protect the people she loved and if she wanted that they had to be unaware of her powers. When the bite happened she had started dating Jaime and around the same moment Jaimes obsession with Spiderman started. Y/n hadn’t agreed with the name spiderman but people assuming she was a man made the suspicion of it being her less. So she kept the name, after fighting crime alone in Palmera City some people have gained an eye on her, offering her place in the Justice League, which she gratefully declined not wanting to leave Jaime alone. So they would come around from time to time to work with her.
It wasn’t hard for her to hide the secret identity from Jaime. With him working late at night and helping around the house he didn’t have time to notice her sneaking out. But now living under the same roof and Jaime rarely going to work made it hard for her. The Justice League needed her help and she was doing the best she could while attempting to balance her relationship.
Throughout all the mission Y/n thoughts wandered towards Jaime and how broken he looked when she left. She was going insane and counting the minutes for her to get back home. She couldn’t even feel the constant hits she was getting while fighting. She got back into reality when Batman decided that the mission was done. After that she swung through all the buildings trying to get there as soon as possible, not noticing the time. Y/n quickly climbed the walls of her house slipping into her bedroom window noticing that her door was opened. She watched as Nana walked past the door with her pjs assuring her that she was still on time for the movie night. She slowly crawled on her ceiling as she slipped her mask off. Y/n moved slowly trying not to make any sound as she threw a web to close the door so no one could see her change. When the door was almost closed , Y/n let go of the ceiling with ease letting out an exhausted sigh. She walked towards it tiredly pushing the last few inches closing it. After debating if it was a good idea to have that conversation with his boyfriend, she turned around to face her bed to rest her eyes for at least a few moments. But the shocked look on Milagros face made her freeze dead in her tracks. Milagro let the movies she had in her hands slip as she stared at Y/n with her mouth wide. Y/n followed her expressions trying to think of something to say.
“What was that?” Aunt Marisol yelled from the kitchen. Y/n swallowed hard, quickly biting her lip. She quickly turned around heading towards the door before anyone else could enter the room worried about the loud bang.
“ U-uh it-it’s nothing! Nothing.” Y/n exclaimed looking at the door but quickly looking at Milagro again. Her face was in utter shock as she tried to think of words to say.
“You’re the Spiderman from…..the news” She said slowly, still inspecting the suit, the shocked look on her face not leaving. Y/n breathing got unevenly quick as she tried to find some sort of excuse to shake Milagro off.
“I’m not. I’m not” Y/n replied nervously as she tapped her chest letting the suit expand, turning bigger which made it slip from her body leaving her in her underwear.
“You were on the ceiling,” Milagro replied pointing up at the ceiling, her hand shaking with nerves.
“No I wasn’t! Milagro what are you doing in my room!? You can’t just bust into my room!” With that she could hear someone's steps coming towards her room making her quickly move in front of Milagro as her aunt opened the door.
“The turkey meatloaf recipe es una mierda! We decided to order food. Are you guys, Milagro, do you want to eat something?” Aunt Marisol asked as she waved smoke out with a rag.
“Ye-”
“No! We already have food here for are movie night. Don’t worry Aunt Mary” Y/n exclaimed all jumpy trying to get her out as soon as possible.
“Okay then ... .Maybe but on some clothes” her aunt replied while pointing to her semi naked body. She quickly grabbed the nearest shirt covering her body while nodding. Aunt Marisol closed the door as both of them looked at the place she once stood at.
“She doesn’t know?!” Milagro whisperedyelled as she walked towards the door. Y/n slipped the shirt on blocking her path.
“No one knows! Well Batman knows because he made my suit but that’s it!” She said in the same tone, getting stressed out.
“Batman made you that? Are you in the Justice League?” Milagro asked excitedly. While she just shook her head nervously.
“Well basically… You can’t tell anybody about this, you have to keep it a secret” She said as she watched Milagro almost faint on her bed. As Milagro held her body against the nearest wall Y/n walked towards her.
“Secret what, why?”
“If she finds out, if Jaime finds out that there’s people out to kill me every night they are not going to let me do this anymore. Come on, Milagro. Please ” Y/n whispered-yelled with a panicked look on her face pointing towards the door.
