#They aren't /his/ kids but those are his fucking BABIES. All three of them.

[cyberrats]

Thank you Phantom Liberty for giving us a chance to tinker w/ Crow's story... That man raised his younger brother's kids while healing from divorcing his abuser now. This man has never had a moment of peace but carries NO regret for over half of it.

[yeyinde]

baby blues

John Price + the panic of fatherhood x reader

pregnancy. babies. soft. sappy. angsty. slight allusions to rough sex. John being possessive and smitten. allusions to childhood trauma. the fear of children is somehow more potent than the fear of god. girl dad John. mentions of Price's divorce lmao

Most assume he'd take to fatherhood like he'd been born for the role; handcrafted to cradle a swaddled babe in his arms. The perfect father figure. But as he hovers over your sleeping form, the little bundle nestled in the sleepy bracket of your arms, he's overcome with a sense of dread that punches hard enough to shatter bone.

The reality is this: Price doesn't understand kids. He wants them. Covets them with a viciousness that almost immediately sets alarm bells off in the heads of those who were opposed to the idea of children, parenthood. Giving birth. But when it comes to being a dad, a role model, an effigy to siphon wisdom and knowledge off of, he flounders. Hesitates.

All he has as an idea of fatherhood is bruises laughed off by the neighbours as him being a clumsy boy. A man who drank in the living room, silent in his fury, his belligerence, until something—anything, really—set him off. He always seemed like he was itching for a reason to punish.

And god, was he ever fucking good at it.

If anger issues are hereditary, then Price picked up the generational slack of his seething ancestors. 

It's this, and the plethora of scars and burns that decorate his skin (well hidden, tucked away like a dirty secret because if Old Man Price was anything, it certainly wasn't stupid; he knows how to hide the ugliness of himself away, and how to turn a boy into a punching bag without causing too much damage, too much alarm) that make him ache something fierce when he sees his chubby little child for the first time. 

Price doesn't know how to be gentle. All he has are worn, rough hands and a constant stench of smoke. A voice that makes grown men tremble. An ire unmatched thus far in his life. 

Until you. Little spitfire. His hellion. You stood on the tips of your toes just to tell him off for being a stubborn pig! and then taught him how to hold you. How to be tender. But even now, he can see the wear on your skin from his bites. His propensity for violence that he morphs into desire. Into lust. 

How is he supposed to be a dad when he's this caustic? This mean? 

The answer doesn't come. All he gets is the rhythmic sigh of your breath as you sleep, well and truly exhausted after giving birth to their child. All alone. A constant in your lives, it seems. Aloneness. His work takes him away, throws him into dangerous situations. And you carry the brunt of it. 

It caused the rupture of his first marriage and is a needling fear he carried with him when you started pursuing him some odd years ago. To think that he'd be standing here now, gazing down at you with your heavy eyes and your soft cheeks, rounded with the additional weight you gained during your early trimesters. A plushness he's trying to keep on you for good—all softened edges, flesh that gives when he touches you, marshmallows out between his fingers when he squeezes.

You look good like this. Motherhood, despite your misgivings (it took three years of him hinting and hounding you before you'd relented with a sure, what's the worst that could happen? We're terrible parents and raise a terrible kid? Or we end up the catalyst for a list of psychological issues and get reamed out during their therapy sessions later on in life?), suits you. Fits you like a glove.

A fact you'd been quietly overwhelmed by in the first few months, grieving the loss of something he couldn't ever understand, or experience. A piece of yourself morphing into the mother that raised you. A kaleidoscope of feelings that you choke on when he asks, unable to render them into coherent words. 

But you're good at that, aren't you? Good at culling expectations, at superseding the limits others place on you. Even him. 

Especially him. 

When he'd said, don't know what you're gettin’ yourself into, love, you took it to the chin like he challenged you to a brawl, and set out to show him why you knew what this was, what he was, and why it didn't matter much. 

Even now—

Giving birth all alone. Overcoming the isolation of being shackled to a man who married his post first. Sisterwife to his career. Second in all things. 

Even this. 

He was in Iceland when he got the call. Laswell, of all people, was on the other line telling him his own wife was in the delivery room. Water broke. Baby is on the way. 

And you—

Don't worry, old man. Just do what needs to be done and we'll be waiting. Always. 

—well. You certainly are. Alone in a hospital room with the curtains drawn to blot out the sun as you sleep, cradling this thing he made with his fingers shoved deep into your mouth, uttering foul under his breath as he crushed you to the bed, rutting you like an animal—the most tender he could ever be—and he's suddenly all too aware of his own inadequacies. His shortcomings. Failures. 

He's not a dad. He's not the sort of man people think about when they think healthy father figure. He likes cigars and whiskey, and sometimes aches for a mission that will let him cut his knuckles on teeth—bloodletting; exorcising his demons out on the people he's sanctioned to kill. How is he supposed to guide a child when he threw a man over a railing without a second thought—

The bundle stirs. Wrinkled, red face scrunching up tight. Little thing is just like you, huh? All softness and give. All—

They cry, and it's shrill. Loud. It jars him.

Not the sound, but the anguish he feels piercing through his chest as they bellow out their confusion to the world, this lost little thing. Strapped with a father who was beaten black and blue and told to be a man when he cried. 

But right now—anger is the furthest thing on his mind. He can't fathom that emotion when his child is whimpering in your arms, chubby little fingers grasping at the air. Seeking comfort. 

Waking you feels cruel when you've spent the better part of two days awake. Four, really. You couldn't sleep when the contractions hit, wide-eyed and worried about everything. What if something went wrong? If they hated you? What if you hurt them—

Worries he tried to assuage, but couldn't deny he felt them, too. 

All he knows how to do is hurt. But as he reaches down for this little thing squirming in your arms, he tells himself to be tender. To be the man his dad never was. 

And they're soft. So fuckin’ soft. Tiny, too. His hands dwarf them, engulfing them completely. He tries to blame the way he trembles on the denial of nicotine for so long, but the mist in his eyes, and the burn in his throat, call him a liar. He doesn't know what to do. Even with all the hours spent thumbing through manuals and books and scoffing under his breath at the parenting courses you dragged him to (but paid rigid attention to every word the heavily bangled woman said to him), he feels lost. Unsure. The ground is shaky. Control slips. And that's maybe the crux of it all—

Babies can't be controlled. And it's the loss of this, what makes him whole, keeps him steady, that has him feeling rubber-limbed and fawn-like. 

“Quiet, now,” he murmurs, and then winces at the rough drag of his voice in the silence of the room. Too firm, too forceful. All the gentleness he has in his bones was devoured by your greedy mouth when you cracked him open like the legs of a snow crab, marrow slurped up until he was hollow. Empty. His tenderness rests inside your belly. What else does he have to give—

But the warm bundle in his awkward, clumsy hold stops their shrill cries. A girl, he remembers you saying. Crying. Sobbing into the phone when he called, all ugly and gross. He heard you sniffle, snot undoubtedly dribbling from your nose as you wept to him about how fucking cute their baby was. Their little girl. 

She's soft. Smells of a newborn, too—something powdery. Sweet. Warmed milk, fresh bread. The clinical books that made you squeamish, the ones that outlined every anatomical and chemical change to your body, mentioned that newborns smelled distinct to each parent. A phenomenon meant to encourage protection and bonding. 

It made you shiver, muttering my little parasite under your breath, even as your hand curved possessively over your bulging belly. 

He knows that's what this is. Chemical. His mind is evolving, shifting. Changing. And it's then that he feels something hot thicken in his throat. Something ugly, and bitter. The scars on his knuckles, the cigarette burns on his fingers are a sharp reminder of what his father felt and ignored. 

He scoffs, then, irritated at himself. He's a grown man and still—

Still thinks of him. 

“Won't be like that,” he says, still rough. Still firm. She blinks up at him, eyes rheumy and wide. “Not with you.” 

Never. Never. He pins the word to his pericardium, letting it rot his tissue. He'd rather die, he thinks, than ever hurt this little girl. But despite that, he knows he will. Inevitably. Just like he does everything good—or bad—in his life. Leaching from the goodness of others, sucking them dry and letting them moulder. A disappointment everywhere except the battlefield where he screams himself hollow and rents the air with his ire. Incorrigible. Immovable. An object of cruelty. Unforgiving in all aspects. A curse that follows him home, into his marital bed when he pins you down, and makes you profess your love for the beast inside of him. Never satiated, never quelled, until you're shackled at his side. Tucked away from the world he knows is too cruel to people like you who end up a corpse he has to step over on his way for empty retribution. 

He thinks, too, about all the ways he's going to ruin this chubby little thing in his arms, and wishes, suddenly, he was a better man. 

“Gonna hate my fuckin' guts when you're sixteen, aren't you?” In response, this little thing just opens its red maw and blows bubbles. He huffs. “You're gonna be nothin’ but trouble, mm? Steal my car. Crash it because your mum's gonna teach you how to drive and she backed into the garage six times already. Gonna gang up on me. Both of you. Little nightmares.” 

He's not sure what else to say, and thinks, already, that he said too much. Bared his belly to her too soon. She'll have this memory, buried down in the deep recesses of her psyche of her father falling to pieces while he held her. An impossibility, he knows, but can't shake the feeling that this, in itself, is an epoch. A marker for what's to come. All the ugly, the hate. The screaming matches that make him curl his hand into fists as she levels his failures at him. Not to hit. Never to hit. But to stop the tremble that won't stop. That has already started. The shake in his joints that tell him to run before he hurts. Before he ruins this precious mass of his blood and your tissue in his arms. 

“Gonna—” he isn't crying. Isn't. But there's a thickness in his throat as he thinks about how quickly she'll grow up. Age marked in the crows feet that gather around your eyes. The laugh lines. “Gonna be a fuckin' menace, and I'll—” he chokes, then, when she reaches up with a pudgy, red fist and snags the strap of his vest he didn't even bother taking off before he fled here. Fat, tiny fingers curling into the spot he grabs to ground himself from lashing out. “Fuck.”

He'd burn the world for her, he knows. Sacrifice everyone and everything just to keep her warm. Both of you. It begins and ends with this little thing that has your eyes and his nose. 

But he doesn't know how to translate that into love. Into affection. 

It comes out caustic. Abrasive. Possessive. 

And he is. 

Now that he has her in his hands he knows that nothing else will ever compare. That they'll never be empty because she'll always fit in his palms no matter how big she gets. There's only ever been enough space in his heart for you. Chiselled into with a fuckin’ pickaxe because you wouldn't wait for it to grow on its own. 

But there's give, he realises. This domicile you carved yourself has a room attached. A place for her. And she fits like a glove. Sliding inside. Cocooned against his pulse. 

He loves her. Endlessly. Forever. She deserves better. More. 

But when he tells her this, she makes a noise and it sounds like a giggle. 

“Laughin’ at me already, mm?”

She giggles again, and he likes that her laugh is a little ugly. A little mean. 

“Scarin’ the wits outta me,” he confesses, shifting her weight as she occupies herself with the clasp of his vest, disinterested in the man that breaks into pieces around her now. “I don't know—fuck, I don't—”

You come to in a panic. It starts as a slow roll to the side before your eyes flash open, wide and furious even as sleep congeals in the corners, pawing at the empty spot where the lingering warmth of your child presses into your chest. Anger, fury, darkens over your brow, and the apoplectic rage that simmers in the gaps of your dread, your fostering panic, softens him. Makes him melt. The burn of your ire, your fear, liquifying his bones. 

He falls in love with you a little bit more at that moment. When the snarl rucks your upper lip up, up, teeth bared to the world as you whip your head around in frantic, desperate dismay, searching for the little girl he knows you, too, will burn the world for. 

“I've got her,” he says, whisper-soft and low. Cadence even, clear. Tries to quell the howl he can see hammering its fists against your throat before it rips from your lips and scorches the world around you in a hail of horrifying anguish. “She's safe.”

It says something when you immediately go still at the sound of his voice, muscles going lax, slack, as you slowly turn your head toward him, blinking against the fog clotting your vision. Something that cuts him to the core. Rents his chest in halves. One side for you, and the other for her. Nothing left to spare. 

This feeling brimming in his chest sweetens when you startle at the sight of him, them, lashes shuttering like an old camera as if you were trying to sear the image in your head forever. Branded on the back of your eyelids. (A sentiment he knows all too well considering the stream of photos added to his camera roll of you and her nuzzled together.)

“You—” your voice catches, breaks from sleep. Fatigue. You swallow, slowly licking your lips. “When did you get in?”

Your eyes are glued to them. Unblinking. Widened with pure affection, the intensity of which makes him want to touch you, hold you.

“A few hours ago,” he murmurs, glancing down at his—

It cuts a jagged line through his chest. Knicks his bone with how deep it goes. False starts pressed tight to his heart. 

—his daughter. Fuck’s sake. 

He's choked. Strangled. Rendered mute, immobilised. It guts him, this. Daughter. The ring of it echoes in his head, filling the recesses of his mind. Embedding itself within his head. Congealed over. Fixed in place. 

“I have a fuckin’ daughter,” he breathes at length, the air knocked from his lungs. He's not sure why this is what breaks him, but it does. And it's you, then, holding the fracturing pieces together, hands reaching out—in a startling mimicry of his daughter, and fuck, doesn't that just eviscerate him—and curling against the heaving brackets of his ribs, boxing him in. 

“John,” you say, but your voice wobbles. Wavers. When he peels his eyes away from the sleepy yawn she lets out long enough to look at you, there's tears flooding your lashline. Threatening to break. “Fuck,” you say, crass and beautiful, and he's overcome with the urge to tuck you into his other arm, keep you both cradled in his hands. “Don't make me cry or my stitches will tug.” 

“We've got a daughter,” he says again, just to hear it uttered aloud. We. Yours. His. It messes with him. Bludgeons into his core. “We've—”

“She's beautiful, isn't she?” 

Your words shatter him, but the pinch of your hands on his waist keeps him from buckling. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice thick. Ugly. It's mangled in his throat. All fractured and raw. “Just like her mother.”

He shows his affection in the burn of his embrace. In the way he holds you tight, refusing to let go. Keeps his words callous and firm. Soft utterances, declarations of love, tucked away in the sure, greedy way he clings to you in his sleep. Yields to you like no one else. Lets you in. 

And he supposes he ought to say it more often if the way your face crinkles up just like his daughter when she cried, tears spilling over your rounded cheeks. 

“Don't,” you heave, ugly and brittle, and he thinks you're the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. “Don't or I'll rip my stitches—”

He huffs. Nods only once, and then steps toward you. “Do you want—?”

“Keep her for a little while,” you mutter, leaning back into the bed, eyes lidded by fond. So in love with him, the picture they paint, it's almost sickening. “She likes you.”

He snorts. “She's only three hours old. Give her time.” 

