#I get it your still figuring things out and also you need to find your wife who is still trapped in the game… I understand sweetie

[archangeldyke-all]

Oh man I have ideas..

Sevika has a home back in Zaun but she has to have an apartment in Piltover because of councilor duties until she fully adjusts to topside and accepts the insistent offers of a manor. Imagine being her wife and just helping her relax after her first day, cuddling and all that whilst adjusting to the fancy apartment bigger than your old house.

Or..

Sevika taking her wife out for a walk in Piltover, admiring more of the garden as the plants grow upon new soil. A talk about the future whilst holding hands.

Or..

Them renewing their vows, having that damn fancy wedding of the dreams.

Toodles!!!

EEEEEEEEK okay lets do some councilor sevika (also isha and jinx are still alive in this story because i said so. she doesn't need to suffer so much to still be an incredible leader. give her her girls!!!)

men and minors dni

you were the first person approached about sevika representing zaun in piltover's new council post-war.

you were a little concerned to find councilwoman shoola and three members of her personal guard on your front stoop-- and for just a moment you had a flash of anxiety that she was here looking for jinx or isha.

"councilwoman. hello." you say, still surprised. you've met the woman a few times before, both of you attending various re-building efforts around the undercity. she holds up a hand.

"please, dear, we've built a bookshelf together, you've seen me at my lowest. you can call me shoola."

"h-how can i help you counc-- shoola?" you ask. she smiles.

"i'm here regarding your wife."

you frown. "...is she in some kind of trouble?" you ask, already mentally planning how to worm sevika out of her trouble. the councilwoman chuckles.

"quite the opposite, actually. i'd like her to join the council... as an ambassador to the free nation of zaun." she says.

you nearly shit yourself at her words-- sevika's life work casually mentioned like it's just a sidenote. "the-- free?" you ask.

she smiles. "while the deaths of the other councilmembers in the war was a horrible loss, there are some issues i could never get my late colleagues to agree on. now, though... i've been given full authority to reorient the power structure of the council to avoid anymore kirraman's taking over-- and i've always been of the belief that zaun should be free."

"and w-what... you want to arrest jinx in exchange for it?" you ask.

shoola chuckles. "no."

"y-you want isha?" you ask. shoola laughs again.

"what could i want with a child? no!"

"so... what do you want?" you ask, your voice shaking as the reality of the situation sinks in.

"i just want your help talking sevika into the job. i know she can be... stubbo--?"

"bullheaded?" you guess as shoola searches for a kind word to describe sevika's stubbornness. she chuckles at your description of your wife and nods.

"here." she hands you a stack of papers. "i've outlined the full responsibilities of the job. as well as the benefits she will receive for serving. please. look it over and talk to her, would you?"

you do.

it's an excellent proposal.

as the undercity figures out how it wants to self govern, piltover will fund zaun's public infrastructure as if it's their own-- meaning that the undercity will, practically overnight, have access to things like clean water. and schools. and welfare. they will provide these services for up to fifteen years as zaun finds it's footing.

the position outlined for sevika in piltover's council is a way to assure piltover doesn't back out of their promises-- that somebody is there to call them out when they try to cut corners in helping the young nation of zaun find it's footing.

and, while your wife might miss the more physical aspects of her old work, you can see her chewing out some stingy old councilors for their greed in your minds eye, and you can't help but smile.

"what're you smilin' about?" sevika asks.

you jump and slam the folder in front of you closed, blinking up at your wife.

she's back from her meeting with ran, scar and jericho. the four of them have grown close in these past few months as they coordinate rebuilding efforts for various neighborhoods across zaun. you have to gulp, trying not to get dizzy with the possibilities of what sevika's job offer means for them as a team. as team zaun.

"h-how was your meeting?" you ask. sevika raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you and you huff. she sinks across the table from you, easily pulling the folder out of your grasp.

"meeting was fine. the elementary school bein' built in firelight's territory is almost ready to open. first school in zaun." she says with a smile. "now, what were you smiling at?"

"i was approached by councilwoman shoola this afternoon."

sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "did you two try to build a chair this time?" she teases. you groan and kick her shin, before tapping the folder in her hands.

"no. i was asked to convince my stubborn-ass, incredibly loyal, strong, beautiful, hard-fucking-headed wife to join the fucking council."

sevika blinks. "what?"

"they want you in the new council. serving as an ambassador. to the free nation of zaun, sevika."

sevika blinks again, and then she rips the file open, her silver eyes flying across the confidential text. "the fr-- the free nation of zaun?" she asks, her eyes flying up to yours to confirm. you grin and nod.

sevika flies out of her seat and crawls across the dining room table to reach you, tears flowing down her cheeks as she kisses you like her life depends on it.

you're there when shoola and sevika finally sit down to discuss the opportunity. shoola's the first piltoverian to not turn her nose up at the messy state of your small home-- she even grins at the sound of jinx and isha bickering from their bedroom. "you two have made a lovely home for yourselves, here." she says, sitting down at the table and jumping a bit when a toy squeaks under her bum. "i can almost see the love leaking out of the wallpaper."

"could be black mold." you whisper. sevika and shoola both sputter surprised laughs.

"sevika. have you considered my proposal?" shoola asks.

sevika sighs and nods. "i have a few conditions before i agree." she says.

this surprises you. as if the prospect of representing a free zaun isn't tempting enough, you saw the salary sevika's being offered. it's the kind of money that could buy you a house big enough that all four of you could have your own bathrooms.

(secretly, though, you hope you live in a tiny house forever. you like tripping over your family-- being within reaching distance at all times.)

"first. i'd like you to assign me the budget to employ three of my trusted confidants as advisors. i can give you their identities if you'd like, but i give you my word that they're good peo--"

"done." shoola cuts sevika off, scribbling a quick note in her journal before looking back up at the pair of you with a smile. "what else?" she asks.

you smile a bit. sevika blinks, then gulps. "jinx and her little friend ekko get a full ride to the university up top. they're incredibly gifted, and with a little proper education they could advance zaun--"

"you don't have to convince me, i remember how the war went. without them, we'd all be dead. i can arrange that."

"i don't want to leave zaun. i can't represent these people if i'm not living here. i'll need a car to get--"

"would you like a personal vehicle or a driver each morning and evening?" shoola asks.

sevika blinks. "a-a driver." she says, a little shocked.

"anything else?" shoola asks.

sevika nods. "o-one last thing." she reaches over to grab your hand. you have no idea what she could possibly want beyond what she's asked for-- she's taken care of her friends, her family, and her transport.

"anything." shoola says. you think the woman might mean it.

sevika looks down at her lap and sighs. "we... we never really got married." she says. you blink, not at all understanding why she's telling the councilwoman this. "i mean... we had a party and we exchanged vows," she says, a smile tugging at her lips. you squeeze her hand and her eyes flick up to yours, before shyly darting away like you guys haven't been married for a decade now. like you guys don't have two kids together. "but we never... nobody gets married in zaun. 's expensive. the trip up to the justice is too far. and..." sevika gulps, her voice getting shaky as she looks back up at you. "and you're the reason i've fought so hard for our home in the first place." she whispers.

tears start to well up in your eyes and you let out a shaky laugh. "what, 're you proposing to me again?" you ask. sevika snorts and shakes her head before turning to shoola. the woman's drying her own tears.

"will you arrange to have us married? officially?"

"i'd be honored." shoola agrees.

the wedding is small and intimate, you and sevika, jinx and isha, vi, ran, scar, jericho, and shoola.

the councilwoman took you to a beautiful little garden a few blocks away from the council, and she married you, officially, as the sun set and your girls threw handfuls of confetti into the sky.

your whole party marches through the streets of piltover and back to zaun for the afterparty, councilwoman shoola laughing happily as you introduce her to the zaunite tradition of barcrawling.

each bar you enter, jericho happily announces that you and sevika have been freshly married. sevika, being the new spokeswoman of zaun, is quite the celebrity now. all of this is to say, you spend the night drinking many free drinks, hugging many drunk strangers, and kissing your wife on request about a thousand times.

it's the best night of your life.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed

[willowed-wisp]

stitches [simon ‘ghost’ riley]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader/you

Hopefully this doesn’t suck and makes sense for the most part. Thanks for anybody that reads this 🥰

WARNINGS: smut, descriptions of injury, body insecurity… a bit of plus size!reader

When you joined the Special Forces, you didn’t want to form attachments.

That was the only rule you held yourself to.

As a medic back at base, you thought it would be easy. Alas, fate had other plans in the form of Task Force 141.

Lead by Captain John Price- who had handpicked you for medical support- to stay back at whatever base looked like- whether it be a van or a safe house.

With that, you lived with the boys. John Price, Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley. You kept yourself to yourself at first, not confident among four SAS soldiers nor in yourself. Knowing of them only.

So you planned to stay huddled in the corner and quiet.

Then in the middle of the night, you came face to face with a black balaclava and a gruff voice, “Ya good?” You only remember the nightmares… more so flashbacks. They were relentless- creeping in the recesses of your mind, waiting for times when stress peaked. Unfortunately this entire ordeal was nerve-wracking.