“Okay, okay, okay. I will level with you. I don’t think you should keep this a secret. This is the best thing that has ever happened to you. I mean Y/n…” Milagro exclaimed wanting Y/n to tell everyone, specially Jaime and Marisol.
“They can not know! I can’t do that to them right now. You know…..with everything that is happening to her…to him…to them…to you, to us! Please Milagro” Y/n replied desperately trying to catch her breath. Milagro look at her knowingly, her gaze softening.
“Okay”
“Just swear it, okay?”
“I swear,” Milagro replied, smiling at her softly, trying to ease her nerves.
“Thank you…. I can’t believe this is happening right now. “ Y/n replied as she walked towards the other extreme of the room trying to calm herself.
“Can I try the suit on?…”
“No”
“How does it work? Is it magnets? How do you shoot the strings? Why are you spiderman if you are a spiderwoman?”
“I’ll talk to you about this tomorrow. I just need to rest, please” Y/n replied taking Milagros by the hand walking her towards the door.
“Wait, so you aren’t cheating on Jaime!” She replied before she left the room.
“No! It isn’t a hickey, it's a bruise from the fight you guys were reading about '' Y/n exclaimed before closing the door leaning her head against it. She scanned her room, her eyes failing on her mirror noticing she was wearing Jaimes “I love Spiderman”.
That’s why they say you should never meet your idols. It will be disappointing when you see how they truly are.
part two. part three
[MASTERLIST]
#imagines#blue beetle x reader#blue beetle#xolo maridueña#xolo#jaime reyes#jaime reyes x reader#dcimagines#dc x reader#spiderman#Peter parker#blue beetle imagines#one shots#justice league#titans#blue beetle x y/n#blue beetle x fem!reader#jaime reyes x y/n#jaime reyes x you#marvel#spiderman x blue beetle#jaime reyes headcanons#reader insert#jaime reyes x fem!reader#jaime reyes fanfiction#headcanon#oneshot#Spider-Man reader#xolomariduenaedit#xolo mariduena icons
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Inevitably, when bridge and highway protests happen, someone pulls up a report (original article) about an ambulance or organ transplant that couldn’t get through. These seem like, and maybe are, genuine concerns but I want to highlight three things:
1. Protestors often let ambulances through.
2. The purpose of protest is to disrupt. And I don’t just mean disrupt traffic or even civil norms, I also mean power and narratives of power.
What happens when, in our minds, we hold a kidney transplant speeding down a road in San Francisco alongside the 117 health facilities (21 hospitals, 41 ambulances, 53 clinics) that Israel has targeted as of the 15th, in addition to not only ceasing electricity but preventing the pittance of fuel let through the Rafah crossing from going to hospitals or sewage or water, while laying siege on numerous hospitals, shooting anyone who leaves those hospitals, bombing medicine stores and water lines into hospitals, deploying white phosphorus, in addition to leveling entire neighborhoods? Rendering the medical system as merely first-aid? Intentionally generating a sewage crisis to foment a public health disaster? All of this in an ongoing pandemic during which Israel denied vaccines to Palestinians?
What happens when we say: in this metropole, in this heart of empire, my life is no more valuable than a Palestinian’s? A life-saving treatment, the protection of an incubator, the expediancy with which I am served, the rare and precious donated organ is the right of all? That urgency is a luxury the West manufactures and ringfences for itself? That moralistic appeals to the disabled and the ill and those who love us should always, in the same breath, apply to Palestinians?
3. And so, rather than this meaning “it’s OK if an American dies from lack of care due to this action,” we are being asked to consider what power means, and who holds it: these disruptions, if and when they actually happen, demonstrate that the power to make it stop does not lie with protestors. Even if they throw their keys off the bridge. The power to make it stop lies with the US government. It can stop this—all of this, since we have established that an American life has an equal right to existance as a Palestinian’s—if it calls for a ceasefire. It can stop this if it divests from the murder machine that is both itself and Israel.
#murder -#gaza#& something to be said here of that divestment being connected to the shit healthcare situations we have in settler states#imagine if 1/5 of our federal income tax didn’t go to the military but instead healthcare infrastructure
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