You're quiet for a beat. Pensive. Mulling something over. It's never a good thing when you're silent, and the unease that grows in his belly is justified when you heave out a long, tired exhale through your nose. 

The way you look at him is raw. “You're not your father, John.” 

And isn't that just the worst lie he'd ever heard.

He scoffs, then. Shifts his weight, still cradling his daughter tight to his chest. “Mm, 'dunno about that.”

“I do.”

“Jus’—” leave it. Keep going. Keep feeding him lies as he stands here and pretends that he wasn't a horrible bastard for wanting this from you. From taking it. Strapping you with a man who's always, always, one foot out the door—

“No.” You say, soft and sure. “You're not him. I know you're not because you're still here.”

“So was he.” 

You don't acknowledge the interruption. Content, it seems, to rattle off lies and half-truths into the stifling air. Your eyes close, the curve of your lashes leonine. Breathtaking.

“Do you want me to take her?” You ask instead of the multitude of things he can see piling behind your eyes. Some of the ugly. Jagged glass. Others powder soft. 

He shakes his head. “You need your rest,” it's a half-truth. Fatigue clings to you still, swathed in the purpling of your skin. The slow, heavy blinks you take to try and fight the tug of an artificial sleep. 

But the real reason is this:

He's just not ready to let her go. 

Thinks, viciously, suddenly, that if he does, this moment built between them in budding, liquid blue will cease forever. Severed too soon. She'll carry the same resentment in her heart he feels for his own father, and he'll die in a shallow pit thinking about how badly he wanted just a second longer. 

Generational, right? Trickle down hatred. Ancestral rage. It's what your grandma talks about sometimes over tea and fried bread, half disbelieving you brought a white man into her home, and making a show, a facade, of wisdom even though he spotted the how to raise a child notebook she hastily shoved into the kitchen drawer when you arrived. Taking over in place of your own mother, stepping up. And yet—

She just doesn't get it, you said, rubbing your hands over your belly when she steps away after another long-winded conversation about traditions, spirits, and dead languages. Raising a child like yours in a world like this. She's just. I don't know. Ignore her. 

(He doesn't. But you don't have to know that.)

So. He clings to her a little tighter. Holds her a little firmer. Brings her close to his chest and hopes she can hear the echo of his heartbeat and know that this tired, old song is just for her. 

(The heart itself for you—)

And maybe—

Maybe he's not quite ready to see you be a mother. Some perverse part of him is already trembling at the promise of watching you nurture and feed her, the tantalising whisper is enough to make the air in his lungs turn humid, sticky. Tar, you remind him sometimes, having seen the ugly spatter of black in the grainy photos the doctor in Hereford likes to shove at him. Never too late to reverse the damage, John. 

Or maybe he wants you for himself just a moment longer. An hour. A day. When you're still you, shackled and bound to a man who reeks of stale tobacco, and started sneaking cigarettes in the dead of night like some pimply, awkward teenager when you first came to him, cheeks wet and eyes wild, and said:

“John, I'm—”

Pregnant. 

He did it, of course. Put that baby in you. Made it with his teeth buried into your throat and your hips canting up to meet him, taking everything he had to offer. Animal aggression. Nothing tender in the way he chewed you up, made you beg him for it. But still—

Wanting and having are worlds apart, aren't they? 

Faced with it, the consequences of his actions, he's at a standstill. 

You hum, and when your eyes slide open, he feels the mallet against his head. Cracked open. You fossick about until you find what you're looking for. Cheeky fuckin’ thing—

“Fine. Just pull up a chair before you keel over, old man.” 

“M’fine,” he grouses in that voice that serves as a dice roll between making you feel hot or homicidal depending on the mood he catches you in. Muttering something under your breath that sounds like a whispered plea for guidance (“tss, gimme strength.”)

But even with the waspish denial, he's inching closer to the spare chair left in the corner, looping his ankle around the leg to slide it closer. The squeal of rubber on aluminium makes him grimace, eyes darting down to his sleeping girl, nestled in his arms. Her brow pinches in the same way your grandma’s do when she's annoyed by the news. Her bingomates. The way he refuses her offering of burning tobacco and lemongrass whenever he goes away for a while, unable to really commit to this little, broken family that feels more like home than his own ever did. 

(“aint my place,” he says, and she scoffs. 

“fuck, s'matter wit’cha?” is her counter, the harsh line between her brows now perfectly superimposed on his daughter’s face. “tss. ain't yer place, eh. are you tryna piss me off? fuck, you make me mad—”)

He sees that spitting anger in you. Generational, he knows. The same inherited attitude his daughter will inevitably have. The one that singles him out as an outlier. Outnumbered. Three, now, to one—

There's got to be a reason why his chest bubbles, innervated by the thought of a Sunday dinner when she's old enough to watch her grandma make intricate bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and pins with thread and glass beads as you, her mother, cuss at the stove that doesn't burn as hot as it used to, flipping over golden dough in a sizzling pan. 

Orange juice in old cups your grandma kept since the nineties. Something soft playing on the radio. The peeling, waterlogged wallpaper flakes off the wall when you slam the pan down too hard. The way the spill of the sun through the rusting window rents the room in half. Pale yellow and oak. Little orange blossoms in soft pink above the speckled granite countertops. Everything awash in a gossamer of sleepy-eyed affection. 

Just like it is now. But—

He looks down at her, head full of lead. Cotton. 

Complete, maybe. 

“Don't know how to be a dad,” he confesses to you, and thinks of how much easier it is to slam a sledgehammer into a metal door than it is to peel back the veneer sometimes. “Don't want to mess up.” 

“You'll be fine.” 

The crinkle of the plastic mattress, the scratch of the sheets sliding across the bed is louder now than it was before. He cuts the gentle sounds with an abrading hum that clicks off his teeth. 

“Get some sleep,” he says again instead of the awful truth that buoys in his throat. Things like you don't know and I tricked you this whole time into thinking I'm a good man and look what you’ve let me do to you. “You need it.” 

Another noise. In his periphery, he watches you lean back against the upright pillows, lips parted on a soft sigh. He feels—

Small, then. An oxymoron considering he has to duck his head to get in and out of the room, towering over most he meets daily. But the inadequacies gut him. Vivisect him. He should be more comforting to you, he knows. This whole thing has been difficult. Tiresome. Cut into and having the life you grew inside of you cut out—

“Did good,” he rasps, still staring down at her even as he pulls the chair as close to your bed as he can get. “With her.” 

You snort. It's inelegant. Ugly. Brittle, like you're holding back tears. 

When he glances up, he finds that you are. “You're strong,” he adds, and knows he should have started with this first. “Doin’ this all on your own.” 

“I had help.”

It's awkward trying to adjust himself in the seat with his daughter perched in his arms, but he finds a way. Settled, then, with her still sleeping away, he lifts his hand from her back, keeping her cradled in his arm with the other, and reaches for you. 

The starchy sheets catch on the bramble of hair on his knuckles, the back of his hand, and the static jolts tickle against the rough scar tissue thickened over his knuckles, some still fresh, scabbed from the latest mission he'd been deployed to. You watch him, misty-eyed and tremulous, as he draws nearer, eyes flickering like a pendulum between the bundle nestled on the thick of his arm, to him, watching you back. Greedily taking in every spasm, every blink. 

Something inside of him cracks. Softens. He thinks, breathless, that you've never been as beautiful to him as you are right now. Bubbles of snot in your nose. Eyes reddened, dropping from exhaustion. A dizzying mess. The sort that speaks of tireless work, of physicality. Muted pain brimming in the backs of your eyes when you pull on your stitches. 

“Got a pretty wife,” he says, and it's not enough. He knows it isn't. Looks away before the fracture lilt to his tone breaks him in two. “And—” it's hard to say. He forces himself to. “And a beautiful daughter.” 

The tears stream down your face at this quiet, clumsy admission. 

“Don't—” you sniffle, hoarse. “Or I'll tear my stitches.”

“M’not doin' anythin’, love.” 

“Fuck you, John—”

He leans back in his chair with a hum, eyes slipping shut. A brief respite amid the panic still clinging tight to his ribcage. “Love you too.” 

It's quiet. Nothing but the soft drag of each breath his daughter takes, the tremulous sniffle you give as you try to dam the tears sliding down your cheeks. His heart hammering in his ears. He commits it all to memory. Glueing it to the fibrils of mind where it'll stay, embedded in tissue, for as long as he is of sound mind. 

Much like the grainy, black-and-white ultrasounds stuffed in his breast pocket. Tucked inside the drawer of his desk where he keeps the pictures of you. Keepsakes he's unnecessarily possessive over, elbowing the rowdier men who try to needle him for sparse information on the little wife he hides at home and the baby they'll never meet. Something just for him. Unshareable to the rest of the world because they don't deserve you. 

The feathered snores tell him you're finally asleep, and he thinks about resting for a moment as well—the bone-deep exhaustion he feels jetting from Iceland to home, to the hospital catches up to him with a vicious kick to temples—but the weight in his arm keeps him awake. Hyperviligent. 

There's this urge clawing at him, making ruins of his chest, and he answers its worried insistence by opening his eyes just a sliver to stare down at the little bundle in his arms only to find she's staring back at him. Eyes wide. Comically too big for her chubby face. 

She has your complexion, but his dark curls. Her eyes, though, are the perfect equilibrium between pools of sapphire, burnt blue, marbled with the dark gleam, that vibrant shade of yours that he's so fond of, the one that's often accompanied by a smart-ass remark. Seeing it gaze up at him with such incipient adoration knocks the air from his lungs. Has his heart shuddering in the brackets of his chest. 

It's love, he thinks first. Instantaneous. Apodictic. And then, cold, callous—

Chemical. 

Just to hurt himself, maybe. Just to let it cut deep. Scar. Because as he stares down at her, he knows it doesn't matter. No amount of hatred, of anger, will ever rip her away from him. His daughter. His family. His.

Like her mother. The root of it all. The catalyst. The start. 

Shackled to this gaping chasm that devours endlessly, never satiated. Always starving. 

Needy. Full of greed. 

Because even now he covets. Craves. Muses to himself about how he can convince you to have another the moment the opportunity arises and you're healed. Whole. Aching for it. 

He wasn't joking when he said he wanted a football team. 

But for now—

The soft sighs you make in your sleep, ones that almost sound like his name, and the comforting weight of his daughter in his arms are enough to make the beast inside purr. Preening under its own conquest, its own victory of successfully turning your body into a home he can rest his weary head on. Sacrosanct. 

He looks at her, then, and feels the dread ease into pride. Into elation. An emotion he knows should have come first, but it's here now, and that's all that really matters.

“Gonna be trouble,” he grouses, watching her pink mouth gape wide, blood-red maw grinning up at him in delirious glee only babies can imbue. Unhindered by the ruination of the world around them. Unfettered. 

Something he couldn't protect you from, but knows you're both on the same wavelength when it comes to her. At all costs, you'd said, hand against the burgeoning swell. And he kissed you until he couldn't feel his lips anymore. Until all he tasted, all he knew, was the taste of you.

“Of the best kind, though, mm?” 

In response, she coos. And he hews the sound into his chest where it sits beside the brand of when you first said, i love you, too, John. 

So, he relaxes. Whispers soft, conspiratorily. "Think you might need'a brother, mm? What'd you say about that?"

And she giggles.

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Rating Whb kings on the experience they have with humans (NSFW-ish)

7. Belphegor - he slept a lot with Solomon, but it was just them sharing a bed. He doesn't even remember if he ever fucked Solomon since he was asleep when it happened. He's probably to lazy to go to the human world for a one night stand.

6. Leviathan - he slept with Solomon three times and that was all his experience with humans. He's not that interested in sex, much less with humans. He's also kind of scared that he'll get a human pregnant accidently and have a little Dantalian of his own. You know, maybe chastity belts aren't that bad of a concept now that he had to babysit for a week.

5. Lucifer - Lucifer fucked Adam and Eve. That's two humans so he gets to be higher on the list than Leviathan and Belphegor. He used to fuck Adam and Eve almost every other weekend to prove to himself, mainly, that he's above humanity. So he knows both female and male human anatomy. But after Adam and Eve, he never slept with a human again. Not even Solomon.

4. Mammon - back in the olden days he would just go around the human world and show them how to farm or domesticate animals. He would sometimes demand a sacrifice be given to him in exchange for this knowledge, so he did fuck quite a few people. The reason he's not higher is the same as Lucifer. After a short while he stopped. He hasn't gotten human bitches since the mesopotamian empire

3. Satan - There's a reason he's the most well known demon in the human world. When he was in his late teens - early twenties, he had a phase where he would make himself known even in the sloppiest of incantations. Sometimes there were only children being edgy and he'd mess with them for fun, othertimes he'd find himself alone with some cultists and that's where he got most of his experience from.

2. Beelzebub - All the flies in the human world are part of the Beelzebub hivemind. So, when he notices a mortal he really likes, he stalks them until they're drunk or high and fucks them until the next tomorrow. He never loved a mortal outside of Solomon and MC, so there's no chance of having a baby... we don't talk about Terarre, he was a bastard.

1. Asmodeus - He's still doing it. He has slept with more humans than devils. He just thinks humans are better at sex. Do demons have dildos? No they don't. Just yesterday he got ravaged by a bad dragon strap from a random ass human. Asmodeus spends most of his time in the human world either visiting his kids or finding people to have more kids with. He has a breeding kink and a human kink and all the time in the world to put those two into great use with eachother.

[fictional-orphan-smackdown]

ROUND 4, MATCH 1!

All propaganda and what each competitor is from under the cut

The Baudelaire Orphans (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

The epitome of orphans, they’re the best

“I’m having a very terrible childhood right now”-Klaus

The story deadass begins with them being told that their parents died in a fire and that they're orphans now. They then bounce from guardian to guardian who tend to always meet a gruesome fate at the hands of Count Olaf. Not only have they been orphaned once, but have been orphaned multiple times and are called "The Baudelaire Orphans" by not only characters in the book but by the narrator himself. They're called "The Baudelaire Orphans" so many times that it might as well be a defining character trait of theirs, and honestly it sort've is. The series doesn't even end with them finding a home or guardians of any kind, it ends with the Baudelaires fate being completely ambiguous with them literally sailing away from the island they were stranded on in the final book (yeah this series is quite the journey, I highly suggest it). These poor three kids are probably the most orphaned kids of all time since their orphaned in a new way almost every book and they deserve at least one win in their unfortunate tale.

These guys are like the poster-child of orphaning, we open the series with them finding out that they're orphans and also have no access to their money so now they hop around from place to place from weirdo caretaker to another weird/crazy/murderous caretaker and it's all fun and games and murder and decieving and surviving and thriving and---my point is, these three are a wonderful trio of siblings who love and rely on one another through all their trials and tribulations.