You only noticed the warm hand on your shoulder, instinct led you to stare past the noir covering the majority of his face and into his eyes. Caring eyes.

He had no need to check if you were okay, he didn’t know you but, nevertheless, it was nice to see the lieutenant as something other than a looming figure.

The seriousness became too much to bear for you, “Do you sleep in that thing?” Using humour to take the edge off- well trying to.

“Soundly,” Earthy, rugged… British yourself, he sounded awfully English. That was when your eyes dawned on the clock- the time more specifically. 02:01.

“Do you sleep at all?” Another attempt but he didn’t laugh- your smile faded, maybe a tad intimated. He wasn’t exactly small.

He stood away, no longer crouching at your bedside. How tall was the guy? You tried to hide the wonder on your face, “Better than you… when I do get a kip…” Some pain in those words. “Better get some shut eye, Y/L/N… see ya at dawn.” You slept better knowing at least someone in 141 had your back.

After that you started integrating more with the lads. You learned that Johnny could clean his messes up exceptionally well, and that’s why he was called ‘Soap’. Price still thought the name was bullcrap but alas, not your problem.

You also noticed that Ghost never showed his face. Black face paint shrouding the skin showing around his dark eyes or his sunglasses. You preferred the face paint.

He had a habit of watching you from across the room chatting with Soap and Gaz- you blocked any possible avenues of relationships. Not that they’d be interested in you (your own thoughts). You didn’t find yourself attractive or good enough. A bit too much weight, you continued to think.

It was a good thing, you couldn’t get distracted.

That was until that day…

Supply checks… stock up on the sterilised needle and stitch thread. You barely had any use to 141, just a glorified nurse who had no business being given a code name.

“Stitches! It’s LT!” The brash Scotsman bolstered his comrade over to the gurney in the impromptu medical van. Blue eyes flashed over into yours, hulking the larger man to lay on his back.

Ghost wasn’t having any of it, attempting to sit up only for more blood to gush from his thigh. You rushed into action, “Soap, get us out of here,” said all too calmly for someone under such pressure. The man did as he was told and they were off. Meanwhile, you had pushed the lieutenant down on the bed. He grunted in pain each time he made a move, “For fuck’s sake, stay still so I can fucking see.” Blue gloves on, as he stopped wriggling, “Thank you.” You were still unimpressed but at least he listened. Unbeknownst to you under the mask he donned a pained smirk- unaware you could be so commandeering. Almost proud of you.

A grunt paused his pride, “Fuck…” Through gritted teeth. Your fingers working the tweezers with expert precision.

He went to sit up, your left hand pressed against his sturdy chest- pushing him down, “Want me to snag your femoral artery, Ghost?” In no time, a red-coated bullet laid in the metal tray and he sat there in his boxer shorts- watching you work and hitching a breath each time the needle breached skin.

They were the gentlest hands that had ever worked on him. “What happened?” Eyes boring into his as you cast off the stitch.

“Someone got the jump on me, should see ‘im,” you smiled at that, able to tell he was too. By his eyes.

The ones you dreamt of every night- except when the terrors returned. Johnny was too heavy of a sleeper to hear you, but Simon’s eyes were what you woke up to. In the flesh. He never asked what they were about, just comforted you.

When your deployment ended, and you returned home… you missed the guys. And his warm eyes whenever you returned to the land of the living.

Johnny contacted you. A pub crawl in Scotland, apparently Gaz, Price and even Simon were game.

Turns out you and Ghost didn’t live too far away. In ten minutes, a knock at your door and you met that deep gaze. “Johnny only just message ya, didn’t he?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m drivin’ us, don’t trust Gaz’s deathtrap…”

“Well… I just need to grab my stuff,” He started to walk away up the path to his 4x4. “You can come in and wait if you wanted?” Who was he to turn you down when you asked so nicely.

He helped you with your bags, “You sure ya gonna get through with that?”

“Haha,” dry humour, there was a reason you seemed to get on, “And if you want me to get more shit…”

You could see a glint in his eyes, “Nah, you’re alright, love…” That went straight down to between your thighs, the look on your face amused the man.

Surprisingly, the two of you weren’t awkward. Quiet here and there.

You assumed he wasn’t used to social interaction in general- especially wearing that balaclava, not good for conversation.

Simon was good to talk to, all waffled speech was redacted with him. Straight forward, sometimes sarcastic and wholly looking for banter- that’s what you preferred.

And there was no chance he would be interested in you. He has the aura of a guy who gets the attention of stunning women. Why would he want you? (You thought)

It was never going to happen.

By the end of that car ride, he learned about your messy string of exes and he had way too much Shania Twain on his playlist (and knew all of the words).

Johnny greeted you both with open arms, a tight hug for you, “You been ta’ing care of yourself, Stitches?”

“Better than you look, use more soap…” The laughs and hug came to an abrupt end- his stare directed over to Simon who loomed behind you. Was it just you, or did Johnny look scared?

“Let me show y’ where you’ll be sleepin’…”You went to grab your bags but Ghost already had it covered.

Poor you, you didn’t know what would await your stay at Johnny MacTavish’s.

The tip was a stretch, your head thrown back against the blanket pillow. Silent screams playing in your throat. He could feel the struggle and see the pleasure striking your visage. Murmurs of his name, “Si- Simon -!” Broken and whimpering. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t on the edge of losing his cool. You were pulsing around him so angelic.

“You’re takin’ me so well, lovie,” His hips took a full stroke, bracing your cervix. Thrumming and dripping wet. Another groan of his name.

The rhythm sank in, strangled moans trapped- your breathing wild against his ear. His thrusts swinging all the way back until they gutted you. Over and over. “Feels. So. GOOD -!” His hand covering your mouth, noting that the owner of the house was just next door and the other two at the end of the hall. Simon’s place supposed to be on the couch downstairs surrounded by Soap’s army memorabilia. Not right there, balls deep inside of you. Loving every second.

Cherishing every inch of you, kissing you in the moment to stay quiet so he could remain there for a while longer. So he may get some sleep, for the first time in a week.

Before you know it, his hand anchored around your ankles- spreading them to hook better. You’ve never moaned so loud in your life. Even echoing off the walls of the room. “Fuck it…” He was too far gone to care what the boys heard or thought. He had been thinking about that moment since he met you, looking so delectable with his cock hammering into you. Taking him so well.

You didn’t know if he would ever tire out, another rush of adrenaline and exhaustion swept over your limp body- numb to anything other than where his thighs slammed against your own and how raw you were going to in the morning.

Your legs fell, his grip focused at your jaw; leaning over- rubbing against sensitivity deep- and claiming your lips in a ravenous kiss that had your head spinning more than before.

Hands falling to your hips, thrusts sloppy as you tightened once again. “Where can I- ,” Drunk on how he tasted, your legs locked around his body.

“Inside,” Your hand found the base of his hair at Simon’s neck, holding on for dear life. Warmth spread downwards as your nails dug into his toned back and neck alike. A thick groan filled the air- enough to become addicted.

Neither of you panted, thriving in the silence. He savoured being hilted inside you, careful not to crush you beneath him. Hot breath spanning your collarbone. “Can’t tell ya how long I’ve wan’ed to do that…”

You felt so small against him, so yearned for. No face covering on his end, no boundaries. Laid bare to him and he wanted you anyway.

Fingers stroked at his thick hair, “Same, Si…”

Neither of you knew who fell victim to slumber first.

The morning came around, the boys had looked proud of themselves… too proud, too giddy. Especially Johnny.

“I think the gutters need check’ng, heard some weird noise last nigh’,” You’ve never threatened Johnny’s mohawk before but that day you grew close.

Price even had a glint of mischief in those clear eyes of his, “Vampires common in Scotland?” You didn’t check your neck, too caught up in the heat the previous night.

Gaz had a smirk on his face, “Not from what I know of, sir…”

Christ, you were never gonna hear the end of it.

______

masterlist

[olderthannetfic]

What's a good place online to get decent-quality yarn at a reasonable price?

--

Knitpicks.

Assuming you want wool and that kind of thing, your idea of reasonable is box store prices, and you're in the US. They regularly have amazing sales too, on top of the already-low prices.

The snobbier you are, the more you'll need to look for other people's destashes. I was just at a reuse place today and they happened to just have gotten in some nicer-than-usual yarn with the labels still on.

The ideal is to find someone's grandma who is drowning in her stash or, better yet, someone with a dead grandma and no interest in knitting who needs to dump a bunch of yarn fast. But, of course, it depends if you're the kind of knitter who finds that inspiring or if you just want the correct yarn to use on a project you've already picked out.

I got some Wool of the Andes worsted early in my current phase of knitting, and it's quite nice, especially for the price. I'm currently trying out some of the sport weight because I have a specific Christmas sweater that needs it. I'm finding it scratchier and less nice, but I haven't blocked it yet, so we'll see. The whole Wool of the Andes line is beloved by thrifty knitters.

If you're willing to do some work and you like an adventure, unraveling a thrift store sweater is by far the most cost effective way to get a big lot of yarn. You can check the tag for fiber content. Some of these yarns will be rather thin, so you might hold them double or even triple for hand knitting.