Literally every single one of their problems come from being orphans. They’re continually referred to as orphans and the plot of the first half of the series is them being shuffled around to guardians.

These kids are so orphaned they never even get a found family outside themselves. At least most stories featuring orphaned kids see them fulfill some sorta epic destiny or have them find a new home or set of loved ones of sorts. The Baudelaires? They're thrown from one fucking failure of a home into the next, ignored, hunted, etc.. It's been years but like, even in the end, they still have to set sail alone. As individual characters, they aren't bad either. Violet's the dependable big sister who's knack for inventions comes in handy, Klaus is a well-read chap and Sunny is a lovely gremlin. They make a good trio.

Every single guardian they try to obtain throughout the series turns out to be someone who wants the large inheritance left for them and is willing to do whatever it takes to get it.

They basically fend for themselves the whole series when no adult will listern to them. The whole series is them being resourceful and clever the whole series despite the misfortune. Violet is a brilliant inventor, Klaus reads and collects knowledge, and Sunny learns to be a good cook over the series

their parents die tragically in a fire and then everything awful proceeds to happen to them

I haven't read these books in years but if any orphans deserve to win a smackdown it's these fools, they are constantly in the trenches in those books goddamn. Also that baby is like a shredder they have that on their side, I think that beast literally solo'd a snake?

(This one was specifically for Klaus, but I'll put it here still) He and his sisters being orphans is kinda the point. As in many books, it's the trigger for them to change lives and navigating hardships. The thing is, their hardships just grow worse and "unfortunate" (read "dreadful") events keep happening to them as they stick together instead of the story getting better. Klaus and Violet become Sunny's subtitute parents and get through their more and more miserable lives together keeping hope things would eventually get better

Arguably more famously orphaned than Bruce Wayne, if not for how their story happens while they’re orphaned children versus an orphaned adult. Definitely have the most famously tragic post-orphaning story. All three are incredibly brilliant in their own way, including the literal baby. Pursued relentlessly by the leader of a maniacal theater troupe and letdown by a slew of adults, so it’s all the more impressive how amazing they each turned out to be. Book series was so good it got turned into a pretty great movie and then a successful TV show years later. Also can’t forget how these three are orphaned repeatedly as the distant relatives who take them in get killed off in increasingly inventive manners. Let’s be honest, ain’t no characters out here orphaning like the Baudelaire orphans.

this series taught me so many cool words and phrases and I love each of the 3 main characters so much

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny are peddled from caretaker to caretaker over the course of 13 books, always being chased by the evil Count Olaf who wants to steal the Baudelaire fortune that the children are meant to inherit once they reach a certain age.

Spoilers ahead, the Baudelaires siblings story starts with them going from being the Baudelaire kids to the Baudelaire orphans, after their parents pass away in a mysterious fire. But they arent the only paternal figures that they lost, they go from tutor to tutor, almost all the good ones dying in front of them, and even the ones that survive at first their future is uncertain since the last time the kids see them they are blindfolded in a burnind building, and we never found out who make it out alive and who didnt. Even the main villian, Count Olaf their first tutor, and the only constant adult in their life after their parents death ends up dying in front of them. These three are orphans ten times over.

They are THE orphans. They have lost not only their parents but multiple guardians that they went to live with as well.

They're THE Orphans. The childhood book orphans we all read, Orphans Prime if you will. They lose their parents, every caregiver who's ever kind to them, then say fuck it and live on a deserted island on their own to raise themselves abd fully embrace their orphan status. On the island, they learn their parents survived the shipwreck then died again - double orphaning even.

OH MY SWEET LITTLE CHILDREN THAT FUELED MY LOVE FOR READING AND THE MACABRE Violet- Won her first of many invention competitions when she was five with an automatic rolling pin (comprised of a window shade and six pairs of roller skates). Extremely innovative and genius, foiled by her kindness to others. And she knows how to make a Molotov cocktail. Klaus- Absolute monster of a bibliophile, conducts research for fun, and has a photographic memory. He is known to want nothing more than "a good book, a comfy chair, and the warm glow of a reading lamp". He also is a Herman Melville fan, which is points for him in my book. Sunny- Most people know her only for her penchant for biting, but Sunny is a distinctly distinguished character. She has sharp wit (as long as you can read it through her babbles), her poker skills are phenomenal for a baby, and she has quite the knack for cooking! Also yeah, the teeth. She climbed an elevator shaft with them once.

They are constantly going through it, give these kids a break for real

Mina Murray/Harker (Dracula)

IIIIIIII Loveeeeeeee Herrrrrr, she's learning shorthand, she's the group scribe, she writes in her diary about her and lucy seeing cows on a walk, AND she's a train fiend. She's everything to me fr

[luveline]

steve zombie au —you and steve celebrate his birthday with a frank discussion and some new fun. [5k]

fem!reader, afab!reader, fluff, MDNI smut (hand job, implied oral), cw for mentioned circumstances of the apocalypse; food insecurity, danger, zombies, nightmares, injury

April 29th starts exceedingly warm. Summer is fast approaching, and it's being felt all over The College community. You can forget zombies — a world without air conditioning is much scarier. 

You're kidding, obviously. Geeks are scary. Both for what they are, slimy decomposing husks that want more than anything to chew on you like a dog toy, and what they could be, the end of your life. There have been times where you wished for something of the same calibre, but these days you have someone you want to hold onto. 

And that someone is turning twenty three. He's still sleeping, the limp hair in his eyes freshly shorn. He doesn't know that you know it's his birthday today, but you do, so you'd traded with Mel the used-to-be hairdresser to get you both haircuts. You would've traded just for him —her services aren't cheap— if you thought he'd ever let you, or ever get one without you.

It's exactly that reason that you'd wanted him to have a haircut in the first place, and why you want him to have a good birthday. He's so loving, and sweet, and good, he deserves to feel special. He needs to know how much you appreciate him. 

You're hoping you've prepared enough to do that. 

You brush the sweat damp hair out of Steve's eyes as he begins to stir. You've been up for hours, now, and it's a credit to how much you like him that you would wake up early on a day you could've slept in, sweaty but safe in the circle of his arm. You've washed up for the morning so he doesn't have to wake to your oily face, and you press a spearmint-fresh kiss to his cheek as his eyelashes strain. 

"Hey," he says, rough with sleep. 

You love his voice in the mornings. "Hey, handsome. Good morning." 

You lay your cheek against his pillow, watching as he opens his eyes. Your hand roves over his naked torso selfishly, feeling the soft indentations of muscle. He's put on weight since you got here. It's amazing. 

"It's fucking–" He stretches out beside you, his sentence scythed in two by a low groan. "S'fucking so hot. I just woke up and it's so hot." 

"I think it's finally summer." 

"I don't know," he argues lightly, "it shouldn't be this hot. Not for another two months, Jesus." 

He traces your face with his eyes as he talks, and as his sentence finishes he pauses his searching. He brings a hand up between your two bodies and rubs his thumb against the highest point of your cheek. "I guess it's almost May." 

"It's April 29th," you say softly. 

His lashes come together slowly, a subtle suspicious squint souring his otherwise serene expression. "Robin told you?" 

"Yes, she did. Happy birthday, baby." 

He looks at you a little longer. You like to be looked at by Steve because you know he's thinking nice things as he does, but for those long, stretched seconds you worry you've given him a reason to wrinkle his nose. Maybe it's cringy to be romantic about it. After all, he'd kept his birthday to himself the entire time you'd known him. 

"Thank you." 

He tugs you in for a hug, so tight you swear you can feel his heartbeat against your own. 

"You're welcome," you say, words smothered under his cheek. 

He clings to you. You can't count how many hugs you've shared after so long together. Even before Steve told you he loved you on the floor of this very room, before he asked if you were together in a cold car shivering for your lives in the middle of an abandoned highway, he was hugging you when you needed them, or when he needed you. 

You feel your eyes warm thinking about it, until the heat becomes tears, and the tears roll down over the bridge of your nose. You push your head as far as you can over Steve's shoulder, your hands hugging behind his head to keep him with you if he tries to move. You're selfish, and you don't deserve him but you have him. It counts for something. 

"I love you," you say, tears making your voice all wobbly. Cicadas call from the open window, and the earth seems deathly still. Steve is quiet for a while and you worry you've put him off crying on his special day, but then his arm shifts against your back and his embrace tightens again. 

"I can't believe it took me," —he presses his forehead to yours— "twenty three years to find you." 

"You found me ages ago," you remind him, fighting for your life because isn't that the most romantic thing, isn't he the sweetest guy? 

"Are you crying?" he asks, frowning. 

"Not really. I just love you." 

He holds your face in his palm and gives you a gentle shake. "I love you. But you know that. It's embarrassing how much you know that."

"Embarrassing how much you love me?" you ask, poking for extra compliments. Again, you're selfish. 

Again, it counts for something. 

Steve pushes your shoulders back into the bed and follows with his weight on top of you, his chest pressed to your chest and an elbow by your arm so his face doesn't smash into yours. You're a little daunted —Steve doesn't come on to you so suddenly, but it's his birthday, and you just asked him how much he loves you. Maybe he's excited. 

His laugh fans over your face. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, "I saw the look on your face." He turns his head to kiss your cheek. "I love you so much. That part isn't embarrassing, at all, I just mean I would've had the shit kicked out of me in high school for being whipped." 

"You're whipped?" you ask lightly, trying to maintain casualness as his lips dip lower. His kisses show how he's still far from being properly awake, mouthing at the column of your throat one slovenly inch at a time.

"I'm worse than that," he says, his lips parting over your pulse. 

His teeth scratch. 

"Steve–" You laugh as he sucks your skin between his teeth, not his worst hickey but the start of a sore one if you let him finish. "Baby." 

He pulls away, his words scorching against you, "You sound flustered." 

"I am! You're biting me." 

"I'm not not biting you," he agrees, kissing his hickey. It won't last, he hadn't worked at it for very long, but it turned you to jelly under his big hands. "Sorry, I like when you do that." 

"Do what?" 

"You relax," he says with a smile. 

"I relax with you." 

It's true and untrue. It takes you time to decompress, for months you hadn't felt safe, and then things had happened to rob you of that feeling again, but Steve's persistence and insistence that nothing is going to happen is one you believe. You crawl into bed with him and sometimes it takes an hour, but you relax. You sleep well with him. 

"I know," he says, pulling up to meet your eyes again, "but when I kiss you like that you go somewhere else. I'm not saying it to be cheesy, although it's definitely cheesy and I'm a romantic weapon." He smiles at your smiling. "I'm trying to describe it to you but I got a C in English and I never went to college." 

You laugh again. He would've been hard pushed to go, considering the circumstances. 

"We're in college now," you say. 

The community that you live in has been nicknamed The College. It was a smaller college campus once upon a time, and now it homes a couple hundred people of all ages trying to make a life. 

"Let me brush my teeth and then I'm gonna kiss you stupid," Steve says, climbing off of you. 

There isn't an ensuite in your room but there is a small sink, and he stands there in his boxers and short-sleeved t-shirt bent over the basin. He puts paste on his toothbrush and tries to talk to you around brushing, his hair rumpled and sticking out at the back, his boxers lower on one hip. 

You're trying to talk back to him, but you've noticed something you hadn't meant to. 

Steve has a bulge. 

Steve usually has a bulge, you're not stupid, you know your boyfriend is well-endowed. It would be impossible not to notice, you've woken countless times to something warm pressed against your thigh, but you honestly hadn't cared. You and Steve haven't had sex, and that doesn't bother either of you, you know it with surety. Your relationship has always weighed heavily on other things. But you have to wonder if he wants it. You know you do, in moments like this where he's had you pressed down into a box and nipped at your neck, suggesting the salacious to the shell of your ear. 

He swills out his mouth and washes his face as boys do, rough and quick, water dripping down his neck and soaking the hairs surrounding his face. 

You have your heart in your throat as he slides back into bed. 

"You have your shift soon?" he asks, hiking up on his pillow and pulling you toward his arms. 

"I swapped with Shirley to have today off, it's your birthday." 

"Ah, but when I gave you that necklace for your birthday there was no need." 

"It's different." 

Steve kisses the top of your head, sounding fondly defeated as he says, "It's not different." 

You turn in his hold, head by his elbow as you look up at him with a question you don't wanna ask in your eyes. He stares down at you. 

You shift your leg against him, and you can't miss the slight twitch of his mouth. Like he enjoyed the feeling. 

"Stevie," you murmur. "I have something I want to talk about, but I think I'll probably die of shame before I can say it out loud." 

"Is it your period? I already told you it shouldn't bother you, honey, it's natural–" 

"Progressive," you say with a laugh, "but no, I know you're not a big baby about it." The only thing that bothers Steve about it is that you're in pain when it happens.  

"I don't know what else would embarrass you like that," he says. 

"We don't have to talk about it. It's your birthday, I want to celebrate," you say, regretting your honesty. 

“It’s my birthday and I wanna talk about it,” he says. “Hit me with it. Tell me tell me tell me tell me–”

"No," you mumble, knowing you'll have to tell him now. 

"Please?" he asks. 

His tone slows everything down. Your mixed emotions, your apprehension and nerves, your excitement over his birthday, they slip away into the palm of his hand where it strokes under your breast. He takes it all. 

You look up into his face and try to look serious. 

"How come we don't have sex?" 

Steve is noticeably thrown for a loop. His hand lightens its hold. 

"Do you want the short answer?" he asks slowly. "Or the long one?" 

"Why are there two answers?" 

Steve is quiet for a second. You sit up some, not entirely but enough to feel as though he's hugging you rather than acting as a place for you to rest your head. He helps you without asking, hand like a brand considering the topic of conversation. 

"I just–" A muscle in his jaw moves as you talk. "I know sometimes I can– that you want to. I mean, that your, um–" 

"That I'm obviously excited," he says. 

You both cringe, and then you both laugh quietly. 

"Yeah. And you've never tried to do anything. I just wondered if maybe you don't want to, ever, or if you're waiting for me. If you are waiting for me…" 

"You're ready," Steve says. 

"Yeah." 

"I kind of knew that already, babe." Steve's fingers curl in toward your rib, knuckles resting against you, an arm behind your back. His face dips down to yours, and he kisses your cheek fondly and almost too softly, you barely feel it. "Not that you're obvious, but, you know, we've been together for a long time. I'd be an idiot if I couldn't read you." 

"So why haven't you asked me?" 

"Why haven't you asked me, 'til today?" He sounds immeasurably happy, now, his tone golden and silky smooth as pure honey, murmuring. "Being with you has never really been about that. I mean, we never could've on the road, how could you relax there?" 

"Maybe it would've relaxed me." 

"Maybe, but I kind of assumed it wouldn't. And I… I didn't want you to think you didn't have a choice, either, like I was looking after you so you had to do stuff you didn't want to do." 

"I wouldn't have thought that." 

"Good, then I was less of a dick than I thought." He pauses, breathes in the skin of your cheek as though it smells like something other than hand-soap turned face wash. "There were times when I really wanted to. But I guess most of the time I wasn't thinking about it, and then we got here and," —he smiles against your cheek— "I didn't want you to think I was saying I loved you and that having sex would make a difference." He turns bashful. "It sounds stupid now I'm actually telling you." 

"It doesn't," you say, immediate and soft with awe. "It doesn't." 

"Then you weren't safe, and you were having nightmares all the time, but now you're doing better and lately I've been thinking the same thing. Why aren't we?" 

You turn your face to his. "Well? Do you have an answer?" 

His lips pout up and his eyes squint a little as he nods, a melodramatic defeat. "The short answer. I can't find a box of fucking condoms." 

You're speechless. 

You cough. 

"...You've been looking?" you ask. 

"Sometimes. I looked in the mall pharmacy but they only had finger condoms. What am I gonna do with one of those?" He laughs at his own joke. 

You're thankful it isn't awkward. Thank whoever for your stupid beautiful boyfriend who cares about you more than anything. Too chivalrous to make a move but horny enough to look for condoms when his life is in danger. 

You settle your arms heavily over his shoulders and look him in the eye. "I really don't think that would work for you, Stevie." 

"You're flirting." 

"Is it working?" 

He touches the tip of his nose to yours. "It always works, but I really can't find any rubbers, I didn't want to ask you without being able to deliver. We're stuck." 

"I mean, maybe we could just… not use one?" you ask, genuinely wanting to hear his opinion. 

The side of Steve's nose touches yours, his breath warm on your cheek. "I thought about it. About asking you, but I just need you to be safe." He pulls back. "You couldn't have a baby." 

"I don't know. I don't think I could now, but we'd make it work." 

"Do you want one?" he asks. 

You think about the obvious. It's too fucking dangerous. Pregnancy before the apocalypse was dangerous. Pregnancy now is so much worse. It could kill you, and if it didn't labour could, and if it didn't and you did have a baby, that baby would live this life. You're too young to make that decision, you think. And if none of it mattered and you and Steve were a couple in a regular world, would you want one then? So soon? 

"No," you say. It feels good to say, because Steve will support every decision you make and you know it. 

"No. I don't want you to have one either." He licks his lips. "Maybe someday?" 

You smile at his hope. It cracks a yawning gap down your chest to the pit of your stomach. 

"Maybe someday," you say. 

He kisses you. Chaste but somehow sharp, pressing at the same time. Not trying to initiate anything he can't finish, but now that it's on the table the implied what-if feels heavy between you.

You hug him as the kiss breaks, your lips by his ear. "You could pull out?" you whisper. You love him and he's amazing but it's still a mortifying question. 

"I don't think that always works. Is it worth it?" he asks. 

Not really. Not if you aren't prepared to make big choices.

His arms wrap around you, and his hand rubs your back. "It's not like it'll never happen, honey." 

"Steve," you say softly, hand running down his back, "what if we did other stuff? Sex isn't just… I could make you feel good." You're trying hard not to sound crude, harder still not to sound as scared of his rejection as you feel. He's more than allowed to say no, but you hope he won't. You hope he wants you. 

"You could…" He swallows. You hear it loud and clear. 

"I could make you feel good," you repeat, lowering your voice. "What do you think, handsome?" 

"You don't have to do anything you're unsure of," he says. His breathlessness has your heart leaping in your chest. 

You pull back to see his face, find his cheeks warm as you press your palms to them. "I'm not unsure. If you want it, I want it. How do you feel?" 

"If you… if you change your mind," he murmurs. 

"I'll tell you," you say. You give him a look, the kind of bright-eyed, loving expression you save for special moments with him, pouring all your adoration and trust and wanting out for him to see. You lift your chin in question, and when he kisses you, you take it for a soft yes. 

You kiss him while you stand on knees, while you ease yourself over one thigh. Your knee rubs up against him and he shudders into the kiss, his hands leaping to your waist. 

"Do you," —you break away from his lips but can't stop yourself from dispersing honeyed pecks between words— "ever do anything by yourself? When I'm away? When I'm at the kitchen and you don't have to go, have you–" 

You're asking because you have a great suspicion that he has —one time you came home and he was so, so needy, clingy and sweet and relaxed. Another you might have found him midway, but he hid it well.

Steve nods hurriedly and steals another kiss. "Just a few times," he says. 

"How do you do that, sweetheart?" you ask, your hand trailing down his chest achingly slow. 

"I– I lay on your side of the bed." 

You kiss him harder than you mean to. "Why?" you ask into his lips. 

"It smells like you–" 

His hands roving up and down your back give you more than enough confidence to grasp at him wildly, your kissing suddenly, painfully desperate, your top lip on fire as Steve pulls your face down to his. You don't have the wherewithal to speak as your hand coast past his t-shirt to the rising tent of his boxers. 

Foreign and familiar at once. You've seen Steve naked a hundred times having lived in close quarters with him for as long as you have, and if Steve hadn't seen you before, all those times he's had to sit in the shower room with you lest you panic someone else is in the room would've made sure. You know what the other looks like bare. What you don't know is how they feel, and how they want to be touched. 

You reluctantly break your bruising kiss, resting your temple at his cheek as you look down. You slowly, slowly let your fingertips stroke down the line of his cock, beside yourself with giddy excitement as Steve moans breathlessly in your ear. 

"Fuck," he says. 

You've barely touched him. You flatten your hand as you approach the bottom of his length, pressing your thumb gently into the swelling of his balls. He hisses at your touching and you look up worriedly. "Sorry, am I not supposed to touch there?" you ask, whispering though there's no one else around to hear it. 

"Please," he says. He cuts himself off with a laugh, his head tilting back in pleasure as you put your hand back. "Please, touch anywhere." 

"It feels good?" 

"Please, honey, keep going," he says. 

You rub the length of his cock over his soft boxers, near awed as it hardens. You knew he was well endowed, and you've seen him hard and pressing against his jeans, but it feels different when it's under your hand. You drag your nose against the side of his throat, whispering, "Finger condoms really would've been useless," and laugh as he starts to laugh himself, breathless, throaty chuckling that lights a flame in your stomach. 

You start to kiss his neck slowly. Your hand is curious but not shy as it works up and down the length of him. Steve readjusts your grip, the pressure of it, his hand gentle on yours. 

Your face smushed to his neck, you watch what he's showing you and try to commit it to memory. It's tugging, almost. Kind but with a firm hand. 

"Can I see?" you ask. 

"Please." Steve is quick to pull his boxers down, exposing the pale length, his ruddy tip, the tiniest bead of precum shiny as it oozes from the head's slit. Your breath catches at the sight of his hand, his long fingers encapsulating the thick girth of his cock and tugging up. "Fuck," he says again. 

"Can I do it?" you ask. "Or is it–" 

"Honey, it's okay, you can do whatever you want to me," he reassures. "Just do it, baby, please." 

He rarely ever calls you baby. "Poor boy," you murmur. 

Steve laughs, as if to say, Fuck you, but he's distracted from his plight when you wrap your hand around his warm cock. He pushes your face into his neck instinctively as you start to move against him. 

You've enough sense to spit in your hand and work it around. He's hot, heavy in your hand, tip of his cock to the belly button if you press it toward his torso. 

"I don't think I'll last long," he warns. 

"How do I– do you want me to be gentler?" 

He bucks into your hand with a shiver, groaning like the suggestion is agonising. 

"Should I use my mouth?" you ask. 

Steve really does sound pained, then, his head falling back, his abdomen rising and falling quick against your bicep. "I'm trying to last, baby." It's as though he's begging for something without saying what he wants. 

You try to distract him a little, prolong the inevitable as your fingers flex around his cock. "Kiss me," you say, using a tone you hope —you know— will hook his attention. "Please, Stevie, kiss me?" 

He drags his head up, cheeks as red as the ruddy head of his cock, the heat practically emanating from him as he gives you what you want. These kisses are sloppy rather than messy, lavish rather than tired. Your tongue presses at the seam of his lips and your head turns heavily to the left, sighing into his mouth as his spit paints your lips. His cock leaps in your hand, and you speed up just a touch, the skin bunching ever so slightly with your ministrations. It gets harder and harder for him to kiss you as his climax builds, his breath coming in pants, his thighs and stomach tightening in anticipation. You pull away, letting him shudder and whine by your ear, his hand like a vice around your forearm that's not helping but holding you. You push kisses into his jaw, the skin under his ear, and weave the hand that isn't wrapped around his cock into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, scratching his scalp lightly as you confess. 

"I love you," you say, nipping at his neck, printing red crescents in your wake, "I love you," you repeat, hot breath fanning over your hotter kisses. "I love you," you mouth, resting your forehead against his neck.

His head clamps down on top of yours and breath catches, held, his hand practically crushing your wrist as frantic pleasure builds. You speed up even if you're not sure that you should, and it must be the right thing to do —Steve goes white out still and tense as stone, your eyes widening a touch as the first string of cum spills over your fingers. Something snaps in him and he's moaning like he might cry into your hair, breathless panting as sticky cum bumps down over your fingers with each pump, his cock twitching uselessly in your grip. 

You soften your grip but don't slow until he gasps and says, "Honey– ah, ah, don't, don't. Please, that's so–" He laughs deliriously. "I'm gonna pass out." 

You take your hand from his cock, not grossed out or anything but definitely not sure what to do now. Steve's all but collapsed beside you, his torso sliding behind you into the pillows, twisted up and breathing hard as he wraps his arms around your waist. It's an odd position, not the cuddling you'd pictured, but you're content to let him cling to you if he needs to. He breathes in harsh breaths against the small of your back. 

You watch with a burning pit in your stomach as a last bead of cum wets his cock and seeps into his boxers. 

"Did that feel okay?" you ask. His cock twitches again at the sound of your voice. You'll have to ask him what that means.

Steve doesn't answer you straight away. He sits up, and he tucks his cock away, and then he sees the mess he'd made of your hand and laughs. He's definitely high from the pleasure of cumming like that after so long, 'cos he grabs your hand and wipes it clean on the literal t-shirt he's wearing.

"Steve, I could've washed it," you complain, laughing with him.

"I'll wash the shirt," he says. He keeps your hand in his.

"Did it feel good?" you ask again. Low, you're shy to have to ask twice, worried he avoided the question. It obviously felt good, but you want the reassurance that you did it well.

He pulls your hand to his chest and leans down for a kiss. "I'm really worried we shouldn't have done that. That was like, pot. You're gateway drugging me." He kisses you again, and he rubs your hand with his thumb. "Felt good, honey, couldn't you tell? You did– you did so good, honey. It felt fucking good." 

You descend into another round of messy kissing. He must feel the shape of your pleased smile, as he smiles too, and it's very difficult to kiss each other seriously when your lips are hardly touching. 

"Can I ask for something else?" he asks, pulling away. 

Your heart skips, 'cos you think he might ask to fuck you, and after all his pretty sounds and the heat between your thighs, you'll probably say yes, and that would be a terrible fucking idea without any protection—

"Let me go down on you," he says. 

You gawp. "What?" 

"Let me go down on you, sweetheart, please." 

"I didn't even go down on you," you say shyly, heart beating in your stomach now. You shove your hand between your legs impulsively. 

"If you went down on me I would've embarrassed myself," he says. He follows your hand, his own slipping between your legs. "Only if you want to." 

"You don't have to, Steve, I just wanted you to feel good–"

"This is, like, the best day of my life," he says, "or second best, because the first time you told me you loved me was a fucking immense feeling–" 

"'Immense–'" 

"–I want you to feel like I just felt," he interrupts your interrupting. His eyes are imploring and his hands are soft where they roam. "We can stop if you don't like it, but I think you'll like it," he continues, rubbing the inside of your thigh teasingly. "If you want it, please let me." 

You nod quickly and pull him in for a kiss, though you pause when his lips are close and whisper, "I get to go down on you, then?" 

To which your boyfriend groans and kisses you roughly. Your lips are tingling from so many. 

"I guess it is my birthday," he says, with a faux-bashfulness that has you both giggling.

Later, at Robin's, when you're sure "We just got each other off repeatedly," has been written across your forehead for everyone else to see, and a small party of the older friends have gathered for a drink in Steve's honour, Christopher tosses a rectangle in Steve's direction. It slides right into his lap. 

You both look down. 

"Happy birthday, Harrington," Christopher says. "Don't worry, they shrink to fit." 

It's a box of condoms. 

Steve glares at Christopher for the public humiliation, but he puts the box of condoms in his pocket, and everybody gives you shit for it when you're making excuses to leave barely an hour later. 

—

thank you for reading!! I get asked to write about their first time more than anything else which isn't a bad thing, I really love that people like this au and that they want to see that, but I haven't personally been in the mood for that! I figured I'd post this even though it stops at hand stuff / isn't an explicit scene of them fucking because it was gathering dust and also because it hopefully answers some questions I get sent often about their sex lives! maybe I can write them fucking in the future but for now I hope you enjoy :D <3

[queenofallimagines]

Alexis ness x witch reader

A/N: WHY THE FUCK DID I NOT THINK OF THIS BEFORE?? I TRYING TO FIND A WAY TO MIX MY WITCH HCS WITH BLUE LOCK AND OFC THE EX HARRY POTTER KID WITH THE STEM CAREER PARENTS WHO CRUSHED HIS DREAMS WOULD FOAM AT THE MOUTH!! Was word vomiting onto a page and this came out and I’m like??? Fuck yeah??

TAGLIST: @priv-rose

Alexis Ness:

- I am SO excited for this🗣️

- First of all fuck Harry Potter and fuck JK rat ass Rowling

- Good now That’s that’s out of the way

- He would literally be star struck like he def wouldn’t tell you he believes in stuff like that bc of his childhood

- But like when he sees your so chill he might joke around with superstitions

- But when you know more of them than he does,,,,?

- “Don’t forget! Salt over your left shoulder!”

- “Plant rosemary by your garden gate,lavender for luck and blow cinnamon into your house on the first of the month.”

- “I- what?”