For me personally, it usually makes more sense to chase super deep discounts on ultra premium stuff and then see what I can figure out with the yardage I end up with. It's really going to depend on you and your priorities. If you're longing for cashmere, it makes way more sense to try the thrift store approach. If you have a very specific Christmas colorwork pattern, Knitpicks or the like is probably a better bet. I got a big lot from fabulousyarn.com once when I needed that exact yarn. They seem fine. I don't know a lot about these big online stores, but there are a few of them, and they tend to have good deals.

You also have to consider whether you're going to be able to get continental US shipping (probably free from a US store) or not.

Anyone have thoughts on this?

[t3a-tan]

I need to see James scolding Oliver and taking care of him after what happened with the human kid. James could have the responsible role for once in his life 😏

Happens directly after this!!

Oliver is certainly due for a bit of pampering. Enjoy! ^^

---

“May I have some ice please?”

James yelped at the sound of Oliver's voice, slamming the fridge door shut to reveal the borrower standing there on the counter, looking as nonchalant as usual. But there was something off about his body language… he raised an eyebrow, seeing how his friend was favouring one side and holding his ribs.

“You're hurt.” It wasn't a question. James wasn't stupid— it didn't exactly take a detective to figure that out.

Oliver nodded, wincing slightly again as he breathed in. Now that the adrenaline was no longer running as readily through his system it hurt much more. Even though his legs weren't injured, it hurt to stand— like holding up his own weight irritated the bruises around his midsection.

He glanced down and lifted his jumper slightly, revealing the dark purple marks that had formed. He felt some fascination, looking at those finger shaped bruises, but mostly it just hurt.

James gasped, his hands reaching down and quickly but gently scooping Oliver up into them as he raised the tiny man to his eye level.

“Bloody hell— you're as purple as a blummin blueberry, mate..!” He pointed out, fussing over the injuries with careful fingers, trying to figure out where they ended. They seemed to cover his whole torso. “What the hell happened??”

Oliver groaned a little, pushing his jumper back down and waving off James’s concerned fingers.

“It is still very sensitive…please be gentle, James.” He scolded lightly, finding that even the smallest accidental pressure sent an stabbing ache throughout his body. He shakily sat up on his forearms, looking up at his friend's apologetic and concerned gaze.

“It was…a child. She was much too young to be on her own, and so I accompanied her until her mother returned. Nothing is broken.” After a few beats of uncertainty Oliver added, “I think…”

“You think!?” James exclaimed. A sigh escaped his lips as his free hand reached up to scratch at his facial hair, brows furrowed. “This is severe, Oliver. An injury like that would have most humans in the hospital.”

The borrower huffed, clearly embarrassed by all of the fuss, but he didn't tell James to put him down.

“I am not a human. I am a borrower. We have better immune systems and our bodies heal faster. I will be fine once I get ice.” He rebutted. The finger behind him curled over and began to rub at his back, making Oliver inhale sharply. At first it hurt, but after a few seconds it felt pleasant and he couldn't help but lean back into the sensation.

James's brows furrowed further, a concerned frown on his face as he continued to gently stroke his back.

“Mmm…no. I'll get you the ice, mate, but until that's all healed I don't feel comfortable with you flying around and whatnot.” He knew Oliver wasn't stupid and would not do things he didn't think he was capable of doing with those injuries, but still. James's finger stopped rubbing at his back, not wanting to go too hard and make the bruise spread.

He could see that Oliver was shaking with effort just to hold himself up. If his ribs were broken, he really needed to rest and not move around too much. But for as sensible as his friend was, James also knew him to be stubborn.

“I have too much to do… I need to update the files I just went and checked the houses for before I forget, and I need to make blackberry jam before the blackberries deteriorate too much and—”

A thumb came up and covered his mouth before he could finish, and Oliver shot the human an unimpressed look for the interruption. He knew that if he tried to move it away James would oblige, but he didn't really have the energy to lift his arms without it hurting.

��Ah ah. I know you like to keep to your schedule, but it's not the end of the world if you don't. You're overworking yourself. Let me take care of you— at least for a few days— okay?” He removed his thumb after saying his piece, watching for Oliver's answer.

For all the time he had known the borrower, he had learned a lot about his personality and how to tell when something was wrong. Oliver liked to act like he had everything under control at all times; always keeping a cool head and thinking logically— but the reality was that he was just as fragile as any other borrower.

James didn't care to baby him. Oliver was, after all, an adult with his own life and way of doing things. But there was a point where he thought it was best to insist that Oliver accept that he needed help.

Of course, if he insisted against it James wasn't going to hold him against his will— but he would definitely complain about the decision.

Oliver squinted up at him, his hair dishevelled from earlier, and pain radiating all around his body. He knew that his friend wouldn't dare force help upon him, but he also knew that if he refused he would just worry him in the process.

“Alright. Those are acceptable conditions… a few days.” He agreed, nodding his head and releasing a sigh of exasperation as he lay back instead of holding himself up. He shut his eyes, recognising how exhausted his body felt after the hour or so of constant play and man handling.

Although he didn't regret it, James’s more tender and aware hands were a welcome change. With any other human Oliver always had to instruct them on how to hold him correctly— and deal with the consequences when they simply couldn't get it right. With James…he was always careful. Oliver didn't have to worry about anything; he could just close his eyes, relax, and rest assured that his grip would never become too tight or invasive.

James let out a sigh of relief when Oliver relented, and seeing how he relaxed; clearly drained from what he had gone through; James’s thumb lightly stroked his shoulder in a gesture of support.

“Thanks.” His thumb moved away again, not overstaying its welcome as he instead bent down to open the freezer, rummaging around. “Let’s get you some ice then. I could swear I have something for bruises in the first aid kit, I'll just have to have a bit of faff for it…” 

Oliver turned onto his side, eyes still closed as he got a bit more comfortable.

“Mm…don't worry too much if you don't. Bruises like this usually stop hurting after a week unless the bones are bruised too…” He assured, waving a hand dismissively, not wanting James to go too out of his way for him.

James raised an eyebrow down at the borrower he was currently cradling in one hand, holding him out of the way of the freezer's cold chill.

“How often do you get hurt like this? Be honest.” He wasn't scolding him, but it did upset him to think about how many times Oliver must have been through this before for him to know that.

Oliver hummed in thought, opening his eyes after a few moments and looking up into the brown eyes above him.

“I'd say between one and two times annually. You know I cannot stand by and watch someone else suffer… The poor girl was only four, she can hardly help it that she didn't know her own strength, James. She took to my instructions fairly well, considering that fact.” He defended.

“Jesus Oliver, you could die! Come on, mate. This isn't healthy— I know you don't like to do it, but sometimes you just have to leave things be. Save yourself the pain.” He shook his head, focusing on the freezer again to find the little plastic cubes he kept so that he would have something closer to Oliver's size. He picked one up and shut the freezer. “Was she alright at least? Nothing I need to report?”

Oliver nodded once more.

“She was fine. It wasn't a serious situation, just a moment of forgetfulness on her parents’ part. I saw no signs of any maltreatment, and she seemed to be at a normal development for a child that age. Speech, movement…all fine.” He assured.

James tore off a piece of kitchen roll and wrapped it around the cube before offering it forward to Oliver gingerly. The borrower took it, wincing at first as the cold made contact with his marked skin before relaxing, allowing it to numb the area.

“I was about to make some lunch. I have leftover curry that I was gonna heat up with some microwave rice, if you want to join. Chicken korma.” He offered, opening the fridge again next and taking out the tub of curry and setting it on the side. “I think I have a pack of naan…somewhere…”

“For as much food as you have, you really should keep things more organised, James. If you don't know what you have, you'll end up throwing away things you've forgotten about when they don't keep.” Oliver scolded lightly.

James gently poked Oliver in the cheek with his pinkie as he let out a gasp of indignation.

“Oi! You're starting to sound more and more like my mother every time you stay here.” He responded in mock offence, although the grin of amusement made it obvious he was only joking. Oliver had learned that was a sign of his sarcasm, and James was delighted to see the slight smile on his face too. “You want korma or not?”

Oliver let out a small chuckle. Although it hurt to laugh, it also felt nice and warm. James's humour, although difficult to comprehend at first, it was now something that the borrower greatly appreciated. He nodded.

“Alright. That sounds good.”

[jacketpotatoo]

Initial Thoughts on Arcane S2 (spoilers)

I think season 1 was far stronger because it told a much more focused story and centred its themes on the relationships of the characters. What I love about s1 is that you could pick two characters from anywhere in the show, and they'd be foils of some kind, or parallel each other, etc. We don't get enough time with characters talking to each other for that in s2. In s1, so much of the insight we gain from characters is through their conversations with each other - this is effective because they're there and reacting to each other, so you get the deeping of their relationships alongside development of the plot. I think this is why people resonate so strongly with Ep7 - it's so contained. The expanded cast of characters and expanded plotlines mean that at times, it feels like they're checking off plot beats rather than letting the story develop as its characters do. But this is also why I find the jayvik storyline to be the most compelling part of s2 - it's this beautiful medley of greater themes and personal ambition wrapped around inextricably in the other. I found the show's thesis on healing and destruction and the cycles of human violence compelling, and I liked that magic was a sort of tech/industrialisation stand in. Viktor had some GREAT lines that I need to spend some more time unpacking. Cosmic yaoi soulmatism is beautiful. Also speaking of episode 7, I also thought Ekko's arc was incredible and the best and he's the best and I love him.