- Putting some sigils for focus and luck in the shoes

- In the inside of the compression suit

- Reading incantations before a game to help(aka mumbling them while pressing kisses to his face)

- Putting a hex on the other team or players you don’t like (Kaiser)

- Kisses as a good luck charm

- Kissing isagi eyelids and forehead so he can smell his goals😔💕

- Charming a necklace he wears during games

- Putting something in his phone case for good measure so he can accidentally not respond to his family or kaisers texts💕

- You could put a little soccer ball charm on your altar for him🥺

- Alexis ness: Love please don’t hex the opposing team I want to win on my own

- Also ness: so like if you COULD hypothetically make isagi twist his ankle,,,,,

- He’s so funny and silly

- Asking you to turn people into frogs

- “It doesn’t work like that beloved”

- I like to think he would go to haunted places and drag you along

- If this is before he knows you’re a witch

- He pretends he just wanted to see the location and he don’t belive in ghosts n stuff

- Even tho he researched like 600 ghost protection methods before yall got here

- The two of you go in, joking around and having fun in the worn down building but the two of you stop dead in your tracks as you hear something?Footsteps...that aren't yours or his.

- Ness clutching you like a damn lifeline

- Your hearts are both pounding in your chests as you walk through the halls, unsure of what is making that noise that doesn’t sound like it’s coming from an animal…

- Mama ain’t raise no Bitch

- So you just straight up yell💀

- “Fuck off! go bother someone else!”

- Poor baby Ness quickly clamps his hand over your mouth, his eyes wide at your outburst. Whatever was making noise in the abandoned hospital immediately stops making noise tho 💅🏿

- Ness gives you the “you’ve lost your damn mind” look

- “Hey! Maybe don’t make whatever it is more pissed off-!”

- “That’s how you banish ghosts! so unless it’s something more dangerous you can tell them to kick rocks! We’re technically on their territory but like same thing I guess. They can’t do much but scare us and I’ve got like 10 protection charms they can’t really do much.”

- Pause

- Rewind

- Excuse me?

- “Y’all got about three seconds to get the fuck up out my way and two of ‘em are already gone because I don’t count shit but money so get to stepping Casper!”

- He’s going to propose to you

- “ Wait! You’ve got protection charms-!?”

- Ness is side eyeing you hard asf rn😭

- Not in a bad way but a “when was this??” Type of way bc he knew nothing of this

- “Ok then…but what about those ghost hunting shows! like there’s those that say that if they get pissed off they can hurt you for being on their ‘property’ if I remember correctly..”

- Like he’s pulling out his ghost busters encyclopedia lmao

- “Those are fake and I’m a witch they can’t fucking touch me. I’ve talked to demons🙄Some old grumpy spirit can’t do much but give me nightmares and even then they’ll have to box me about it”

- Lmao he’s like full stop staring at you wide eyed

- Kaiser baby you’ve been dethroned I fear

- A new emperor about to spin the block😔✊🏿

- Oh! And not let him hear you WORK with deities

- He will be like a kid in a candy store

- Like trauma suddenly gone lmao

- His ugly ass momma saying all that vile shit to him as a baby suddenly never happened

- He’s living his Peter Pan dreams!!

- Ness’ jaw drops to the floor as he hears you list out the demons you’ve worked with.

- Kinda thinks you’re making fun of him at first so he bristles at you but when he sees you’re not even smiling about it he’s even more shocked

- “So..you made a deal with them or something-? If you did that’s like….your soul is basically his now, right!?”

- “Not really? I just had to ask nicely.”

- Lmao he’s like trying to rewire his brain right now

- Nagging voices at the back of his head telling him

- Magic isn’t real and there’s probably a logical explanation for all of this like you’re so clearly kidding

- “Y-You’re like…a legit witch? Like you can do magic and summon stuff!?”

- “Yep”

- He stares for another few seconds before a smile creeps onto his face, his eyes going wide with amazement?

- Like you can actually see the stars

- “Dude this is SO COOL! You’re like a bad ass witch! Wait…CAN YOU DO MAGIC RIGHT NOW!?”

- Dragging you through the hospital as suddenly he done forgot about the shorts or whatever

- You flinch at something dripping but he don’t even turn around to look at it he’s rambling to himself for the most part

- “Alex baby It’s not like Harry Potter but I do curse people and do old ancient spells and stuff. Like I’m technically doing magic right now? I have a protective charm on us so nothing can try anything funny-“

- “A PROTECTIVE CHARM?! YOU CAN DO PROTECTION MAGIC TOO!”

- Lord

- He grabs your hand and starts yanking it

- Chill out???

- he’s excited about this magic stuff and as he holds your hand, he seems so innocent and curious about all of this now.

- “Show me some magic…PLEASE?”

- “Like what spell do you want? And again not like flying magic. It’s more…I guess stuff close to that? Still within the realm of reality. But I mean technically your parents do magic too right? They’re scientists. And just before you know how something works doesn’t mean it’s less magical yknow?”

- Ignoring the fact that last part is what sparked this entire head canon I’m right leave me alone

- “Eh..scientists are just nerds who figure out how things work, not really magical.”

- He’s gunna start pouting, he didn’t really believe in his parents nerdy sciencey stuff

- but your magic that’s WAY more interesting! Magic! Actual magic! How cool is that!

- “Magic isn’t just something you can’t understand. Like think of it. We don’t know shit about gravity and it’s still just a theory but if I drop something it falls right? Same principal. Things seen and unseen in this earth are magic. Like you can use chemistry in spell work all the time. like urine and bleach make chloramine gas and I’ve used that in curses.”

- See he only heard that last part I’m afraid

- was DEF not expecting the last part to come out from your mouth

- “I’m….You…put piss…into your curses?”

- “I WILL call the ghosts to come jump you on my behalf…”

- That got his ass In check real quick lmao

- “like the possibility that I CAN. Like it could be for a nightmare curse. Throw in some poppy seeds for mental unrest and nightmares, vinegar to sour their mind and maybe black pepper to get them to leave your life really fast.”

- “Huh…so piss, seeds, vinegar and black pepper in a mixture makes a nightmare curse…”

- “Why did you write that down….”

- Hope your grimore or whatever isn’t like private bc he WILL dig through that every chance he gets

- Got all the books on your shelves unorganized and fucked up be he done ran through them

- Like can you have some class??🙄

- Sits and stares at your altar for hours

- Like he’s looking at everything on it to see if he can figure it out

- No that table cloth is blue because that’s all I had leave me alone!!

- Back to deities

- He will always be polite

- Nothing if not a gentlemen

- Will say hello to them before YOU walking into the crib

- Like you know when a boy is so polite he talks to your whole family before even remembering he came there for you?

- That’s him

- “Hi great grandma! I bought you some of that liquor you like”

- Leaves more offerings then you I’m afraid

- He’s so baby deer coded they love him

- Everyone and they momma will ride or die for him.

- So like don’t let Kaiser be within a one Mile radius of your house and talking bad to him

- Matter fact? Don’t even watch his games in your home

- Bc now everyone mad

- “Why is he disrespecting my baby like that?”

- Like house is in shambles

- “Go give this to him”

- “What? But wasn’t this mine-“

- “Did I stutter?”

- He’s so beloved

- “I call him old man a lot. Or like Lucy-“

- “Lucy….king of hell, devil incarnate, Lord of the Underworld, and one of the most infamous fallen angels. And you call him LUCY?!”

- Jokes that your food is made with love but like now he’s not sure it’s a joke at this point….

[delulustateofmind]

the yandere portrayal of nanami was a whole 10 course meal. he wasn't out of character in the slightest! he's still his mature, pragmatic self but there's some darkness, delusion and obsession to him i love it! continuing on that sick prompt, may i request a sequel for nanami and reader actually having kids and him chiding them for trying to maintain an act in front of them? after all, as husband and wife they should work together especially since their kids are asking for another sibling?

AHH!!! Thank you 🩷 I'm glad you liked it. So I don't know if I'll write a sequel, but I will try to have my headcannons connected in some shape or form. I will keep this idea in my pocket since it would make a good drabble.

However, I will feed you some crumbs!

TW: Somnophillia, Manipulation. Dubcon/noncon

You will be having Nanami’s kids one way or another. Normal Nanami probably wants three, but yandere Nanami wants like five. Let's be honest the guy has a breeding and a pregnancy kink. The first time he knocked you up, it was probably the happiest day of his life. He actually gave you some sort of freedom, like going to the grocery store with him (he puts little trackers in your shoes, not like you can run anyways ☺️🩷). He takes you maternity clothes shopping. Takes you on dates...typical husband and wife stuff. Possibly to give you the illusion that everything is fine.

Once you give birth though, those freedoms are stripped away one by one.

With excuses like:

"Honey, it's just the baby needs you. I don't trust anyone near our child, do you?"

Or

"Didn't you hear about that horrible train crash? I don't know what we'd do if we lost you"

Making that illusion shatter. You nearly forgot you were kidnapped for a second. But what can you do? You have this beautiful child. Making the walls crash in more and more.

Now, Nanami would hold himself back. Childbirth is a lot and it takes a lot to recover from it, he would be so caring about it too. (Maybe a little too much, but that's for another time and would probably dive into kinks that...are uncommon)

Though once your child is at one or two years old. He's ready even if you aren't.

When you're sleeping, such sweet little dreams, Nanami is slowly easing up your cunt with his fingers. Scissoring and stretching out your gummy walls gently. After all, preparation is key. A few moans might escape your lips, your hips may buck- but you're still asleep. Good.

Then he will move down. Sucking on your sensitive clit as he's knuckle deep inside you, curling his fingers, making sure to hit that sweet little spot that let out those sweet moans for him. Nanami would look up occasionally to ensure you were still sleeping before moving to line up his rock hard cock into you.

He'd be gentle, of course. A new mother needs her sleep. Rocking his hips slowly as he entered inch after inch. Kissing your legs as he moved them over his shoulder before sinfully bottoming out in one slow motion.

You may wake up, when he starts to fuck you. But don't worry he'd be hushing you back to sleep.

"Honey, you're just dreaming, go back to bed" as he moves a hand to rub your clit, a gentle smile on his lips as he kisses the tears that begin to prick your eyes.

He'd make sure to fill your cunt at least two times before going to sleep. Just to be sure.

It ends up becoming a nightly thing until it takes. 🩷 You make such a good mother, after all.

[oddballwriter]

The Moon Boys as Dads

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Warnings: The moon boys being girl dads and mentions of Jake teaching your kid how to fight a bitch 

Author’s Snip: This would happen eventually. It's been bubbling in my mind since I've started writing for Moon Knight. It's inevitable, everyone in this fandom wants to have their babies.

Notes: I genuinely think that Jake's part is the only one that would be troubling but let's face it. If Jake had a kid, especially a daughter, he's going to teach her how to fight and send the to the ER or to the scale  

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Okay. First thing I need to make straight. I understand that the idea of them having a son is deep. Have it that it heals some of that inner child in Marc and thus the rest of them. And I think that idea is lovely. Honestly can't get enough of it, gets me in the bullseye of my feels

But these men are such girl dads, all three of them

So we're gonna go slightly off of that

Steven Grant

Steven strikes me as the type of guy who just fits into the family man role so well

Absolute proud stay at home dad who has a million photos of all of his kids energy.

Yep, that's right, kids, plural, he wants a bunch of them

He understands and respects if you want just one or two but... like...

He's so good with kids, come on, episode one where he was talking with the little girl??? You can't tell he's not great with kids. He can handle a gaggle of kids if you'd be okay with having a bunch with him.

"One for each of the us" is a joke he'd make

But let's go with the perspective that you have a daughter with him

Already he's just obsessed with her as soon as he gets to hold her

Kids are very chatty, which is great because Steven's chatty and also listens, so if your daughter is talking about her day at school then he listens and nods along.

He'd also do this with her as a baby when all she could do was babble. He'd just listen to it and say "And then what?"

Steven, although he can be quite sassy, is naturally very polite and I'm pretty sure that rubs off on your daughter. He teaches her proper manners like saying "please", "thank you", and "excuse me"

Teaches her about Egyptology because of course he does, you think he's not going to give her those kids books about Egypt? You think the egyptology nerd isn't going to make his kid an egyptology nerd?

If she takes on another interests that's fine too but you think you aren't going to have one more dork in your house?

He praises her all the time for being interested in so many things.

Not to make him sound like one of those dads but he's glad that his kid reads books

Marc Spector

I'll save you what you've heard before. Marc is unsure, Marc is worried that he's gonna fuck up, Gods have mercy on Marc, blah blah blah

And sure I'll go in on it a little bit too

Marc is of course worried about how well he'd do at parenting since he still has some emotional and mental scars that haven't fully been patched up or wounds he's too scared to lick

But hey, he knows what not to do, and that's at least something

He might helicopter parent a little, maybe even a lot, when your daughter is little, especially if she gets her adventurous side early and it's really strong

You and the boys might have to remind him that she's a kid, she's gonna want to navigate and explore what's around her and maybe she'll do something dumb and get hurt a bit

As long as she knows what's dangerous and what's gonna earn her a band-aid

Marc's good when she's a kid but I feel like he just feels more comfortable when she's older, like teenager age

I actually feel like he'd be one of those dads who gets it in his kids head that they can still be a teenager and do teenager things but don't get into any trouble or do something really bad

"Focus on school and stay away from those groups" type of dad that really just means "Don't get Fs in class and don't get arrested."

He's letting her make mistakes and grow from it but he's not gonna baby her either

Marc won't entirely be the "No boys allowed" type of dad either. But if she brings a boy home for any reason, even if the boy's just a classmate that she's doing a project with, then he's telling her that the door stays open till he leaves or they do the project and research in living room or whatever

He's so proud of her too. He makes sure she knows just how loved she is and that he will always be there

Marc actually wants to be the type of parent where whenever his daughter gets in trouble or make a mistake that she thinks "I need to call my dad." instead of "My dad's going to kill me."

Jake Lockley

Jake would have said he wanted a boy but that's a lie he wants a girl first

I can see both Marc and Jake not really being the types to keep their kid in gender roles, neither is Steven if his daughter wants to do things that are considered masculine or boyish then he won't stop her he just sort of defaults to thinking that she'd want to do girly things, but Jake is the type of dad that wouldn't care if he has a daughter he's gonna teach her how to stuff and to take shit from no one

She's going to be a spitfire if Jake's her daddy, that's for sure. A real Buttercup.

She once got in trouble for fighting a boy in her grade because he was making fun of her and he scolded her when you were around but he was secretly so proud

When she's older he teaches her how to fight people and defend herself, I mean he already told her to do that when she was younger but back then it was kick, bite, and scream. When she's a teen it's teaching her how to right and left hook and disorientate

Fuck, she's probably good with a knife too

Jake knows that your daughter can handle herself pretty well but he's still going to be protective over her

If she has a relationship and they put their hands on her that person's just straight up dead

She might know how to aim for the vitals and wash blood off her clothes but she's still his little princess

[clownery-and-fuckery]

Alright buckle up here's my actual genuine reaction....

First episode:

First of all, I regret asking for more Hemlock, this was fantastically awful, I will not be recovering.

Second of all, that shaved clone has done things to me. Horrible, horrid things that made me actually pause it and look away. It made me physically ill, it was the worst. Great, but the worst.