That being said, I definitely think the ball was dropped on the class commentary. The writers simply took on too much - just trying to explore the class tensions between Zaun and Piltover is enough to take up the entire season. And it's so deeply integral to the politics of the season, and to the balance of the relationships of various characters, that it's just a bit. sigh. Especially when nearly all the new characters introduced get killed off. And we don't get much focus at all on Sevika, who's one of the only main characters involved in revolution. I love Isha, but she felt so much to me like a plot device to me that i find it hard to reconcile. And the lack of class-commentary sours their portrayal of Caitvi alot for me. I personally think Cait's revenge to reconciliation arc was handled fine, and that a verbal apology wouldn't mean as much to vi as the action of freeing her sister did, but the last line of the show is hard for me. "I'm the dirt under your nails." I get that it can be interpreted multiple ways (see: non-problematically), but that had to have crossed the writers' minds. Is it intentional then? A reminder of Vi's insecurities, simply glossed over by Caitlyn? Does it just draw attention to the inequality of their relationship, indicate that there's further work to be done between them and individually? Honestly I feel the same way about where Zaun/Piltover is left off politically. This sort of ambivalent state that isn't endorsed (the sneers the council throws at Sevika are intentional), but is unfortunately realistic. I don't think the ending is a happy one at all. Ambivalent really is the word I'd use to describe it.

I also figure that I need to rewatch the show in full, including season 1. Thoughts might change! I'm still working things out in the brain. I do still think Arcane is a fucking beast and a triumph, and I will forever be inspired by it. I love these characters. every shipper won something and I think that's beautiful. Fortiche's animation is revolutionary.

[lovelaetter]

yay, I'm glad you liked it >< also, the way I had 4 paragraphs on this and accidentally clicked away, oops.... this is kinda rewritten from memory so not very good—but ask and you shall receive ! and I don't have an active blog atm, but I will be looking into it. maybe. the internet is scary D: also, lots of context once again, my bad "( – ⌓ – )

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ age gap & intox

⠀⸝⸝⸝⠀⠀( older!reader × nonidol!rosé ) you two met by bumping into each other (literally) at a coffee shop. so cliché: her cheeks reddening when she looks up at you, her freshly made iced americano poured all over your white shirt, and her doed-up eyes portraying the embarrassment. a bunch of quick apologies like "I'm so sorry, ma'am," and "I wasn't looking, oh my God, I'm so sorry–"

her best idea at the moment is to give you her number to "make it up to you later" and she saves herself as 'rosie ♡ (the clumsy one)', the heart not going unnoticed by you. you make your way out after reassuring it was okay, that you were only here to buy some pastries anyway, nowhere important to be. her eyes trail up your figure until you disappear around the corner, the door letting out a 'ding' as you exit.

⠀⸝⸝⸝⠀⠀a few weeks later and you get a text from 'rosie ♡' (you removed 'the clumsy one' part because it was a bit too dumb to label her with) which says "hello, I was wondering if I could repay you with some brunch??". a quick "sure" and you find yourself with a talkative rosé, she's sitting across from you and so social. it's obvious she has some sort of crush on you, you assumed it was the idea of an older woman—she seems like the type to be too 'babygirl' to have someone her age.

day drinking was never your strength, so you only sip your water as she downs a few sips of her whiskey. the smell is strong, not that you mind, and it showcases whenever she leans forward to refill your water—so well-mannered, with her speech as well—or hand you her fork because "this is so good, you need to try it!"

⠀⸝⸝⸝⠀⠀eventually taking her back to her own place. she's too tipsy to stand straight, let alone drive. only 1 pm and she's already wasted. you're thankful it's your day off today, wouldn't be able to take care of a needy rosé with some idiotic men who can't figure out how to sort paper blowing up your phone.

she's... so dumb. her tongue is loose, complimenting you left and right and growing bolder with her words. all you can do is let out amused responses because she's very clearly drunk, you shouldn't take advantage of that. but oh God, it's hard to keep yourself in check when she's whining and full on begging for just something, anything.

it's out of pity, at least that's what you tell yourself, when you shush her with two of your fingers in her mouth. she looks like she's gonna cum from just that because the thought of being babied is making her so hazy she just can't. and so, she does cum. untouched. but it's too small of an orgasm to satisfy either of you, so those same fingers keep pounded her skull in contrast to you gently taking off her clothes.

she's wearing some pink lace and you can't help but think—imagine—that she wore these just for you, that she wanted this to be the end goal. what a shameless girl. but you don't admire the cloth, it's down to her ankles in milliseconds, your index and middle finger are the only thing covering her, somewhat. the circles on her clit slow but still enough to have her thrashing.

when you let her speak again, taking your soaked fingers out her mouth and stuffing them one by one in her cunt until there's three, her manners show again. "thank you" and "right there, please," leave her mouth so constantly you doubt she can think of any other words right now.

when she cums again, it's so hard and pretty. her eyes rolling back and reaching forward towards you instead of arching her back. you can still see that she's drunk, but you don't feel bad, can't feel bad. not when she's mindlessly half-admitting to having wanted this: "so much better than I imagined." now you just have to wait for her to sober up for round 2, she's too comfy over your lap to reciprocate.

signed by ☃️

this !! i’m seeing stars, this is what rosé is about for me, this awful mess of a girl who crumbles under the attention of an older woman :( like you said, her drunk self, throwing her head back with a stupid smile and then batting her eyelashes at you, something about “you’re really pretty” and laughing that makes you just dismiss her with a “sure thing, rosie” and grip her waist harder and pull her harder to your side.

somehow remembering her manners while you have three fingers stretching her out is so on brand for her (and jennie), head empty, cunt achy, turns every girl to the most well behaved form :(

and i compared her to a little fawn on my other ask about her and i can’t help but do it again here because it’s exactly how i think she would act after, getting so sleepy and looking so fragile in your arms post-orgasm, body mushy, barely holding herself on her own legs and you take her to bed to proper rest and she smile and extend her hand, inviting you to lay with her and what are supposed to do? say no? and when you sit down she instantly curls up by your side… sigh, that one girl that’s too much of a cute wild animal for you.

you mentioning cute brunch unofficial dates and stuffing her mouth with your fingers here, me talking about having her on your lap and feeding her little bites on the sugar baby ask… oh, rosie girl, i know what you are. totally not thinking about million scenarios including oral fixation right now and the idea of her vibrating at the vague feeling of your fingers close to her lips, cleaning her smudged lipstick, shushing her, offering her something, all while her underwear grows damp and she has to resist the urge to open her mouth to bite or lick. or just being latched at any part of your body because that’s what it is about, your neck, your pussy, your strap, she just wants to feel some of you in her mouth.

and never apologize for writing lots of background, i do it too and i love it!!

[diminuel]

In the fun little Roger/Garp idea (AU?), if they are the parents of Ace, would Ace know who his mother is? Would that impact Garp and Ace's relationship? Would Dragon still end up his little brother as a son?

Delightful question, thank you! Pondering this kind of insanity is just what I need!

I think we need to figure out what the setting for this is.

Let's go with a scenario where Garp (who I assume is a woman, since you mentioned her being Ace's mom) is unable to deny Roger his preposterous dying wish of leaving a legacy in the world. She'd already be pissed because they have Dragon, is that not enough? Roger's going to die and the thing he's worried about is legacy? But she can't say no to him no matter how frustrating the bastard is. She doesn't want him to go with regrets.

But then the asshole goes and causes a new age of piracy and suddenly Garp's life is going to be a lot more complicated.

As a marine, Garp has her hands full. She's already worrying about her oldest making bad choices in the aftermath of his dad's death and now there's a hunt on for any potential blood that Roger might have, any women connected to him, any children he could have fathered.

And for some reason Dragon was flying under the radar, she was flying under the radar (maybe Sengoku was running interference, you never know) but this kid? Something tells her that the child that Roger wanted to be his legacy is not going to be so lucky, that the burden of his will and his name is going to be Ace's ruin.

Hiding the kid is probably going to be the best course of action. And maybe Dragon doesn't know about Ace and doesn't find out until he seeks a safe place for his own child. Garp might just recognize this as some strange turn of face. If Dragon wants to risk raising this kid with his warlord wife/husband? Well, here's another one. Good luck. (Dragon would be used to his mom's brand of insanity so this doesn't even shock him too much and since he didn't tell her about Crocodile and Luffy until he absolutely had to, he can't even be grumpy with her.)

And maybe if Ace and Luffy grow up together Garp is granny to Ace too. Though I think Ace would know? And it probably wouldn't make him feel great. Dragon was one thing - Roger probably wasn't even a pirate by the time Dragon was born - but Ace's mom made the decision that he should be born into a world that she knew would hate him. And once he was born she didn't even want him. I think it could really mess with Ace. And no amount of supportive (adoptive) parents would fix it properly. And Marineford would be a hot mess, even worse than it already is now. >w<

And of course we can go with a sillier version where things aren't that dire. Garp could be chaotic and just drop the child on Dragon with a "I'm too old for this, it's time for you to stop your stupid revolutionary fancies and start being a responsible family man!!" (And maybe Roger is alive too in his version. Ace would find both of them very annoying. Garp would always be very offended - in an exaggerated way - when Ace would call her grandma, refusing to call her mom. They'd just be Grandma and Roger to Ace even though Dragon would always make sure to call them mom and dad to maybe get Ace to pick it up, but no. Ace decided that Dragon is his dad and Luffy is his brother, he will not hear anything else. Maybe once he meets Whitebeard he's gonna find another dad and then Dragon would be offended. Crocodile would also be offended because he objects to WB on principle X'D)

[sarbear94]

Because Evan-

(It’s a long one…sorry not sorry 😘)

Okay…. I’ve been rewatching some old Buddie scenes because of the potential of Eddie moving back to El Paso and…. excuse my language but…. What the fuck?

It’s like the writers are new or don’t know what to do with Eddie anymore. Or like someway, somehow the episodes are out of order.

In THAT scene, Buck asks “he has grandparents, family” and Eddie reply’s “After Shannon left, they tried to guilt me into giving Christopher to them. It wasn’t what I wanted then, it’s not what I want now.” They then both agreed that no one would fight harder for Chris than Buck.

So WHY THE FUCK haven’t either of them gotten him back yet??

Eddie started season 7 with Marisol and Chris and everyone’s fine. Then Chris is dating multiple girls (Eddie is baffled and doesn’t know how to handle it so he asks Buck for help) and said it has to do with his mom to Buck and we get that EMOTIONAL shot of Eddie devastated after hearing this. Then proceeds to give him a letter to bring about closure for him. Eddie seemed to already have closure or at least repressed it.

Then Eddie meets Kim…. And the Eddie we have loved for 6 seasons is IMMEDIATELY GONE. He does the exact same thing that he told Buck about Christopher was not okay And needed to be fixed (he was BEGGING Buck for help).

Like, my dude, how did you think this was gonna go? You kept everyone in the dark. Your son, your best friend, your GIRLFRIEND and even Kim! What was his end goal? It doesn’t make any sense.

Like I understand that if Gavin wasn’t gonna be around next season, and you need to write him off but have him potentially come back, there were several ways you could have done that but still kept true to the characters. Have Chris go to a boarding school. Or a school trip. Or literally ANYTHING ELSE! Then season 8, keep the Kim storyline, but Chris is already gone and doesn’t witness it. Cause now that whole confession thing with Kim pretending to be Shannon and actually get closure was pointless. If they’d done that with Chris gone, he’d have the closure. Work on the PTSD crawling back up in an empty house, keep the Priest and finding Joy and then keep that for a bit and then heal.

That was a whole side tangent really for the main point I was trying to make, but why does Eddie- lose Chris, grow a mustache, grieve for not having his son, have an episode where a Priest says “let yourself have Joy,” then take it away in the next couple of episodes by saying “I’m thinking of moving to Texas” based on the words of a psycho actor??

Chris is a TEENAGER! Hell- he might still be a preteen, grow the fuck up and go parent your son. You’ve put your foot down before, why is this any different?? After a few weeks, I would have been like “nope, we’re done with this. I get I fucked up, but I’m still your dad so we are gonna talk about this and figure out some common ground.” I understand feeling guilty and not wanting to push him even farther away but you’re not even trying! Phone calls don’t show “I want you here with me,” it says “I’m okay with you being gone.”

You’re thinking moving to El Paso is a great idea… but it’s not. Your parents suck. You know this. YOU MOVED HALF WAY ACROSS THE US TO GET AWAY FROM THEM FOR A REASON! I get you patched things up slightly, but not enough.

ALSO! Why wasn’t Buck an option?!? Because of Tommy? I get because Gavin being out of the show(temporarily?) would have made that impossible but why wasn’t it even mentioned? I mean, He’s run to him before, he’s called him when Eddie had his breakdown and Chris didn’t know what to do. But like THEY HAD THE WILL, why wasn’t it even a factor in this. At the time, it felt like, at least to Chris, that Eddie was incapable of taking care of him, which means that Chris should go to Buck. Not his grandparents.

I just don’t understand what they are doing with these two. E and C. Bucks got his bisexual journey(relationship with Tommy). Bobby has multiple storylines. The Hans had the Mara and new baby storylines. Hen and Karen had the Ortiz/Mara and Denny/Halloween storylines. Athena has literally any storyline involving cops. And all those storylines make sense for each character. Eddie’s and Chris’s doesn’t. They keep pushing Eddie to be sad then happy then making stupid decisions. DEVELOP YOUR FUCKING CHARACTER! You’ve been dropping the ball since at least the network switch. Which I find super funny because yes, he does the emotional scenes super amazing but now it seems like his character is more open. He’s making more funny faces, he’s got the loose hair, he makes comedic jokes. But he’s almost(so close) to reminding me of Buck 1.0.. but it doesn’t fit with the storyline at all. At least to me…

Like does anyone agree with any of this? Am I just seeing things? Did the writers get told Gavin was leaving too late and made this story on the fly and rolled with it? Does Ryan want out of the show and they are keeping it under wraps? Like WHAT IS HAPPENING? Make it make sense!

Ps. I did not proofread this before posting so if something doesn’t make sense, let me know. I was just trying to get down all my thoughts on this. Currently me vvv

[doomtrooper77]

I've got a story to accompany this image. You can read it below. It is not a cute romantic story; it is more like my images. So, if that is not your thing, skip the story. If you do, let me know what you think of it.

Wrong Side of the Tracks

I had been in the bar for an hour already. It was one of those places off the beaten track where everyone went from what some would call the wrong side of the tracks. Mind you, this place wasn’t rundown. It just wasn’t fancy. The long wooden bar was polished, and the stools were worn but comfortable. Booths lined the wall opposite the bar. In the back of the bar were some big couches and chairs in an open area. Every seating surface was made of that old-school leather that got patina but never grew thin, never ripped. It was all cushioned just right for sitting and drinking the night away. Behind the bar was bottle after bottle of every liquor you could think of. Cases full of bottles of beer and more than a few on tap. However, don’t come in asking for some fancy new-fangled Microbrew bullshit. This wasn’t that kind of place.

Most people who came here were working-class people who came in for drinks and bar food. People who worked with their hands or on their feet all day. You had some white-collar folks sprinkled in, but mostly people who grew up in the neighborhood who managed to get a job downtown but still came back to visit friends and family in the area. That’s not to say it also didn’t have more seedier visitors. It was also a place where locals on the "wrong" side of the law congregated. Depending on the day of the week and the time, there was little you couldn’t find here if you knew the right person to ask.

You need a loan. There was a table in the back where some gentlemen of Italian persuasion sat most days. They were happy to give you some money for a hefty fee. If you needed something to bring you up or down, there was usually someone you could talk to to provide you with whatever you needed. But they couldn’t sell it in the bar. Business of that sort was not allowed in the bar; discussing it was different. If you needed someone’s leg broken, there was someone who you could talk to about that.

The bar was situated behind several warehouses and buildings in an old light industrial part of the city. You had to know where it was to find it and drive a maze of access roads and streets to find it. The bar had an address but didn’t appear on Waze or Google Maps.  The lot was big enough for everything from Harleys to big rigs.  The lot is dim, with most of the light coming from other businesses outside its perimeter.

I was on my 3rd beer when I heard the Harley outside. It was cold in the Midwest in November, but the hardcore bikers rode in the cold air. I was sitting midway down the bar when the door opened, and the crowd started parting. People quickly moved aside, even to the point where they pressed against others to get out of the way of the approaching figure. I got a glimpse of him just as he passed. I thought, “Jesus, he's gotten even bigger!”  He walked past, and you could feel his aura move with him. Predator. It was the only way to describe it. Some construction workers were drinking a few feet down, and one of the bigger guys either didn’t see him coming or had decided he was the alpha in the room. The biker didn’t change his step; his massive shoulders plowed through the big construction worker, pushing him into his buddies and spilling his beer down his shirt.

“Hey FUCK WAD, watch where you’re going!” The big construction worker said. He was big, about 6’5, and easily 280-290 solid pounds. You can tell he was used to being the big guy in the room. The area around them quieted as the biker turned around and took two steps back. I got a good look at him then. He was about 6’2, so shorter than the construction worker. However, everything else about the biker made the construction worker seem small. He had actual doorway-wide shoulders.  Arms are truly as thick as a healthy man's leg. Massive pecs encased under the leather vest. His lats push his massive arms away from his body at a freaking 45-degree angle. A neck so massive that it seemed like his huge shoulders just met his head somehow.  The part of my brain that was pretty damn good at calculating a man's size and weight told me at least 375 actual pounds.