The passage of time really did fucking get to me BUT HER LITTLE PONYTAIL UGH

crosshair..... I need a moment

EMERIE !!!! CANT STAND HER !!!!!!!!!!! SNITCH ASS BITCH

I literally don't care that she was allowed to keep the doll, btw. I dont give a shit. I hope Emerie dies in a fire.

nala se.... ew............

I think the whole episode was just pure horror, it was so fucking disgusting to watch, idk about you guys but watching the clone who had probably faced the true horror of SCI-FI warfare crying alone in his cell genuinely had me pausing the episode. Really great work there, Jennifer, I will be billing you for my therapy

Crosshair and Omega bonding !!! The little "What's your mission objective" was definitely a tactic he used on his brothers to have them pay attention, I refuse to acknowledge that he's the youngest, he just isn't. That's big brother keeping his little brother(s) on task behaviour.

Everything about Hemlock gave me chills. I love him. I hate him. I hope his guts cover the screen. I am fascinated by him.

I had a sneaking suspicion Emerie was taken under Hemlock's wing, and her undoing will be her endless loyalty to him... they did not have to say it as obviously as that, though. Glad they did.

Crosshair is sick. There is no way you show us all these sick, dying clones then Crosshair and expect us not to figure that out. He's going to die. His shaking is just the first symptom. I am not ready.

I definitely have more smaller notes I will make once I am not sobbing hysterically about it !!!!

Episode two!!:

This is the one that made me cry, actually.

Watching Wrecker and Hunter march in, quiet and covered in countless injuries, made me so sad. I couldnt recognise them. Those aren't my lads.

Wrecker begging hunter not to go because people didn't make it back.... hunter I get you're desperate, but you will NOT survive another brother being killed. I can't bear to watch him tear himself apart and neither can Wrecker.

WEEPED LIKE AN ACTUAL BABY WHEN I SAW THOSE CLONE BABIES.... THEYRE TOO YOUNG.

"99ers???" THERES FUCKING MORE ??????? I want to know the lore behind this line particularly.

Theyre so cute..... they're so CUTE ugh sedate me immediately

THE WAY HUNTER WAS LOST AT THE START BTW WITH THE TECH AND HE WAS GETTING FRUSTRATED AND HE IMMEDIATELY LOOKED TO OMEGAS STUFF AND LET HIS GRIP LOOSEN ON THE DATAPAD HE WSS THINKING OF HIS YOUNGEST TWO SIBLINGS I WILL NEVER FUCKING RECOVER DAVID AND JENNIFER LET THEM BE HAPPY !!!!!!!!!!!!!

anyways that little fucker who was good with tech..... I see you. I love you.

They were so used to letting Tech do his thing.... they immediately moved to cover fire....... for a second they forgot it wasnt him, I'm weak

THE CRATE FROM S1 YOU HORRIBLE BASTARDS WHEN WILL YOU LET ME DIE

wrecker playing with the kids..... laughing with them....... ohh i will not cope when he dies.

Hes going to die, btw. In case you didn't know. I know. I am aware. I am unprepared. I dont want to discuss it.

PABU..... THEYRE GOING TO PABU WHEN I TELL YOU I SOBBED. MY MOTHER HAD TO HOLD ME. I WAS INCONSOLABLE FOR FIFTEEN WHOLE MINUTES!!!!!!

i cannot express my feelings for this episode.

Episode three!!!!!!:

I want that man. Yes, i do mean that masked man we saw for two seconds, I want him.

The Emperor had me actually screaming. I was so hyped. He scares me so bad.

Hemlock!!!!!! Evil !!!!!!!! CUNT !!!!!!!!!!!!

nala se was so obvious about her "Get tf out" speech..... why don't you say it louder, the whole fucking room couldn't hear you

The fucking timer. Chills. CHILLS.

Crosshair and Omega !!!! He was so unserious I love that

....sorry to all the lovers tho, have to say i DIED laughing at his "gUaRdS"

And the SCREAM he scrumpt when the door opened, who allowed that 😭😭 it was so fucking funny whbeisbwiba

They were so messy this entire ep, they're everything to me......

"Of course he did" DO YOU WANT ME TO FUCKING DIE ?!?!?!? WHO FUCKING GAVE YOU THE RIGHT CAUSE IT WASNT FUCKING ME

Crosshairs trigger finger shaking so bad he gave his position away....... that's a major fucking problem, isn't it? That's gonna bite him in the ass.

I want more of Hemlock having a damn tantrum, that was fantastic. Him this season has me in a chokehold. I can't wait to write more of him.

This entire season so far is amazing. I can't wait to watch more, there are so many more points I wanna make, I'm freaked. I'm so happy, I'm still crying, I can't wait I can't wait I can't wait !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Making more coherent thoughts about them soon <3

[mediapiays]

https://www.tumblr.com/mediapiays/761093636217864192/if-14-year-old-me-could-navigate-the-absolute?source=share

Oh, absolutely. I've seen a few of these stories of poors ex-taekookers who fell for all the lies and manipulations other taekookers create and they spent years in that fandom believing and agreeing with them, and worst of all, spent all those years hating Jimin. But now they finally saw the light and feel so very sorry for all the harm they caused Jimin.

Every time I see one of these stories all I can think is "What a fuking idiot". And that's exactly what I think of this person. And honestly? Fuck them. They were a full adult who fell for shit that's so obviously false you don't even need to be an adult to see through it. They purposefully avoided official content and let themselves be surrounded only by other taekookers and their lies. They put themselves in that situation. Call me mean but that person is an idiot, plain and simple. And you don't get to be an idiot who spent years hating an innocent person than expect me to feel sorry for you once you finally realize you were being stupid.

And taekookers aren't even as convincing as people give them credit for, the people who believe them are just stupid. Their videos are clearly edited and lacking context and most of it is just short slow-motion clips with on-screen text consisting of some wild interpretations of what is essentially two guys making simple eye contact with each other. Nothing they say makes any sense if you think about it for more that three seconds. They constantly contradict themselves and change what's true and what's a lie at the drop of a hat. To them Jungkook or Taehyung briefly mentioning the other in a livestream it's definitive proof they're not just dating, but are straight up married. (Taekookers even have a date for their marriage and the number of kids they've adopted. I wish I was making this up).

Like, for fucks sake, taekookers main narrative is that Hybe is forcing Jungkook to pretend to be in a fake gay relationship with Jimin (who apparently is on Hybe's side and is also evil) to hide his real gay relationship with Taehyung.

A gay relationship to hide another gay relationship.

Gay relationships that are between idols.

Idols, people who are often forbidden by their companies be in even straight relationships.

All this happening in South Korea.

Famously homophobic South Korea.

Hybe deciding that this is somehow a good idea.

Jungkook and Taehyung putting up with this for over a decade despite having had the chance to not resign or at very least change their contracts not once but TWICE.

Jimin, Jungkook and 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 Taehyung being good enough actors to convincingly and consistently pull off this extremely elaborate and long-running lie.

All this going so far it culminated in Jungkook being forced to enlist with Jimin in the 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺.

All of this for what is not even the most popular ship within the fandom.

And the reason? The reason for all this convoluted mess? Who knows, definitely not taekookers.

I'm sorry, but you believe this you're a fucking idiot. Unless you're are a child, not even a teenager, I'm taking 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 a child, than you shouldn't be naive and stupid enough to believe this shit for literal years. And the fact that most of these people are actually middle aged woman with husbands and kids. Sincerely, what the fuck?

No, these ex-taekookers aren't some poor little naive babies who got tricked by the actually bad taekookers. No, anyone who believed this bullshit did it because they WANTED to believe it. Some part of them knew deep down it is all bullshit but they ignored that part because they liked believing it's true. They found pleasure and satisfaction in believing these things and they were selfish enough to let that be more important than showing basic human decency towards a man who's only crime is threatening their fantasies.

So no, I have no sympathy for taekookers of ANY kind. Not the 'nice ones' and not the 'reformed' ones. They can all go to hell for all I care.

i have nothing else really to say anon because you practically read my mind. it also emphasizes how people in stan spaces really don't think for themselves and is basically a hive mind.

[kenny-the-ken]

My Brother's Best Friend PT 2

This was highly requested guys!! Thank you all so much for the love!! Keep those requests coming guys!! And remember, they don't all have to be for Kenny!!

Warnings!!: NSFW content, strong language, sexual references, mentions of drugs and alcohol. AGED UP CHARACTERS!

The dreaded talk had came, and Stan was not happy, he was infuriated. He felt betrayed, not only by one of his best friends since childhood, but by his own blood too! He couldn't believe that his twin sister was in bed with his best friend, and not just any friend, but Kenny fucking McCormick! Of all the guys in South Park, you chose Kenny. But why?

He couldn't wrap his head around it! His innocent little sister had been tainted by that asshole! He just knew it, Kenny would taint you, get you to fall in love with him, and then dip when he got bored of you. He was a player, he always had been, and Stan was going to prove it!

You hadn't seen your brother for two days, you decided against going home, you were with Kenny the entire time, staying in his parents home with him, and Kenny couldn't believe his eyes. His home was clean, much thanks to you, they had heating and electric for the first time in forever, and the fridge and freezer were full to the brim, you'd spent whatever money you could to help them out, and you were just happy to help. Kenny wasn't used to this, no other girl he'd been with had treated both him and his entire family so amazingly. Karen adored you, and you adored her right back.

Kenny loved domesticated life with you, his mind wandering about what day to day life would be like in the future with you. You were great with kids, so kind, loving, you would make an amazing mother some day, and oh how Kenny hoped you two could be parents together, a small smile on his face.

"What's got you smiling to yourself?" You asked, snapping Kenny from his thoughts as he rose from where he sat on the tattered old couch, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Just thinkin' about our future, babe." He said, and your cheeks flushed, placing a kiss on his lips and running a gentle hand through his fluffy blonde hair.

You were both torn from your loving gazes at each other as your phone began ringing loudly, and you pulled it from your back jeans pocket, sighing as you looked at the screen.

Incoming call from:

Stan 💀

"Do I answer?" You whispered to Kenny, as if Stan could already hear you talking.

"It's your call baby, but we can't avoid him forever, I guess." Kenny said, sitting back where he previously resided on the couch, and you sat beside him, answering on the phone and putting it on speaker.

"Y/n, where are you?" Stan asked, his words slightly slurred, he'd been drinking again.

"I'm in Kenny's. Are you drunk, Stan?" You asked, your tone laced with worry, Stan never knew when enough was enough when it came to alcohol.

"So what if I have? You fucked the biggest man whore in South Park who coincidentally was my BEST FRIEND!" He shouted down the phone, and Kenny took it from your grasp, taking a deep breath before talking.

"Stan, I've actually only slept with three girls, and yes, that's counting your sister! You want her to be happy but you're the only person upsetting her right now. If you think it's okay to scream down the phone at your sister, then you seriously need help dude." He said, his tone calm yet stern, he was standing up for you, and he didn't care who he had to stand up to, he wouldn't let anyone upset or hurt you, and that included your family.

"Help?! I need help?! So you aren't with my sister till the next slut walks along and gives you the eye then?! We've been friends forever, Kenny! You're a player and I am not going to let you hurt my sister! Y/n, I hate that it's had to come to this, but if you don't come home, I'm telling mom and dad where you really are." Stan said before hanging up the call.

You didn't realise you were crying till Kenny wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest and peppering gentle kisses all over your face.

"Shh, Princess, it's okay. No matter what happens we'll deal with this together, okay? They could move you to the other side of the world and I would still come and find you. You're like a drug, I'm completely addicted to you, I want to be with you forever, and if I need a slap from your mom and a punch from your dad to prove that no matter what I'll always be here, then so be it! You're like no one else I've ever known, you're my soul mate, baby. I promise I'll never ever hurt you." Kenny replied, running his hands through your long black hair as you tilted your face to capture his lips in a long kiss.

The walk to your home seemed shorter than usual, and Kenny had gave you one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweatpants to wear as you walked hand in hand together. You reached the front door, pausing as your hand hovered over the door handle, taking a deep breath before walking inside, Kenny following closely behind you.

"Oh darling, you're home!" Sharon said as she ran to you, giving you a long hug and a kiss on your forehead. "And hello, Kenny. What brings you here?" She asked, as your boyfriend unzipped his orange parka and pulled his hood down so he could be better understood when he spoke.

"Actually um... I came to talk to you and Mr Marsh." He said sheepishly. Your mother's eyebrow quirking as she simply nodded in response.

"You both sit, make yourselves at home! I'll go grab Randy." She said, scurrying off to search for wherever you dad was.

"I'm shiting bricks, babe." Kenny said, his hand resting softly on your thigh as you both sat close together on the couch.

"But we can't hide in the shadows forever. Plus Stan's a big cry baby! When he doesn't get his own way he always tells our parents, and then I get in trouble!" You said, burying your head in your hands, sighing in exasperation.

Kenny quickly moved his hand off of your thigh as your parents returned. "Hi dad." You said plainly, a small smile on your face.

"Hello, y/n. You disappeared for a few days to Wendy's, is everything okay?" Randy asked, his eyes scanning over both of you.

"I-I um... Mr and Mrs March, I'm gonna cut to the chase, you're both busy people and I don't want to waste any more of your time... your daughter has been with me the past few days. Stan found us together... in bed and, I guess I'm just rambling but, I want your blessing to keep dating your daughter. She really is a credit to both of you, she's incredibly kind, caring, she's selfless and loving and I really would be lost without her. Please, do we have your blessing?" Kenny asked, his face a dark shade of red as your parents sat wide eyed and open mouthed at both of you.

"How long has this been going on?" Randy asked, and you both averted his gaze, looking at each other.

"Six months, dad." You replied, playing with your hands, picking at your nail beds awaiting a response.

"I FOUND HIM BALLS DEEP IN HER, DAD!" Stan shouted as he made his way downstairs, and both of you swore that you felt both your hearts sink. Of course Stan had to ruin it.

"Do you love him y/n? Does he make you happy?" Your mom asked, a loving smile on her face as she completely ignored the shouts of your twin brother, raising her hand to alert him to shut it.

And you nodded, tears in your eyes. "He treats me like a Princess, mom. And Stan is referring to a few days ago, it was my first time and... he made it special, he made sure I was comfortable, I- I love him." You said as your mom rose from her chair, sitting beside you both and pulling you in for a hug.

"You're nearly eighteen darling, if Kenny makes you happy, then I'm happy! As long as you promise never ever to hurt my daughter, or I'm coming for you." She said, eyes looking to Kenny now as he nodded, a smile on his face.

"I swear to you, Mrs Marsh, I would be a fool to let her go."

"Well, Stan and I still aren't convinced." Your dad chirped in, your smiles fading as he stared at Kenny, and you swore if looks could kill, Kenny would be dead.