One of the construction workers whispered “shit” as he pulled on his friend's arm. The bigger construction worker was wiping beer from his shirt and shook his friend's arm off as he looked up. Both men’s eyes met, and something happened. Guys know the feeling when you are in a situation where you quickly find out that you are not the alpha in the room. The biker took another step forward and pushed his chest into that of the construction worker. The biker tilted his head to that angle some guys do when trying to figure out how badly they will hurt someone. Not if, but how much. Everything around them quieted and stopped.

I could only see part of the construction workers' faces, but I could see the anger drain quickly away to be replaced by fear.  The Biker saw it and stepped into him more, pushing him back on his friends. Something like a wave of heat seemed to pass over me, and I could feel the raw dominance coming off that biker. It was like being on the edge of a violent storm. You can feel the air pressure change and smell the lightning as it crashes just feet away. Or it is like being on the edge of a vast forest fire, watching a fire tornado spin feet away and your skin both dry and slick with sweat simultaneously.

I felt my balls shrink up and throb at the same time.  “Sorry. Sorry.. man, I’m sorry,” the Big Construction worker was saying. No longer meeting the biker’s gaze, he said, “Sorry I bumped into ya. My fault. Sorry, sorry.”  The Biker stayed crowded in his space for another 15 seconds, stepped back, and looked at the construction workers' buddies, who all looked away. He turned to walk to the back of the bar to the area where the couches and chairs were. There was a dangerous and knowing smirk on his face.

Within seconds, the bar's sounds returned to normal, and people moved on as if nothing had happened—except for the construction workers. Those guys threw money on the bar, paid their tab, and quickly left.

However, I was now intrigued—no, make that obsessed��with the monster in the back of the bar. Over the next hour, I made my way down the bar toward the back of the room. I could see he was sitting with several other bikers and rough-looking men. I couldn’t hear what they were discussing but could see them on the sly. He filled one of the club chairs, his mass covering it completely. He wore this leather vest, black jeans, and big black harness boots. Out of the group, he talked the least.

A couple in the booth was just on the edge of the sitting area, which had a perfect view.  They left when I almost convinced myself that my little spy game had gone as far as it should. Before they could get two steps away from the booth, I slid into it. The waitress came over, and I got another beer.  I took out my phone and pretended to be scrolling on it while I was sneaking peaks at the monster. My cock was so hard in my pants that I had to squirm around a bit to give it room.  Knowing I might never see this guy again, I discreetly turned on my camera and videoed him. I kept making gestures like I was scrolling and typing, but I was filming his every twitch and flex.

I ended up drinking another two beers while getting more and more footage. The angle I had the camera meant I really couldn’t see my screen. I might have noticed when he started looking at me if I had. Only when I looked up to sneak another peek I saw two pools of steel looking at me.  Eyes so bright and grey that they seemed to glow, and they were looking at me. Not glancing but staring at me. I could feel the weight of his attention. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck” was all I could think.  As nonchalantly as possible, I slowly angled my phone away, and while pretending to be texting, I shut off the camera. It was time to go. I couldn’t dare look up at him to see if he was still looking, but I knew. I could feel it—the heat and pressure of his attention.

I had two problems. My cock was still rock hard, and I needed to piss badly. So badly, I thought that if I tried to make it to my car, I would piss myself. SHIT. I took out my wallet and threw 50 bucks and an OK tip on the table. Every second felt like my bladder was going to burst. SHIIIT. Taking a deep breath, I causually stood up with my hand in my pocket, trying to hold my boner down, and started walking across the bar to the hallway with the bathrooms. My brain screamed don’t look at him, my cock, on the other hand, throbbed under my fingers and said, come on one last look.

Glancing in his direction as I walked past the men who sat in front of him, I saw his head turn and track me. Like some goddamn tiger or something. I got to the bathroom and made it to the urinal, and let out 5 beers worth of piss. My hard cock throbbing in my hand the entire time. When I finished, my cock had gone to semi-hard. Stuffing it back in my pants, I washed my hands, took a deep breath, and told myself to walk out of the bar. Walk out of the bathroom and straight out the bar, not looking at him or anyone. Out the bar and to my car.  Go home. Go home and watch all of the videos you took of that beast. My cock twitched and started to harden again.

I opened the door, turned to go down the hallway, and ran into a wall of beef. He stood there, his massive body filling the dim hallway, waiting. I bounced off him and stumbled back two steps. I looked up at his face and those eyes. My body froze. I can’t explain it. I FROOZE. He looked at me, his head tilted as if he were deciding something. My heart was racing, and my mouth was dry. For seconds, I couldn’t say anything. Then I remembered what happened with the guy up front. I quickly said, “Sorry. Excuse me for bumping into you.”  

He started moving toward me. I backed up a step, thinking he was headed to the bathroom. But he wasn’t. He kept walking past the bathroom, and now he was against me. His massive body pushes me forward, my backward pace struggling to keep up. “Uh wait, hey, umm, excuse me.” Every nonsensical word came out of my mouth, and he kept pushing me back down the hallway. I started to fall backward, and I felt this massive hand grab my shirt and keep me upright. With no effort, he lifted me on my toes and carried me down the darkening hall. I kept mumbling until he said, “Shut up.” He didn’t yell. He gave an order and expected it to be followed.

We turned a corner and went down another short hall. There was an exit door. He pushed me through it into the night. Behind the bar, it was virtually pitch black, only lit by moonlight and his eyes. He walked us 50 feet behind a brick shed and pushed me against the wall.  His beard split into a hard grin, and he said, “Phone.”

Stunned and terrified, I said, “What?”

I have never had anyone grab me by my throat and lift me off the ground before. His massive hand clamped around my neck; his other hand went to my pants pocket and ripped out my phone.  Still holding me up with one hand, his other expertly clicks the button to turn the screen on. It was locked. He looked at me and then at the phone. I expected he would demand the lock code. Instead, he turned my head to face the phone and held it up. Even in the dim moonlight, it recognized my face and unlocked it.

The massive hand that wasn’t throttling me expertly moved over the screen. His big fingers press and swipe my screen. The screen lit up his face. Harsh, rough, brutally handsome. In a few seconds, I heard the sound of the bar playing from my speaker.  His hand tightened on my throat.  I watched his face as he scrubbed through the video. His brutal features were darkening. The aura of potential violence made the air thick.

He turned the phone so I could see the video playing, which showed him staring at me and the camera from minutes ago. He pulled me down and leaned all of his weight into me, crushing me to the shed wall. He leaned in where our faces were touching. His steel grey eye was less than an inch from my own, staring into my eye like a laser beam. His beard rubbed against mine as his mouth was next to my ear. His hot, angry breath blew across my ear and neck.  It was intimate. Fear can be intimate.

“Who the fuck are you, and why are you videoing me.” He said. His voice was deep, and his words were spoken normally, but the power behind them made me shiver.  My brain went blank. Words just tumbled from my mouth. Apologies. Explanations. Gibberish. I could see the rage ignite in his eyes as he pressed himself against me fully and repeated himself more forcefully. He asked again, and the anger and potential violence in his voice made my legs weak.

Then froze.  His eyes stayed locked to mine. His head tilted. He let go of my neck and reached down between us.  My brain may have been terrified and incapable of action; however, my cock was having the time of its life.  It could care less that this 390-pound monster was about to rip us apart. All it cared about was that 390-pound monster crushing and grinding me into the wall behind us. I felt the biker’s massive hand grab my hard cock.

The heat in his eyes was still there, in suspension.  Lifting my phone back up, I watched as he expertly tapped, swiped, and scrubbed through my phone. We stood that way for almost 3-4 minutes. I heard numerous videos I had saved to my phone from Leather sites, Raw Fuck Club, videos saved from Twitter and Pornhub. He flicked through them, and all the while, my throbbing cock was crushed by his hand.

Looking back at me, his eyes were still full of heat. “Is that it puppy? You getting some more jerk off material on your phone?” My fear is now joined with shame. SHIT. Shame giving me the power to look away.  His big hand squeezes my cock painfully, and he says, “I asked you a question, boy! You’re videoing me so you can jerk this thing off later?” His hand squeezed and pulled my cock roughly through my jeans. It throbbed and twitched with excitement.

I mumbled, “Yes.”

His face gets close to his mind, and the anger is back in his voice, “Speak up, boy! You got the balls to be filming me for your personal pleasure, be man enough to say it!”

“Yes, that is why I was filming you,” I said.

“Why me?” He said, his voice clearly expecting an answer.

I paused. Thinking of what to say.  Decided on the truth. “I’ve never seen anyone like you. As big as you are.  As tough as you are. As strong as you are.  As mean and scary.“ I stopped myself from going further.

He let go of my cock and pressed himself hard against me, crushing me more than before. “You like’em big and scary, huh?” His face was close to mind. “I’m 400 fucking pounds of the meanest and scariest motherfucker you gonna ever meet, boy.”  He pushed his mouth close to my ear and said, “I do mean and scary shit for fun. Are you sure you want that?” He fucking growled like a beast in my ear.

My cock didn’t give my brain time to think, so I quietly said, “Yes.”

He growled in my ear and crushed me even more against the wall. “Mean and scary it is.” He said.

Spinning me around, he pushed me face-first into the brick wall. He reached around, grabbed the front of my pants, and unbuckled my belt. He slid the belt off. Before I knew what was happening, he had made a loop out of it, put it around my neck, and pulled it tight. “There we go, puppy needs a leash.” He said. I was up on my toes. My skin was hot and cold. Excited and scared.

I felt his other hand grab the back of my jeans and yank. There was a ripping sound, and I tried to grab his hand to keep him from ripping my jeans. “Hey, I can take them down…” I never finished that sentence because I felt a fist hit me in the kidneys. Bright pain lanced up my side, and my legs went weak.

Pressing up against me, he said, “Understand this puppy. You’ve got three jobs right now. One, do what I say and nothing but what I say. Two, do whatever you can to make sure I enjoy using you however I want. Three, Survive. Do one and two well, and three shouldn’t be a problem. You fuck around thinking this is some date, and I can show you a whole other level of mean and scary. Do you understand me, boy?”

“ Yes, Sir.” I said.

He laughed roughly as his hand grabbed my jeans and ripped a big hole in the center. His hand reached through the hole to grab my shorts and grab one of the ass straps of my jock. He chuckled, “You’re a kinky fucker, aren’t you?”

I felt him step back and heard a zipper. He growled deeply again and pressed himself against me. I could feel his hot throbbing cock rub against my ass. He ground his hips back and forth and side to side. Fuck, it was huge. I could feel it throb and twitch as it moved across my skin. He slid it up my back and around my hips so I could feel how big it was.  I whimpered a bit in lust and fear. Leaning in, he growled, “Everything about me is big and scary.”

He slides his now hard cock between my ass cheeks, stretching the cheeks apart with-it’s size. I feel him let out a deep, growling breath as he crushes me between him and the wall.  I felt the big, veiny flesh slide up and down my hole. Yanking on the belt, he growls, “Open up.” He pushes his way in. Fuck its, huge. So damn thick. It just keeps sliding and sliding in. My breath is coming in short gasps. He chuckles as it pushes all the way in. I can feel his pubic hair and zipper teeth on my ass.  I want to yell, but the belt is pulled tight on my neck.

“That’s it, puppy. Take it. Take it all.” He says, grinding his massive body against mine. His cock throbbing deep inside me. Soon, he got a steady stroke going. His strokes are solid and deep. His powerlifting hips alternate from jackhammering into me to crushing me against the wall between him and the shed. He’s growling and breathing behind me like an animal. My legs are weak from the pounding.

I feel him loosen his grip on the belt, grab my hair, and pull my head to the side. I feel his thick beard rub across my neck. I moan as he rubs across that spot. The spot that makes me squirm when the right man finds it. He knows and licks across it. My body shakes. Then I felt his mouth bite down on that spot. Every nerve in my body cuts on and off. His hungry mouth bites and gnaws at my neck. Never breaking the skin. Holding me in place as his massive body goes into overdrive. Powerfucking me against the wall. I feel like a rhino is ramming into me. Time blurs and I don’t know if it has been 5 minutes or 15, but this monster has stamina. His pounding has never stopped.

I’ve never been used like this. I feel his stroke change, and by the 4th stroke, he explodes inside of me. Shot after shot, painting my insides. So much cum. So much I can feel it leaking around his cock and down my legs. He keeps his cock inside me until the absolute last twitch is done. When he pulls it out, I can feel more of it soaking my jeans.

I feel him step back and hear him say, “Turn around, boy.”  My legs are weak and wobbly. I feel like I have just lost a boxing match or been used like a tackling dummy.

He’s looking at me. Fuck he seems even bigger now. A huge fucking shadow in the moonlight.

I can barely see his face, but his eyes shine as he says. “You are not fucking done.” Looking down and then back up, he says. “Clean me up.” I look down, and his cock is still semi-hard and twitching. “You can get on your knees, or I can put you there. Get to work.”

Getting to my knees, I lean forward and take him in my mouth. Just like when he was fucking me against the wall, his hands were soon clamped on the side of my head, and his hips were thrusting his cock deep into my throat. The more I choke, cough, and sputter, the more he likes it. By the time he was done, I was a messy fleshlight. He dumped three more loads down my throat. His big dick was like a firehose. I was so full, weak, and used that I just lay on the ground.

I felt his boot push me over to my back. His huge shadow was standing over me. He puts his boot on my chest, bends down, and shines my phone in my face again. He turns it back around, and I watch as he flicks through it again, stopping a few times.  “You didn’t do lousy tonight, boy. You managed to survive.” Putting real pressure on his boot and my chest, he repeats my home address, work address, and that of my sister. Nothing more, his threat was implicit.  “You better start working out more because next time, tonight will look like foreplay.” Then I watched his massive hand squeeze, and he crushed my phone like it was nothing. It sparked, and smoke started coming out of the cracked sides. I watch him lean back and throw the now burning hunk of glass and metal far further than anyone should be able to. “You need a new phone, puppy.” He says as he walks off into the darkness.  In the next few minutes, I heard a Harley start up and drive away.

Sometime later, I managed to get up and find my way to the parking lot. I smile as I gingerly get in my car, thinking about the cloud backup I have turned on for pictures and video on my phone. I do need a new phone. My dick twitches in anticipation.

[schizodelicsyscourse]

Ur funny

I'd like to see someone try me lol

Let's see, list of all the things I definitely didn't deal with

-got kicked out by my dad for being trans on my 18th birthday

-sat out in the cold every single fucking night

-nearly got raped by a methhead who trapped me under his tarp while he was smoking

-got manipulated into being the perfect boytoy for some drunk asshole

-my girlfriend tortured and nearly killed because someone thought she stole a watch

-watched the world end and everyone I love die during an intense psychotic episode

-watched my cats get abused by drunk asshole, including being kicked into a tree, the cat now has seizures regularly and I have no way to find out if they will kill him

-watching my girlfriend get jumped by someone I thought was my friend

-watching people I cared about relapse on meth over and over

-watching people die on fentanyl on a nearly daily basis

-lost almost everyone when I left my drunk abuser because he only let me socialize through him

-used as a glorified security camera and forced to stay isolated in the woods for weeks at a time, depending on my abuser to bring me back food, hoping he didn't get distracted by the liquor cabinet (spoiler: he usually did)

-controlled by using drugs to shut me up any time I expressed anger or discomfort with what was going on

-risking jail time every time I needed food, or warm clothes, or a sleeping bag

-sleeping outside when its so cold all your muscles tighten up and shake and hurt so bad it takes half a bottle to get you to sleep

-gang shit I can't even begin to explain

-the homeless shelter stealing all my shit and lying to me about giving it back

-got through all this and am fucking winning cuz I have a hot girlfriend, money in my pocket, and a housing voucher in 2 days

Idc whether you think I experience plurality or not, it's an endo-made term anyway, no one in real life cares.

You're just a chronically online middle schooler with nothing better to do with his time and its fun to mess with you a little bit, but at the end of the day, nothing you say matters. My girlfriend (who has DID by the way) still thinks its hot that I have other people in my head, her father figure who also experiences schizogenic plurality (though he doesn't use those words) still lets me hang around his apartment all day and will always roll me a joint while discuss our multiplicity, my sibling is still best fucking friends with my sysmate, and I'm still openly schizo and plural in real life.

hi. endo sys with diagnosed psychosis. my therapist is actively encouraging me to regain my system after I suppressed it. he believes it is a beneficial symptom and supports me in being MORE plural. yeah my plurality is caused by psychosis and it has still been deemed healthy by a medical professional. why are you ableist against psychotics? you think we can't know our own brains?

So basically, ur therapist supports ur delusions, that's all it is LMAO like I said, therapists can't beka delusions, he knows that soon enough you'll grow out of it

[transfem-kirito-truther]

My girl and her depression era cut… what no wife does to you. And also like five years in a virtual death game ig

[autisticlee]

sometimes people who struggle like to make jokes or find positives about their condition that causes them to struggle so they can escape the constant negative and struggle. sometimes autistic people will say things like "the 'tism" or use the "autism creature" or say their autism helped them have a *positive trait* to feel better about their struggles. because living your life only focusing on the struggles and negatives is depressing and makes it hard to want to live, even if those struggle take up 100% of your life and you can't actually escape them. sometimes any little seemingly positive thing can help a lot.

but there's so many other autistic people that hate when we do that and call it "reducing autism to a cute trendy thing" and say it takes away from *their* struggles and is bad and shouldn't be used. maybe *you* want to only focus on your struggles, but some people can't live in constant negative and need some positive or to find ways to make their condition more positive so they can feel better about living with their struggles. life is hard. I take anything I can get.