"Prove to me that you're worthy of being with my daughter. I'll watch closely how you treat her, what you say and do to her, and if you meet my expectations, then I won't say anything more about it." He said, before rising from his seat, he and Stan leaving the room, gossiping between each other like two stroppy children.

"Why don't you stay with Kenny for a few days, let me talk to your dad and smooth things over, and I'm sure he'll accept your relationship. As for Stan, that may take a little longer. He's extremely protective over y/n." Your mother spoke, and you nodded.

"I'm just gonna grab a few things from my room and then I'll be right back." You said, quickly running upstairs to pack some clothes and a few other things in your backpack.

"I promise, Mrs Marsh, I'm here for the long haul, I wanna make y/n my wife some day. I really do love her." Kenny said, and your mother smiled placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm glad to hear that, Kenny. And please, call me Sharon." She smiled warmly as you came speeding back downstairs.

"Ready to go, darling?" Kenny asked, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to your forehead as you nodded in response.

"I'll text you, mom. And thank you, for everything." You said, giving your mom a quick hug before reconnecting hands with Kenny and leaving before Stan or your dad realised you were both leaving.

When you both got back to Kenny's it was eerily quiet, only Karen being in the house, she wasn't old enough to be left alone, she was only eleven, and Kenny swore he was ready to lose his shit, how dare his parents leave his little sister on her own?!

He said he was gonna quickly jump into the shower and then he'd get Karen ready for bed, and you said that you'd help. The younger girl smiled at you as you opened your bag, pulling a pair of pyjamas, you had them for years but never wore them, and you knew Karen would love them, they had little white dogs all over them and they were a dark purple all over.

"Are these for me?" Karen asked, her eyes lighting up as you nodded.

"You like them?" You asked and she nodded happily, running to her bedroom to get changed before reappearing in the living room, a large smile on her face as she ran to you, giving you a tight hug.

"I'm so glad my brother is dating an angel." She said, and your heart swelled at the little girls reactions. She was unbelievably cute, and she deserved so much better than what her parents gave her, so did Kenny.

When Kenny finally appeared from the shower, wearing nothing but boxers and sweatpants he smiled at both of you, before looking at Karen.

"Where'd you get those?" He asked, and Karen pointed to you, a large smile on her face.

"Your angel girlfriend!" She said, as she did a little spin. "Don't I look cute?" She sang as Kenny nodded, laughing gently. "You look adorable as usual, Karen. Now come on, it's your bedtime." He said as she nodded, giving both of you a hug and making her way to her bedroom.

"Goodnight!" She shouted, and you both replied back to her, wishing her sweet dreams.

And as you both sat aimlessly watching television, you could feel Kenny shift on the couch, loving himself closer to you, you knew what he wanted, Kenny had suppressed six months of horniness for you by jacking off to photos of you, and now he had been in your pussy, his hand just wouldn't cut it. You two had slept together a few times from he took your virginity that night, but tonight, Kenny was gonna test your limits, and he smirked, his hand roughly gripping your thigh as he leaned in to place feathery kisses down your cheek, then your neck, his hand moving from your thigh, to the hem of his hoodie that drowned your small body as he slid his hand up to your breast, his fingers teasing your already hardened nipple, making you gasp.

"Not wearing a bra today, baby?" He mewled into your ear, before connecting his lips to yours, pulling you to sit straddling him, both his hands now teasing both your nipples, your breath catching in the back of your throat.

"Thought I'd save you the hassle of having to take it off anyway." You replied, kissing him once more, your make out session heating up by the second.

"I wanna try something new tonight, baby girl. That okay?" Kenny asked, a groan leaving his mouth as you ground your clothed cunt against his painfully hard cock, and that was all the confirmation Kenny needed.

"You wanna cockwarm me?" He asked, as you pulled away from your kiss, you looking at him in confusion.

"I- I'm too innocent to know what that means, Ken."

"You just let keep my dick warm in that warm, tight little pussy of yours. Think you can do it for me, baby?" Kenny whispered in your ear and you nodded in response, your cheeks burning, Kenny was so good at talking dirty, but you didn't know how. Tonight you were going to try something else new, and hopefully it would have a good effect on Kenny too.

Kenny took your hand, leading you to his bedroom as he sat himself on the edge of his bed, patting his knee signalling for you to take a seat. And you did as you were asked, climbing on to his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck, and Kenny's lips were glued to your neck the second you sat down, pressing wet kisses and small nips to your neck, quickly pulling your hoodie off your body, his eyes gleaming when he was able to then unclasp your bra and let it fall down your arms, as he threw it to the far side of his bedroom.

"That's better." Kenny replied, a cheeky grin on his face as he took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, suckling gently and earned a soft sigh of pleasure from you. His other hand was attached to your other breast as he gave that nipple just as much attention. He moved his mouth to between your breasts, his head completely surrounded by your tits as he sucked a dark purple hickey on your smooth, pale skin, small moans escaping your mouth.

"Stand up and strip for me, baby." Kenny ordered and leaned back, still sitting up half way, his hands propping him up on the bed as he watched you take your sweatpants off and then your pale pink panties, your pussy already soaked for your boyfriend.

"You really are literal perfection, Princess." Kenny cooed and pulled his own sweatpants and boxers off, his cock springing free from its clothed cage.

"You don't look too bad yourself, Ken." You replied as you made your way back over to him, sitting back on his lap, and you could feel his cock twitch in anticipation. He couldn't wait to be inside you. Lining his cock up with your dripping hole, he slid into you, your head falling back, a moan leaving your puffy red lips. Kenny had a grip like a vice on your hips, pulling you down to sit fully on his cock.

"You like that?" He hummed, a smirk on his face, running his hands through your hair before giving it a rough tug, pulling your head backwards to expose your neck as he licked a long stripe from between your tits right up the front of your throat.

"Yeah, yeah I do like that. But not as much as you'll like this." You responded, a naughty glint in your eyes as you rose your hips upwards and then back down again on Kenny's cock, a moan escaping both of you.

"Oh, so that's how we're gonna play it?" Kenny smirked, bucking his hips up into you as his cock managed even deeper inside you, your eyes welling with tears of pleasure.

"I'm in charge here, baby. And don't you ever forget it, understood?" Kenny replied, lips against your breast, leaving another purple bruise to the growing collection he had already given you.

You were both ravenous for each other, your lips crashing together as your ground your hips down on Kenny's cock, moans leaving both of you, as his hand reached around your throat, applying a small amount of pressure, a small gasp escaping you in response. You never knew choking was one of your turn ons, until now.

"Want me to fuck you like a dirty whore?" Kenny whispered into your ear, another moan leaving you. You thought it was impossible to be any hornier than you already were, but somehow Kenny made you the horniest you'd ever been, and you nodded sheepishly in response to his question.

"Use your words, baby girl. I asked you a question." Kenny said, his hand tightening a little more around your throat as you gasped out as best as you could.

"P-Please, Ken." And he smirked, removing his hand from your throat to grip your breast, giving it a rough squeeze.

"Please what baby?" He pressed further, knowing that you were growing impatient, he could feel your walls pulsating around his agonisingly hard cock.

"P-Please fuck me, Kenny, please!" You pleaded with him, and he scooped you up from where you sat on his lap, holding you tightly around the waist, your legs on either side of his body as he pinned you against the wall, before roughly starting to fuck into you.

Your moans were sinful, and Kenny swore he would remember them in every lifetime, your cunt was dripping for him, and he needed more of you, and you needed more of him too, every single inch he had to offer you.

You were both coated in a thin layer of sweat as he kept up his merciless pace, his head buried between your tits due to the angle he was fucking you. Kenny wasn't bothering to be quiet anymore, his low moans and groans mingling with your own high pitched cries for him.

"C-Can I cum, Kenny?" You moaned out, and he nodded, panting and moaning himself.

"Cut for me, slut." Was all you needed to hear as you let yourself go, your orgasm crashing around you as your pussy tightened, moaning your lovers name over and over and pulling Kenny into his own orgasm, he gave a few hard, sloppy thrusts into you before you felt his load fill you up both of you moaning out for each other, both of your panting, sweating messes.

Kenny gently say you down on the bed, running to the bathroom to grab you a towel to clean yourself up, and he cleaned himself up too, before pulling on his boxers and laying beside you.

You just about managed to pull your panties on and throw on one of Kenny's tees before cuddling into your partners side.

"That was incredible, Ken. I love you." You whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, and he returned your kiss back, his touch now so gentle compared to mere moments ago.

"It was, baby. I love you too." Kenny said, his arms tightly wrapped around your small frame, both of you slowly beginning to drift off into dreamland together.

Sorry it took a while guys!! I've had a lotta things going on lately, but I hope you guys enjoy this!! I've lots more requests coming out!!

[emeritus-fuckers]

Hi! I hope I'm not bothering you, could I request the Papas (young Nihil) with a reader (their romantic partner) who is having a really strong baby fever? 🤍

Hii! Both version of Papa Nihil are always included whenever we get a "Papas" request, so there's no need to specify for the future! 💙 - Jez

Papas dealing with their s/o's baby fever

Primo

He's been longing for a family for years.

He loves the idea of having a loving partner by his side and watching his children grow up.

But first he had his brothers to take care of. He couldn't abandon them, after all, knowing what it was like, feeling your parents don't care about you.

And he kinda got some of his dreams to come true, I guess? He raised kids. His brothers and the twins, too.

And he had you, a loving partner.

But then you say you want you own babies and he's just so shocked at first?

(He may have caused it by showing you all the baby pictures of the kids he raised.)

He will ask you multiple times if you think that's a good idea. He's not gonna be mad at you or anything like that. But... He is old. He doesn't want you to end up having to take care of the child alone.

It would take some convincing to get him to have a baby. But he does love children. And he's soft for you. He will give you a baby.

Secondo

If you bring up wanting a baby, he's gonna assume it's just a cutesy way of saying you're horny.

But then you talk about having a baby, not making a baby and he realizes what you meant.

Asks you to let him think about it for a bit and since it's a big decision, of course you agreed.

Dude RUNS to Primo to ask what to do.

He spends a lot of time talking about with his older brother.

He wants the baby, yes, but he's worried he's gonna fuck up. Needs Primo's support.

He only finally feels secure enough with his older brother's encouragement.

He comes back to you and tells you that if you want a baby and think he deserves to be the father of your baby, he would be honored to give you one.

Terzo

Well now he's got baby fever too!

He loves babies, babies love him.

You cannot convince me Terzo never wanted a baby, we've seen how happy he was to interact with them.

Before he became Papa he'd always offer to look after the kids in the Ministry like a little kindergarten teacher!

And you want to make a baby??

With him??

You want his baby??

He literally falls in love with you over again when he finds out.

Loves making the baby, loves watching you when the baby grows inside you. He's absolutely there when you give birth.

He adores watching you interact with the baby.

He's the one getting baby fever now.

Comes up with the excuse that every baby needs siblings.

Copia

He spends two whole minutes stuttering in shock when you tell him you want a baby.

Like??? You??? A baby??? With him???

You want him to be a papa to your child???

He's literally so flustered, he needs a few minutes to reload.

The full process between you playfully telling him you want to have a baby with him (even if just for shits and giggles) because you've watched far too many baby videos on the internet and him regaining the ability to talk takes twenty minutes.

It would take less but you've decided to tease him, restarting the progress he made a few times.

It's adorable how he's so confident on the stage but so silly with you.

When you finally stop tormenting him, he's gonna need to be coddled.

He kinda cures your baby fever? Mostly because he's a baby sometimes.

Old Nihil

"No."

"Hear me out..."

"No."

There really isn't much to add.

He's too old to make a kid anyway.

Young Nihil

"Damn it, not again..." He mutters under his breath.

"Look, babes, I've got three of those already. One of 'em's an adult. Kids aren't fun. People always say they're 'aww so cute' and shit, but they're trouble. So drop it. Want me to fuck ya? No problem. But I'm not having a fourth kid."

Now, keep in mind my headcanon of Nihil having many issues from his own father and having his first kid way too soon. He talks like he hates kids, but it's because he's scared.

Even he is not in the mood for sex in a while.

Still, he'd try to cool off and talk to you again. If you're really close, he might tell you about his insecurities and issues.

I truly believe that if he had the right person by his side and lots of fucking therapy, he would be a better dad and would manage to have a somewhat okay relationship with his kids.

Please be that person, he needs you.

[microraptorreactor]

Hello! It's time, I'm making my (somewhat rabid) speculation on eliksli biology while waiting for the next act of Revenant. This speculation is wholly mundane, but good fun for me. Long post, so it's below the cut!

Now, my first note that informed much of this post:

Riis was fucking DANGEROUS.

Or dangerous for pre-Traveler Eliksni, anyways. I have a pretty simple reason for this, and that's because Eliksni have a lot of kids. Seriously.

Irl, often the more babies an animal has per pregnancy is linked to how likely any individual is to survive to adulthood. I'm going to drastically oversimplify things here, but the more likely any individual offspring is to die, the more offspring the animal has. Any individual juvenile insect is very, VERY likely to die, so most insect species have hundreds. Tiger cubs have a 40% chance to make it to adulthood, so tigers have 2-4 cubs in a litter. Only animals with very high infant survival rates (humans, elephants, whales, etc.) can afford to put all their resources into one offspring.

Eliksni have about four offspring per gestation. Probably. We'll get into the nitty-gritty later. To my knowledge, there aren't any crustations that have clutch sizes that small, so to figure out approximate survival rates, I'm looking to mammals. For lions, another large social apex species that also has between 1-4 offspring per gestation, the survival rate for offspring is about 20%. This lines up perfectly with Eliksni. To me, that says it was tough being an Eliksni and shit was killing them all the time. Pre-Traveler contact, those adorable hatchlings were dying all the time.

"But Spire, why did you say probably an average of four?" You may cry, shaking your screen. Or not, I don't know. That's because of the exitance of Eggcloth! While, to my knowledge, the exact way eggcloth is created is unknown, one thing we do know is that it's made of the shells of eliksni eggs. And the only time this is mentioned it is in reference to crushing an egg. The specific line I'm getting this from I'm going to dig into, so I'll put the full thing here.

I should have crushed his egg and woven it into cloth; a regret I will always carry. "

Inaaks' great life regrets aside (no wonder Misraaks has mommy issues), she mentions destroying an egg and turning it into cloth. While it could be argued that this IS drastic, and she's just desperate, why would she turn it into cloth if it was? And eggcloth is a relatively common material made of broken eggs, as can be gathered elsewhere[1][2]. While in Achilles Weaves A Cocoon those broken eggs may have been broken on accident, with the other mention of crushing eggs in The Long Dark, I'm really not sure that's the case.