I cant get jobs. I can't make and keep friends. I can't get help and support for doing "normal" things so sometimes I go weeks without being able to shower and without eating more than a bowl of cereal a day. most times can't even do things I like. struggle to communicate. have meltdowns. i'll never be able to live independently. I struggle a lot. but instead of sitting here always depressed and having no motivation to live, i'd rather try to joke about "my 'tism is acting up again" when i'm struggling (just an example. don't think I ever actually used the 'tism thing but i saw others use it) or say "i'm just being a creature" when I need to stay in my dark room because everything is too much and I personally find it cute to be a little creature meant in a positive way. i'm not actually downplaying mine or anyone else's struggles. I still acknowledge them and that silly jokes dont make them go away. i'm not trying to be trendy. i'm not doing any of the things people say we do by making silly little jokes. i'm using the silly little jokes to convince myself life can be a little more than pointless, painful garbage all the time.

(continue in tags)

[widevibratobitch]

omw to play emotional support for my mom disguised as ✨fun family bonding time✨ for the rest of the week <3333 there's something so deeply wrong with me uwu teehee

[merv606]

I never felt this got the answer it deserved and always intended to come back to it.

I was reminded of it recently when someone liked it.

I changed some things - Robby is a baby and I pictured them more circa after KK3 era - with Daniel being maybe 25ish, give or take.

“Sweetheart, I have something important to ask you.”

Daniel doesn’t make a fuss and Terry knew, without even really needing to ask, that Daniel would look after the boy, until they figured out what to do.

Although Terry already knows what will be done.

Still, he asked.

“Can you look after Robby for a few days?!”

“What happened?” Instant worry on Daniel’s face, which is something Terry hates to see, something he is loathe to be the actual cause of, but in this case, it is a necessary evil. The ends will justify the means.

“Terry?” He asks, when his husband doesn’t answer. It’s not the first time he’s stepped in for such a thing, in Robby’s young life, but normally it’s been a night here and there, and Terry said days.

“The boy’s father met an unfortunate accident,” an accident that Terry may be responsible for but, he can live with that, easily. Especially when he knows he is giving Daniel something he wants. He can live with it so long as Daniel never finds out how their eventual son came to them anyway.

“Is he okay?”

“It’s not good, sweetheart. I have my lawyers trying to contact any possible family.”

Terry had put up with Mr. Lawrence’s poor behaviour at work, his clear drinking problem, but it was only his visibly pregnant wife that had Terry keeping him around in the first place.

He saw the way Daniel lit up around kids. How they would swarm him at the company’s Christmas party and how much Daniel loved it. How he looked forward to any company outing with families.

He saw the overjoyed look at his boy’s face as he was handed the Lawrence baby at a recent company event, the small frown when he realized it was so Johnny could go have a drink.

They had actually taken the boy home for the first time that night. Johnny had passed out drunk, his already well known problem exasperated by his wife’s unfortunate passing in giving Robby life.

Any qualms Terry may have had about setting the plan in motion were doused after that.

Especially when he saw his boy with the baby in his arms later that night, singing him to sleep, the joy and love on his face before laying him gently into the bassinet they had Margaret run out to pick up. The near reverence Daniel had on his face as Terry came to stand next to him, watching the sleeping child himself for a few minutes before ushering Daniel to bed.

Now it would just be permanent.

Besides, neglect like that would only turn to something else.

They could give the child a much better life.

A week passes, and Terry breaks the news that they cannot locate anyone next of kin.

“They both had no siblings, and her parents want nothing to do with the child,” he explained, not after the money Terry paid them off with anyway, “and Johnny’s stepfather really has no claim,” or want for the child of the stepson he never wanted in the first place.

“What happens to Robby then?” Daniel bites his lip, a common nervous tick of his, but Terry knows the wheels are already turning.

Before Terry can answer, a shrill wail, and a red faced Robby is brought in by the nanny.

While he wanted his boy to have a baby, wanted to tie Daniel to him in that way, he also made sure his boy’s attention can be his when needed.

Daniel takes him, Robby instantly calming.

“I wonder if he senses,” Daniel starts, looking to the older man.

Terry places a hand on his shoulder.

“I think he senses your distress more than anything. Go see if you can’t get him back down,” he leans down to place a quick kiss on those full pink lips.

Terry watches them leave before turning on his heel to find Margaret.

That night Daniel comes in tired, but oh so beautiful.

“He’s fussy, but I think I got him down,” he yawns.

Shrugging off his shirt and jeans, he grabs an old one of Terry’s, putting it on before quickly collapsing face down, Terry rubbing his back soothingly, although he is focused on the papers in front of him, signing his name when required.

After a few moments, Daniel climbs in bed proper, leaning against Terry’s side, his eyes getting heavier and heavier, his weight getting heavier and heavier against the older man.

Terry is expecting to have to put him to bed once he finishes his task, but suddenly a hand reaches out, staying Terry’s.

“Do…. What do you think about maybe adopting Robby?” he asks.

“You want that?” Terry responds, pretending like he doesn’t already know, like he didn’t plan this knowing this would be the exact outcome.

“I do,” he answers, hesitantly adding, “but do you?”

Daniel made peace that having Terry, this life, probably meant no children and while sad he knew he wanted Terry more. He couldn’t live without the older man.

But now, there may be a way for him to have both - to have it all.

He didn’t though, actually know the older man’s stance on them. He never bothered to ask, seeing as how he didn’t think it was an option.

“When have I denied you anything you wanted, sweetheart?”

“Terry, I’m being serious.”

“As am I.”

Terry lays the papers to the side, easily manhandling Daniel into his lap, easy enough in any circumstance for Terry to do but more so when Daniel clearly isn’t resisting.

“You were born to be a father,” Terry says, and it will be Daniel doing the rearing anyway, “and you need something to do.”

He has the bonsai shop, but works there sparingly, when permitted, and that alone was a hard won argument and still a bone of contention wth Terry.

His boy doesn’t need to work. Terry doesn’t see why he is wants to. He prefers knowing where he is, he prefers Daniel home.

“I have one condition.”

Daniel is curious. Wondering what it could be, Terry taking his hands in his.

“You are to stay at home with him.”

That was exactly what he wanted. The thought of leaving Robby when he didn’t want to, especially when have to just wasn’t sitting right with him. He wanted to be there for him, not miss one moment, but he was actually a bit nervous to tell Terry he wanted to stay home.

“You can have all the help you need but I would prefer one of his parents being here for him.”

Terry was raised by nannie’s himself, and while he would have no issues or qualms with them raising Robby, the thought of Daniel home in such a manner well, it’s part of why he did this in the first place.

“You know I will,” Daniel agrees, not even needing to think.

Terry tries to hide his smirk.

“It was actually what I wanted,” he says like it’s some kind of shameful secret. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I was worried ….”

“Why,” Terry laughs, interrupting him, but he can’t help it. After all, Terry’s made no secret of his desire for his husband to be home.

Daniel groans now. He knew the older man wouldn’t object; would probably be elated.

“I just … I put up such a fuss about working ….”

“I know you did,” he chuckles, kissing Daniel’s nose.

Daniel wrinkles his nose, pouting slightly.

“It’s settled then.”

“Just like that,” Daniel asks, although it’s playful. He knows Terry will make it happen, whatever is needed.

When the older man wants something he never takes long in making it a reality, and when it comes to Daniel’s happiness, Terry is even quicker.

“Just like that.”

Daniel can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.

“You know that what my boy wants he gets.”

“We’re parents,” he finally allows himself to say, like he can’t believe it, leaning forward, his forehead gently touching Terry’s.

“We are,” Terry answers back, “and maybe they’ll be more to keep you busy.”

“A little girl would be perfect,” Daniel whispers, kissing his husband.

Gentle at first, but then large hands grip his boy’s ass, and Daniel whimpers, breaking the kiss on a breathy moan, feeling how hard Terry is for him already, and well, he quickly finds himself under his husband, Terry’s too large shirt ruched up, his boxer briefs long gone.

“Fuck me,” he breathes out, although Terry is already reaching for the lube.

“That what you want, baby?! My cock?!!”

“Yes,” he whimpers, slippery fingers already at his entrance as he cants his hips to give his husband easier access to what they both want.

“Gave you a child tonight and you still want more.”

“You’ll give me both.”

Daniel spreads his legs, and oh that sight will never not do things to Terry. Terrible, wonderful things for which he is willing to do both terrible and wonderful things.

Their son in the next room proof of that, as is the breathtaking beauty under him now, crying out gorgeously as Terry gives him what he asked for.

Always.

Thought of a au of married silverusso adopting Robby in sesson 1 because that boy needed a home and those two would be great parents to him and terry calling out Johnny for his bullshit parenting like he did in s5 full on think terry would have called out Johnny from the start and that why I love him so much I really need more of that in s6 I can’t just brush past the 17 years of abandoning johnny did to Robby I really can’t all because him and Miguel are step brother now and the new baby coming along that doesn’t make it any better

You know that is an absolutely adorable idea.

Terry and Daniel - an au where they’re a healthy couple - adopting Robby.

[keeps-ache]

the worst thing that has come out of me losing every art file from this year is that i can't just eyedrop palettes now. the world is agony

[imadhatt3r]

"First gay experience", "first gay date", "first gay sex"