So, my theory is it's possible Eliksni clutches are larger then 4. It's just that more then four hatchlings need more recourses then most Eliksni can give, and the excess eggs are crushed and turned to eggcloth. One could argue eggcloth is usually made from the discarded shells of hatched eggs, but the fibrous material inside Eliksni eggs [1] may be ruined when the egg hatches, since it's only ever referenced to be made from broken eggs.

And now, let's talk about Eliksni teeth! It's confusing. I'll start by breaking it down.

I've divided Eliksni jaws into three sections (yes, I did figure out Blender just for this post lmao). It appears there might be a fourth section of teeth behind 3, but I can't get a good enough shot to figure out what those teeth would be used for.

This is the outermost section of teeth that are definetly for eating. They appear long and thin, with the exception of two cusped-like teeth on the front of the upper jaw. Thanks to this being an old model, the teeth are INCREADIBLY low-poly. What I can tell is that this layer of teeth is long, thin, sharp, and close together.

This is a pair of sharp and large teeth. While similar in appearence to rodent teeth, there is no corrisponding teeth on the upper jaw. I'll dig into this one soon.

This is the inner section of teeth. I have problems with how this inner section was handled. I will get to those problems in time.

I'll start with what's clear to me. Section 1, the outer teeth, are most likely for eating fish. Long, thin teeth like that are usually seen in aquatic animals that eat fish, as those thin teeth pierce fish like a spear and keep them in place, or hold fish within the animal's mouth depending on the size.

Section 2 is strange. The main option that appeals to me is that these teeth are for cracking open fruits or nuts. These teeth also could be used for separating fruit from rinds, as Achilles uses his section 2 teeth for separating egg materials. The top of the mouth's corresponding structure doesn't quite line up for this. There isn't quite as much of a structure on the upper jaw to press against as one would expect for that purpose. Section 2 might also be for display.

Section 3.... how I dislike section 3. This is plain old lazy modeling. A second set of thin sharp teeth, point blank, does not make sense. With the current tooth setup, it would appear that Eliksni are purely piscivores. They are not. While the full diet of Eliksni is never mentioned, they are treated as if they are omnivorous. Most omnivores possess grinding teeth. The reasonable location for grinding teeth would be behind the piercing teeth, but these are not grinding teeth, so that caught fish wouldn't have to go far through the mouth to be chewed. The reason for this is because in 2014 Bungie wanted to design a monster. Not a creature that lived in an alien ecosystem, but another thing to mow down en-mass. It makes sense from a monster design standpoint, but ugh.

Anyways, notes I have for now! As I get The Garden-Way I may have more thoughts. Or this may be completely disproven! Who knows!

[lady-of-ocs]

What's up Haikyuu Girlies

So, it's certainly been a day. What's up, tumblr?

I needed some happy chemicals in my brain so I watched the only English dub Haikyuu thing I could find (I am still anxiously searching for all four seasons because I know they exist, they just aren't on Netflix anymore), which was The Dumpster Battle movie. You could say I'm a fan.

I accidentally went on a tangent so I'll put a cut in here lmao

I have fairly limited knowledge of the characters because I've only really seen clips and scrolled through fanart and fics, but I am very attached to Kenma. That's my little guy. I adore him. He's such a scheming little punk <3 But anyway, he was a big part of why I enjoyed the movie. I loved his relationship with Kuroo (and I love Kuroo in general. New husband alert fr fr) and how motivated he is by Hinata. I feel like I got to see him grow just within the span of the movie (I was dancing around my room when he said he was having fun. So precious). He's also just so smart and getting to see his POV was cool as hell (I do see what people meant about the literal POV scene making them feel vaguely nauseous, though). I had seen fanart of the "thank you for teaching me to play volleyball scene" but seening the scene itself made me all emotional. Kuroo is literally me in this scene.

I have even more limited knowledge of Nekoma specifically and I'm really only familiar with Kenma (obviously), Kuroo, and a little bit of Lev and Yaku. I could sit here and type up an essay about Kenma in this movie but I won't because my stomach hurts.

So let me yap about Karasuno instead. Even as someone who hasn't watched the show in full, I am obsessed with them. Tsukki and Yamaguchi? I love them. Their small little moment in this movie made me so happy (you might find me on my other account gushing about them under fanart). Yes, I do like Tsukkiyama. And let the record show that I'm also a fan of Kuroken (what do you mean you fell for his flattery, Kenma??!!). Are you sensing a pattern? Can you tell I like childhood friends (or just friends) to lovers? Good! Tsukki didn't get a lot of moments in this movie but I really enjoyed the few he had. That's my favorite tall blonde, no I don't take criticism. I wish Yamaguchi got more time, but when you're trying to fit everything into a single hour and a half movie, some characters are bound to be pushed aside. I don't think Kiyoko even spoke in this movie and neither did any of those three second years that I can never remember the names of. Daichi, I loved you despite how few moments you had (affectionate bro hug with Kuroo at the end surprised and delighted me). I will enjoy you even more when I actually get the chance to sit and binge this show. SUGA!!!! SUGA IS MAMA! I FUCKING LOVE SUGA. He also didn't get a lot of time in the movie but he used his time well. I love this man. The mother of all time. Nishinoya and Asahi are another favorite duo of mine. I know bits of their relationship and history and it makes me weep. Someone hold my little Asanoya heart. Special Yachi shoutout because she's braver than I am. That ball went right past her face and I swear she didn't even flinch. Absolute queen shit right there. Bonus shoutout to Bokuto and Akaashi, who I like very much. Bokuto is a complete dumbass and I love him for it.

AND OF COURSE, you can't talk about Haikyuu or this movie without bringing up Hinata and Kageyama. LOOK AT THAT LITTLE BABY CROW FLY. LOOK HOW MUCH TRUST THERE IS. I LOVE THESE STUPID KIDS! I feel like a proud mama, they did so well. Also Hinata is also stronger than me because Kenma was putting him through the wringer and I'd have cried in the middle of the court. But Karasuno adapted and they flew! My amazing crows!!! Kageyama can't take a compliment and that's adorable. Bend down here you giant, I'm going to pinch your cheeks and coo at you.

But I don't think I'm saying anything that hasn't been said before (though I do have the weird perspective of this being the only content for it I've watched in full because my stupid ass doesn't enjoy subs as much-though I'll watch them if there's no other option, i.e. a lot of the movies won't have dubs at all or they just won't be offered, so I tend to watch those subbed) and I've been yapping for a while. So long that my laptop fucking died on me!

But anyway, if anyone wants to A. inform me of a good place to watch the dubbed show, or B. just chat Haikyuu with me, feel free to say something in the comments! And once again, I'm so sorry for whatever the hell this is.

[fictional-orphan-smackdown]

PENULTIMATE ROUND, MATCH 1!

All propaganda and what each competitor is from under the cut

The Baudelaire Orphans (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

The epitome of orphans, they’re the best

“I’m having a very terrible childhood right now”-Klaus

The story deadass begins with them being told that their parents died in a fire and that they're orphans now. They then bounce from guardian to guardian who tend to always meet a gruesome fate at the hands of Count Olaf. Not only have they been orphaned once, but have been orphaned multiple times and are called "The Baudelaire Orphans" by not only characters in the book but by the narrator himself. They're called "The Baudelaire Orphans" so many times that it might as well be a defining character trait of theirs, and honestly it sort've is. The series doesn't even end with them finding a home or guardians of any kind, it ends with the Baudelaires fate being completely ambiguous with them literally sailing away from the island they were stranded on in the final book (yeah this series is quite the journey, I highly suggest it). These poor three kids are probably the most orphaned kids of all time since their orphaned in a new way almost every book and they deserve at least one win in their unfortunate tale.

These guys are like the poster-child of orphaning, we open the series with them finding out that they're orphans and also have no access to their money so now they hop around from place to place from weirdo caretaker to another weird/crazy/murderous caretaker and it's all fun and games and murder and decieving and surviving and thriving and---my point is, these three are a wonderful trio of siblings who love and rely on one another through all their trials and tribulations.

Literally every single one of their problems come from being orphans. They’re continually referred to as orphans and the plot of the first half of the series is them being shuffled around to guardians.

These kids are so orphaned they never even get a found family outside themselves. At least most stories featuring orphaned kids see them fulfill some sorta epic destiny or have them find a new home or set of loved ones of sorts. The Baudelaires? They're thrown from one fucking failure of a home into the next, ignored, hunted, etc.. It's been years but like, even in the end, they still have to set sail alone. As individual characters, they aren't bad either. Violet's the dependable big sister who's knack for inventions comes in handy, Klaus is a well-read chap and Sunny is a lovely gremlin. They make a good trio.

Every single guardian they try to obtain throughout the series turns out to be someone who wants the large inheritance left for them and is willing to do whatever it takes to get it.

They basically fend for themselves the whole series when no adult will listern to them. The whole series is them being resourceful and clever the whole series despite the misfortune. Violet is a brilliant inventor, Klaus reads and collects knowledge, and Sunny learns to be a good cook over the series

their parents die tragically in a fire and then everything awful proceeds to happen to them

I haven't read these books in years but if any orphans deserve to win a smackdown it's these fools, they are constantly in the trenches in those books goddamn. Also that baby is like a shredder they have that on their side, I think that beast literally solo'd a snake?

(This one was specifically for Klaus, but I'll put it here still) He and his sisters being orphans is kinda the point. As in many books, it's the trigger for them to change lives and navigating hardships. The thing is, their hardships just grow worse and "unfortunate" (read "dreadful") events keep happening to them as they stick together instead of the story getting better. Klaus and Violet become Sunny's subtitute parents and get through their more and more miserable lives together keeping hope things would eventually get better

Arguably more famously orphaned than Bruce Wayne, if not for how their story happens while they’re orphaned children versus an orphaned adult. Definitely have the most famously tragic post-orphaning story. All three are incredibly brilliant in their own way, including the literal baby. Pursued relentlessly by the leader of a maniacal theater troupe and letdown by a slew of adults, so it’s all the more impressive how amazing they each turned out to be. Book series was so good it got turned into a pretty great movie and then a successful TV show years later. Also can’t forget how these three are orphaned repeatedly as the distant relatives who take them in get killed off in increasingly inventive manners. Let’s be honest, ain’t no characters out here orphaning like the Baudelaire orphans.

this series taught me so many cool words and phrases and I love each of the 3 main characters so much

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny are peddled from caretaker to caretaker over the course of 13 books, always being chased by the evil Count Olaf who wants to steal the Baudelaire fortune that the children are meant to inherit once they reach a certain age.

Spoilers ahead, the Baudelaires siblings story starts with them going from being the Baudelaire kids to the Baudelaire orphans, after their parents pass away in a mysterious fire. But they arent the only paternal figures that they lost, they go from tutor to tutor, almost all the good ones dying in front of them, and even the ones that survive at first their future is uncertain since the last time the kids see them they are blindfolded in a burnind building, and we never found out who make it out alive and who didnt. Even the main villian, Count Olaf their first tutor, and the only constant adult in their life after their parents death ends up dying in front of them. These three are orphans ten times over.

They are THE orphans. They have lost not only their parents but multiple guardians that they went to live with as well.

They're THE Orphans. The childhood book orphans we all read, Orphans Prime if you will. They lose their parents, every caregiver who's ever kind to them, then say fuck it and live on a deserted island on their own to raise themselves abd fully embrace their orphan status. On the island, they learn their parents survived the shipwreck then died again - double orphaning even.

OH MY SWEET LITTLE CHILDREN THAT FUELED MY LOVE FOR READING AND THE MACABRE Violet- Won her first of many invention competitions when she was five with an automatic rolling pin (comprised of a window shade and six pairs of roller skates). Extremely innovative and genius, foiled by her kindness to others. And she knows how to make a Molotov cocktail. Klaus- Absolute monster of a bibliophile, conducts research for fun, and has a photographic memory. He is known to want nothing more than "a good book, a comfy chair, and the warm glow of a reading lamp". He also is a Herman Melville fan, which is points for him in my book. Sunny- Most people know her only for her penchant for biting, but Sunny is a distinctly distinguished character. She has sharp wit (as long as you can read it through her babbles), her poker skills are phenomenal for a baby, and she has quite the knack for cooking! Also yeah, the teeth. She climbed an elevator shaft with them once.

They are constantly going through it, give these kids a break for real

Chuck e' Cheese (Restaurant/family entertainment center chain)

Charles Entertainment Cheese grew up in St. Marinara orphanage and he loved singing, especially happy birthday. But he didn't know his own birthday (because he is an orphan) so all he could do was celebrate other kids' birthdays. His favourite part was the pizza. He also loved playing Pong and he went to New York City after winning $50 in a Pong tournament.

[bonebabbles]

Gray Wing is Not Their Father

It doesn't matter that the three children were born and brought up under Gray Wing. It doesn't matter that they never knew their father or that Gray Wing isn't their biodad until the day that Tom kidnapped them. It doesn't matter that Tom beat their mom and got her killed.

DOTC HATES adoption. It says very loudly that your sperm donor, no matter how fucking evil, neglectful, or abusive he was, will always be more special than the people who actually love and raise you.

"Doesn't it count for anything that I did my best to be a father to these kits?"

Nope! Magic genes! Super blood! Biological relevance is always important, even in the most cut-and-dry cases possible. Tom walks across the screen and activates a sleeper agent inside of his biokid's brains.

Doesn't matter how much you try. You can be one of the best examples of fatherhood in this RANCID series (and Gray Wing is really not winning awards, but the bar is SO low) and it still doesn't count at all. Magic Genes.

"I'm not your father, am I?"

The answer is no. Owl Eyes is skirting around it because he doesn't want to make Gray Wing upset. He has to find some other way to phrase that he wants to know about his "real" dad, which is not Gray Wing.

And that's why Gray Wing needs to have a fertile woman "bestowed" upon him at the end of this series so she can birth his kits. The book is saying very loudly he does not currently have children, because they aren't biological.

In the words of Wind Runner, he was "borrowing" Turtle Tail's kits to "pretend."

Slate has to be conjured up out of nowhere because they killed every potential woman for someone's man pain. Female characters are treated so poorly in this series, they're practically on the same level as objects. Things to be "won" and "deserved."

And then he doesn't raise those reward babies, and yet, they get to be considered Gray Wing's "real kids." More than people who actually knew him, or the people he really did raise.

Owl Eyes immediately cares immensely about this man he met once, who took him away from everything he knows, and lead to the death of his mother. He's so shaken he can't even go be there for his sister, who is mauled and might not survive.

Clear Sky is finally facing consequences for one of his actions................... and that action is allowing Tom the Wifebeater to get killed by One Eye.

Not the other billion counts of abuse and murder, nope. FEEL BAD THAT TOM IS DEAD, READER!! HE WAS THEIR FAATHER AFTER ALL.